Grissom was frustrated.
Sara had been back at work for over a week now, and he had barely spoken to her. She wasn't avoiding him- he could at least console himself with that- but it was as if there was something in the air in Vegas that week, with the opposite effect of Lithium in the water supply. Every idiot with the least criminal tendencies had been out robbing, raping, or killing.
He had assigned Greg to solo on no fewer than twelve trick rolls in the last ten days, not to mention two liquor store hold-ups. Sophia had been pulling double shifts to cover a convenience store robbery turned triple homicide, while Grissom struggled to find evidence to nail an exhibitionist turned rapist in the Shady Acres mobile home park.
He'd wanted to start Sara off with something slow, but even her hit-and-run had proven more complicated than he had anticipated. It turned out not to be random at all, but the work of a business partner who thought he had been cheated of profits.
Just after she wrapped that up, she had been loaned to swing shift. Grissom was worried about that: Sara and Catherine had maintained a forced peace since Sara's suspension, but it mainly consisted of each woman politely avoiding the other. Neither had apologized, and the last thing any of them needed was another blow-up.
Still, Swing was as busy as Graveyard these days, and Sara worked well with Warrick. The case involved allegations of sexual abuse at a large local day care. Despite his misgivings, Grissom had had to let Sara go.
And what about not letting work get in the way this time? Whathappened tojust going for it?
I said I wouldn't hide behind work. I meant it. I can't change the fact that we're busy. This is not my fault.
Still, he was frustrated. This crime wave was a fact of life, unalterable. It was to blame for his inability to make further contact with Sara, not his own insecurity. He was trying: every day he made a point of checking in with her, asking about her case and trying to expand the conversation into more personal areas, but he was stymied. Sara wasn't rejecting him, but she was absorbed by her work, and if he was being honest, so was he. Neither had much time to chat.
Grissom sighed. He needed to let go of this for a while. He was by no means giving up on Sara, but work needed to come first tonight, and he wasn't concentrating properly. He headed for the break room, hoping Greg had left his special coffee in there again. He poured a cup, sniffed, sipped, and grimaced involuntarily. Greg had certainly not made this batch of coffee. In fact, it seemed to be left over from Day shift. He sighed again. There was a coffee shop just down the block from the lab. The walk would probably clear his head. Maybe Mia would have some useful results for him when he returned.
As he exited the lab, he was startled by a loud metallic crashing sound. He looked for the source of the sound, and was startled to realize it was Warrick, kicking the trash receptacle that stood to the right of the entrance. Sara was watching him, arms folded and a concerned look on her tired face.
"Warrick? Did the trash can do something wrong?"
"Grissom. Hey, man. No, it's just this case. We got nothing. I can't figure it out."
Grissom nodded sympathetically. It was always frustrating to reach a dead end, and cases concerning abused children were hard on everyone. No wonder Warrick was kicking the trash can.
"I'm going down to the coffee shop. The stuff in the break room is swill, and Greg's out on a case so we can't get more of the good stuff. Why don't you two come along, talk it out a little? It has to be more productive than standing out here damaging county property."
Warrick smiled and nodded ruefully, then glanced at Sara. She nodded, looking at Grissom curiously.
The three set off on foot down the street, not talking for the moment. Grissom realized how much he had missed this, this quiet camaraderie with the members of his old team. Outside the lab, he could pretend to himself that they had never been split up, that Warrick was still his. Well, he could almost pretend. It was a nice moment, and a painful one. Bittersweet. They arrived at the coffee shop too soon.
"My treat," said Grissom.
"No argument here," laughed Warrick. Sara smiled. She seemed distracted, and too quiet, and Grissom wished yet again that she would learn to distance herself more from her cases.
He and Warrick bought three cups of coffee and a cinnamon scone while Sara claimed a table. When they joined her they found her carefully constructing a little tower of Splenda packets. It was oddly child-like and wholly endearing. Grissom smiled to himself.
He passed Sara the scone along with her coffee.
"Thanks, Griss, but I'm not really hungry."
"Eat it, you like cinnamon, and I know you probably skipped dinner."
