Title: Bright Lights; Dig City

Author: Jayke Manners

Category: Drama / Angst

Spoilers: Only received up to end Season 4 in Aussie – so pretty much anything up to there…

Disclaimer: Yeah, right – I own them. That's why I'm doing this for nothing instead of being paid the big bucks to have my way… MWAHAHAHAHA. OK, not mine.

Summary: Casefile / Angst / GS

Hey thanks for all the fantastic reviews, this is my first attempt at fanfic – well except for an x-files one about three years ago. Insomnia brought me to this site, thought I'd give it a whirl…

OK, this is all kinda case file stuff, but bear with me, the angsty character stuff is definitely on the way…

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THREE

The body lay, exposed, on the lab table. The examination complete, Robbins snapped off the gloves and was ready to request her closed when the thumping of doors signalled Grissom's presence.

"The verdict?" he asked.

"Well," Al replied, "it's pretty much what we thought. Numerous traumas' to the head, face and abdomen, he was rough – subarachnoid haemorrhage beneath a skull fracture, which surprisingly, didn't kill her. Broken mandible, from the pattern it could be the butt of a pistol, see the indentation of the magazine?" His hand swept the area as he spoke, illustrating his point. "Positive for rape, multiple tears and bruising. Hands were bound, maybe cuff marks – there aren't any fibres, just bruising and abrasions. Cause of Death, asphyxiation due to strangulation. There are strong finger patterns on the throat, two hands - at least you should be able to get a good size-match." He pointed to the mark on her forehead, "This remains a mystery."

Grissom bent forward. The cut was red, deep, clotted in the shape of a "U" beneath the sliced skin. He offered his best suggestion, "A ring?"

Al nodded, "As good a guess as any." He sighed, looking behind him at the seven that had already been brought in. "I'm bringing in a couple of colleagues – I'll need some help with these."

FOUR

Nick was hovering over the microscope, his brow furrowed with concentration. When Warrick entered, he didn't bother raising his head.

Warrick placed another bag on the already brimming tray and spoke,

"How's it going?"

"You won't believe this," Nick answered. He motioned for Warrick to have a look.

"Hair fibres? With tags? I'd have thought that was good news."

"Yeah," Nick huffed with a mixture of irritation and disbelief, "well it would be if we didn't find a different set on every vic."

"You're kidding?" Warrick mirrored Nick's expression. "Every one? There aren't any duplicates?"

"Not unless he grows hair faster than the rest of us," he answered. "Oh, and it gets better." Nick went to the other side of the room, to a table laid out with even more evidence bags and slides. "Carpet fibres are all different too." He placed his hands on the table and lent into it, almost in resignation. "What's the bet the pubics' come back inconsistent?"

Warrick shook his head. "There's no way all those vics' belong to different suspects. This guy has an M.O."

Nick nodded, "Which means…"

"He's planting evidence." Warrick finished.

"Yeah, and we gotta trace 'em all." Nick sighed.

"I'll help you get them to Greg." Warrick offered.

Nick smiled, relieved.

FIVE

Catherine and Brass stood outside the house of Mrs Patricia Carpenter, neither one wanting to be the one to knock. They looked at each other a moment before Brass sighed and rapped on the door. A grey-haired woman answered – she looked as if she were older than her years on earth. For a moment her expression was confused, then understanding dawned and her face contorted in the kind of pain only a mother who has lost their child can understand.

"You've found my Ali." It was a statement, not a question. A knowledge accepted and rejected all at once.

Catherine nodded, watching as the woman reached within herself and maintained her composure, invited them in, to sit. Would they like a drink? No? Well then…

Catherine clenched her teeth and bit on her lip, trying desperately not to think of Lin, damn grateful that Brass would be doing the rest of the visits with a uniform.

Jim cleared his throat, "Mrs Carpenter, we need to ask you some questions."

The woman nodded, tears welling in her eyes, knowing that there really wouldn't be much of a reason for living, after this day.

