Part Four
Jim stared across the table. Mike Miller was avoiding eye contact, was doing a lot of sniffing and staring at the floor. He'd seen many men react the same way after losing their spouse. However, he had also seen many men react the same way when they had in fact been the one to kill their spouse and were simply good actors.
Sara had called him from the house and informed him about the gun they'd found. Under the couch, like it had been tossed in a quick attempt to hide it.
"Mr. Miller," Jim said.
The man looked up and locked eyes with the captain.
Jim cocked his head. "Do you own a gun?"
Mike's mouth dropped open. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Yes, I did, and I would like to think you would be more sympathetic to my situation. I just lost my wife."
"You're right, I'm sorry." Jim shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Do you own a gun?"
Mike looked over at the door. "Am I being interrogated or are you taking my statement?"
Jim leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk. "Mr. Miller, the CSIs that were sent to your home found a gun underneath the couch. I just want to know if they should expect to find your prints on it."
Mike's eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. "No, I don't own a gun."
"And they're not going to find your prints on it, right?"
Mike smacked a hand on the table. "No! I came home and I found Judy in the living room. I called the police…I never saw a gun. And I definitely never touched one."
Jim sat back in his chair. "911?"
"What?"
"Did you call 911?" Jim spoke slowly for the man.
"I – I…she was dead."
"You were sure? Are you a doctor?"
Mike Miller looked around the room for some kind of support, but he was alone. It was just him and the detective. "I checked for a pulse, and – "
"If it was my wife, I think I would have called the paramedics, no matter what." Maybe not today, Jim thought. Back when we were married, maybe. In the good years, before she turned into Satan's handmaiden.
"Mr. Brass, I know that you're doing your job to find out who killed my wife – "
"I am." Jim nodded.
Mike looked up sharply. "Then why are you sitting here with me instead of arresting Ryan Walsh?"
Jim sat in silence, waiting to see what the man had to say next.
"You can't tell me that he didn't do this! He blamed us for what happened to Nate."
"Should he have?"
Mike shook his head. "No, because whatever he told you is a lie – "
"What about what you told me?" Jim cut the man off and leaned forward. "You and your wife stated that you left Nathaniel with his father."
Mike shifted in his seat. "That's true."
"So what you're saying is that it was someone entirely unknown to us at this point who killed that little boy."
Mike looked Jim dead in the eye. "I guess so."
It was a challenge, and Jim took it. "Then tell me where to look."
After another ten minutes and no real information, Jim had to let the man go. He wasn't convinced that Miller was completely innocent in all of this, but they didn't have anything to hold him on.
He walked to a somewhat quiet corner of the station and pulled out his phone, punched in Catherine's cell number and waited. And waited. When he got her voicemail, he frowned. "Hey, Catherine, it's Jim. I had to let the husband go, we don't have anything on him. Yet. Anyways, Greg and Sara should be bringing a gun home with them tonight, tag it express, okay?"
He disconnected the call and walked back down the hall where Mike Miller was signing some papers. There was just something about this guy wasn't quite sitting right with Jim. He crossed his arms and watched the man leave, not moving quite like a man who had just discovered his wife's dead body.
Once Miller was out of the station, Jim pulled his phone out again. He set up an officer in plainclothes to watch the Miller house that night.
He just had a feeling.
Catherine cleared her throat but Gil didn't look up.
He stared down at all of the paperwork on his desk. Evidence logs, DNA printouts, crime scene photos…it was all there. When Warrick cleared his throat as well, Gil looked up to the two of them hovering in his doorway.
"Come in," he said, gesturing to the two chairs on the other side of his desk.
They exchanged looks and entered the room cautiously, settling silently into the chairs.
Gil set the papers aside and folded his hands on top of them. He wanted to keep this simple; he'd never been one to have a flare for the dramatics. More than anything, he wanted to wait for the two of them to speak first and explain in their own words why they'd teamed up to allow this to happen.
"Gil," Catherine said, taking care to look at her hands as she spoke. "I know that you think we screwed up – "
"Screwed up? That's how you're looking at this?" Gil eyed her through his glasses.
She looked up at his interruption. "We did everything the way that we always have – "
"And we left Nick alone in a possible suspect's house. Again." As Gil spoke, he locked eyes with Warrick, who, for his part, didn't look away. The look in his eyes showed that he knew he had screwed up.
