A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a long time - I've had a really tough rotation at the medical examiner's office this month. Not too mention moving across the country for a month long rotation hasn't exactly been fun. I'll try toupdate more frequently if possible. As always, let me know what you think. -Jac

Brass' POV:

I had Ben Wilcott in custody for hours, but nothing had come of his detention. I've had to face the fact that I'm going to have to release him unless something colossal occurs relatively soon. I've been to the crime lab asking questions of anyone who will talk. All the talk has been discouraging. The fingerprints are smudged, the boot print is from a boot manufactured for fifteen plus years without alterations, and there isn't any DNA to speak of. I knew all this before I began pestering the criminalists; I knew it from the look on Greg's face. It was a look of utter despair that I had never seen before.

"I'll give you a warrant for the Ben's shoes and closet. You can't touch a single one of Brad's things. You are going to follow protocol, right?" Judge Henson said as he approached me. He was probably the first judge to set foot in the crime lab. He looked just as stressed out as everyone else I was in contact with today. Henson was probably trying to remember if any case had ever associated him with the Wilcott brothers. I, myself, had wondered that frequently over the last forty-eight hours.

"I can hold him over until the search is completed?" I asked.

"Do what you need to. I don't want the guilty party to get away with this. I don't want them to kill another judge, a lawyer, jury member, CSI, or someone else," Henson said as he placed the paper in my hand. He walked away from me with a look of fear in his eyes. I understood. No one in the court system was really safe until we had the evidence to lock away the guilty party.

"Warrant?" Gil asked as he tried to suppress a yawn. I woke him two hours earlier to let him in on the status of the warrant. I was shocked that Lady Heather answered the phone for him. I was even more shocked to hear her call him 'honey.' I had assumed that after the insulin debacle, things between them would never be the same. Lady Heather seemed to be full of surprises. Gil seemed to have his fair share too.

"Did you get some sleep?" I asked with a knowing wink.

"Enough," he simply replied. He looked more emotionally exhausted than physically exhausted, but those lines seemed to have blurred in the last two days. "Is everyone okay?"

"Sara looks like she's barely hanging in there. She has these huge bruises on her face. One of these bastards hit her hard," I replied as I tried to suppress the nausea associated with the images I had tried to block out of my mind.

"Catherine?"

"You know her. She's spiteful and quick tongued. Warrick said that she's been mean to him and Lindsey. Cath's having just as hard of a time dealing with this as Sara is," I replied. I remembered how Lindsey hid behind Warrick when he opened the door with his gun in his hand. I remembered how Catherine yelled at Lindsey to get the hell away from the door. I was impressed at how Warrick was able to take all the stress in stride. He always did that. It would come out later in the form a few packs of cigarettes and drinks at some seedy bar.

"What's the warrant for?" Gil asked. He might have asked multiple times, but I had been so deeply lost in thought.

"Closet. Ben's shoes only. I can hold him over until the search is completed . . . bring your boot print to the scene," I instructed, but I knew that Gil knew was to do despite all the lecturing that I constantly did.

"Have you seen Greg, Sophia, or Ecklie?" Gil asked as he ran a hand across his forehead.

"Greg and Sophia are sleeping. They haven't gotten any sleep since this whole mess started. Ecklie is in his office. Go grab some coffee. I'll get Ecklie ready to go," I replied as I placed a hand on Gil's shoulder. He looked up and nodded. I knew it killed him to see Sara or Catherine suffer. He loved them both in a way that was nothing short of paternal.

"Conrad, I have a warrant for the closet. You want to come help Grissom and me?" I asked as I walked into his office. He looked confused. I knew for a fact that he had gotten as much sleep as I had. I had caught a few hours here and there. I hadn't gotten nearly as much sleep as I needed.

"Grissom here?" Ecklie asked.

"Awake and ready to go," I replied.

"Okay. Let's get this over with," Ecklie said as he pulled himself out of his desk chair. His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled. It was clear to me that he hadn't been home since Sara was attacked. His attire wasn't too much different from my own.

We endured another uncomfortable car ride together. Words didn't need to be exchanged because we were all thinking the same thing. If another murder happens while Ben is in custody, we know it's Brad . . . but that small victory would occur at what cost. Things could never be that simple. Murders in Vegas were never as simple as the murders in New Jersey. Sometimes, I wondered why the hell I moved to Vegas.

The kennel and house were located on the outskirts of the suburbs. The intense heat of Vegas and the surrounding desert made this a very peculiar location for an outdoor dog kennel. The house was as I expected. I was moderately well-kept. Actually, it was reminiscent of how a divorced fifty year old man kept his home. It reminded me a lot of my apartment. Clothes were randomly dropped on the ground. There wasn't a clear delineation of what was clean and what was dirty. Dirty dishes were stacked haphazardly in the sink. Mrs. Wilcott ushered us into the room that her adult sons shared. She said to do what was needed and then get the hell out of her life.

I asked her where Brad was. She said that he was out looking for a job. She said that Ben and Brad worked at the kennel nearly non-stop yesterday and the day before. She told me that this was all ridiculous; well, she said it in much more tart words. Mrs. Wilcott nearly spit at the fact that she would need to come with us to the station for an interrogation. I think her exact words were 'over my damn dead body, asshole.' I thought a mother would and should show more interest in her sons. Mrs. Wilcott seemed distant and detached. It wasn't what I expect when we got to the house.

"Jim, we have a match," Gil called out from the bedroom. I knew just because the boots were in Ben's closet, it didn't mean they were Ben's. I was satisfied with the small victory. We left the house with Mrs. Wilcott and a pair of boots. I was courteous enough to leave and armed officer waiting for Brad to come home.