Cause and Effect: Chapter nine
Catherine shielded her eyes with the back of her hand as they stepped out into the dazzling sun, following Detective Vartann as he strode briskly up the stairs of the UNLV science department building.
He had barely given her a reaction when she told him Gil's team was off the case, and she guessed he had seen it coming too. He wasn't a member of the force she regularly fraternised with, but she knew he was a nice guy, and he had had the good grace not to make a fuss about it.
Her eyes briefly took in the interior, taking in the students who milled around the place, moving between lectures or staff offices. She remembered from her own time at college the professors generally held an 'open door' policy, which explained Alex's claim that people regularly sought out this Professor Turpin after his lectures.
Vartann paused in the hall outside a frosted glass door, gesturing his head forward lightly. "I'm guessing this is him?"
She nodded, immediately pushing open the door. It bothered some men when she took charge so brazenly, but Vartann took it all in his stride and hung back, allowing her to enter first.
Fred Turpin, a weaselly, timid looking man, sat hunched behind his towering oak desk, almost buried under a mound of papers. She thought it was what Grissom's office might look like, if he weren't under constant pressure by all of his colleagues to finish things.
"Excuse me", she said, tapping, as a courtesy, lightly on the wood frame.
He glanced up, blinking slowly as he came out of his own fog to reality. She gave him the charming, silky smile she had perfected to stoke the egos of self-conscious men in her stripper days. "Hi, I'm Catherine Willows from the crime lab, and this is Detective Vartann from the Las Vegas Police Department. We were wondering if we might be able to ask you a few questions".
He shifted, looking slightly uneasy. "I already spoke to your people. I answered all of your questions".
She smiled in what she hoped was a conciliatory manner, striding further into the room. "I realise that. We're very sorry for the inconvenience. We just have a few follow-up questions. It shouldn't take long".
Turpin reluctantly lowered his pen, giving her his attention. He gestured to two seats in front of his desk. "If it helps with the case, then I'll try my best."
Catherine nodded her thanks, taking a chair. Detective Vartann sat beside her, remaining silent and allowing her to take the lead.
"We spoke to Professor Townsend recently, about his whereabouts the morning of Audrey's murder. He claims he had a meeting with you that day, to go over some lecture notes. Is that true?"
Turpin furrowed his brow, as if attempting to accurately recollect the morning in question. He licked his lips absently. "Let me see. Well, I did have several students come and see me that morning. Those meetings lasted quite a while." He hesitated, as if realising the implications his next words might have. "I, uh, I don't recall a meeting with Alex", he admitted unwillingly. "But it-it was a fairly busy time".
Catherine and Detective Vartann exchanged a fleeting, pointed glance. So Townsend was lying. They had just effectively eliminated his only other alibi.
"Did you see him at all that morning? Before his lecture?" Vartann prompted.
Turpin shifted awkwardly. "Uh, I don't believe I… I was in my office most of the morning."
Catherine felt a grim smile tug at the corner of her lips, and slid her arms slowly over the armrests of the chair, pulling herself to her feet. "Thank you, Mr. Turpin. You've been very helpful".
"W-wait!" he called, rising behind his desk.
Catherine and Vartann glanced around in surprise, Catherine slanting a doubtful eyebrow.
"Yes?" she prompted carefully.
He nervously wrung his hands at his front, eyes darting between the two of them with no small degree of concern. "You aren't, uh, going to tell Alex about this, are you? That I told you?"
Catherine frowned, eyeing Vartann disbelievingly. "We have to go where the evidence takes us, Mr. Turpin. I'm sorry, we can't really make any promises."
He persisted. "But Alex… he could destroy my career. My-my reputation in the forensics community would be ruined!"
Catherine folded her arms over her chest, equally impatient and dubious over this quivering older man. "Mr. Turpin… If Alex is found guilty, the only person he'll have ruined is himself".
Why she was reassuring this man, she didn't know. Unfortunately, even in such a happy-go-lucky town as Vegas, professional self-preservation was inescapable.
