Feasibility Study
Written by: Ms Maggs / Edited by: KJT
Chapter 74: Losing It – Part 3
August 22, 2005 (Day 122)
The Grissoms'
6:13 a.m.
While Sara was standing in front of the bathroom mirror spraying her hair, she glanced out of the corner of her eye at her husband, who was touching up his beard. "Sooo…ready for your first day on the job, Master Criminalist Grissom?"
"I was wondering when you were going to start teasing me about that," He complacently commented as he set down his razor and brushed a few whiskers off his amber button-down short-sleeved shirt.
"The waiting is over." Lightly laughing, she tucked her hair behind her ears. "How do I look? Do I look wonderful enough to be the wife of The Master Criminalist?"
"Are you kidding?" He scoffed, "Who's going to look at you when The Master Criminalist is walking down the hall?"
"OH!" She tossed her hairbrush at his head.
Ducking the flying brush Gil laughed, "Just seeing if you're awake this morning."
Grabbing the necklace she had selected to wear with her aqua v-neck fitted shirt, she clasped it around her neck. "I got eleven glorious hours of sleep so I have plenty of energy to tackle you if you launch another smart-ass comment my way."
"Yeah and I'm so sore from Irving's boot camp I wouldn't be able to defend myself, so I guess I'll be keeping my smart ass remarks to myself."
Watching him hobble out of the bathroom she couldn't stop her smirk. "You look like you rode a horse for a day. Quite the power image you'll be projecting today…Master."
Glancing back over his shoulder he posited, "Why do you get to be a smart ass, but not me?"
Staring at him like he couldn't figure out two plus two she replied, "Because I'm most likely gestating your progeny."
"Ahh…" He grabbed his birthday watch from the dresser. "So I'll be living this way for nine months."
Coming up from behind she slipped her arms around his waist and whispered in his ear, "And then I'll be able to say…I gave birth to your progeny. That should carry me for oh…a decade or two. Dontcha think?"
"Depends on the number of hours you spend in labor."
Her hands went to his shoulders and she gave a big squeeze.
"Damn!" The muscle pain was excruciating.
"Yeah…you can't handle that, but I'll be pushing the equivalent of a bowling ball out of my body." Giving one more squeeze she taunted, "Still not sure of your answer."
"At least two decades."
Greg's Apartment
6:22 a.m.
Sitting at the kitchen island sipping from the mug full of Kona Diamond Tawny had poured for him a few minutes ago, Greg felt like a million bucks…which was an excellent deal for a guy who only had thirty grand to his name…especially when the thirty grand was from a lucky slot win.
Already dressed for work in a semi-conservative yellow and green striped button-down shirt and jeans, Greg mindlessly thumbed through the newspaper and enjoyed his coffee. And while he savored this peaceful moment, he rejoiced knowing that in twenty four hours he and Tawny had managed to double his salary for the year. And now with Tawny's new job working for Ron Grissom, things would actually be comfortable even with the baby on the way.
"Greg!"
Tawny's frantic shriek startled him enough to spill coffee all over the paper.
"Oh my god! Come here!"
"What!" He darted into the bedroom. "What's wrong!" When he got there he saw Tawny standing in front of the mirrored closet door with her little pink boy shorts tugged down slightly. "Look! I've got a little bulge!"
Clutching his chest he forced air into his lungs. "You scared me to death. Considering how sore I am I can't believe I flew in here that fast. Must have been the pure adrenaline rush from you freaking me out."
"Sorry." But she remained all smiles as she pointed to her teeny pooch.
Now that his pulse was dropping from the 100's, Greg was able to focus. "Are you sure that's not from scarfing all those Krispy Kremes my dad brought you? Because I couldn't help but notice they're gone."
"It's been so long since a man brought me donuts I got carried away." Reaching out she grabbed his hand and placed the palm of it on her bulge. "Feel it. You feel the difference."
He went from skeptic to believer in one touch. "It really is…" Surprised by his emotional reaction, he jittered a smile. "Wow. It's really happening. Until now it's only been something I could hear you tell me about, but this…I can feel."
Lifting her gaze she tenderly asked, "How does it feel?"
Honestly it felt 99 percent perfect, but he told her, "Awesome." Then in silence he chided himself for letting the one percent of imperfection ruin the moment.
Finally he understood why Tawny was so adamant about going through with the CVS test she had scheduled in two and a half weeks, even though it presented a tiny risk to the baby. He realized she must feel the same way… every exciting moment in this terrifying yet fantastic journey will be shadowed by one percent of melancholy, and when we're going through the most life-altering and wonderful experience of our lives, it should feel 100 percent right. Every thrilling statement shouldn't have an addendum…I felt our baby kick! Assuming of course, it's our baby.
"You're thinking it too." She sighed, "I can see it in your eyes. Everything shows up in your eyes, Greg."
