"All right. So what do we know?"
The words had been issued from Gil Grissom's mouth so many times they had become predictable. Usually they were calming, centering words. When it was all hands on deck and the captain gathered his crew around the command table and uttered those five words it was usually the catalyst that brought everyone's attentions on the case at hand. Each member of the team was expected to produce an answer that they could list up on the big board in order to bring all the pieces to the puzzle together in one place; to form a more unified picture.
A key member of the team was missing, and his absence cast a pall over the room.
Warrick had left Hodges with his mouth left hanging open, certain that the news of Nick's apparent involvement in the murder from two nights ago would make the rounds thirty seconds after his exit. He'd headed straight for Catherine's office to find his boss packing up her purse to go home. She stopped to run a brush through her hair and had given him a tired smile.
"So, ummm, Cath. Any idea why Nick took his down time? Did he give you any clue what he was doing with it?"
"Nope. And truthfully, I didn't want to know. Mr. Grumpy asked me with the first genuine smile on his face I'd seen in a long time and I was happy to see him take some time off. Why?" She drew out the last question- suspicion narrowing her eyes, lowering the hairbrush to her side. "He's due back on shift tonight, and he'd better be bringing his ass in here tonight. Did he call you about more time cuz-"
"Nah. Nothing like that. We need to talk…"
He laid out what he knew for her, her face slacking as the words "Nick's blood" echoed in her ears. Her first reaction was automatic. She reached for her cell, Warrick reaching a hand out to her to stop her.
"Already tried him like three times. Rings straight to voicemail."
Her second reaction was also automatic, and she mentally kicked herself for it. She wanted to call Grissom. She was Nick's supervisor, and should be handling this on her own. She'd pulled his ass out of the fire in the past; she could do it again. But as she ran over the info Warrick had given her she realized this was bigger. Bigger than just the two of them.
So here they were. The team, minus one.
Greg sat next to Warrick, uncharacteristically silent, eyes wide. Hodges might be a grade A asshole, but there was no denying he knew his stuff, and he knew there was no way this was a mistake.
Warrick started off the discussion, filling in the group with what little they had on the victim. Still as yet unidentified female Hispanic in her late twenties or early thirties. Beaten severely, then manually strangled, the killer using his hands. He'd brought in some of the pictures of the bruises, and gave them his hypothesis about the ring.
Sara broke in upon hearing that. "I've seen Nick wearing his college ring. Are you saying it could be that?" Her voice didn't even try to contain her incredulity.
"Nah, no. I mean, Nick's ring has a stone in it, but it's cut flat with the band. If this is a ring, and I don't know that- it's just a hunch, but if it is, then the stone or the decoration or whatever will definitely stick out from the band. The impression is much deeper than the surrounding flesh where the knuckles struck her."
Catherine asked if anyone knew if Nick was seeing anyone. A lot of blank faces looked at each other looking for answers from anyone else.
"Okay, so does anyone know what Nick does after work? Where he goes? Any friends outside of this place?"
Warrick scratched his head. He'd been seeing someone lately, and hadn't been spending much time off shift with his best bud. The last time they'd gotten together they'd played a couple of hours of hoops at the gym with a bunch of other cops against some of the members of the Las Vegas Fire Department. They'd kicked LVFD's butt, 37-28. He'd offered to go out for drinks afterwards, but Nick had given him an enigmatic smile and said he had plans. He'd never even asked what they were- he'd been looking forward to going over to his girlfriend's, and had honestly been just as happy that his offer had been turned down.
He looked over at Greg- he knew the two had been tight, at least at the lab. Greg saw his look and shook his head, mumbling something about a movie two weeks ago.
Grissom sighed as he looked around at the faces of the team. Team … they hadn't been a real team for a very long time. It had been him and Sara and Greg for half a year now. He hadn't exchanged more than shift change niceties with Nick in weeks, or longer. It was hard to believe that the family they had formed could be torn apart so easily. And by that tin plated despot, Ecklie…
"All right. So what do we know?" he asked, trying to bring the group back into focus.
