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: Once upon a time there was a world in which I owned the CSI rights… then I woke up. Not mine… not yet (evil laugh once again)

Summary: Casefile / Angst / GS

WOW!! Thanks for all the amazing reviews guys, y'all are fantastic! I hope this is travelling in the right vein, let me know if ya need anything that I ain't providing! Oh and never fear, the angst will continue!

NINE

Warrick and Nick could be heard before they were seen; loudest was Nick, obviously less than pleased. "You have got to be kidding me! Every fibre? Every hair? Good lord!"

Warrick's reply wasn't that much happier, "Look man, we don't have a choice so pick your poison ok?"

"What about the white fibre?" Nick had discovered the fibre on the seventh victim, such a small sliver that it had been wound around one of the mismatched hair samples.

"Greg's still checking that out, cotton, probably from a towel…"

"Oh great," he replied, "cause there aren't many white cotton towels in Vegas now are there?" His sigh turned into a growl of frustration and he whacked the counter.

Catherine walked into the break room, smiling at the banter. "Good evening, gentlemen. Problem?"

Warrick answered, Nick was still staring at the reports, too busy trying to fathom the work ahead. "Greg returned the results of the carpet fibres and hair from the lab – every sample came back a different donor."

"What?"

"Exactly - gets worse. Only one of the DNA samples returned an ID."

Catherine's eyes widened, "Ouch. Well, at least it's a place to start."

"Yeah," Nick chimed in, "only we also have fifteen samples of carpet fibre to track down."

"We?" Warrick turned and looked at Nick pointedly. "I don't know where you got we from. You were assigned buddy, I was just helping out."

"Oh, yeah?" Nick replied, "Whatta ya got better to do?"

It was Grissom's voice that answered. "Well for a start," he said, making the group turn as one, "Warrick's headed back to the scene. I want to send a dog unit to do a cadaver search."

Warrick smiled and looked at Nick, who glared, but it was a good-hearted glare.

Catherine spoke, "A dog unit? Are we missing something?"

"Not something," Grissom answered, "but I want to make sure we haven't missed someone."

Catherine raised an eyebrow, "And on what evidence do you base this feeling that we're missing a body?"

Grissom smiled, "Catherine, it isn't always about the evidence. At least, not this time." He smiled at the collective horror on the faces surrounding him, enjoying their stunned silence for a moment before adding, "I need you to go with Brass and see about that DNA match."

TEN

Brass was talking as he drove. "The DNA is a juvie, 553 Pendleton Ave. Attends LV High, record for breaking and entering three years ago."

Catherine watched the lights go by as evening descended into night, "Seems a big leap, B&E to serial killer." She looked at the file copy in front of her. "And this kid's only sixteen, the vic lived over forty miles away…"

"Yeah well, they all gotta start somewhere." He glanced at Catherine, "Yeah, I know." He didn't believe this was their guy either.

Brass swung the black truck into the drive and they walked to the door, the knock was answered by a pleasant, middle-aged lady wearing an apron.

"Hello," she smiled politely, but was wary. "Can I help you?"

Brass raised his badge, "Jim Brass, Las Vegas Crime Department, this is Catherine willows from the Crime Lab. Does William Anderson live here?"

The woman's expression fell into worry, "Yes, is everything all right?"

"We'd like to talk with him if we can, please."

The woman paused a moment before opening the door and inviting them in. As she walked into the living room a boy looked over and stood up in surprise, "Ma?"

"It's ok honey, these are police officers. They want to talk with you."

Catherine corrected her and smiled at the boy, "Well, I'm not actually a police officer. I'm a crime scene investigator. But we do have a few questions, if that's ok?"

The boy looked confused, and a little frightened, but given the circumstances Catherine didn't see it as a sign of guilt. She sat down and motioned for the boy to sit opposite, handing him a photo of the victim. "Have you ever met this girl before, at school maybe? An assistant teacher? Coach, anything like that?"

William looked down at the photograph, "No. Why, who is she?"

Brass stood next to Catherine, "Her name is Phoebe Kilner, we pulled her out of the desert last night."

The boy looked up in horror, "She's dead?"

"Well she'd want be, she's been there over six months."

Catherine sighed inwardly at Brass' overbearing approach. As soon as she'd glanced at the kid, she confirmed that this definitely wasn't their guy. She tried to ease back into the conversation, "You did a break and enter a few years ago…"

William nodded, glancing at his mother. Catherine continued, "Well, once you commit a crime and you're arrested, even as a juvenile…"

She was interrupted by the mother, "My son is not a criminal! He got in with a bad crowd, did some stupid things but that's changed now. Billy's a good student…"

Catherine held up her hand, "I know, I understand that Mrs Anderson What I'm trying to explain is that your son's DNA is listed on a national register, we refer back to that register every time we gather DNA for a case." Catherine watched the boys face, waiting for his reaction. "William, we found your DNA on the victim."

"What? That's impossible! There's no way!" He swung to his mother, "Ma it's not true – I've never met her, I swear it, I don't even know who she is!"

The Mother came and sat protectively next to her son, "What do you mean you found his DNA?"

Brass interjected. "A pubic hair." He looked at the boy pointedly, "I don't suppose you have any explanation for that?"

William continued to repeat his objections, from his confusion and complete discomfort, Catherine didn't see much of a reason to disbelieve him. "It's ok William. Can you at least tell us where you were on the last weekend of September? All weekend, can you account for your whereabouts?"

Both on the opposite sofa thought for a moment, "I dunno, that was like, six months ago. I was here I guess, or out, or at school?"

"School on a weekend?"