"He couldn't have known what was going to happen – "
"I don't need you to defend me, Catherine," Warrick interrupted angrily. "I wasn't thinking, and I did something stupid. I know it."
Catherine looked back and forth between the two men. "You said yourself that you were only out of the house for a minute, and Ryan Walsh was outside with an officer. You didn't do anything wrong."
"There was no one in the house with him, Cath. That was my bad move." Warrick pounded his knee with a fist for emphasis.
Gil sat back and folded his hands under his chin, propping his index fingers under it. He sat in silence throughout their whole exchange.
Warrick turned to him. "I know I screwed up, and I'll take whatever punishment you give me. I don't care about that, just as long as Nick's gonna be okay."
"Is he?"
Both Warrick and Catherine looked up at the small question.
Catherine's mouth opened, but it took a moment to speak. "Of course he is, it's just – "
"Because I called the hospital on the way from the airport." Gil glared at them.
They both looked away as they realized that he knew the extent of Nick's injuries without any spin on it they might have been able to attempt. Mainly, his head trauma.
"The doctor said those memories could come back, and it really wasn't that bad," Warrick said.
Catherine stayed silent.
Gil retained his glare at them as he picked up the paper Nick's doctor had faxed to his office. He read it aloud to them. "One unit of blood delivered in the ER from severe trauma to the head…received thirteen stitches…did not regain consciousness for several hours." Grissom looked at them over the top of his glasses. "Not to mention the cracked ribs and sprained ankle."
Catherine chewed on her thumbnail. Warrick ran a hand over his face. No one spoke for several minutes.
The silence was broken by Catherine's cell phone. She looked up at Gil, and in getting no reaction, reached for the phone.
"Leave it," he said, surprising himself with the fierceness in his voice.
Catherine looked taken aback. "It's Jim…"
"He'll call back."
Catherine put her hand back in her lap. A couple of times, it looked like she was going to speak, but apparently decided that silence was safer.
Gil coughed and moved the papers on his desk into a somewhat organized pile. "I'm going to go home and attempt to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same. In the morning, I'm going to see Nick, and then I'm taking over this case." He put the stack of papers into a folder and grabbed his briefcase.
"I'm sorry," Warrick said. "I let you down."
"Yeah." Gil looked at him as he moved for the door. "You did."
It was morning. Nick could tell because of the gray light seeping in through the blinds. He wasn't sure what time it was exactly, but it felt early. The clock on the opposite wall was too far and too blurry to make out. He was tired. He hadn't gotten a great night's sleep, what with being woken up every hour and all. The nurses had been nice about it, but it still sucked. Eventually, he just gave up trying to sleep.
The door opened quietly and a nurse named Linda poked her head in the room. "Oh, you're up," she said with a smile.
"Yeah."
She moved to his bedside and checked the stand that held his pain medication. Then she picked up the chart hanging on the wall. "How are we feeling this morning?"
"Ready to get outta here," Nick responded honestly.
The nurse smiled and crossed her arms over the chart. "Dr. Lowell is going to be coming by in a bit to discuss that very thing."
Nick smiled and settled back against his pillows. "I feel better already."
The nurse made a note on the chart and put it back in its place. "How's the head? Are you still unable to remember what happened to you?"
Nick shrugged. "I guess."
He wasn't avoiding the question, it was the truth. It was hard to figure out what he was actually remembering and what he was just trying to remember based on what Warrick had told him. Sometime during the night he'd woken with a start, shaking and scared. It was weird, sure, but he didn't think it warranted telling the nurses or his doctor about. It was just a nightmare, and people had those all of the time.
"Okay then." The nurse patted his arm. "Dr. Lowell will stop by in an hour or so."
As soon as the door shut, Nick's attitude changed drastically, and he suddenly felt very alone and cold. The thought that there was someone out there that had tried to hurt him, and had succeeded…it scared him. It didn't help that he didn't remember, and had no idea who'd attacked him. He didn't feel safe, and, however selfishly, was kind of surprised no one was here in the hospital with him. But the case wasn't going to solve itself.
The case…something tugged at Nick's mind, and it kind of hurt. He put a hand to his forehead, careful of the stitches. He just wanted out of here.
Nick heard movement outside the door and craned his neck to get a better view. A shadow was visible, drawing closer. Nick placed his finger over the 'call nurse' button, his hand shaking slightly.
The door opened and Grissom stepped into the room. Nick let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and released the button. What in the hell is wrong with me, he thought. Wait…Grissom?
