Part Two
Sara rode the two blocks to the LVPD station in silence in the passenger seat. It wasn't as if Nick was jumping at the chance to talk to her anyway. She didn't get it. She thought that she had reconciled with him. It was hard to read Nick's expression behind his sunglasses, but he was acting like he was mad at her.
Their team had had to wait until morning to conduct the interviews, as it was probably rude to call someone into the police station at three in the morning and ask him if he knew that he wasn't the father of his children.
Sara held onto the armrest as Nick took the turn into the station parking lot faster than was necessary. Sara had always thought that was a guy thing, that driving fast helped to displace some of the stress or anger a person was feeling. She braced herself as he slammed on the brakes, screeching into a parking spot, and exited the vehicle without looking at her.
Sara rolled her eyes and reached for the door handle at the same time that she heard the chirp of Nick locking the doors. The handle didn't budge, and she glared as she pulled up the lock and hopped out of the truck.
"Lock it, will ya?" the back of Nick's head asked her. She made a face at it, and followed him into the building.
They were going to be joined by Detective Vartann while interviewing Ryan Walsh for the third time. When Catherine called Brass and told him to get the man into the station, he'd offered to sit with her when she spoke with the Millers. Sara had a feeling Brass was avoiding her. She didn't mind it, because if he wasn't avoiding her, then she would have to make a point to avoid him.
Sara had to rush to keep up with Nick's pace as he entered the crowded halls of the station. She pushed her way past a couple of teenagers huddled by the front desk, and smacked straight into Nick's back. He'd stopped just past the desk without warning, and he glanced back at her, annoyed.
Sara narrowed her eyes at him and scanned the hall. "Is he here yet?"
"I don't know, Sara, I got here about a second before you did." Nick spoke to her in the same tone she'd used with him earlier, craning his neck to look down the hall.
She felt a pang of guilt, but it didn't last long. Nick was being an ass.
Sara spotted the tall, dark-haired detective outside of one of the small interrogation rooms and raised a hand to get his attention. She moved around Nick, bumping him with her elbow, and went down the hall.
Detective Vatann ducked his head in greeting. "Sara. Nick." His eyes focused over Sara's head.
"Detective," Nick said.
"I gotta tell you, this guy is not too pleased that he's being called in again." Vartann cast a glance through the window into the room where Ryan Walsh sat, arms crossed, glaring at the wall.
"You'd think he'd be a little more cooperative," Sara said, following his gaze. "I mean, we are trying to find out who killed his son."
"Yeah. And not doing a very good job at it," Nick said dryly. He nodded to Vartann and entered the room.
Vartann looked questioningly at Sara, jerking his head at Nick's retreating form. Sara shrugged and followed suit, the detective right on her heels.
Walsh was on his feet as soon as they entered the room. "I demand an explanation," he said heatedly. He looked at Nick. "You were the last person I talked to last night, and now you're the first person I talk to this morning?"
"You can talk to me first, if you want," Sara said innocently. She didn't miss the smile that Nick tried to hide, looking down at his shoes. It made her feel better.
Walsh threw his hands up. "I give up. What more do you want from me?" He sank back into his chair and held his head in his hands, crumbling once again into the broken man Sara had spoken with the previous afternoon.
Nick and Sara settled into the chairs on the opposite side of the table and the detective moved to stand behind them. Sara noticed Nick glancing at his watch.
Walsh looked up at Vartann as if he was just now noticing that the man was in the room. "Who are you? Another cop?"
"I'm Detective Vartann, with homicide," the detective answered coolly.
"Wait, wait, wait. Hold on here just a minute." Walsh looked from Nick to Sara and back again, panic and fear evident on his face. "Are you here to help me or interrogate me?"
"That all depends on what we find, Mr. Walsh," Nick said before Sara could reassure the man.
She kicked him under the table.
"Ow," Nick said to her under his breath.
Sara looked at him and raised her eyebrows towards Walsh, to whom she then turned with a smile. "Mr. Walsh, we're just trying to find out what happened to your son."
Nick cleared his throat.
Walsh glanced at Nick and then focused on Sara. His shoulders slumped. "What can I do?"
Sara folded her hands in front of her. "Mr. Walsh, are your sons adopted?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?" the man replied angrily.
"Calm down, now, Mr. Walsh. It's just a question."
Sara recognized Nick's tone. It was one he reserved solely for pacifying possible suspects, laying the accent on nice and thick. It was an unfair advantage he had over her. And more than that, Sara didn't like that Nick was treating this man like a suspect.
"Of course they're not adopted. I've raised my boys from the day they were born."