"I'm so sorry." He pulled her close and smoothed his hands over her back. "My mind started wandering and…I'm ecstatic, I really am…I'm a little nervous that's all."
"Seventeen days."
"It's crazy, the things I'm saying lately." He laughed at himself as he bravely looked her in the eyes. "At the gym yesterday I was telling Gris and Irving that it was fate that made me show up at your place without protection because this was meant to be. Like saying that stuff out loud…I guess it's a subconscious attempt to convince myself the baby has to be mine. Which we know it's going to be and yet…"
"It's a dark cloud hanging over what should be the most joyous thing we ever do together, I know…"
The ring of the phone tempered the moment.
"That has to be your mom," Tawny sweetly remarked as she walked to the nightstand to grab the phone. "Nope…it says, ChemTech Resources."
"Hmm…." He took the phone and answered, "Greg Sanders."
"Mr. Sanders…just the man I was hoping to reach," The bold voice on the other end of the phone said. "I'm Gary Klein. I'm with ChemTech Resources, a staffing firm located in San Jose. I received a call from one of my contacts at Forensic Science Communications giving me a heads up about your soon to be published paper on PCR DNA technology."
"Okay…" Greg shrugged when Tawny mouthed what's the call about? "Do you have a question on my paper?"
"No, I have an offer I'd like to run by you. I'm trying to recruit a DNA Synthesis Chemist for a research firm in San Diego developing genetic analysis products and I have a feeling you might be an excellent fit."
"Oh…" He covered the phone and whispered, "He's a recruiter calling me about a job opening. Got my name from someone at the journal…"
"Mr. Sanders..."
"Yes, Sir…sorry." Greg winked at Tawny. "While I thank you for your interest I'm not looking to switch…"
"Ninety-Eight thousand dollars is the bottom of the salary range."
That caught Greg's ear. "Ninety-Eight thousand is the bottom."
"This isn't a county job, Mr. Sanders. The benefits are outstanding and they would fully fund a Ph.D. if you chose to pursue one…and considering your academic record I can't imagine why you wouldn't want to add it to your impressive list."
"Uh…"
The recruiter forged on. "I know it's early in the morning, but when I get a lead I like to pounce. Can we set up a time to talk in more detail?"
"Really I…" His gaze lowered to that tiny bulge above the waistband of Tawny's boy shorts. "How about e-mailing me some details? I'm on AOL…ChemPunk."
"Will do. Thanks for your time, Mr. Sanders."
When he clicked off the phone he shook his head. "That was wild."
"Ninety-eight thousand dollars?"
"Yeah…and benefits, including Ph.D sponsorship."
"Sorry…" She confidently stated, "Not enough to give up your dream. I know your fantasies, remember? And don't even think about selling out because of the baby."
"My dad would tell me I'm crazy."
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed she remarked, "Which is funny because you're finally doing exactly what your dad always wanted you to do."
"How so?" He sat next to her.
"You're doing something you're not naturally perfect at. You said it yourself, that's what he always wanted…for you to be average and have to work to improve and be great at it. School was a breeze. You could phone it in when you worked in the lab. You'd be sleepwalking at this fancy company." Capturing his eyes she said, "You're in the right job because you're finally learning what it feels like to work for something, and your dad was right…it feels great. Anyone can take the easy way out, Greg…you didn't opt to do that when I first told you about the baby. You're just not that kind of guy. I love that about you. Don't change."
A smile found its way to his lips. "Thank you for that."
"Now you better get your butt out of here or Nick will fire you for being late." She pecked his lips. "Have a good day."
"How can I not with a beginning like this?"
Carrie and Nick's Apartment
6:40 a.m.
When Nick woke up at five that morning after getting fifteen hours of rejuvenating sleep he was happy to find Carrie curled up in his arms. So happy that he decided to rouse her with a flurry of kisses to her neck until she was awake enough to hear him proclaim his happiness.
Having been peacefully stirred from eleven hours of serene slumber in the best of ways, Carrie woke in a fantastic mood. When she turned to meet her fiancé's eyes the love between them flowed. And at that moment, both wanted nothing more than to launch into the throes of passion. That's when they simultaneously realized neither had brushed their teeth before heading to bed the previous day and…they both had to pee. Having learned from his mistake the day before, Nick let Carrie have the master bathroom and he hurried to the guest powder room.
After taking care of all their hygiene needs they returned to the exact same position in bed for Take Two of waking in each other's arms and successfully segued into nothing beats a little pre-dawn lovin'. With her books from Amazon still being packaged for shipping in Topeka, Kansas, Carrie wasn't ready to initiate something new, so she told Nick he was in charge and after fifteen hours of rest he was happy to oblige.
Now, eighty minutes later they were rushing to get to work on time.
