Author Note: Edited and reposted. Changed from many, many silly tiny chapters into five parts.
Part One
It was a cool night, with an even cooler chill to the air having nothing to do with the onset of autumn or the light breeze tossing the leaves of the several tall oaks littering the park behind Ridgemont Elementary School. The grass was stippled with drops from the rain that had just recently stopped, and the white glow from the night's full moon threw eerie shadows over the scene. That's what the park was now, a scene. A crime scene. This park, which had only twelve hours earlier been populated with dozens of children, with laughter and play, had been violated. The moon's soft light was interrupted with the scattered red and blue strobes from the many assorted emergency vehicles parked at the curb.
The body of the young boy had been found by a teenage girl cutting through the park on her way home from her boyfriend's house. No more than eight or nine years old, he was sitting in a swing, positioned just so, propped upright. Nothing had looked out of the ordinary until she got up close. Then she saw the ring of bruises around his small neck and hurried to call for help. Someone had choked the life out of this small boy.
The breeze caught a hollow arm of the old, chipped merry-go-round. With a creak it lurched and started to spin, and Nick Stokes jumped at the sound. He'd been standing in the middle of the park as though in some sort of trance, afraid to get too close to the body. He felt that if he got too close, he would wake the boy, because that's what it looked like, like he was sleeping. It was a ridiculous thought, really, as more than half a dozen people had already approached the boy's still form. The girl who had found him, the responding officers and paramedics, the assistant coroner, and even Nick's partner for the night, CSI Catherine Willows.
Nick felt a cramp in his right hand and realized just how tightly he had been gripping the handle of his field kit. He relaxed his hold and checked his watch. It was ten till midnight, which meant he'd been standing stationary for at least fifteen minutes, since he and Catherine had arrived at the scene. Get a grip, Stokes.
It was odd, really, that someone whose job revolved around death would have such a problem with approaching dead bodies. Nick didn't actually have a problem with the body itself, just that first step towards it. That single step forward transported you into a whole other world, leaving the real world behind you. But it wasn't all bodies. He'd always had a problem with cases involving children. His supervisor, Gil Grissom, knew this, and yet continued to put him on the cases. This was probably because the stoic Grissom perceived Nick's tendency to feel close to the victims as a weakness, and was trying to get him to treat cases more the way he did: detached, with no emotional motivation. It kind of pissed Nick off.
His emotions fueled him, kept him going. It was how he worked, and it worked well for him for the most part. And it would work well for him this time, too. He would find out about the life of this boy, however short it was made to be. He would feel for the boy, and for the boy's family, and he would use the fire it gave him to find and bring justice to the monster that did this.
Nick took a deep breath. He just had to take that damned first step.
Catherine Willows blew a strand of reddish blonde bangs out of her eyes and leaned closer to the ground, the beam of her flashlight catching on something shiny in the grass. She grabbed a bindle and a pair of tweezers out her vest pocket, expertly tweezing the silvery fiber and inspecting it for a moment before placing it in the bindle. She folded the flap and stuck it in her pocket, then put her hand on her hip and turned back to the center of the park, where Nick had been. Except he wasn't there anymore.
Catherine squinted and turned back to the swing set. She jumped and let out a small yell at the figure standing next to her.
Nick gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Cath. Didn't mean to scare ya."
Catherine punched him playfully on the arm. "When did you get so quiet?"
"You find something?"
There was something off in Nick's voice, Catherine but didn't push him. She'd let him take his time approaching the body. It wasn't an easy thing for any of them to do, especially when the victim was a child, but Nick seemed to take it to heart more than the rest of them. The thing that bothered her was how he never wanted to talk about it. She knew he wouldn't want to talk about it now, and so focused on her findings.
"Yeah. I got a silver fiber in the grass over by those trees." She guided Nick's attention to the trees with the beam of her flashlight.
Nick's own beam joined hers. "You thinkin' maybe the killer left the scene through there?" he asked.
Catherine shrugged. "Wouldn't rule it out."
Nick started to walk towards the trees and Catherine made to follow him when David's voice stopped her.
"Catherine, I'm done here."
Catherine looked down at the assistant coroner and back up at Nick's retreating form and quickly decided that she had better be the one to process the body. She'd noticed that the whole time Nick had been standing next to her, he hadn't so much as glanced at the small body.
She sighed and gave David her full attention. "Thanks, David."
He smiled and walked back to the coroner's van. Catherine noticed another silver fiber on the boy's shirt, and collected it. After a few moments, she glanced back over at Nick, in the process of bagging something from the ground about eight feet from where Catherine had found the first fiber.
They spent another half an hour at the scene, and rode back to the lab in silence. Catherine knew Nick was still thinking about the boy, but she didn't want to pry. Every case was hard on them, and she knew that this one would be no different.
Gil Grissom checked his watch for what was possibly the twentieth time in the past six minutes. He was running very late already, and his jammed printer was only working to complicate matters. He was due in Los Angeles that afternoon for a conference, and was dangerously close to missing his flight. Ironically enough, it was his notes for that very conference holding him up.