Detective Vartann decided to end their visit. "Thank you for your time".
He shot Catherine a disbelievingly look as they departed his office, steering around several waiting students in the hallway. "Can you believe that guy?"
Catherine shrugged, shuffling around in her pocket for her cellphone. "He's worried about his job. We've all been there."
"Yeah, well, a girl is dead; I think that should take some priority".
She sighed tiredly, lifting the ringing phone to her ear as she finished dialling the familiar number. "Hey, you're preaching to the choir here."
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Sofia crouched on the carpet, attempting to visualise the scene as the others would have found it. She was the first to admit that she loathed coming in on a case when it was half-done, especially when it was due to office politics over absolute necessity. Ever since Conrad Ecklie was appointed assistant director, that seemed to be happening quite frequently.
"Victim and suspect hairs were found on the bed", she muttered aloud to herself, hesitating on her haunches below the stripped mattress. The sheets had been taken back to the lab for processing, but so far, they had been unable to locate any traces of semen.
She frowned, back peddling a moment, striding to the doorway of the tiny, tacky ensuite bathroom.
If the suspect was so meticulous about hiding traces of himself in the room, then it was doubtful he would have deposited the condom in the toilet or trashcan. But killers acting in random moments of passion were known to slip up before. If Alex Townsend was the killer, and he met Audrey at the motel for a set rendezvous, it was doubtful he pre-meditated the crime. However, if the murderer was another culprit…
She strode through the door, wandering slowly around the back of the motel rooms, into a narrow alleyway running behind them.
As she had predicted, a large, overflowing dumpster was shoved to the end of the dead-end passage. She immediately slid off her jacket, having already donned her coveralls, and heaved both arms on either side of the bin, swinging herself inside.
If the overflowing mountain of garbage was any indication, it obviously hadn't been emptied for several days, weeks possibly.
Tying her long blonde hair back in a thin, neat ponytail, she bent, sifting carefully through everything.
She was too new to the team to question the case reassignments, and she liked Grissom enough to feel indignant over his suspension. Though she had worked on the dayshift since entering the lab, the nightshift rumour mill had still extended its reach easily to her ears.
Now that she was in the thick of things, however, she was astonished by the amount of personal business these people could bring into the workplace. She could admit she was attracted to Grissom, and openly flirted with him on numerous occasions, but she didn't let it affect her work.
Whatever this thing was going on between Grissom and Sara, it was causing them both to slip up, and despite her best efforts, she was starting to see her own interest in him as fruitless.
Sofia stopped her work as her gloved hands closed on something rough and stiff. Slowly lowering her eyes, she lifted the offending garment in mid-air, blowing out a deep huff of surprise. Either she had found damning evidence in yet another Vegas crime, or their killer had just gotten very sloppy.
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"So. I hear you've gone and got yourself kicked off the job."
Grissom scowled, glaring openly at Jim Brass as he uttered this point-blank statement, barely giving him a chance to speak as he opened the door. The detective lifted his eyebrows, wry, derisive features fixed pointedly on his friend, forcing him to step aside as he invited himself in.
"I was suspended, Jim. Not fired", Grissom reminded him edgily, running a hand tiredly over his eyes.
Brass shrugged dismissively, turning to Grissom as he closed the door behind him. He had scarcely gotten any sleep since Sara left his townhouse that morning, and he was not in the mood for company now.
"I thought you learned the last time you got yourself in this situation", Brass said sternly.
Grissom concealed a grimace, involuntarily reminded of his prior suspension four years ago, after the strip strangler case.
He crossed the vast living room, finding a place behind the massive breakfast bar. He retrieved a bottle of scotch from under the cabinet, preparing to pour himself a glass to give his hands something to do.
Brass cocked an eyebrow, coming to rest on the other side of the counter, leaning his burly arms on the back of a stool.
"So. The rumour mill is buzzing about this one. I'm curious myself".
