Chapter 8 Unraveling Part 2
SaraGrowing tired of these seemingly infinite, irksome delays; Sara decided to cut Grissom some slack. She planned to drop by his office just before their shift that night so they could hopefully agree upon a time to finally have the talk that would lay the groundwork for their new relationship.
As she approached, her steps became slower. Did she really want to do this? Would he perceive this in the right light? Well…she wouldn't bring up that subject; she'd let him do the talking on personal issues
Having settled that matter satisfactorily in her own head, she resolutely rounded the corner only to discover that Sofia was once again making herself comfortable in Grissom's office, hovering by his desk, chattering away. A twinge of jealousy sparked within her, accompanied by a sinking sensation.
What's the deal here?She had a clear view of Sofia, who was practically sitting on top of his desk, obscuring her view of Grissom. The blonde smiled then laughed, flipping her hair in that transparent flirty move that Sara despised. Though she could hear the rumble of their voices, she couldn't discern what they were saying.
Sara wasn't going to look like a fool. She retreated to the lab, feeling confused and a little insecure.
It's probably nothing. You didn't see his face; most likely he's barely tolerating her presence. You're over reacting. You're tired, that's all.
She didn't want to think about it.
She was relieved when she, Greg and Grissom were directly assigned a potential arson case. Sara immediately turned to Greg and declared, "Let's go." She wasn't in the mood to deal with any of Grissom's head games, especially since she was feeling a bit bewildered, and vulnerable. Greg's easy charm and camaraderie along with a challenging case were just what she needed to distract her from over-analyzing the situation.
At the scene, the three of them, clad in coveralls, sorted through the piles of ashes and debris, attempting to identify the source of the blaze. It was a messy and daunting job. While most of the outer walls of the house were still standing and, barring a few gaps, the roof remained intact, giving it the semblance of normality from the outside; once the front door was opened, charred remains were heaped in haphazard piles with trickles of water from the firefighters' efforts collecting in random puddles. Residual smoke lingered in the air, tickling their throats and nasal passages. Two ash-covered adult corpses, a male and a female, were discovered lying in bed in the second floor master bedroom. Was it simply an accidental fire that suffocated the occupants as they slept, or had it been a carefully orchestrated murder?
An hour later Sara brushed off her coveralls and volunteered to accompany Detective Larson to canvas the neighborhood for potential witnesses. Although she wasn't interested in the detective, his appreciative glances, despite her smudged appearance, and his smooth compliments soothed her damaged ego. And Grissom's poorly concealed scowl as he watched her leaving the scene with him also served to boost her morale as well.
From their interviews, she and Detective Larson learned that the owner of the house, Matt Gruen, had recently started a home-based photography business that didn't please his neighbors. One of his next-door neighbors insinuated that he was fronting for pornography, claiming that he'd seen some of the 'clients' who utilized his services. Another neighbor just seemed envious of the man's bright red convertible and gorgeous female companions. No one had witnessed any suspicious activity prior to the fire that evening.
Next she and Detective Larson returned to the station to speak with Miles Berringer, Matt Gruen's business partner and close friend. Unfortunately he had the unpleasant task of positively identifying the bodies. Although the corpses were scorched, he was able to confirm Matt, yet he had no idea who the woman was. Apparently many of his clients liked to pay for their photos using the barter system.
Sara was mildly amused that the formerly headstrong detective let her take the lead with the questioning, while he remained mostly in the background. Grissom must have mentioned his overly aggressive approach during the Reynolds's case to Larson's superior or even spoken with him personally about it.
As they exited the interrogation room, Detective Larson good-naturedly offered to buy her a cup of coffee. Since she was mildly impressed by the improvements in his professional behavior, and she also didn't feel as if she was leading him on, she sat on a bench in the hallway as she waited for his return.
It's just coffee, right?The solid support beneath her felt comforting. Usually the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of solving the crimes, revitalized her, regardless of her circumstances. Her passion for her work invigorated her when nothing else did. Her work was her essential oxygen, her life sustaining fuel. Over the past years, she'd pulled multiple consecutive shifts; she'd worked up to three weeks in a row without time off, and even gone three entire days without sleeping. However, tonight she felt as if she was running out of gas. For once, the concept of her night off, beckoning from a distance, wasn't something to be avoided at all costs. In fact, it was the only prospect that was keeping her sane that night.
