Illusions
Author: Jess
A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. I'm glad that you are enjoying this story. Which is almost finished by the way, I swear it is. Special thanks to my betas Rouch (what would I do with you?) and CSI4nsicAce.
Disclaimer: I looked in my wallet, and I still don't have enough to buy the rights to CSI.
Chapter Twenty- One
It was inappropriate, it was unprofessional, but at that moment, Gil Grissom didn't give a damn. All he cared about was seeing the look on Dr. Doyle's face when he opened the door and was served a search warrant. It was petty and spiteful, but it felt so good. Thinking about the vindictive way the doctor reported the alleged indiscretion with Sara, Grissom realized how sweet this justice was going to be.
Grissom fought hard to keep a smile from manifesting itself on his face as he looked out of the passenger window into the glittering streets of Las Vegas. Daytime, nighttime, in Vegas these words didn't have the same meaning as they did to the rest of the world. The two were intertwined, seamlessly overflowing into the other. To the tourists roaming up and down the Las Vegas strip, there was no concept of time. They were simply in the moment, enjoying their vacation, as the locals of Las Vegas went on with their daily lives.
He turned his attention to Sara. After informing him of Brass' presence and the warrant, she had deftly removed the Denali's keys from his desk and took off. Currently, she was maneuvering the SUV along I-515 towards Henderson while talking with Sofia regarding the developments on their 7-11 case. He briefly wondered how she was holding up. He knew there had to be a thousand thoughts roaming around in her head. Sometimes, she was able to hide her emotions, creating an effective mask to help her as she worked. Her eyes were the only thing that gave away how she truly felt. Other times, her emotions were etched into every part of her being. Grissom really wished he was able to see her eyes.
Frowning, he looked out the passenger side window. Past the strip, the chaotic nature dissipated into relative normalcy. Parks, drugstores, groceries, schools, hospitals — all of the trappings of any other city in the country existed. And just like all of those other places, hidden inside the quiet walls of the Vegas homes were criminals. Grissom wondered how Dr. Doyle's neighbors viewed the man. Would they discuss the merits of the man, how he had saved their pet, helped them with their groceries, how they could never see the man hurting a fly, let alone being a killer? He wondered how his own neighbors viewed him. What did they think of the man who kept strange hours, who never had people over, and had strange packages arrive on his doorstep? Wasn't he the more likely candidate for being viewed a murderer?
Grissom was indifferent to what most people thought of him. Years of ridicule over his hobbies and interests had taught him to become a ghost, to blend in with the background and pursue his interests away from prying eyes. But Sara was different. He did care about her opinion.
His forehead crinkled in frustration. He couldn't be a ghost with Sara. He had never been able to keep her at a reasonable distance, no matter how hard he tried. She had been breaking her way through his defenses from the moment he met her. At first it had been welcomed. She was someone he could mentor and talk with, but then she had come to mean more to him and he hadn't known how to handle that. Truth be told, he still didn't know how to handle it. But he couldn't keep her at arm's length any longer.
The SUV rolled to a stop and Sara turned off the engine. "Penny for your thoughts," she whispered.
Grissom looked at her, his eyes unreadable. "Shall we?" he asked, leaving her question unanswered, and unbuckling himself.
She nodded and followed him out of the SUV, collecting her kit from the back of the Denali. The two walked over to Brass and the other two officers who were a car length away, waiting patiently for them. "Okay, boys and girls," Brass said, a wry smile on his face.
The group walked up the rock pathway to the front door. Brass knocked loudly three times on the door frame. There was silence for a few seconds and then Grissom noticed an upstairs light turn on, followed by footsteps, and the door finally opening. Dr. Doyle stood on the other side of the threshold, a blue robe wrapped around his pajama clad body. "Captain Brass, officers," he said and nodded to the captain before turning his attention to Grissom. His eyes narrowed as he continued, "Dr. Grissom, this is a surprise."
Grissom merely smiled tightly, involuntarily repositioning his body to block Doyle's view of Sara. "We have a warrant to search your house and your Civic," Brass said and handed the doctor the paper.
Dr. Doyle's eyes widened in disbelief, "A warrant?" he asked, and looked at the object in his hands. "For what?"
"For any evidence pertaining to the murder of Christine McGraw," Brass answered. "You need to step out of the house, sir. This officer will keep you company."
"Christine?" he scoffed. "She's out of the country. Somewhere in the Riviera."
"Nevertheless," Brass said and motioned for the doctor to exit.
"I'm calling my lawyer," Doyle said and flipped open the cell phone he was holding.
"That's your call," Brass said. "But I still need you to vacate the premises and let the CSIs do their jobs."
Doyle raised an eyebrow and looked around Grissom, finally taking in Sara's presence. "Still hiding behind your knight in tattered armor, I see," Doyle said, his mouth twisting viciously.
