... part 1, chapter 1…

The lab was quiet except for the muted background sounds of people going about their nightly routines. Grissom looked down at his watch for the tenth time this evening; it was 3:32 a.m.

Sara had still not shown up for work, and he hadn't heard from her all night. The last time he saw her was two nights ago, after shift. He watched her leave the lab, her coat slung over her arm. And last night was her only night off for this week. She should be here tonight. The lab needed her.

Where was she?

This was atypical of Sara. She lived here; the lab was her home, her family. On the rare occasion that she had to be someplace else, she had always notified him days in advance.

Except the one time when the stomach flu hit her pretty hard, but even then, that afternoon she had left messages on his voicemail at work, on his cell phone, and on his answering machine at home.

Grissom picked up his phone and dialed Sara's cell phone. After six rings, he heard her familiar monotone of "Sidle. Leave a message." Grissom hung up before the message finished, although he knew his call would be logged on her caller id.

He had balked. He didn't know what to say to her. He didn't want her to think he was worried about her, despite the fact that he was. It sounded lame, even to him, to leave a "Where the hell are you?" message.

What she did with her life was not his business.

However, he could justify that since she hadn't given prior notification of taking tonight off, it was within his supervisory rights to question her whereabouts.

He picked up his phone, calling Sara's cell phone again. This time, he left a message.

"It's Grissom. Call me."

His voice was stern. Perhaps this would make her think twice before taking another night off without telling him.

The remainder of the evening was uneventful. As Grissom readied himself to leave, he tried to shake away the nagging pressure in the back of his mind.

Where was she tonight?

oooooooooooooooooooooo

The next night Sara was still a no-show. She had not called, either. Grissom's prickling fear of the unknown was growing.

At assignments, Grissom asked Greg if he knew where Sara was.

"No," Greg replied, not meeting Grissom's gaze. "I don't know where she is."

"Greg, she's missed two nights now, without explanation. She could be fired over this. If you know where she is, you need to tell me."

Greg didn't lift his head as he muttered, "Maybe you should ask Ecklie."

Grissom's eyes widened for a brief second. Why would Ecklie know?

"Greg, you go with Sofia to help her with last night's homicide investigation. You're both dismissed."

Grissom rose quickly, brushed past his team, and almost sprinted to Ecklie's office. The door was open, but Ecklie was on the telephone, so Grissom knocked on the doorway to get his attention.

Ecklie held up his hand, indicating that Grissom was to wait. Grissom did not, and strode into Ecklie's office, seating himself in an office chair.

Ecklie covered the mouthpiece of his phone with his left hand, and whispered hoarsely, "I am busy. I'll catch up with you later."

"I can wait," Grissom replied.

Ecklie looked like he was holding back an eye-roll as he turned away from Grissom.

"I'll have to call you later, okay?" he told his caller. "Yes, someone has shown up in my office. Bye…" Ecklie's tone was friendly, or as friendly as Ecklie could make it… not counting the ever-present coating of slime in his voice.

"What is it, Gil?" Ecklie asked, obviously perturbed.

"Sara Sidle did not show up for work last night, nor tonight. I have received no word from her regarding this…" Grissom let his words trail off, not wanting to admit that he was concerned about Sara. Especially to Ecklie.

Ecklie sneered at Grissom, his eyes radiating his self-assumed superiority, and Grissom's heart sank. Shit… Ecklie knows where she is.

"CSI Sidle has requested a leave of absence. Based on her history, and her behavior earlier this year, I agreed. I approved her request last week."

Grissom's jaw didn't slam to the floor, as a part of him wasn't surprised that Sara had done this. However, a large sliver of rejection and loss stabbed him. He immediately brushed it aside, dismissing it from his mind.

Ecklie continued with his superiority act. "I did ask her why she wasn't discussing this with you, her supervisor. She replied that she felt more comfortable with me. She also requested that I keep the matter private."

Grissom blinked. That made no sense. Sara hated Ecklie. Why would she prefer to talk to him?

The realization of the truth pounded into him. She didn't want me to know.