She looked up, expecting to see Detective Larson, only to find Gil Grissom purposefully striding down the hallway towards her. He paused to sit down on the bench beside her.
"Anything substantial?" he asked.
"Not on the surface. But the business wasn't doing so well, and Miles Berringer as the business partner could possibly benefit from the insurance settlement. He might have the motive. I also don't know if he enjoyed as many fringe benefits as Matt did, if you go get my drift," Sara insinuated.
"Look into that."
"Can you identify the source of ignition?" she asked.
He explained, "We suspect the point of origin was in the photography studio on the first floor, the temperature rose high enough to melt the light fixtures. But we haven't been able to determine what started it."
"They use a lot of different chemicals to develop film," she pointed out.
"True, but none are sufficiently volatile to have initiated the blaze on their own. Although it could've been accidentally set, from the fragmentation damage we saw, it appears as if there was an explosion. No evidence of any incendiary device yet, but we brought some promising trace evidence to the lab to run tests. Keep me posted on Miles and the business finances."
Just as she expected him to leave, he leaned towards her, his hand momentarily covering hers. More softly, he asked, "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"
Her face grew warm.
Damn. I have the worst luck in the world.
"Uh-hem…excuse me.." Sara's cheeks were burning for more than one reason. What horrendous timing. Although Grissom quickly pulled away, their hands had only been touching for less than a minute; it hadn't gone unnoticed by the observant Detective Larson, who seemed mildly perplexed. He carried two cups of coffee.
Sara drew in a sharp breath; Grissom and Larson didn't have a good history, they barely tolerated one another. Especially when it came to her. And God only knew how Grissom was interpreting this little scene.
Grissom abruptly rose, uncomfortable and startled by the interruption. Yet before he bolted, he mentioned to the detective, "She prefers it black, she doesn't like it with cream."
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After nearly scalding her tongue in order to finish her coffee as quickly as humanly possible, she escaped Detective Larson's probing glances to hide in the locker room, longing to bang her head against the wall.
What's wrong with me?She struggled to choke down tears that threatened to rise.
I blew it. I single-handedly just gave him an excellent excuse to back off.
After slamming her fist into her locker, she sank onto the bench.
Get a grip Sara. You're exhausted. Things are not what they seem. Do your job and get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.
She hunched over, covering her face with her hands and taking deep cleansing breaths. God help her if anyone was to barge in on her, she wouldn't be responsible for her actions.
If he wants you, he'll fight for you. Let it go.
Strangely enough, that thought gave her some peace. She sat quietly for a few more moments, trying to regain her composure. She was going to be all right. Regardless.
She rose to get back to work when she noticed a wadded up scrap of paper on the floor near her locker. Absently she picked it up and started towards the trashcan on her way out of the room. Mildly curious, she unfolded it, wanting to make sure it wasn't something important that had inadvertently fallen out of her locker.
That was odd; it was a memo for a reminder about a supervisor's meeting scheduled three days ago. She crumpled it up again to pitch it. Then she noticed her name on the back. She froze, recognizing the handwriting.
It was a note. A note to her from Grissom. It read:
Sara,
I had a wonderful time at the opera with you. I'm sorry our evening was cut short. I need to talk with you. Maybe we could
He must've come by the locker room looking for her earlier in their shift. And then he either lost his nerve or got interrupted while writing the note. She found herself foolishly beaming.
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Sara was scanning the display on her computer screen. Matt Gruen and Miles Berringer's photography business was standing on rocky footing. She also confirmed that Miles stood to benefit from the insurance money. However, Miles had an iron clad alibi for his where-abouts that evening, and there hadn't been any significant unaccountable activity with his bank account in the past months.
Her phone rang, so she answered it. "Sidle."
"Sara, it's me, Grissom. Can you meet me at the scene? I have a theory and I…um…could use another set of eyes. Also, check with Doc Robbins on the tox results on your way out."