"Gris, man, what are you doing here? Didn't you have a conference in…L.A.?" It took him a second, but Nick pulled the city out of the recesses of his mind.
"Yeah, I did, but Catherine called me and told me what happened." Grissom was grim and unsmiling. He lowered himself stiffly into the same plastic chair his friends had been filling one at a time.
"I'm okay," Nick assured him. "They might even let me go home today."
"Yes, I spoke with your doctor."
"You did?"
Grissom nodded. "I called last night."
Nick frowned. "Last night? Why didn't you just come by?"
Grissom made a few incoherent sounds, and then avoided the question all together. "I'm taking over the case."
"Why? Cath was doing a great job…as far as I remember." He meant it to be a joke, but Grissom didn't smile. "Relax, Gris. I'm fine, really." Nick sat up, causing him to wince from shooting pains in both his head and side.
Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it looks like it."
Nick glared at him. "It's not that bad." Despite what he said, he held a light hand to his side.
There was a knock on the door and both Nick and Grissom looked over as Dr. Lowell entered.
Grissom stood and shook hands with the doctor. "Gil Grissom," he said. "We spoke on the phone."
"Ah, Mr. Grissom." Dr. Lowell looked down at Nick. "I hear we're ready to get out of here," he said with a smile.
"Yes, we are," Nick said, putting on his best feeling-all-better face.
Dr. Lowell looked at the chart he'd carried in with him. "It looks like nothing serious came out of the last CAT scan, so we're going to go ahead and send you home this afternoon. Do you have someone who can drive you?"
Nick looked up at Grissom with pleading eyes, mentally telling him, 'Get me out of here!'
Grissom concentrated on the doctor. "Are you sure he's ready to be released?"
Nick frowned. There was no way Grissom wanted to keep him in this godforsaken place. It was horrible, and just being in hospital room brought back bucketsful of memories that he'd really rather forget.
"Yes, it was only a concussion. We kept him overnight for observation, but I see no reason why he can't go home. He'll heal just as well there."
The doctor turned his attention to Nick. "No work for a couple of days, though. And make sure you take the medication they'll send you home with."
"Cross my heart," Nick said with a smile. He knew the drill.
"You take care," Dr. Lowell said to Nick. He ducked his head to Grissom and left the room.
Grissom smacked his hands against his legs. "Well, I guess if the doctor thinks you're okay to leave, then that's that."
Nick was surprised. He thought Grissom would have been happy that he was feeling well enough to be let go. Of course, he wasn't actually feeling as well as he was letting on…but it was close enough.
Grissom squinted at his watch. "I really should be getting to the lab."
Nick nodded, but felt a sting. "Sure."
"I'll stop by the front desk and see when exactly they think you'll be released, and we'll send someone to pick you up and take you home."
"Okay." The joy of going home seemed to be sucked out of the moment.
Grissom smiled at him. "I'll see you later, Nick."
"Grissom, wait."
Grissom raised his eyebrows, waiting for Nick to speak.
Nick swallowed. "Warrick told me what happened. He feels really guilty, man, and I don't want him to. Go easy on him, okay?"
Grissom's eyes flashed, and Nick saw an anger there he couldn't remember seeing before. "He should feel guilty, Nick. He put your life in danger."
"Not on purpose," Nick argued. "He would never do that, and you know it. Don't put all the blame on him."
"And who am I supposed to blame, Nick?" Grissom threw his arms out for emphasis. "No one around here has any idea what's going on. From what I hear, you were the only one who had any inkling of a theory, and you can't even remember it."
Nick averted his eyes, choosing to focus on the IV line running into his hand.
Across the room, Grissom sighed. "I've really got to get going."
Nick nodded.
"Nicky." Grissom started to say something else, but didn't finish. By the time Nick looked up, he was already on his way out of the door.
Nick suddenly felt achy and exhausted. All that lack of sleep was catching up to him, despite the several hours he'd spent unconscious the previous day. He closed his eyes and felt himself start to drift off when the door opened yet again.
Nurse Linda smiled and held up a tray. "Just stopped by with breakfast."
Great, hospital food. But he was hungry, so he took it without complaint.
The nurse busied herself around the room, straightening the chairs and opening the blinds. "You must have a lot of people that care about you," she said.
Nick swallowed a bite of blue Jello. "I guess. I've only had one visitor this morning."