His defensive instincts were triggered by the assault, and sent his brain into high gear. I have to see that request. Grissom scowled slightly, it chafed him to have to beg for this information from Ecklie. It was time to be sneaky. Ecklie wasn't all that bright.

"Who do you intend to replace her with, Conrad? Night shift is overloaded now – we can't afford this loss."

"CSI Brown has volunteered to work double shifts to cover any slack. I told him he could start the next pay cycle, next Monday."

"Warrick can't do doubles forever," Grissom stated.

"I'm aware of that, Gil. I told him to continue for as long as he could, while I looked for a more permanent replacement."

This did not bode well. If Ecklie needed to find a replacement, Sara must have requested a significant amount of time off.

"Why didn't you discuss this with me? Finding a replacement for Sara falls under my jurisdiction, not yours."

"Honestly, Gil, I figured you couldn't be bothered with mundane office responsibilities, such as personnel issues." Ecklie replied, waving his hand absently at Grissom. "You haven't shown to be interested… or capable of handling these types of things in the past."

Grissom's temper flickered, but he maintained control. Ecklie wasn't playing along in the 'provide information' game, so Grissom tried a new approach. "You're right, Conrad. In the past I have not handled some of my supervisory responsibilities as well as I should have."

Ecklie gaped at him, clearly surprised that his adversary was admitting a weakness.

"I would like to improve upon this. My lack of proper management most likely attributed to the loss of CSI Sidle." Grissom forced his tone to be regretful, and without malice. The things I'll do for information… "I apologize for this, Conrad. I would like to remedy the situation by actively recruiting a suitable replacement. You should not have to cover for me on this one."

Ecklie was openly staring at Grissom, his mouth wide, his eyebrows almost touching his hairline.

"May I have CSI Sidle's file? I'd like to review her skill set and her contributions to this lab. This way I can document what her replacement's minimum requirements should be. Once I have those, I should be able to find a suitable replacement in no time. The lab should not suffer due to my mistakes."

Grissom kept his head slightly lowered, and his eyes averted, as if he was truly admitting to the abundance of bullshit that just left his mouth.

Ecklie was stunned, and blinked to recover his composure. "I'm… I'm… glad you feel this way, Gil. Admitting to your failures will help you become a better supervisor."

Ecklie's tone was haughty, and Grissom literally bit his tongue to keep from spewing forth the words flashing through his mind. He kept his eyes averted, as Ecklie continued his diatribe.

"This will be beneficial for you in the long run. I'm glad that you've finally realized this. I was concerned about your reactions to Sidle's suspension earlier this year, but I see now that it wasn't personal at all."

Grissom tried very hard to be still and not react to Ecklie's words in any way.

"I have her file here on my desk… somewhere…" Ecklie began sorting through the neat stacks of paper covering his desk. Grissom waited patiently, maintaining his self-control. "Here," Ecklie said, handing the manila folder to Grissom. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you that this is private information, so please keep it secured when it is not in your possession. Keep me updated in your search for a replacement."

"I will, Conrad," Grissom replied as he took Sara's file. He then swallowed hard, almost gagging on his next words. "I'm glad we could discuss this… like professionals." Grissom even forced himself to smile politely at Ecklie. Ecklie grinned back at him, gloating slightly over his perceived victory.

Grissom walked out of Ecklie's office, Sara's file in hand. Although the whole conversation left a horribly rancid taste in his mouth, making him grimace slightly, he was pleased he had what he wanted. Step One of gathering the evidence was complete.

Grissom placed the file in his desk drawer when he returned to his desk. He would review its contents at home. There is no need to review it here, Grissom rationalized. He would need some time to read all the papers, and here at work, he was busy. He had better things to do. Right?

A squeak of alarm pinged in the back of his mind. Was it legal to take personnel files home? Most likely it was a gray area. Reviewing it was work-related. He was determining the qualifications needed of the new replacement, wasn't he?

Grissom sighed, knowing his true aversion to reading it at work was personal. He didn't know what was in there, and he didn't want anyone to see him react. His mind knew that Sara's leave of absence was most likely permanent, but his heart was vehemently denying it at the present moment. Delaying the inevitable.

