"Hey, Gil," Catherine called, "I heard about that guy collapsing at the
crime scene. What, did he have a heart attack or something?"
"No. A migraine," Grissom explained.
Greg snorted as he poured out his coffee and sat down with the rest of the CSI team. He shot Grissom a wary glance, a little afraid of those cool gray eyes. "You mean the guy was sent to the hospital because he had a headache?"
"Migraines can be pretty intense," Warrick excused.
"But I mean, you're outside the chemist's," Greg chuckled, "Just go get him a panadol or a painkiller. Why call the ambulance?"
"According to a few of the cops standing around there, the guy was in agony," Sara revealed confidingly, "They said he was almost fainting. Grissom can tell you; he was questioning the guy at the time."
"Whoa! Must have been some heavy duty questioning," Greg commented, chuckling.
Grissom stared coolly at him over the top of his glasses and, as usual, that worked like a charm. Greg dried up pretty quick. "No. It seems that's what took him into the chemist's in the first place. He needed to stock up on medication." Grissom said it off hand; it wasn't confirmed.
Warrick thought about that. "I don't know, man. Wouldn't you know if you were running out of pills and just stock up before they finish? Especially if you know it can get pretty nasty."
Catherine was forced to agree that he had a point. "He has a point," she admitted.
Grissom was of that opinion too. But he knew Giles hadn't done anything, just as he didn't know how to explain the feeling. "Are you telling me you think Giles is the perp?" he asked interestedly.
Sara gurgled. "Not from what I saw. I only saw him for a few seconds, but the cops there said he spoke like someone who didn't need to rob a store for money. And he certainly didn't look like the type to kill someone. What do you think, Grissom?"
He sat still for a moment caught in his own thought and then motioned with his coffee cup before beginning to leave the room. "I think you're right and wrong. Mr. Giles seemed exactly the type to kill. But not at all the type to do it for the money."
At approximately the same time, Giles was coming to realization that he should never have stopped taking his medication regularly. The agony was gone and no hand- clawed or otherwise- seemed interested in removing his eyeballs from their sockets. On the up side, he could go home and he had a prescription. On the down side, he needed to go call Gil Grissom. Grissom- he was certain he'd seen the man somewhere. That chin was distinctive enough. Giles gave up on thinking too much. He went out, bought lunch and made his phone calls. And by six in the evening he was being shown into an interrogation room.
"Mr. Giles?" a plump man in a dark suit walked in, an ironically cynical look on his face as if the world was going to the devil and he found it amusing. Almost as an afterthought Grissom followed. "Mr. Giles, how are you feeling?" Grissom asked politely.
Giles flushed a bit. "I'm fine," he said shortly, "Thank you."
"Well, that's good," Grissom said impersonally. He introduced Brass quickly and got to the point. "We just need to go over a few particulars; just to make sure the story's straight."
"It is."
"But you had a migraine last night," Brass put in, "That much pain and maybe you weren't thinking straight."
Grissom hid his grin as Giles looked amused. "I am fairly certain I am lucid when I speak," he murmured, "Though I can see why you would want to cross-reference my statement. Be that as it may, it would save us all some time if you could believe that I know my statement to be entirely truthful and complete, pain or not."
Brass looked unconvinced. "Humor us," the little man suggested amiably, leaning forward. Giles went over his story again and again, tiring of the 'amiable' questions from someone who clearly didn't believe him. "So why didn't this guy just shoot you?" Brass reasoned.
"Because he was just a terrified young man," Giles snapped, "I was supposed to be scared of his gun and I wasn't! I got up, dared him to shoot me and stumbled past him to look for painkillers."
Brass nodded. Grissom hadn't said a single thing in the entire interview, a rare thing for him. He usually had a few things to ask; he found one now. Perhaps it wouldn't be particularly relevant to the case, but it might clear up a few details along with satisfying his curiosity.
"Last night you said you didn't touch the body because you knew the victim was already dead. Is that right?"
"Yes," Giles said carefully.
"How?" Grissom asked, pursing his mouth in concentration.
