Title: Good Enough
Chapter 8
*****
As I walk into the CSI headquarters, I'm a nervous wreck. For one thing, I know everyone will be paying extra-close attention to me after my blow-up with Warrick and Greg the other day. And I'm sure Catherine has already given them an update on their troubled co-worker.
Grissom, though . . . I don't know if he's even noticed what's been going on with me lately. Probably not. Unless I really screw up, he pretty much ignores me. I really don't need him to start second-guessing me while we're on this case, but it would be nice for him to pay attention.
The main reason I'm nervous is Greg. Catherine says he's not mad at me, but I won't feel better until I talk to him. I'm in love with him. I can admit that to myself now without completely losing it. Telling Greg how I feel is a different matter entirely. If I don't tell him about my feelings, though, I think our friendship will collapse. We can't keep worrying about hurting each other. It's making us both nuts.
I round the corner to Greg's lab, and stop short. He's not there.
Okay, I think to myself. He's probably sitting in the breakroom.
Taking a deep breath, I head that way. When I get there, only Warrick and Sara are there.
"Hey," I say, a little uncertainly.
"Hey," Sara says pleasantly. I recognize that tone. That's the voice Sara uses if she worried about someone. The last time she used it on me was when he was wheeling me out of the hospital after I was attacked by a stalker.
"How you doing, man?" Warrick asks. He looks me over, like he's expecting to see some physical evidence of my depression.
"Come on in and sit down." Sara motions to a chair beside her. "You feel okay?"
"I feel just fine," I say. Okay, it's a lie, but it's a tried and true answer.
Warrick leans forward. "We thought you might stay home today."
"Why would I?" I ask.
"Well," Sara says. "You know."
"No," I say. "I don't know."
They both just stare at me. And then, they glance at each other.
Real subtle, guys, I think.
"Look," I say. "I know I've been a little spaced-out lately. But I'm all better. You guys can put away the pity."
"We're not pitying you," Sara says. "We're your friends and we're worried. Imagine that." She sounds hurt.
Okay, now I can add guilt to my list of problems.
"Sara, I appreciate it," I say, trying to offer an olive branch. "But I am feeling a lot better. I've been dealing with some personal stuff, and I just let it eat at me."
"You and Catherine talk?" She asks.
I nod. "We talked."
"Good."
We sit in awkward silence for a few seconds. But it's a long few seconds. Finally, I speak up. "You seen Sanders?"
Warrick leans back in his chair. "He called off."
Damn.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
He shrugs. "I guess he's sick. I didn't talk to him or anything."
Just then, Grissom sweeps into the room. "What are guys all sitting around for?" He doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he waves at me to follow him.
This I don't need.
Resigned, I stand up and walk out of the break room. Would it kill Grissom to say hello before he starts barking out orders?
"We've got an interview with Natalie Ames," he says.
"Is that the Natalie Molly Cooper was telling us about?" I ask.
"The one and the same."
We walk past the empty lab.
Part of me wonders if Catherine got it all wrong, and Greg is mad at me, like I thought. On the other hand, he might have stayed home because he's afraid he freaked me out. Or he could actually be sick.
I let out a breath.
I really, really don't need this right now.
*****
Grissom and I walk into the interview room. Brass is already there.
Sitting opposite him is a girl dressed all in black. She has her arms crossed behind her head, and she's leaning defiantly back in her chair. She's either a tough girl, or she wants us to think she is.
A man I assume to be her father is sitting beside her. He's wearing jeans and a casual button-up shirt, but it's open. Underneath, he's got on a plain gray t-shirt. He stands up when he see Grissom and me.
Brass glances at us, but doesn't leave his seat. "Mr. Ames, this is Gil Grissom and Nick Stokes from the Las Vegas Crime Lab."
"Garret Ames," the man says amiably, extending his hand. "And this is my daughter, Natalie."
I smile. "Mr. Ames. Miss Ames." I turn to Natalie. "Can we call you Natalie?"
She shrugs. "Yeah, whatever."
I sit down opposite Natalie, and Gris sits across from Mr. Ames.
Leaning forward, Gris says, "Natalie, we understand you knew Daniel Kincaid."
"Danny," she says. "Nobody called him Daniel."
"How well did you know Danny?" I ask.
"We were seeing each other," she says sullenly.
"We were under the impression he was seeing a girl named Molly Cooper," Brass says.
She shrugs. "That was over. You know. It would've been."
"Did Molly know were seeing each other?" I ask.
