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: Not mine. There are many things that aren't mine, my sanity being close to one of them… but that's another story.

Summary: Casefile / Angst / GS

OK folks… bear with me. Not sure if this is up to scratch so feel free to let me have it! I have to keep the ball moving with the case-file so there's a lot of it in here… don't worry, things will be really heating up soon. Let me know what you're thinking. I aim to please 

NINTEEN

Grissom ambled down the deserted hallway, glancing at his watch. The others had gone home over an hour ago, all with the understanding that they would be back before the sun fell. Catherine and Warrick were only ducking home to freshen up and change before meeting with Brass to canvass the school. Grissom wanted every person who ever came into contact with Jessica Andrews given the third degree, they all figured it was best done at the location she was last seen alive. He would be joining them himself in a matter of hours.

It was a strange comfort to him, the desolation of the night shift's floor, even during the day. Very few from the other shifts bothered entering into their corner of the building, the lack of windows to the interior hallway keeping the night-like quality even during daylight hours. Grissom often regretted sighting the golden glow as it peeked above the horizon, as if it somehow threatened to take his succour, drawing the solitude from him as the light canvassed the earth. It was an odd feeling, he knew – most people found joy in the rising of the sun.

He headed toward the elevator and fumbled for his keys, muttering an expletive when he realized they were still sitting on the desk – the desk of a room Grissom never wanted to enter again, after watching Sara leave it only a few hours ago. Turning on his heel, the word that had only barely made it past his lips now turned into a full blown burst of anger… the light was still on in Lab Three. The lab Sara was supposed to have left empty and departed hours ago. Anger and cowardice spilled into his throat like a gin and tonic, part salvation and part traitor to its own creation. There were places in Grissom that wanted to simply walk on, pretend the day's events had never occurred, return to the pattern of pretence to which they had so easily retreated a hundred times before. But his anger quickly overwhelmed any desire to avoid a confrontation - slapping the handle down, Grissom shoved at the door, his growl echoing straight into the walls at the end of the room. "Sara?" he demanded. "Sara!"

His anger diminished as quickly as his voice. The surprise of the vision before him not only stilling his lips, but halting him in the centre of the room. Sara lay, curled up on a small black sofa that retreated in the corner of the lab. An artificial light bathed her hair and neck in an eerie glow, her hand lying limply on the arm of the chair beside her nose. The back facing him curved inward, as if to ward off blows, while the rise and fall of her sharp shoulders indicated the depths of slumber. He slowly moved towards her, noting the paperwork that fell from the arm beside her head, the photograph of Jessica Andrews on the floor. A sharp pain interrupted his breath when his eyes fell on the empty glass on the table – he didn't bother to sniff out what it may have held, he already knew too well. "Oh God," Grissom whispered. "Sara."

He carefully sat on the edge of the sofa, staring down at her prone form for what may have been hours, but was only a few, fleeting moments.

What the hell were they going to do?

At the movement of the chair beneath her, Sara moaned and turned slightly toward him and for a terrifying moment, he thought she was going to wake – her eyes would open and she would see him staring and hit out at him so hard his jaw would break. But Sara wasn't waking up anytime soon.

Their safety assured, he reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, allowing his fingers to linger on the arc of her forehead, his thumb to stroke gently along the strong line of her cheekbone. The urge to take her in his arms was unbearable, the need to lift her and hold her against him pounded in his chest with relentless brutality. A thought echoed in his mind that he had betrayed her in more ways than one today, probably more than he could ever realize. Yet after all he had said to her, all the accusations and disclosures, still it was not enough to send her home. How dreadful must the world have become that going home was secondary to curling up in a deserted laboratory, on a sofa that was too small and surrounded by the faces of death?

With as much strength as he could muster, Grissom slowly removed his hand, replacing her soft skin with the roughness of his beard as he supported the weight of his head.

What the hell were they going to do?

He realized that, for the moment anyway, there was now a question of a far more pressing concern. What was he going to do with the passed-out-drunk form of Sara Sidle? He could take her home, but that would entail carrying her to the basement and manoeuvring her into his truck without anyone from 'days' noticing. Unlikely probability. Then of course there was the matter of just where he would end up taking her. She wouldn't be too happy with him going anywhere near her house, considering the final insult she'd uttered before walking out of his office. And he doubted she would much enjoy the humiliation of waking up on his bed, or couch, or in fact anywhere within a mile of his presence.

But there were risks in leaving her here. What if the cleaners walked in and noticed the empty bottle in the trash? What if one of the day shift came in looking for a burner or spare cultures? What if Conrad decided to snoop around and found her, and found her? End of career for one, and if her current state of mind was any indication, end of days might just follow suit.

Grissom stood, grabbed a pen and paper from the desk, scrawled a note and ripped off a piece of masking tape to stick on the back. Pulling off his CSI jacket, he carefully draped it over her shoulders, for a brief moment imagining that it was he folding over the curve of her back. Quickly, before he changed his mind, Grissom snatched the bottle from the trash and rinsed the empty glass out in the sink. With a final glance toward the soft light in the corner of the room, he clicked the lock, pressed the makeshift sign, "Entomology in progress. Enter at own risk. G.G." onto the door and left her, once again.