Sara opened her mouth to respond but Brass cut her off, "Dr. Doyle, I will ask one last time for you to move, or I will have an officer forcibly remove you."
The doctor relented and moved from the doorway. Grissom guided Sara into the house, Brass and one of the officers following behind them. "No emotions in here," Grissom said softly for Sara's ears only.
She glanced sideways at him, snapping on a pair of gloves, as she replied, "Same goes for you."
Many would say that the work of a crime scene investigator was dull and time-consuming. It required being able to stay focused on a task for a length of time, repeating the same methods over and over as you gathered evidence. One had to continuously have their senses on alert for any fiber, fingerprint, or clue. If it was missed, a vital piece of the puzzle could be lost forever and a perpetrator could go free. One needed to attack the scene methodically and without bias. It was the last part Sara was having trouble with.
She blew a stray piece of her hair from her face and slowly moved the ALS light over a bathroom sink. The three young women in the morgue had to have died somewhere, and wherever they had died there should be a great deal of blood left behind. It could be washed away and become unseen to the naked eye, but it was still there, waiting to be found. She sighed when the ALS didn't show any blood in the bathroom.
She closed her eyes and attempted to control her breathing. She was mad, and the longer she was in his house the angrier she became. There was no doubt in her mind that Dr. Doyle had murdered the three women. His obsessive nature and the manner in which he behaved towards her were signs of something dangerous beneath the doctor's congenial attitude.
Sara opened her eyes and moved to the bathroom window, looking down from the second story window to the front yard below. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the doctor on the driveway, talking animatedly to another man, most likely his lawyer. She turned away from the window and looked back at the bathroom.
She needed to do something about his behavior towards her. The whirlwind of activity over the last few hours had kept her distracted, but she wasn't going to let it slide. She crouched down beside her kit and removed black fingerprint powder and a brush. 'How many times have I counseled women on reporting abuse?' she wondered as she began dusting for prints.
She had begun the paperwork needed to file charges of stalking against Dr. Doyle when she had left Ecklie's office. The doctor's behavior had been inexcusable, and she wouldn't stand for it, but she hadn't completed the papers because she had wanted to heed Catherine's advice about not being hotheaded when dealing with him. However, at this moment, she wanted nothing more than to finish the paperwork and file charges of sexual harassment or some variance against the man.
Sara shook her head angrily. Unfortunately, there wasn't much that she could do at that moment. She didn't have enough evidence to accuse him of stalking. He hadn't caused her any physical harm, and he had never directly threatened her. She hated this aspect of the law. By the time a woman was able to show evidence of stalking, it was usually too late. 'I might be able to obtain a restraining order,' she thought, running the brush across the sink. 'But even if he violates it, I doubt he'll receive jail time.'
She snapped pictures of prints she uncovered from the edge of the sink. As she lifted the pair, she listened to the sound of Grissom processing in the adjoining bedroom. She had a bittersweet smile as she knelt down, running the brush along the side of the tub.
"Anything?" Grissom asked from the bathroom doorway.
"I obtained some prints from the sink, most likely his, but nothing else," Sara replied, an air of defeat surrounding her. "No blood, no trace, nothing." She looked at the tub and then back at him. "And there's no sign of bleach either," she continued. "You?"
"Fibers, prints, but no blood or epithelial cells," Grissom stated.
Sara groaned and clenched her fists. "We have nothing!" she said, her anger shining through. "We have cat hairs and the vicuna sample from the car, but what does that give us? He could have transported the bodies. Hell, he could say anyone could have used his car, which I'm sure his damn cat has been in as well. And there goes the only two pieces of evidence we have tying him to the victims!"
"We have Christine McGraw's message to her brother," Grissom said calmly. "That shows he was the last person known to be with her."
Sara guffawed, "And you know what his lawyer will say, Dr. Doyle did bring her to the airport, dropped her off at the departure doors, watched her walk inside, and he has no idea what happened to her after that point," she said her voice rising to hysterics. "And we have nothing that proves that didn't happen!"
Grissom looked patiently at her, waiting for her to calm down. She looked away from him, her fists opening and closing as she tried to control her erratic breathing. She shouldn't let cases get to her like this, but it was so hard not to let them.
"Sara," Grissom began soothingly. "We need to look back over what we have. Maybe we're not looking at the larger picture correctly."
Sara looked back up at him and nodded.
"Meanwhile, Brass is going to interview Dr. Doyle. There are a lot of things he needs to explain," Grissom continued. "I have a feeling the doctor will reveal quite a bit about himself without realizing it."
She nodded again and began packing up her kit. She could feel Grissom watching her and knew he was battling something internally. "Sara--" he began.
"—I'm fine," she interrupted. Looking up, she could tell he wasn't buying it. She watched him watch her, hoping he would leave it alone. She didn't want to discuss how she felt. It wouldn't help anyone.