The inevitable eventually came at the end of his shift. Grissom placed the file in his bag and left the lab. He considered driving by Sara's apartment to look for her car, but decided against it. He was tired, dirty, and starving. He needed a shower and some breakfast.

Once at home, Gil showered and made himself a bowl of Cheerios with whole milk. He spread out the contents of the file on his kitchen table, noticing at first the not-entirely flattering photo paper-clipped in the upper left hand corner of the papers.

He removed it gently, studying it. Of course I will see her again, right?

He placed it to the side as he flipped through the paperwork, eating his Cheerios. Most were reports on her performance. His bold script voicing her name stood out to him. Tingles of loss crept into his mind. What if he would never write her name again? Never write another performance evaluation for her?

The defense of denial returned as he shook his head. She was still here, in Vegas. She had an apartment here. Her life was here.

He found the leave of absence request buried in the back of the pile. In Sara's handwriting, he eyes confirmed what his mind already knew.

Leave Duration: Indefinite

Under the "Reason For Leave" category, the "Other" box was checked, and the section beneath citing "State Reason" Sara had handwritten the following:

personal

Ecklie must have loved this. Gil was surprised that he even signed it without additional justification of her reasons.

Again, it was clear that Ecklie had it out for him. Gil sighed in frustration. He could take this to Atwater, but what would it gain him? A vision of dragging a reluctant Sara back to the lab, like one would handle a disobedient puppy, came to his mind. He ran his fingers through his hair, wiping the image away.

He couldn't force her to stay at the lab. However, perhaps he could persuade her to stay. Hadn't he done this before?

Gil was sure that was why she didn't come to him; she knew he would do whatever was necessary to make her stay. He didn't regret sending her a plant, but thinking back on it, he felt a little foolish about it. He should have talked to her as well; explained himself better. Just sending her a gift, without any explanation, was a little callous. But, she had stayed, so the gift served its purpose.

He grabbed his cell phone and dialed. This time it went straight to her voicemail. He hung up and tried her home number. He was surprised when three tones blared into his ear, and a tinny woman's voice declared the number had been disconnected, and no new number had been provided.

What!

Gil was on alert now, although his body was dragging. Disconnected? Had she left Vegas? Shock mingled with panic as he tried to come to grips with what he'd heard, and what it meant. He felt lost and confused, and the need to talk to someone became overwhelming.

He called Catherine at home, knowing she'd be up, getting Lindsey ready for school.

"Hello, Gil," Catherine answered, somewhat sleepily. "What's up?"

"Cath, I think Sara left."

"Left what? The lab? A scene? What? Where are you?"

"I'm home. I think she left…" Grissom swallowed, and paused a bit for continuing. "I think she left Vegas."

"What! Since when? What did you do, Gil?"

"I didn't do anything!" he answered defensively. "I have no idea what her problem is!"

Catherine sighed heavily into the phone.

"You're her problem. Maybe we all are… But that's not important right now, okay? Look, let me get Lindsey off to school and I'll come get you… She's not answering her phone?"

"No, Cath… it says it's been disconnected."

There was a pause on the line as Catherine digested this. Gil could here the television in the background, the mumble of Lindsey's voice intermittently mixing with it.

"She requested a leave of absence, Cath. Ecklie approved it. It… she… didn't say when she'd be back."

Catherine sighed audibly into the phone. "We'll figure it out, okay? I'll be there in about an hour."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Grissom waited patiently in Catherine's car, watching her walk up the pavement to the front door of Sara's apartment building. He turned and looked at the other cars in the parking lot.

Sara's space was empty. She's not here. God, where is she?

Five agonizing minutes passed until Catherine returned.

"We need to talk to the office," Catherine said plaintively. "She's not answering her door. We need to know…"

She paused as she vocalized a different possibility of Sara's disappearance.

"… we need to know if she's really moved away… or… not."

Grissom turned away from her, considering this. He never suspected Sara to be hurt, or injured. Everything was pointing towards a voluntary leave. What if she was dying, or … dead in her apartment?