The man's tone did not change. Then he took in their serious expressions. His eyes flickered nervously between the two CSIs and the detective. "Why do you ask?"
Sara stared at her hands. She didn't want to be the one who to tell this man that he was not the father of his sons. Next to her, Sara heard Nick clear his throat again, but he didn't speak. Detective Vartann nudged Sara lightly on the shoulder, and she looked up into Ryan Walsh's pleading eyes.
"What's going on…" Then Walsh's eyes widened in realization. Sara must have betrayed more with her expression than she had intended. He leaned back in his chair. "Oh, God." He brought his hands up to his face. "That…sample you took. Oh, God."
Sara felt Nick shift uncomfortably in his seat. He looked at his watch again. Sara frowned at his rudeness.
Walsh looked at them, and Sara was finding it hard to read the look in his eyes. "Who…"
When it became apparent to Sara that the man was not going to be able to finish the question, she spoke up. "We don't know. And can't, without a sample." She squinted. The man looked relieved.
Nick leaned in. "Do you know how this happened?" Now to go along with Nick's suspect voice, he was using his suspect look.
Sara wanted to kick him again, but settled for a quick jab of her elbow into his ribcage. He glared at her.
Ryan Walsh didn't seem to notice how childish the CSIs were acting. It in fact looked as though he'd forgotten there was even anyone else in the room. He looked away. "I always wondered if she was having an affair," he said softly. "I just never imagined…"
"Would you excuse me?" Nick asked suddenly. He gave Walsh a smile and left the room without a word to Sara or Vartann.
Sara watched him leave, wondering what in hell he was up to. She saw him get out his cell phone once he was in the hall, but because of the construction of the room, couldn't hear what he was saying. He walked down the hall, talking into his phone.
Sara suddenly felt very uncomfortable and alone in the room with the distraught man, even as Vartann slid into the seat that Nick had vacated.
"Mr. Walsh, do you have any idea who would want to hurt Nathaniel?" Vartann's refusal to refer to the boy as Walsh's son did not go unnoticed by Sara.
The man looked down at his lap. Slowly, he shook his head.
Sara was suddenly overcome with a wave of sympathy for him. She reached out and covered his hand with her own. "We're going to find who did this," she said softly.
"Thank you." Ryan Walsh's voice was barely a whisper.
As Nick took the stairs two at time, one floor above the room where Sara and detective Vartann were sitting with Ryan Walsh Catherine was just settling into a seat across from a couple in their mid-thirties; Mike and Judy Miller. The couple had told Catherine as soon as she came into the room that they would be nothing but helpful.
Catherine gave the couple a warm smile. "Mr. and Mrs. Miller," she started before was cut off by the ringing of Brass's cell phone.
"Excuse me," Brass said, and went the corner of the room to take the call.
Catherine turned back to the couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Miller, we were hoping that you could tell us a little bit about what happened Saturday night."
Mike Miller nodded, and put his arm around his wife's shoulders. "Of course. Anything to help Ryan."
Catherine strained to keep her attention on the couple, but she could hear Brass speaking softly from across the room.
""No, no, it's fine. Yeah, we just started. Sure, sure."
Catherine cocked her head, ignoring Brass. "Are you close with Mr. Walsh?" she asked Mike, as they were already under the impression that the young boys were friends.
Before Mike could respond, Brass leaned in close to Catherine's ear. "Nick's on his way up. He said he wanted to sit in on both meetings."
Catherine had to keep up her professional demeanor in front of the Millers, and so couldn't really tell Brass what she wanted to: that she didn't give a rat's ass what Nick wanted, she had told him to stay in the Walsh interview.
Brass straightened and spoke to the Millers, who looked panicked, as though worried that the call had something to do with them. "There will be another CSI joining us in just a minute," he said, settling back in his chair.
"Okay," Judy said.
They all sat for a minute, waiting for Nick. Catherine looked at her watch. "We don't have to wait for – "
The door to the room opened, and Nick poked his head in. "Sorry, guys." He smiled at the Millers. "I'm Nick Stokes. I'm also with the crime lab."
He stopped for a second, and Catherine inwardly smirked as he realized there wasn't a chair for him. "I'll just – " He gestured to the wall, where he stood, arms crossed casually.
Catherine turned her attention back to the Millers. "Sorry about the interruption," she said, perhaps too pointedly, for she could almost feel Nick's eyes boring holes into the back of her head. "You were saying?"
"Well, we used to go out sometimes on the weekends," Judy said, her eyes moving to the new arrival. "Before Eileen's accident."
"And Eileen is?" Nick asked.
"Ryan's late wife," Mike answered. Judy played with her wedding ring.