The nurse turned and looked at him. "Did the other guy not come and visit you?"
Nick frowned. "What other guy?" Warrick? Greg? Brass?
Nurse Linda shrugged. "This man came to the nurse's station asking about you. Said he was a friend, but he didn't give a name."
Nick suddenly lost his appetite. A stranger, inquiring about him at the hospital, the day after he was attacked at a possible crime scene. "I'm really, really ready to go home now," he mumbled.
Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe not.
Nick spent the rest of the morning staring at the door, forgetting about how tired and achy he was, until Warrick came to pick him up at noon.
Warrick had been somewhat surprised, but relieved, when Grissom told them Nick was going to be sent home that afternoon. He knew how uncomfortable Nick was in hospitals, and it also helped to alleviate some of his guilt by knowing that his injuries had only required a single day's stay. Not much, but some.
When Warrick arrived at the hospital, however, he put all of his selfish thoughts aside and wondered if Nick was really ready to leave. He entered the room to find his friend sitting bolt-upright in bed, his face pale, eyes locked on the door. He'd even jumped when Warrick came in. The man had honestly looked better the previous day.
"Hey, man. You okay?" Warrick studied Nick's wide-eyed expression with concern.
Nick shook it off and gave Warrick a lopsided grin. "Yeah. Just…jumpy, I guess."
Warrick handed Nick a bag of clean clothes, which his friend gratefully accepted. "How come?"
"Hospitals, man." It was answer enough.
The nurse had already removed the IV, and Nick stepped out of his bed, careful of his swollen ankle. He winced.
Warrick frowned. "You need crutches or something?"
Nick huffed and rolled his eyes. "No. But they're bringing me some, anyway."
He made his way slowly to the bathroom, half-dragging his right foot behind him, his left arm wrapped around his side.
"They're giving you a 'scrip, too, right?" Warrick asked as he watched his friend's slow movements.
"Yeah, yeah," Nick answered. It took him awhile to change, but not as long as Warrick would have expected.
When Nick emerged from the small bathroom, he looked completely worn out, shuffling back to his bed. He sat on the edge and exhaled deeply. They just had to wait for someone to bring in the papers for Nick to sign so he could leave. Warrick reached out and hit the volume button on the side of the bed, turning it up, and changed the channels until he found ESPN. He leaned back, content to watch some college football until the nurse came by.
"Did you come by here this morning?"
Nick sounded tentative, as if he was nervous about the answer he might receive.
"Nah, I couldn't. I was stuck in the lab." Warrick frowned. The lab wasn't exactly the happiest place in the world right now, especially with Grissom's mood upon his return.
Nick nodded slowly, and turned to look out the window. "Okay. What about one of the other guys? Greg, or…"
Warrick shook his head. "I don't think so. Everyone was pretty busy in the lab. Bodies are piling up on this case, man."
He filled Nick in on the murder of Judy Miller, watching his friend's reactions closely. There was recognition in his eyes when he mentioned the names of Millers, but he also seemed preoccupied, like there was something else on his mind.
Nick frowned. "Okay."
Warrick was confused by the disappointment in his friend's voice. Maybe he should have tried harder to get Gris to allow him to come to the hospital earlier. He didn't know Nick would take it so hard that he hadn't been able to. He was about to apologize when a pretty nurse came in, a pair of crutches in one hand and a prescription in the other. Nick scowled at the sight of the crutches but seemed to be grateful at the prospect of the meds.
She handed the prescription to Warrick, explained the medicine and dosage, all the usual things. "I'll be right back," she said.
Nick glared at the crutches leaning on his bed. "I don't need them," he grumbled.
Warrick shook his head. "Don't you even start. You could barely walk to the bathroom. You're using them, and you're gonna like it," he finished with a smile.
Nick rolled his eyes.
"You're like a damn kid," Warrick said, laughing.
The nurse reentered, pushing a wheelchair.
"God," Nick said as she motioned to it. "This place is great at making you feel like an invalid." But he settled himself in the chair for the routine ride out to the car.
"You are," Warrick said.
Nick shot him a look. Warrick knew that Nick hated feeling helpless, but the guy really needed to learn to let other people take care of him every now and then. A bang of guilt hit Warrick deep in his chest. Maybe that's what Nick had been doing, sending him out to get the ALS, leaving him alone, trusting Warrick.
