"She took a day off, why?" asked Grissom, shades on, staring straight ahead at the road.
"Nothing, just, it's kinda... weird not having her around. She never misses work, especially when we need people for a double shift," Greg said, and stared out the window watching the multi-million dollar homes slip past.
"So you're here and she's not... did we interrupt your important business?" asked Grissom mockingly, not showing any signs of the fatigue that plagued most CSIs continuing into a double shift.
They arrived at the home and found the ornate front door conspicuously unlocked. They walked into the foyer which opened onto a living room, and a young, mousey-brown-haired man sitting in front of a big-screen T.V., clearly shocked at finding the two men entering the house without his prior knowledge. The man jumped off the couch and ran to the doorway.
"Gentlemen? May I help you?" he asked, confused.
"Yes, I'm Gil Grissom, this is Greg Sanders, we're with the LVPD crime lab, we were wondering if we could have a look around?"
"Ummm... why?" asked the man.
"Are you aware that the owner of this house, Grace Vanderton, has passed away?" Grissom asked, point-blank.
"You... You're kidding me," the young man said, his face going white. He put a hand to his head. "Gracie... she... she's my sister... she's dead?" he asked, tears welling up in his hazel eyes.
"Yes, I'm sorry to inform you but Miss Vanderton was found dead in her dressing room this morning. May I ask why you're here?" Grissom enquired, cocking his head to the side like a parakeet and setting his field kit on the white marble floor of the foyer. The morning sunlight coming in from the large picture window in the far wall cast a long patch of creamy whiteness that reached Grissom's feet, interruped only by the shadow of his kit.
"She wanted me to house-sit while she was away... I know it was only for a short while but there've been a lot of robberies around here lately and she was so worried about it... I mean, there're alarm systems all over the place but they don't seem to be doing much in terms of stopping the robbers," the young man continued.
"Neither is leaving the front door unlocked," interjected Greg, who then walked past Grace's brother and moved into the living room. Just then, Grissom's cell phone rang.
"Please excuse me," he said, holding up his hand to Grace's brother while he pulled his cell out of its holder and flipped it open.
"Grissom," he said. "What? Nick... is that you? I can't hear you... you're breaking up..." Grissom fell silent and went pale. "Stay calm. Kick out the taillight if you can. Wait... what's in the way?" More colour drained out of Grissom's face and he took his sunglasses off in shock. "Sara's in the way, and she's unconscious? Oh... kay... do you have any idea where you are? No... alright. Stay on the line, if you can." Grissom motioned to Greg. "Nick and Sara have been taken hostage from a robbery at the diner. I want you to call HQ and get a trace. I'm keeping Nick on the line as long as I can." Greg nodded solemnly, shocked, and pulled out his own cell phone, dialing headquarters as fast as he could and requested a trace, relaying Nick's cell phone number to the person on the other end of the line. Grissom put his phone to his ear again, and Grace's brother stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do. "Nick? Stay on. I've got Greg running a trace to your phone, okay? Leave your phone on but put it away, you can't let your captors know that we know. Take care of Sara, okay? Do you want me to keep talking to you? Okay. Just be quiet then, we're doing what we can to get you guys back safe." Grissom left his phone open and the connection with Nick's phone unbroken, but he put the phone back in its holder to keep it out of the way.
"Sorry about that, Mr. Vanderton, I'd like to get back now to your sister. Do-"
"Mr. Grissom, it is Mr. Grissom, right? Mr. Grissom, my name's not Vanderton, that's my sister's stage name... I'm Peter. Peter Humber."
"Thank you, Peter. Do you know if your sister had any enemies?"
"Mr. Grissom, in the acting world, if there's somebody going for the same part that you are, they are automatically your enemy. Grace beat a lot of other equally talented actresses out for that part, and I know that if a part is taken from you that you think you deserved, you can get pretty bitter about it," explained Pete.
"Were there any other actresses that you know of off the top of your head who would be jealous enough to actually eliminate the competition on a more permanent level?"
Peter's answer was cut off by Greg, who came back to Grissom.
"Since it's a cell phone that Nick's on, they can't get the exact position without GPS," started Greg, "but they can track the transmitter that's relaying Nick's calls, which is the transmitter that he's closest to. Last we saw he was on the I-15, and comparing the transmitters he's gotten his signal from shows he's heading way outta Vegas. We gotta get some feds out on the trail," said Greg, anxiety creasing his brow.
"Thank you, Greg," said Grissom wearily, slipping his shades back on. He turned to Peter.
"My apologies, Mr. Humber, but we've got urgent business to attend to. We'll be back later, hopefully today, to look for some clues as to your sister's killer." He turned to walk out the door, picking up his kit. Just before he reached the door as Greg disappeared down the outside verandah steps, Grissom turned around. "Oh, and lock the doors. It might be people on the other side of the law who come through it next, instead of us," he warned, and with that he was gone. Peter let out a breath of air, closed the door without locking it and went to the phone. He dialed a number and waited for the person on the other end to pick up.
"Hello?" came a rough, deep voice.
"Spike? They came..."
A/N: how do you like that? no annoying notes at the top of the page... keep reading! no, wait... stop to review, first! S.V.P., of course.
