Large Disclaimer: I do not own or am anyway affiliated with the Mohegan Sun casino, nor the tribe. All scenarios described within are purely fictional, and the odds of them actually occurring within the real Mohegan Sun casino and hotel are about one in a zillion. Also, all persons described as related to or employed by the Mohegan Sun are completely fictitious and made up from combinations of my imagination and people I see on the evening news when I write. That goes for other persons described in this fic as well. They are all imaginary.
I have also taken some liberties with describing the interiors of the casino; as such things are not visible to the public. In fact, any time I started poking around, I found either locked doors or hovering security, and to be honest, it creeped me out b/c I couldn't see the hidden cameras, so I don't know where those security folks came from. They just appeared. Creepy.
Beta Props: Many extreme thanks go out to Cybrokat, and to Marlou for Chapters 1, 2, and 3 of this part. I am completely honored to have such excellent betas. It is a lot for me to ask for beta of this, and I greatly appreciate their help. And to Jennie, my BFF who has never seen an episode of CSI in her life – yet she reads and provides solid concrit based solely on the storyline.
A/N: First, millions of thanks to all those who left reviews and those who recommended me on YTDAW for Part 1 of this. You have no idea how much your kind words mean to me. And secondly, to make this short and to the point – I apologize for the delay and I promise that by the end of this story, it will be worth it. Some things need a solid foundation, and Part 2 is the majority of the foundation for this fic. Any and all mistakes are mine, and I do apologize for them in advance. This is still a melodrama, although there is some angst growing. And there are some little drabs of what I like to call 'pre-smut'.
… part 2, chapter 1 …
"Sir? Excuse me? Sir?"
A young woman's voice brought Grissom to his senses. Restaurant. Dinner. Food. He forced his attention away from the oblivious Sara, and to the hostess standing in front of him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "what?"
"I need to seat you, sir. There is a line forming." She gestured behind him, and Grissom turned to see an older couple standing behind him, the woman glaring daggers at him in her impatience. The hostess continued, "Is there somewhere specific you'd like to sit?" She turned her head in Sara's direction. Grissom's gaze followed, as did the dual pair of eyes behind him.
Sara must have felt the four sets upon her; she peered over her magazine and her dark eyes widened. She gently put down her cup and her magazine, her face void of any emotion as she stared blankly at them.
"Follow me, sir," the hostess directly firmly, and Grissom followed as she led him to the table across the aisle from Sara. He tried to prepare himself for this meeting. I can do this. I have to do this sometime. I can talk to her. How bad could it be? The hostess handed him a small menu as she departed. "Enjoy your meal, sir."
Grissom didn't sit at his table. Instead, he turned to face Sara. Her eyes were betraying the nonchalance of her face; seeing him again was affecting her.
"Hello, Sara."
"Grissom."
Something about the way she said his name conveyed a bevy of meaning. Insecurity. Frustration. And that undercurrent of feeling that Grissom always heard in her voice; that tone that was reserved for him and him alone. Hearing it again, even a hint of it, was reassuring.
"Mind if I join you? I just arrived."
A flicker of emotion crossed her face for a moment, only to be replaced by stoic indifference.
"If you'd like. I'm almost off lunch, so I can't stay and chat."
Oops, a twinge of venom there.
"Thank you." He sat across from her, and studied the small menu. "So, what's good here?"
"I'm not sure. I only come here for the coffee. It's strong, like Greg's."
Grissom heard the melancholy note in her voice. She must miss her friend. He again wondered what had brought her to this point. She must have her reasons. But now wasn't the time for that.
A waitress stepped up to them, smiling curiously at Sara before meeting Grissom with the typical helpful service gaze. "Hello, my name is Linda. May I take your order?"
"I'll have the three cheese omelet and a coffee, please," he said as he handed Linda the menu. His craving for a sirloin burger and a beer would have to wait. Besides, an omelet wouldn't be so bad, and it wouldn't offend Sara.
"Do you want anything?" he asked Sara. "Ecklie's buying," he said with a smile.
"No, no thanks. I ate a salad earlier." She nodded slightly to the waitress, who departed quickly.
Grissom subconsciously raised an eyebrow at that; knowing full well Sara's aversion to taking time to eat while working. Sara noticed, and shot him a scowl.
