A/N: Sorry for the delay on getting this chapter up. As usual, RL conspires against me. I hope everyone's having a great Veteran's Day Weekend!
Chapter Eleven
"The trace found on the back of Amy Paxton's head was industrial-grade interior paint in dark green. Sold by every paint store in Vegas. The cheap kind." Hodges lounged against one of his lab stations. "Until you find out something about the perp, it's going to be pretty impossible to trace."
"Thanks Hodges." Nick said, without meaning it at all. His pager beeped. Back from interview. BR. "Hey man." He greeted Warrick, walking into the break room. "What did you find?"
"Amber was moody. She'd have serious ups and downs. But her downs were really bad."
"Well, that would be consistent with Ecstasy use." Nick shrugged.
"But if she was using 4-HTP like the doc said, her seratonin would've spiked, so even if her body released a lot of seratonin at once, there still would've been some building up, so she wouldn't have crashed so badly." Warrick argued.
"What's your point?"
"There had to be something wrong with her for her to crash like that if she was taking something to prevent that very thing."
"Maybe." Nick looked doubtful. "I got the paint sample back from Hodges. Standard green paint. Nothing special."
"So what've we got?" Warrick sighed.
"Aside from nothing?"
"What did the doc list as COD?"
"Blunt force trauma."
Another sigh. "I vote we work the drug angle. So far it's our strongest and only lead. If amber owed money to someone, that would be motive.
"I'll talk to Brass, see if he can turn something up." Nick glanced over the casefile. "No weapons found at the scene, no shoe prints because there was no blood, nobody would've noticed somebody exiting the locker room because it opens to the gym lobby, not the main gym.
"Doors to the main gym were closed. We found the same paint on Amber's head as on Amy's."
"Which means that Amber was killed not long after Amy was hit." Nick picked up the train of musing. "Which is confirmed by Doc's estimation of her TOD." Nick glanced over Warrick's crime scene sketch. "This guy must've been waiting in the locker room and Amy was just in his way."
"The weapon was cylindrical. Thread marks on the vic's neck suggest a pipe."
"Well, a pipe is easy enough to hide under a bulky coat." Nick surmised.
"The paint that transferred from the pipe would be on the shirt or jacket that the perp was wearing." Warrick concluded. "So we're looking for somebody with a strong connections to Amber Carlin, a green paint stain on his or her jacket, and a pipe."
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Catherine closed her front door. What an impossibly long day. In fact, what an impossibly long month. Nick's rescue, Warrick's marriage, Grissom and Sara going to California, Lindsey's teenage rebellion, Sara's breakdown, and the move from swing back to night shift. Catherine was completely drained.
Lindsey wasn't the most talkative teenager, but Catherine hadn't gotten any calls about Lindsey skipping class, so Catherine was pleased.
But still, for all Catherine knew that Lindsey was a good kid, she wished that she and Lindsey could talk like they used to. It would never be that way again, but Catherine could wish.
Sara's breakdown had worried Catherine too. Sara was tough. Sara didn't cry. So it frightened Cath that Grissom could reduce Sara Sidle to tears.
Grissom. He'd been Catherine's best friend and confidante for nearly fifteen years, but sometimes his stupidity still managed to startle her. He loved Sara. He'd probably loved her since he met her. Certainly since she came to Vegas. The first time Catherine had seen Sara, she'd noticed a necklace around Sara's neck. When Sara leaned over, Catherine had seen the inscription on the charm. EG. Emily Grissom, Gil's mother. No way would he have given something that personal to just anyone. It had taken Catherine ten years just to learn Grissom's mother's first name.
And Warrick. He had been hers for a long time. Sure he'd stepped out on her occasionally. There had been other women over the years, but he'd always come back. He'd always been there for Lindsey, ready to come see her in every play since Eddie's death, there for Lindsey's eighth grade promotion. And now he was gone. Married. And Warrick was not someone who would take a commitment like marriage lightly. He was a 'til death do you part' kind of guy.
Catherine sighed again. How could her life have gone from great to shit in just over a year?
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"Sara, do you want me to go now?" Brass asked, finishing loading the dishwasher.
"Yes, no, I really don't know." Sara swiped at the stray tears still making their way down her cheek.
"You're still crying." Brass observed.
"I know." Sara flopped down on the couch where Grissom had sat a month before, listening to Sara spill her life's story.
Brass took a seat on the couch next to Sara. "This is good. When I got sober, they'd always tell me to let out my emotions. That if I let out the problems that I was drinking to suppress, I wouldn't have to drink anymore."
"I'm not a drunk." Sara said firmly.
"I know that. But why were you drinking that night?"
That night. That night people were still throwing in her face. That infamous night needed no date. Sara could recall the exact timestamp blinking on the dashboard clock on the Denali. "Lots of reasons." Sara hedged.
"What kind of reasons?" Brass pushed. "Grissom reasons?"
"No." Sara said quickly and then sighed. "Yes, maybe. It was that he recommended Nick for the promotion over me, when I have a better solve rate by a mile, that he rejected me and then flirted with Sophia right in front of me –"
"Wait, Sophia didn't transfer to nightshift until…you got drunk like that again?"
