Chapter Two

Nick's original description of the "Lucky Ace" was slightly off. It was not "kinda run-down". It was dilapidated - your stereotypical seedy motel where rooms were rented by the hour and only Heaven knew what went on in them. Even the air surrounding the place smelled immoral.

Despite the fact that there were a few cars in the parking lot, the motel gave the impression of being completely vacant. There was not a soul in sight except for the two men standing just outside the door of room 125.

Brass had tagged along to make sure the hotel room was secure. The clerk at the front desk had given them the spare room key after Brass had flashed his badge. When Brass asked if he remembered the person who had rented the room, the clerk replied that he didn't get paid to remember faces. He got paid to forget them. This did not make the detective happy.

As Nick used his gloved hand to place the spare key in the lock, Brass said, "Let me clear the room first, okay?. Stay back, Nicky."

Nick nodded and turned the key in the lock. He then pressed his back against the wall and watched the detective give the door a slight push and allow the door to swing open. With his gun drawn, he stepped carefully and quietly into the room, his eyes peeled for any sign of movement.

After completing his search, the homicide detective stepped back outside and waved Nick in. "This is definitely your primary crime scene. Make sure you breathe through your nose."

Nick grimaced and stepped inside. His nostrils were immediately assaulted by a strong metallic smell. There was blood in this room - a lot of it. Before going further though, he let his eyes survey the room.

There was a bed, covered by a stained flower bedspread. A banged up dresser with a void on top of it where, Nick suspected, a television must have once resided. On the other side of the bed, next to the wall, was a rickety wooden table and a chair. He saw a door leading to a bathroom about the size of his closet. Raising his camera, he silently began to photograph the room.

Nick's eye caught something on the table thatlooked suspiciously like a wallet. Perhaps their John Doe was about to get a name.

As Nick walked past the bed, he stopped short. There was the blood he had been smelling. It was covering the seat of the chair and had pooled on the floor beneath it.

He also noticed ropes on the arms of the chair. Their victim must have been tied to the chair, had his throat slit, and been left to bleed out before being moved. Again, he raised his camera to document his discovery.

Carefully sidestepping the blood, Nick picked up the wallet and opened it. He was met with two surprises. The first being that the victim's name wasn't Peter and the second being the gold badge.

He let out a deep sigh. "Brass, this is him. Adam Pryor. California license. And there's this." Nick held up the wallet for Brass, who had been lingering at the doorway, to see. "He's a cop."

Brass pressed his lips together. "There's a car out here with California plates. I'm gonna run them and see if the vehicle belongs to our guy."

Nick nodded, pulling out his cell phone in order to call Grissom.

When he heard the familiar voice, Nick said, "Hey boss. I found our vic's wallet in the motel room. His name is Adam Pryor. He's 34 and he's from Los Angeles. There's a car out here that might be his. Brass is running the plates. If it belongs to him, I'll check it out."

Across town, Grissom, walking at a brisk pace towards the morgue, answered Nick. "Okay, good. Anything else?"

"Yeah. He's a cop." Nick informed him.

Grissom sighed deeply. "Okay. You process every inch of that room and the vehicle if it's his. I'll call LAPD and see what they know. I managed to get some prints off the photo and the room key, and I'll get those compared to our cop's prints. We'll meet up at the lab later. Right now though, I'm headed for the autopsy."

"Will do." Grissom heard Nick's voice say before hanging up. He pocketed his cell phone and pushed through the swinging doors of the morgue.

"Hello, Albert." he greeted his colleague.

"Gil." Doc Robbins nodded a hello. "I've been getting acquainted with your victim. I took his prints and sent them to the lab. Maybe we'll get a name for this poor soul."

"Already got one. Adam Pryor, a cop from LA." Gil informed him.

Doc Robbins shook his head slowly as he digested this revelation. It was always difficult for him to perform an autopsy on the body of a cop.

"Well, the last twenty-four hours of his life were not pleasant. His body is covered in cuts and bruises in various stages of healing. The ligature marks on his wrists indicate that he was restrained," Doc Robbins pointed a finger at one of the victim's wrist before continuing. "Which probably explains why I didn't find any offensive wounds. I don't think any one would take a beating like this without attempting to fight back unless he was restrained, least of all a cop."

The coroner paused for a moment as Grissom leaned forward to examine the ligature marks more closely. "Those are deep. He was tied very tightly." Gil observed and Robbins nodded in agreement.

"As far as injuries go, he has a dislocated shoulder, five broken ribs, a broken nose, some internal bleeding due to damage he sustained to his kidneys and liver, a gash on the back of his head, and a concussion. And of course, the slash across the throat. It's deep, Gil. It reached his spine. That cut was made with extreme force," Robbins summed up, shifting his eyes from the body to look at Grissom.

"And a lot of anger. This was personal. COD?" Grissom asked, although he already knew the answer.

"He bled out." Robbins confirmed.

"Thank you, Doctor." Grissom said with a nod. He turned on his heel and headed out the door.

A few hours later, Nick was getting ready to meet up with Grissom to discuss the case. His search of the hotel room had turned up nothing unusual. He had collected a sample to drop off with Greg. However, in his search of Adam Pryor's vehicle, he had come across something wholly unexpected and it had caused an uneasy feeling to settle in the pit of his stomach. Before he could deal with that though, he needed to see Greg.