This is why you should never leave things to the last minute, he told himself. Gil rubbed a hand over his short beard in frustration and glared as his printer made some sort of buzzing sound. He smacked the top of the damned thing and, miraculously enough, it started to push the papers through. Gil smiled and stuffed the papers into a manila folder.
Notes, check. Wallet, check. Keys…not check. Gil's eyes darted all around the office, hoping to glimpse something metallic. A jingle from the doorway drew his attention.
"Looking for these?" Catherine asked, a playful smile on her lips. She held the small cluster of keys as though playing with a kitten.
Gil smiled gratefully and went to take them. He grabbed the last of his notes as the cursed printer spit them out and put the folder in his briefcase.
Catherine perched on the corner of his desk, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Where are you going?"
Gil looked up, surprised. It wouldn't be the first time he'd forgotten to tell his team he'd be out of town for a few days. "I'm speaking at a conference in L.A. for the next few days."
Catherine's eyes widened. "And you were planning on telling us when?"
"Um…now?"
Catherine shook her head with a small laugh. "You never cease to amaze me. And would I be correct in assuming that you're getting ready to ask me to take care of supervising while you're away?"
Gil smiled. "Could ya?"
"I suppose." She stood to leave. "I'll just consider it practice for when I take over your job."
Gil shot her a look. "I'll be back on Thursday."
Catherine bit her lip and looked around the office.
"What?" he asked, growing concerned. "Is something wrong?"
Catherine sighed. "Oh, I was just thinking about how I'm going to redecorate this office." She put her hands on her hips. "It really is depressing in here." She gave him a big smile.
Gil rolled his eyes. "Have a nice week."
Catherine turned and left the cramped office. "Have a good trip," she called over her shoulder, already moving down the hall.
The printer clicked loudly and Gil glared at it as it started reprinting the conference notes, all fifty-seven pages.
Catherine wasn't at all disappointed in the sudden, temporary bit of control thrust into her hands. She wasn't some kind of madwoman driven by power or anything, but she did like to be in charge, and was looking forward to heading up the team for the next few days. Besides, she'd been swing supervisor for several months, and had been a kind of co-captain of the graveyard shift with Grissom since the summer. Even so, it was going to be very nice to be the head honcho again.
Catherine walked briskly through the halls of the lab on her way to the morgue. She was due in the autopsy of the little boy from the park, whom they hadn't yet IDed. Catherine donned a light blue lab coat and pushed open the heavy door to the morgue, for the thousandth time ignoring the smell of human death and decay.
"Catherine, so nice of you to drop by." Dr. Al Robbins had a very dry sense of humor, and his sarcastic tone was not lost on Catherine.
"Sorry, Doc. I had to speak with Gil." She walked to the edge of the metal table and looked at the small body with sad eyes. Her cheerful mood fled her immediately, and she got down to business. "What do you have so far?"
"Well, cause of death was no surprise." Robbins gestured to the well-defined bruises around the tiny neck. "Asphyxiation due to strangulation. No other apparent injuries."
Catherine ran her eyes briskly over the body. The boy's skin was smooth and unmarred, despite the marks on his neck. "No defensive wounds," she said softly, mostly to herself.
Robbins nodded. "Probably attacked by someone he knew."
"A friend, or a family member, maybe. I don't think a kid could leave marks like these." Catherine studied the depth of the bruising. Some very strong hands had done this. "Probably not a good chance of getting any epithelials because of the rain."
Inwardly frowning about the difficulties that the case was faced with, she smiled at the doc. "Page me when you determine T.O.D.?"
Robbins nodded again. "I always do."
The Nick Stokes that had been so down and quiet at the crime scene Saturday night was not the same Nick Stokes that bounded into the crime lab Monday afternoon. Sara had joined their case, and Nick had managed to bag a much needed night off. Now, rested and refreshed, he was ready to get back to work.
His first stop was the DNA lab. He'd bagged a wad of chewing gum from the park, and although he was sure Catherine and Sara had found out the results in the past twenty-four hours, he wanted to check on his evidence himself. When Nick knocked lightly on the door to the lab, he was surprised to hear Greg Sanders' voice telling him to come in.
Nick entered the small lab and looked around the cluttered, disorganized space, raising his eyebrows. It hadn't looked like this a single day since Mia took over DNA. Swabs, test tubes, reports stacked so high they looked ready to topple over onto the floor. His friend and fellow CSI Warrick Brown was leaning on the counter.
Warrick jerked his head in greeting. "What's up, man?"
"Hey. Where's Mia?"
Greg rolled his chair around the counter and rested his arms on the surface. "Dear Mia is out sick tonight, and Ecklie has asked yours truly to man the lab." He didn't seem to be too happy about it.
And backed up to boot. Nick laughed. "I bet you hoped that you'd never be on that side of the counter again."
Greg raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, well." He rolled back to his computer and pushed through the smallest stack of papers. "You need something, or are you just here to visit?"