"Worse." Sara admitted. "But I didn't drive. And I am not an alcoholic." She insisted.
"I didn't say you were. Look, Sophia's a detective and she's one of my own, but she's never quite gotten rid of Ecklie. I don't believe Gil would go after her. He loves you, remember."
"So? He went after Heather."
"Heather was a different scenario entirely." Brass jumped in. "And the thing with Sophia…it's been a long year for all of us. Ecklie changed shifts on us and Catherine's changed. She used to be his adviser on all things you. Then you and Catherine got into that fight and she put pressure on him to side with someone. He picked you over Catherine, which really pissed her off. So he turned to be his Sophia to be his new Catherine, but she wasn't quite what he expected."
"Ecklie with boobs?" Sara questioned snarkily.
"No. She's still under Ecklie's thumb, but she also has a crush on him. Gil doesn't deal well with feelings."
"Preaching. Choir." Sara snorted.
"All I'm saying is that Gil has some massive issues, and you shouldn't start drinking over him. He's my best friend, but he's also kind of a jerk. I think you would be happy together, but sometimes the world doesn't work out that way and…I couldn't protect Ellie from jerks like him, but I will protect you."
"I'm not seven, Jim. I can protect myself." She jumped up, annoyed.
"I'm not saying you can't." Brass reminded her calmly. "I'm just saying I don't want to see you hurt, and I'll do anything and everything in my power to prevent it from happening."
Sara started pacing the length of her living room. "I don't know why he makes me so crazy." She flexed her hand. "It's like, every time I'm around him, the rational part of my brain takes a vacation."
"That would be love." Brass lifted his coffee cup in agreement.
"Well it sucks!" Sara fumed.
"No argument here."
"I love him?" Sara asked in the same whiny, plaintive tone a child might use while asking do I hafta?
"'Fraid so, kiddo." Brass downed the last of his coffee.
"Well, If I love him, then I should go to him on Friday, right?"
"I loved Rebecca." Brass reminded Sara of his ex-wife.
"So I shouldn't go?"
"You gotta do what your heart tells you, sweetheart."
Sara put her hands on her hips. "You are not making things any easier."
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Grissom pushed aside the door to the musty attic, making his way to the very back of the room. A black trunk bore his dad's name. Tate Grissom. A blue trunk for Emily, and a green trunk for little Gil.
Grissom hadn't dared open the black trunk until he was twenty. He was Assistant Coroner at the LA County Morgue, just waiting for Dr. Shaffer to retire. Dr. Shaffer's wife came to visit and she brought along her niece and her niece's cousin. Grissom wasn't stupid. He knew he was an attractive boy. He worked his way through Betty Shaffer and Valerie Mack before he moved onto Cassandra Whiteman. Cassandra had wanted a husband, babies, family dinners, and the occasional picnic.
Grissom left Cassandra in the middle of the night. Told her he was going for bagels.
When he heard later that Cassandra had slept with Director Thomas, Grissom knew where things were headed. Thomas made Grissom's professional life a living Hell. So Grissom decided to take matters into his own hands. He wooed Cassandra back, got her to make Thomas back off, and then he broke her heart again. This time, he made sure she knew he was leaving. For good. Because Cassandra just wasn't what he wanted.
That night, he opened the black trunk. He was man enough for his father. To face his father.
The second time he broke a girl's heart, it was easier. There was no dragged-out melodrama. Just one very pissed off girl screaming at him through the door. Is this about your father? Emily asked.
Thirty. Girl number three was the easiest. A few witty remarks, a relatively cheap bottle of wine, and a pair of blue eyes bought him a ride in Trisha – or maybe it was Trina – something-or-other's bed. He never found out her last name. Just zipped up and left.
The next night he'd gone to his mother's for dinner.
Tell me, Gil. Does it make you feel like a man? Emily asked accusingly. Oops. Trisha-Trina had been Therese Trent, daughter of his mother's doctor. Dr. Trent had asked Emily to find another primary care physician.
At thirty-five, Grissom met his greatest challenge. He didn't wine and dine her. He fed her cheeseburgers and Coke. No fancy flowers for her, but a book instead. She called him Griss and made his heart do all sorts of funny things. But his heart had no place in the business of love. She was only too willing to give him what he wanted. He was through the door, had kissed her, and was working on her button-down t-shirt when he stopped.
Does it make you feel like a man?
He pushed her off and ran back to his hotel room. She was confused and hurt, and he wanted to go to her,to explain it all, but he couldn't. He wouldn't.
Sara Sidle would be safe from him.
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A/N: I wasn't sure if Brass's little "let your emotions out so you won't drink" speech sounded like something they would say at an AA meeting. Having never been an alcoholic, and thinking it might be rude to ask somebody who has been, I didn't ask about that one. I actually got really depressed writing the Grissom reflection thing, because as much as I don't want to believe that he could've previously been a total womanizer, something is lurking. And I hope the casefile is interesting. Last chapter had some seeeerious medical terms, which I was afraid I'd spelled extra-wrong. Review with thoughts!