Heroes and Villains: Chapter three
When Sara was a kid, she swore she would never live in a tourist town again.
Which was why it was ironic, really, that she ended up in Las Vegas.
Tamales Bay was small, but it was a community that thrived on its tourism as much as its fish trade for survival. Vegas wasn't much different.
Maybe that's why she came here.
Sara had loved it, growing up. Taking travellers into their B&B, hearing their tales of diverse life experiences and occasionally differing cultures, satisfying her natural curiosity for things unknown. When her father died, of course, things became different. The small community suddenly became stifling and oppressive, and the visitors weren't so nice anymore.
Soon, there were no visitors at all, and Sara didn't know what was worse, witnessing her father's dream and livelihood go to ruin, or the relief she felt when it did.
Sara sat at her breakfast bench, idly fingering the smooth edge of the fruit bowl as she stared into space.
She hated that her co-workers, some of those whose opinions she valued most, had witnessed her panicked escape from the lab. Sara Sidle did not run. Sara Sidle did not scare easily.
Both were carefully constructed aspects to the outer façade she had perfected for years, and had become transparent at the mere mention of Laura Sidle.
She scoffed, lowering her head to the cold hard surface of the bench. Grissom had said things from her past were going to come out. Things she had hidden from. Her counsellor had persuaded her to face them, and instead they were rearing up, unbidden and unwelcome, without her control.
She glanced at the thin manila folder sitting on the kitchen table, turning her head on the tiles. It had been under her front door when she arrived home, and she still wasn't entirely sure who had left it there.
Nicky, maybe, she thought absently. As a peace-offering. Or Grissom, before he came to find me.
If it was him, it was comforting to know he hadn't intended to read the file even before she asked him. He wasn't willing to learn about her secretive past on paper. That was something.
She sighed deeply, closing her eyes. The emotional events of the past few hours had drained her physically, but she knew if she tried, she wouldn't be able to sleep. Or worse, she would, and recurring nightmares would plague her.
Lifting her head from the tiles, she pulled away from the bench, striding across the living room for her bathroom.
Alcohol used to be her answer to this problem, but that was no longer an option. She riffled around in the medicine cabinet, ignoring her wan reflection in the mirror hanging over it, until her slender fingers finally closed around the small prescription bottle.
Striding back into her bedroom, she popped a few sleeping pills, and swallowed them with a swig of water. She was uncomfortable with chemicals assisting her body with something that it should do naturally, but this was a necessary compunction.
She lowered herself to her pillow, not bothering to undress first, and let the cold darkness of sleep slowly claim her, temporarily releasing her from the anxieties preying her mind.
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"So", Brass said thickly. "You didn't mention that you left your vacation early".
He and Grissom stood in the neatly furnished interior of Clark Jenson and Louise Sutton's hotel suite, eyeing the couple suspiciously.
Clark Jenson folded his arms, meeting Brass' glare unflinchingly. "So?"
Brass slanted an eyebrow. "So, you were booked at your hotel for a week, but you came back a day early. Conveniently placing you in Vegas at the time of the murders. You care to explain that?"
Grissom leant against the open doorframe between living and kitchen areas, surveying the conversation quietly, content for Brass to lead the questioning.
His gaze shifted over Clark's tightly wound frame, veins popping visibly in his forehead, who looked like he might snap any minute. Judging by the cautious proximity of the accompanying officer, he wasn't the only one who thought so.
But Grissom's interest was directed less at him, and more at the slender, unruffled woman beside him, who appeared completely unaffected by the whole situation. His gaze was involuntarily drawn to her with a fascination he couldn't quite contain.
This woman was Sara's mother.
It was an entire shift since he had last spoken to her, but no amount of time would make him forget the cold hatred in her eyes when she spoke of her mother, or the fearful desperation in her voice when she realised she might know of her presence in Vegas.
Louise Sutton must have only been in her mid-fifties, but she could have been younger, if Grissom hadn't known that Sara was in her thirties. Her years in prison had not weathered her in the least. She was shorter than Sara, with longer, dark brown hair, pulled back in a sleek ponytail at the nape of her neck.
Her features remained unbothered and showed little signs of wrinkles or blemishes, a sign of good genes, or expensive skin care products, he wasn't sure.
She was dressed casually, in dark black slacks and a blue button-up shirt, and carried herself with a gentle, unassuming confidence that surprised him, for a convicted felon.
He was well aware that appearances could contain the most twisted, sadistic minds underneath, but he found it difficult to glimpse in this woman.
Her eyes darted up, sensing his scrutiny, and she fixed her dark brown gaze on him steadily. He swallowed, suddenly overcome with an immense feeling of discomfort, wondering why he hadn't noticed it before.
Her eyes were exactly like Sara's.
"We don't have to explain anything to you, detective", Clack spat angrily. "We decided to come back early because Louise was sick. That's it".
"You seem fine now", Grissom observed quietly, glancing at Louise – Laura – pointedly.
She shrugged calmly. "I have a good immune system".