Grissom shot him an irritable look, annoyed with his misplaced concern. "I'm not going to incite office gossip, Jim".
Brass rolled his eyes, impatiently waving away the glass Grissom offered him. "You know just as well as I do whatever you say here stays between us. I'm asking this out of concern, Gil. And not just for you."
This was said pointedly, and Grissom clenched his jaw, having no doubt Brass was referring to Sara. He knew he had a particular fondness for the younger brunette, and he wondered if it was because she reminded him of his own daughter. He then wondered what Brass would say, if he knew what had transpired between he and Sara just a few hours earlier.
"Look, Jim, I'm really not in the mood to discuss this—"
"Catherine told me you and Townsend go back", he interrupted, ignoring his protests. "I think I even might remember you mentioning him, at one point."
Grissom sighed in resignation, leaning back against his cabinets as he nursed his drink in one hand. "It wasn't my intention, to compromise the case".
Brass scoffed, shooting him a look. "You think you need to tell me? You're too damn ethical for that. I know there's something else behind it."
Grissom glanced down, swirling the amber liquid distantly in his glass. "It's complicated, Jim".
"I'll bet", the detective retorted flatly. "Have anything to do with a certain Sara Sidle?"
Grissom blinked, staring at him stupidly. Brass rolled his eyes at his friend's ignorance. "Oh, please. I wasn't born yesterday. Something happened, either between her and him, or between her and you. I'm guessing the former, because like I said, you're too ethical for your own good. Everyone with half a brain knows you and Sara were never involved".
Grissom stared at the floor. "Ecklie doesn't think so".
Brass scowled. "Ecklie's an asshole, and you've said it yourself. He doesn't have an analytical bone in his body. You gave him a doubt, and he ran with it. You shouldn't have given him that much power in the first place."
Grissom pursed his lips, feeling unwillingly compelled to confide in his long-time friend. Catherine was nosy because she knew far too much about his feelings for Sara, more than he himself wanted to know. Brass was aware of the situation, but he was a mildly more impartial party, and he was another male. He wasn't going to force Grissom to talk about his 'feelings'.
"It's… a long story, Jim", he conceded at last, grudgingly meeting the other man's gaze.
Brass lowered himself unceremoniously onto the nearest stool, folding his arms expectantly. "Do I look like I'm going anywhere to you?"
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San Francisco, 1994Sara switched with one of her colleagues for another day-off to attend Grissom's morning lectures, and if they questioned Sara Sidle's sudden shift in work ethic, they didn't say anything.
She listened with keen attentiveness, posing questions with equal fervour. Other students eyed her ease with the subject matter with more than a little envy, and by the end of the session she had made several enemies by shooting down a mass of theories.
She glimpsed Grissom's gaze in the corner of her eye as she ripped into a particularly flawed upper-classman's theory on estimating time of death, and had to convince herself the admiration she saw there was for her as a student only. The burgeoning reality was that Grissom was leaving San Francisco in two days, and their friendship or relationship or whatever it was had no conceivable future. In any way she might have envisioned it.
At the end of the lecture, she decided to immediately begin distancing herself from Grissom, and strode out into the bright midday sunlight, intent on purchasing herself some lunch from the student cafeteria and enjoying the day. Because she had managed just fine without Gil Grissom in her life, and she sure as hell wasn't going to change now.
She accepted her salad roll from the cashier with a friendly smile, and strode out into the quad, finding a quiet, solitary spot on a park bench under a tree, where she could observe others as they sat around the sprawling lawns.
A group of heftily built guys tossed around Frisbee, and several small groups and couples lounged lazily on the grass, enjoying the sun. She felt a wistful smile tug at her lips as her eyes trailed over them, leaning back on the bench. In high school, she had studied too hard to ever have time for socialising, but when she reached college, she found her niche. She found a group of similar intellectually like-minded people, who weren't afraid to cut loose once in a while. They were probably the few years of her life she could look back on with unadulterated fondness.
"Hello Sara".