Nick raced to the closet to grab a shirt, selecting a beige pullover. "If Greggo gets there before me I'll never hear the end of it because I've already lectured him on punctuality twice."
Carrie laughed to herself thinking…and Sara will assume it's because I had you locked in the bedroom.
Crime Lab
7:00 a.m.
Pete, Jas, Greg and Sara sat around the conference table waiting for their now tardy boss.
"That's it!" Greg pointed to his green Fossil watch. "Boss man's late."
Looking through the glass walled room Jas confirmed, "Not even in sight. Are we going to give him the ten-minute Professor courtesy wait?"
"I thought it was fifteen?" Pete elaborated with a self-mocking statement. "Or is that because I'm out of touch at thirty-six and you, being only twenty-four, know times have changed? Just another example of you being too hip for me, Jazzy."
Having enjoyed several moments like this with Pete over the last couple of weeks Jas replied, "You know it."
Sara noted the obvious flirt as a smile formed on her lips. This is what Gil and I must have looked like when we were in the chemistry-denial stage.
Greg jumped in to clarify the rule. "When I was in school it depended on the college degree the instructor held. It was ten if he had a Bachelor's…which was pretty unheard of where I went, fifteen for a Master's and twenty for a Ph.D."
"So we have to wait seven more minutes…" Sara confirmed, "…because Nick had only mastered one thing as a bachelor, and he didn't go to college for it, he went to charm school."
The group cracked up and as they attempted to recover the boss hustled into the room at 7:05.
"I'm really sorry guys," Nick apologized in a tone profuse with embarrassment as he took a seat and opened his portfolio. "No excuses. Won't happen again."
Greg tried to keep his mouth shut, but failed. "Maybe we should just come in and start working like we did for Grissom, rather than starting every day with this conformist routine. Then, whenever you arrive, and after you handle the pressing matters a man of your responsibility faces, you can summon us for your daily pow-wow. That way we won't waste the County's money or lose productivity, and you as the boss, will have more flexibility in your schedule…as you should, being the top dog."
Pete, Jas and Sara waited with baited breath as Nick glared at Greg and worked to formulate a response.
Finally Nick snipped, "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Sanders. For the record since you're the newest member of the team, I've been late once in the four months I've been shift supervisor…today…and only five minutes. If it ever becomes a habit, which I'm certain it won't, I'll consider your suggestion, but for now I plan on sticking to the conformist routine. If you'd like to discuss it further, we can do so later during your weekly one-on-one. I'd be happy to tack on some extra time after we finish reviewing your illustrious personnel file. Is that flexible enough for you?"
Feeling the bite of the Alpha male Greg quickly barked, "Works for me. Thanks."
Pete took the opportunity to have a little fun. "Personally, I enjoy the conformist morning routine. It helped us bond as a team, something we were sorely lacking prior to your arrival, Nick. Greg's only been on Days less than two weeks, so he hasn't come to appreciate the advantages of your management style. Once he does I'm sure he'll afford you the respect you deserve."
"Thank you, Pete." Nick cracked a grin. "For that very impressive load of bullshit you just dropped at my feet."
"Anytime, Sir." Pete burst out laughing. "Greggy thought I was serious."
"I was just kidding too!" Greg lied while joining in the group laughter. "Jeez, Nick, couldn't you tell?" He rolled his eyes. "No wonder you were the first one to lose at poker. You're not very good at reading people."
Under the table, Sara kicked Greg signaling that he should shut up. She used to do that when she could tell he was getting on Gil's last nerve.
Taking the hint Greg rubbed his hands together. "Sorry, I'm shutting up…just tell me what I'm working on, Boss."
"My last nerve." Grabbing his beeping pager, Nick read the message. "Ahhh…DB with all the trimmings." Grinning at Greg he happily announced, "You're coming with me, Weak Guts. I'm using this one toward your six-month CSI 1 assessment."
Jim Brass's Office
7:15 a.m.
Jim and Gil sat at the small round table in the corner of the office brainstorming a list of priorities for The Master Criminalist.
"The sky's the limit, Gil," Brass assured him. "As long as we stay within budget."
"Solve-rate has to go up if we're going to take back the number two spot. That takes manpower and…"
"Woman Power…" Sara added as she strolled over to the table. "Shouldn't The Master be expected to be more Zen and say People Power?" Once she had both men smiling Sara announced, "I'm actually here to tell you that Nick thought you might be interested in insinuating yourself into the case he just got. Vartann thinks it looks ritualistic."
Gil jumped from his seat and winced. "I keep forgetting I can barely move."
Brass rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you want your husband to turn into a muscle-bound steroid freak, Boom Boom. Aren't his money and intelligence enough for you? Do you really need the trifecta of perfection?"
"I'm a very greedy girl," she teased.
