Chapter 3

"Tell me good news, man," Warrick said as he shuffled into the lab, two days of double shifts taking their toll. Nick was standing in the break room, blowing on a cup of coffee in one hand, a stack of reports in the other.

"I think we got a suspect," Nick said, offering Warrick the papers.

"Yeah?"

"Got a hit on the fingerprints I pulled from the glass of the back door around the break, and on the fingerprint I got off the inside handle," Nick said, pointing at the printouts.

"Nice."

"Brass is tracking him down right now," Nick finished, letting out a groan as he lowered himself into a chair at the table. "How'd you do?"

"Well, she didn't wake up for a few hours after you left. And I did find out we might be able to get a composite sketch together." Nick's eyebrow rose, his coffee cup posed a few inches from his lips, stalled on its trip to ingestion. "She sees with her fingers, Nick," he explained, rubbing his cheek absentmindedly. "She feels out features and thinks she can get a pretty close description if we can get some models together."

"What, you mean like little clay statues of facial features?" Nick asked, seeming skeptical.

"Something like that, yeah. Think we could arrange that?"

"Are we talking about your blind assault case?" They both turned toward the hallway, noting Grissom poking his head in through the doorway.

"Yeah," Warrick said after a pause.

"Go to the WLVU anthropology department. They might have something that could help," Grissom suggested.

"Thanks," the two CSIs said together, and Grissom only shrugged before walking away.

"I'm on it," Warrick said, picking up a coffee cup and loading up for the road.

"I'll give you a ring once we talk to this Jason Noble guy," Nick offered. "Let you know what's up. Might not need the sketch after all."

"Catch you later, man. Hey, Cath." Warrick didn't bother to stop and chat, leaving Catherine staring at Nick questioningly.

"He's got to see a professor about some body part models," Nick said with a shrug. Catherine only arched a brow, not sure if she wanted to know. Nick elaborated anyway. "Got a blind assault victim. Thinks she can help with a composite sketch if she has something to feel."

"That's new," Catherine said, delving into the coffee. "Why doesn't anyone start a new pot before we're out of the leaded stuff?" she asked, rolling her eyes as she searched the cabinet for coffee that wasn't decaffeinated to start a fresh pot of the good stuff. "You think it'll work?"

"I dunno," Nick said with a shrug. "Never heard of it before, but Warrick seems convinced."

xxx

Warrick was waiting outside a classroom after speaking with what seemed to be every person in the anthropology department, including some students, before finding someone he could talk to about a physical catalog, for lack of a better word, for Nika to reference in making a sketch. Class was in session, taught, of course, by the man he wanted to speak with, and just before students started filing out, Warrick's phone buzzed at his hip, startling him out of a trance.

"Brown."

Noble's not talking, Nick told him. He's lawyered up. Says we found his fingerprints because he installed a new door. The old one jammed. Brass and I are on our way over to Barnes' apartment to talk to Shaughnessy.

"You like him for it?"

We'll need that sketch, or something else we haven't gotten to, if Shaughnessy confirms his story.

"Right. I'm getting ready to talk to the guy at WLVU right now," Warrick said. "Keep me posted."

You got it.

Warrick flipped his phone shut and started down the steps of the auditorium, toward the professor, who was gathering papers and stuffing them rather chaotically into a messenger bag.

"Dr. Weston?" The man paused in his paper stuffing and turned slowly, peering over reading glasses.

"Yes? And you are?"

"CSI Warrick Brown, LVMPD," Warrick answered, sticking his hand out. The professor grasped it and shook once before letting go.

"How can I assist the police?"

"I'm not sure if you can, but it'd be a great help if you could." Warrick quickly explained the situation, the professor's eyes lighting up more and more as he continued. The man was practically glowing by the time he'd finished.

"Actually, I can help you," Weston said, nodding vigorously. "I have a friend who sculpts, from photos usually, and she has an extensive reference collection. If you can give me your card, I can give her a call and see if she can meet you at the police department."

"That would be great," Warrick said, fishing a card from his wallet.

"Can I give her your number so she can speak with you directly about when to meet?"

"Absolutely," Warrick said. "Any idea when that could be?"

"I'll call her just as soon as I get back to my office, actually," Weston said, stroking a salt and pepper beard. "She works for herself, naturally, so it would be a matter of her getting the collection together and making the trip, most likely."

"I really appreciate it, Dr. Weston."

