Damn, it's hot.
It was the third week of September, and summer was technically over, but someone forgot to tell the weather. It had been the hottest September on record, temps hitting one twenty plus just about every day. And the winds were worse. Strong Easterly winds, blowing in from California. All the moisture they'd come in from the Pacific with long since lost in their journey across Death Valley, the winds had exchanged moisture for heat and sand. They whipped across the city, stinging faces and forcing foot traffic off the streets into the welcoming arms of the casinos. Out here, away from the protection of the larger buildings, the winds had free rein to gust and tear at clothing and flesh. Sunglasses and long sleeves were mandatory if you wished to spend more than a minute outside.
And here Nick stood, waiting for instructions.
He'd done his time like a probie back in the lab, but things had gone so smoothly that he'd been returned to the field. And none to early. The lab work was okay at the start. It had kinda been like a refresher, giving him the time to get his feet back under him, and he had enjoyed the company of the other denizens of the Labitrail. He'd been worried, at first, that everyone would stare and point and laugh or turn away. It hadn't happened. At least that he'd seen. Nothing much had changed at the lab. Jacqui was still her normal acerbic self. Bobby was still a laid back Southern gentleman, kinda like the guys back home in Texas that Nick remembered. He liked hanging around with Archie because he could get his geek on, without the pointed stares from Warrick that reminded him he was nowhere near as cool as his buddy. And Hodges…well, he gave Nick about three days before making really shitty jokes about Nick feeling antsy. Hardy har har…
But back in the field was where he felt best. His skills actually being used to their full potential, his confidence greatest. And Grissom couldn't deny him his chance to get back out here forever. So for a month now he'd been out, even though he tended to still get teamed up with Catherine, or Grissom, or Warrick. Better than not out at all. And everything had returned to normal, a way he'd been striving for since his 'resurrection'.
The heat had continued throughout the tail end of summer, and Labor Day weekend had been one of the busiest he could remember. When the winds had blown in, most people were forced indoors, and crime had slowed a bit, letting those in the Las Vegas CSI lab catch their breath.
But now they had a bad one. Stan Jacobs, a record producer, and his wife and their adult son had been slaughtered in their exceptionally large and spacious home. Standing in the driveway, leaning against the Denali, its door propped open to block some of the wind, he surveyed the property, chaotically lit by four or five police cars' gumball lights. Seven-bedroom estate. Carefully groomed landscaping, meticulously kept. Neatly trimmed topiary bushes shaped like animals and nude women. All screamed nouveau riche. Expensive, but supremely tacky. It lacked only …no. Wait. There it was. The fountain with the little boy peeing out a constant stream of water, surrounded by gold angels. Yup. Tacky.
The whole team was there, Greg, Sara, Warrick, and himself waiting for their orders from Grissom and Catherine. The two chiefs were being especially gracious to each other their first time out together as peers since Grissom's pronouncement, cognizant of the need to not step on toes or feelings. It was painful watching two such smart and aggressive people doing the, 'no, you first' dance. The four of them stood by, tapping their feet, waiting for one of their bosses to seize the bull by the horns and hand out some instructions, damn it. They exchanged eye rolls as the two supervisors walked over in tandem, neither willing to arrive first.
If this is what its gonna be like when we merge full time, maybe we should scrap the whole plan, Nick moaned to himself. Noting the looks on his friends' faces, he figured their lines of thought were pretty similar to his own
At their arrival, there was another hesitation while the two internally debated who would talk first. Nick figured Catherine was the one whose pride was most in jeopardy, and thought to give her a bit of an up.
"Hey, Cath. What's it look like in there?"
She flashed him a small grateful look, and summed up the scene for the four criminalists. "Mom and Dad are in their bedroom. Mom in bed. Dad in a heart-shaped Jacuzzi." At this she gave a small eye roll. "The son was in his room sitting at a computer. All three shot at close range. Looks professional. Appears the son went first. Silencer most likely used, as Mom and Dad don't look disturbed. Or, there may have been more than one assailant."
She glanced at Grissom. He remained silent, apparently willing to let her run with this one, so she continued. "Warrick, you and Nick get the grounds. Sara, Greg, you guys come back inside with me. And Gris…he'll be wherever the hell he feels like, I guess," she said with a small smile and an amused glance at her mute companion.
Grissom merely raised an eyebrow and wandered off to talk to Brass and O'Reilly, slowing when he noted the presence of the Sheriff standing behind them. His hesitation was momentary but spoke volumes.
Catherine gave a bigger smile when she realized what Grissom had chosen for himself, then slapped Nick on the arm and told them to get going. She went back into the house, Sara and Greg trailing behind her. Nick had a quick flash of a momma duck with two baby ducklings. Then as he noticed Warrick looking questioningly at his enigmatic smile, he cleared his throat, and put a somber face back on. Work Face.
"I'll take the back yard. You can take the front. It's too tacky out here for me, Man. It's giving me hives," he said, another smile involuntarily forming.
Warrick looked like he was gonna throw out odds and evens, then changed his mind and nodded, wandering off to check out the nearest shrub, shaped like a roaring lion.
Nick grabbed a flashlight and headed off to the back yard. It was primarily green lawn. In this heat and drought he had a pretty good idea how much money was being spent on keeping it that verdant.
He checked out the back of the house. Florida room off the back. Back door locked. Screens all appeared intact. Back gardens as carefully maintained as the front, but limited to xeric landscaping- cacti, succulents, and expensive looking stone. He grimaced as a gust of wind hit him in the face and he spat out grit. Plucked a few cigarette butts out from the rocks. Lipstick on them. Mrs. Jacobs? Pulled out a small envelope and slipped them in, sealing the top. Moving to the back of the garage he checked that door. Locked as well. Turning, he scanned the whole of the yard from the back of the house. A few random cops poking their flashlights into the bushes that ran along the one side of the property. And a large shed on the very back of the property.
He began ambling over to the shed, his pace quickening as he was caught with another blast of hot stinging wind. It had a small unlocked and open padlock hanging on the hasp. He snapped a few pictures of the lock and the door, and then removing his camera and putting it on the ground, he opened the door and removed the lock, putting it into a plastic storage bag. He clicked on his flashlight and entered the structure. Typical garden shed. Metal frame shelves piled high with gardening supplies ran the length and breadth of three sides of the shed. Rakes, shovels, and hoes leaned up against the last side.
He walked to the back of the shed, shining the light over each shelf's contents. His eyes had caught a glimpse of what looked like the muzzle of a pistol and he was stretching a gloved hand towards it when he heard a loud bang as the door slammed shut behind him. He whirled around and struck the flashlight on the shelving, its grid work catching the light and ripping it from his hand. The flashlight struck the ground and extinguished upon impact, plunging him into complete and utter darkness.
A/N: TBC soon, I promise. Ending here for the effect…and because it is one o'clock in the morning.