Missing Link

Chapter Two

Sara stared at the photograph for a few minutes, unmoving from where she was stood. Reaching out with her bound hands, the CSI took down the photograph and ran a finger over the frame. The engravings in the image were of intricate vines running all around the light wood. The man was happy; that Sara was certain off. His smile was wide and eyes danced with happiness.

It was the woman that took her attention though. It was without a doubt the recently deceased Lucy. Sara hadn't recognised her at first but on closer inspection was certain of the photographed women's identity. Where the man that was holding her was happy, Lucy wasn't. It looked as though she was having a good time when the photograph was taken -- her grin rivaled the man's. But there was something else; in her eyes. They were empty and devoid of life and as Sara looked closer she realised the happy expression was forced.

Sara sighed heavily, and closed her eyes before putting the picture back in its place. Was this her fate too? To be kept in this house by a man who thought she was… What? His girlfriend? His wife…until he decided to kill her? She knew the case, and she had six days live. No… Sara corrected her thoughts I have six days to find a way out of this mess, to save myself. She walked back to the sofa and sat in the corner, holding the pillow in front of her like a protective barrier. All was quiet in the house and with nothing to do but wait her eyelids began to droop until she fell into a light sleep.

Simon West stood over the sink; the hot and cold water gushed and collected inside the unwashed mugs and dishes before tipping over the sides like a fountain and filling the sink. Sun glared through the window to make his eyes water and after a few minutes, he closed the curtains, yawning tiredly. It had been a rough few weeks for him, confusing and busy, full of action. He stopped the water and poured in washing up liquid; swirling it around with a sponge and watching in an almost trance like state as white fluffy bubbles formed and popped. He stopped his pointless actions and listened carefully for any sign of movement in the next room but heard none and a smile appeared on his tanned face, his wife got strange sometimes, forgot where she was and even whom he was.

He laughed at that, how she could ever forget who her husband was, was beyond him. His darling Jenna got confused -- mixed up, and he swore to help her in anyway he could. He rinsed out a floral patterned cup and blinked a few times, coming out of his thoughts and remembering what he was doing. He set the cup on the draining board and watched as drops of water ran down the sides of the cup in streaks. Shaking his head he finished the remainder of the plates and the one other cup before setting the kettle on boil and making a cup of coffee. While he waited he made a cheese sandwich and put it on a tray, poured the water into the coffee – black, one sugar and placed that on the tray also.

"Sweetheart I made you a snack," he called from in the kitchen as he walked along the corridor and turned left into the living room.

Setting the tray down on the table in front of the sofa, he sat on the edge, and took hold of the woman's hand, rubbing his thumb over her fingers to wake her up. "Come on, you have to eat something," his brow fixed into a frown. "Mow if you're going to be good I'll free your hands," Simon said as though he were speaking to a child.

Sara stirred on the sofa, her eyes opening into slits. Seeing Simon she pulled her hand away and pushed back on the couch. "I'm not hungry," she eyed the food suspiciously until her gaze travelled back to her kidnapper. He looked around forty years old; his hair cut was almost army short and grey, his eyes green. At a glance he was quite tall and lanky.

The man cocked his head to one side and tutted; his eyes looked almost comforting, understanding even. "Jenna, you're having one of your episodes again. Remember? It's Simon," he said as though he were trying to make her remember something that she should know.

It was a dangerous game that Sara was about to play. But the way she saw it she didn't really have any choice, he thought that she was this woman called Jenna, someone that he supposedly trusted. In pretending to be her, Sara saw a possible opening. "I can't…everything's hazy…I…I think…" the CSI feigned a confused look as she pretended to recall some memory.

She flinched as he brought his hand to her face and traced his thumb along her cheek, sympathy covering his face. "I know sweetie…it's hard but I promised I would always be there for you, to help you no matter what happens and that isn't going to change." He moved from sitting on the table to beside Sara on the couch. "Now, are you going to be a good girl and eat something?" He leant forward and picked up the plate then laid it on her lap, looking at her expectantly.

The CSI nodded mutely and took up one half of the sandwich and took a small bite, she was a little hungry, she admitted to herself as she chewed the food. Simon smiled and stood up and walked from the room, calling over his shoulder that he would be right back. He was as good as his word and no more than two minutes later came back into the room just as Sara finished part of the sandwich.

He was carrying scissors as he came toward her and he held them out, a smile still on his face. "Time to cut your bonds," he sat back at his previous place on the edge of the centre table and Sara looked visibly relieved. He pulled away the duct tape and rolled it into a ball. "All better," He patted her knee and she resisted the urge to pull away again. Right now she was supposed to be acting like a loving, and evidently pretty forgetful, wife.

Sara picked up the second half of the sandwich but made no move to eat anymore and instead regarded Simon. He was watching her, still smiling. That was starting to annoy her. He picked up the cup of coffee and held it out to her but she didn't take it and instead stood up with the plate and moved back over to the picture. "Who is she?" she asked innocently, wondering what he would say when the women in the photo was also supposed to be his wife.

The man rose and for the first time a sad expression appeared on his face and a haunted look flashed across his eyes. "Don't you remember?" It was clear she didn't know or she wouldn't have asked but Sara shook her head in answer anyway and Simon continued speaking as he walked towards her. The kidnapper came to a stop at her side. "An ex-wife, her name was Lucy…but she died not long ago," he coughed uncomfortably. "Please don't ask about her again sweetie." He slipped his arm around her waist and hugged her before withdrawing. "I have to get some things from the market." She stiffened as he pushed a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, "Get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us." And with that he left the room.

Sara shivered; a long day doing what?

"I can't believe this!" Nick's face was grim and he looked annoyed. He turned to the other CSI that he had to work with for this case, they were supposed to tell each other any results they found but it was pretty obvious that it didn't look good. "No prints, son of a bitch must've worn gloves," he resisted the incredible urge to crumple the piece of paper into a tiny ball and hurl it across the room, and out of sight.