Warrick drove Nick to his house, despite his friend's requests, and then demands, to go to the lab instead. He pulled into Nick's driveway and left the engine idling, running around to help Nick out and give him his crutches, as Nick was already starting to hop out on his own.
When they got inside, Nick practically collapsed on his sofa, and Warrick had a feeling that Nick was relieved to be home. Also, that he wasn't going to be moving anytime soon.
Warrick stood by the doorway. "Aight, I'm gonna run out and pick up your meds, and then I have to get back to the lab. Grissom's got me on a pretty short leash."
Nick turned to him. "Warrick, I don't blame you for what happened."
Warrick gave his friend a small, sad smile. "How could you? You don't even know what happened."
He knew what Nick was trying to do, but nothing he said was going to make Warrick not blame himself. "I really should get going. Case isn't gonna solve itself." He made to leave.
"You really didn't come by this morning?" The voice was small.
Warrick shook his head. "No, I didn't."
"Okay." It was the same reply as earlier, and it worried Warrick.
"You all right, Nick?"
Nick nodded. "Uh huh."
"All right." Warrick left to get Nick's pain medicine, which he could tell Nick needed from the way he was clutching his side.
When he returned, Nick was still sitting in the same spot on the couch, staring at the TV, which was off.
Warrick set the prescription bottle on the side table, and told Nick that he would call and check up on him later, no matter how many times Nick said he didn't need it. He was worried, wondered if Nick had maybe remembered something. There was something bothering Nick, and he wasn't telling them.
The crime lab was a somber place that afternoon. As the day shift trickled in, they heard about what had happened with Nick, and knew that Catherine and Warrick were in the doghouse with Grissom. Everyone in the lab seemed to be avoiding the night shift…word was spreading that they were all on edge. With the exception of Archie and Bobby, Sara was having a hard time finding anyone to process her evidence.
Last night, she had dropped the gun off at Jacqui's station with a note, as Jacqui was nowhere to be found. She hoped the tech had lifted the fingerprints already so that she could get the gun to Bobby.
Jacqui looked up from her computer as Sara entered her workspace.
"Hey, Jacqui," Sara said with a smile to make sure the lab tech knew that she was in a relatively okay mood, and that it was safe to talk to her.
Jacqui returned the smile, and Sara thought if might have had a twinge of relief in it. "Hi, Sara. You here for the prints on the gun?"
Sara nodded.
Jacqui clicked on an icon on her computer and moved the monitor so Sara could see it. Two images of scanned fingerprints appeared on the screen. While Sara was excited that Jacqui had been able to pull a couple of prints, she was discouraged by the flashing "No Match Found" at the bottom of each print.
It seemed that the lab tech could read Sara's expression. "Yeah," she said. "Sorry. But I did pull some really clear prints. Get me something to compare them to, and I'll see what I can do."
Sara nodded. "Yeah, okay," she said. "Thanks, Jacqui." But inside, she wasn't feeling all that hopeful.
The only thing she could do was go back to Ryan Walsh and Mike Miller, their only possible suspects, and collect fingerprints. She started out of the room and almost ran smack into Catherine, on her way in.
"Sorry," they said in tandem.
Sara noticed the evidence bag in Catherine's hand, cocked her head to see it better. "What do you have?" she asked, hopeful that it was something to break the case. Fat chance, she thought.
Catherine held up the bag, and Sara could see that there was a small plastic cup in it.
"Where'd you get that?"
Catherine looked at the bag. "I didn't. Nick bagged it. I called him and asked him about it, but he didn't remember doing it."
Sara bit her lip. The situation just kept getting worse and worse.
Catherine sighed. "I don't know, I guess I just thought I'd try and see if there were any prints on it. There were a couple samples of DNA, but no match to anything in the system. I wanted to see if maybe we could lucky and catch a print."
Sara had a thought. "Are we sure this has something to do with the case?"
Catherine frowned. "I'd assume so. I don't think Nick just goes around randomly bagging things."
Sara rolled her eyes, but it was teasing, not out of annoyance. For the first time in the past few days, there didn't seem to be such a thick air of tension between them. "Could you have Jacqui compare any prints she gets to what she pulled from the gun we got from the Miller's house?"
"You having a thought?"
"Yeah. Even we don't get a name, maybe we can start to put together some kind of connection, if not a timeline."
"Couldn't hurt." Catherine opened the door.
Sara cleared her throat. "Listen, Catherine."
Catherine turned back and looked at her, eyebrows raised.