Before she could reply, he hung up. So she drove out to the ruins of the Gruen home once more. She was curious about Grissom's theory for after their untimely interruption earlier in their shift, they hadn't had much of a chance to discuss the case. Although it had initially seemed highly probable, Greg hadn't been able to detect the presence of any accelerants or positively identify any parts of explosive devices from the debris he'd brought to the lab. Sara was beginning to dread that this was one of those cases without a clear-cut answer.
She parked on the street and then walked up to the home. With a casual nod, she greeted the uniformed policeman who stood outside the residence, securing the scene. Then she entered the house, looking for Grissom.
"Grissom?" She shouted through the dark, murky room as she turned on her flashlight. She coughed; the air was still somewhat hazy and reeked of smoke.
"I'm back here," he called.
Trying to avoid puddles of water, she gingerly stepped towards the demolished studio, where she saw Grissom descending a small stepladder. Only their flashlights provided illumination. "What are you doing?"
Carefully stepping aside from the ladder, he turned to Sara. "Let's hear about the tox results."
"Clearly they'd been drinking and their blood alcohol content indicated that. But the levels weren't high enough to have killed them. Otherwise, there were no unusual findings. Doc Robbins is officially listing the cause of death as asphyxiation."
He seemed pleased by this finding. "So the fire caused their deaths rather than it being set to cover them up. But why didn't they wake up? This is a relatively new home. The fire alarms are hardwired into the circuitry. Why did they miss the warnings?"
Sara shrugged, "Maybe they were pretty solid sleepers and that combined with their blood alcohol content, they just didn't wake up. Bad luck?"
"That's a possibility. So we still have the question as to whether the fire was accidental or set on purpose," he mused.
She smiled, knowing from his expression that he was dying for her to ask. She could sense the wheels turning in his mind. "What's your theory?"
"Thus far, the indication of an explosion coupled with some of the debris, led us to think that the fire had been set. But, what if it was accidental? What if the fire caused the explosion?"
"You've already ruled out the developing chemicals," Sara reminded him.
"True, something else must have caused it," he grinned cryptically.
"Such as?" She loved it when they got enmeshed in the finer details of a case.
He cautiously picked up the charred stem of a photographic lamp. "These are tungsten lamps. Photographers use them to create better lighting for their subjects. However, these bulbs generate a lot of heat. If left on by mistake, they could have been the initiator for the fire."
"So what do you think happened?"
He explained, "Here's the scenario I envision. Our ladies' man Matt is photographing his beautiful lady friend. Maybe they have a drink or two; they're having fun and getting friendly while he's taking her shots. Things start to get…interesting between them so they go upstairs to the bedroom. The lamps inadvertently are left on, because they're, shall we say, distracted?"
She considered it. "It has potential. But why do you think they were left on accidentally? Couldn't someone have snuck in later?"
Grudging he replied, "It's possible. However, it's impractical to determine if anyone broke into the house, with the fire and water damage, along with all the footprints left by the firemen. Any evidence would've been severely compromised. Still the neighbor walking his dog reported no suspicious activity last night, and the ones next door on either side of this house saw no additional cars in the vicinity."
"So if the fire was accidental, what caused the explosion?" she asked, knowing he already had something in mind.
"Something in this room." He gestured to the ladder and indicated that Sara should climb it. As she did so, he supported the ladder then handed her a flashlight and she began to scan the area. With Grissom's prompting, it didn't take long for her to find it.
"What's this?" She removed a piece of debris that had been wedged in the wall.
"Take a look at the small print on it," Grissom advised.
While it didn't resemble its original appearance in any manner, the remainder of the label clearly indicated that this was once part of a can of hairspray.
"Ah-ha," Sara understood.
"You remember your gas laws, don't you? Boyle's law states that as temperature rises, gases expand. Gases pressurized in a container don't have much room to expand, thus, the explosion. Along with the release of other flammable chemicals."
"It must've been the model's, she used it to fix her hair for the shoot. It makes sense. We could always set up an experiment in the lab to confirm your theory, if necessary. Not bad. But Grissom, you're slipping on me here, don't you remember your high school chemistry? It's Charles' law, not Boyles' law," she teased him good-naturedly as she climbed down the ladder.
Within a moment, his energy seemed to diminish. His eyes didn't sparkle as brightly; his expression didn't appear as vibrant or confident. Perhaps the momentum of the solving the case had been propelling him as well. Although it was an incredibly minor error, it wasn't like him to make such mistakes.