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Brown," Weston said, offering his hand. Warrick called Nick on the way out to the parking lot, heading over to Casey's apartment from the university. Not twenty minutes later, Casey let him in, already holding out a glass of lemonade for him. He joined Brass and Nick in the living room, taking a seat next to Nika on a white couch, matching the one Brass and Nick perched on. Casey stayed nearby, taking a barstool at the breakfast bar.

"CSI Brown," Nika said, nodding toward him. Nick blinked quickly. "Good to see you again."

"How are you?" Warrick asked, glancing at Nick and Brass, who stared back at him.

"Tired and sore, but otherwise okay," she said with a small shrug, shifting on the couch. She leaned against the armrest, her head leaning against the back cushion, knees drawn to her chest, a Mexican blanket pulled over her and tucked under her feet. Casey noticed the exchange between law enforcement officers and sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Just because she's blind doesn't mean she doesn't recognize people." Her tone had taken an edge, somewhere between insulted and defensive. "She's missing one sense. Four are left and she's—"

"Casey!" Nika exploded, sitting up a little. All four other people turned toward her. "Lay off, already. Jesus. You'd think you were the one missing a sense, people sharing looks when you surprise them with an observation. They're here to help. Let them do their job without a fucking lecture for Christ's sake." Casey cleared her throat, shrinking a little as she turned her attention back to her lemonade. "And for the record, since it was brought up, Mr. Brown smells like vanilla and cinnamon, with a touch of something else I haven't quite figured out yet. Mr. Stokes smells like Adidas for Men cologne and Irish Spring soap. And you, Mr. Brass, smell like Old Spice and you should probably lay off the detergent. That stuff will build up in your clothes and start giving you a rash if you're not careful." All three were grinning now, and Nick finally broke the silence with a chuckle.

"Old Spice, Brass?" he asked, snickering.

"It was a gift. Shut up."

"You were asking me about Jason Noble. Yes, he installed my patio door, and no, it wasn't him the other night. I didn't recognize this guy," she said, steering the conversation back to the case. "I would have recognized Jason. He's a good friend. Lives three doors down, and his cats always get a rise out of Shasta."

"You're sure," Brass pressed. Casey took a breath, but Nika had already repeated her certainty.

"He was a stranger, I'm sure of it," she said.

"I talked to a sculptor on the way over here," Warrick said quietly, drawing her attention. "She's going to be able to set up a feature reference set for you. Hopefully a sketch will help."

"You think so?" she asked, a touch of hope in her voice.

"She can be at the department in an hour or so, if you're up for going. I told her I wasn't sure when you'd feel up to it, but she said she'd be able to work around our schedule," Warrick said.

"The sooner the better, right? Fresher memories?" she asked, sitting up a little.

"That's true to an extent, Miss Shaughnessy," Nick said.

"Nika. Annika or Nika, please. No need for formalities."

"Another day wouldn't hurt, if you don't feel like you're ready to go," Nick continued. "We don't need to push you, Nika." She smiled at the mention of her first name.

"I just want this guy caught," she said, shaking her head. "We can go now, if you'd like. Just let me get dressed." Warrick started to stand as Nika did, but she somehow managed to find his shoulder, using him to help her stand and to steady her as she arranged the blanket on the couch. She moved with confidence, navigating furniture and hallways with little feeling around. Casey didn't seem to notice. The guests and hostess remained quiet as Nika changed in Casey's bedroom, emerging a few moments later in loose jeans and a black tanktop, black Converse tennis shoes on. "Ready?"

"Miss Barnes, Casey," Brass said. "If you wouldn't mind, Mr. Stokes and I would like to speak with you. Go over some of Annika's routines." Nika noticed he used her full name.

"I'd rather –"

"It's fine Casey. There's no sense in you wasting hours of watching me cop a feel of body part models when there's more to be done that could help," Nika said gently. Casey took her hand tightly.

"You're sure."

"Stop treating me like a child," Nika said, nearly hiss-pering. "I'm fine." Casey nodded, giving Nika's hand two quick squeezes, their code for 'okay' or 'yes', and Nika went to the door, turning back to the group.

"Warrick? Are we ready?" she asked, holding an arm out slightly.

"Ready if you are," he said, walking to her side. She found his arm and looped hers around his elbow, pulling the door open with her free hand. Casey watched as he led her out carefully, waiting until the door closed to turn back to the remaining investigators.

"You know," Nika said, turning her head towards Warrick slightly, "from her door to the parking lot I know just fine. This," she said, pausing on the steps, "is the last step." To prove her point, she hopped off the metal staircase onto the concrete. "Sixteen steps and the sound of footsteps on metal near where it's bolted to concrete is a dead giveaway."

