A/N: Don't own anything, but Jillian. This story is mainly to build Jillian. Next story will involve some romance and drama. Or are they the same thing:)
I was sent out on the perimeter with Nick. He was checking out the parking lot, making sure not just to focus on the area we were sure the perp would've been parked. That's one of the problems with this job. Sometimes you think you know what happened so you focus on proving that. I know many people who claim they always let evidence speak for itself. I don't think we always succeed in doing that. It's hard, you know? Let's say in a rape case you find DNA from a known violent offender. You'd think the evidence would point directly to the logical answer. But if that were the case everyone in jail would be guilty and the world would be made of candy canes and lollipops. The known violent offender may have just been a one night stand and the real rapist, the best friend who wanted to be more, was smart enough to use a condom. So I had checked all of the bushes that outlined the building. The area was well kept. The wonder of rich people. They have everything cleaned up for them. Thankfully, the girl was realized missing before any after party clean up. Any evidence I might find would be relavent. Ow. Damn these things are prickly. These weren't your friendly bushes, these were your pain in the ass pricky leaf kind. No wonder Nick took the parking lot. Should've Rock/Paper/Scissored it. When I got near the window I didn't find much. But then I noticed a little glitter effect on a few of the leaves. I photographed them and then retrieved the samples for the lab. I didn't know if it would be significant or not, but one never knows. I finished up and returned to the group.
"We found some glittery substance on the window seal..." Grissom was explaining. "What else does everyone have?"
"I also found the glitter on the bushes outside the window." I offered.
Nick joined in, "I have some tire marks. The management said they hadn't noticed them before. I'm a little confused about the glitter though. Sara wasn't wearing anthing glittery."
"Let's go back and talk more with Mrs. James. See if there was anyway Sara could've been glittery." Brass responded.
"Alright. Greg and Jillian you can go with Jim and see what you can find out. Nick and I will head back to the lab, see what we can get on the tire treads" Grissom ordered.
And who were we to argue?
We were back at the Jame's residence quickly. Brass immediately got straight to the point.
"Mrs. James, we were wondering if Sara had anything glittery on at the party?"
"Glitter... " Mrs. James murmered as if putting something together in her head. "My purse. She got my purse. She had bought it for me for Christmas. It's so gaudy, but I use it to please her, you know?" She got up and went to her bedroom. Within seconds she came back into the living room with a glittery handbag. Something I could not even imagine Mrs. James would wear. She seemed the epitome of class and that purse, well it looked like something Elton John threw up. I realized then she must have truely loved her daughter. Part of love, to me, is wearing the ugliest object ever just because someone special gave it to you. I felt bad for her in that moment there. I knew she knew someone had taken her daughter. We wouldn't have bothered to ask about the purse if we thought Sara would be found soon. I usually can disconnect from cases. I hate feeling too much for cases, everything becomes so biased. I have a motto: if I don't know them, I'm good. I'd just have to shake this off.
"Locard's Exchange," Sander's whispered to me. Well, duh! Thanks for the Forensics 101 lesson. I get irritated when people tell me stuff I already know. But not random things that I might not know. Things that if I didn't know, I should be fired. Like that fingerprints are unique. I had this horrible feeling that this would be a crime lab that reiterates even the most basic of forensic principles. But I would suck it up.
When we got back to the lab, Nick filled us in on the background checks of everyone who knew Sara and/or at the party. One of the workers at the complex was registered as a sex offender. The look on Nick's face seemed optimistic and I knew we were going to be here for a while. An officer had already brought Danny Jackson in. Nick, Sanders and I looked in on the interrogation through the two way. His posture was one of defeat. That did not say guilt to me. It said he (guilt non withstanding) felt screwed. He wouldn't be wrong. It happens so often nowadays. I'm not saying sex offenders are okay by me. They aren't. But our justice system is created to protect the defendant, not the victim. But I felt the justice system had slowly turned for the worst. The jury. That's where I felt the problem lay. Too emotional. They want someone to blame and they buy into eye witness testimony far too easily. They are either too slow to fully comprehend a case or too "smart" thanks to TV today. Everyone thinks they can be a forensic expert. After watching Jackson's interview I felt sure enough to say he had something to do with the case. I just didn't think we had enough evidence.
"Do we have enough to search his house and car?" I asked Brass, who nodded.
"Let's do it," Sander's said. Nick and Brass climbed into one car and I looked around coming to the conclusion that Greg would ride with me. When I started the car Bad Religion continued to play. "Awesome choice in music," he said. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He was bobbing his head, throroughly enjoying the music. He's a spaz. And I was jealous. He was supposed to be new at this, and yet he seemed to be one upping me.
"You don't talk much do you?" he asked.
"I talk plenty... when, you know, I ramble."
"Hmm, I talk constantly. Gris is always getting annoyed, he just wants the cliff notes of things. I want people to hear the whole story of how I came to a conclusion. Not just the conclusion. You know?"
"I wish you would get to the conclusion of this conversation." I snidely said. He quieted up. I've always had a problem with my snarkiness. I felt guilty. Instead of apologizing I just kept silent until we got to the Jackson residence.
"Work time," I said exiting the vehicle. I hoped we would find something in this house.