"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. For the way I've been acting the past couple of days. It all seems kind of stupid now."
"Yeah, it does. I'm sorry, too. And I didn't mean it when I said that I would take you off of the case." Catherine looked down. "Not that it matters now."
Sara reached out and put a hand on Catherine's arm. "It wasn't your fault. Or Warrick's, for that matter."
"Grissom seems to be seeing things differently."
"He's just upset about what happened. I'm sure he's cooled down by now."
Catherine didn't respond to this comment. She just looked over Sara's shoulder into the print lab. "I'm gonna get this to Jacqui. I have a lot to do today."
Sara left Catherine and went to find Grissom. He was in his office, leaning over his desk, looking over the folders he'd demanded from them the night before. Sara stepped into the office and crossed her arms.
Grissom looked up and then back down. "Sara."
That was all. In Grissom's mind, there was no need for going through the formalities of using words such as 'hey' or 'hello.'
"You got a minute?"
Grissom looked back up at her. "Sure." He took off his glasses and sat in his chair.
"Will you lay off Warrick and Catherine?" Sara asked.
Grissom raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. You're treating Warrick like he's the one that hurt Nick, and you took the primary away from Catherine. She was doing a great job."
Grissom smiled and looked at his computer screen. "From what I hear, the two of you haven't exactly been getting along."
Sara made a face. "We can't all get along all of the time. But that doesn't matter, because she really was doing a great job while you were gone. We got a lot done…we just don't have anything to show for it," she added when Grissom looked at her with his 'Oh, really' look.
Grissom put his glasses back on. "Except that now we're down a CSI because he's home recuperating from injuries received at a crime scene."
"If that's all you're going to focus on…" Sara trailed off as something occurred to her.
She walked to a chair and sat, placing her hands on her knees. She waited until Grissom looked up before she spoke again. "I know that you're worried about Nick, but you can't blame yourself for what happened just because you weren't here."
Grissom stared back at her without speaking, a sure sign that she'd just hit the jackpot.
Sara covered his hand with hers and gave it a small squeeze. "We have no way of predicting the future. You couldn't have known what was going to happen, and couldn't have stopped it if you'd been here."
Grissom rubbed his beard with the hand that wasn't trapped under Sara's. He met her eyes and for the briefest of moments, Sara thought that she might actually be getting some kind of emotional response from him.
He coughed uncomfortably and turned away, taking his hand with him. Sara balled her hand into a fist and pulled it into her lap.
"Do you have anything for me pertaining to the case?" He started typing on his keyboard, his fingers moving too jerkily for him to actually be typing any real words.
"Yeah," Sara said. She smiled an uneasy smile and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I, uh…well, Jacqui found a few prints on the gun we took from the Miller house. No matches in the system, though. Catherine's going to compare them to something Nick bagged, so maybe we'll get lucky."
"That would be nice," Grissom said. He glanced at her but his eyes flickered quickly back to the computer screen.
Sara played with her fingernails. She heard the tapping of the keyboard stop.
"Was there anything else?"
Sara looked up. "No…I guess not."
Grissom nodded and the tapping continued.
Sara sighed and stood. She paused at the door but didn't turn around. "I meant what I said. You can't blame yourself. And don't blame Warrick or Catherine either."
"Thanks, Sara."
Sara knew that was the most she was going to get out of him, so she took it. At least it was something.
Jacqui took the bag Catherine handed her and studied the cup inside. "Smooth surface," she observed. "If there's a print, I should be able to get it."
Catherine nodded. "Good. We could use a break."
Jacqui started to open the bag. "Do you want me to page you?"
"No, I can wait."
Catherine stood aside and watched Jacqui work. She pulled out a brush and a jar of fingerprint dust, and lightly dusted the surface of the cup, all the way around. Even from where she stood, Catherine could see several dark spots show up on the cup. Her spirits rose.
Jacqui held the cup under a bright light and studied the formation of the prints. "Looks like two sets." She rotated the cup, squinting. "One from a right-handed person…" She spun the cup again. "And the other from a south paw."
Jacqui set the cup down and grabbed a few print-lifting slips. She lifted the most defined prints from each set and set them aside.
"Could you do me a favor," Catherine asked. "And compare them to the prints from the gun Sara brought you?"
Jacqui nodded. "Sure. Hand me those, will ya?" She gestured to two other samples that were piled in front of Catherine.