And that was an interesting mannerism. Ethan used to use something like that once, back in London when they'd just begun. He blinked hurriedly as he realized he hadn't answered them yet. "Suffice it to say that I have seen a dead body before and I know what it looks like."
"Really!" Now Brass was really interested. "You've seen a body covered in blood before? Where?"
"I have seen many things," Giles sniped, too tired to keep his usual caution. And Ripper was howling. He let go partially and felt himself slip forward in his seat, green eyes glittering as broad shoulders reminded subtly of strength. Brass sat back as hypnotizing green eyes bored through his, threatening with a simple, deliberate glance of violence. "I've seen a friend in my youth die because we were a shade too 'youthful'. I have seen my lover's body laid on my bed with a broken neck. I've seen a friend give her life for her sister. I've driven a school bus out of the hell that was a little town called Sunnydale, knowing that people I cared about were dead or dying. I've seen things you can't even begin to imagine!" He regretted it as soon as he was done. How Ethan would have crowed, he winced. He sat back and wondered if he could brazen it out.
"A- And where would all this experience come from?" Brass asked.
"London, mostly," Giles said, hoping silently that it would be a little too far away for them to bother.
Grissom looked intently at Giles. "What did you do in London?" Giles raised his eyebrows. "What profession were you in?"
Giles suddenly grinned a mischievous grin. "I was working as a curator in the British Museum, actually."
Brass didn't go for the bait. Grissom held his tongue but his lips quirked into the quickest of smirks.
Giles stilled, lost in catching that smile because something else was coming from it- Ethan. That was Ethan's old smirk from his youth, when Ethan was really unable to help laughing at some hidden joke he'd just found. The barest twitch of the lips with a slight twist- Ethan's smile.
Grissom blinked, fearful that Giles had guessed. "That's it for now, Mr. Giles. I have no further questions. Thank you for coming in."
"Anything to help," Giles murmured softly, shaking his hand and pulling himself together.
Brass stood up, shook hands and took a different tack. "Uh, is there any way we can reach you? You know, if we need to ask a few more questions or something."
Green eyes narrowed dangerously and then he nodded. Silently he wrote down the address of the motel he was staying at and walked out, back into another Las Vegas evening. He reflected on his convalescence so far- he'd had two one-night stands in as many nights and he'd been through two punishing migraines in three days and he had witnessed a robbery. His time to recuperate looked like it was going to be cut up by more stress. And he had *so* wanted to lose his soul and self-respect in a mindless fashion!
Grissom tried to concentrate on his blood splatter photographs, but his thoughts were on something entirely different. And the emotions coursing through him weren't helping. He put down his latest attempt with a muffled oath, causing Catherine to look up in surprise.
"What's wrong?" she asked in concern, "Something up?"
"Hmmm? Oh, no! Just thinking about the case, that's all," Grissom reasoned.
"You sure?" Catherine pressed, "Because you're looking more than just a little puzzled, you know."
"Catherine, could you please tell Sara I was following a lead?" Grissom asked unexpectedly, throwing off his lab coat, "I need to go now."
Damn the consequences of the case. The victim couldn't get much deader with a bullet hole through his chest and less than a third of his blood capacity congealed in his veins. He'd go do something about all this and bury the ghosts of bloody Christmas past and oh look! He was beginning to talk like Ethan again! Oh happy day! He slammed into his car and drove out with a squeal of tires, not even noticing Sara and Nick gazing at him with their mouths open.
"Think he's finally had enough and lost it?" Nick ventured.
Sara shook her head. "Not Grissom. Maybe there's a lead I don't know about. But if he's left me to finish analyzing those blood splatter photos all by myself I will kill him when I see him again and then I'll leave someone else to measure his blood splatter."
"Wow, you're cruel," Nick joked, blue eyes teasing as he followed her inside.
Giles was in the middle of getting dressed to go out on one of his usual nightly jaunts. He did up the last few buttons of his shirt and then went to answer the furious thumping on his door. "Just my luck it'll be someone come to bloody arrest me," he grumbled under his breath as he tore the door open.