TWENTY

Catherine and Warrick stood, eyes squinting in the daylight behind darkened sunglasses, Catherine with her third cup of coffee clutched in her hands. Brass was going to be a few minutes yet and with a long list of associates to interview, the day ahead was already destined to be long and tiring.

Warrick leafed through the notepad he'd spent the past four hours scrawling hurried notes upon, all drawn from the depths of Jessica Andrew's file. There were at least seven priority students they needed to speak with, including Tony Flanders –Jessica's boyfriend and the last known person to have seen her alive. Five teachers were also on their list, none of whom really sparked any major interest. They had all declared her a sweet, if a little overly social student, more interested in her party life than in her studies. Her gym teacher had seemed slightly over-attentive, or at least that's what the investigating officer reported, but it appeared more of a general interest in all cheerleaders' than a specific fixation with the deceased. The principal was more concerned with maintaining the discretion of the school than helping with the investigation, which is why their fellow officer in law was now in her office, smoothing things over and promising complete co-operation with the student board's policies regarding confidentiality and student rights. Warrick sighed, wondering exactly what they were supposed to learn out here that the initial investigating officers had been unable to uncover. He turned to Catherine, "So," he asked, "what's happening out here? We got a plan?"

Catherine shrugged, "Separate and interrogate. Compare notes, find the bad guy, solve this thing and get the hell home."

Warrick gave a snort, "Good plan."

They were interrupted by the sight of Brass standing in the entrance of the school, waving a hand for them to come on over. With him was Detective Higgins, a face they were familiar with but hadn't seen in a while. A good cop, great investigator and one hell of a damn fat man. Brass smiled wanly as they approached. "That principal's a real doll," he muttered. Nodding his chin at Warrick, he turned and led them down the hall, "War, you're gonna go with Higgins to check out the teaching staff." Brass continued as the three shook hands and exchanged general greetings. "Catherine'll stick with me to interview the kids. At no time can any of us be alone with any minors, especially the girls. Either the parent or a teacher has to be present, which is being arranged – and Cath has to be in the room at all times when I'm interviewing female students." He pulled off his sunglasses as he led them toward a room at the end of the hall, "Like I said, a real doll."

He gave instructions to Higgins as to where to find the teachers and the room he'd been given for interviews, reminding Warrick that, as a law officer, he wasn't there to interrogate, he was simply to gather the facts and report back any unusual findings. The department was doing Grissom a favour, another one. If anything was amiss, Brass would conduct another interview with the suspect and Higgins later in the day. For now, they were on a mission of information, if anything was skipped in the initial reports, now was the time to discover it. Any problems?

'Hell no, no problem.' Warrick thought. Just maybe that he was scared shitless that he'd miss the vital piece of evidence and face the wrath of his supervisor, his team-mates and the entire city of Las Vegas. No problem at all. He turned and walked with Higgins toward the staff office, flicking out his notepad, pen clutched in a balled up fist.

Brass led Catherine into an empty classroom, it looked like some sort of music hall, there was an amphitheatre effect to the seating, and music stands scattered the area. They pulled a few chairs and a desk together, arranging the furniture to best suit the interviewing style, formal, yet non-threatening. A few moments later a bemused looking teacher walked through the door and announced himself as Mr Peter Bryers, the supervising student counsellor. He didn't want to be in the way, he would just sit quietly in the back, if he was needed, just call out. No problem.

Catherine sat on the right of Brass and opened her copy of the Jessica Andrews file. She had come armed with an abundance of information and, most importantly, photographs of the victim. There was nothing quite so effective as a gruesome photograph to ram a particular point home, or to aid in evoking a confession or deeply guarded secret. And the images of a badly decomposed Jessica were certainly grisly enough for that. She lay the pictures face down, they would all have their time and place, but not everyone needed to be exposed to that.

Brass cleared his throat as a pretty, blonde girl meekly entered the room. She hesitated a moment, then sighting the counsellor in the back, stepped forward and offered a dazzling smile, "Hi, I'm Kammie. Principal Warner said you wanted to see me?"

And so the day began.

Catherine was tired by the third interview, irritable by the fourth and bleary eyed at one thirty as the fifth entered through that damn swinging door. Nothing had been revealed that wasn't already in the file, no one offered a grand announcement, there were no dark secrets to reveal. Once again, they were getting nowhere. And if she saw one more bubbly teenage cheerleader she was going to throw up.

TWENTY ONE

Sara was sitting in Lab Four, glaring into the masses of paperwork she had neglected for weeks. As diligent as she was with each of her cases, wrapping up the final pages always seemed to find a way of becoming the least important priority of her day. Now she had nothing better to do, they sat resolutely in a wall around her, mocking with their white faces. She was buried in the bowels of Robert Masters and his fall from grace (quite literally, he had fallen backwards off the nineteenth floor of the "Grace" towers following a big night on the booze) when the door swung open and there he was, the love of her life – she really was beginning to hate him.

"Hey," she said, glancing up briefly before returning to the folder in front of her.

His eyes narrowed, "What are you doing here?"