Catherine handed Jacqui the papers and waited. Jacqui took one of the samples and set down in front of her. Then she took one of the samples that she had just taken from the cup and set it down next to it. She grabbed a magnifier and placed it over the gun print, looking through it. Then she moved to the print next to it.
"Definitely not a match," she said.
She replaced the cup print with the second one, and repeated the process. "Nothing here, either."
Catherine could feel her spirits start to sink. We can't be at another dead end, she thought, Please.
This time, Jacqui replaced the print from the gun. She paused with the magnifier over it. "Hold it," she said. "I think I've got a match here."
"Yeah?" Catherine took a step forward and leaned over Jacqui's shoulder, studying the prints for herself.
"Yeah." The lab tech set the magnifier aside. "It's your lefty."
Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. "That's something." She thanked Jacqui and left the print lab with a smile. She walked quickly through the halls, searching for Sara but coming up empty. She did find Greg, however, in the middle of his lunch.
"Greg, hey. Have you seen Sara?"
He swallowed and gestured down the hall with his sandwich. "Yeah," he said, taking a bite. "She left a little bit ago on her lunch break. I think she was gonna stop by Nick's."
Catherine frowned. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?"
Greg grinned and took another bite. "No, actually."
Catherine gave him a small, disgusted wave and kept on down the hall. She pulled out her phone and dialed on the way to her office. "Sara. Jacqui pulled two sets of prints from that cup that Nick bagged." Catherine settled into her comfy desk chair.
"Just like the gun."
"Yeah, but no. We did get a match, but only to one of the prints." Catherine played with the tip of a pen sticking out of the cup on her desk.
"Nice. I'll go collect prints from Walsh and Miller."
"I'll see you when you get back. Say 'hi' to Nicky for me, okay?"
"Sure. I'll see you in a bit."
Catherine hung up, feeling reinvigorated. Maybe this wasn't such a lost case after all.
Nick looked over at Sara. She'd come over on her lunch break but they hadn't really talked. She brought him a sandwich, which was nice, and he ate it out of politeness more than hunger. He didn't have much of an appetite.
He popped his knuckles nervously, debating on whether or not he should confide in Sara. He had a feeling that he could talk to her about his recent tendencies towards paranoia without being treated like a helpless child the way he would be by Catherine, Warrick, or Grissom.
"Sara?"
She turned to him, pausing from taking a sip from her bottle of water. "Yeah." She frowned. He must have looked more worried than he intended.
He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the sudden ringing of her phone.
She looked at the screen. "It's Catherine." She flipped open the phone. "Hello?"
Nick thanked God that her phone rang when it did, because it saved him from making a really big fool of himself. He'd felt so much better when he got home that he was sure that he had only been feeling uneasy in the hospital because it had been just that – a hospital.
"Nice," Sara said.
Nick looked over at her. He hadn't really been paying attention to what she was saying, but she sounded so excited that it drew his interest.
"I'll go collect prints from Walsh and Miller," Sara said into the phone. "Sure. I'll see you in a bit." She hung up and looked at Nick, grinning from ear to ear.
"What?"
"We're finally getting somewhere with the case." She pushed herself off of his sofa and grabbed her jacket from the counter. "I gotta go."
Nick nodded. "Well, thanks for stoppin' by." He only half meant it. He really didn't feel like sitting around at home alone all day, but he hadn't realized that people were just going to be popping in whenever they pleased.
Sara paused in the middle of putting her jacket on. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"
Nick shook his head and plastered on a smile. "Nah, it's cool."
Sara smiled. "I'm really glad you're feeling better." She opened the front door. "Oh, and Catherine says 'hi'!" she added as she left.
"Hi," Nick said softly to an empty room.
The ringing of his cell phone woke Jim Brass with a start from where he'd fallen asleep at his desk. He hadn't slept in at least a day, and he was getting to be too old for that. He ran a hand over the stubble on his face and reached for his phone. "Yeah," he answered in a scratchy voice.
"Hey, captain."
It was the officer Jim had sent to Mike Miller's to keep an eye on him. "What's up, Steve?" Jim asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"Sidle just got here. She said she came to collect Miller's prints."
"Okay, so what? Does she want my permission or something?" Jim stifled a yawn and stretched his back.
"No." There was a pause. "He's not there, captain."
Jim was wide-awake now. "What in the hell are you talking about, he's not there? That's why you're there – to watch him."
"I know, Captain. He must have slipped out the back or something."
