A Breaking Point
By Jess aka willowaus
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI and I am in no way making any money from writing this, alas.
A/N: Lots of thanks to AussiRayne for the beta. Sorry for the delay, you have to love real life. :P
Big thanks to all of you for reviewing and reading.
Part Seven
Flashing lights, syncopated chords of various slot machines mixed in with strings of enjoyment and curses of loss surrounded her. She blinked against the onslaught to her senses, thankful that most of the crimes they investigated didn't take place at the casinos. There was too much noise, too many people, too much happening in a confined area. Sara shook her head as she followed Brass and Grissom through the casino floor, wondering how Warrick had come to love being in places like this. 'Though, I don't think it was the flashing lights and noise he was drawn to,' she reminded herself, walking by a black jack table, eyes focused on the group of people gathered around.
Her gaze shifted to Brass and Grissom, falling into step behind them, following their eye line to the various cameras placed in vicinity of the tables. She mentally added them to the list of tapes they already needed to collect, looking away to observe the various tourists and locals ambling about. A sad smile graced her lips. It was nearing two o'clock in the morning and the floor was as busy as ever, nearly every machine and table buzzing with activity.
Her eyes faltered on one man, hand clutching the handle as he pulled it back, grumbling obscenities under his breath as he came up empty. She watched him fumble in his pockets, withdrawing his wallet and removing more bills, jamming them into the machine and continuing the cycle. His image shifted, replaced by her father, his hand clutching the same lever. She watched the image of her seven-year-old self running up the carpeted aisle, clutching a new teddy bear in one hand, a bright smile on her face as she stopped beside him, talking wildly and animatedly. Shock taking over her as her father slapped her across the face, silencing her.
Sara's hand touched her cheek, feeling the searing pain of the phantom slap, still able to smell the alcohol on her father's breath from all those years past. Mouth twisting, she looked away from the man, scanning the crowd. She never did like casinos.
Her body was performing that familiar tingling sensation up her spine, and she just knew that Grissom was watching her. A frown settled on her face, and she wished that they were outside and she could don her sunglasses, place between them one more barrier. 'Our eyes are the windows to our soul,' she thought with a bittersweet smile, remembering one of her mother's favorite phrases. She took a second, perfecting her mask of professionalism, hiding all the cracks in her wall, and then turned back to the two of them.
"We're going to need to come back during the daytime to question the people at KidsQuest," Sara informed them, nodding towards the now blackened sign that designated the casino's daycare center. "According to the casino, Julia and Ethan were at the facilities Thursday and Friday from nine am until twelve pm."
"That coincides with the times Mrs. Corbin was at the spa," Grissom replied, looking down at the print out in his hands.
"Where was Mr. Corbin?" Brass asked, glancing at the sheets.
"Where else," Sara replied with a wry smile, motioning towards the casino floor, keeping her gaze from Grissom's.
The three walked in silence towards the concierge desk, each lost in their own thoughts as they passed the flickering lights. The nighttime manager saw them coming and motioned for them to follow him into one of the backrooms, away from prying eyes. Though, Sara wondered if anyone would have paid the slightest attention to them since everyone's focus was on the quick rush of the casino or drowning out their own pain. As the door closed behind her, she realized she couldn't begrudge anyone finding ways to make the pain dissipate.
With a slight tilt of her head, she refocused herself on the proceedings occurring before her, listening and watching the manager converse with Brass and Grissom. "…what it is you think you'll find, Mr. Grissom," he said, handing over a stack of videos and papers. "We've been over the footage and no one has seen any sign of foul play or that the Corbin's family was being watched."
Silently, Sara placed her kit down and removed two plastic evidence bags from one of the pockets in her vest. The evidence was slipped inside and she sealed them, avoiding Grissom's gaze again, focusing her attention on the manager's behavior. "How much money did Mr. Corbin lose?" she asked, scribbling her name on the evidence seal.
He hesitated and she looked up. "He beat the house," she realized, looking up at him. "How much did he win?"
"Five hundred twenty-five thousand dollars," the manager said.
"And where was this being kept?" she asked, doubting that money was a motive for the killings, but knowing they needed to consider all avenues.
"In a safety deposit box in the hotel safe," he answered. "I can show it to you if you like."
The three looked at him and he offered a shaky smile before leading them through another door and back towards the hotel safe. "Why didn't anyone mention the large win to us?" Brass asked as the manager punched in the combination.