Catherine opened her mouth to ask another question, but was interrupted before she even had the chance.
"Mr. Walsh said she died three years ago. She had an accident?"
Catherine cleared her throat loudly, none too pleased with the way that Nick had come in and taken over her interview.
"Yes," Judy said, glancing at Catherine. Her expression softened, even seemed a little sad. "She was coming home through the back door and stepped on one of Nate's action figures. She slipped and hit her head on the kitchen counter." The woman looked down at her lap.
Catherine felt a pang of sympathy for the woman who had her friend taken so suddenly and unexpectedly. She wanted to comfort her, but instead stuck to the topic at hand. "That must have been very hard for him," she said gently.
The woman's reaction was not what Catherine was expecting. Judy looked up, anger in her eyes. Catherine was taken aback, and the other woman's expression softened. "It…it was," she said.
Her husband took her hand.
Judy looked at Brass. "Could I get a glass of water?" she asked.
"Sure," Brass said with a smile.
Catherine heard Nick cough behind her. She wasn't the only one who'd seen the flash in Judy Miller's eyes.
Brass got the cup and set in on the table in front of her. She took a sip and set the cup back.
After a moment of silence passed through the room, Mike Miller reached out for the cup and drank as well. "Did you have anything else to ask?" he asked.
Nick coughed. He was trying to get Catherine's attention but, although he saw her perk up at the sound, it seemed as though she was going to ignore him. He did, however, by accident grab the attention of Judy Miller. She looked up him for a moment, her stare unreadable. When Brass set a cup of water in front of her, she averted her gaze and smiled at the captain.
Each of the Millers took a sip in turn. Brass was lowering himself back into his chair, but Nick bumped him with his elbow.
"What?" he asked in a low whisper.
"Did you have anything else to ask?" Mike Miller was asking Catherine.
Nick saw Catherine glance up him, as if daring him to be the one to ask another question. He motioned for her to do it, looking pointedly at her, willing her to ask the right question.
She must have mistaken his gaze for a glare, because she rolled her eyes and looked back to the couple. She smiled. "Yes, actually."
She consulted the notepaper in front of her. It was Nick's from the previous night, when he had visited Ryan Walsh at home. "Mr. Walsh told Nick that he and the boys saw you with your son at the park Saturday night. He said that Nathaniel asked if he could stay the night at your house."
"Yes." Judy cast a glance at her husband. "Spencer asked us if Nate could spend the night, and we said it was fine."
"So Nathaniel came home with you?" Nick asked.
Judy fixed him with a look. There was something about her eyes that made him nervous.
Mike answered the question. "He did, but after a little while he felt sick, and asked if he could go home."
"I called Ryan, and we decided to meet back at the park, because it's halfway between our houses." Judy never took her eyes away from Nick's.
"And you left Nathaniel with his father?" Catherine asked. There was confusion in her voice, and Nick was feeling a bit confused himself. Whose story was true?
"Yes," Judy said. She finally turned her gaze to Catherine. "Didn't Ryan tell you?"
"No, actually," Nick said. "He said that Nathaniel wasn't going to be home until Sunday."
Mike shook his head. "Weird." He made a show of stretching his arms and checking his watch. "Is that going to be enough for now? I really need to be getting to work."
"Yes," Catherine said, looking over her notes. "I think that'll do for now." She stood and extended her hand. "Thank you for your time."
She shook both the Millers' hands and Brass and lastly Nick followed suit.
"Thank you," he said.
Mike looked hard at him. "We just want to help Ryan," he said.
"You will," Brass spoke up. "You've both been very helpful."
Brass walked with the couple out of the room, and Nick was left alone with Catherine. He could sense the lecture building in her mind before she opened her mouth and preempted it.
"Look, Cath," he said. "I know you wanna yell at me, and that's fine. But Grissom put me on this case, and I intend on keeping up with every lead."
"That's fine, Nick." He could tell from her tone that she was pissed. "But Grissom's not here right now. He put me in charge, not you, and so you will do what I ask you to. And if I ask you to sit in on an interview, you do it. If I tell you not to sit in on an interview, you don't do it."
With that, she left the room, taking care to slam the door.
Nick stood for a moment in the middle of the room, collecting his thoughts. They now had two versions of the night's events, and they couldn't both be true. Nick had had a funny feeling about Ryan Walsh from the start.
Nick sighed. Maybe Catherine was right, and he should have listened to her. But, if he had, then the cup sitting on the table with both of the Millers' DNA and fingerprints might have been overlooked.
Pleased with himself, Nick dug into his pocket for a latex glove.