Jim stood and grabbed his suit jacket. "Don't go anywhere, and keep Sara there. I'll be right over." He disconnected the call and wasted no time before punching in another number.
"Willows."
"Catherine, it's Jim." He threw on his suit jacket and attempted to straighten his tie and smooth the wrinkles in his shirt, difficult because he didn't have a mirror handy. "I think it's safe to say we officially have a suspect."
Nick winced as he bent to pick up the wrapper to Sara's sandwich and the empty water bottle she'd left in her haste to get back to the lab. He held his hand to side and the thought occurred to him that he had a really nice and full bottle of pain pills sitting on his side table, waiting for him.
Nick limped his way to the trash can in his kitchen. His crutches were leaning against the wall by the door but he was determined not to use them. He shuffled slowly back to the couch and fell back with a sigh, reaching for the blessed little amber bottle and swallowing two pills dry. It wasn't the most pleasant of tastes, but he had forgotten to grab something to take them with from the kitchen, and he really didn't feel like dragging his sorry ass all the way across his living room again.
It didn't take long at all for Nick to start to feel more relaxed. He leaned his head back against the cool leather of his sofa and grabbed the remote from beside him. He flipped through the channels, trying to find something that to hold his interest until his next unannounced visitor came by or he fell asleep…whichever came first.
Luckily, Nick had an impressive sports package, and he found a baseball game just getting started. He sat back, as into the game as he could be without being loud or making wide gestures.
There was a knock at the door, and Nick threw his head back with a sigh. "Coming," he grumbled, pulling himself up and hopping around the side of the couch to the door.
Standing on his front step was a man that Nick didn't recognize, although he looked somewhat familiar.
Nick held the door open halfway, using it as a support. "Can I help you?"
"Were we looking at Mike Miller as a suspect before today?" Grissom addressed his team – which was a little smaller than normal, sans Nick and Sara at the present moment.
Catherine shook her head. "We brought him in for questioning about the night that Nathaniel was murdered because the father said he'd been with them, but I think that most of us were starting to like the dad."
Warrick and Greg, though they hadn't been on the case for very long, nodded their agreement.
"Who interviewed him?" Grissom pressed. It was obvious to his team that he was irritated that this newfound suspect had slipped out from under them.
"I did," Catherine said defensively. "With Nick and Brass."
"And you didn't notice him acting suspiciously? Nothing at all?"
Catherine frowned. "I don't think so. It was a pretty routine interview."
Grissom kept pressing. "That means nothing to me. I need specifics. What did he say, what did he do?"
Warrick sat forward. "Gris – "
Grissom held up a hand to silence him. "These are the things you should have been asking yourselves." He maintained his gaze at Catherine. "We do still observe people, right?"
Catherine gave a curt nod. She thought for a moment, attempting to recall Miller's actions the previous day. "Well, his wife did most of the talking, he just sat there. They got some water and – "
"Water?" Warrick interrupted, sitting up in his chair.
Catherine glanced at him at questioningly. "Yeah, Mrs. Miller asked for a glass of water, and…"
Her eyes widened in realization. "Oh, God."
"Didn't you say – " Warrick started to ask.
"Yeah." Catherine was suddenly overcome with a heavy sense of fear and worry. "I – I didn't…I'm so stupid."
"What is it?" Greg asked, looking back and forth between the two.
"We found an evidence bag of Nick's. It was a cup, and we didn't know where he'd gotten it from because there was no name on the label…"
Grissom stood straighter. "Is there any chance Miller saw Nick bag that cup?"
Catherine shrugged, her eyes still wide. "I don't know…I left Nick in the room and I didn't see the Millers in the hall, but I guess he could have still been hanging around somewhere."
Warrick swore.
"Do you think he's our guy?" Greg asked anxiously.
Grissom looked around at them with a look that Catherine couldn't place. He was worried, like the rest of them, but he also looked angry…but Catherine couldn't tell who he was angry with. He pulled out his phone and pressed down a number, and Catherine started to breathe a little faster the longer Grissom stood with the phone.
Pick up, Nick, she ordered him in her head.
"Nick?" Grissom said.
Catherine started to feel relieved, but then Grissom kept speaking.
"Nick, are you there? Pick up the phone."
Gil met Catherine's eyes, his face set. He held out the phone and hit the 'end' button. Grissom held down another number, and Catherine prayed it was to speed-dial Brass.
To be continued...