Disclaimer: If I owned anything but my ideas, I wouldn't have to worry about taking out student loans every semester. So, please, no one sue me for borrowing someone else's characters and returning them safely before their curfew.

Special Thanks: As always to Hedda for taking time out of her busy schedule to help me perfect my story.. Also to everyone from LJ and who reviewed.

Special Request: Please, please, please leave a comment telling my what you thought, even if you hated it. Also, if there is something that you would like to see happen, write that down, too, as I may make your wish come true. :o)

Author's Note: OK, this chapter has been a long time in the coming. Sorry! I'm in 2 summer school classes, searching for a job, and trying to write all at the same time. I promise to get on the ball and start writing more after this Thursday. :o)

Bloody Hell

Chapter 2

It took the criminalists almost thirty minutes to pack all of the gear they were going to need to process their new crime scene. Since it was obviously so fresh, they didn't want to waste time by having to return to the lab for additional equipment. By the time they finished, only two of the CSIs could fit in the vehicle. Catherine and Greg volunteered to transport the equipment while the others rode over together.

"Do you want me to drive?" Catherine asked Greg.

He ducked his head. "You mind?" Greg said, flashing the women a small grin. "I think I've had more than enough time behind the wheel today."

Catherine smiled, glad that she could raise the young man's spirits somewhat. "Of course not."

Exiting the parking lot, they moved in behind Grissom and the others. Catherine took the opportunity at a stoplight to glance over at Greg. The normally energetic 29-year-old was looking not-so-energetic today. He had the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes and a saddened expression clouded his face. There was more to his mood than just a car accident and Catherine knew he was hiding something.

"You know that you can talk to me, right?" she asked Greg.

He looked over at her and smiled briefly. "Yeah...I'm just...when I was thirteen, my best friend and his mother were killed in a car accident by a drunk driver." He let out a heavy sigh.

"And you're thinking about how lucky you are to be alive and wondering why he couldn't have been as lucky, too," Catherine stated.

Greg chuckled softly. "Boy, you're good. Woman's intuition?"

"And being a mother." Catherine reached over and gave Greg's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Life throws us curveballs, Greg. I had my divorce with Eddie and his death. Warrick has his gambling addiction. Nick's stared down the barrel of a gun twice. Your friend was killed." She placed her hand over his on his knee and giving it a comforting squeeze. "But the thing you always have to remember is that these things happen for a reason. They're what shape us into the people we are today."

Smiling, Greg looked over at Catherine. He placed his other hand atop hers. "Thanks, Cath. I really needed to hear that."

She returned the smile. "Anytime."

The entrance to the Rampart Hotel and Casino was congested with people both coming and going. The two Tahoes pulled in under the front awning and parked on the far side of the traffic. Exiting their vehicles, the scientists were retrieving their kits when a valet approached them.

"Welcome to the Rampart. May I park your vehicles for you?"

Grissom turned and looked at the young man as if he had three heads. "They are parked," he looked at the valet's name tag, "Robert."

Robert smiled and clasped his hand in front of him. "I understand that, sir, but where would you like them to be parked?"

Reaching for the ALS, he said, "Right where they are."

He was starting to say something else, but the valet was quieted by a man in a dark gray suit. The man straightened his tie and said, "I'm Andrew Wilson, the parking manager. Is there a problem here, sir?"

Gil let out an audible sigh of frustration, throwing a quick glance Nick's way. The Texan took the hint to step in. "No problem, sir. We're just retrieving our things."

"But you're in the middle of a very busy area and you're holding up other customers. Would you please allow us to park your vehicles?" The man made it sound more like a demand than a question.

Slamming shut the back of the Tahoes, the criminalists began to walk toward the entrance. "No thanks," Nick said, flashing his crime lab ID badge, "they're just fine where they are." He broke into a jog and caught up with everyone just as they were entering the lobby.

Captain Jim Brass was already waiting for them. His rumpled brown suit appeared as if he had slept in it. The look in his eyes told them that they, too, would be looking rather rumpled very soon.

"So glad you could join me," Brass smiled.

"Sorry, "Grissom muttered, "but the valet wanted to park our cars."

"Is that code for something?"

Rolling his eyes, Gil said, "Never mind. What are we looking at?"

Everyone started walking toward the elevators. "Oh, you're gonna love this. Body count is five...we think."

"You think?" Nick asked.

"Hey, if you can tell how many are there, we'd love for you to share," Brass said, watching the faces of his friends fall. "In the meantime, this is what we know. The room is registered to a family of six. I've got names and ages from the copies of the driver's licenses the hotel made." Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out several sheets of folded paper. "Allan and Linnea Griffith, 62 and 57; their oldest son Mark, 36, and his wife Bethany, 33; their youngest son Riley, 27; and their only daughter Avery, 16. We think Avery is the one missing."

"So much for my prime suspect theory," Sara said as they stepped into the elevator.

Pressing the button for the fourth floor, Brass said, "I'm having trouble believing anyone could have done this."

"Do we have any other information," Grissom inquired.

