8/20/05
BROTHER GRIMM
Chapter 2
After dropping off the hairbrush and toothbrush he'd collected from Mrs. Metcalfe, as well as Mr. Metcalfe's DNA sample, with Mia, Nick joined the rest of the team in the evidence room. Sara had tacked Tiffany's quilt up to one of the walls and she and Warrick were examining it.
"You know, I don't understand this semen stain," Sara commented. "The guy couldn't have tried to rape her. She would have made too much noise. And the semen stain would have been higher up on the bed, not at the foot."
"I don't know, maybe our boy stood at the foot of the bed, watching the girl sleep and got so excited that he decided to, uh, 'Free Willy' right there," Warrick suggested.
"Oh, that is just sick," Sara said, with a grimace.
"Yeah, well, at this point, I think that's a given," Nick said.
"Good point."
"Hey, where's Catherine?" Nick asked.
"She's talking to Ecklie, trying to get permission for us to raid Day Shift's paperwork," Warrick answered.
"Ecklie's still here?"
"Oh, no, she called him at home, woke his ass up."
The two male CSIs exchanged malicious grins at the happy thought of the less-than-adored Assistant Director of the lab, being rudely awakened in the middle of the night. Their attention was drawn to Catherine as she entered the lab, carrying several thick file folders.
"Okay, I got the go ahead. These are our cases now. I've got all the paperwork. Now, we need to sit down and start going over these reports and photographs, see what's similar, what isn't," she said.
"Yeah, listen, I'm going to go start feeding those tire measurements I took into the vehicle database and see if I can't at least come up with a vehicle type to match those marks," Warrick said.
"Okay, sounds good."
"Uh, Cath, I really need to finish up my field reports on that robbery case I wrapped up last night. Then I'll be done with that and I can concentrate on this case," Sara said.
"Alright, go ahead," the older woman said. Turning to Nick, she said, "I guess it's just you and I."
Taking the files into the break room, where they could spread them out on the large table, Catherine and Nick started comparing notes. The first two kidnappings were definitely related, Day Shift had already noted that, but whether those cases matched theirs, was yet to be determined. They had been poring over the files for a couple of hours, when they were interrupted by Grissom entering the room.
"Hey, how'd it go with the dogs?" Catherine asked.
"It was a bust. They didn't find anything. Are those Day Shift's files?"
"Yeah and there's definitely a connection between all three kidnappings. Same M. O. The guy went through the second-story bedroom window in all three houses, presumably using a ladder. Semen stains were found at all three locations. They matched in the first two cases, although no match was found in any of the databases. We're still waiting on the results of our sample."
Grissom nodded. "Good job. Listen, you two are the first people I found so you get the case. We just got a call on a 419 at a local high school. It's the same neighborhood as all three of the kidnap victims, so I want our shift to have this case. Can you two handle it?"
"You up for it, Nick?" Catherine asked.
"Yeah, I'm good. We'll take care of it."
"Thank you," the entomologist said distractedly, as he left the room, his mind already moving on to other topics.
Glancing down at her watch, Catherine said, "Wow, it's 5:30 am already. Are you sure you're up for this? It's probably going to be another long morning."
"Yes, I'm fine," Nick said firmly.
"Okay, but it's going to be another long drive back out to Indian Springs Subdivision. Are you going to be able to stay awake this time?" the woman teased, as the two investigators gathered up all their paperwork.
"Yes, right now, I've got so much caffeine in my system that I don't think I'll sleep for a week. And if I drive then I'll definitely stay awake."
"Why do men always have to drive? What, we 'little ladies' are too delicate to handle it?" Catherine asked, as they started out of the breakroom.
"Nah, it's a control thing."
"Well, I'm not going to argue with that."
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It was 6:30 in the morning when they arrived at Indian Springs High School. The principal met them outside at the front of the building. He was a small, nervous man in his mid 40's with sparse, light brown hair and thick, black, plastic-rimmed spectacles. He introduced himself as Neil Denton.
"Look, I don't want to rush you people, but how long is this going to take? I mean, I don't want to sound disrespectful of the dead, but I would really like to have the... body out of here before the children start to arrive at 8:00," Denton said, wringing his hands and leading them through the hallways of the school.
