The insistent ringing of his cell phone interrupted on the first real sleep he'd had in days. He cast a quick glance at the form lying next to him, but she only pulled the blanket up over a shoulder and made a small mumble. The clock read 8:00 AM, and neither of them had to work until later tonight.
He eased the blankets down and pulled his legs out over the edge of the bed, blearily grabbing for the cell and looking at the ID. A local Vegas number he didn't recognize. The phone stopped ringing in his hand as he sat staring at it, trying to shake the cobwebs from his head. A moment later the words "1 voicemail message" appeared on the screen.
He got up as quietly as possible and was easing into his jeans when the form in bed rolled over and looked at the clock, then at him.
"Warrick? Why are you getting up?"
"Go back to sleep, Babe. I'm just a little restless. It's nothing."
"Who was that on the phone?"
"Dunno. Don't worry about it. Go back to sleep."
She gazed at him for a moment, then followed his direction and curled back up under the blankets. He stared at her sleeping there for a bit, her warm body and the soft sheets beckoning him back to bed. But instead he snagged a shirt from off the back of the door and eased the bedroom door shut behind him.
Five minutes later he had a pot of coffee brewing and he sat at his breakfast nook, staring at the cell phone.
If it was a wrong number, why would they leave a message?
He sighed and flipped the phone open, hitting his voicemail button and waiting through the menu of choices while he stared balefully at the coffee pot, willing it to brew faster.
He pressed the button for his message, the voice he heard causing him to bolt straight up on the stool.
"Mr. Brown…sorry… Warrick…it's Dr. Espinoza, from the George Q. You gave me your card and told me to call if it was important. Could you give me a call back at 555-1917?"
His fingers moved over the tiny buttons, his heart rate making the pulse beat in his head. He misdialed and swore under his breath, making himself stop and go back to re-enter them correctly. He jiggled a leg up and down while he waited through several rings of the phone.
"George Q ER, how can I help you?"
"Yeah, I'm calling for Dr. Espinoza. I'm returning her call from a few minutes ago."
"Hold on."
The coffee had finished brewing and he took the phone with him, cradled between his ear and shoulder as he poured himself a heaping mug, sloshing it over the sides. He was reaching for a paper towel when someone came back on.
"Warrick? Hi, it's Dr. Espinoza. I'm sorry to be calling so early…"
"No, no. It's no problem. What's up?"
"Well, I wasn't sure if you knew, but Nick left the hospital this morning."
"What?"
"I guess it happened earlier. He slipped out during change of shifts at seven. From what I can gather, an aide went in to his room for a temp check, but he was in the bathroom. By the time another came back, in the confusion of change over, he had left."
"But he's still sick, Doc. I mean, how can he be up and around?"
"I honestly don't know. But he's gone. He didn't do it alone though."
"Well, yeah. I mean, he's got no street clothes. Any idea who helped him?"
"His neighbor, Mr. Goldstein, said he heard Nick make a phone call from his room around 6:30 AM then a young sounding male came by the room and the two left together."
Alberto.
"All right, look, Doc. I'm gonna go track him down and bring him back. Thanks for the call. I mean it. Thanks for looking out for him."
"Bring him back safely, Warrick."
Yeah, he thought as he shut the phone down. Gotta find him first.
… …
Half an hour later he found himself back in front of Nick's house, mumbling a silent prayer to himself that his damn fool friend had just taken it upon himself to leave to go home. He opened the door, keying the code in quickly and shutting the door behind him.
"Nick?"
No answer.
He took a quick survey of the living room. Nothing looked changed from his last visit but a movement caught his eye and he strode over to the large fish tank against the far wall. The motion turned out to be the splashing of a myriad of tropical fish feasting hungrily on food that still floated at the top. He stuck a finger in a nearby plant and felt new moisture in the soil.
He distractedly wiped his hand off on his jeans and went over to the bedroom. The clothes and shoes were still strewn around the room, hanging off the closet door and laying on the bed or in piles on the floor.
He headed straight for the bureau and ripped the top drawer free to find several ties, but no gun or badge.
… … … …
"…look at the cars Ramón drives, and that huge mansion he lives in..."
"…I think I will let my two friends deal with you, while I head home…"
The words had bounced around inside his head for a while, competing with other stronger memories. He fought to concentrate on them. He had finally realized that there was only one person who might know where "home" was for Ramón. When Alberto had showed up at the hospital a while later he had already left his bed and entered the bathroom. He was working on disconnecting himself from the IV pole when a knock came on the door. It was an aide and he had quickly brushed her off through the closed door. She told him it was change of shift and the next visit might be later than usual. He hoped she was right.
Alberto showed with a bag of his brother's clothes and helped him dress, all the while remaining silent, never questioning why he was leaving. He hid his pain as best as possible from the younger man, mostly successful until he removed the sling and pulled on the t-shirt he'd been brought. He sucked in a breath and hesitated momentarily while the teen stared at him with wide eyes. He gave a half smile of reassurance and pulled the second long-sleeved flannel shirt on over it, leaving it unbuttoned as his left hand was still mostly useless.