Sara let Detective Vartann escort Ryan Walsh out of the building. She was feeling very tense at the moment, and didn't feel like rushing back into the crammed halls of the station. She stayed behind in the interrogation room for a few extra minutes, getting her head on straight. Sara closed her eyes and rolled her neck, feeling some of the stress leave her as a stubborn muscle popped.
She opened her eyes and sighed. Guess I can't stay in here all day, she thought. She headed for the door and had just reached it when her eyes caught sight of Nick walking quickly down the hall.
"What in the hell has gotten into him?" she asked out loud.
Remembering that Nick had been her ride to the station, Sara hurried down the hall after him. "Nick!" she called.
Nick stopped and turned at the sound of his name. He saw Sara coming and motioned for her to hurry. "Sara, good, I was just looking for you."
What? Sara hadn't left the room since Nick had left, and it wasn't like he would have forgotten what room they were in. She let it slide. Nick was just being weird.
"Walsh still here?"
"Uh, no, he just left. Why?"
Nick didn't answer her, just let loose a frustrated sigh and continued down the hall.
Sara caught up to him and they headed out to the parking lot. "Where'd you go?" Sara asked.
"Catherine was questioning the Millers," was the short reply.
"And so you just left me in there?" she asked incredulously.
Nick just gave her a look that said 'Yeah…so?' He looked excited about something, so Sara bit.
"Why are we rushing? Did you guys find something out?"
Nick smiled at her. "No, we did." He bumped her with his elbow, friendly this time, not at all like the jab she had given him during the interview.
Sara was confused. "We were in the same interview, right? We didn't really find out anything that we didn't already know. Except that Walsh didn't know that the boys aren't his."
"Ah, he told us more than that." Nick hit the button to unlock the doors and they jumped into the SUV. Nick stuck the keys in the ignition. His eyes had that sparkle back in them for the first time in two days. "He told us that he suspected that his wife was having an affair."
"And?"
"Gives him motive for her murder."
Sara stared back at him. "What…murder? There was another murder?"
Nick grinned and hit the gas. Sara hastened to fasten her seat belt, remembering Nick's tendency toward a lead foot.
"Walsh said that his wife died three years ago. Mike and Judy Miller said that it was some kind of accident. She slipped on a toy and hit her head."
Sara shrugged, watching the trees on the side of the road fly by. "It happens, Nick."
Nick shook his head. "Nah, I don't buy it. I wanna take a look at the house."
"Our case isn't about the wife." Personally, Sara didn't think the man was capable of murder.
Nick glanced at her but mostly kept his eyes on the road. "If a man would kill his wife, it's not that a big a stretch to kill his kid."
Sara just sighed. She wasn't going to get anywhere with him. She tried the only thing she had left in her arsenal: logic. "You're not going to get a warrant," she said. "You've got no evidence to suggest that Walsh killed his wife. Or his son, for that matter."
"We've got two stories that don't match."
Sara listened intently as Nick filled her in on everything that had been said during the interview with the Millers.
"Okay," she admitted. "So somebody's lying. What makes you think it's the dad?"
Nick stared ahead. "Just a hunch."
Jim was on the phone. Again. He didn't remember that being in the waiver when he joined the force. Might be killed in the course of duty and might spend many pointless hours on the phone arguing with hot-headed CSIs. Not that Brass didn't think Nick might be on to something; the kid was bright. Jim often found himself realizing he thought a lot more like Nick Stokes then Gil Grissom. Grissom was driven by evidence and facts, situations when he couldn't be told he was wrong. Jim liked to work with people. He found that he could read them well, probably why he was so much better as a homicide detective than he had ever been at the crime lab. The evidence didn't speak to him like it did to Gil…people did.
"Nick, I hear you, really, I do." Jim started absentmindedly straightening things on his overly cluttered desk.
"Jim, I've talked to this guy twice now, and I really think that this something that we should look into."
"Then why are you talking to me? Shouldn't you go to Catherine with something like this?"
There was a pause. "I'm kinda on her shit-list right now."
Jim chuckled, and Nick seemed to take that as some kind of encouragement.
"Could you just try and get the warrant for me?"
Jim felt his hard cop-exterior fading fast. Nick could always get to him. And the fact that they had almost lost the kid last year didn't ever hurt his chances of getting something out of the detective, either. "What do you have?" he asked.
"Yes." Nick made the comment under his breath, but Jim still heard it. "Um…well, there's my hunch." He sounded like he actually thought that Jim would try and get a warrant on a hunch from the great Nick Stokes.
"Shit, Nicky," Jim laughed. "You better have more than that."
"Okay, okay. Walsh told us that he suspected his wife was having an affair, and then she had an accident."