Sara furrowed her brow, confused, and Warrick smiled into his coffee cup. Sara took a small bite of the scone.
"So," he began, "What do you have?"
"Nothing," said Warrick.
Sara sipped her coffee. "Amanda Cope filed a complaint a few days ago. Her four-year-old's been acting out: hitting things, wetting the bed, clinging to her. She took him to the doctor for the bed-wetting- he'd stopped doing it already, and when he went back to it she was concerned because diabetes runs in the family. The doctor saw physical signs of abuse, and she and the mother questioned the child."
Grissom nodded. There was nothing too unusual so far, but it often helped to start at the beginning and present the case to an outsider.
Warrick picked up the story, saying wearily "The kid admitted that someone had been touching him inappropriately and doing things to him that he didn't like, and eventually he said it happened at daycare. The mom called the police, wanted them shut down right away. That's when we started investigating. Meanwhile, four other families have filed complaints. We can't find any evidence that anything happened at that daycare, and we've been over the whole place with a fine tooth comb."
"How detailed was the first kid's statement?"
Sara was stirring her coffee rapidly. Grissom wondered how many cups she had had before he made the offer. She followed his glance to her hand and set down the stirrer. "Not very detailed, but enough. He eventually identified Ben Waters, one of the day care workers, as the perp, but only to his mother. A psychologist has talked to him since, of course, but he isn't saying much. He's only four."
She anticipated his next question, continuing, "The other kids' statements are less clear. Waters touched them and they didn't like it, it happened at daycare in the back room. No physical signs of abuse on them, but that only means there was no penetration."
"Meanwhile," Warrick said angrily, "We've been over that place six times with the ALS, taken dozens of swabs. Nothing. They clean up pretty regularly though, with all those kids and dirty diapers and germs, so it's possible there just isn't any evidence. The thing is, no adult has ever noticed anything suspicious, and nothing seems out of place. It doesn't seem possible- the place is pretty safety conscious, lots of glass walls, every door has a window, there are always a few people working together. No one can swear Waters wasn't ever alone with these kids, but there's no proof he was, either, and from the looks of things it would be hard for him to have the kind of time and privacy he'd need. He says he's clean, and I could almost believe it, but Griss, someone hurt that kid. We've got samples processing now on all the daycare workers and all the male relatives of all the kids, but we don't have anything to compare them to."
"You remember the hysteria over satanic abuse? And the daycare witch hunt in Massachusetts?"
"Yeah," said Sara, setting down the scone, "And we've thought of that. It's possible nothing happened to the other four kids. The psychologist is working with them, too, but it's hard when they're so young. Kids are suggestible, but we can't just discount their stories. There's evidence the Cope boy was abused, though. It happened. We just can't figure out where or who."
"Well, if you get the where, you might be able to find something that will get you the who. You can't find where or who at the daycare center, so have you found anywhere else that seems possible?"
"They were all at the same birthday party a month ago," said Warrick, "and three of them have the same pediatrician. Other than that, there've been a couple play dates, but not all five kids in one place."
"It wouldn't have to happen to all five at once, though," Sara remarked, "In fact, it's unlikely. The bastard would want to be alone with them." Her eyes were fierce, and Grissom found himself once again impressed with her passion on behalf of the victims.
"Look, set aside the other kids. You can come back to them later, if you don't turn up anything, but for now, why not just focus on the Cope kid?"
"The mom has a boyfriend," said Sara thoughtfully, "He volunteered his DNA, but we haven't searched his house. There's no evidence to suggest that he did it."
"It sounds like there's no evidence that Waters did it. The mother questioned the kid first, she'd lead him away from fingering the boyfriend without even realizing it."
Warrick and Sara were smiling now, twin smiles with no joy in them.
"Can we get a warrant?" Warrick mused, "We really don't have anything on him, and the kid ID'ed Waters."
"But the guy volunteered his DNA, maybe he'll let us look around. If we show up while the mother's there, he won't want to say no in front of her." Sara was excited now, her fatigue forgotten.
"Let's do it." Warrick stood. "Thanks, Griss. See you later." Grissom wistfully watched them go, leaving behind two empty coffee cups and a half-finished scone.