Nick absentmindedly played with a few pens sticking out of a coffee cup on the desktop. "Just wanted to check up on the gum I dropped off yesterday."
Greg sifted through the pile. "Uh, I don't see it here. Maybe someone else already picked it up."
"Yeah, I figured. Just thought I'd check on it myself. Thanks, Greg, you little lab rat, you." Nick gave Greg a big, cheesy grin, to which Greg responded with a single finger.
Nick laughed and punched Warrick lightly in the arm. "See ya," he said and headed for the conference room, hoping to find one of the girls there.
He was in luck. Sara Sidle was as curled up in one of the uncomfortable break room chairs as one could be, book in hand.
"Hey, Sar."
Sara looked. "Hey."
Nick sat in the seat opposite her. "Did you happen to get the DNA results on that gum from Mia?"
"Uh, yeah. No go. The rain washed away any chance of a good sample."
Nick was justifiably disappointed. "Damn."
Jim Brass popped his head in the room. "Hey, you guys working that case from the park?"
Nick nodded and Sara set her book to the side. She stretched out her legs. "Yeah."
The captain stepped into the room. "I just got a call from dispatch. A Ryan Walsh called in a missing person. His nine-year-old son, Nathaniel. He's on his way to the station."
"Did you tell him?" Nick asked. They didn't know for sure that the murdered boy was little Nathaniel Walsh, but it was probably a good guess.
Brass shook his head. "I couldn't."
Sara stood. "I'll meet him when he gets there."
She left to gather the photos Nick and Catherine had taken of the scene to be used for identification. At least, Nick hoped that she was getting the photos. It would be much easier for the father than seeing the body first. If it was always as hard as it was for Nick to see the body of a child when he had no connection to him, he couldn't even imagine what it would feel like for a parent.
Sara had to look away. It was the only way to keep up her professional demeanor as the man in front of her was falling to pieces, and even looking away she could hardly keep the tears in, herself. Ryan Walsh was holding his head in hands, quietly weeping. Sara'd had a feeling in her gut that this was going to turn out to be the boy, but she was never quite prepared for the reactions from the surviving friends or family. Brass was also in the room, standing in the corner as not to intrude upon the man's grief. Sara unconsciously played with the edges of the crime scene photos laid out in front of her, unsure of anything else to do.
"Are you sure this is him? I just can't…I was just with him." The man spoke in fragmented sentences in between sobs.
Sara cleared her throat to steady her voice. "Mr. Walsh," she started. It still cracked and she tried again. "Mr. Walsh, I know that this must be difficult for you," she paused as the man raised his eyes to meet hers.
"Do you?" he asked quietly.
Sara fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. She'd heard this question many times throughout her years as a CSI, and she was never really sure how she should respond. She didn't want to seem insincere, and sound like she was reciting a rehearsed answer. But she also didn't want to sound too emotional. She needed to keep up the professional distance from the case and all those involved. She took a minute to decide on her answer.
"I know that it has to be hard," she said softly.
Ryan Walsh gave some sort of involuntary laugh and looked away, tears glistening in his eyes. "You have no idea. He was my son."
Brass hadn't spoken until now. He moved forward from the shadows of the small room and addressed Walsh. "Where were you Saturday night?"
Sara looked up harshly at Brass's brashness.
Walsh shook his head in disbelief. "I was just informed that my son is dead, was probably murdered, and now you want to interrogate me?"
Sara shook her head forcefully, shooting Brass an annoyed look. He returned it. "No, of course not," she said. "We're just trying to find out what happened to Nathaniel. Maybe if you could answer some questions, it would give us a feel for what happened that night."
Walsh looked at her hard with hollow eyes. "Miss, my wife died three years ago. It's been just me and the boys since. Now I've lost Nate…I just can't bear to deal with this right now."
He stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. "I have to pick my boy up from school." His eyes seemed to well again at the thought.
Sara bit her lip to keep her emotions in check.
Brass stared the guy down as he left the room. "We'll be in touch," he said, a little too harshly in Sara's opinion.
After she heard the click of the door shutting, she whirled around to face the detective. "That was a little unnecessary, don't you think?"
Brass stood his ground, hands in his pockets. "No, I don't think. That little boy was killed two nights ago, and this man didn't call it in that his son was missing until today."
Sara stood and gathered her things. "He seemed sad enough to me." She was very annoyed with Brass at the moment, and really wanted to get back to the lab.
Brass sighed. "People can be very convincing actors, Sara."
Sara gave him a disbelieving look and pushed past him.
"We need to get his statement," he called after her.
Sara didn't stop walking. "I'll do it tomorrow," she said without looking back at the captain. "You know, give him a day to get over the death of his son." Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, and she was happy that she couldn't see Brass's reaction. She couldn't remember ever having talked to him like that before.
It was something about a murdered child. It brings out the best and the worst in people.
