Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, and I don't have any possessions worth litigation.
Summary: Sara and Greg find the unexpected, Brass gets a revelation, and Grissom takes matters into his own hands.
Spoilers: Season 5
Credits: While real life precluded her actual co-writing with me as we intended, Rokothepas was integral and deserves much credit. She insists on not being a co-author, but it should be noted many of the ideas, logic, interpretations and twists were all hers and I wouldn't have thought of them in a million years. Not to mention her endless support ultimately meant this story got finished. Thank you Roko!
Notes: Thanks to Eaglesei, djkittycat, Camilla Sandman, Lysistrata, Maaike, Sunset, Kimber McLeod and CSIFan4Life for the great reviews!
Azrael's Wings
5
Disintegration
Sara and Greg fought the traffic of suburbia as they made their way towards the apartment complex. Sara drove, as usual, occasionally cursing and drumming her fingers on the steering wheel whenever they were stopped. Greg knew she wasn't happy with their assignment. He tried to make light of it.
"I'm so excited. My first decomp," he said sarcastically. "At least I'll only be half-conscious."
She glanced over at him. "You'll wake up fast. Trust me. Dammit!" she swerved to avoid a car that seemed to think it perfectly OK to take up two lanes.
Greg flinched. "You know, Grissom's just looking out for you. You're obsessing again."
Sara started to say something, then changed her mind. "Yeah, well, he should know about obsession," she said, her eyes going soft.
Greg looked at her curiously, but wisely said nothing. Sara risked a sideways look at him. He looked confused. Good. Better that he be thinking about her chasing after Grissom rather than the images she had in her head right now. The number of days in a row she'd come home to double-digit numbers of messages from him on her machine before she'd been brave enough to call him back. The night he'd stared at her for at least a full minute before he'd finally gotten the nerve to kiss her for the first time. The tear she'd pretended not to notice on his cheek, after they'd finally slept together. His insistence on holding her tightly for incredible minutes afterward, every time since then.
She sighed, blinked hard, and shoved a CD into the console. Greg winced as Radiohead started blasting their angst, but he consoled himself, thankful it wasn't Sara McLachlan or some other form of femme-rock.
"Cool," he murmured.
They finally found the apartments, a huge, sprawling complex, and after several twists and turns through its maze located the building. A squad car sat in front of the building, and Sara pulled up, parking beside it. They got their cases out of the back and as Greg slammed the doors, Sara squinted in the sunlight at the officer getting out of the car.
"What's he doing still in the car?" Greg whispered. Sara sighed as she realized it was Officer Fromansky, the officer who Grissom had twice been forced to investigate. He hadn't taken it well, and considered Grissom and all CSIs in general the enemy. Greg knew the history too, Sara could tell from his suddenly impenetrable expression.
Fromansky leaned against the car and waited for them to come to him. Sara tried a smile. "Hi, Officer. Scene clear?"
Fromansky looked at her disdainfully. "Sidle." he stared at Greg.
"Sanders." Greg offered.
Fromansky ignored him. "It stinks to high heaven in there. I wasn't about stay inside."
Sara eyed him, suspicious but not wanting to rile him. "Did you do a walkthrough?"
Fromansky sneered. "Yeah, sure. It's ok." He hadn't, in fact, gone inside. He'd opened the door, been assaulted by the stench, and high-tailed it back to his car. "You kids have fun," he said, opening his car door and climbing back inside.
Greg's mouth opened, but nothing came out. "Wait," Sara said, trying another smile, but secretly wanting to slap the guy. "Where are you going?"
"I'll have to check on a traffic call. I'll come back…maybe." He shut the door.
Sara considered her options. She could fight with Fromansky, causing further friction between him and the lab, or she could just blow it off. She was tired, she was mad, and she vaguely remembered the disturbing look on Grissom's face when he'd told her of his encounters with the officer. It had bothered him enough he'd gone straight to the gun range, and started carrying his weapon again.
"Whatever." She spun on her heel and turned towards Greg, furious.
"Sara, we're supposed to have him with us," Greg implored. "I don't want to get in trouble with Brass."
"He'll be the one that gets in trouble. Come on. Let's get this over with. I'm going to make sure he gets fried for this when we get back."
Fromansky rolled down his window as they started to walk away. "Sidle," he called. Sara looked over her shoulder at him. "Say hello to Grissom for me, you know, when you see him later." He smirked.
Sara narrowed her eyes at him, but Greg was tugging at her sleeve like a little kid. She walked resolutely towards the apartment door, impressing Greg even more with her vocabulary on the way.
- - - - -
Warrick and Brass sat in the interview room, performing an exercise in futility. Jennifer Houseman's two friends were trying hard to come up with any information that would help figure out why she had been targeted, but there was nothing. They hadn't noticed anyone following them, and nothing out of the ordinary had happened the night before. They'd all just been out drinking and flirting, enjoying their vacation. Unfortunately, they'd been so smashed they couldn't say if any of the men they or Jennifer had flirted with had seemed that unusual.