"No one saw it as a vital piece of information," he answered and led them to the rows of safety deposit boxes, removing the keys from his pocket.
Sara shook her head, forcing back the urge to roll her eyes, as the box was opened. She placed her kit down on the floor and removed her camera, taking pictures of the various stacks of hundred dollar bills that were inside. "We're going to need to take that as evidence," Grissom informed the manager.
Sara slipped on a pair of gloves and removed another evidence bag, carefully slipping the money in as the others talked. "When did Mr. Corbin win big?" Brass asked.
"Friday night, a little before nine pm," the manager answered. "Do you think someone could have killed them for the money that was won?"
"We can't rule any motive out at the moment, Mr. Walters," Brass replied.
Sara stared at the multitude of bills before her, doubtful that money had been the motive behind the family's slaying. The perpetrator had been after Julia, the others' deaths had been a means to an end.
Big smiles and wide eyes full of laughter stared back at Sara from the glossy photographs. She flipped through the stack of pictures, her mouth curling in a small smile as she looked at the various poses. Her hand stilled on the next one, smile fading, as she gazed at Julia and Ethan laying on the hotel bed, smiling happily at the camera, both of them shoveling handfuls of popcorn into their mouths. They wore pajamas, and from the reflection in the mirror, she saw that they were watching television, their mother taking a random shot of them on their vacation.
They looked full of life, no cares or worries bothering them, so much promise in each of them. And now both of them were dead, taken from the world. She closed her eyes shaking her head and then looked back at the picture, eyes narrowing as she saw herself and older brother instead of the Corbin children. Her eyes closed again, silently counting to ten before reopening them, satisfied when the images were gone.
She placed the photographs down and turned to look at the large white board before her, picking up the whiteboard marker, and scrawling down the time the family had checked in at the hotel. She taped the receipt for the Tangiers underneath it and picked up the sheet the credit card company had sent over.
Over the next thirty minutes, she continued the time line, scrawling times that could be substantiated by credit card receipts or the hotel's logs, accounting for the family's whereabouts over the last few days. She finished recording the eight pm order of a movie on Friday night and stood back, looking at the timeline before her. She picked up the stack of photographs again, flipping through them, finding ones the correlated and placing them beneath the writing.
'They look happy,' she thought, placing a picture of Julia and her mother at the pool back down on the table. A long forgotten image of her younger self and her mother at the beach sprang to life, flooding her senses. She could almost smell the salty air and feel the hot sand beneath her feet.
"Happiness is just an illusion, baby. Remember that," her mother whispered to her, twirling in the breaking waves, shoes in hand.
Her younger self giggled and twirled after her mother, smiling widely as the water crashed at her legs, splashing trinkets of water onto her shorts, delighted in the carefree experience, relishing the time they spent together.
"Hey, Sara," Greg greeted as he walked into the room, interrupting her thoughts.
She turned towards him and raised an eyebrow. "Archie has stills from the Tangier videos for you," he said and handed her a stack of photographs. "I told him I'd give them to you."
"Thanks, Greg," she said and turned through the pile, stopping at the last one.
Julia Corbin was being dragged through the hotel floor, towards the parking lot, by a man with a baseball cap, a suitcase in his other hand. She looked down at the time stamp and shook her head. '11:23 pm,' she thought and placed the photo and time after the time of death for the other family members. 'Twenty-three minutes after her family was killed she was dragged through the hotel and no one lifted a finger to stop him.'
She sighed and focused on the other stills, beginning the task of placing them in the appropriate spaces on the timeline.
"This footage is from the family's camera," Archie informed the night shift supervisor, nodding towards the colored movie on the screen. "It starts at their residence."
Grissom nodded, taking a seat beside the A/V technician, eyes glued to the happenings playing out on the screen. Lively, jubilant faces moved back and forth, throwing packs into the SUV, laughter rolling through the air. Mr. Corbin scooped up a surprised Julia, twirling her around and around as giggles escaped her, Mrs. Corbin's voice warning him to not make her too dizzy.
He heard Archie utter something about coffee before leaving the room, his mind preoccupied. The footage changed, showing the family inside the SUV, desert on either side of them, Ethan, Julia and Mr. Corbin singing a boisterous round of 'She'll be coming round the mountain.' Grissom's mouth tightened as he stared at Mr. Corbin, amazed by the man's behavior. His father never would have sung with him. He shook his head, disregarding any thoughts about the man.