Grissom gave one of his thin-lipped, humorless smiles. "Hello, Ripper. How nice to see you again!"
"No. A migraine," Grissom explained.
Greg snorted as he poured out his coffee and sat down with the rest of the CSI team. He shot Grissom a wary glance, a little afraid of those cool gray eyes. "You mean the guy was sent to the hospital because he had a headache?"
"Migraines can be pretty intense," Warrick excused.
"But I mean, you're outside the chemist's," Greg chuckled, "Just go get him a panadol or a painkiller. Why call the ambulance?"
"According to a few of the cops standing around there, the guy was in agony," Sara revealed confidingly, "They said he was almost fainting. Grissom can tell you; he was questioning the guy at the time."
"Whoa! Must have been some heavy duty questioning," Greg commented, chuckling.
Grissom stared coolly at him over the top of his glasses and, as usual, that worked like a charm. Greg dried up pretty quick. "No. It seems that's what took him into the chemist's in the first place. He needed to stock up on medication." Grissom said it off hand; it wasn't confirmed.
Warrick thought about that. "I don't know, man. Wouldn't you know if you were running out of pills and just stock up before they finish? Especially if you know it can get pretty nasty."
Catherine was forced to agree that he had a point. "He has a point," she admitted.
Grissom was of that opinion too. But he knew Giles hadn't done anything, just as he didn't know how to explain the feeling. "Are you telling me you think Giles is the perp?" he asked interestedly.
Sara gurgled. "Not from what I saw. I only saw him for a few seconds, but the cops there said he spoke like someone who didn't need to rob a store for money. And he certainly didn't look like the type to kill someone. What do you think, Grissom?"
He sat still for a moment caught in his own thought and then motioned with his coffee cup before beginning to leave the room. "I think you're right and wrong. Mr. Giles seemed exactly the type to kill. But not at all the type to do it for the money."
At approximately the same time, Giles was coming to realization that he should never have stopped taking his medication regularly. The agony was gone and no hand- clawed or otherwise- seemed interested in removing his eyeballs from their sockets. On the up side, he could go home and he had a prescription. On the down side, he needed to go call Gil Grissom. Grissom- he was certain he'd seen the man somewhere. That chin was distinctive enough. Giles gave up on thinking too much. He went out, bought lunch and made his phone calls. And by six in the evening he was being shown into an interrogation room.
"Mr. Giles?" a plump man in a dark suit walked in, an ironically cynical look on his face as if the world was going to the devil and he found it amusing. Almost as an afterthought Grissom followed. "Mr. Giles, how are you feeling?" Grissom asked politely.
Giles flushed a bit. "I'm fine," he said shortly, "Thank you."
"Well, that's good," Grissom said impersonally. He introduced Brass quickly and got to the point. "We just need to go over a few particulars; just to make sure the story's straight."
"It is."
"But you had a migraine last night," Brass put in, "That much pain and maybe you weren't thinking straight."
Grissom hid his grin as Giles looked amused. "I am fairly certain I am lucid when I speak," he murmured, "Though I can see why you would want to cross-reference my statement. Be that as it may, it would save us all some time if you could believe that I know my statement to be entirely truthful and complete, pain or not."
Brass looked unconvinced. "Humor us," the little man suggested amiably, leaning forward. Giles went over his story again and again, tiring of the 'amiable' questions from someone who clearly didn't believe him. "So why didn't this guy just shoot you?" Brass reasoned.
"Because he was just a terrified young man," Giles snapped, "I was supposed to be scared of his gun and I wasn't! I got up, dared him to shoot me and stumbled past him to look for painkillers."
Brass nodded. Grissom hadn't said a single thing in the entire interview, a rare thing for him. He usually had a few things to ask; he found one now. Perhaps it wouldn't be particularly relevant to the case, but it might clear up a few details along with satisfying his curiosity.
"Last night you said you didn't touch the body because you knew the victim was already dead. Is that right?"
"Yes," Giles said carefully.
"How?" Grissom asked, pursing his mouth in concentration.