"We understand, Mr. Denton," Catherine said. "We'll try to be as quick and as discreet as we can be, but we don't want to miss any crucial evidence. Has anyone from the Coroner's Office been here yet?"
"No, not yet." The man led them to the school's small theater and showed them inside. They stopped at the top of the recessed seating arrangement. A few hundred feet below and out from them, the lights of the stage were turned on, illuminating Capt. Brass, who was interviewing an elderly man in dark gray coveralls. Beside them, lying on the stage was a small blue bundle with bright blonde hair, presumably the body. The stage itself was decorated in a vaguely medieval style, with fake stone facades and one, more detailed building, with a low, 'stone' balcony.
"The Drama Club is putting on a performance of Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet'," Denton explained to the two investigators.
"Were you the one who found the body?" Nick asked.
"Uh, no, that was Mr. Phelps, there. He's the custodian," Denton said, gesturing to the man talking with Brass. "He found the body and called the police then he called me."
"All right, Mr. Denton, if you don't have anything more to add, why don't you go out front and wait for the medical examiner?" Catherine suggested, noting how pale and agitated the little man was.
"Yes, splendid idea, I'll do that."
Heading down a side aisle at the left side of the theater, Nick and Catherine climbed the steps up to the wooden stage. Nodding their greetings to the stocky detective, the two investigators knelt down on either side of the body. The girl was around 5 or 6 years old. She was dressed in a light blue, satin gown, complete with long, white gloves. On her feet were white, patent leather slippers. Her long, blonde hair had been very carefully and very artfully curled into long ringlets, which framed her pretty face. There was a small, rhinestone tiara in her hair. Her eyes were closed. There were no visible wounds or marks on her.
"She looks like Sleeping Beauty," Nick said softly.
"She's obviously too young to be a student here, so the principal couldn't identify her," Brass said, coming to stand behind Catherine.
"That's okay, we know who she is," the female CSI said, looking up at the detective sadly.
"You do?"
"Samantha Dresher, age 6," Nick said softly. "She was the first girl kidnapped. She's been missing since early last week."
The four adults were silent as the two investigators proceeded to photograph the sad little figure from several different angles. To Nick, she looked like a life-sized version of those porcelain dolls that his grandmother used to collect. He found the whole thing slightly nauseating and for a moment, he thought his stomach might actually rebel. Taking a deep breath, he forced the nausea aside.
"Uh, Mr. Phelps, the janitor here, says that he found the body at about 5:00, when he arrived and began his rounds of the school," Brass said, bringing them all back to reality. "He said one of the side doors had been forced open."
"Yeah, this was just a body dump," Catherine said. "I seriously doubt she was killed here. I think our killer just wanted her to have... the proper setting."
"What do you make of the way she's dressed?" the detective asked. "I mean, maybe we can get a lead from the dress. It looks pretty elaborate and it was obviously made to fit her."
"No, it's just a standard Cinderella costume. You can get one just like it at any Disney Store across the country. Trust me, Lindsey had one too."
This discussion was interrupted by the arrival of David Phillips and his attendants. As the young M. E. climbed the steps of the stage and moved to stand over the body, he gave a heavy sigh. "I really hate these kinds of cases," he said softly.
Nick moved aside to give the coroner's assistant room to do his thing. David knelt beside the child and looked her over, not yet touching her.
"No visible marks or injuries," he said, musing out loud. Reaching out, he lifted one of the girl's eyelids. "There's petechial hemorrhaging around the irises, but no marks on her neck. She was probably suffocated rather than strangled. We'll know more when we get her back to the morgue."
"Time of death?" Catherine asked.
The M. E. inserted his large bore thermometer into the small body. "Liver temp's 91.6," he announced after a few seconds.
"So, she's only been dead for a few hours," Catherine commented. "Thanks, David."
The female CSI turned to her fellow investigator. "Well, I don't think we're going to learn anything more from this location. This isn't our primary scene."
"No," Nick agreed. He turned to the janitor. "Mr. Phelps, can you show us the door that you found forced open?"