SIX

Greg sat behind his desk, tapping impatiently at the surface and watching the monitor as it spooled data like a reel of ribbon. Beside him, the printer spat out copies and Greg snatched at them, making quick work of the almost incomprehensible data that filled the sheets. He walked, head down, to the long table at the back of the lab, placing the paper with reams of others in a pile on the second row. As the printer hummed once more and spat out another page, Greg turned and began the process again, knowing it would be repeated far more times than he could bring himself to make sense of. He was pleasantly surprised when his favourite CSI walked into the room. "Hey, Sara" he smiled. "You're in early."

Sara glanced at her watch, "Am I?"

Greg's eyes narrowed, "You have been home?"

Sara's quick, "Of course," was a little too defensive to be believed. "What, are you turning into Grissom now?" she accused.

Greg raised his hands in mock surrender and dropped the subject. He pointed down the hall, "Oh, missing persons dropped those files in your office. You're gonna need a bigger room."

Sara nodded, "If anyone asks I'll be in Three."

"Ok."

Sara disappeared down the hall as Greg mumbled under his breath. "I'm not the one turning into Grissom."

SEVEN

Grissom was in his office, waiting on the AFIS reports before heading off to visit the team at their respective posts. It was only a couple of hours into the next shift and he knew he was going to regret having taken only a short break to go home, wash up, sleep a couple hours and return. At least he could offer the appearance of having showered and rested. He was heading to see Nick and Warrick about the fibre samples when the beeper sounded. Grissom diverted his path to the basement.

"First of all," Robbins proclaimed, "we've definitely got a serial here. That undetermined score? On all but two of the victims."

Grissom glanced at the body to his right and saw the red, "U" puncture on her right cheek. He commented on the pattern of the bruising, "Most of the damage is to the left of the face, indicating a right hander…"

Robbins nodded, adding to the idea he could see being offered, "And so are the marks from the ring."

"But most men wear a ring on the left hand, even if it isn't a wedding band."

"So either this guy is wearing a ring on his right hand or…"

Grissom thought a moment, then brought his left hand up, swiping the air with an imaginary backhand. An eyebrow arched in acknowledgement, it was a likely theory.

Robbins spoke again. "Also, I think you should look at this." He led Grissom to a better view of the bodies, "Now, I've only done preliminaries, but most had ID's, so we were able to create a timeline from missing persons. I've been trying to work backwards." He looked at Grissom, "You notice anything?"

Grissom looked at the scene, his eye critical. The bodies were lined up side by side, heads facing the fridges, feet to the door. For a moment all he could see was death, from what appeared to be at least a year of decomposition to only the previous day. Walking along the column of bodies he paused and stood between two corpses, to his left, nine victims, to his right, the remaining six.

"That's odd," he said. Robbins nodded. Grissom looked once again at the row to his left, the bodies were further into the stages of decomposition, but most had remains of structure, skin and hair. They were all blonde, the hair long. The closest to him still showed signs of having excess fat, but from the frame of the face – pretty. The victims to his right grew more recognizable with each table and as they progressed, the changes were evident. One brunette and slim, the other a red head and overweight, another blonde, but short hair - there was no common pattern to follow. All were entirely different to the girls lined like fallen angels on his other side

Grissom looked at the place he was standing, in the space he was standing. He spoke to no one in particular, "So what happened here?"

EIGHT

Sarah stood in the bathroom and gazed at the mirror, hoping she didn't look as haggard as she felt. Her eyes were bloodshot, her shoulders showing a sharper edge than they used to. She'd lost weight, but not so much as you'd notice - with all the running around and skipping meals it was no surprise. Sara thought she looked a little on edge, but she often did, or at least that's whatthey all kept telling her.

She spat the toothpaste into the sink and placed the brush in her jacket pocket, pulling a stick of gum from her jeans. A loud rap on the door pulled her eyes from the mirror.

"Hey, is anyone in there?"

She coughed and swallowed, calling out. "Yeah, sorry." As she headed out the door she smiled apologetically, "Didn't realise I locked it."