"I did. See?" And she reached down and pulled out a Tupperware container that clearly held the lingering remains of a salad. "I had some crackers too. It's way too expensive to eat here every night."
Grissom could appreciate that. He spent quite a bit of money on food back home because he didn't feel like taking the time to prepare something ahead of time. He could afford it, but he made a bit more than Sara did. He wondered if she'd gotten a raise in pay when she came here.
They sat quietly for a moment, the awkwardness growing between them. This was exactly what Grissom wanted to avoid. He'd made a deal with himself that he was going to break out from the stalemates between them. But… I don't know what to say…
"So… how are you?" he asked. That was an innocuous question.
"I'm fine," she stated simply. She was fidgeting with her magazine, folding and unfolding the corner of the back cover.
"That's good."
They sat again in silence until the waitress brought his coffee. He stirred in two creams and let it sit a bit to cool. Sara sipped at her own coffee, and stared at her magazine.
"Things are good back home, too," Grissom murmured. "Same old, same old, you know."
Sara shifted a little at that remark, biting her lower lip slightly. He'd said something wrong. Mild panic. Recover!
"Hodges acted out on his crush on Mia. He brought in chocolates for her, and she almost dumped the whole box over his head. Claimed she was allergic and couldn't stand the smell because she loved it as a child, but couldn't have it."
Hodges stories were funny. He was such an arrogant kiss-ass, and seeing him so smitten in his pathetic way was a running joke in the lab. Grissom knew Greg would tell her about Hodges all the time, making her laugh. He watched as Sara seemed to smile slightly to herself, but in an instant, it was gone. Replaced once more by her wall of indifference.
He sipped his coffee, trying to be nonchalant. Tough to do when he couldn't even remember the last time he and Sara had sat at a table together, just the two of them. The first time, yes… but not the last. And she was obviously sensitive to him mentioning the lab. This didn't leave him much to discuss with her. The silence continued, for a good five minutes or more, until the waitress finally delivered his meal. Sara took its arrival as a sign to leave, and placed her magazine into her bag at her feet.
"My lunch hour is over. I guess I'll see you tomorrow night, after your briefing with Jon." Sara delivered this statement with a tinge of inevitability, like she was discussing a visit to the dentist, for a root canal. She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.
"Uh… see you tomorrow," Grissom said politely. Sara began to walk away, and Grissom called out her name hesitantly. She stopped and sighed in defeated annoyance as she looked over her shoulder at him.
"It's good to see you again," he said.
Her face softened as a crack developed in her emotional defenses. She stared at him, fighting the tears threatening to overflow. "I wish I could say the same," she said quietly. Grissom said nothing as she left the restaurant and disappeared into the crowd.
oooooooooooooooooooooo
Gil had a rough night after that. After forcing down his omelet and the remainder of his coffee, he'd gone back to his room. Sara didn't want him here. Somehow he hadn't expected this, although he really should have. She'd left, right? And had specifically left things associated with him behind.
He didn't sleep well. After he finally did drift off, his dreams were haunted by visions of doors. Corridors of doors, each one closing in his face as he approached. Most had Sara behind them, but some had Ecklie or Atwater scowling at him from behind a desk as the door slammed. One particular door had Brass, Nick and Greg, completely garbed in western wear, pointing double-barreled shotguns at him. Gil had slammed that one himself. The Sara doppelgangers ranged from Sara in her work jumpsuit, to Sara in a skimpy leather outfit like nothing he'd ever seen. The only consistency was her scowl, the same one he'd seen on her face tonight.
He woke harshly, the loud, shrill ring of his room's telephone jerking him out of his sleep.
"Dr. Grissom?" A man's voice was on the other end of the line. "Did I wake you?"
"Nuh… no… itzokay. This is Dr. Grissom."
"This is Jon Northwind. I'm one of the officers working the rape cases. I was hoping to meet with you at 4 p.m. today. I'd like to bring you up to speed on the situation, and then take you over to our morgue. The forensics lab is there as well. Mike can fill you in on all the technical stuff."
"That's fine. Meet at the fountain downstairs, correct?"
"Yes, that's right. Uhm… how'd you know?"
"You told my assistant in Las Vegas. She passed the message on to me."
"I did?" Jon replied, startled. "Wow. I'm more organized than I thought," he mumbled to himself. Grissom mentally rolled his eyes, realizing that Jon must be as young as, or younger, than Greg Sanders.