"Are you working the case?" Gil inquired of his wife.
"No," Sara chuckled. "Greg pissed off Nick at the morning rally by suggesting we do away with the conformist ritual. So now he's taking Greg hoping that Weak Guts will lose it."
Brass stood and caught Gil's eye. "Yeah…Sanders is definitely your boy…an independent thinking, non-conformist with no use for management or meetings, or the common sense to know when it's in his best interest to sit quietly at the feet of a bigger dog. I predict a rough ride for him over the years."
Gil unfurled a satisfied smile. "I couldn't be prouder." After winking at Sara he announced, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to insinuate myself in this case…and make sure my boy doesn't hurl on Nick's boots while working it."
Having just explained to Gil what happened at his apartment between Greg and Heather, Brass couldn't resist. "Yeah, rumor has it he's already ruined a pair or two of boots in this town!"
"I'll talk to you later, Jim," Gil groaned.
Sara smiled at Jim. "So you made it home safe with Tawny as your designated driver."
"My ears didn't make it," He joked while taking a seat behind his desk. "Prince Chuckles crooned a love song to Princess Tawny. I think the title was, Now That I Got You Preggers I Realize You're Mine Forever So Let's Make the Best of It, or something really romantic like that."
"You're such a sweetheart, Jim."
"Yeah."
As she headed out the door she teased by yelling back, "I hope your mystery woman knows she's one lucky lady."
Brass cringed as he committed the sin of omission once more.
Nick's Tahoe
7:28 a.m.
Once alone inside the vehicle with Greg, Nick snapped, "What the hell, Sanders?"
Jumping from the bark he blurted, "What did I do now? My kit is packed properly, I didn't track dirt in your truck, and I didn't go anywhere near your radio controls. What!"
"It's what you did before asshole!" He scolded. "As a friend you can tell me whatever the hell you want about my work style, when we're alone. And if you don't like my meetings and have a suggestion, great! Frame it properly and tell me at the appropriate time. But don't ever undermine me in front of the team, because then I have no choice but to come down on your stupid ass and highlight the fact that you're a politically tone deaf idiot!"
"Oh that." He chomped on the corner of his bottom lip.
"Yes, that!" Nick huffed. "Seriously…you don't have to absorb everything from Grissom. Play a little ball my friend, and you'll have an easier time in life…pick your battles and launch them when it's appropriate and more importantly, launch them when you have the greatest chance of winning them. You blindside your boss in a room full of his subordinates and make him look like a fool, you're getting shot down even if you're hawking the ultimate solution for world peace. That's how it works with me, with Brass, with the Sheriff, in Vegas, anywhere and everywhere. Got it?"
"Absorbed."
"Good." He started the truck.
With that behind them Greg impatiently inquired, "Now can I touch your stereo?"
"Yeah…put something on that will get you in the zone…the no-puke zone." Relaxing his expression Nick said, "Because you're going to have a valid chance to make me look bad by proving I was wrong about you. Handle this case well and you've got bragging rights, Pal."
Greg pulled out the tin of Altoids he bought on the way in to work. "I have my trainer's mantra in my head…deep breath, swallow hard, suck on a mint and think about something else."
Nick laughed. "I'd leave out the deep breath part in certain circumstances or you won't see steps two, three and four before tossin' your cookies."
"Absorbed." He upped the radio volume when he heard Linkin Park's Points of Authority.
"You don't like Linkin Park."
"But you do." His mouth spread into a smile. "I'm playing a little ball…sucking up to the boss. When we arrive at the scene I fully intend to walk two feet behind you and offer to spit polish your boots in front of the cops."
Watching Greg head bang in jest, Nick groaned, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather work for Warrick? Word is he's only holding weekly meetings."
Grissom's Tahoe
7:31 a.m.
Driving behind Nick on the way to the scene, Gil remembered that Sara had an appointment with Dr. Myers today.
Grabbing his cellphone he punched her auto-dial number and waited for her to answer.
"Do you miss me already, Master Criminalist Grissom?"
"Yes…but that's not why I'm calling." As he spoke he continued following Nick's Tahoe to the scene. "When you go to Dr. Myers today can you cancel my appointments for this week? I'll need to rework them now that I'm working during the day."
"Are you sure you're not avoiding? Because I work Days and adjust my schedule to fit in my appointments."
He knew that was coming and had his answer ready. "I'm only avoiding this week because it's my first week on the job and I want to jump in with both feet and not have to explain why I'm taking personal time twice the first week. I'm keeping all my promises, Sara. I absolutely see the value in the sessions." Even though he was alone in the car he smiled. "Remember the steps I've taken as the more open and available Gil Grissom…I had a party at my house and didn't hide in the bedroom the whole time…I even had fun. And what about my relationship with my father… I had him over for dinner without strangling him, I toured his four million dollar mansion with him without shooting him in the armored firing range room, and lest we forget…I shook his hand and agreed to a fresh start. Lastly, just to prove how much more tolerant I've become, I haven't thought of killing Greg in weeks…now I just fantasize about removing his vocal chords."