She didn't look up, kept her tone neutral. "Catching up on some paperwork."

Grissom fell silent. He had hoped Sara would eventually just go home. She appeared to have showered and changed, with one clothing exception that he didn't quite know how to take, so he ignored it. He at least could be partially comforted by the knowledge she'd gotten a few hours of sleep. But returning to work while the case was still active wasn't part of the game plan. "I thought you might take some time off?" he offered.

Sara kept her head down, not exactly ignoring him, but not answering the question either. She waited for him to leave, like always, and was irritated when the shadow remained at the door. Eventually she answered, "Maybe later. I gotta finish these."

He nodded.

Sara kept her head down and after a few moments, the shadow drew away from the door. She looked up at the space he had vacated, let her thoughts linger in the air for a moment before returning to work. Feeling the warmth on her back, Sara remembered. Grissom hadn't asked for the return of his jacket.

TWENTY – TWO

Grissom stepped out of the Tahoe onto the lawn of LV high. School was already out, students lingered on the lawn out front, socializing and laughing in the warmth of the sun. He pulled the cap lower over his eyes, grabbed a kit (just in case) and headed for the gym. He was half-way to the locker room when his steps were halted.

"Hey!" A female voice called out from his left. "Are you here about Jessica?"

He turned to see a group of teens, immediately labelled them "popular" and walked over to the bleacher they lounged upon. "Why do you ask?" he inquired.

The boy she was leaning against sniffed, "She was one of us man," he squinted up at Grissom. "Is it true you found in her in the desert with all those other girls?"

Grissom tilted his head, "One of you?"

"Yeah, you know bro, a home girl. One of the cool chicks. She was ok you know? When you find the guy that did that to her, he on borrowed time."

He sighed, good Lord, this was the future? "Did any of you see Jessica the night she disappeared?"

Another of the boys spoke up, "Nah man. She was with Tony after school, then she goes home and that's it. That's all she wrote."

"Tony?"

The girl who first called out answered him, 'Tony Flanders, they were dating when, you know…"

Grissom scrutinized the young woman in front of him, she was uncomfortable, that was obvious. And people who were uncomfortable were almost invariably hiding something. His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He turned slightly and spoke into the receiver, "Grissom."

"Hey boss, it's me." Nick's voice sounded weary, but strong. "We got a match on the mould from the LV locker room, all of our samples positive, whoever this guy is, he's close by man. Real close."

Grissom smiled, he could feel it, they were closing in. "Thanks Nicky," he said. "I need you to keep on those vehicles and see if you can get a source. And check for any further DNA matches. No loose ends. This one has to be air-tight."

"You got it."

Grissom turned back to the kids, all staring mute and listening to his every word.

"You got a lead?" The boy was leaning over his girl-friend, eyes shining with anticipation.

Once again, Grissom ignored the question. He glanced around the gym, noting the wonderful view he was being granted from his position in the bleachers. "Do you hang out here a lot?" he asked.

"Why you askin'?"

"Well," he answered, "when people are familiar with an environment, it's much easier for them to recognize when something, or someone is out of place."

The girl looked confused, "Huh?"

Grissom started to explain when he was interrupted. "Oooh, yeah. I get it," the boy answered, nodding his head like he was in on a big secret. "You mean have we seen any funky shit in here that ain't supposed to be goin' down in a place like this."

Grissom couldn't help but smirk at that one, "Well, yes. That's one way of putting it."

The boy looked at him pointedly, "I dunno man. A lotta crazy shit goes on around here."

Still grinning slightly, Grissom nodded. "But most of it belongs here right?"

The boy nodded. Grissom could see his mind ticking over. Finally, it was the girl spoke, hesitantly, as if not wanting to make a fool of herself. "You mean like, if I saw you in here? That'd be weird right? I mean you don't belong here, right?"

Grissom chose not to be insulted, "Something like that."

She turned and looked intently at her boyfriend, who gave her an eyeballing that warned her to shut the hell up. A few moments of silent exchange occurred before, apparently, she won. He spoke to Grissom, "Hey man, you can't tell nobody we was here. And I mean it cause I ain't getting suspended over this shit you know?"

Grissom felt his pulse rate increase, but he simply nodded, silent.

The girl broke in, "Mr Corbett. We saw him." She glanced at her boyfriend, "Me an Bobby, we were here late, I mean, you know…" she trailed off and looked at Grissom for reassurance, his understanding smirk told her to go on – yes he understood. "Well we was here just messing around when I thought I heard something freaky coming from the locker room. I told Bobby to cut it and we listen. Next thing you know, Mr Corbett comes rockin on out, looking 'round like he don't wanna be seen. He's carrying something but I don't know what. Then he just goes on out the door. I mean it was rank, it was pretty late you know. We kept waiting for some chick…"

"…or some gay boy…" Bobby interjected.

She continued without answering, "…to come on out after him, but nothin happened. After a while me an Bobby just go on home. Didn't think no more of it. But I'll tell you this," she read the lettering on Grissom's cap, "I'll tell you this CSI man. Mr Corbett, he a science teacher, an like you say… He don't belong in here."