They slipped out of the hospital without notice, the staff mostly still gathering meds and pulling charts, and the rest of the hospital empty due to the early hour of the morning.
Once in the parking lot he glanced over at Alberto, knowing the kid had no car.
Alberto saw his look and said, "I borrowed a car from a neighbor." Still not asking where they were going.
He followed as the teen wandered over to a beat up 1987 Honda, half the driver side quarter panel held together with Bondo. Waited while Berto opened it up, then eased himself into the passenger seat, his head resting against the window still covered in dawn moisture.
They had stopped by the fixit shop for a moment, Alberto bringing out the cardboard box he had requested, then gone on to his house.
He had the teen wait out in the car while he took care of a few things, knowing it might be a while before he was back, if ever.
Now, an hour later, he was back in the passenger seat of the car, headed south.
He felt the reassuring presence of his gun, held loosely in his lap while he stared out the window.
"So, T. Where we going? When you called I thought you wanted to go home. What's the deal?"
"I'm going to get Ramón."
"What?"
"He thinks he's untouchable, Berto. And he needs to pay for what he did to your sister."
The kid sat silently in the driver seat, staring at the keys in his hands.
"You remember that night Rey brought over the Lexus?"
"Yeah."
"Well, he said something about Ramón living in a big mansion. Where is it?"
"I haven't been there in a long time…its south, near the California border. Outside Laughlin."
"Could you find it again?"
"Yeah, I guess. We used to go there for the parties Ramón would have. He loved showing off the place. We'd go a couple times a year but Mari…she told us we wouldn't be going any more a year or so ago. Why? You really wanna go there, T?"
"Yeah, Berto. I do."
The I-95 ran under their wheels, traffic still slow this direction; the other lanes running back to the city were already thickening with cars and trucks.
The thrum of the engine ran smoothly for such an old car, and once the seat had been reclined slightly he let himself drift along, his gun in his hand and his left arm tucked tightly against his body. Berto had given him a sideways look when he turned the heat on, but as usual, didn't have anything to say about it.
… … …
Warrick stood behind Archie, hands resting on the back of the tech's chair. Grissom stood at his side, glasses in hand as he leaned against the desk and peered intently at the computer screen in front of them.
"This is a waste of time, Grissom. Vega already ran a Lexis search. He never found any property listed to either Orozco, except that low-rent place he has over on the east side. Nothing under any corporate names either. Dun & Brad showed all the businesses he owns and he ran everyone of those for property ownership. Nothing."
Archie held up a hand. "No offense to Detective Vega, but Lexis can be a touchy database to work with. It uses Boolean search strings, and if not used correctly you can miss out on a lot of stuff. Here, let me show you."
His slim fingers danced over the keys as he entered the lab password and started his real property search.
"Let's start with 'Orozco and Nevada' as our first search." The response came back with over five hundred records found.
"Next we try 'Orozco and (Carlos or Ramon) and Nevada'". The response came back with one record found, the property that Vega and Rick had visited earlier.
"All right", the tech sighed, "didn't you say this guy has only been in the country a little while?"
"Yeah. Vega said he started opening businesses about six years ago. So say it took him a little time to get going, maybe try ten?"
"Okay…so now we try 'Orozco and (1995 or 1996 or 1997)'. We'll take it three years at a time."
The computer icon turned while it searched the information entered. Warrick's fingers tightened on the back of the chair in frustration.
The computer returned "60 records found".
He let out en explosive breath at the result. "I told you guys. We should be out there looking for Nick, not digging blindly through property records."
Grissom held out a hand. "Just wait a minute, Warrick. The police have been searching for Ramón Orozco for days now. What are you going to do? Drive around Nevada looking for them? Just give this a chance. Archie, can you show those sixty records?"
"Sure. Here you go."
Grissom's eyes ran down the list. There, about three quarters of the way down, nestled between a Paolo and a Tomas was the name 'Orozco, Rosalita'.
He thought back on the interrogation of the father that he and Brass had attempted without success. The man had mentioned the name of his late wife…Rosie…Rosalita.
"Archie, bring up that record, under Rosalita."
"Uh, okay… here it is."
The screen showed an address none of them recognized. Archie put the address in Mapquest and came up with an area at the southern border with California, just outside of Laughlin. A Google search later revealed that the area was a known bastion of wealth, home to those who could afford wide expanses of land and the privacy that went with them.
"The father told me and Jim that his wife died during childbirth, but he promised she would still be looking out for him. I think he purchased this land under his late wife's name and that's where we'll find the son. And hopefully, Nick."
"Damn it, Grissom! He's got a couple hours on us already."
"Well then, Rick, I suggest you drive fast."