By now she was chuckling into the phone. "That's a pretty decent progress report for a couple of weeks. I'll cancel your appointments for this week then you can call when you get a chance to adjust future ones."
"Thanks." He parked his truck behind Nick's, about 300 yards from the warehouse where the DB was located. "I'm at the scene so I'll talk to you later. Have a good session, Sweetheart."
"Thanks. Have fun insinuating yourself at Nick's crime scene. I'll be interested to know how he handles that, because I thought it was annoying when you did it to me last week, and he's an even bigger control freak."
As he emerged from his vehicle Grissom laughed at his wife's comment. "I'll let you know if he gets more ruffled by my presence than you. Talk to you later, Honey."
"Bye, Master G!"
Tucking his phone in his pocket he smiled and went around to the back of the truck to grab his kit.
"Hey, Gris!" Nick had a cocky grin on his face as he approached. "Take a look." He pointed to a cop, presumably a rookie based on his age and demeanor, who was purging the last of his stomach contents just beyond the crime scene tape. "Twenty bucks says Weak Guts unloads his breakfast."
"I'm in," Grissom immediately confirmed. "I say he holds it down."
Greg, holding a camera in one hand and his kit in the other, decided to get in on the action. "Boss, I've got twenty on me keeping it down. That is, if you're up for losing forty because, I feel an extraordinary amount of gut-fortitude this morning." How could he not after Tawny's ego-boosting comments that morning? He had something to prove.
"You're on, Greggo."
Vartann had seen the CSIs pulling up and crossed under the police tape just in time for the tail end of the conversation. "Sorry, guys, but I'm pretty sure Stokes is walking out of here with forty bucks." Feeling a little green around the gills himself he cautioned, "Phelps thinks the vic is five years old and what this psycho did to her sent every cop on the scene out for a breather and a phone call home to the wife to check on the kids. Let's just say I really hope you end up telling me she died first and the rest came later."
"Bets are off." Nick swallowed hard and informed Greg, "No bets when kids are involved. No jokes either."
Grissom's pulse began notching. "Do we know how long she's been dead?"
While watching Greg chomp a handful of breath mints Vartann answered, "Phelps is in there now trying to make the call. Looks pretty fresh to me and we don't have any missing person reports yet, so it could be that the family doesn't even know she's gone yet. It's summer…kids stay up later and sleep in. Hell of a conversation that's gonna be." Turning, he led the way. "Let's not waste any more time because I don't want the family, when they do miss her, to have to wait any longer than necessary to ID."
Nick held back Greg. "All kidding aside…if this is as bad as I'm imagining it and you get in there and know you're gonna lose it, don't wait and end up rushing out…you could taint the scene if you don't make it, and it will only look worse to the old timer cops hanging around. Understood?"
"Yes," He answered while staring at the ground.
"You take all the time you need." After giving him a supportive slap on the back Nick said, "Oh…and skip your plan to walk two feet behind me. Stay next to me and don't hesitate to ask questions or speak up if you need help."
Tightening the grip on his kit Greg started walking. "Thanks."
Up ahead, Grissom continued to pump Vartann for details. "Who found her?"
Holding the tape he waited for Nick and Greg to catch up. "The body was discovered by the guy who opens up the facility every morning…Derek Eckstrom. We already ran him. He's clean. He also agreed to provide a DNA sample when you got here. He's across the way in building 2 sitting on the floor curled in a ball. I have an officer with him, but frankly he needs a psychologist"
Greg worked to steady his breathing while trying not to imagine the nightmare only fifty yards away.
Nick calmly asked, "Did he see anyone else or notice any vehicles?"
"He said no, but he's still really shaken and I'm not even sure he heard the questions properly. I'd give it some time and see if he calms down a little more." At the entrance of the warehouse Vartann paused. "I'll stay out and give you some space. One of you come out and get me if you there are questions."
Greg knew that was another really bad sign In case he wasn't able to remember after walking in, he yanked out a pair of gloves and snapped them on.
Grissom step aside and heeded Sara's warning. "It's your case Nick. I'm a consultant and an observer. You are still the boss."
After a deep breath, Nick clicked on his flashlight, gripped his kit tighter and walked through the large open doorway of the furniture warehouse.
Greg and Grissom stayed only a step behind…
Grissom because he was already consumed by professional curiosity and an overwhelming desire to begin the process of nailing the bastard who would do the horror he predicted he would find.
Greg stayed close because he was terrified.