More softly, he mentioned, "You always were my best student. Do you still memorize everything I say?"
Somewhat reluctantly she admitted, "Maybe." Feeling a little embarrassed she turned the focus back to him as she bagged and labeled the evidence. "So why did you need me here? You obviously found the key piece of evidence by yourself."
"It took me a while to find it," he mumbled, trying to justify himself even though he realized how feeble it sounded. So he was suddenly bending over, fiddling with something in his kit. When he finally returned his gaze, he seemed intently focused upon her.
"What?" she wondered.
He approached her, "You've got ash on your face. Hold still." He reached over, presumably to brush the smudge off her cheek, yet his fingertips lingered. Their light brush became more of a caress. Then he closed the gap between them and shocked the hell out of her by kissing her.
Sara was stunned; for a crime scene was the last place she'd expect this to happen. Both she and Grissom were consummate professionals. Yet her common sense flew out the window as she returned his kiss with equal fervor. Their kiss in the elevator had been sedate and restrained compared to this one. This kiss was filled with unbridled longing and intense desire. He was hungry for her, aching for her. As she was for him.
Before they could surface for air, the inevitable interruption came; Grissom's cell phone rang. The two broke apart guiltily, breathing heavily, not sure what to do. Grissom panted as he unclipped his phone and scanned the caller ID. He briefly considered opening it, and then turned it off.
"What are we doing Sara?" his voice was hoarse.
"Let's get some air out back," she suggested. He agreed. So they sat on the concrete slab that remained of the back patio. A full moon provided sufficient illumination for them to make out each other's faces. She'd never seen Grissom so conflicted.
"I'm…sorry Sara. I…didn't mean to lose control like that," he stammered.
"It's okay," she assured him. Her heartbeat was still racing, though she was relieved that Detective Larson or the fire marshal hadn't walked in on them. That would've been a mortifying situation with lasting repercussions.
She had to ask, "Are you upset because you kissed me, or because you kissed me at a crime scene?" It was an important distinction in her mind. However, he wasn't ready to answer that.
Maybe it's a little bit of both.
"I'm not like this. I don't know what's wrong with me." He was confused. Clearly, the imperturbable Dr. Grissom was rattled.
"I know," she softly crooned.
"I…don't know how to do this Sara," he stammered.
"Do what?" she prompted. While she sensed he was finally vulnerable, finally starting to open up and lower his defenses, she didn't want to push him hard. After all, his actions had just fully convinced her that he was losing control.
"We need to talk about this, you and me. But not here," he emphasized.
"I agree. What do you recommend?"
"After shift, let's go somewhere, get breakfast, do something…."
She reminded him. "I'd like that but we've tried that at least two or three times over the past few days and it hasn't worked out. It's been frustrating. How can we make it work this time?" She couldn't handle any more delays; the thought of waiting another hour or two for the end of the shift was daunting enough. She didn't think he could wait much longer either.
"Come and get me?" he shyly suggested.
While she was more than willing, given his history, she needed to him to take a more decisive step. "I need you to take the lead on this." She wanted to say more, to explain how she desperately needed to know that he wanted this as badly as she did, but she couldn't say it. Besides, it wasn't the right time or place; this was a crime scene.
He considered it. "How about if I'm not at the locker room by seven a.m. sharp, come look for me and I'll make what ever excuses are necessary. Even if I'm stuck with Ecklie."
"You think you can handle that?" Sara wasn't so sure. That would almost be admitting to others that they were becoming a couple.
"It won't be easy, but I want…I need to be with you."
Realizing this was a major concession, she accepted. "Like I said, we can also talk about what we want…from this." Biting the bullet she explained, "For example, I'm the type of girl who needs to have breakfast everyday." Hopefully she wasn't being too subtle and he'd catch on to the fact that she wasn't referring to food.
That seemed to reassure him. "Me too."
Despite her best efforts to restrain herself, she reached for his hand but he pulled it away.
"Sorry, not a good idea right now," he apologized. "Too distracting. I'm having a hard enough time concentrating as it is. I'm looking forward to…breakfast."
She nodded, fully understanding his meaning.
TBC