A/N: Many, many thanks to spunkysquared for betaing. For anyone that is interested, the cause of death is real; I got it from a journal article about crossbow deaths. I made up the histology stuff about frozen bullets.
Chapter 4
As Sara approached Grissom's office, her pace slowed until she stopped just outside the view of the open doorway. While Sara's anger at Grissom over his abandonment of her at their crime scene had dwindled, she was still confused as to the reasoning behind his actions. The fact that he had cut and run from the first crime scene they would have processed together since her return made his actions all the more unsettling.
Was it possible that Grissom had some problem with her return to work?
One month before, he had certainly seemed supportive of her decision to take some time off. He had also seemed supportive of her impending return to work when she had called the lab last week to confirm her return. Had he somehow changed his mind?
Sara sighed and rolled her shoulders in an effort to alleviate some of the tension that had built up there. Speculating on what Grissom may have been thinking was pointless, and had proven hazardous to her mental health in the past.
Anyway, it was possible that Grissom was just cranky tonight. Maybe that crankiness just happened to coincide with her first night back by shear coincidence.
Sara was a scientist. She knew that correlation did not prove causation. Just because this was her first night back didn't mean that that was the reason Grissom had acted as he had. Besides, if he was really concerned about her readiness to return to work, he wouldn't have let her work the scene at all, let alone by herself with only Greg to assist.
Deciding that if Grissom had a problem with her, he would just have to come out and say it, Sara took the last few steps that brought her to the doorway of Grissom's office. She refused to allow his actions and his attitude to affect her own, not anymore. Her mood was a good one. If Grissom's wasn't, well then, that was just too damn bad.
Unconsciously holding her head a tad bit higher, Sara marched into Grissom's office and took a seat at one of the chairs directly in front of his desk.
Grissom, himself, sat at his desk reading a file while quietly making notes on a yellow legal pad. His concentration on what he was doing was so absolute, it was questionable whether he was aware of Sara's presence.
Sara crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. With her elbows resting lightly on the armrests, she laced her fingers together and laid her hands in her lap. She was content to wait.
As she waited, Sara took the opportunity to study Grissom, trying to determine his current mood. She soon gave up. It was impossible to tell anything, her view being severely limited due to Grissom's bent over posture and the low level of illumination coming from the solitary desk lamp.
While Grissom and his emotions remained veiled in shadows, Sara became increasingly aware of her own feelings. Deep, deep inside she still felt an attraction to this man. No, not attraction, Sara thought, shaking her head slightly. Attraction was too light a word, too simple. What she felt was not light at all, not simple at all. What she felt inhabited every particle of her being. It was present in every organ, every tissue, every cell; almost as if it had been encoded into her very DNA.
With all her education, Sara knew her ability to describe in words the depth and breadth of her feelings for Grissom was woefully inadequate.
Perhaps love came closest to what she felt, and yet love didn't seem special enough as a label. Love was too common a word. Sara loved the ocean and cookie dough ice cream. To say that she also loved Grissom seemed to her to be an understatement.
Sara bolted upright in her chair. God, she thought, what am I thinking? I promised myself; no more. No more thoughts like this, no more feelings. Not after the past few years, especially not after the past month. No more.
Sara opened her mouth, preparing to gain Grissom's attention, believing that work would help to keep out these forbidden thoughts.
Before Sara could utter a word, Grissom beat her to it. While he hadn't noticed Sara's entrance, her sudden straightening had registered on his peripheral vision and gave him the impression that she had just arrived.
"Hey, how did it go with Greg?" said Grissom, his voice almost chipper.
To Sara's surprise, Grissom's mouth had even curled up at the corners in an attempt at a smile. It was a rather pathetic attempt, but an attempt never the less.
Obviously, thought Sara, Grissom had managed to work his way out of whatever funk he had been in earlier.
Well, either that or he was repressing it.
"Greg did good," Sara replied, her voice containing more than a hint of surprise. "He took it more seriously than I would have thought. No joking, no goofing around. And any questions he asked were actually relevant. I gotta say, I was a little impressed at how far he's come while I was away. He just might make a good CSI after all."
Nodding, Grissom appeared satisfied and possibly even a little proud of Sara's performance evaluation of Greg. "He's worked very hard this past month. DNA lab's a little backed up, but with Greg's help we've been able to clear most of the incoming cases."
Grissom grimaced. "Though, I did have to pass off a few cases to day shift that we just didn't have the manpower for."
"Ouch! Bet Ecklie loved that. Well, I'm back now and I don't plan on leaving again any time soon."
"Good. This last month has proven just how much you're needed."
Grissom met and held Sara's gaze unblinkingly as she searched his eyes for evidence that his words held both a professional and personal meaning.
Seeing nothing to neither confirm nor deny her suspicions in his steady gaze, Sara delicately cleared her throat and looked away.
"Umm...Yeah, well, anyway...Greg's volunteered to go back to search the scene again later this afternoon. We didn't have luck finding any shell casings, but it's a big scene and a second look in daylight just might come up with something. But I'm thinking the shooter picked up after himself."