David Phelps looked over at the CSIs. "Welcome to the nightmare I'll be having for the rest of my life. You do know my wife and I are expecting a girl, right?"
In the center of the concrete floor was a beautifully ornate dollhouse crafted out of wood, the kind of dollhouse that unfolds to reveal the tiny rooms inside. There in the middle of the warehouse, it was left open and dolls as well as small pieces of furniture were carefully positioned within its six rooms.
Greg's and Grissom's eyes immediately focused on the dollhouse, both men sensing it was the key to understanding the crime. It also provided a temporary innocent distraction from looking at the bloody body of the tortured little girl who was still wearing a cute dress and whose head was covered in a black trash bag, cinched around her neck with a pink satin ribbon.
However, while Greg and Grissom stood one step behind their leader and continued intensely staring at the dollhouse they were unaware of the drama unfolding.
Glancing up from the victim's body, David Phelps called out, "Nick?" When he didn't get a response he shouted, "Hey, Nick!" Then he followed it up with, "Grissom! Make sure he doesn't pass out. I've never seen him react this way in the field."
The next sound was Nick's kit and flashlight thudding against the concrete floor.
"Nicky?" Grissom took a step forward and saw the color gone from his face and in its place was an expression he never recalled seeing before. "What's going on?" After lowering his kit he placed his hands on Nick's shoulders. "Nicky, come on…answer me."
After placing his kit and the camera on the floor, Greg stepped forward to face his boss and when he did, he was stunned to see him looking so out of it. "Whoa."
David left his position over the body and came closer. "He's in shock."
Not getting a response Grissom gave Nick a hard shake. "Snap out of it, Nicky."
The shake got a response…one mumbled word…"Coccinellidae."
Feeling his own emotions spiraling from watching his normally cool, calm and collected friend suddenly start losing his mind, Greg nervously remarked, "Coccinellidae, that's…"
"Latin for ladybug," Grissom answered.
David added, "They're on the vic's dress."
Nick began to ramble. "He said they were Coccinellidae…it's…she's okay…she looks…she's okay. She was playing with the dollhouse and fell asleep."
"I don't get it. He's seen worse and not flinched." Grissom turned to Greg, "Aside from the horror of the crime itself, do you have any idea why he's reacting this way? There has to be more…on the drive over did he…"
In a shaky voice he replied, "No, nothing. He was totally calm." Greg's discomfort rose exponentially. "This is freaking me out. I've never seen him like this. Snap him out of it." Then he wondered, was it something to do with Carrie's past? With Nick's own trauma? Post traumatic stress disorder? Was it the dollhouse? Did Carrie have a dollhouse? His mind continued to race.
"Nicky!" Grissom shouted in his face. "Look at me."
As the terror mounted within him, Nick's mind cycled toward a final decision…fight or flight. "Coccinellidae…Sean…he said they were Coccinellidae…the dress…they're on the dress…she's five…Vartann said the vic looked FIVE…THE DRESS…the bag…I can't see her face…she crossed the street…Oh GOD! There's blond hair sticking out of the bag…Carrie told her not to cross the street!" Then his brain sent the final answer. "NO!"
"Don't!" Grissom instinctively tried to block Nick from running toward the body, but was immediately shoved aside. "Stop him!"
"She's not dead!" Nick yelled as he pushed past Grissom.
Greg and David made an attempt to restrain their hysterical co-worker as Grissom shouted toward the door. "BACK UP NOW!"
"GET OFF ME!" Nick screamed as he easily fought his way free.
Two uniform cops raced in and saw David and Greg attempting to keep Nick from the body.
"Take him out of here!" Grissom shouted while trying to make sense of it all. The questions flew fast and furious. Why did he mention Sean?
"Gris!" Nick shouted as the cops forcibly grabbed him, dragging him from the body just as he reached it. "McKenna! Oh god…it's her dress! Gris!" Gasping for air, his knees gave out. "It's her hair! It's her favorite dress! She keeps wandering away…NO!"
Greg's whole body trembled as he helplessly watched the extreme scene. Stepping next to Grissom as the cops struggled to restrain Nick he whispered, "He knows who it is? Who is McKenna? Wait…isn't that Carrie's niece's name? I saw a photo of her when I was at Nick and Carrie's place." Closing his eyes he let his mind drift back in time and saw the photo clearly….a little girl…long blond curly hair…a beautiful smile.
The missing piece of the puzzle in place, Grissom's mind flooded with dread. "He thinks…" Whipping around he looked at the body. He had only seen McKenna once, two months ago, and with the head covered and the body bloody it was impossible to tell. From what he recalled the hair was an exact match and the dress was distinctive…red embroidered ladybugs, he had never seen one like it and surely would have remembered it if he had, but he wasn't around children very much he rationalized and it could be the most popular dress this summer. He knew first hand how the mind can play tricks in this situation. "Take him out of here now! NOW!" Grissom ordered as he pulled out his cellphone. "Get him someplace quiet. Greg, go with them!"