She blinked, glancing up, unconsciously shielding her eyes with her hand to identify the silhouetted figure hovering over her. She looked away again when she realised it was Alex Townsend.
"I think you should stay away from me", she muttered in a low voice. "If you value your job at all".
Alex stood in her line of sight, effectively blocking the sun, folding his arms calmly as if they were having nothing more than a casual conversation. "Aren't you just the little girl who cried wolf?"
"Excuse me", Sara said irritably, rewrapping her half-eaten sandwich. "I didn't cry anything".
"Not yet, no", Alex agreed. "Look, Sara, allow me to be candid with you. I'm concerned. Concerned about how much you're exaggerating the other night. It was a simple misunderstanding".
"You tried to attack me", Sara snapped, rising to her feet and slinging her bag over her shoulder. "And I'm pretty sure I didn't imagine giving you a black eye".
Alex's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "You must admit, it was a natural assumption. You do have an unusual comfort level with other members of staff".
Sara stared at him, long and hard, before turning to walk away.
He barely missed a beat, following swiftly after her.
"I'd advise you to stay away from Dr. Grissom, Sara", he said seriously, briskly keeping the pace. "He's an excellent criminalist, but he is a little, shall we say green in other areas. You shouldn't take advantage of that".
Sara stopped, turning to glare disbelievingly at him before tossing her wasted meal roughly in a nearby trashcan. "Are you suggesting I'm manipulating him?"
He shrugged. "It's been done before. An unconventional association with a student could compromise his career. As would any… allegations you might choose to make".
Sara opened her mouth in fury. "Are you threatening me?"
"Not at all", he responded smoothly, arms linked in front of him. "I'm merely reminding you of the implications your actions could have on others, Sara. Maybe you should think about that, before you act… rashly".
Sara knew what he was saying. If she pressed charges against him for assault, he would suggest something inappropriate had occurred between her and Grissom. Not only would it cast her accusations in doubt, it would ruin Grissom's credibility.
She clenched her jaw. "You're disgusting, Alex".
"Please, Sara", he said reproachfully, straightening the impeccable line of his suit. "You should really call me Professor Townsend".
Sara could not believe she had ever fallen for this deceivingly charming man's act. She sneered at him distastefully, thrusting a finger at him in mid-air.
"Well, with all due respect, Professor Townsend", she spat with revulsion. "You can go to hell".
She whirled, brown curls scattering around her shoulders, intending to stalk away. His grasp tightened around her wrist, abruptly turning her back to face him.
"Hey", he said, voice low and menacing. Few students paid them any attention, and his body almost completely shielded the clench he had on her arm. "I'm not playing games with you, Sara. I can make life… very miserable for you".
The unhindered glimmer of fury in his eyes made her insides twist, but she wasn't for one moment about to allow him to see that his coercion intimidated her.
"Get off me!" she hissed fiercely.
"Alex, let go of her", a male voice snapped, startling them both.
Alex dropped Sara's wrist as soon as Grissom neared, eyes flitting between them angrily.
"This is nothing to concern yourself with, Gil. We're just having a minor misunderstanding".
Grissom's eyes didn't avert from the professor's, dark and icy in their sudden intensity. "I think it's time you left, Alex".
Alex's gaze slid nonchalantly over him, and he slowly nodded his head. "Hmm. I see you didn't take my advice, Gil".
Sara frowned, unconsciously rubbing her wrist as she took a step away from Alex.
Grissom merely pursed his lips, face expressionless. "No. I didn't".
Alex smirked, a humourless motion, and Sara knew in that moment that loyalties were permanently re-shifted, and whatever lasting friendship remained between these two men was most definitely gone. And she was the cause of it.
"Well", he said glibly, stepping calmly away. "She's all yours".
Alex strode idly back onto the sidewalk, disappearing around the tall, multi-layered garden display. Sara and Grissom were left to awkwardly stare at each other, Alex's words echoing as a harsh, unwilling portent in their minds.
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