Grissom was silent and Sara could feel the intensity with which he was looking at her. When she made no effort to meet his eyes, he hesitated for another moment than spoke. "What evidence were you able to collect?"
"There wasn't much. The trail was trampled up pretty good by that herd of Girl Guides, but we were able to isolate a few partial bootprints. Looks like the killer wears a size eleven."
"Maybe not. We need impressions of the boots worn by the girls' chaperons before we can rule them out as having made the prints."
"No need. I called Brass. He said there were two chaperones; tallest was 5¢5². Prints definitely belong to the killer."
Grissom's whole body clenched momentarily when Sara said Brass' name, causing Sara to blink. By the time Sara's eyes had refocused on Grissom, his posture had relaxed again.
Sara squinted her eyes as she peered at Grissom, trying to detect whether he had indeed made some sort of movement. With a lack of repetition, she couldn't be certain and relegated the movement to a figment of her imagination.
Sara continued with her report. "The only other salient piece of evidence was a small pile of ashes about seven feet from the body. Unfortunately, it looks like it was a complete burn, whatever it was. I dropped the ashes off at trace. Hodges said he would get around to it, eventually."
Grissom nodded his head three times as he leaned forward, placing his hands palm down on his desk to give himself leverage as he pushed back his chair and stood up.
"Good," he said, rounding his desk and walking towards the door, "let's go."
Sara stood up and hurried out into the hallway to catch up to Grissom. "Go? Go where?"
"Morgue."
"The morgue?"
Silence greeted Sara's question.
"I thought you were there at the autopsy."
"I decided to wait."
"To wait? For what?"
"For you."
"Oh...Okay."
Sara continued down the hallway towards the morgue, glancing at Grissom repeatedly as he walked beside her. She was used to him being mysterious, but tonight, it seemed to her, he had moved beyond being mysterious. He was being weird.
As they reached the doors to the morgue, Grissom slowed so that he was a step or two behind Sara, allowing her to pass through first.
Inside the morgue were two bodies lying on stainless steel autopsy tables. The first, of indeterminable sex and age, was completely covered with a white sheet and next in line to go under the knife. The second body was that of the vic, Brian Oliver.
Brian Oliver had been a healthy male in his late fifties. His physique, with some of its tone lost to the passage of time, was still well muscled and hinted at a lifetime of athleticism. This, along with a sleek head of silver hair contrasting attractively with a deep natural tan, made it clear that Mr. Oliver had done better than just age gracefully.
Well, at least until he died a violent death in the woods.
Dr. Robbins stood over the body of Brian Oliver, facing the doorway while peering down intently into the gaping cavern of the man's open chest. Both of the doctor's gloved hands were inside the victim's chest, each holding a probe that pushed and prodded at the malleable tissues. To the outside observer it almost appeared as if a two handed chopstick technique was being utilized in order to snag some elusive, slippery prize.
"Hey Doc, long time no see."
Doctor Robbins looked up at the sound of Sara's voice, an easy smile on his face. "Much too long, I think." Robbins eyes briefly flicked to Grissom before they returned to settle on Sara. "You're looking good, Sara. Healthier, more relaxed." Sara and Grissom came to stand opposite Robbins, across the autopsy table.
Sara beamed. "Thanks." She looked down at Brian Oliver, her smile lessening. "Too bad the same can't be said of him."
Robbins looked down. "Yesterday, it probably could have."
Grissom spoke for the first time since entering the morgue. "And today?"
Looking up, Robbins said, "Today, Brian Oliver was the unfortunate victim of a sharp force trauma to the chest. Penetration of the upper left thorax; about 7 inches deep, at a slightly descending angle. Entrance at the fifth intercostal space at the front, through the left lung to the ninth intercostal. No exit wound."
"So, cause of death?"
"Exsanguination due to hematopneumothorax on the left side. In other words, he died from the accumulation of blood and air in the pleural cavity, the cavity that contains the lungs."
"Okay," said Sara, looking around, "where's the bullet?"
Robbins let out a heavy sign. "I don't know. I can't use an x-ray to look for it because the machine is undergoing it's yearly maintenance. So I've been searching the old fashioned way. But I haven't found it. Yet."
"You haven't found it?" Sara questioned, somewhat incredulously. "How long have you been looking?"
"About three and a half hours."
Sara and Grissom exchanged disbelieving looks before they both looked down into the open Y incision on the man's chest. "Maybe it's another frozen meat bullet," Grissom hypothesized.
"No, I doubt it," said Doc Robbins. "After the last one, I took it upon myself to study up on the phenomenon. There are a few obscure papers on the subject that have come out in recent years. All of them indicate that an in-depth histological examination of the tissues surround the wound tract of a frozen bullet will show a characteristic pattern of tissue injury and necrosis, even if death is instantaneous. I found no such pattern in any of his tissues."
Robbins, Grissom, and Sara all looked at one another. Sara spoke the question that was on all their minds.
"So if it didn't exit the body, and it isn't in the body, where's the bullet?"