The cops were no longer having difficulty tempering Nick, because his mind had shifted from a fight response to anguish and his body was weak from the unexpected stress overload.
Once outside Nick desperately pleaded, "Let me go, I'm gonna be sick."
When they released him they blocked the entrance to the building in case he attempted to rush back in. Instead they saw him take off across the parking lot toward the other buildings.
All the cops outside the scene had heard the hysterics and now they were witnessing the normally unshakable Nick Stokes bolting from the scene. Lt. Domingo turned to his rookie and said, "If the scene tore down Stokes there's no need for you to feel bad about puking your guts out."
Greg followed in hot pursuit until Nick reached a large building and disappeared around the corner. Once there Greg gave a little distance and yelled, "I'm right around the corner if you need me."
The sound of Nick pounding his fists against the side of the building compelled Greg to check on him. He saw him bent over shaking uncontrollably and purging. The moment rocked him to the core. Nick was the unflappable pseudo-big brother and seeing him reduced to a quivering mess was shock to the system, much like the one he had recently, when he found Grissom crippled by a migraine in the backyard at the Pavlik crime scene.
When Nick was done emptying his stomach, he took a few steps back and crashed against the steel of the building, eventually sliding to the ground.
Greg stepped closer and knelt in front of him. "Try to hang in. It's not her. We'll get confirmation soon. The mind doesn't see things straight when it's in shock. Work through it with me…like you did with Sara when she thought the worst about the cave-in. What makes you think it's McKenna? Tell me and maybe I can help you see an alternative."
His knees to his chest, Nick fought to steady his breathing. "I saw her in that dress yesterday. Wendy said…" Emotion took his words for a moment. "McKenna never wants to take it off because…it's her…favorite dress." The world around him was spinning out of control and he fought to hang on. "She loves it…she couldn't wait to show me when…" Lost again, he couldn't find the strength to continue.
When Greg heard his cellphone ring he was grateful for the interruption and when he saw Grissom's name displayed he felt a combination of relief and terror.
"Answer it," Nick begged after forcing a gulp of air down his throat. "He knows if it's her or not." Then he lowered his head, praying it wasn't, while feeling horrible that it would still have to be someone's little girl.
"Go ahead, Grissom," Greg answered, while feeling grossly unprepared to deliver any message other than a positive one. Nick truly looked minutes away from total insanity, and Greg was certain if it was indeed McKenna, the shocking confirmation would send Nick careening over the edge.
"Where are you?" Grissom calmly inquired.
"On the side of the tallest building on the block." Asking for a location didn't bode well and Greg felt the all too familiar twinge of bile rising in his throat.
If Grissom was coming personally, Nick knew it wasn't good news. "Oh God no." In that split second he imagined the pain ing Carrie's eyes when he told her. He could already hear Wendy's heart wrenching sobs echoing in his head. Once again, life would be forever changed for Carrie and her family, and he was powerless to make it better. "No." His fingers gripped his aching head which housed his overtaxed mind.
Greg closed his eyes prepping for the dire news, but when he heard Grissom say, It's not McKenna. I just spoke with Wendy. McKenna is home coloring at the kitchen table. I'll be right there, he snapped them open and rejoiced, "It's not her! She's home safe! She's coloring at the kitchen table." Then he remembered there was still a dead little girl to be accounted for and sobered.
Nick lifted his head out of his hands. "It's not her?"
"No." He clicked off his cellphone and tucked it in his shirt pocket while breathing in and out a couple of deep ones.
"It's not her?" Nick repeated desperate to comprehend the words.
"It's not Mckenna." And just when Greg thought he had been shocked to an extreme by witnessing Nick's intense emotional reaction, Greg witnessed something he never even considered possible from his friend.
"She's really okay," Nick assured himself again as he rushed to wipe away his tears. "She's coloring? At home." Try as he might he couldn't be sure he was hearing it right. "That's what you heard?"
"Yes, that's what Gris said. He just spoke to Wendy" Greg nodded vehemently. "McKenna's home coloring."
Nick finally heard the message clearly. "She loves coloring." As the relief came so did more tears. "Yeah…she makes me pictures all the time."
"You have some in your office." Greg initiated what he hoped was a soothing conversation. "Nothing unleashes the imagination quite like a pristine 64 pack of Crayolas and a blank piece of paper, huh?"
In free association, Nick released the first words that popped into his head. "Always a good diversion on a rainy day in Texas."
"Or a hot summer afternoon in California." Greg flashed a quirky smile. "The crayons always smelled great when you opened the box for the first time, didn't they? Or is that just me who likes to do crayon whippets?"