Nick's good mood had rapidly deteriorated throughout the afternoon and he was simply and downright agitated by early evening. Warrick had been called out to a robbery on the strip and Greg had been busy in the DNA lab all day, so Nick couldn't even vent his frustrations to a friend. He was in a bad mood because of more than the case. It had been a few months since he had been under Catherine's strict command, and with Grissom out of town, he found himself once again answering to her. She wasn't giving him a moment to even breathe. He'd been running around the lab all evening, from wing to wing, top to bottom. He had to admit to himself that he hadn't always been pleased with the way she ran her cases, and had been nearly ecstatic when the team had been reunited and Grissom was the once again his boss. Catherine was still sharing some of the supervising duties, but it was clear to all that Grissom was the man in charge.
Everyone was on edge. The investigation had only just begun, and already seemed to be at a standstill. Nick ran a hand through his short hair and sighed. He was again sitting in the conference room with Sara, but this time Catherine was with them. They were having a little pow-wow about the case, and Nick had a feeling it wouldn't take too long. They had jack.
Catherine pulled out the coroner's report. "Doc Robbins placed time of death around ten PM."
"Little late for a nine-year-old boy to be out by himself," Nick commented.
"Right, so that furthers the theory that it was someone he knew, possibly related to, that killed him."
Sara visibly bristled at Catherine's observation, but the others paid it no mind. Nick sat back in his chair with his arms crossed, waiting for Catherine to say something that would give them a lead.
"The fibers I bagged at the scene were nylon," Catherine said, studying the paper that she had picked up from David Hodges. "Nothing special about them."
"So they could be from anyone who's been at that park in the last, what, few weeks?" Nick could not hide his annoyance.
"Basically, yeah." Catherine set the paper aside and picked up another. "And there was no DNA on that gum you found, due to the rain," and another, "and no epithelials found on the body, also due to the rain." She tossed the papers on the table and turned her attention to Sara. "Did you talk to the victim's father?"
"Yeah, just for a minute. He seemed really torn up about it. I don't think he was involved." There was an edge in Sara's voice that Nick couldn't place.
Catherine didn't seem to notice the edge, or care. "Are you telling me that you didn't even conduct a proper interview?"
"Catherine, the man's son was just murdered. I thought that warranted at least a day before we start interrogating him."
"It's our job, Sara. Do you want to find out what happened to this boy or not? Because right now, we don't have a damn thing." Catherine didn't wait for an answer, slamming her folder shut and stalking out of the room.
Sara gave a small laugh, and not a good-natured one. "Unbelievable," Nick heard her mutter under her breath, and she, too, left the room without even looking at him.
Nick pursed his lips and nodded. Yeah, they were doing real good. If only they had some kind of concrete evidence.
He went over a mental inventory of everything they'd collected. Catherine had just done the same, but he wanted to think things through again for himself.
There were the fibers, but those were pretty much useless without something to compare them to. Strike one. There was the victim's clothing, bagged and waiting to be swabbed for DNA, but it almost a sure thing that there would be none. Rain was hell on a crime scene. Strike two. There was the chance for prints from the scene, but the damned rain had destroyed those, along with everything else, including the gum.
The gum…Nick suddenly found himself having a thought and he ran-walked down the hall to the DNA lab.
"Hey, Greg."
Greg looked up from an assortment of swabs spread out in front of him. "Nick, good, I was just gonna look for you."
Nick held up a hand. "Hold on a sec. You still have that gum I dropped off?"
Greg nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, that's what – "
"I had an idea," Nick interrupted. "The rain would have only washed away DNA on the surface, yeah? What about the inside of the wad?"
Greg smiled and snapped his fingers, pointing at the screen of the computer in front of him. "Great minds think alike." He pulled a paper out of the printer dock.
He scanned the report quickly then placed it face-down on the counter, crossing his arms over it. He took a deep breath. "You know, the thought occurred to me while I was replacing my coffee stash to its hiding place." He looked pleased with himself. "I mean, it's a really good hiding place. You guys would never even think to look – "
"Greg!" Nick cried impatiently. This was important. Their case could break with the results from that gum.
"Anyways. It's what's on the inside that counts, right?" He held the paper out to Nick. "And what's on the inside is male DNA."
Nick eagerly grabbed the paper and looked it over. "Seven alleles in common with the victim."
Greg sat back, locking his fingers behind his head. "Way to steal my thunder, by the way."
Nick gave him a genuine apologetic smile. His mood had just improved greatly. "Sorry, man. Good job though." He gave Greg a mock-salute and headed for Catherine's office.
As he was walking down the hall, he heard Greg talking to himself.
"I've still got it."
Catherine sat behind her desk and frowned at the file in front of her. She couldn't remember another case that had given her a headache with the intensity of the one currently pounding away at her brain. Her team was not working well together. Nick was uncharacteristically moody, and Sara was uncharacteristically uncooperative. And it was just perfect timing for this to be the week Gil was away. She wasn't by any means saying they were incapable of solving the case, but he just seemed to have that tendency to find the clues and evidence that they didn't. She closed her eyes and tried to put herself in a Gil Grissom frame of mind.