"Yeah. It seems the Griffiths own some packaging and shipping business back east somewhere and it just recently took off. The guy at the front desk said the parents 'stunk of new money.' They were in town for some sort of family celebration for hitting it rich."

The door to the elevator opened and everyone exited. Brass led the way to room 416. "You know what they say. 'What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas'."

Warrick let out a small laugh. "Including some people's lives."

The officer posted outside of the room stepped aside. Grasping the door knob, Brass said, "Don't say I didn't warn you." With that, he pushed the door open and the smell of death washed over them.

The hotel suit was as luxurious as any the CSIs had seen before. The doorway opened into what would have been equal to a great room. A horseshoe-shaped, black leather sofa was the centerpiece, flanked by two oak end tables holding authentic Tiffany lamps. A matching oak desk was stationed in the right corner of the room and set up as a small workstation. A computer, printer, and telephone/fax rested on its surface. An expansive entertainment system was located to the left of a 3-pane, panoramic window that allowed loungers to look out on the Vegas skyline. A kitchen with full amenities and an elegant dining room surrounded the entrance to the long hallway.

The brash scent of new copper pennies hung thick in the air.

"There's three bedrooms and two full baths down the hall," Brass said, gesturing toward the back of the suite. "First officer went back there, but that's it. All the action is up here."

"Who was first officer," Catherine asked, taking a step deeper into the carnage.

"Joe Metcalf."

Sara knelt in front of the foyer, examining the plush, beige carpet. "Well, at least we don't have to worry about the scene being tampered with. Metcalf knows what he's doing." Satisfied that there were no shoe impressions or trace evidence in the entranceway, she removed hospital socks from her kit and pulled them on. Then, she gingerly made her way next to Grissom.

"Yeah," Brass agreed. "Thank God for small favors 'cause you guys are gonna have enough trouble with the one."

"Sara, tell me what you see," Grissom asked his protégé.

Reluctantly, she stepped a few feet behind the couch. The smell grew stronger and caught her slightly off guard. Fighting back a brief wave of nausea, Sara took a few calm breaths through her mouth before answering. "Five DBs. The older couple, the parents, are on the sofa. Dad is sprawled out on his end, so, maybe he was taking a nap? Mom is sitting up. She has something in her lap." She stepped around to the side of the sofa. Here Sara had a better view of the second couple. "Son number one and daughter-in-law are entwined on the floor in front of the TV, maybe snuggling and watching a movie." Stepping back behind the sofa again, she made her way back toward the foyer for a closer look at the last victim. "Son number two is sitting at the desk, slumped over, and the computer is on." She moved back to where she stood before and smiled at Grissom. "Did I miss anything?"

"I don't know, did you?" Grissom turned to look back at the suite's entrance. There, Nick, Warrick and Greg remained standing, as if waiting for permission to enter. "You know, you can't process the scene from the doorway."

As Nick and Warrick picked up their kits and slowly entered, Catherine pulled on booties and latex gloves before stepping to where Sara had stood. "Yup, there are definitely bodies under all that blood," she murmured, shining her flashlight over the eldest victim. Phenolphthalein and luminol are going to be useless here."

"There won't be much from prints on or around the vics, either," Nick chimed in while gloving up.

Warrick followed suit. "I guess the best we can hope for is some transfer or maybe a bloody fingerprint somewhere."

Sara focused her attention back on Grissom. "You never told me if I missed anything."

"The clock." Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to face the doorway. There, Greg Sanders stood, clutching his crime scene kit so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were turning white. The man's face had taken on a gray pallor. The smell of oxidizing blood was making him feel as if he would be violently ill, but Greg knew that he wouldn't. He could only feel one thing right now: Shock.

He was shocked that someone could have such a reckless abandon for human life. Here lay five adults, murdered in the primes of their lives. They had been someone's family, friend, neighbor. Yet that did not stop someone from brutally butchering them in the privacy and comfort of their own hotel suite. If this can happen to these people, Greg pondered, it could happen to anyone.

Greg at first didn't notice when Grissom made his way across the foyer to him. Placing a hand on the young man's shoulder, Gil looked into his eyes. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I'm fine," Greg swallowed hard. "It's just the smell and..." He allowed his silence to say what everyone was thinking. That this had been the worst crime scene he had ever set eyes on. "Sara missed the clock." Greg pointed to the desk where the youngest son was sat.

A small digital clock was perched on the corner of the desk, its red numbers flashing. "Digital clocks only flash a certain time like that after they've briefly lost power then came back on," Greg explained. "That's why I use a wind-up clock. Anyway, maybe son number two of the killer jarred the clock loose during the time the crime took place."

A smile snaked its way across the supervisor's face. "Excellent work, Greg." Facing the rest of the team, he continued. "If that's the case, we know something that the killer didn't want us to know. This wasn't some random crime. Those take place at night. Only someone who had planned a crime of this magnitude down to the last detail would even consider hitting during the day. According to this clock, sometime around two o'clock, entire family lost their lives."