Jim waited. "That it?"
"Yeah."
"Look, Nick. I'll see what I can do, but you've got to be realistic. It's not much to go on." Jim made a note on his notepad.
"I'm not asking to exhume the body or anything. I just wanna have a look around the house."
"I know, I know. I'll call the judge and get back to you."
"Thanks, man."
Jim hung up the phone and stared at it. Two warrants in two days…for the same man. It if happened, he was either the luckiest or the best cop in the state.
"Man, how in the hell did you get this warrant?" Warrick shook his head as Nick sauntered into the break room, waving a familiar-looking piece of paper.
"I've got my connections," he said with a smile.
Warrick snorted. "Yeah, and they're the same as mine." He grabbed the paper out of Nick's hand and looked it over. It seemed that Catherine had let Nick off of the hook for that morning after he showed up with the warrant, and was going to let him head over to the house instead of taking it herself.
"You'd better be nice, or you can't come with me." Nick took a Coke out of the fridge and drained half of it in one gulp.
"Cath's letting me out of the lab? Sweet action," Warrick said. He'd been hanging around all morning, and was very, very bored. It was a slow crime day, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, just meant there wasn't a whole hell of a lot for him to do.
"Yeah, well, I think she's actually hoping I don't find anything and end up embarrassing myself. She's not really with me on chasing the dad."
Warrick raised his eyebrows. "I don't think anyone is, from what I hear."
Nick's eyes narrowed. "It's worth a shot," he grumbled.
Warrick held up his hands is mock-surrender. "Hey, man, I'm not saying it's not a good lead. It's not like there's anyone jumping out yelling 'I did it!'"
Nick laughed and chugged down the rest of his drink, and Warrick had a feeling that it had just been his friend's breakfast and lunch.
"Ready?" Warrick asked. He was itching for some action, even if it was only of the crime-scene processing kind.
Nick nodded and grabbed his hat from the table. "Let's go, boss. I'm driving."
"In your dreams."
The look on Ryan Walsh's face when he saw Nick standing on his doorstep was priceless. He was clearly surprised to be seeing the CSI three times in two days, and annoyed at two of them being that day. The man was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, and Nick found himself wondering if the man had a job. He always seemed to be home.
"What now?" Walsh asked coldly. He suspiciously eyed Warrick's tall form. "Another one? How many of you are there?"
"As many as it takes, Mr. Walsh," Nick said coolly.
Warrick held out the warrant. Walsh took it and scanned it. "You want to see my kitchen?" he asked with a puzzled expression.
"Yes, sir." Nick removed his sunglasses. "We're going to have to ask you to step outside here with this officer."
"Is this about Nate?" the man asked, stepping outside to let the CSIs pass.
Warrick turned around and assessed the man, while Nick spoke. "It might be." He craned his neck to look down the hall. "Is the kitchen in the back?"
"Yes." Walsh still looked puzzled.
"Thanks," Nick said, shutting the door.
Warrick shook his head with a small laugh. "That guy really doesn't like you."
"No, he really doesn't." Nick gestured down the hall. "Shall we?"
Warrick hefted his kit. "We shall. Do you have any idea what you're looking for?"
Nick looked at him but didn't respond. Truth be told, he really didn't know what he was looking for. He just had a feeling that Eileen Walsh's death wasn't completely on the up and up. He'd looked over the police report. Like so many other tragic accidents that happened around the house, it had been ruled an accidental death, nothing criminal, CSIs had never looked over the scene, and all went back to normal.
Nick wasn't buying the whole slipped-on-a-toy-that-was-conviently-laying-in-a-perfect-spot-on-the-floor-in-relation-to-the-edge-of-the-counter story. He walked to where the carpet of the hall met the hardwood flooring of the kitchen and surveyed the room. It was a fairly small kitchen, and the island counter in the center made it feel cluttered. He frowned, studying the granite countertop. There was also a long counter running along the wall the length of the room, and both appeared to have very hard edges and corners. The counters were nice…marbled granite surfaces and dark wood sides to match the floor.
There was a door on the wall to Nick's left, presumably leading to the backyard, and apparently the door Eileen had been coming in when she'd slipped. There was another door on the wall running parallel to where the CSIs were standing.
"You planning on processing anything today?" Warrick asked. Nick jumped a little and looked over at him, embarrassed. He'd always startled easily at crime scenes.
He gave Warrick a lop-sided grin. "What are you waiting for?"
"You're the one running this show. I'm just backing you up, man."
"You just don't wanna have to take any crap from Catherine," Nick teased.
"Amen to that." Warrick gestured into the room. "After you."