Brass cleared his throat. "Well that's great, but it still doesn't account for at least 24 hours".
"Our flight was delayed", Louise said evenly. "We arrived back in Vegas at about 3 o'clock that afternoon".
"And yet you didn't arrive at your house until 8 o'clock the following morning", Grissom said. "At least, according to your statement."
Clark scowled. "We went to see my brother. We were drinking that night, so we slept there, and headed home in the morning."
"And like I said", Brass piped up sardonically. "Funny how you didn't mention that earlier".
"We didn't think it mattered", Clark spat, starting to get exasperated.
"Well, we think it does", Brass said flatly. "Because it means you were in Vegas when the men were murdered. Seems a little too coincidental, doesn't it?"
"You have nothing to hold against us", Clark said angrily.
Grissom shook his head slowly. "No. But if you had anything to do with those murders, we soon will".
Brass gave them a promising glare as they started towards the door. "We'll be checking with the airline to verify your claim", he added darkly.
Clark sneered. "Knock yourself out".
Grissom hesitated behind Brass and the officer, in the threshold to the door. "Oh, Ms Sutton? I was just wondering. Do you have any family in the area?"
Her brow creased ever so slightly, but he thought he saw a flicker of knowing behind her dark eyes. "No. I don't."
"Why do you need to know that?" Clark snapped, much more hostile.
Grissom shrugged dismissively, but his eyes had narrowed almost imperceptibly at Louise Sutton's response. "No reason", he said simply.
He followed Brass and the officer out, who instantly retreated to his cruiser when his radio started to crackle. Brass regarded Grissom as he paused in front of his Tahoe, face cast in shadow under the dim streetlights.
"Nicky called before", he informed the supervisor slowly. "He gave me the ID on our two vics. They're running a check on them now".
Grissom nodded slowly, thoughts drifting. "Good".
"So what's going on, Gil?" the homicide captain asked bluntly, sharp eyes surveying him coolly.
Grissom stared back at Brass with practiced indifference, the question catching him off guard. He found himself thankful they were in darkness.
"What are you talking about?"
Brass rolled his eyes, duly annoyed. "I saw you in there, staring at that woman like she was the strangest new thing under your microscope. I mean she's got a few years on you, Gil, but…"
Grissom scowled, fully aware the detective was goading him. "Jim, please".
Brass was unswayed. "Well, what then? What was that last question about? You know something I don't?"
Grissom hesitated now, for the first time in his career wishing he didn't work with seasoned professionals who noticed everything. He made apparently meaningless observations to suspects all the time – why did Brass have to pick up on this one?
"It doesn't really pertain to the case, Jim", he admitted at long last.
Brass just gave him an unimpressed scowl in response. "Gil, need I remind you that if it concerns the suspect, it always pertains to the case."
Grissom pursed his lips, knowing his friend was right, and he was in no position to make exceptions. "All right. You should know that Louise Sutton has a criminal record."
Brass narrowed his eyes. "You're just telling me this now? For what?"
He definitely wasn't going to like this. "For murder", Grissom said reluctantly.
Brass looked extremely pissed. "Have you got a screw too loose, Grissom?" he yelled angrily, spreading his arms wide. "This could be the case breaker and you forgot to mention it? I don't believe… I never thought I'd have to tell you how to do your job. I'm calling dispatch. We're bringing her in for questioning, right now!"
"Just wait a minute!" Grissom snapped, and the captain blinked.
"For what, Gil?" Brass said irritably. "What is so damn important you couldn't tell me about this earlier?"
Grissom ran a hand over his beard, sighing tiredly. "Look, that woman is not who she says she is".
"Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock, that's why I'm calling her in".
"No, that's not it. Look she's… Sara's mother".
Brass blinked at him like he had lost his mind. The rush of cars on the highway was deafening in the sudden silence that encompassed them. "Are you kidding me?" he managed to get out at last.
Grissom leant back against his truck. "Do I look like I'm joking to you, Brass?"
Brass frowned, struggling to associate the cold, collected woman upstairs with Sara Sidle. "Are you… sure?" he said dubiously. The serious expression on Grissom's face in response reminded him of a soap opera. This was cliché enough to be one. Not that he ever watched any.
Grissom only nodded mutely, obviously having had time to adjust to the situation himself.
Brass glanced up in the general direction of Louise Sutton's hotel suite. He frowned more deeply. This was a political nightmare. Not that he gave a damn about that either. "Oh this is just… great. Really. Just what we need."
"I'm not exactly overjoyed by the prospect myself".
Brass watched the graveshift supervisor warily. "So what's the story with this?"
Grissom's expression remained carefully indiscernible. "I wish I knew".
Brass hesitated, wincing slightly as he considered the consequences this was going to have for Sara. "Gil… you know we're going to have to bring her in."
"Yeah".
Brass sighed deeply, lowering his head. "I'm definitely getting too old for this".
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Sara's palms were perspiring as she wiped them absently on her jeans, striding slowly down the hall. She cleared her throat, knocking gently on Grissom's door to get his attention.