Tim Rhodes, the dayshift CSI, had walked into the layout room a few minutes earlier but had chosen to stay silent while Nick worked. He held up a copy of the note that'd been made so that Dr. Rambar could examine the writing. "Doc noted irregularities in the writing. He said that at first glance he would've said a women wrote it." At that Nick looked interested, they hadn't contemplated a woman could have helped the killer. However Tim indicated that the nightshift CSI should let him continue. "But upon closer inspection he said that in parts of the writing it looked, for lack of a better word, forced. As though whoever wrote it was trying to change their writing. Parts of the note were definitely written by a male, educated he said." He put the copy next to the original. "And right handed. Not that that narrows down the field any."

The Texan's frustrated looked reappeared. "It doesn't help us much at all, a fingerprint is what we need. Hell even a partial would've been something," he let out a breath, calming down; it would not do anybody any good to start getting annoyed and shouting the place down. It certainly wouldn't help Sara. "I'll call Griss, tell him…tell him we tried," he knew that phoning Grissom so soon might get his hopes up but that's what he'd been told to do, call in with any information.

Grissom was still at the crime scene; he didn't want to move from there, it was his last connection Sara; and he wasn't going to leave until he found something that could help them find her. Unfortunately, despite his perseverance, nothing had been found.

Warrick and a dayshift CSI named Pete Conner had, minutes earlier, started the drive back to the Lab to catch up with Al on Lucy Turner's autopsy. Ecklie had chosen to stay at the crime scene and his persistent, non-stop walking was starting to annoy the heck out of the nightshift supervisor. He bit back shouting at the other man, it would only cause problems if they began a shouting match. Usually the silence helped him to think but at this moment in time he would have been glad of the sound of money dropping in a casino or the sounds of the Strip, even Greg's loud music would have been a welcome interruption.

Anything to tear him from his depressing thoughts.

Instead the sound of his cell ringing shook him out of his silent musings. Looking at the caller ID he saw that it was Nick and answered immediately. "What do you have?" Grissom asked anxiously, aware that Ecklie has stopped and was now watching him and listening in on the conversation; or at least his half of it. As Nick told him their few findings Grissom's shoulders slumped and his voice was quiet when he eventually answered, "Just tell me if you find anything else." He switched off the phone and turned around, seeing Ecklie's enquiring stare he shrugged his shoulders. "They'll keep looking."

"That's it?" the dayshift supervisor responded. He almost sounded as if he expected Grissom to suddenly draw out some amazing evidence that could help everyone.

He feverently wished that he could.

Grissom once again refrained from shouting. He was doing a pretty good job. "What else do you expect? We have both nightshift and dayshift on this case and with our combined efforts – I hope we'll find something here…" he waved a hand across the room.

"You hope?" It wasn't like he was trying to goad Grissom into an argument; Ecklie just felt the need to say something smug.

Ecklie was dutifully ignored as his rival exited the room, out of the same door that Sara's necklace had been found near. The door had been dusted for prints but none had been found; it was old and barely used. The crowd of neighbors had retired indoors again and instead people from the media were hanging around. Unwillingly, Grissom thought back on around half an hour ago when he'd been looking for evidence. He had been about to ask Sara to hand him a swab when he remembered it was her kidnapping that they were investigating. Behind the mask he kept firmly in place, inside he was trying to deal with his rage, the building panic his depressing thoughts of failure brought. The regret… he had to stay determined. That they would not succeed was completely unacceptable.

He'd walked out of the room, hands balled into fists. He ignored a question that Catherine had asked him, about who should return to the lab with the body.

Grissom leant against the outside wall, sighing and running a hand through his hair. Though he tried to ignore it, there was a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Six days he thought. We have six days to find you and bring you home Sara, before I lose you forever. It isn't enough time. With the lack of evidence we may never get you back. He tried again to detach himself from the situation, to treat this like any other crime scene but it was impossible. He could barely bring himself to speak of Sara as the victim of a kidnapping. To think of her becoming the victim in a murder…

Grissom closed his eyes and leant his head back against the wall. "Where are you Sara?" he whispered. Why am I always too late?

It was Brass that interrupted his grim thoughts. The Detective waited by the door, half inside and half outside on the pebble path. "I'm taking it from your look that nothing good was found from the note."

Griss nodded and looked up slightly so that he was almost facing the police captain.

"We have nothing," Gil muttered, half musing. "How am I supposed to follow the evidence when it doesn't take me anywhere?" It was a rhetorical question and Brass chose not to answer anyway. Instead he replied with something that Grissom thought was completely irrelevant to what they were talking about.

A tiny smile was on Brass' face and he chuckled softly, causing his friend to look up at him; half annoyed and half curious. He waited impatiently for Jim to continue, wondering if the sudden silence was for dramatic effect. Grissom was not amused. "I got cornered outside by some reporter that wanted to know what else went down here that's got so many people rushing around…" he paused. The nightshift supervisor sighed and wordlessly motioned for him to carry on, Jim obliged. "He asked if, and I quote, 'the whole kidnapping and killing after a week drama has anything to do with what happened in Chicago three weeks ago'."

Grissom's eyebrow rose and he pushed back from the wall and faced Brass.

"That was my reaction. I put in a call and found out that Hazel Winter, a CSI down there was kidnapped and later found dead in the same manner as Lucy Turner," Jim explained.

"This person is after CSI's," It wasn't evidence but it was a start. "I never thought I'd be grateful for a reporter hanging around a crime scene," Grissom replied, a small barely visible smile tugged at his mouth as he walked past Brass and into the house; the captain following quietly behind him, appearing quite pleased.