Greg took the opportunity to pipe up. He started hesitantly, but his voice gathered strength as he spoke. This was stuff he knew, and knew well. He gestured to the sheets of the report he had grabbed off of Hodges and related the stats to the group.
"The blood exemplars were primarily Nick's. But there were two other samples. Some of the smaller spots were Jane's blood, probably from a few small cuts she sustained during her beating. The other came from an unknown male. Not in the system. But our vic and the unknown male have enough alleles in common that it would indicate that they were related. Half brother, maybe. Or first generation relation, like an uncle or a cousin."
He drew in a breath before moving on to his next words.
"As I said, the majority of the blood was Nick's. The splotches would indicate heavy bleeding. It's soaked through and crusted over in a bunch of areas. The amount would indicate an arterial bleed, or maybe an unstaunched head wound. Regardless of the nature of Nick's involvement, it's safe to say he's been hurt. Maybe badly."
Catherine had scooped up some of the photos that Warrick had brought in of the girl's clothing. Examining the pictures more closely she paid closer attention to the nature of the seemingly random splotches.
"You know…these splotches look like the clothing was held to the wound, long enough to saturate. Some of these areas were so heavily soaked you can see they were still damp when the pictures were taken. See the reflection of the flash? And there's no splatter. No drops. The blood spots run along the whole length of the bottom of the skirt, like it was being moved to a new dry section. And there's a strip of fabric missing from the bottom. See where it was torn off? It left hanging threads."
At a look from Sara she handed the photos over. Sara chewed nervously on the side of her thumb, staring at the pictures Catherine had referenced. "A bandage maybe? Did Robbins say if she'd been bound?"
Warrick knew the report backwards and forwards. "Nah. No marks on her wrists or ankles. I mean, I guess she coulda been bound temporarily-not long enough to leave a mark. But there was no fabric matching the skirt found on scene."
Grissom asked for a rundown on what was found on scene, knowing full well that the victim was found in a city alleyway, but also knowing it was all they had with which to work.
Warrick rattled off the list of evidence they had gathered, and noted that they hadn't even finished processing it as they'd been derailed by the bomb Hodges had dropped on them.
Grissom glanced over at Catherine requesting silent permission from her before handing out orders, and was gratified to see her smile and nod. Catherine was secretly touched at this rare gesture from Gil; he normally wouldn't have been so sensitive to her feelings.
"Okay, guys. Warrick. You and Greg go back to your evidence. Sara? I want you to help those two out. I'm going to give Brass a heads up. Who was the officer on the scene, Rick?"
"Vega. Sam Vega. I think he pretty much catches all our East Side calls."
"Okay. I'll have Brass coordinate with Vega. I'll ask him to put a BOLO out on Nick. He'll know how that's done, I guess. At this point we are looking at Nick as a potential witness. Nothing else. We have no evidence indicating anything other than his presence. We know he's hurt, possibly badly. Cath- you could try local hospitals and clinics? And not a word of this leaves this room. If Ecklie gets wind of Nick's involvement…" He left the rest unspoken.
Warrick groaned as he realized he hadn't warned Hodges to keep his trap shut, and the news of Nick's involvement was much too juicy for the tech not to have started spreading it all over the lab.
Grissom picked up on the reason behind his groan almost immediately. "Rick, don't worry. I'll take care of Hodges- if it's not too late."
………………………………
Hours later found Grissom in his office, rubbing at his temples, willing away the incipient migraine he felt coming on. He'd already taken a Butalbital, and was considering a second, but the blue pills sometimes made him groggy, and he needed all his brain cells right now.
His desk phone rang, the electronic ring causing a sharp increase in the thrumming in his head. He picked it up before the second ring, and stammered out a brief, "Grissom."