"I have to say I'm impressed," Warrick said.

"Not everyone adjusts so well," she said, shrugging. "I was always headstrong. If someone told me I couldn't do it, I tried, if for no other reason than proving them wrong." Warrick chuckled, and she smiled. "You have a nice laugh."

"Do I?"

"Absolutely," she said with a firm nod. "Just need to use it more."

"In my line of work…"

"Yeah, there's not much to laugh about," she finished.

"Right." He slowed, guiding her to the passenger side of the Tahoe. "I'm afraid my vehicle's probably going to be a bit awkward."

"SUV?"

"Yeah. And a big one at that." She grinned.

"The male preoccupation with size," she snorted. "They have a saying, you know."

"What's that?" Warrick asked, reluctantly taking the bait.

"A man with a large truck is compensating," she said.

"Ouch." His feigned injury prompted a hearty, if not evil, laugh from her as he opened the door. "So how does this work?"

"The easy way or the hard way?" she asked.

"Which would you rather have?"

"Well, for time's sake, the easy way. For pride's sake, the hard way," she said with a shrug. "And for my shins' sakes, the easy way. New vehicles leave bruises," she added, making a face she was sure would get a laugh. Warrick obliged, and she beamed at the sound.

"So let me guess. The easy way is for me to pick you up, and the hard way is for you to figure it out yourself."

"Score another for the good guys," she said with a nod. "And since standing here in the parking lot probably isn't the most pleasant thing to do in this heat, let's do this the easy way. I can learn your car some other time."

"Alright. You ready?" She nodded, and he wrapped an arm around the middle of her back, waiting until her arm looped around his neck to stoop and lift her off the ground, setting her gently in the passenger seat. Her fingers immediately searched out the seatbelt, and once he was sure she was in, he shut the door and walked around, waving quickly to the others as they descended the stairs.

As he climbed in and jammed the key in the ignition, he watched her search out the window controls, not taking long to find them and not taking any time to get hers down without moving the others. It was common sense, really. Most cars were built the same.

"I have air conditioning if it's more comfortable," he said, backing out of the parking lot.

"I like natural air. The smells, the sounds, everything," she said quietly, letting her eyes close as she leaned her head back against the seat, her hair dancing as he pulled onto the street. It took her a while to work up the nerve to say it, but she turned to Warrick: "I'm sorry about Casey. She's protective, but usually not to that extent."

"She's right," Warrick said.

"No, she's not," Nika insisted. "I know people don't expect me to notice the things I do because most sighted people have never been blind long enough to learn to compensate. And most people wouldn't consider the possibility of being able to compensate much, if at all." She shook her head, turning back to the window to let the air whip against her skin. "I know people stare. It's normal to me, and I've come to expect it. It doesn't bother me at all."

"What does?" Warrick asked.

"When people try to do stupid things for me, things that I've learned to do to live on my own. It might take me longer, but if I need help actually doing something, I know to ask rather than try on my own." She shrugged. "But other than that, I'm pretty easy going for the most part. Not much really irks me." A silence settled in the Tahoe, not strained or uncomfortable, just lacking words. When Warrick pulled into a parking spot and stopped, she undid the seatbelt, opened the door, and slid out of the cab to the ground, shutting the door and waiting. He came around, nudged her arm with an elbow, which she took, and led her into HQ, taking her back to a room he'd had set up for the session.

"Nika, meet Yvette Chao," Warrick said. Nika smiled, stuck out her hand, still grasping Warrick's arm. "All set up?"

"Ready and willing," Yvette said, taking a seat at a table. She'd arranged the table with several trays lined with various different shapes of all facial features along with a foam mannequin head and a box of toothpicks. Warrick led Nika to a chair, taking the third chair and sitting back to observe. As the session went on, Nika became more and more frustrated, trying harder and harder to discern between subtle differences. She'd go back and forth between two models, asking Yvette to describe the differences, move on to another pair, then back to the first. After an hour and a half straight, she dropped three noses on the table with a sigh.

"I'm not getting anywhere, am I?" she moaned, dropping her head to the table with a quiet thud.

"You're doing fine," Warrick said, glancing at the models that had been definitively eliminated. "You've got it narrowed down by more than half."

"And it's really getting frustrating," she said, lifting her head to rest on her chin. "Can I take a break?"

"Sure. You mind Yvette?"

