A/N: I'm going to try something new - I'm going to do a little backstory on Ecklie. I'm also not going to make him into a huge ss. I'm in this mood where I am really missing the first season. I miss how everyone used to get along. Hope you like the update - Jac

Grissom's POV:

"Jim, I'm starting to wonder if I should even take your phone calls anymore," I said as I answered my ringing telephone.

"I'm going to take you off my speed dial when this whole mess is over with," Brass grumbled, "Sara and Nick got to the cabin okay. Catherine and Warrick made it to your desert hideaway. But that's not what I called about."

"Will I have to kill the messenger?" I asked as I began to run the shoeprint found at the last crime scene through the database.

"Ronald Morgan was found dead in his car. His car was sitting in his driveway. His wife saw him pull in to the driveway around 5 pm. She became suspicious when he was not in the house within thirty minutes. I guess he was a friendly guy . . . liked to talk to the neighbors about the Red Sox," Brass recited, "Bullet threw and threw the hands. Lodged itself in his head. Looks like a 9 mm."

"Jesus," I cursed under my breath, "You think it's him again."

"His wife said he's always done his civic duties. He's been on seven juries, Gil. So much for being a good citizen," Brass said, "We're out in Henderson on Mason Drive. Just follow the shine of the news media."

"I'll be out there as soon as I can," I said with a sigh.

"Another one?" Ecklie said as he stood in the doorway to the lab.

"The guy served as a juror on seven cases," I replied.

"You're team is tapped out. I'll come help you at the scene," Ecklie replied. I sat staring at him with my eyebrow raised. It was out of character for him to be so civil to me. It was out of character for him to spend more time in the lab than need be.

"Sure. I'll get Greg, and we'll head out in five minutes," I replied. The tone of my voice indicated that I was skeptical of his motives.

"Sara's fragile. I didn't really know that until I began reading her file. She was probably too young to remember, but I was an intern that worked on her mother's case. I never put two and two together," Ecklie replied.

"She is fragile," I said because I didn't know what else to say to him.

"The case was gory and bad, Gil. I never realized how it has stayed with her for all these years," Ecklie replied with a downcast gaze, "The scene was so bad that I remember going home that morning and vomiting for hours."

"Thank you for your compassion, Conrad. I'll meet you outside in five minutes," I replied as I brushed passed Ecklie to find Greg.

"I'm sending the epithelials to the FBI. They have better equipment . . . I just can't get a good enough profile. I think Sara's sunscreen might have denatured the DNA," Greg rambled.

"That's okay. Is Mia ready to take over?" I asked.

"Yeah, she's eating something in the break room," Greg replied.

"I need you to come to a scene with me . . . and Ecklie," I said. Greg looked up shocked at the prospect.

"He did it again?" Greg asked as he shook his head.

"In Henderson. He's brazen. Right in the driveway at 5 in the evening," I said as I tried to stifle a yawn.

"Let me tell Mia. I'll get my stuff and meet you in the parking lot," Greg replied.

We loaded into my Denali. The déjà vu that I was feeling was chilling. I had a feeling that it might continue until we had some kind of forensic evidence to point us in the direction of a suspect. I was startled at how sloppy the scenes were, but there was a complete lack of useful forensic evidence. I had placed all my faith in Sophia's ability to finish working on my shoeprint and begin working on the fingerprint we found this morning.

The house was straight from a perfect picture postcard. Everything was perfect right down to the white picket fence that separated the yellow ranch from the neighboring houses. The landscaping was immaculately placed with frog statues interspersed between the hardy foliage. The only flaw was the bright red blood that had seeped out of the door seal and on to the concrete. It was a far cry different from the opulence that overwhelmed me this morning.

"Ronald Morgan a sixty year old programming executive at the Christian radio station. One of the last true pieces of Americana left in this city. Wife found him at five thirty – thirty minutes after his car pulled into the driveway. She thought he was talking to the neighbors or tinkering in the garage. He never made it that far," Brass said as he rubbed his furrowed forehead.

"This house is right out of the 1950s," Greg commented. He must have also been wondering why suburban perfection had to go so terribly wrong.

"The wife is devastated. I'm going to take her in to the station for her comment. I don't want her to have to see you guys and the coroner poking around her husband's body," Brass said as he marched off to the front porch. I could see a radiant-looking older woman peeking out the mirror occasionally. I could smell what she had been cooking for supper the minute that Brass opened the front door. We watched Brass escort the woman out of the house and into his car. He wrapped an arm around her; if he hadn't, she would have likely fallen to the ground. Her facial features were blunted by the heavy weigh of shock and disbelief. Unfortunately for her, this would all become real. Suburban life would never be the same again.

"I'll take the perimeter of the property," Ecklie said as he directed his attention on the fence line.