After a few moments, she couldn't take it any longer and broke eye contact. "I'm fine," Sara repeated, shut her kit, and quickly stood.
"Ready?" she asked as she walked through the bathroom doorway and into the bedroom.
She heard him pick up his own kit before walking past her and out the door. Sara followed him out of the room, silently cursing herself for the wall she had unwittingly just placed in between them. It wasn't just Grissom that needed to work on communication skills.
"My client is here as a courtesy to the police department," Ben Pierce stated as he sat down. He looked pointedly at the two men across the table and continued, "Please remember that fact, gentlemen."
"Of course," Brass replied, smiling pleasantly. "Dr. Doyle, please, have a seat."
The doctor ignored him and walked over to the mirror. "Tell me, Dr. Grissom, where is the lovely Ms. Sidle?" he asked and twisted to look behind him at Grissom who stared impassively at him. Doyle turned back to the mirror and tapped his fingers against the glass. "Why is she not allowed at the proceedings?"
"William, have a seat," Pierce said, trying to keep his voice even.
Doyle smiled and looked at the mirror, running a hand along the cool surface.
On the other side of the glass, Sara shivered. She knew he couldn't see her, but he was still able to successfully creep her out.
"Very well," he returned and sat down.
"What can you tell us about Christine McGraw," Brass asked.
"Christine is a smart, young woman, who is passionate about animal rights," Doyle said. "She is a vital member of the Las Vegas SPCA chapter. We miss her greatly."
"Oh?" Brass asked.
"She is currently on vacation in the Riviera," Doyle continued. "I told all of this to you at my house, Captain."
"I know you did," Brass said. "But, see, I sometimes need to have things repeated to me a couple of times, especially when what someone is telling me doesn't match up with the evidence."
Grissom opened the folder before him and pushed it to the other side of the table. A photograph of Christine McGraw's head lay on top. "Ms. McGraw was found dead," he said.
"Why is my client here?" Pierce asked closing the folder.
"Fibers found on her body are a match to Dr. Doyle's cat and car," Brass said.
Sara watched as Doyle and Pierce quietly talked before Pierce answered, "My client brought Christine McGraw to the airport on February 4. It is possible that she acquired those fibers when she was on her way there."
"Ms. McGraw never checked in for her flight or any flight after that," Brass said.
"I drove Christine to the airport and dropped her off at the Delta gate. I had surgeries scheduled, and I needed to prep for them. I couldn't wait around with her to check-in," Dr. Doyle explained. "You can check with my secretary. I was on time for work and performed two surgeries and five necropsies that day."
Brass nodded.
"You drive a Honda Civic LX," Grissom said, his voice void of any emotion.
"You know I do," Doyle snapped. "As I suspect a great deal of other Las Vegas citizens do as well."
"If you have nothing more than circumstantial evidence, Captain Brass, my client and I are leaving," Pierce said and stood.
"You're free to go," Brass told them.
"We are going to need to keep your car," Grissom informed.
"Whatever can help," Doyle said. "I'll simply use the Lexus."
Grissom's eyebrow rose at this bit of information. "Lexus?" he asked. "There is no Lexus registered under your name."
"It was my wife's car," Doyle said. "It was registered under her maiden name."
"Let's go, William," Pierce instructed and ushered the doctor out of the room.
Grissom looked at Brass and smiled. A couple of seconds later, his cell phone rang. "Grissom," he stated.
"I'll check what else is registered under the wife's name," Sara said over the phone. She smiled as she closed the phone and exited the room. Waving to O'Reilly as she exited through the back of the precinct, she removed the Denali keys from her pocket.
"Hello, Sara." She cringed as she heard Dr. Doyle's voice.
Sara turned and saw him leaning against the walls of the building. "You're a suspect in a murder investigation," she told him simply. "We shouldn't be talking."
Doyle ignored her and stepped forward.
"Hold it right there," she warned, her eyes narrowing. She reached in her pocket and pushed send, automatically dialing Grissom's number.
He stopped and smiled. "Beautiful, succulent Sara Sidle," he murmured. "Success is focusing the full power of all you are on what you have a burning desire to achieve."
"Wilfred Peterson," Sara said, citing the source of his quote.
"And I will succeed, my dear," Doyle informed her, smiling seductively.
Sara struggled with wanting to throw up or kick his ass.
"My dear Sara, do you have any idea how tempting you are?"
Sara didn't answer, readying herself to use the training she had learned from the weaponless defense classes.
The doctor looked beyond her and then back at her. "My ride is here," he said.
Sara watched him walk towards a blue Neon, making sure he kept a significant distance from her. Grissom and Brass exited the precinct, both slightly panting, as the doctor opened the door.
"Until we meet again, my dear," the doctor said, smiling at Sara. He glared icily at Grissom and entered the car.
Sara ended the call on her cell phone and smiled warily at Grissom and Brass. "I'm fine," she assured them. Even to her ears it didn't sound right.