And that was an interesting mannerism. Ethan used to use something like that once, back in London when they'd just begun. He blinked hurriedly as he realized he hadn't answered them yet. "Suffice it to say that I have seen a dead body before and I know what it looks like."
"Really!" Now Brass was really interested. "You've seen a body covered in blood before? Where?"
"I have seen many things," Giles sniped, too tired to keep his usual caution. And Ripper was howling. He let go partially and felt himself slip forward in his seat, green eyes glittering as broad shoulders reminded subtly of strength. Brass sat back as hypnotizing green eyes bored through his, threatening with a simple, deliberate glance of violence. "I've seen a friend in my youth die because we were a shade too 'youthful'. I have seen my lover's body laid on my bed with a broken neck. I've seen a friend give her life for her sister. I've driven a school bus out of the hell that was a little town called Sunnydale, knowing that people I cared about were dead or dying. I've seen things you can't even begin to imagine!" He regretted it as soon as he was done. How Ethan would have crowed, he winced. He sat back and wondered if he could brazen it out.
"A- And where would all this experience come from?" Brass asked.
"London, mostly," Giles said, hoping silently that it would be a little too far away for them to bother.
Grissom looked intently at Giles. "What did you do in London?" Giles raised his eyebrows. "What profession were you in?"
Giles suddenly grinned a mischievous grin. "I was working as a curator in the British Museum, actually."
Brass didn't go for the bait. Grissom held his tongue but his lips quirked into the quickest of smirks.
Giles stilled, lost in catching that smile because something else was coming from it- Ethan. That was Ethan's old smirk from his youth, when Ethan was really unable to help laughing at some hidden joke he'd just found. The barest twitch of the lips with a slight twist- Ethan's smile.
Grissom blinked, fearful that Giles had guessed. "That's it for now, Mr. Giles. I have no further questions. Thank you for coming in."
"Anything to help," Giles murmured softly, shaking his hand and pulling himself together.
Brass stood up, shook hands and took a different tack. "Uh, is there any way we can reach you? You know, if we need to ask a few more questions or something."
Green eyes narrowed dangerously and then he nodded. Silently he wrote down the address of the motel he was staying at and walked out, back into another Las Vegas evening. He reflected on his convalescence so far- he'd had two one-night stands in as many nights and he'd been through two punishing migraines in three days and he had witnessed a robbery. His time to recuperate looked like it was going to be cut up by more stress. And he had *so* wanted to lose his soul and self-respect in a mindless fashion!
Grissom tried to concentrate on his blood splatter photographs, but his thoughts were on something entirely different. And the emotions coursing through him weren't helping. He put down his latest attempt with a muffled oath, causing Catherine to look up in surprise.
"What's wrong?" she asked in concern, "Something up?"
"Hmmm? Oh, no! Just thinking about the case, that's all," Grissom reasoned.
"You sure?" Catherine pressed, "Because you're looking more than just a little puzzled, you know."
"Catherine, could you please tell Sara I was following a lead?" Grissom asked unexpectedly, throwing off his lab coat, "I need to go now."
Damn the consequences of the case. The victim couldn't get much deader with a bullet hole through his chest and less than a third of his blood capacity congealed in his veins. He'd go do something about all this and bury the ghosts of bloody Christmas past and oh look! He was beginning to talk like Ethan again! Oh happy day! He slammed into his car and drove out with a squeal of tires, not even noticing Sara and Nick gazing at him with their mouths open.
"Think he's finally had enough and lost it?" Nick ventured.
Sara shook her head. "Not Grissom. Maybe there's a lead I don't know about. But if he's left me to finish analyzing those blood splatter photos all by myself I will kill him when I see him again and then I'll leave someone else to measure his blood splatter."
"Wow, you're cruel," Nick joked, blue eyes teasing as he followed her inside.
Giles was in the middle of getting dressed to go out on one of his usual nightly jaunts. He did up the last few buttons of his shirt and then went to answer the furious thumping on his door. "Just my luck it'll be someone come to bloody arrest me," he grumbled under his breath as he tore the door open.
Grissom gave one of his thin-lipped, humorless smiles. "Hello, Ripper. How nice to see you again!"