The atmosphere in the breakroom had been stifling and quiet as soon as she entered. Nick and Catherine watched her uncertainly as she crossed to get a mug of coffee; she inwardly wishing her caffeine requirement wasn't so high. Greg had also been present, tackling Grissom's crossword puzzle like he didn't have a serious death wish, and he had sensed the tension immediately and had too remained uncharacteristically silent.
The others couldn't ask anything while he was there, so there followed an intense two-minute stare-off in the time it took Sara to brew more coffee before she left again.
Now she sighed, as Grissom lifted his head, and his eyes connected with hers hesitantly. One thing she resented was being treated like a brittle china doll. If she had proven anything, it was that she was capable of handling drastic situations.
"Hi", she said slowly.
He cleared his throat, lowering his pen as he regarded her. "Hi".
She licked her lips, recognising the familiarity of the moment. She brushed off the sense of déjà vu. She didn't want this to go like their last conversation in here. "Are you busy?" she asked, gesturing to his work.
He glanced down, shaking his head. "Oh, no. Not at all. Come in".
"Thanks".
Their polite civility felt oddly forced, and she closed the door quietly behind her, an action not lost on him, signalling the gravity of her visit.
Sara hesitated, lowering herself gracefully into the chair opposite him.
"How are you?" Grissom offered tentatively, folding his fingers carefully over his half-finished paperwork.
Sara smiled slightly; appreciative he had given her an opening. "Okay. Look, I wanted to apologise for my… blow-up yesterday, and what I said to you at the crime scene". She shrugged sheepishly, attempting to dismiss her behaviour. "It was out of line".
Her voice was calm and level, an abrupt transition from her manner the previous day. Grissom studied her; uncomfortable with how familiar her behaviour was to him. She was closing off from everyone, repressing her emotions from the surface. He knew what that looked like. He did it all the time. He was hardly an expert at broaching those walls when he was usually the one building them, but something wasn't right here. He didn't want Sara to cope like he did. It didn't work very well.
"You don't have to be sorry", he said seriously.
Sara blinked at the uncharacteristic gesture, but she quickly replaced her confusion with a tight shrug. "Yeah, well. I wanted to ask you something." She glanced down. "I wanted to know… considering we're so shorthanded right now… whether it would be all right if I still helped on the case".
Grissom sighed deeply, sagging back in his chair. "I don't think that's such a good idea", he said quietly.
She clenched her fingers tightly around the armrests of her chair, the only sign that she was having difficulty maintaining her composure. "Grissom, I don't care about the outcome. I won't do anything to compromise—"
"She's your mother, Sara", Grissom said quietly, patiently, like he was addressing a difficult child. She disliked that immensely. "And for now, she's a suspect".
Sara shifted impatiently, looking at something over his shoulder to avoid meeting his piercing blue eyes. "You let Catherine investigate things that could jeopardise the unit. You used to cover for the boys all the time. Why can't you make the same exception for me, for once?"
Grissom frowned slightly, but it was resigned and tired. "Because if I keep making those same mistakes, then Ecklie will only finish the separation he started".
Did that mean… he didn't want to loose her? She dismissed the thought, too impatient with him to linger on it. "Grissom, I don't care…"
"I think you do".
She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She licked her lips. "Grissom", she murmured, suddenly soft in her appeal. "If you take me off the case… then everyone is going to know why".
Grissom met her gaze, expression clearly conflicted, and they stared at each other silently for what felt like eternity.
A brisk knock at the door interrupted their stare-off, and Brass strode in, looking extremely harried. "Hey Gil, I… oh. Hey Sara. Sorry to uh, interrupt…"
Sara met the detective's gaze, glimpsing the flicker of sympathy there instantly. Her eyes darted over Grissom sharply, silently accusatory.
He met her look ruefully. "He had to know, Sara".
She slumped back in resignation, nodding slowly. "Right. It's um, okay, Brass".
Brass pursed his lips hesitantly, expression contrite. "I'm real sorry, kiddo".
She looked away. "Yeah. Me too".
Brass cleared his throat uncomfortably at the sudden tension. "Gil, we need you down at PD for some uh, questioning".
Grissom nodded, glancing at Sara carefully. If she knew what Brass was referring, she gave no indication. "Sure. I'll be out in a minute".
Brass nodded himself, turning hesitantly back into the hall.
Grissom returned his attention to Sara, expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed heavily, sliding a hand under the pile of papers, and retrieving a thick folder. He held it out to her gingerly, meeting her gaze significantly. "This is the prelim. Just look over it, that's all".
Sara's gaze met his uncertainly, slowly darting down over the file. She tentatively closed her fingers over the edge, accepting it from his grasp.
"Thank you", she said softly.
He nodded, rising to follow Brass out into the hall.
She stared down at the folder in her lap, forcing herself not to question the motivation behind the kindly gesture. She swallowed, wondering now that she had what she wanted if the things she read would bring up more questions, or give her the answers she wasn't yet willing to face.
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