"Well, I'll see you at four, Dr. Grissom."
"See you then, Detective Northwind."
Gil rolled over and hung up the phone. He felt like shit. This was not how he'd planned to spend the next two weeks. He sighed. Oh well. He'd have to make the best of it. It was noon now. He could attempt to get some more sleep, or suck it up and face the day.
He chose the latter, and spent the afternoon exploring the casino. It was interesting. The whole theme was very earthy; the fact that a Native American tribe owned the thing attributed to that. He was impressed with how organized and smoothly things seemed to run. The controlled chaos feeling was still prevalent, but not as intense as the casinos in Vegas.
There were actually two casinos, one named Earth, the other, Sky. Between the two was a shopping and dining area. The hotel entrance was at the center of this shopping area, forcing all hotel guests to walk by extravagant shops and restaurants before throwing their money away at the slots or tables. The architects and designers put a lot of thought into this place, and how to make the most out of it.
In addition to the waterfall, there was a large white backlit structure that housed some type of lounge or bar. At noon it wasn't crowded, but it looked semi-upscale to Gil. There was also a small performance stage at the center of the Earth casino, the entranceways guarded by large animatronic wolves atop mountain ledges. Native American artwork, sculptures, and themes were prevalent throughout and in extreme detail.
There was also an "arena" at one end of the shopping area, adjacent to the Earth casino. Based on the posters displayed at its entrance, Gil surmised it was something similar to a concert hall or small stadium.
He found a bus station, and a huge donut shop called Krispy Kreme. He was tempted to indulge, but there were times donuts didn't sit well with him. The smell was delectable, though. Gil could almost feel his blood sugar rise as he walked by.
The thing that startled him the most was the clientele. They were happy to be here, and enjoying themselves. The typical Vegas tourists were most noticeable by their absence. There were also few despondent or desperate gamblers here; most patrons were either senior citizens at the slots or middle-aged folks out for a pleasant afternoon. A different crowd than Vegas, indeed.
He'd finished his self-appointed tour a little early, and sat quietly in the lobby with his kit and the paperwork Sofia had sent. His spare kit and his clothing had not arrived yet, but would be placed in his room when they did. Grissom was reading his own copy of the forensics magazine Sara had been reading the night before, completely engrossed in an article on digital radiography, when a dark-haired young man stood directly in front of him, almost crossing that unspoken line of "personal space".
Grissom peered at him over the top rim of his glasses. The man held a newspaper clipping in his hand, and he glanced at it quickly before addressing Grissom.
"Dr. Grissom?" he asked hesitantly.
Grissom stood, closing his magazine and holding out his hand. "Yes, I'm Dr. Grissom. You must be Detective Northwind."
"Jon, please. Formality makes me uncomfortable. So, have you seen our casino? What do you think?"
Something about the young man's tone set off an alarm in Grissom's head. He studied the man, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He decided to keep his responses neutral.
"I gave myself a tour earlier this afternoon."
"Is this like the casinos in Las Vegas? I've never been there, but I've heard that they're something like ours, but they're different too. More shows and other entertainment going on all the time. We don't have that here."
Again with the possessive tense. Why call the casino his…? A light bulb clicked on in the back of Grissom's head. If he looked hard, he could see a slight, very slight, resemblance. This man most likely was a member of the Mohegan tribe. If that was the case, his "family" owned this casino. This would also explain why the young man was already a detective, and not a rookie on the police force, as his age would imply.
"Your casino seems to be very well run," Grissom replied simply. "And your guests seem quite happy to be here. It's also as visually impressive as any of the casinos in Vegas."
Jon beamed at his response, clarifying Grissom's suspicions. Indeed, Jon had strong association with the tribe, and was most likely a young tribal member. Grissom would have to tread carefully. He was technically standing outside of United States territory. The land this tribe owned, and the casino situated upon it, was a sovereign nation; complete with its own set of rules and regulations. It was something to keep in mind while he was sleeping at their hotel, eating their food, and working their case.
"Shall we get down to business then? If you'd follow me, there's a place more private where we can talk."