WWGD? She thought to herself with a small chuckle.
"I wasn't under the impression there was anything to laugh about around here today."
Catherine's eyes flew open as she heard Warrick's dry baritone. He stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame, arms crossed.
"That's how it seems anyway. I thought I was in the morgue up here."
Catherine smiled. "Hey, you." It took some effort, but she kept up the smile as the glint from his wedding band caught her eye.
Warrick walked into the office and sank into a chair. "I hear you guys have a rough case."
Catherine raised her eyebrows, tearing her eyes away from the gold band. "You heard right." She propped her elbow on her desk and rested her head on her hand. "We have nothing. No evidence. No leads. No suspects."
"Yeah, I talked to Sara." Warrick leaned forward.
Catherine snorted. "I'm having a hell of a time with her."
"Oh, come on, Cath. This is difficult for everyone. You just need to give her some time." She hated how personally he was talking to her. Things weren't the same between them, at least from her perspective.
"Oh, I'll give her some time. How's a week?" Catherine's head continued to pound, and she averted her eyes as Warrick's gaze bore into her. She wished he wouldn't look at her like that, but it softened her.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking back at him. "It's just this case."
Warrick gave her that understanding look, awaiting some kind of heart-to-heart. He wasn't going to get it today.
Catherine cleared her throat. "Uh, don't you have a case of your own?" She felt a tug inside of her as he looked back at her with a hurt expression.
"Yeah, I do." Warrick sat back in the chair and slapped his palms on his thighs. "I better check up with Vega. See if he has any news." His eyes lingered on hers just a moment longer, and then he got up to leave.
Catherine scrunched her eyes shut. "Warrick?"
"Yeah?" He turned around, his eyes bright.
Catherine bit her lip. "Nothing." She forced a smile. "Never mind."
"I'll see ya," Warrick said stiffly as he left.
Catherine watched him leave and let out a frustrated sigh. She didn't get even a full minute to collect her thoughts when there was a knock at her door.
"What?" she demanded, more than a little annoyed.
Nick raised his eyebrows as he entered. "Is something wrong?"
Catherine plastered on a big smile. "No, Nick, everything is just fine and dandy." She saw him start to speak but kept talking. "You know, except for the fact that we have a murdered nine-year-old boy and, oh yeah, no leads." There was acid in her tone, and Nick looked hurt. Well, at least she was two for two.
He recovered very quickly. His face was set. "Greg found some DNA on that gum from the park."
Catherine was already in much too bad a mood to focus on the fact that this was the first good news of the day. "Why the hell didn't he come to me with it?"
Nick opened his mouth and shut it, dumbfounded. He took a breath and stared Catherine down. "Look, Cath. I know this is a hard case, and that you're obviously having a hard time with it, plus the whole supervising thing, but you need to cut the rest of us a little slack. We're having just as hard a time as you."
He set a DNA printout on her desk. "I'm going to Ryan Walsh's house to ask him a few more questions. When I get back, maybe we can try to start acting like a team."
"You're right, Nick. I'm sorry." Catherine smiled, feeling very disappointed in herself. She didn't know where this attitude had come from. "Let me know what you find out, okay?"
Nick nodded and headed out. Catherine leaned back and ran her hands through her hair. She was letting this case get to her, because of that lost little boy and the father he'd never come home to. And it wasn't even so much the case itself, but their lack of progress.
She looked down at the printout Nick had left with her. The DNA found on the gum was from a male relative of the victim. As depressing and heartbreaking as that could end up being, Catherine felt a little better. At least they were going somewhere now.
Nick squinted at the small house through his windshield and orange-tinted sunglasses. The sun was just beginning to set, its glare still shining in his eyes. It looked like any normal house, white paint with a dark blue door and shutters on the windows. The shrubs outside were well-maintained, the lawn lush and green. Nick was already building an opinion of the Walsh family, and so far nothing horrible or horribly out of the ordinary stuck out to him.
He parked the SUV at the curb in front of the house, and the officer with him pulled his cruiser to a stop behind the truck. They hadn't called Ryan Walsh to let him know they were coming, but the car parked in the driveway set Nick at ease. At least he was home.
Nick knocked on the door and only had to wait about twenty seconds before he heard hurried footsteps approaching the door. It opened, revealing a small boy of about four years. The boy looked up at the two men on the threshold with a mix of shyness and excitement, his eyes sparkling as they focused on Officer Blaisedale's badge and gun.
His eyes moved to the gun on Nick's hip. "Are you a police man, too?" he asked.
Nick smiled. "Kind of." He crouched so he was eye level with the small boy. "What's your name?"
"Jacob," was the timid response.
"Well, hi there, Jacob. I'm Nick. Is your dad home?"
The little boy nodded. "Dad!" he screamed, turning into the house.
Nick smiled. He remembered being a kid, all those times his mom or dad told him to go get one of his siblings and he would simply yell for them to come downstairs. "Well, I could have done that," his mother would say with a smile.
