Disclaimer: Don't own anyone, but Jillian. And all that stuff. Like you really thought I was Bruckheimer? The story follows a forensic case, but like Law and Order says "though based on actual event all the characters are fictional."
"These are your co-workers. Warrick Brown, Sarah Sidle, Nick Stokes, and Catherine Willows. Over there," Gil said motioning to the guy fussing with the coffee machine, "is Greg Sanders. This is Jillian Boccacio, our new CSI. Make her feel welcome, she's along way from home."
"Hi," I responded strongly (my false security shining through). I was met with a bunch of 'hi's' and 'hello's'. I notice Greg Sanders look up as if he just realized there was an addition to the room. His eyes lit up. I knew that look. I hated that look.
"I'm sorry, I've grown accustomed to tuning Gris out whenever he talks," Greg explained, shooting an 'I'm kidding' look to Gil. "You must be the new girl. Grissom, I'm completely willing to oversee her work and to show her around the lab, or- hell- even the town.. if need be."
Before Grissom could say anything I cut him off. "Wow, if you are as good at your job as you are at being suave... I think I'd rather have Sarah oversee my work." I could swear I heard a few snickers and someone whisper burn. I saw a look in Sander's eyes I knew pretty well myself. That look when you thought you did something really well or, on a great day, even perfectly- and it turns out you sucked. I felt sort of bad for a moment, but then remembered how hard it has always been to be taken seriously. I looked young, something people always correlate with incompetence. I really did not need some little CSI guy hitting on me over a dead body. Oh, one may laugh, but at a crime scene that involved a female vic found in the water two weeks into decomp I received the nice little line of, "Hey, shortie, how's about you and me eating sushi tonight?" The guy couldn't even breathe through his nose without gagging and yet was hitting on me by calling me 'shortie'. One way to get on my bad side? Mention my height. It's always been something I've been sensitive about. If you're not short you'll never get it.
We all sat around the the break room, waiting for our assignments.
"Warrick, Sarah, Cath... you have a homicide up near Fremont. Nick, Greg, Jillian. You're with me on a missing child case in Summerlin."Grissom said handing out preliminary information the teams would need. I looked over mine. Summerlin, nice area. I'd heard that is where the money is. No wonder this would be priority. Rich people. Ugh. I continued to read. Missing eight year old girl. There was a Fourth of July party her and her mother attended. Went missing from there. We'd have to interview the mother immediately. Despite her grief we need details.
"All right everyone, let's go." Grissom stated, heading for the door already. Nick followed and the others left for their own case. Sanders stood up from the opposite chair. I rised from my own rearing to help solve this case, knowing everyone remembers the newbie's first failure- way better than their first success.
"Let's go, Shortie." Sanders said, patting my head real quick.
Oh, this is going to be great.
We were standing to the left of Detective Jim Brass, a man I immediately thought was cool as soon as I met him. Alot of detectives get very morose the longer they are on the job. Looking at Jim, I knew he would be great at his job, but more importantly he'd also know how to laugh. I liked that. As Charlie Chaplin said, A day without laughter is a day wasted. I truely believed that. On this job I made the effort to laugh, a geniune laugh, each day. Even if that meant putting in Billy Madison and just laughing at the bathtub scene.
"Mrs. James. Could you please just walk us through what happened at the party?" Brass questioned.
Mrs. James was holding herself together, for now. I could not see any of the whites in her eyes, they were too red from crying. The shadows of tears reflected off her cheeks. She was a grieving mother. "I asked Sara to get my purse from the closet and she did. I, god, i took it from her...but... I was still talking to my neighbors. I don't know. I- I looked for her to go, but... but she just wasn't there. I checked the bathrooms in the clubhouse. She wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere. I shouted for her outside. But she would'nt go outside that late.. she just wouldn't. She's..." a slight sob escaped from Mrs. James throat, but she continued, "she's a good girl. She wouldn't just go off. She wouldnt."
"Okay, Mrs. James. Thank you. I'm going to have Officer Darrin go over a few more things with you and we are going to try our best to get Sara home for you." Brass said, nodding to an officer standing by the door. "Let's go check out the Clubhouse now."
Once inside the clubhouse, I continued to eavesdrop on Brass' conversation with Grissom. "She didn't use past tense. She believes her daughter is still alive. That's a good sign. But, still how does a little girl disapear from a party with plenty of potential witness's? "
I took it upon my self to look at the interior layout of the place. Why would a girl leave her mom, who was almost about to leave? I remembered a time when I was at the beach with my mother and I had to use the bathroom. I left her side and got lost for fifteen minutes. She yelled at me for twenty. I looked at the left overs from the party. Numerous paper plates scattered along the punch stained tablecloths. The punch had been sucked dried from the bowl. Maybe she was thirsty, I thought. I looked for a water fountain in the main room. There wasn't one. I left the room and looked into outer area. There it was by the restrooms. Okay, so she goes to get a drink and.. what? I was stumped. There should still have been people who would've noticed a struggling little girl. I walked back to the main room and decided to keep shut. I didn't need the guys to think I was trying to be all Nancy Drew. Nick called me over.
"Look around, this place is a mess. Fingerprinting's gonna be a bitch." Nick seemed exasperated. He didn't seem to know where to start. You can do everything by the book and still it might take you nowhere. This could be one of those cases. Everyone had a reason to be here. Prints are explainable. DNA was in abudance, but was irrelevent for this case at the moment. Sanders was looking around for something. He looked determined. I should be that way. Instead I'm so worried that I'm going to screw up somehow I didn't even want to test my theory. I have a nervous tick of rambling, but when it comes down to it I just want to hide instead of talk to people. If I were a turtle I could just pop my head into my shell at moments like this. I'd be a damn good turtle. No wonder Grissom thought I needed work. In Tennesee I could help with cases and was pretty darn good at being on a team. But, it's when I have to speak up alone, about something important, that I would rather be a turtle. Sanders had disapeared into the outer hall. I spied him going into the men's bathroom. Yeah, good luck champ! He was in there for less than a minute when he came out.
"Grissom, I think I have an idea of what happened. I think Sara James went to use the bathroom, but someone got to her." Greg explained.
"But, how could he, or she, get Sara out the door without being seen?" Brass asked.
"There's a full size window in the men's bathroom. It was unlocked and near the parking lot. Someone she knew could've lured her into the men's bathroom and taken her from there," he went on.
"Still, if she was headed toward the bathroom she was atleast ten feet away from the men's door," Grissom countered. I could tell from Grissom's expression that he believe Sara was taken through the window, but that the 'bathroom story' was a little off. He was leading Greg, trying to get him to think more logically. What was closer than the ladies room? I knew the answer.
"The water fountain. She came out for a drink. She's little so she'd need the shorter fountain. That's only, what, four feet away?" I grumbled. Not quite ready to be certain until I got encouragement.
"Could be. Print the fountain and the window. Good catch, Greg!" Grissom said. Nick patted Sanders on the shoulder and we all went into the men's bathroom. There it was. The window. The same window I had seen when I had first entered. I felt so disapointed. I should've caught that. Why didn't I catch that? Now Sanders would get the credit. I shouldn't be so shallow. It would be wonderful just to find the girl, but I wanted to crack the case and bring her home, and maybe- just maybe- have a parade thrown in my honor. I helped Sander's print the window.
"Got one," Greg said.
Great, another thing he beats me at.
"Wait," I said, " so do I." As we finished with the window we all seemed to collectively sigh. With the sun shining through, dozens of prints showed up. What were the odds one of these would lead us to our perp?