They got to work. Not that there was an excessive amount of work to do. Nick got out his bottle of luminol and sprayed the floor and counter. It was a long-shot…three years had gone by. Warrick drew the shade on the backdoor and they waited a moment, staring at the floor. Nothing.
Nick crouched to study the clear drops on the floor. He'd really wanted to see the way the blood had behaved after Eileen's fall. The police report hadn't even included pictures of the scene, just the body. He chewed on his lip, and then he remembered something, shuddering involuntarily.
When he and Grissom had worked the Faye Green case years a few years ago they'd come up against the same problem. The luminol hadn't illuminated the blood on the wood floors…but the ALS did.
"Hey, Warrick, you mind running out to the truck and grabbing the ALS?"
He heard Warrick sigh. "Nick, man, there ain't nothing there."
Nick rolled his eyes. "Humor me, will ya?"
Warrick huffed but Nick heard him leave the room. He stood and walked the length of the kitchen. He stood in front of the backdoor and looked into the room.
"Okay," he said out loud, to himself. "I'm walking in through the back door." He took a step into the room. "I slip on a toy, and I," Nick looked to his left, to the counter. He was really looking more straight ahead than to the left, "fall against the counter."
But the counter wasn't really that close, but further into the room. If there was blood on the counter, then it was likely that Eileen had been coming down the hall when she slipped, not in from the backdoor.
The plain wooden door to his right drew his attention, and Nick opened it. The door opened to the left, into the room, which Nick thought was a little weird. He wasn't an authority on doors or anything; it was just one of those weird things that people sometimes take notice of. A narrow set of steps was visible, probably leading to the basement.
Nick heard footsteps in the kitchen behind him, and started to tell Warrick to point the ALS at the counter. Before he got the words out, a pair of hands planted themselves firmly on Nick's back and pushed.
He had no time to react, but it seemed his body was more prepared for the unexpected push than his mind was. In fact, his brain didn't seem to be working at all. His right foot held fast, his ankle wrenching painfully as he overbalanced. He flailed his arms, trying to keep some semblance of balance and stop himself from falling down the narrow wooden steps. He failed.
Nick's heart raced wildly as he reached out for the railing. His fingertips grazed it as he started to fall; just another couple of inches and he would have been able to get a firm grip and halt his descent before it began. Nick braced himself for an impact as best he could.
He hit the steps on his side and all the air was knocked out of him. His head connected with the edge of a step, accompanied by a flash of brilliant white. Everything went black before he rolled to a stop on the cool concrete floor.
Warrick pulled the ALS from the back of the truck, pausing as he straightened. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something didn't seem right. He had a creepy feeling, like getting a chill. His grandmother used to say a chill meant a ghost had walked through you. Well, something had certainly just walked through Warrick.
He turned back to the house. On the front stoop were the LVPD officer and Ryan Walsh. The latter was sitting on the step, staring at Warrick.
Warrick squinted. Everything seemed to be fine. Through the front window, Warrick could see the shadow of someone moving through the house. Wondering what Nick was up to, and why he was so intent on finding the old blood stains, Warrick headed back into the house. It had been quiet since they got there, but now the silence seemed to hang, the air feeling thick.
"Man, you've just been around too many crime scenes," he chided himself under his breath. He didn't want to let Nick see him freak out over nothing. He walked into the Walsh's tidy kitchen. "Hey, Nick…"
Warrick's heart picked up involuntarily as he faced an empty room. His friend was most likely just having a look around the house, nothing to get worked up about. Lightning didn't strike twice.
Warrick set the light machine down and peered around the corner, into the small dining room. "Nick?"
The eerie silence fell on Warrick again. He could hear the two men chatting from outside the house, but they seemed far away now. Warrick could feel it in his gut now, like a solid rock sitting in his stomach…something was not right.
"Nick, man, talk to me." Warrick didn't care if he was starting to sound panicked. If Nick was in the other room, and just for some reason or another couldn't hear him, Warrick would take the jokes his friend would make about freaking out over nothing. There was no such thing as overreacting, not anymore.
Warrick turned back to the kitchen, where their two field kits sat open. His eye caught a door in the wall, slightly ajar. He'd noticed it when they first entered the room, writing it off as a pantry. Maybe it led a basement or garage door, and Nick was poking around in there. Slightly more put at ease at a probable reason for the lack of response from his friend, Warrick made his way to the door.
He frowned as he stepped past Nick's kit, a flashlight visible inside. If Nick had gone off to another part of the house, he would have brought it. They always had their flashlights on them at a scene, even if it was high noon and broad daylight. And especially if he had gone into a basement, as Nick was understandably not a huge fan of either the dark or underground lately.