"He trains with the football team," the mother explained, "every Saturday – he hasn't missed a practise this year."

Catherine glanced at Brass. An alibi that was easy to confirm or disprove – and she was pretty sure it was going to check out. Somehow, this kid's hair had ended up on a body half way across the state. She sighed, knowing they were being led on a wild goose-chase.

ELEVEN

Warrick stood, squinting in the dim light and following the canine team at a respectable distance. They'd been traipsing across the desert for nearly an hour, following a similar grid pattern they used the night before. He reached for his phone, ready to call Grissom and tell him he had better stick to his evidence, when the handler started urging the dog in an excited tone, "Hey Gypsy! Hey girl, what you got there? Where's it huh? Where's it at?"

The dog replied with a whimper, scratching at the dirt, digging furiously and leaping back toward her handler, then returning to the same spot and whimpering again. After a few repeats of the behaviour, the handler called her away, slapping her sides and playing rough as a reward for her efforts. He looked up at Warrick, "You got yourself someone down there."

Warrick shook his head and flipped open the phone, this time with an entirely different message on his lips.

TWELVE

When Grissom entered Lab Three, he had not expected to find this.

Fifteen whiteboards stood in solemn reverie; sentries guarding a deadly secret. Each was decorated, not with medals but with information, evidence of the lives once led, now simply reduced to black against white. The notes were scrawled, boxes linked time-lines and personal information with hurried, frustrated slashes. Everything from the victim's last known whereabouts to the next of kin was scrawled beneath an enlarged image of their final reflection. Grissom noted again the change from one group of victims to the other, all the more evident now their faces were clear. He stood for a moment, silently observing the movements of his CSI. "Agitated" was the word that came to mind.

"Sara?"

At the sound of his voice, Sara swivelled her head, unguarded. Grissom did not like what he saw.

"Grissom, hey," she answered, quickly turning her eyes back to the whiteboard. He noted the way her fingers beat impatiently at the back of the case file, the furrow of her brow as she tried to explain. "I thought I'd do up some IDs, get a timeline going." She slapped the last of the photographs into its clip and stood, gazing at the image. Her eyes clouded slightly. "This guy, he has a definite pattern. Every one of the victims was reported missing either on Friday night or the weekend. Two were on a Monday but both of the final sightings were on the previous Friday." She turned to face Grissom, "He's a weekend killer."

Grissom's eyes narrowed, "When did you…"

Sara cut him off, "I came in early." Unable to hold his gaze with this obvious lie, she turned behind her to two maps of the Las Vegas area. "And look at this, all of the victims resided within two hundred miles of the dump site."

He looked to where she was pointing. Sara had placed a red mark on the map to signal the location of ground zero. The victim's homes were represented by coloured pins, all seemingly scattered, but as Sara had noted, within weekend driving distance from both Las Vegas and the body dump. She raised an eyebrow, "This guy has a nine to five, and he's taking road trips."

Grissom's eyes remained on the board, astounded with how quickly Sara had constructed this complex skeleton of events, yet also realizing she was now on her third shift and looking more like a pumped up sprinter than a worn out workaholic. He looked down at the case file in his hand, debating whether to disclose its contents, or simply demand that Sara go home. His hesitation made the decision for him.

"What's that?" Sara's chin jutted toward his hands, her eyes glinting with suspicion.

"I had Warrick go back to the site with a cadaver dog team," he replied. "We found another vic. Six feet under."

Sara grabbed at the file and was pouring over it before Grissom even had the chance to finish, jaw cracking on the mint she rolled in her mouth. Her voice was filled with confusion, "But she was…

"…killed three months before the others…"

"…and buried." Sara was used to the way they finished each other's sentences, it was out of habit, begun as a teaching method and ending more as a pattern of thought. "What else do we know?"

"She's down with Al now; Warrick said no blood on the clothing, no broken bones apart from…"

"She wasn't beaten?" Sara's tone was now demanding, "What about cause of death?"

"…a fatal blow to the back of the head, blunt force trauma."

Sara shook her head, "That doesn't make any sense. That's not the MO Are we sure this is related?"

Grissom gave her one of his looks, "We can't be sure of anything… yet."

They both fell silent, Sara's gaze transfixed on the photo of the victim.

Grissom pulled in a slow, weary breath. Knowing Sara was becoming increasingly difficult, for both of them. The truths she seemed more than adept at hiding from the rest of the world were so evident to him – looking at her now became almost painful. He tried to push his thoughts away, as he tried to push Sara, but with each day her silence became harder and harder to bear. The only defence had been his own closure; withdrawing at the sight of her, turning when she entered so as to avoid her penetrating gaze. It had been his fault, Grissom knew that more than anyone. He'd hurt her; just as much as Sara's mere presence could cut into him like a blade. Watching Sara leave and knowing what he knew, there were parts of Grissom that would never forgive himself for what he had, or hadn't done. He took little comfort in the knowledge that she'd begun to push back, that her resistance now almost exceeded his own. They had created a world separate from each other and Grissom was beginning to realise just how far apart their lives had become. Watching her now, he tried to remember the smile she'd greeted him with that first day of her return. He couldn't. Maybe if he closed his eyes… but seeing Sara like this, there wasn't a lot left of that girl to create the comparison.

"We're going about this all wrong Grissom." Sara's voice was so low he almost missed hearing her. "We've been looking at the last victim for the evidence… but that's not where it all started."

Grissom turned his head slightly, in question.

"It's here," she said. "This girl. This is where we have to look. This is where it all began." She looked up, her eyes haunted. "I'm gonna need another board."

TBC