"Jacob, don't yell like that! Jesus!"
Nick flinched as Ryan Walsh came into the front hall. So, this guy wasn't like his mom.
Little Jacob looked at the ground and mumbled a 'sorry, Dad.'
Ryan looked curiously at the men on his doorstep. "It's okay, Jacob. Would you go to your room and play for a little while?"
As soon as the boy was out of earshot, Ryan placed his hands on his hips and addressed Nick. "Can I help you?"
"Sir, I'm Nick Stokes, with the crime lab." Nick turned to introduce Blaisedale, but Ryan cut him off.
"I don't believe this. I already talked to you people once today. My son was killed. What more do you want from me?"
"Just to ask you a couple of questions, won't take any time at all." Nick used the voice he always used while dealing with potential suspects. He didn't want to think of the father as a suspect, but they didn't have anything else to assume.
Ryan Walsh looked away, and Nick took a moment to study the man. Sara had said he'd seemed sincerely distraught over the loss of his son, and Nick guessed that could account for the tone he'd used with Jacob. He would have preferred to see Walsh being overly affectionate with his younger son, but people dealt with traumatic situations in different ways.
When Walsh looked back, Nick could see the resignation in his face. "Can we just make this quick? I don't want Jacob around any of this."
"Yes, sir," Nick said and followed Ryan through the front hall into the living room. The officer stayed outside of the room, standing stiffly. Ryan sat in an overstuffed armchair, and Nick went around to the sofa. "Mr. Walsh, when was the last time you saw Nathaniel?"
Ryan looked at his hands. "Saturday night. I took the boys to the park."
"What time did you leave?" Nick asked, noting what Walsh said on a pad of paper.
"We didn't." Tears welled in the man's eyes. "Well, Nate didn't leave with us, anyways."
Nick motioned for the man to continue.
Ryan sighed. "One of Nate's friends was there, and Nate asked if he could spend the night at his house. I said it was okay. When Jacob and I left, I told Nate to be home yesterday afternoon."
Nick frowned. "But you didn't call in the missing person until today."
Something Nick couldn't place flashed in Walsh's eyes. "You have to wait twenty-four hours for them to be missing, right?"
Nick shifted in his seat. "Technically, but if it was my kid, I think I would have called as soon as I knew something was wrong."
"I don't appreciate your tone, Mr. Stokes. I thought you were here to help me figure out what happened. It sounds like you think I had something to do with this."
Nick shook his head. "Nah, I don't think anything yet. I'm just collecting evidence." Nick noticed Jacob poking his head out of his room, and tilted his head to look past Walsh.
Ryan noticed Nick's shift in attention and turned around in his seat. "Damn it, Jacob, I asked you to stay in your room!"
Jacob jumped and quickly shut the door. Nick frowned at the man sitting across from him. At this moment, he didn't exactly seem like a grieving father.
Walsh saw his stare and tried to recover. "I'm sorry, it's just…hard."
"I understand. But I don't think I'm the one you need to apologize to." Nick nodded towards the little boy's room.
That unidentified emotion flashed in Walsh's eyes again. "Mr. Stokes, I would really like to be with my son right now. Could you call me if you have any more questions?"
Nick nodded. "Sure. Just one more thing. Could you tell me the name of the friend that Nathaniel saw at the park?"
Walsh looked up at the ceiling. "Uh, it was Spencer Miller."
Nick noted this on his paper. "And do you know the name of Spencer's parents?"
Walsh blew air out of his cheeks and rubbed his face. "Eh, Mike and Judy, I think."
"Thank you," Nick said, sticking the small pad in his vest pocket. "We'll be in touch."
"Yeah, I've heard that one before," Walsh muttered.
Nick gestured to Officer Blaisedale that they were leaving. Before they made it to the front door, Nick heard a door open with just the softest click. He looked back to see Jacob Walsh watching him with wide, frightened eyes. Nick gave him a small, friendly smile, but the boy didn't return it.
"What are you thinking, Nick?" Blaisedale asked him as they made their way to their vehicles.
Nick shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know." And he didn't. He'd gotten very mixed feelings from the short visit to the Walsh house. He didn't know very much more than when he had started out, but he did have a phone call to make.
Mike and Judy Miller, he thought. Please tell me you know what happened to this little boy.
"Come on, Hank! We need an exemplar for the gum, or else the evidence is useless!" Jim Brass argued into the phone.
Nick listened to Brass's side of the conversation from across the captain's office, settled in a chair on the other side of his desk. They had moved onto the next step of their investigation: DNA comparison on the gum. Ryan Walsh had already said that he had been at the park with his two sons, so they knew that it had to have come from either the father or the younger son.
At Catherine's request, Nick had passed off chasing Mike and Judy Miller. She said that she would handle their interview personally, and that Nick should follow-up on the gum. Truth be told, Nick was a little peeved. They weren't going to find anything new from the gum or the warrant Brass was in the process of getting for him. They just needed the samples to bring closure to the evidence. Nick was itching to follow the new lead, but Cath was the boss.