"Oh, sure, right this way," the elderly custodian responded.
Leaving David and his crew to deal with the body and Brass to deal with the principal, Nick and Catherine followed Phelps as he led them down a hallway to a set of double doors, not far from the theater. The handle of one of the doors was obviously broken and that door wouldn't close properly. Thanking the janitor, they photographed and dusted the door for prints. They found plenty of partial and smeared prints. They even found a few usable ones, but they weren't holding out much hope for any of them. So far, their killer had been smart enough to wear gloves. They doubted he would suddenly forget to this time.
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Since they were on that end of town and Catherine had brought all of the paperwork with her, so they had Samantha Dresher's address, the two CSIs and the detective decided to deliver the bad news about Samantha right then. It only took about fifteen minutes for them to drive to the Dresher's house from the high school.
It was an ostentatiously large, brick affair, with more house than lawn. The three law enforcement officers were shown inside by a slender, very young maid, who led them to an immaculate, formal sitting room, professionally decorated in shades of taupe. The room was obviously intended to be warm and inviting, but was somehow not; perhaps because one couldn't help but feel like you had just stepped into a sterile Ethan Allen showroom.
After several minutes, where everyone was afraid to sit or touch anything, the maid returned and asked the group to follow her. She led them to the back of the house, to an airy, sun-lit four-season room, where the Dresher's had apparently just sat down to breakfast.
Nick and Catherine remained quiet while Brass introduced them and himself then gently told the Dresher's that the body of a young girl had been found that morning and they were fairly certain it was Samantha. He asked if the parents could come down to the county morgue and officially identify the body when they were ready to.
The pretty, blond couple simply sat at their glass-topped, wrought-iron table and stared blankly at the detective. Both appeared to be in shock. They had obviously not been prepared for the possibility that they might not get their daughter back alive.
"Mr. and Mrs. Dresher, I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but two other girls about Samantha's age have also been kidnapped," Catherine said gently. "We have reason to suspect that these kidnappings may all be linked. I'm going to show you some photographs of the other two girls. Can you tell me if they were friends of Samantha's?"
Opening one of the file folders, the red-head produced two 5x7 photos, one of Tiffany Metcalfe and one of Ashley Russell, the second girl taken. Catherine laid the pictures on the table between the Dresher's. The couple eyed them dully.
"No, I've never seen either of these girls before," Mrs. Dresher said in a flat voice.
"Do either of you know James or Angela Metcalfe?" Brass asked. "They live a few blocks from here."
Both parents shook their heads.
"How 'bout Bruce or Eileen Russell?"
Again there was a negative response.
While Brass and Catherine continued to speak gently with the Dresher's, Nick stood awkwardly in the background. He was uncomfortable witnessing these people's grief. Samantha was their only daughter and now she was gone. They didn't need LVPD intruding in their lives at this moment, even if the questions were necessary. With a sigh, he shifted his gaze to the table, away from Tanya Dresher's dead, blue stare. As his eyes fell on the carefully laid table, he absently noted a white, square, cardboard box with the name McCormick Bakery stamped on the lid.
He gave his head a slight shake. He had started to zone out for a moment. Whether this was due to his cold, lack of sleep, or the recent strange dream, he wasn't sure. But for a moment, he thought he had heard that irritatingly familiar tune that Tiffany had been humming in the dream. He still couldn't think of what the tune was.
Glancing over at Catherine, he saw she was watching him with narrowed eyes. He knew what she was thinking: Are you okay? He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and tried to force his mind back to the business at hand.
Thanking the Dresher's for their time and offering awkward, but sincere, condolences for their loss, Brass herded the two CSIs out of the opulent, grief-filled house. Outside, they consulted the paperwork again and discovered that the Russell's lived only a few blocks away. As they were still in the neighborhood, they decided to head over to chat with them.
The Russell home was very similar to the Dresher's, large, brick, showy. A tall, thin woman with tired eyes and mouse-brown hair answered the door at their knock.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Are you Eileen Russell?" Brass asked.
"Yes, and you are...?"