"Greg, I want you to talk to the neighbors. Find out what they saw and heard. Find out anything you can," I said. Greg nodded and straightened his wrinkled clothing. He approached a crowd of people congregated across the street. I could hear crying among the soft roar of the stunned crowd.

"David," I said as I approached him.

"He tried to protect himself . . . put his hands up to shield his face. The damage is visibly consistent with that of this morning's scene. He did it again," David said.

"Do we have pictures of the body yet?" I asked as I began to load the cartridge into my digital camera.

"No. You, Greg, and Ecklie are the only ones at the scene. Dr. Robbins called to let me know that someone from day shift was at the morgue reviewing the Winston autopsy. She's going to wait there until we get Mr. Morgan to the morgue," David explained. It looked as if he might have been awake just as long as I had.

"Okay, give me a few minutes," I said as I began snapping away.

"Griss, I've got a description of a suspicious car seen driving around the neighborhood around 4 pm. I'm going to take a little walk to see if maybe the car was dumped nearby," Greg said. I told him to be extremely careful.

"Potato," I whispered to myself as I began to photograph the concrete and the side of the car. The guy obviously knows his stuff. I guessed that 10 years in prison was more like a tutorial in payback. He had a plan; that made him so much more dangerous.

"Their lawn is like a turf. No footprints . . . nothing that looks out of place," Ecklie said startling me, "I'm going to root around the neighbor's yards. See if I can look in their trashcans for cigarette butts and stuff."

"Look for the remnants of a potato. He used a potato silencer," I said as I straightened up.

"What the hell do we do next?" Ecklie said. Though it was more of a question than a statement, there was no easy answer. Until the evidence spoke and Vega was able to go through years of case files, we waited until he committed another crime.

"Hey," Detective O'Reilly said as he approached the scene, "Jim asked me to come out here to give you so good news."

"It better be good," Ecklie said. His eyes were still fixed on the suburban disaster.

"We have it narrowed to one case, two suspects," O'Reilly replied.

"Two suspects?" I asked.

"Two brothers tried together for rape and aggravated assault of a stripper ten years ago to the day," he said, "From what Vega told me, both sound guilty as hell. The jury didn't even need the evidence to convict them. Vega is searching for both brothers Grimm."

"Nice Grissom-ism," Ecklie commented.

"I spent the entire drive trying to come up with something," the detective said proudly. I didn't know whether to laugh or hit him. It felt wrong to laugh in the presence of something so horrible.

"Okay, I'll be done with the scene in less than two hours. Conrad, can you call the lab to see if auto can get out here ASAP?" I asked. I wanted that car. I wanted to fingerprint the hell out of the driver's side door.

"Aren't you going to ask what the hitch is? These cases are never that open and shut . . . black and white . . . as we want them to be," O'Reilly asked.

"I've had enough mystery and suspense for the day," I replied.

"Twins. Identical twins," O'Reilly replied.

"The evidence would have implicated both in a heartbeat. I'd pissed if I was the innocent one," Ecklie replied with wide eyes.

"Gotta love this job," O'Reilly said as he shook his head. I actually really, really hated this job today. I hated that I had to send my CSIs to safehouses, so that they couldn't be harmed. I hated that every member of the lab was working on zero energy. I had resorted to pure adrenaline hours ago. I still clung to the wish that maybe I was just dreaming. I was ready to wake up.

"Let's get the evidence before there is no more evidence to get," I said as I began to collect pieces of the potato.

"What can I do to help?" O'Reilly asked.

"Go with Conrad. He's going to talk to the neighbors about looking in trashcans. I'm looking for a potato with a huge hole in it," I said as I motioned toward the off-white bits on the ground.

"Son-of-a-bitch is smart. I hate 'em when they are smart," O'Reilly said as he walked off with Ecklie.

Two hours and a scant amount of evidence later, we were back in my Denali. We followed the tow truck carrying the victim's car. Greg asked me how I was going to fingerprint the potato that he found in a yard three blocks away. I barely heard him. Ecklie said that we could probably put it in the chamber. I said that Jackie would know. That woman knew everything about fingerprinting. Greg nodded and thanked Ecklie. The mood in the air was tense. Tense because of my relationship with Ecklie; tense because I still wasn't sure if the evidence was enough to substantiate a very circumstantial case.

When we got back to the lab, I handed over the victim's vehicle to the day shift. They eagerly suited up and went at fingerprinting every inch of the driver's side. I handed the tuber over to Jackie, who was called in lend her expertise in fingerprinting. Greg and Mia went at trying to determine the paternity of the potato bits found at the scene. Ecklie said he was going to go to the PD to find out the status of our manhunt and the status of the rest of the people involved with the trial. I went to see Doc Robbins.

I was a man of little faith, but I prayed that Mr. Morgan would be the last man to die at the hands of our murderer . . . I prayed that our evidence was stronger than it appeared . . . I prayed that this would be over in just a few hours.

I had this sinking feeling that my prayers might not be answered.