"No, I'm not saying that we're looking into him as a suspect, we just need to make the comparison to exclude him." Brass spoke patiently, but Nick knew the detective was tightly wound, and just focusing on saying whatever needed to be said to secure the warrant.
After a moment, Brass gave Nick a thumbs-up, and Nick breathed a sigh of relief. He knew that they didn't really have enough to warrant the DNA samples, but Brass had pulled through for them once again.
"Thanks a million, Hank." Brass hung up the phone and addressed Nick. "We got the warrant."
"Father and brother?" Nick asked.
"Yep." Brass grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair. "I'll head over and pick it up."
Nick stood. "I'll meet ya at the house."
An hour and a half later, Nick was walking back through the lab. Ryan Walsh had once again seemed more than a little unwillingly to help them, but with the help of the warrant, he really didn't have a choice. Nick had gotten swabs from both Ryan and Jacob, and was dropping them off with Greg.
He entered the DNA lab and stifled a laugh. Greg looked more than a little haggard. His carefully styled messy hair was now authentically messy, and his shoulders were slumped.
"Rough night?" Nick deadpanned.
Greg glared daggers at him. "I forgot how much work this was. I'll have to start giving Mia a break." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "At least I think I'm done for the night. I need a break myself."
Nick wordlessly held out his two swabs and tried not to smile.
Greg stared at him. "I hate you, Stokes."
"Aw, come on, Greggo. I need these compared to that sample you got from the gum."
Greg didn't seem to be budging, so Nick switched tactics, from begging to flattery. "You know, it really was pretty cool the way you thought to cut the gum in half."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Greg took the swabs. "It's not like you didn't figure out the same thing."
"But you figured it out first," Nick said, mock-admiration on his face.
Greg allowed himself to smile. "I did, didn't I? I'll page you when I get the results."
"Thanks, man." Nick headed down the hall towards Catherine's office. He hadn't checked in with her since that evening. Or with Sara, for that matter, although she seemed to be holed up somewhere and wasn't jumping at the chance to talk to either him or Catherine. Especially Catherine. It wasn't like the two women were best friends or anything; there had always been tension between them, but never like this.
Speak of the devil, Nick thought, passing one of the small lab rooms.
Sara was standing over the table, Nathaniel Walsh's clothes spread out in front of her. There were at least twenty swabs heaped in two piles next to her. One pile contained capped swabs, ready for processing; the others were still in their sterile plastic wrap. Another was poised in her hand as she ran it down one leg of the boy's jeans. She didn't appear to be on the most cheerful of moods, but her face wasn't as hostile as it had been earlier, so Nick figured it was safe to say 'hi.'
"Hey, Sara. You find anything?"
Sara looked up at him, obviously annoyed at the intrusion into what she had claimed as her space. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tied back in a messy knot at the nape of her neck, something she did when she got down to business.
She went back to her swab. "I don't know, Nick, I'm still collecting the samples," she said, speaking as though she were talking to a small child.
Nick frowned. "What is up with the attitude, Sara? If you wanna be pissed with Catherine, that's fine. But I didn't do anything to you." He turned and started out of the room.
"Wait."
Nick turned back to Sara and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"
Sara set the swab down. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me tonight." She looked away, and gave a small laugh. "I'm always listening to Grissom telling you not to get so attached to the victim, or emotionally involved with the case…and I always thought, score for me. But here I am, doing the same thing."
Nick clenched his jaw. "We can't let it interfere with the case," he said stiffly, not sympathetic or comforting. "I gotta go see Cath." Without another word, he marched out of the room.
Nick sighed. It seemed as though he was mood-monitor for the night, but every time he got someone else feeling better, he found himself feeling worse. 'Score for me?' What the hell does that mean?
Is that really how she treated their work together? As some kind of contest? Did she have a little notebook where she kept score, noting every time Grissom was displeased with Nick's work?
Suddenly, Nick remembered a couple years ago, and the lead CSI promotion. Both he and Sara had applied for it, and Nick had gotten the recommendation from Grissom. Even though the position had been eliminated and Nick never got the title, or the raise, it had meant so much to him that Grissom had thought that highly of his abilities. It had never even occurred to him that as Grissom had recommended him, he had not recommended Sara. He heard through office gossip that Sara had questioned Grissom about Nick's commendation, even asking why he'd picked him over her, but never really thought anything about it. Now he did. Nick thought that he and Sara were friends, in the least at a work level, but maybe that was assuming too much.
All of a sudden, Nick didn't really feel like talking to anyone, so he broke off his path to Catherine's office and headed instead for the break room. To Nick's relief, it appeared empty. He took his frustrations out on the metal trash can, and kicked it across the room. It hit the cabinets with a loud crash, its contents spilling out onto the carpet.