Once again, Brass introduced himself and the two CSIs and asked if he could speak to the wife and her husband about their daughter. The woman nodded and stepped aside to allow them entry. She led them to the kitchen, where Bruce Russell was just getting up from the breakfast table and pulling on his sport coat, probably about to head off to work. Seeing the detective and the CSIs, with their black field vests, he hesitated.
"Do you have some news about Ashley?" he asked.
Brass glanced at the table, where a young boy, about 9 or 10 years old, sat eating a bowl of cereal. "Uh, no, I'm afraid I don't. I'd just like to ask you and your wife a few questions." Opening the folder he carried, he took out the photos of Tiffany and Samantha. He laid them on the table. "Have either of you seen these girls?"
The husband shook his head immediately. Eileen leaned closer and carefully examined the pictures for a moment before she also shook her head. "No, I've never seen either of them," she said. "Who are they? Were they kidnapped also?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so. We're trying to determine if there's any kind of connection between the three girls," Brass said gently.
While the detective continued to question the Russell's about whether or not they knew the Dresher's or the Metcalfe's, Nick wandered closer to the table, where the boy seemed to be trying very hard not to draw attention to himself.
"Hey, Buddy, what's your name?" Nick asked gently.
"Jeremy," the boy said, very softly.
"Have you ever seen either of these girls, Jeremy?" the CSI asked, gesturing to the photos.
"Um, the red-haired girl looks kind of familiar. I think I've seen her at school. I don't know her name, but she plays soccer with us sometimes at recess. She's pretty good, you know, for a little girl. I've never seen the blonde girl."
"So, you've never seen them with your sister?"
"No. I'm positive they're not friends of Ashley's. I mean, Ashley's not into sports. She does ballet."
Nick nodded. "Thanks, Jeremy."
As the CSI was about to turn his attention back to his colleagues, he noticed a loaf of bread on the table with a sticker on the plastic wrapper that bore the name McCormick Bakery. Noting his stare, Mrs. Russell moved closer to him.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"No, Ma'am, I'm sorry," Nick said, with a smile. "Uh, where is this bakery?" He gestured toward the loaf of bread.
"It's not far outside the subdivision. It's a very good bakery. Everyone goes there."
"Oh, thank you," he said, with a nod. Turning to Catherine, he found her watching him with an odd expression.
"Are you ready to go, Nick?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm good."
They thanked the Russell's for their time and left the house.
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Back at the P. D. complex, Nick and Catherine stopped in at the morgue, to see if anything had been done with Samantha Dresher's body. Dr. Robbins informed them that he had done a quick, preliminary exam, but hadn't gotten to the autopsy yet. He was quite backlogged, so it would be a while before he could get to her.
"From my initial exam, I can tell you that she died of asphyxiation. I don't anticipate the autopsy will change that assessment. From the lack of ligature marks on the neck, I would say she was smothered as opposed to strangled."
"Yeah, that's what David said, too," Catherine commented.
Robbins nodded somberly at that. "I can also tell you that she was raped. Seeing that, I checked for semen, but didn't find any. Your killer must have worn a condom."
Nick and Catherine glanced at each other and scowled. There were times, like right now, when Nick truly hated his job.
"I'll let you know if the autopsy or the tox screen turn up anything noteworthy," Robbins promised.
"Thanks, Doc," Catherine said.
She and Nick headed back to the lab. They had only just stepped into the breakroom, when Grissom entered behind them.
"Oh, good, you're back. I'm rounding up the rest of the team. I want everyone to sit down and discuss what we know so far. You two can get us up to speed on the two earlier cases," the supervisor said. "Wait here, I'll get everyone else."
Catherine sighed and watched the man's back as he retreated down the hall, with that odd, short-stepped, bow-legged gait of his. She never could figure out where he got all his boundless energy from. She wanted to solve this case as much as the next person, but she was exhausted. How is it that he wasn't? With that thought in mind, she turned to her companion.
"Hey, how're you holding up?" she asked.
'Hmm?" Nick looked up at her, as though startled out of a daze. "Oh, I'm okay."