Grissom followed Jon away from the lobby and down a long hallway to an unmarked door. He swiped a credit card key, and the door opened. Inside was a small conference room; the walls decorated with woodsy paintings of Native American scenes. Jon had a seat on one side of the table, and Grissom sat at the other. In the far corner sat a small coffee mess, and another unmarked door. Grissom assumed it led to the non-visible underbelly of the casino, where most of the real work was done.
"All right," Jon said with a hint of authority, "let's bring you up to speed. A week ago Sunday, a young woman was found dead, posed in the bathtub in one of our comp'ed suites. The whole bathroom had been cleaned thoroughly with bleach. We figured she's been there for at least a day, maybe more. You'll have to check with the coroner for her exact TOD. The room was registered in the victim's name, and she'd had it reserved for the whole week prior. And she'd requested no cleaning service. She never checked out, but we didn't think much of it, as she's local, and comes here a lot. We've comp'ed her that room before. She'd still be in there if we didn't have it reserved for another comp that Monday morning."
Jon scanned his paperwork, and stated, "Her name was Maria Sanchez. She lived in a small apartment complex in New London, about 20 minutes from here." Grissom nodded, and Jon continued. "Now, two nights ago, another woman was found. Same scenario, posed, bleach, the whole thing, although this time it wasn't a comp'ed room. This one was registered to a Diana Somers, also living in New London. We spoke with the families of both vics, and it turns out they were friends. The whole second murder seems off. Somers paid for a room here; it wasn't a comp. Our rooms aren't cheap. And why in hell would she stay here anyways, when she lives nearby, and worse, her friend was just murdered here? We're pulling video from two nights ago, and the video from last week is already at the forensics lab."
Grissom interrupted for a moment, "How many forensic analysts are working this case?"
"Three, now that you're here. Although the third is part-time, I think. In case it isn't obvious already, this isn't a large city like Las Vegas. Our local jurisdiction isn't really equipped to handle full-scale forensics operations. The tribe is willing to put whatever funds are necessary into this, but Connecticut state legislation still applies."
"What does that mean?" Grissom asked, confused.
"It means that all the money in the world can't bring on the people we need. The legislation and our arrangement with the state will not allow the hiring of consultants; we have to use the resources and personnel the state provides. And there just aren't enough qualified analysts available." Jon's demeanor was sullen, but resigned. Apparently this wasn't anything new for him. However, for Grissom, this was a new version of politics that he wasn't familiar with at all.
"So your tribe is willing and able to provide funding for whatever is necessary, but the state forbids it?"
"Something like that," Jon replied. "You needn't worry yourself about that. You're here as our guest, and not our client. And I must add that having you here is an unexpected bonus for us. We are familiar with you and your lab's reputation. You're worth more to us than most of the consultants we could scrounge up anyways. And you have worked with the state's forensics analyst Sara Sidle before, correct? She recently left your lab to come to work here, is that right?"
"Yes," Grissom replied neutrally. "That's right." Somebody had done their homework, it seemed.
"We've reviewed both your records, and, if you'll forgive the callousness, we figure we've hit the forensics jackpot. If you two can't crack this case, nobody can." Jon beamed at Grissom, his youthful exuberance and hope overflowing his voice.
"I appreciate your optimism, Detective. I'll do the best that I can, but please keep in mind that forensic evidence is just that – evidence. The courts are the true decision makers."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. But still, sir, I'm pleased that you are the one that decided to come and help us. Really. Now, are you ready to head over to the lab? Although I'm sure it isn't as cutting edge as yours back home, our tribe does provide some funding to support their needs."
"I'm sure it will be fine, Detective. My rental car is parked in the garage. Where should I meet you to follow you there?"
"If you don't mind," Jon asked politely, "I can drive over with you to show you the way, and then get a ride back afterwards. It's easier that way."
"Not a problem," Grissom replied. "Thank you for bringing me up to speed."
"Here," Jon said, handing him a medium-sized manila folder. "These are copies of all the paperwork we've compiled so far. We're treating this as a serial killer, so both murders are one case now. Shall we go?"
They left the casino, Grissom leading Jon to his rental car, and hesitantly handing him the keys. He had splurged, and rented an Audi A4, with the mixed transmission and the sport suspension. "You can drive standard, correct?" Grissom asked as he handed Jon the keys.
"Sure. No problem." The next five minutes were pure terror, as Jon drove like a maniac out of the parking garage and through various side roads that led them behind a large one-story brick building. Jon whirled the car into a parking spot, slammed it into park, and handed the keys back to Grissom. "Nice. I always wanted to drive an Audi. Sweet."