Warrick was frustrated, especially considering the second victim still hadn't been identified, but he tried not to show it. "Hey, it's ok," he said soothingly to the distraught girls. "We'll get this guy. I'm sorry you both have to go through this."
Brass was relieved when a uniform knocked on the door. "Sir, there's a woman on the phone who seems to have information pertinent to this case. I've been told to ask you to speak to her right now."
Brass nodded wearily and looked back at Warrick. "We've done all we can do here. I've got a related phone call, why don't you see these ladies out and meet me in my office." He left without waiting for Warrick's reply.
Brass punched the button on the phone still standing on the other side of his desk.
"This is Captain Brass," he spat.
"Hello, Captain." A wavering female voice answered. "My name is Paula Weisman. Some detective put me through and told me to repeat everything I told him to you directly."
"Hi Paula. Go ahead, start from the beginning."
"Well, I saw a brief thing on TV this morning, I guess it was on CNN, about, about some murders you've just had there? I'm in Houston, but it was CNN you know."
Brass reminded himself for the millionth time in the last day or so to be patient. "Mmmm hmmm."
"We've had some similar murders here, in the last month or so. The police have gotten nowhere. Anyway, uh…" she started to cry, but thankfully stopped herself. "Captain, I think my husband did it, and I think he's there, doing the same thing. He's crazy. He disappeared a few days ago, took his suitcase. I know he's the one doing it."
Brass sat down, rubbed his forehead, and wondered why they'd put this nut through to his office. Warrick sauntered in and sat down, looking at him quizzically. Brass tried once more to be gentle, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. "Mrs. Weisman, what makes you think your husband is connected to our murders? Other than he's crazy?"
Paula Weisman hesitated. She was hardly a domineering woman. "Well, um, at the murders here, they found pictures? A skull with wings, drawn in blood?" She sniffled again. "There was no mention of that on CNN, but I asked your detective about it, and he wouldn't answer me. He put me straight through to you. Have you seen that, Captain?"
Brass opened his eyes. "Yes. Yes, we have. Mrs. Weisman…"
"I found the picture in my house, Captain. I was going through my husband's journal. I never look in his journal, but I've been worried, he just disappeared. I looked last night, and the picture is in there. Along with the words 'sin city' written over and over. This morning, when I saw the TV, I just knew."
Brass retained his calm and spoke to her a few minutes more, then hung up, promptly dialing the Houston PD and scribbling on the notepad Warrick pushed towards him. He hung up again and rounded his desk in one motion.
"Have we got an ID?" Warrick jumped to follow.
"I think so." Brass said grimly. "I need to speak to everyone related to this case, where are they?"
"Nick's in evidence; Cath and Griss are at the autopsy of victim number two, maybe number three by now. Sara and Greg are out on a call."
"Have them all meet me in Evidence at the lab, now." Brass ordered. "I'm going to go brief the people I need to brief, and I'll meet you there."
Within fifteen minutes Brass found all of them but Sara and Greg in the evidence room, including Sofia.
"Where's Ecklie?" he demanded. Everyone looked confused.
"I think he's in a meeting with the sheriff." Sofia offered.
"He's not, I just spoke to the sheriff. Never mind. You should go brief him after this."
"Brass…" Grissom said impatiently. They all looked tense. Catherine rubbed the back of her neck, Warrick looked at Brass imploringly and Nick was rocking on the balls of his feet.
"I just got a call from a woman in Houston. Her husband is the major suspect in a string of very recent murders there, due to her finding evidence in her husband's journal that matches evidence found at the crime scenes. He's been missing for days. The evidence she found, and the evidence at the scenes, are the same bloody drawings we've found. She saw a blurb on CNN this morning about Vegas. The drawings were not mentioned, but she put two and two together."
He watched their faces set in determination.
"She gave me a description. Forty-three, white, dark hair, mustache, 5'11", about 200 lbs. Houston PD is faxing a picture as soon as she shows up to give them one. He talks with a lisp."
Catherine went white. Warrick leaned toward her worriedly. "You OK?" he asked.
She stared at Grissom. "That's the guy. That's the guy who hit on me the other night."
"APB is out on his car. His name is Eric Weisman." Brass continued.
It was Grissom's turn to pale. "Did you say, did you –" he stuttered.
"Oh my God." Catherine exclaimed. "Brass, that's the name on the apartment Sara and Greg went to, for the decomp."
"What?" Brass said. Grissom's eyes were impossibly wide. He was already dialing Sara's number.
Nick was starting to panic. Warrick tried to remain cool. "Brass, who's the officer sent to their scene, call him, now."
Brass snapped open his phone and spoke to the dispatcher. Grissom leaned heavily against the counter, still listening to Sara's phone ring.
They all watched with dread as Brass and Grissom simultaneously snapped shut their phones.
"No answer." Grissom managed to get out.
"Fromansky." Brass said. "Grissom, wait!"
But Grissom was already out the door.