She continued to watch him for a moment, but said nothing. They each pulled out a chair on opposite sides of the table and sat down to wait for the others. Catherine laid the paperwork down and began shuffling through it, trying to arrange it in some coherent order. Nick simply sat watching her, mesmerized by the movements of her hands.
The others began filing in about five minutes later, including Capt. Brass. Everyone found seats around the big breakroom table. Grissom entered last, carrying a lightweight aluminum easel, with a large, white marker board. He set the easel up at the head of the table and turned to address his team.
"Okay, Catherine and Nick have been going over Day Shift's reports on the first two kidnappings," Gil began, getting right down to business. "They believe that all three cases are related, as we suspected. The same M. O. was used in all three cases. Now, I want to try and come up with some kind of victim profile. I want to know what he's looking for. I want to know what the similarities between all the cases are. What are the differences? Let's start with the victims. Catherine, tell us about the first two girls."
"Well, first of all," the red-haired CSI said. "The DB you sent Nick and I to check out this morning was Samantha Dresher, the first girl taken. So, these aren't just kidnapping cases any more. It's rape and murder now."
A heavy silence greeted this news.
Catherine continued. "The girl's body was definitely dressed and posed. She was left on the local high school's stage. They were doing a production of 'Romeo and Juliet.' The girl had been dressed up like a princess, Disney Store Cinderella costume, hair curled... she even had a little rhinestone tiara."
As she had spoken, Grissom taped three small photos of the girls to the top of the white board. He turned back to Catherine and gestured for her to continue.
"Uh, similarities between the girls would be that they were all about the same age, 6 or 7 years old, they lived in the same subdivision. All three girls came from wealthy, two-parent households. All three went to the same elementary school, but apparently weren't friends with each other. None of the parents seemed to know each other either. I guess it's a pretty big school."
Grissom jotted these things down on the board as Catherine rattled them off. "What was different about the girls?" he asked.
"Well, first of all, their physical appearances. Samantha Dresher was blonde and blue-eyed. The second girl, Ashley Russell, had brown hair and eyes. And Tiffany Metcalfe had red hair and brown eyes. Uh, Ashley Russell has an older brother. Both Samantha and Tiffany are only children. There don't seem to be any similarities between the parents' occupations... I don't know, at this point, age and proximity seem to be the major similarities between the girls."
"So, I think it would be safe to say that our kidnapper either lives or works somewhere near the Indian Springs Subdivision," Grissom said, examining his handiwork on the white board. "So, who would have access to all three households? Didn't the Metcalfe's mention a landscape company?"
"Yeah, they did, hang on," Brass spoke up, flipping through his own notebook. "Yeah, here it is, the Green Man Landscape Company."
"Hmm, that's kind of a pagan name," Sara commented. "I wonder if they did any work for the other two families."
"Just a minute," Catherine said, scanning the paperwork. "Yes, they worked for the Russell's as well. I don't see anything for the Dresher's though."
"We should still look into it," Grissom said.
"I'll do that," Brass volunteered. "Sara can come with me, since she's knows so much about paganism and all."
"Gee, thanks," the woman said dryly.
The detective gave her a quick wink from across the table.
"Warrick, what did you find out about those tire marks you found in the grass?" Gil asked.
"Oh, uh, according to the vehicle database, we're looking for some kind of mini-van or a small pickup truck," the younger man responded.
"Pickup truck, huh?" Brass mused. "Kind of like what a landscape company would use..."
"Bakeries often use mini-vans as delivery vehicles," Nick said softly, almost speaking to himself.
"Excuse me?" Grissom asked.
Realizing that he had spoken out loud and that everyone was looking at him, Nick said, "Oh, uh, I happened to notice baked goods from a McCormick Bakery at all three of the houses. I asked Mrs. Russell about it and she said the bakery was not far from the subdivision. She said that 'everyone goes there.' I don't know if it means anything. I just happened to notice it."
"Well, it's something," Grissom said. "We don't have much else to go on. We should probably check that out as well."