"Not at all. Just let me know when you're ready to try again," she said, sounding pleasant as ever. As Nika stood, she reached out, taking her hand. "You're doing fine, Nika," Yvette said. "You're frustrated over the details is all. And we can get through those." Nika nodded, managing a tight smile as she reached for Warrick.

"Where to?" he asked, once in the hallway.

"Outside," she answered quietly. "Where it's warm and sunny." He smiled, turning down a hallway and opening a door. She stepped out into the sun, tilting her face up toward the sky a little.

"There's a little bench over here," he said, reaching for her hand. She let him lead her a little ways, turning to feel behind her before she sat, leaning forward on her knees. Warrick sat next to her leaning back, and she heard him stretch his arms out to either side. He just watched her for a while, a tiny breeze blowing her black hair over one shoulder, shadows forming where graceful slopes of muscle flexed as she moved. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and turned toward him slightly.

"I'm sorry this is taking so long," she said quietly. "I'm sure Casey's just beside herself wondering what kind of horrible things you're doing to me." Warrick snickered, prompting a smile, and shook his head.

"It's taking less time than doing it on a computer with a sighted person," Warrick said, tapping her back for emphasis.

"Really?"

"Would I lie?"

"I don't know," she said with a smirk. "Would you?" He blinked quickly. "Didn't expect that, did you." He laughed, as did she. "No, I don't think you would lie under these circumstances. Under others, depending on the situation, maybe."

"Okay, I'll give you that," Warrick conceded. "And you?"

"I lie all the time," she said seriously, adding a shrug as if it was no big deal. Warrick's brows furrowed. "Mostly to neighbors, never Betty though – she can always tell – and sometimes to Casey."

"Why?" She sighed, rubbing her eyes.

"I work internally. I don't talk about everything that's bothering me with a friend or acquaintance, or even a stranger. Not even Wally at the bar." Warrick smiled. "I know people always say that if you keep the bottle capped it'll burst, but I don't work that way. I just… I guess I have a talent for being objective about personal stuff. Problems, whatever. I can kick myself in the ass when I need it or forgive myself when I deserve it, but I've never needed a confidante."

"So you keep to yourself," Warrick said.

"Not really. I keep me to myself. The inside. I mean, people certainly know me – I'm not hiding anything except things I don't want people meddling with. I deal with shit on my own, and everything works out eventually."

"Can I ask a favor of you?"

"Sure," she said, nodding a little.

"Don't lie to me, for any reason," he said slowly. She didn't turn to him, didn't respond at all. "If you don't want to talk about something or don't know or aren't sure, just say so. Don't make something up."

"I can give you that much," she said.

"So how are you?" She licked her lips, closing her eyes for a moment.

"I'm terrified," she admitted quietly. "My back hurts like a bitch, my forehead's split open – I'm sure you can guess how that feels." She sighed. "And I'm lucky nothing more than getting beat to hell happened to me." Warrick rested a hand on her back gently, and she leaned back, settling against his arm. "And I'm still kicking myself in the ass for thinking this was punishment for something." Warrick took a breath, but she waved him off. "I know," she said. "I thought for a long time that going blind was punishment for something, and eventually convinced myself to believe there was nothing I could do."

"None of this is your fault, Annika," he said quietly. She forced a small laugh.

"You know, if you really think about it, there's really no way of knowing that. I mean, for all we know, there is a God who does this stuff to punish us, and for all we know that's a steaming pile of bullshit."

"Whoa, there," Warrick snorted. "No philosophy today. Not enough sleep for philosophy." She laughed, though half-heartedly, and shook her head.

"I'm okay. Not good, not great, not ready to give up. I'm just… okay," she said finally. "I could use a shot of bourbon and a long visit with Shasta, but I'm okay."

"I could arrange that," Warrick said.

"Which?" The question gave him pause.

"Either, actually. The bourbon would have to wait until the case wraps, but I'm sure Shasta would be happy to see you," he said.

"After I finish picking a nose, though," she said with a wry smile. His chuckle made her feel a little better about things. "You know, this guy had pretty good timing," she said, standing and stretching her arms overhead.

"Why's that?"

"I get to be a guinea pig next week," she answered, taking his arm. "New surgery they want to try. Hopefully it works this time."

"Really." She only nodded, pulling the door open for both of them, following him in and quickly falling into step beside him.

"It's a new laser procedure. Supposed to remove damaged retinal tissue. If that works, implantable lenses could give me almost 20/20 vision," she said, letting him open the next door for her. Once again, he took a seat and watched Nika and Yvette resume nose-sorting at the table.