He'd been close. It was almost dawn when they finished up the scene. It wasn't Greg's fault. It was an alleyway in a busy city. Visited by garbage men, rats, pros and their johns, junkies looking for a quiet place to score, and apparently by employees of the liquor warehouse who used the back alley as their smoking area. The amount of forensic evidence found was staggering.

Here he was, hours into the next shift, and no closer to any answers.

Warrick sighed as he contemplated the massive pile of garbage he had on the table in front of him. Dozens of cigarette butts, two used hypodermic needles, five used condoms, four condom wrappers. Grey and pink lumps of chewed gum. A sock. The ubiquitous cards advertising XXX-rated shows and sex lines that get handed out by the thousands to locals and tourists alike. Various pages from Oportunidades, the local Spanish language swap sheet.

His eyes lit on the adjoining table containing the empty cardboard boxes their Jane Doe had been found lying on, crushed in the form of her body. It also contained her clothing. Swabs had already been taken from the areas of dried crusted blood found on the shirt and skirt, and from the torn cotton pink underwear.

He turned to take in the board behind him that was covered in pictures of the victim. Of every portion of her anatomy and the bruises that covered them. Each bruise had a dark almost blue-black center with lighter red-purple radiating out like the rings of Saturn. Her skin had paled but retained the burnished complexion of a female of Hispanic descent. No makeup but for the bright pink on her lips and fingernails. The nails were short and neat. A few old burns showed on her hands like those from a grease splatter. A few of the cops on scene had made jokes about someone throwing away a perfectly good whore, but Robbins' exam had shown no indication of frequent sex- only the recent sexual trauma. She was otherwise in good health. Her teeth were in good condition. She was well-nourished with a curvaceous figure verging on full-figured. No tracks or needle marks in any of the numerous places junkies used, and her tox screen had come back clean as a whistle.

Where to start was the question of the moment. Would be better if he had a partner…

Sighing again he realized that he had himself a partner. Greg had run over to check with Hodges on the samples he'd been given to run and would be on his way back now, unless he got sidetracked.

And there was his protégé now…

"Nothing yet, Boss. He promised them within the hour though. Luckily it's a slow night and I know how to schmooze our boy Hodges."

"No one schmoozes Hodges, Greg. So what did you promise him?"

"Actually I blackmailed him. Let's just say that I know where all the bodies are buried, so to speak, in this lab. I didn't spend all those years here just wearing silly hats and listening to loud music. Although, come to think of it, I did do an awful lot of that, huh?"

"Yeah, G. You did. But now you wear a different hat, yeah? CSI Level One. Big hat. Big job. So let's have at it, okay?"

He waved his hand in front of the table covered in the junk from the alley.

"This is all the stuff you collected from the scene where our Jane was found. Unfortunately, we have no way of telling what's related and what's not. So we treat everything as pertinent 'til we prove otherwise. Get me?"

Short nod.

"All right then. Lets start with everything that could contain DNA trace. The butts, the gum, the sock, the needles, and the used condoms. Run prints if appropriate first, then run the DNA. Move on to the rest of the stuff, fume for prints. Sort and label everything. You getting this?"

Another short nod.

"Okay, G- have at it, then."

Greg approached the table with initial hesitance, then donned his latex gloves and began sorting through the evidence.

Warrick watched for a moment, then moved his way over to the photos on the board. Their vic was pretty. Had been pretty before someone had beaten her to a pulp, leaving those strange bruises all over her body. He ran over ideas as to what could have caused such distinct marks. Nothing. It was as if the center of each bruise was accented by a single object, harder than the human fist. A ring, maybe. He feinted a punch at an imaginary body part, picturing a large ring on his finger. Yeah…maybe.

"Hey, Boss? Ummm…who are you hitting?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Never you mind, G. Just keep on that evidence. I'm gonna go put in a call to Vega. I'll be checking on you, Boy."

Warrick stepped out of the lab, found a quiet corner in the ballistics lab and dialed the cop tasked with finding an ID on the girl.

"Vega."

"Yeah, hi, Sam. It's Warrick Brown. How did your search go?"

"Like I thought. Nada. I couldn't find anyone to admit they knew the girl. You ran her prints, I assume."

"Yeah. Like you suspected. Not in the system. You know, Sam, I can't believe no one recognizes this girl. She had to have a job. Family. Someone."