"I think she knew," Natalie says. "She's kind of self-absorbed. You know."
"Where were you the night Daniel Kincaid was killed?" Grissom blurts out. The guy has no tact.
"What the hell are you saying?" Mr. Ames says, moving his chair a little closer to Natalie. He puts an arm on her back, but she shrugs it off.
"I was out," Natalie says.
"Were you at Daniel's house?" Grissom says.
Mr. Ames turns to Natalie. "Honey, don't answer any questions." He turns to Grissom. "She is a child. Why are you putting her through this?"
Grissom's face remains expressionless. "I'm investigating a murder."
I start to say something to tone down the situation, but Mr. Ames starts talking first. "You know," he says. "I don't like your attitude at all."
Gris, his face still vacant of emotion, ignores Mr. Ames' assessment. "I'd like a DNA sample," he says bluntly.
Natalie looks at her father.
"What the hell for?" Mr. Ames asks.
Gris cocks his head at Mr. Ames. "So we can compare Natalie's DNA to some found at Daniel's house."
Natalie and her father exchange glances. Mr. Ames turns to Grissom and glares. "You aren't touching her."
"I can get a warrant," Gris says evenly.
Sometimes Grissom has a knack for making an already-fragile situation worse. I don't know if this kid killed Danny Kincaid or not. But pushing her and her father around is not only getting us nowhere, it's also plain rude.
My boss not the only person who can be rude. I turn to Grissom.
Apparently sensing that I'm about to cross a line with Grissom, Brass intervenes. "Mr. Ames. We're not accusing anybody of anything. We just need to figure out exactly what happened. We're talking to several kids at Danny's school."
"Well, you're not talking to this one," Mr. Ames says. He motions to his daughter, and they storm into the hall.
I stand up and follow them, shooting a glare over my shoulder at Grissom.
"Mr. Ames," I say as I catch up to the pair.
"What do you want?" Mr. Ames snaps.
"I want to apologize."
Mr. Ames gestures for Natalie to go on ahead, then he turns to me. "Okay."
"We're all trying to figure out what happened to Danny. But things got heated in there, and I'm sorry."
He starts to pace. "So . . . you think what? My kid's a murderer?"
"We don't what happened," I say. "Did you know she was seeing Danny?"
"I don't know much about her life," he admits. "I try. But she doesn't tell me everything." He stares at me. "I was twenty when Nat was born. I was twenty-four when I became the single parent of two kids. I work two jobs."
He seems like a nice guy. I really don't like putting him on the defensive like this. Taking a breath, I say, "What time did Natalie get home that night?"
He points at me and half-laughs. "Now, you see. You were doing okay. Almost thought you gave a damn." Then he turns and walks briskly down the hall.
*****
As Mr. Ames disappears out the door, I spin around and slam the ball of my hand into the wall. Stupid move on my part, because now my hand hurts like crazy.
Cradling my now-throbbing arm, I walk down the hall. I see Grissom standing near the breakroom, talking with Brass. I've been in a damn bad mood for weeks, and I don't know where Greg is. I'm probably not thinking straight, but I don't care.
"Grissom!" I yell down the hall.
He glances up at me. "Yeah, Nicky?"
"Do you have any idea how to talk to another human being?"
He cocks his head at me. "There are many ways to communicate with another human being."
I stop dead in the hall. "Yeah, well, you might want to learn one or two of 'em."
Brass takes a step toward me. "Let's go get some coffee, Nick."
"I don't want coffee, Jim. I want to say this."
Brass throws up his hands and walks toward the doorway of breakroom, where Warrick and Sara are standing now, evidently summoned by my yelling.
"What do you want to say, Nicky?" Grissom asks. He sounds more curious than concerned or mad.
"You treated those people like criminals," I snap.
"They may be," he says matter-of-factly.
I turn my back to him, and then spin to face him. "But we don't know that yet. You should've been . . . Ah, hell! You always treat people like this. And not just suspects."
"You all right, Nicky?" Grissom says.
"Am I all right?" I say incredulously. "Nice of you to ask, Gris. And here I thought I had to be a dead body before you'd pay a damn bit of attention."
That was the wrong thing to say.
The silence in the hall is deafening. And suddenly, my mouth feels incredibly dry.
Sara practically throws herself into the hallway and grabs my arm. "Come on," she says. "Let's go in here and sit down."
I gaze at Grissom as Sara leads me into the other room.
He just stares at me. Something . . . shock, I think, is plastered all over his face.