Greg Sanders was someone Nick enjoyed very much. He had an interesting sense of humor and an even more interesting sense of fashion as evidenced by the colorful shirt he was currently wearing. In fact, the only thing louder than the spiky-haired lab tech's shirt was the music he was blasting. Nick walked over to the stereo and switched it off.

"I'll never understand how you can get anything done with all that racket." Nick shook his head in wonder, a smile on his face as he moved over to recline against Greg's workstation.

"What? I find it soothing," Greg responded, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He clapped his hands together in anticipation like a little kid about to get a tasty treat. "You got something for me?"

"Yeah. I collected these epithelials from a length of rope used to bind my vic. I want you to see if you can get some DNA out of them and then run it through CODIS, okay? They should still be fresh enough for you. Let me or Grissom know what you find." Nick handed over the swab.

"For you, anything. I just have to finish this DNA comparison for Warrick and then I swear to get right on it." Greg promised, giving Nick a mock salute.

Nick clapped a hand on the lab tech's shoulder in appreciation and turned to leave when Greg called out, "Oh, by the way, your prosecutor friend came by earlier looking for you. I told her you were hard at work in the field, but being the gentleman that I am, I offered to take a message for you."

Nick whirled around in surprise. He'd forgotten all about the trial. The jury must have reached a verdict. Had it only been this morning that he'd been sitting in the courtroom listening to Emily's closing argument? It seemed like days ago to him. "And?" Nick asked expectantly.

Greg held his breath for dramatic effect before announcing, "The verdict came back guilty." He watched Nick's face break into an involuntary smile.

Feeling mischievous, Greg continued, "You know, she's kinda hot. Intelligent. Appreciates my sense of humor and my keen fashion sense. Maybe I should ask her out."

"Down, boy." Nick ordered as he turned towards the door again. "Besides, I really don't think she's your type."

"Oh really? Who's type is she then?" Greg asked in mock curiosity.

Nick didn't answer, but shot Greg a warning look over his shoulder. He switched the stereo back on before exiting the lab, leaving the lab tech to his own amusement.

While waiting for Nick, Grissom had busied himself with the paperwork that had been piling up on his desk. He gladly set it aside when Nick knocked to announce his presence. When Nick had seated himself in front of him, the older CSI began to update him on what he had uncovered so far.

"Jacqui compared the prints I lifted off the room key to Pryor's and got a match. However, the prints I got off the photo are not a match to Pryor's. So for now, we can assume that they belong to our killer. We ran the prints and got nothing. Our guy's not in the system."

"Not yet anyway." Nick interjected.

Grissom continued as if the interruption had not taken place. "I spoke with Pryor's partner at the LAPD and he didn't even know that Pryor was missing. His partner said that he was heading to San Francisco for a much-needed vacation. It had been scheduled for months, and as far as his partner knew, he was going alone."

Grissom paused to take a breath before continuing. "His partner also told me that Pryor was single. No kids. He's an only child and his parents are dead. Killed in a car crash ten years ago. There's no next of kin to contact."

Grissom crossed his arms over his chest, signaling to Nick that it was his turn. Clearing his throat, the younger man walked through his findings.

"I recovered some epithelials from the end of the rope used to tie Pryor to the chair. I just dropped them off with Greg. And Pryor's vehicle was definitely the one used to make the body dump. I found evidence of blood in the trunk. I also got two sets of prints on the steering wheel."

Leaning back in his chair, Nick concluded with this observation. "One thing's for sure, our killer's not too bright. He's leaving pieces of himself all over this crime."

"That or perhaps he just doesn't care about getting caught." Grissom tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"What kind of guy doesn't care about getting caught?" Nick wondered, confusion etched on his face. "Surely he doesn't want to go to jail."

Grissom pulled off his glasses and began to clean them with the corner of his lab coat. "Maybe he cared more about committing the crime. Maybe he doesn't care or isn't worried about getting caught. For some people, the thrill of the kill outweighs the prospect of prison time or even the death penalty for that matter."

"Okay, say that's true. Why go to the risk of kidnaping a cop and bringing him to Vegas just to kill him and dump his body? The killer could have done that in LA. Why come here? And what's with the photo in his pocket?" Nick asked, spreading his hands in confusion.

"I don't know." Grissom admitted, allowing the tiniest hint of frustration to creep into his voice. He hated when clues didn't make sense, especially when there was so little evidence to go on. He placed his glasses back on his face. "Is that it?"

Nick hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "No. I, uh, found something else while I was searching the car. I don't know if it means anything, but it struck me as odd so I bagged it. Found it when I pulled the sun visor down."

He slid an evidence bag across the desk to Grissom who picked it up in order to examine the photograph inside.

"That's Adam Pryor." Grissom stated. Then he stopped for a moment and stared harder at the photo before looking up at Nick in astonishment. "Is this who I think it is?"

Nick nodded, exhaling. "Yeah, that's Emily Trent."

"Perhaps she knows why a cop from LA ended up dead in Vegas." Grissom mused.