"Gil, It's Jim. No hits on the BOLO, but I got an odd call from our front desk supervisor. Seems one of our operators last night told one of her co-workers on days about a strange call she got that night. Caller identified himself as a Dr. Alex Bell with Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital. Said he had a man there that he thought might be a cop and wanted to know if we had any missing officers. The description he gave could be Nicky. She said a couple of things were hinky about the call, and when the BOLO went out she let her supervisor know. And he called me."
"First of all, Jim, to my knowledge, there is no Lady of Sorrows hospital or clinic."
"That would be correct. City and surrounding county- no such institution."
"Second of all, Dr. Alex Bell? As in Alexander Graham Bell? Calling on a telephone."
"Yeah. I thought the name sounded familiar. Invented the phone, right? So I called the operator from last night and talked with her. She seemed to remember the caller had an accent- southern…like maybe from Texas."
"Why on earth would Nick call in, use a pseudonym, and ask about a missing officer, while presumably describing himself?
"You got me, Gil. You're the mystery solver. I just arrest the bad guys."
"Are the calls taped, like 911 calls?"
"Yeah. 'For training purposes' is what they say. Way ahead of you. The tape is being pulled and I'll have it sent over to Archie. And I'm trying to see if we can find out where the call originated from."
"Thanks, Jim."
He hung up the phone and resumed rubbing at his temples, trying to digest these new intriguing details.
What the hell are you doing, Nicky?
………………………………
"Hey, Stu. Lookie here. We got ourselves a beaner taking himself a siesta."
Stu winced at the casual use of the racial epithet, though by now he should be used to the crap that came out of his new partner's mouth.
"Um, Mike. I don't think he's uh, Mexican. He's too pale."
"Yup," Mike continued, ignoring his partner. "Nice. Middle of the afternoon and See-nyor here has nothing better to do than snooze on a park bench." Only it came out pahk bench, Mike's Boston accent still strong as if he hadn't been in Vegas the last six years.
Stu watched uncomfortably as Mike took out his baton and prodded at the man sleeping on the bench in the small city park that was part of their beat. He hated this part of their job, but his previous partner and he had worked out a relationship with most of the city's homeless. Most of them got up and moved on from the more public places when asked. Especially since his old partner, Joe, used to tuck a five-dollar bill into their hands and steer them towards the Santa Teresa Shelter over on 29th. If they made it they got coffee and a hot meal. Otherwise the money went to feed another need. Either way, kids and families could use the park without worries.
The man pushed away the baton, mumbling something Stu couldn't catch. Something like, "I'm not a criminal…"?
"You hear that, Stuey?"
God he hated being called Stuey.
"Man says he's not a criminal? I think he's protesting too much," he said, badly mangling what Stu figured was supposed to be the popular Shakespeare quote.
"Hey, Buddy!" Mike yelled, poking more forcefully at the man's ribs with his baton. "You drunk?"
The man pulled way from the baton and opened his eyes to look at the two officers. Stu watched his eyes wheel around in their sockets, unable to find focus.
"Oh, yeah, Stuey. He's definitely coming in with us. C'mon, Buddy. Up and at 'em!"
"Uh, Mike. What are you taking him in on?"
"D & D."
"Well, yeah. Drunk, maybe. But disorderly? He's barely moving. Hell, he's barely breathing, Mike."
"So he's not exactly disorderly. That shirt alone is so ugly it oughta be against the law."
Mike reached over to grab the man's shoulder and drag him off the bench. The man's reaction took both officers by surprise as he recoiled from the officer's hand and grabbed a hold of the brandished baton, attempting to wrest the weapon away. Mike reacted by tightening his grip on his baton and pulling it free from the man's grasp. Mike's hand dropped to the snap on his gun holster, and Stu grabbed his hand to stop him.
"What are you doing, Mike? He's unarmed and can't even sit up!"
"Yeah, well. I got my disorderly. And I think it's time to bring some order back to the situation."
Saying that, he dropped his hand from his weapon, and Stu relaxed as he thought he had things under control. To late, he realized his error and saw that Mike had just decided to go back to the baton. He watched in horror as Mike raised his baton and brought it down on the man laying prone on the bench.