Warrick pulled open the door, one hand reaching for his gun. He wasn't sure why; reflex, maybe. A patch of light from the kitchen fell down the basement steps, and Warrick gasped when the light fell across Nick, sprawled on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.
Fighting his initial instinct to run down to his friend, to make the same mistake twice, Warrick ran back into the hall. "Callahan! We need to get back up and paramedics here now!"
The front door opened, and the officer started to step in. "What – "
"Just do it! Secure the scene." Warrick yelled and darted back into the kitchen. He ran down the stairs, two and maybe three at a time, and jumped down next to his friend.
Nick was unconscious, and it was no wonder when Warrick saw the wound at his friend's temple. Blood was already matting his short hair.
Warrick gently moved Nick's head and laid it flat on the floor, keeping his spine aligned. He looked up the steep steps. "God, Nick. What happened to you now?"
He was furious with himself. He'd done it again. Left Nick alone in a suspect's house while he went outside. Maybe it was something more than his stubbornness that had made him argue with Nick, telling him that the ALS wouldn't work. Something inside of him knew that something wasn't right, and he'd ignored it, and the man had been left without eyes on him.
Warrick swore and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He heard footsteps, and Officer Callahan came into view at the top of the stairs, gun in hand.
His eyes widened when he saw them. Then he went into cop-mode, moving slowly down the stairs. "Warrick, I have to secure the room. You shouldn't be down here."
Warrick glanced around him. He could barely make out the outline of a couch, and a few shelves, but nothing had made noise since he'd run down the stairs. The officer brushed past him and trained his gun on the dark room.
Warrick was growing increasingly impatient. Nick's head was bleeding heavily. "Where are the damned paramedics?" he demanded.
Callahan dropped his arms, apparently satisfied that they were alone in the room, and spoke into the radio at his shoulder. Warrick heard a response laced heavily with static, enough that he couldn't decipher the message.
Callahan turned to him. "Two minutes out."
Warrick swore again. He fought back the tears threatening to blind him. He couldn't believe something like this had happened again. He watched the blood running down the side of Nick's face and didn't look up until he heard sirens.
And then he got out his phone.
Greg was really and truly done with working the DNA lab. Over the last year or so, while he was just trying to make it one night at a time in the field, he'd sometimes found himself missing the calm of the lab. Not to mention the air conditioning. It got so freaking hot outside, especially in the desert. And the Vegas area had plenty of desert.
Greg had only been working the lab for the past two nights, and he was already ready to call it quits. How did I ever keep all of this straight? he wondered, staring wide-eyed at the rows of test tubes, heaps of swabs, and stacks of papers spread out before him.
He was waiting for Saint Mia, his salvation. Ecklie said that she hadn't called in that morning, so he was assuming she was coming in. If she did, Greg wouldn't put it past himself to break out into song and dance, right in the middle of the crime lab. And buy her some kind of care package…full of anything and everything to keep her from ever getting sick again.
Greg glanced anxiously at the time bar in the lower right-hand corner of the computer screen. And then at his watch. And then at the analog clock hanging in the hall, frustrated with the time. If she was coming in, Mia wouldn't be due in until at least four.
Maybe she's feeling ambitious today, Greg thought hopefully. Even if he couldn't get the rest of the night off, he would at least love to be doing some field work right now.
He sat for a minute, and then looked at the clock again. His eyelids started to droop.
"You look like you need a nap," came a friendly voice.
Greg looked up at Sara as she pushed open the door, a paper coffee cup in one hand and a file folder in the other. He smiled and nodded slowly. "That would be nice."
Sara set her cup down on the counter and leaned against it, propping her head up in her hand. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna sleep for a whole day after we close this case."
"I thought you didn't sleep," Greg teased.
Sara huffed and gave him a small push.
Greg laughed. "You here to check on your swabs?"
"Yeah."
"Let me see here." Greg spun in his chair, randomly grabbing papers from the desktop. He held one up. "Is this yours?"
Sara glared.
"I'm just kidding, I have it right here." He picked up a file that he'd set aside earlier.
She opened the folder and bit her lip as she flipped through the pages. "Which swab was this?"
Greg leaned up to look over the top of the file at the page she was on. He read, upside-down and backwards, that the paper declared Positive DNA. Female. Unknown. "Ah…the one you took from the inside of his collar. It's the only one I got a good sample from. There were a few other swabs with epithelials, but not enough to pull DNA."
Sara was nodding as she listened. "Thanks, Greg." She turned to leave without looking up.
"No problem. If you see Nick, tell him I'm trying to get to that cup he dropped off, but I'm pretty backed up."
