::Where Is The Justice?::

(R&R please!  Tell me what you think!)

Catherine Willows glanced at the stained cement sternly, her mind vacant and expressionless. She opened her kit blankly, and pulled out a fresh swab. Kneeling on the cold floor, she rubbed the cotton swab on the red stain. Suddenly, it hit her, as though she has not yet realized it. Sara is missing. She is injured. She could be dead. The older woman sank onto the floor, a look of despair written across her face.

She gloomily reached for a certain bottle of fluid and dropped a bit on the swab. The entire tip glowed a fluorescent pink. Blood. Catherine's bright blue eyes glanced at Nick, who examined the Polaroid picture. He simply stared at it, shaking his head, then looking away. A tall, buff man with light auburn skin walked down the creaky steps to the basement. Catherine ran up to him, weeping, and he held her in a tight embrace.

"Tell me what happened." Warrick said softly, but with a firm anger burning in his voice.

"Gris, Greg and Sara were scanning the house, and Sara took the basement." Nick replied. "After awhile, Greg and Grissom came down here and they found a dead police officer and this." Nick handed Warrick the picture. The man's mysterious hazel eyes glanced at the picture. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"The two and Brass are trying to find the killer." Catherine wiped the tears from her eyes, maintaining her composure. "They...they think he entered through that window." She pointed at a small window well hidden by boxes. Warrick nodded, then walked over towards the window.

"Hey guys, isn't that Sara's gun?" Nick pointed to a discarded gun that lay on the floor near Catherine. The woman turned, picked up the gun and noticed blood printed on the handle. She then opened the magazine. All bullets were accounted for.

"She never fired..." Catherine replied.

"What's that blood doing on the handle?" Nick asked.

"I think he shot her first, before she could get to her gun." Warrick announced, squatting on the ground, glancing at Sara's collapsed kit. Catherine stood, pointing to the blood spatter.

"And Sara reached and got her gun, which could explain the blood on the handle." Her eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Wait, but why didn't she shoot him then?" Nick asked.

"He didn't let her." Catherine spoke softly.

---

Grissom, Brass, Greg and several officers stood outside the house examining any evidence of what happened to Sara. Many of the neighbors gathered around, barricaded by the yellow crime scene tape. Several news reporters arrived. The aged supervisor stood, his feet firmly planted on the wet soil.

"The press hears nothing. I don't care about what the Sheriff says. The press hears nothing until I say. Understood?" Grissom whispered hoarsely to his partners. The three started with the perimeter. The wind blew fiercely, carrying a freezing chill in from the north. Grissom tugged his jacket closer to his face.

"I got a cloth." Greg called. He stood behind a bush holding a blue bath towel away from his body. Grissom walked over to him.

"It's pretty strong..." Greg winced and turned away from the cloth. Grissom wafted the scent to his nose.

"Chloroform." He said. "He must have knocked her out with this." Greg nodded and bagged the cloth.

---

"Dammit..." Warrick replied. "We've got nothing! No hair, no prints, no nothing!" Catherine sat against the wall, rubbing her temples.

"This guy's an expert. He knew what he was doing." Nick said.

"We're running out of time!" Catherine shouted in frustration. "There must be something, anything..." She stopped, then stood and continued to examine the basement.

---

Brass and Greg shined their flashlights on a pair of tire treads in the mud. Greg retrieved the casting solution for the treads from his kit. He carefully unscrewed the cap and squeezed the mold onto the treads and motioned Brass to wait. Grissom took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Time was running out. All they had was a simple pair of tire treads.

Grissom's cell phone rang. "Grissom." He answered, angered and weighted down with rage. A distorted voice spoke, deep and eerie.

"I have her. I will kill her. Bring five million dollars to the corner of Desert Rd. and Whitney by 1:00 AM. Bring police and I will kill her. Bring a gun and I will kill her."

Grissom continued to hold the phone to his ear, his face deathly pale.