Warrick's truck pulled up outside Nick's tidy clapboard clad ranch house nestled on an acre and a half of land just outside city limits. It was off the 95 on the way to Henderson, and Nick had managed to find an area relatively untouched by suburban sprawl. His nearest neighbor was at the other end of the block; another older ranch home, this one occupied by a retired couple in their seventies, if Warrick remembered right.
While strolling up the walk to the front door he pulled a small ring of keys out of his pocket and fumbled through the various sized and shaped keys until he found the key Nick had given him to use the last time he'd gone home to Dallas for the holidays. Warrick had to get in to the house to water Nick's houseplants and feed the fish in their tanks and in back in the koi pond. He had asked Nick at the time why the self-professed bird lover only had Piscean pets. Nick's response had been prefaced by a somewhat embarrassed laugh when he said he'd feel guilty leaving a bird alone all the time, and he thought fish would be more independent.
Warrick shook his head at the memory. Nick had gone on to say that birds were social creatures and bonded with their owners. If he remembered correctly his reply had been a variant of "If you say so, Bro." Warrick had never had a pet, even as a kid. Allergies. Then when he was older he'd just always been too damn busy. He could barely keep a girlfriend.
He opened the front door and quickly shut it behind him, reaching for the beeping security pad just inside and quickly punching in the code.
He knew Nick wouldn't be here. Brass had sent a squad car over right after they got the hit off Nick's blood DNA just in case the CSI had been injured in his home and unable to call. The uniforms had entered the home with a speed key and done a once over of the home. No Nick, and no signs of foul play or blood.
No, he was here to see if he could pick up any clue of his own as to what his friend had been up to. To see if he could retrace Nick's movements from the last time he had left the house.
The plants all seemed in good shape, so they'd been watered recently. He wandered over to the tank and picked up the jar of fish food, noting the gaping mouths of a dozen good-sized tropical fish staring up at him. He sprinkled a generous helping of food across the top inspiring a frenzy from the tank's denizens, frothing the water in their fervor to get to the flakes of food.
He grabbed the remote from its usual place on top of the box and turned on the TV, noting that the DVR had recorded the last week's worth of Rangers games and the big fight broadcast from Saturday night. Apparently, Nick had been out and about and hadn't had a chance to catch up on his missed TV yet.
He switched the tube back off and threw the remote on the couch out of habit. He usually did it just to playfully tick his friend off when he'd come over for a game or a movie. His friend had become pretty particular over the years about the way he liked things and it was fun to mess with him at times.
His wandering brought him into the small kitchen. Coffee machine showed a half full carafe, a thin skim of mold across the cold coffee left behind. The fridge had all the normal bachelor stuff- mustard, ketchup, beer, and a stale half loaf of bread. It also held three paper bags of leftover takeout from a taco place called Taqueria Canonita. The food in the bags covered the basics of American Mexican cuisine. A quesadilla, cold, its cheese long coagulated. A couple taco- burrito looking things and the last bag held a Styrofoam container of arroz con gandules - rice with little green pigeon peas.
Warrick had never heard of the place, but he knew Nick loved his Mexican food, and it looked like he'd been frequenting the restaurant recently.
He shut the fridge door with a frustrated shove, and moved on to the bedroom. He was surprised to see that his normally preternaturally tidy friend had left his bedroom in a state other than military neat. The bed was covered in shirts and slacks and jeans, all apparently clean. Shoes were tossed in mixed up pairs, never having made it back into the closet where the shoe rack sat empty. To Warrick's practiced and experienced eye, it had all the markings of a man getting ready for a date and floundering for what to wear.
So maybe it was a girl. But was it our girl?
His gaze wandered over to the bureau. The top showed a few bottles of nice cologne. One of the bottles had been pulled forward, a spicy woody scent still subtly clinging to it, apparently the one Nick had chosen for the night. Warrick didn't recognize the brand name, Rochas. Looked like a newer bottle.
He pulled open the top drawer to find Nick's service piece and badge nestled on top of some ties Nick owned, solely for court as far as Warrick knew. He'd never seen Nick in a tie otherwise.
He didn't know if he was comforted or distressed to see the gun and badge there. On the one hand it meant that Nick had most likely left his house for a purely social matter. The cologne and clothes read date. No need to carry either if he wasn't expecting trouble. The problem with that is that trouble seemed to pop up for Nick more frequently than not, and he wished his friend had had the back up of a weapon and his LVPD badge.
His thoughts were interrupted by the chirrup of his cell phone. The ID showed Gil Grissom's cell number.
"Hey, Gris. I'm at Nick's place. It looks like-"
"We found him."
"What?"
"Vega found him in lockup over at the one seven."
"Lockup? What the hell? Grissom, you said we were looking at Nick as a witness only. What the hell happened? If Ecklie-"
"Rick. He wasn't in there as Nick. He wasn't even ID'd. He was in as a vagrant picked up on assault and a D&D. Vega recognized him when he saw him in the cage."
"A vagrant? Why didn't he tell them who he was? And isn't there supposed to be a BOLO out for him?"
He heard Grissom sigh into the phone. "I don't know, Rick. Brass is trying to get a hold of the uniform who brought him in."
"If I know Jim, he's gonna tear that flatfoot a new one. So, is he all right? Where is he now? Did you talk to him yet?" Warrick knew his questions were tumbling out one on top of the other and he wasn't giving his boss a chance to answer them. But there were so many unanswered questions…
He took a breath to center himself and to give Grissom a chance to answer the first set of questions.
"From what Vega said, it sounds like Nick is in rough shape. He said he was incoherent and unable to answer any questions. He was beaten up almost as badly as our vic, and he's got a sizable wound to his arm. Probably the site we picked up all the blood trace from. Vega called a bus and Nick's at the George Q ER. I'm headed over there with Catherine. Anything at Nick's house give you any hint as to his activities the last few nights?"
"Nah. It looks like he got dressed up for a date the last he was here. I don't think he's been back here for at least 36 hours, maybe longer. Nothing more for me here. I'll meet you over at the George Q. I'll be there in about twenty."
"We'll meet you there. And, Warrick…?"
"Yeah?"
"Bring your kit."