In the midst of his mental chaos, the wacky comment incited Nick's mouth into a faint smile. "I'm guessin' that's just you, Greggo."
Grissom rushed around the corner, relieved to find them. "This isn't the tallest building, Greg!" One glimpse of Nick's distress and Grissom was eternally thankful it wasn't McKenna back at the scene. Then he felt guilty because there was still someone's special little girl back there.
"Sorry!" Greg stood up. "Under duress, it seemed like the tallest building."
Grissom steadied himself with a breath. "No…I'm sorry." The snap was from his own nerves working on him. The cryptic phone call to Wendy Blake had him rattled. At first because he had to pretend like nothing was wrong when he could be alerting her to the worst possible news, and then because he had to tell her the reason for the call and alarm her that somewhere in the city lurked a beast capable of such terror. "We're all under a lot of stress at the moment." Extending his cellphone Grissom managed a smile. "Wendy has a special someone on standby to talk to you, Nicky. Take your time. Greg and I have it covered."
Grissom knew exactly how relieving it would be for Nick to hear McKenna's voice because he had found himself in a similar situation not too long ago during the Debbie Marlin case. Even though his mind knew the dead body on the floor belonged to Debbie Marlin and not Sara, it wasn't until he saw Sara standing outside that he could breathe again.
When Nick grabbed the phone, Grissom took Greg by the arm. "Let's start processing"…which was code for, let's give him some privacy because as soon as he hears that little girl's angelic voice I know he'll be bawling his eyes out.
As they turned the corner, Greg heard Nick calmly say in a feigned good 'ol boy drawl, How's my Kenna Girl? A jagged gasp for air followed Nick's question and as they moved out of earshot, Greg was relieved not to witness the rest of the emotional charged conversation. "Gris…"
He interrupted his controlled breathing exercise. "Yeah."
"You think there's a restroom in the tallest building over there?"
"I'm sure there is."
Walking away he choked out, "I'll be back in five."
With Nick and Greg incapacitated, the Master Criminalist resumed his controlled breathing exercise and headed toward the crime scene alone.
On approach, Grissom heard the cops discussing Nick's erratic behavior including phrases like…the years caught up with him…totally snapped...just freaked…lost it. Standing in front of the group, Grissom cleared his throat. "The vic is approximately the same age as his niece, she's wearing his niece's favorite dress and has the same color hair…he thought it was her. Who wouldn't snap in that situation?" With that said, Grissom re-entered the warehouse and found David once again working alone.
Looking up from his notepad David Phelps inquired, "He okay?"
"Yes, thank you for asking." Grissom walked over to the three kits resting on the floor and opened his. From it, he grabbed a pair of gloves and his prescription bottle of Imitrex; opening it, he shook loose two pills into his palm. "May I have one of your water bottles, David?"
"Sure."
With Greg's camera in one gloved hand and the pills in the other, Grissom walked over and grabbed a water bottle from David's supply pile. "Thanks." After swallowing the medication he calmly said, "Now tell me what you know."
As he listened to the facts Grissom began snapping photos of the surreal and tragic scene. It was the first child victim he had processed since potentially creating one of his own with Sara. As he worked, he thought of their effort to create a baby and he imagined the work it took to tend to one and nurture it into childhood. Effort and work that could be undone in one minute by a monster such as the one who snuffed out the life of this precious little girl.
Minutes later, when he moved in for close-up shots, he heard Vartann at the entrance.
"Just got a missing persons call," The detective announced. "Five years old, golden blond hair, fell asleep last night in her favorite dress…white with red ladybugs…just got it for her birthday last week. Mom moved her into the bedroom around ten. Went to wake her this morning and found the window open and the bed empty. They're frantic." Vartann stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Is there a thin jagged scar on her upper right arm…about three inches long?"
Grissom adjusted his lens and answered unemotionally, "Yes." Then he snapped a photo of it.
Vartann exhaled. "Her name is Brittany Thomas. I'll be outside calling it in."
David stood and cleared his throat. "Now I need a moment."
Grissom turned with the camera. "David?"
Heading for the door he explained, "Brittany…it's one of three names we have picked out for our baby."
Alone in the warehouse with the victim, Grissom resumed taking photos. "I'm not going anywhere, Brittany," He whispered as he knelt over the body and snapped more photos. "I'll do what needs to be done, then I'll find him and then he'll pay." For the first time his conviction wasn't solely for the victim, or the nameless, faceless potential future ones…it was also for the safety of his future child…possibly a little girl named Erin, who he thought Sara would most certainly buy a dress covered in Coccinellidae.
Next Chapter: Chapter 75: Losing It – Part 5
Posting: Tuesday 5/3
Teaser: Tough day at the office…and the day has just begun.
Thanks for reading. If you have comments to share or questions feel free to review, or email me from the author page or my homepage link.
Maggs