"Sure. And Greg…Mia's gonna kill you." She started down the hall.
"Huh?" Greg looked around the small, cluttered space. "Why?"
"What in the hell did you do to my lab?"
Greg looked up at the new voice and smiled his biggest smile for Mia, who, although looking somewhat paler than normal, looked pissed. She surveyed the small lab, her mouth open.
"I redecorated," Greg said cheerfully.
"You destroyed," she said, frowning at the desk, which could hardly be seen underneath the folders, loose papers, and evidence strewn on top of it. "It's a good thing I came in early." She crouched and started to pick papers up from the floor.
Greg bent down to help her. "I'm sorry, Mia. It's been a really weird couple of days…"
Mia held up one of her science journals. A half-eaten candy bar was melted and stuck to the cover.
Greg cringed. He'd forgotten about his snack.
"Leave. Now," Mia gritted.
Greg hastily stood. "Have a good night." And he practically ran out of the lab.
Sara was on her way into the mini-conference room, and laughed as Greg rushed past her. As soon as he realized, he slowed to a stop until she caught up and walked alongside her.
He stared at her intently. "You knew Mia was coming. You could have warned me." It wasn't a question, it was an accusation.
Sara gave him an innocent look. "I thought I did."
Greg sighed. "I honestly don't care. I am just happy to be out of there." He looked back.
Sara followed his gaze and laughed. Mia appeared to be talking to herself, making wide, dramatic gestures as she stomped around her small lab, repairing all the damage Greg had managed to do in two days' time.
Sara turned back to Greg, holding out her file. "You wanna help with the case?"
Greg looked longingly to the comfy couch in the break room as they passed it. He sighed. "Sure."
They continued to the conference room, where Catherine stood surveying a spread of evidence. She looked up over the top of her reading glasses. "You get anything from your swabs?"
"Yeah," Sara handed the file to Catherine. "Greg pulled some female DNA from Nathaniel's jacket collar."
Catherine looked up sharply.
Sara held out her hands. "Nothing like that. Just skin cells." She crossed her arms.
Catherine took off her glasses and shook her hair. She put a hand on her hip. "Well, we know that Nathaniel was with Judy Miller at some time during the night. It's probably hers. I just wish we knew what actually happened. All we have is a ton of circumstantial evidence that we can't say suggests anything criminal." Catherine rubbed her eyes.
Greg said something about getting coffee, and walked out slowly, shooting glances back at them.
Catherine rolled her eyes. "For the love of God, Greg. We don't care where your coffee is!"
Greg looked embarrassed for a second, and then he disappeared.
Catherine sat back down in her chair and ran a hand through her hair. She replaced her glasses and reopened the file that Sara had brought in with her. Sara sank into a chair across from her. She wasn't entirely sure what to say. Things had been very tense between them all day. And for the past few days.
"Look, Catherine," Sara started, staring at her hands.
The other woman pulled off her glasses again and sighed.
"Don't do that," Sara said, surprised at her own tone, but she had really hit her limit. Catherine looked taken aback. "I'm sorry. Actually, I'm not sorry. Maybe the reason that we haven't been getting anywhere with this case is because we're all too busy being pissed at each other."
"I'm not pissed at you, Sara. I'm just disappointed in how unprofessional you've been the past couple of days."
"Unprofessional? I'm doing my job to the best of my abilities, Catherine."
Catherine smiled. "If that's true, Sara, then we really do have a problem."
Sara just stared at her.
Catherine sighed and looked away. "I didn't mean that. I don't want to make excuses, but we've all been edgy, and I think it's starting to affect our work."
"I think you're right," Sara answered coolly.
"Maybe we shouldn't all be working on this case."
Sara wasn't expecting that. If Catherine was thinking about taking her off of the case, if that was what she was about to say…Sara would be on the phone with Grissom within ten minutes. That wasn't fair, and it definitely wasn't the way to solve this little boy's murder.
"Sara," Catherine started, but was cut off by the shrill ring of her cell phone. She looked at the screen before she answered. "Hey, Warrick. How's it look at the…" A horrified expression came over Catherine's features.
Sara sat forward, her heart instantly dropping to the pit of her stomach.
"Oh my God. What...where are they taking him?"
That sure got Sara's attention. "What?" Her voice shook.
"We'll be there. No, I'll call him." Catherine snapped her phone shut and looked at Sara, her mouth open in a shocked expression.
"Catherine, what happened?" Sara was starting to feel very nervous.
"It's Nick."
After last summer, those two simple words were enough to induce a kind of panic in Sara like she had never felt before.
To be continued...