"She probably does, Brown. But the East Side is like a whole other country. They have their own government practically. I talked to the guy who owns the liquor warehouse. Guy by the name of Carlos Orozco. Said his son, Ramon, runs the joint. Had no twenty on the son, but I ran the father through the system. Guy's clean. And he owns like half the East Side. Orozco's Mercado. Orzoco Agencia de Viajes. Those are a market and a travel agency. Even owns a small casino. That's real money there. Funny thing is, he obtained all these businesses within the last six years. Now the son. He's already been a guest of the Northern Nevada Prison Camp. Twice. Both times for Possession with Intent."

"Twice, huh? Third strike and he's not gonna do a prison camp. He'd be looking at hard time."

"Yeah, well both were from three years ago. Looks like he's cleaned up- or he's doing a hell of a job covering."

"Liquor distributor might be a good cover…"

"Yeah, but we've got no cause to check it out. Our vic was found out in a public alley used by all the businesses in the area. Just happens to be that Orozco owns most of 'em. I'm gonna keep working on finding the son…as a possible witness, of course."

"Yeah. Witness, right. Although, I don't know. I mean, the girl was clean. Not a trace of anything illicit in her tox. We could run a hair sample, I guess. That'd tell us if there was any use in her history."

"Might be a good idea. I'm afraid I've hit a wall. I've got a few long shots I'll run with but…"

"Yeah. Hey, I've got a possible clue on our weapon. Dude used his fists, no doubt, but take a look at Ramon's hands. I'm looking for a ring...I think…anyway, I've got an idea. Worth a shot, right?"

"No problem. I see a ring, I'll let you know. That is, if I see Ramon. I've got some calls out but with Papi's connections, I'm not finding this guy if he's hiding."

"A'ight. Check in if you get anything. Talk at you later."

He closed the phone with a slap of frustration. Decided to check on how far Greg had gotten in trace.

Making his way back down the hallway he thought to check with Hodges, but he hated intruding in that guy's territory. Dude was prickly enough to deal with, but on his home turf he was practically intolerable.

He entered the trace lab to find the younger CSI had worked his way through a small portion of the evidence.

"Hey. How 'bout I pitch in, cool?"

"Coolest. So what did Vega have to say?"

"He got bubkus. But the guy who runs the liquor warehouse has a record for Possession with Intent, so let's concentrate on those two needles."

"Well, funnily enough, I started there anyways. I got two smudged prints, one off each of them. Swabbed the ends for DNA, and took samples of the insides to see what they contained."

"Nice job, Greg. You come across anything else of interest?"

"I was gonna do the condoms next."

"Robbins said he found signs of sexual assault, but no semen. Maybe our guy used a rubber, although I highly doubt it. I mean look at her pictures," he said, turning to wave his hand game show host style in front of the board. "I mean, this guy pummeled her. There was rage there. I don't seem him stopping in the middle to wrap it, you know what I'm saying?"

"So you wanna do something else next?"

Another long sigh and the absent-minded professor look was back after he grabbed two handfuls of hair in frustration. He mumbled a few choice words and eyed the table of evidence again. Even with everything Greg had gotten through, there was still an awful lot there… it looked insurmountable and they were already hours into their second tour of duty.

"Nah. They gotta be done. Let's get started. Here. Hand me the first one."

The two men each took a condom in a latex gloved hand and began by inserting a pipette into the receptacle at the tip of the prophylactic. This had to be done gingerly, holding them at their rolled ends so as not to disturb any DNA on the outside, or possible prints.

Warrick was concentrating on a second condom when Hodges came sauntering in holding a few sheets of paper.

"I got your results here. From the blood splotches on your vic's clothing. You guys are either getting sloppy, or nice try. But you didn't fool me."

Warrick continued to work the evidence in front of him. It was difficult keeping his hand steady with Hodges yammering at him.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked absently.

"Yeah. And I thought Nick was off tonight."

"Wha…?"

"Yeah. So c'mon. Fess up. What happened?"

"What do you mean 'what happened'?"

"Well, if it was a joke, it was stupid. I mean you contaminated your evidence. And, I mean, I know accidents happen butthe least Nick could've done was to document it in the report."

"Hodges. What are you talking about, Man?" he asked, lowering the condom back to the table, balancing the pipette in his other hand.

"So what happened? Must have been a hell of an accident because there was an awful lot there."

"Hodges. What the Hell are you blabbering about?"

"The blood. On the vic's clothes. Over half the samples came back as matching Nick Stokes. I thought you said Nick was off tonight."

"He was."

"Oh."