Warrick was woken with a start by a loud crash that sounded not far from his head. He'd wrapped up his robbery case without any difficulties. A couple of teenage boys had wanted some cigarettes and didn't have any money. They ended up taking what was in the register, as well. At least they were stupid. Prints on everything, and one of them had been booked before for underage drinking. When faced with the prospect of prison, he quickly gave up his two friends. Warrick had offered to help Catherine with the Walsh case, but she had told him that at the moment, they didn't have enough to warrant four CSIs on the case, and to wait for something to come up. So wait he did.
Warrick sat up from where he had been stretched out on the couch and turned towards the door. "…the hell?"
Nick jumped a little at the sight of him. It didn't seem as though he had known that Warrick was in the room so Warrick forgave his friend, just a little. At least he hadn't intentionally woken him. Still, he looked a little annoyed that Warrick was around.
"Sorry, 'Rick," his friend drawled. "Didn't know you were in here."
Warrick rubbed his eyes. "It's cool, man." He looked over to where the trash can lay on its side, papers and coffee cups spread out around it. There was a sizeable dent in it. "What are you beating up on the trash can for anyways?"
"Just got a lot on my mind." Nick remained in the doorway, keeping his distance. His eyes seemed exceptionally dark, and that wasn't Nick. Nick would clomp into the room and flop on the couch, a big, goofy grin on his face.
Warrick frowned. None of his team was acting like themselves. "Yeah," he said, stretching. "And it doesn't seem like you're the only one, either. I talked to Sara earlier. What is up with her?"
Nick snorted. "Maybe it's nature's special time," he said coldly.
Warrick frowned. Nick was always teasing, but he had never heard him say anything mean about one of his co-workers. Maybe it's yours, he thought. "You wanna talk?"
Nick seemed to debate with himself for a minute. "Nah," he finally said. "I've got too much to do. You know, gotta…check on my DNA samples, and…see what Sara's working on."
Warrick nodded, even though it seemed that his friend was stretching, creating an excuse to not talk. Warrick let him. "I'll catch ya later?"
Nick shrugged. "Sure. Whatever." But he didn't make to leave the room.
Warrick took the hint. With a sigh, he heaved himself off of his comfy couch. It looked like naptime was over. When he left the room, he turned back in time to see Nick swing his foot at the fallen trash can again. What was wrong with his friends? It looked like they were all falling apart.
Nick had to admit that he felt better after kicking the crap out of the garbage can. His foot throbbed a little, but he didn't care. He wasn't as angry, and was starting to feel disappointed in himself, a little like a jackass. He was acting the exact same way that he was ticked off at Cath and Sara for acting. If only the women could be so self-aware.
Nick's stomach growled loudly, and it came to his attention that he hadn't eaten anything since he left for work that afternoon. He crouched by the mini-fridge and poked through it. Half of a burrito, a couple cans of Coke, and…a jar of blood.
"Yes," he said sarcastically. Now he was also pissed at Grissom and his damned experiments and Grissom keeping said damned experiments in their fridge.
His appetite gone, Nick stood and started to pace.
"Nick?"
Nick turned at the sound of his name. Greg stood in the doorway, fiddling with a piece of paper.
"Are those the results?" Nick asked. He wasn't exactly excited about it. It was pointless evidence, because it was circumstantial. They already knew what it meant and how it got there.
"Um…yeah." Greg looked anxiously around. "I swear, man, I didn't screw this up."
Nick frowned. "What are you talking about?"
He stepped towards Greg, who took a step back, and Nick was forced to rethink his current facial expression. He tried to look a little less pissed at the world. "What's wrong with the results?" he asked, with less of a hostile tone.
Greg looked down at the paper. "Well, I ran your swabs and compared them to the gum. I ran the dad's first. When I saw the results, I ran it again. And then I checked them against each other, and – "
"Come on, man. Spit it out."
Greg took a deep breath. "Okay. The gum. Match to the younger brother, Jacob Walsh."
Nick didn't get it. "Okay. We knew it was gonna be one of them. What's so weird about that?"
Greg handed him the paper. Nick scanned it, his eyes progressively widening. "What the hell…" he muttered.
"See what I mean?"
Nick looked up at Greg, and then pushed past him and walked quickly to Catherine's office. "Catherine," he said, stepping directly through the threshold and up to her desk.
Catherine was on the phone. She held up a finger, signaling for Nick to wait a minute. He tapped his foot impatiently.
"Yes, if you could just come in for a few questions, we would really appreciate your help with the case." Catherine nodded. "An hour tops, really, we won't take up too much of your time. Great. Yeah, just go to the front desk and tell them you're here to see Catherine Willows. Thank you. Uh huh. Goodbye." She replaced the receiver to the cradle. "Yeah, Nick?"
"There's something really weird going on here, Cath."
"What do you mean?"
"It's these DNA samples. The gum was a match to the brother. But Greg also compared the father's DNA. There were no alleles in common. With either of the sons."
Catherine looked up him questioningly.
"Ryan Walsh is not the father of these boys," Nick said.
Catherine's mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise. "Well," she said. "That's unexpected."
To be continued...