Catherine turned to him, and put her hand on his leg. Grissom jumped slightly, not expecting the physical contact.

"We're going to get to the bottom of this right now, okay? It's too early for the office to be open, but trust me, you can always get in touch with someone if you really need to."

She picked up the phone and dialed 4-1-1. She requested the office number for Sara's apartment complex, and waited while it connected.

Apparently an answering service was taking all calls, so Catherine had the service write down her cell phone number, indicating that it was vital the owner call her.

"It's a matter of life and death, and it involves the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Again, my name is Catherine Willows. You can call the LVPD and confirm who I am."

Catherine's voice was urgent. "Look, I know you have their emergency number, so just call it – NOW!"

Catherine disconnected and Grissom shot her a questioning look.

"Involves the lab?"

"Sure it does. One of our CSIs may be in danger. It's our job to check it out."

Grissom shot her a look but remained silent.

Catherine looked away from him, scanning the parking lot. "We'll give the owner five minutes to call back, and if they don't, we'll just initiate Plan B."

They sat in silence for a while. Grissom's curiosity finally got the best of him.

"What's Plan B?"

Catherine smirked at him. "You might not like Plan B, but it is a very effective way of determining whether or not Sara's in that apartment."

Grissom narrowed his eyes at her. "Sounds like Plan B might not be legal."

"Ehh… legal… not legal… we're the law, right?"

The chirp of Catherine's cell interrupted their conversation.

"Hello? Yes. Catherine Willows, Las Vegas Criminalist. Yes… Yes, I'm sure they did. The police department works very closely with the crime lab. Do you recall a Ms. Sara Sidle? She resides in apartment 311 in Building B. No? Well, is there a way that we can access her apartment? We have reason to believe she may be in danger. A key?"

Catherine paused. "Really?" More pausing as Catherine listened to the caller, an expression of bewilderment on her face.

"For situations like this huh? Okay. Thanks."

Catherine flicked her cell phone closed, and turned to Grissom.

"You aren't going to believe this. Each building has a set of five master keys. Apparently they use the same five locks over and over again."

"Doesn't that mean that someone's key could unlock their neighbor's door as well as their own?"

"Yup. It gets better. They store a ring with the master keys in each building. It's hidden, but anyone who knows where it is could pick the whole building clean."

"Okay," Grissom was growing restless. "So where are these keys?"

"You won't believe it. Come with me."

They both walked into the apartment building, the faint scent of mold and carpet freshener hovering in the air.

Catherine stopped, and turned to smile at him. "Look around, Doctor Detective. What do you see?"

"You. The stairs. Doors. Carpet. A garbage can with an ashtray. A potted plant… The plant."

"Aha, but not exactly in the plant," Catherine replied. "Check this out."

They both walked over to the dusty plastic plant. The plant's "dirt" was arts-and-crafts twigs and moss covering a dark Styrofoam core.

Catherine tipped the plant on its side, and since it was a big, rather heavy plastic plant, it sort of crashed when it fell. One of the smaller leaf sections broke off as well.

"Oops," Catherine muttered without a hint of remorse, while Grissom frantically scanned the hallway for people. It was a good thing that Sara's apartment complex didn't have video surveillance.

"C'mere," she said. "Look. Under the plant. At the pot."

Sure enough, along the bottom of the pot was a strip of duct tape. Catherine peeled it off, revealing a rectangular hole, and in it was one of those black key boxes.

Grissom felt the urge to put on his gloves, and instinctively went to his vest pockets. However, he didn't have his vest on, so his hands sort of slid down his sides.

Catherine noticed, and said, "If you're worried about prints, we'll use these."

And she pulled out two plastic sandwich bags from her pockets.

Grissom blinked, looking at the small plastic bag she'd handed him, while Catherine stuck her hand in hers, and retrieved the black box.

"You carry these around with you?" he asked her.

"Hey, you never know when you'll have to pick up something nasty," Catherine shrugged.

Keys in hand, they both made their way upstairs to Sara's apartment.

continued next chapter ->