The footage changed, Mr. Corbin now in charge of the camera, shots of the Strip coming into view as the family drove down Las Vegas Blvd. Laughter and enthusiastic babble from the children accompanied the shots. The images and sounds altered in his mind, Mrs. Corbin's laughter becoming Sara's, the children's becoming the voice of the little girl from his dreams. He shook his head, forcing the images away, staring blankly at the screen in front of him.
"I finished the timeline," Sara announced quietly from the doorway.
He turned to look at her, eyes seeking hers before she looked away causing him to frown. "The Corbin's home videos," he informed her, turning back to the rolling footage.
She moved into the room, standing beside him, eyes focused on the screen. An impromptu serenade from Julia who stood on the bed in her pajamas was on the screen, Ethan playing an air guitar behind her. "They look happy," Sara said before looking away from the screen.
Grissom nodded. "It's funny how easy it can be to look happy," she continued, shaking her head. "I need a drink."
He turned towards her and raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes. "Coffee, Grissom," she muttered and walked away.
He watched her go before turning back to the tape, catching a glimpse of the Corbin family as they were in life, hoping it might give some answers to their deaths.
'Seventy-three photographs in three days,' Sara thought with a bittersweet smile, eyes falling on the pile of photographs lying on the layout table. She turned her attention from the pictures and picked up one of the larger suitcases, setting it on the table. Inside she found an array of clothing belonging to Ethan Corbin, a mixture of sports designs and Spiderman paraphernalia decorating the shirts and shorts.
Many outsiders saw this part of the CSI's job as monotonous, wondering how anyone could pour over evidence for hours on end to find a hair fiber or an unseen fingerprint. However, Sara knew it was this painstakingly slow process that allowed for the collection of key evidence that often would associate someone with a crime. The little details were usually the most important, showing motive, connecting a perpetrator to a crime scene. They were also the easiest to dismiss or overlook.
Her mouth twisted in thought as she moved the ALS over the contents. She had become gifted in construing details, on picking up the slight quirks and body language of others. It was how she had learned to survive, to cope in her household. It was what made her good at her job.
Her eyes traveled back to the photographs, gazing at the top one, taking in the different members of the Corbin family. They were in front of the Bellagio, arms around one another, and big smiles on their faces. She tilted her head, reading the various displays she saw, forming a picture in her mind of that moment in time. The children had huge smiles on their faces, but their eyes were downcast, their father's hands gripping one of their shoulders tightly, Mrs. Corbin's shoulders slumped, her smile wide. To the average viewer they would look happy, a family thoroughly enjoying their vacation.
Sara looked away, sighing slightly as she turned off the ALS. The photographs of her childhood were the same, forced happiness, an illusion of tranquility when out in public, hiding the tumultuous happenings that occurred daily when hidden away in the home. She placed the ALS down and pulled the stack towards her, flipping through the various photographs.
They were snapshots into the Corbin family life, capturing images of happier times. People seldom took pictures of their lives during down points. Often there were not photographs of tears or fights displayed in a home. One didn't need a physical reminder of those events; they had their own way of staying seared into ones brain.
Sara placed the photographs down, her eyes never leaving the one on top, moving to lean on her elbows as she looked down at the picture. Julia was sitting with her father, her hands out in a jubilant display, her mouth open in mid sentence, Mr. Corbin's eyes watching her with interest, a slightly amused smile on his face. The image shifted and Sara saw her five-year-old self with her father, watching him tinker away on their beat up old car. A sad smile spread across her face as she remembered the smell of oil and the clinking of tools against the metal.
"Shift is over," Grissom announced from the doorway, eyes intently watching her.
She looked over her shoulder and nodded. "I'm almost done," she replied, looking back at the photographs, placing them away from her.
He moved to stand beside her, eyes fixed on the photograph she had been looking at. "Sara," he began and she closed her eyes, waiting for him to tell her she needed to be off this case.
"Come on," he urged gently, placing the photographs back in the evidence bag. "Shift is over. Let's go get breakfast."
She looked up at him and worry flickered over his features as he took in her exhausted appearance. "I just want to sleep," she whispered, gathering bags of evidence.
"But I can't sleep," she continued, her voice barely audible.
Grissom followed her out of the room, bags of evidence in his hand, trying to ignore the worried look of the little brown haired girl he could see reflected in the lab's glass walls.
TBC