The team continued to discuss the kidnapper's M. O., speculating on the type of ladder he would have used to get to the second story windows, but Nick was no longer listening. His mind was drifting back to the image of Samantha Dresher's body. She had looked like Sleeping Beauty. In his dream of Tiffany, she had worn a hooded, red cloak, like Little Red Riding Hood. Little girls and fairy tale imagery. There was magic in fairy tales, but danger as well, especially to pretty little girls. The original, uncensored stories by the Brothers Grimm were very grim indeed, graphic cautionary tales which warned of the dangers of being pretty and careless. Evidently in their world, it was much safer to be a plain girl, they were largely ignored. Of course, you wouldn't want to be an ugly girl either. The ugly girls met the worst fates of all...
"Nick!"
He looked up guiltily at Catherine. She had apparently been calling his name for a minute or so.
"You're still not feeling well, are you?" she asked.
"I'm fine."
"You're not feeling well?" Grissom asked, eyes narrowing.
"I said I'm fine. Would everyone, please, stop trying to mother me!"
Sara, who was sitting beside him, turned and ran a hand over his forehead and cheeks. "You're warm. I think you might have a fever," she said.
"It's just a cold," he said, scowling at her.
She gave him an apologetic smile and shrugged.
"Go home, Nick," Gil said firmly. "Get some sleep. See how you feel tonight."
"I'm okay, Gris. I want to help with the case."
"Help with what, Nick? We've got next to nothing to work with. Go home. I'm sure the rest of us will be heading there shortly as well."
Looking around the table and seeing no one who looked particularly sympathetic to his cause, Nick gave a resigned sigh and left the room.
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The soft chirupping of crickets broke the silence. The warm afternoon sun broke intermittently through the dense leaves, high overhead, shining down from a vivid blue sky. The forest was still. The occasional distant cry of a blue jay broke up the monotony of the incessant droning of the insects. Nick lay in his clear, plastic coffin and listened to the sounds of life all around him.
There was no lid to his coffin and it sat above ground this time, nestled amid a bed of lily of the valley, in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by dense forest. He could see around him, but he couldn't move. He could only lie, still as a statue, watching his world, but unable to interact with it.
Hearing movement off to his right, he strained to see what was approaching his prison. He caught a brief flash of red. A face suddenly appeared above him, a blur of freckle-covered cheeks, wide brown eyes and thick, red curls. Tiffany smiled down at him. He wanted to smile back, but couldn't move. Slowly, she leaned closer and kissed him on the lips. There was nothing erotic about this kiss. It was the tight-lipped, perfectly chaste kiss of a child, but Nick suddenly found that he could move.
Tiffany stepped back and grasped his hand. He sat up slowly and looked around at the dense, broad-leaf forest. He didn't feel tired at all. He felt strong and refreshed. Turning back to his small rescuer, he smiled at the girl. She smiled back and tugged at his hand, urging him out of the coffin. Still holding her hand, he climbed out. Once he was standing beside her, she began pulling him towards the denser part of the forest.
"Where are we going?" he asked her.
She didn't answer, just smiled up at him and tugged his hand, urging him to move faster. He picked up his pace, but she only moved faster still. Soon they were running through the trees. Branches whipped Nick's face and tore at his clothing, but Tiffany somehow seemed able to slip effortlessly beneath them. Releasing his hand, she moved on ahead of him.
Nick ran three miles most days before heading in to work. He worked out regularly. He was in excellent physical condition and yet, he couldn't seem to keep up with the running child. She was moving further and further away from him. Soon, he could only see the flash of her red cloak as it fluttered out behind her.
"Tiffany!" he called to her. "Tiffany, wait for me!"
A sudden piercing scream rent the still air. The red cloak was nowhere to be seen. All around him was an endless sea of greens and browns. The child was gone.
"Tiffany!"
Nick sat up in his bed, in his house, his chest heaving as if he truly had just been running through a forest. He ran a slightly shaking hand through his damp hair. His bare skin was sweaty and he felt incredibly hot. He pushed the light blanket away and glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It read 3:00 in the afternoon. He still had a few hours before he needed to get up for work. His head was pounding. He lay back down and closed his eyes, trying very hard to ignore the sudden feeling of loss that threatened to overwhelm him. He also tried not to notice how still and empty his small house seemed.
To be continued...