Grissom could do nothing but gape wide-eyed at the young man's audacity. He took back the keys and swore to never let Detective Northwind drive this car again. And he'd never let Greg Sanders drive his own car. Ever.
Jon led him through a back door into a darkened corridor. Familiar smells wafted by Grissom. This was the lab and the morgue, for sure. However, as they walked down the hallway, Grissom noticed the lab rooms weren't as open as they were in Vegas. No glass and metal here. Just small wooden doors with shatterproof wire-lined windows. Grissom followed Jon through a set of double doors, into what appeared to be a kitchen or common room. Sitting at one table was a thin, middle-aged man, and Sara.
Grissom's heart rate shot up another 10 beats per second, and he mentally took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. For the next few days, or longer, he was a representative of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, and he was here to work. Not to woo his ex-employee back home.
Sara turned as he and Jon entered the room. Her companion rose, and walked over to Grissom, hand extended.
"I'm Doctor Michael Nave, lead forensics specialist for this region. You must be Doctor Grissom. I must say; it is an honor and pleasure to finally meet you."
"Thank you, Dr. Nave," Grissom replied politely, focusing his attention on the balding blonde man. "It is regretful that we didn't meet under more fortunate circumstances."
"Yes, I know," the man said gravely. "We aren't used to cases such as these in our community. Most of our work revolves around robberies or domestic disputes. I'm afraid the majority of our staff is not used to these types of crimes."
He then turned his head towards Sara as he continued speaking. "However, we are thrilled that Miss Sidle has joined our team, even if it is only temporary."
Grissom raised an eyebrow at that remark, but didn't dare look at Sara.
"Her experience is impressive, and we could certainly use someone like her in our jurisdiction." He then shot Sara an approving smile, and Grissom watched in horror as Sara smiled slightly in return. "We hope she chooses to stay with us after her contract has ended."
Grissom said nothing to this. What could he possibly say?
"Thank you for dropping off Dr. Grissom, Detective," Dr. Nave said politely to Jon.
"Not a problem. Give me a holler if you need anything. I'm going to go socialize and see who wants to give me a ride back." Jon then turned to Grissom, sticking out his hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I'm sure I'll see you around."
Grissom shook the young man's hand, impressed by the strength it held. "Thank you," he said.
"And hey," Jon called as he was mostly through the double doors, "thanks for the ride!"
Dr. Nave and Sara looked a little confused, as Dr. Nave focused his attention back on Grissom.
"Well, we are pleased you are here. Sara will show you all the evidence we've collected so far, and later tonight you should be able to visit the morgue to examine both bodies. Right now it's locked, but sometime before midnight the assistant coroner will be on, and he can let you in."
Grissom nodded, and finally turned to look at Sara. She was looking at them both, her "I am professional and I can handle this" expression plastered harshly onto her face. Well, if she could be professional, he would be too.
"Sara?" Dr. Nave asked, "After you show Dr. Grissom around, the two of you should review the evidence from the Sanchez case first. I'll call Tom to see if I can get him in here around 9 or 10. And remind me to ask him about getting a key again. I spoke with Hal earlier, but you know how he is."
Sara nodded, "Sounds find to me, Mike. We'll be in A-3 if you need us, and if something comes up, just send me a message."
"I love that, you know," Dr. Nave said to Grissom with a smile. "We'd been using pagers to reach each other, but Sara brought us into the 21st century with the beauty of text messaging and cell phones. And she went and found that the state will subsidize them for our department. Those little gadgets make life so much easier."
Grissom smiled weakly. Sara had made an impression on her new boss. A good one. Like he should be surprised? Sara made an impression on everyone she worked with. Still, knowing that she was working, and working hard, for someone other than him; it was bothersome. Grissom found himself growing resentful of the mild-mannered Dr. Nave.
Sara stood and gestured slightly for Grissom to follow her. So he did, knowing full well that there was no way in Hell she was going to stay here for the rest of her life. He'd bring her back to Vegas, kicking and screaming if he had to, but she would not waste her life and her talents in this two-bit hole of a lab, with Mr. Dorfwad over there as her supervisor. There was just no way Grissom was going to let that happen.
No way in Hell.
…continued next chapter ->