Chapter 5 – Following Leads.
Disclaimer – I don't own CSI, or any of it's cast, crew or characters. They are the undisputed property of Jerry Bruckheimer, apart from the cast members, who are owned by no one. There. See how professional that was? Ving Rhames, Darth Vader, and James Earl Jones aren't mine, either.
Notes – This chapter takes place sometime after 'Iced' and before 'Grave Danger'. I know it's a big leap, but I need to get this plot in gear. If you notice any continuity deficiencies, blame them on a one-armed man with a glass eye. His name is Fred and I don't like him. If anything's bugging you, tell me and I'll try to fix it. Thanks! (Also, I know that in Iced Ecklie said he was divorced, but him being married was essential to the plot, so bear with me.)
Warning – This chapter is rated 'M' for disturbing content later on. You have been warned.
Executive Assistant District Attorney Abigail Carmichael smoothed back her hair and leaned back onto her office desk. It had been roughly a week since she'd come to Las Vegas, and so far she had made considerable headway in a short space of time. She had yet to establish a reputation for herself as the tenacious prosecutor that she had been in New York, but she hoped to do so soon.
Her first trial in Las Vegas: the People vs. Conrad Ecklie, should help to do just that. He was being charged with several counts of evidence tampering and one count of assault with a deadly weapon against Gregory Sanders, CSI level 1. On a worrying side note, his wife Angela hadn't been seen for six days, and was now officially a missing person.
She was looking forward to this. The charges were backed by evidence, and her eyewitnesses, the aforementioned Greg Sanders and Captain James Brass from homicide, had been well prepared for any questions from Ecklie's attorney. In short, this should be a nice, easy prosecution, the trial lasting a week or so at most.
Yes, a nice easy trial. That would be great...
"Are you sure about this? I mean, what are we going to do, walk into this gym and say 'Hi, have you seen any large gentlemen hanging around recently?'" Catherine Willows was clearly less than happy with her shift's current plan of action.
"Okay, I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Do you have a better idea?" Nick was starting to get annoyed now. Catherine had been moaning for fifteen minutes now, and it was grating on his nerves.
"Yeah. I mean, come on Cath. We know the guy's not gone to any of our gyms, cause we would definitely have spotted someone that big, and from what I hear, this one caters to patrons who are big even by gym standards." Warrick, as usual, acted as the median between Nick and Catherine these days.
Catherine read the sign at the entrance. "'Lennie and Earl's gym. Members only.' Nice. Inviting."
They stepped inside, and found themselves looking at a number of gentlemen who could, together, have formed a heavyweight boxing championship. The CSI's suddenly felt as if they had shrunk by about a foot each.
A burly, bald-headed cue-ball of a man didn't so much walk as muscled his way towards them. "Hey, lightweights. This is members only, and I don't need to see you with your shirts off to know that you ain't gonna make the weigh-in. Come back when you hit 250-plus pounds."
Catherine flashed her ID. "Catherine Willows from the crime lab. This is Warrick Brown and Nick Stokes. We need to speak with some of your clients."
Baldy seemed to contemplate this for a moment. "Oh. What about?"
"Have their been any especially big dudes hanging around here recently?" Warrick ventured.
The bald man stared at them for a moment with wide eyes and an open mouth. Then he released a harsh, coughing laugh. "Are you shittin' me? Take a look around here! We got nothin' but the biggest and the best here, featherweight."
Catherine continued, undeterred. "We'll also need to take a look at your hands."
The laughter stopped abruptly. "My...my hands?" His eyes narrowed. "Look, lady, this better not be some kind of kinky thing, cause that's why I left that Lady Heather chick's place..."
Nick stepped in. "Sir, we're investigating a possible homicide. We just need to eliminate you and your clientele as suspects. Then we'll just go away."
As ever, the Southern charm and easy-going tone in Nick's voice did its job of mollifying their suspect. "Well, I guess it couldn't hurt, but you're gonna have to explain to them," he thumbed over his shoulder at the numerous guys working out "why they've gotta drop what their doin'."
Cath shrugged. "Fair enough."
Five minutes later, three very disappointed CSI's confirmed that their last pair of fingerprints did not match the giant prints that Franco had handed them a few days ago. The guys in the gym, hard as it was to believe, were all too small. Their hands were big, but not big enough to be a match.
Warrick turned to the room at large (no pun intended). "Sorry to waste your time, gentlemen." The bodybuilders shuffled out, mumbling about inept cops.
Nick faced the bald man (whose name was Lennie) with a sheepish expression. "Sorry, man."
"Eh, don't worry about it. Most of these bums go off to be soldiers. Y'know, Navy Seals, Army Rangers. I figure they gotta learn to take orders sometime. I tell ya, big as some of these guys get, don't always make 'em tough enough or smart enough for the army." Lennie was in a surprisingly good mood.
"I know this sounds like a stupid question, and we've asked it before, but do you remember any guys coming in here that were big even by your standards?" Catherine asked.
Lennie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, there was this one guy...Kyle something...he got his ass banned for damaging the equipment. Listen, you need to ask Earl, that's my partner, about it. He's got a better memory than me. HEY EARL!" Lennie bellowed deafeningly across the gym.
Earl turned out to be a big, beefcake of a man who looked like Ving Rhames on steroids and sounded like James Earl Jones playing Darth Vader. "Whassup, Lennie?" he baritoned.
The criminalists quickly explained the situation, and just for the record, took his prints. Again, no match.
"Yeah, I remember that dude." Earl's mood darkened considerably. "Guy was a psycho. He sits on one of the rowing machines, sets it to max resistance, and pulls on the bars. He ripped the chain right out of the wheel. Then he just throws it across the room, nearly knocking this poor dude out..."
"Oh, yeah, Vinnie..." Lennie reminisced.
"Anyways, that's when I tell him to get his ass out of my gym, and I take his membership card back. For a second I thought the guy was just gonna deck me, then when the other dudes start taking an interest, he back off and leaves." Earl shook his head. "Real psycho."
Catherine jumped in. "Do you still have his membership card?"
"Yeah, should be in my office. You want it?"
"Please."
Meanwhile, back in the crime lab, Gil Grissom was currently doing the unthinkable. He was following a hunch.
The compliance print from Ecklie's house was still unknown, despite Franco's sincerest efforts. Grissom had a feeling he knew how to find out who the mystery print belonged to regardless. If the print didn't belong to anyone who was currently within the department, it might belong to someone who used to be with the department.
Grissom was therefore diligently checking personnel files for people who had worked for the crime lab within the last ten years, looking for any clue in the psych evaluations as to who a likely suspect might be, when the call came through on his cell phone. He pushed the caller ID and recognised the number as Sophia's.
He hoped she hadn't called to talk about the morning after Ecklie's arrest...
He answered with his trademark "Grissom."
"Gr-Grissom...I-I've just..."
Gil sat up, concerned. "Sophia? Are you okay? You sound weird."
"I've just found Ecklie's wife..."
Sophia Curtis had almost vomited when she'd found what was left of the very late Angela Ecklie by the side of the I-15. Right now a number of beat cops were stealing Sophia's thunder whilst older, more experienced homicide detectives looked on in mute horror. Some particularly sick, sadistic bastard had really gotten a kick out of killing her...
The body hadn't just been damaged or disabled, it had been pulverised That really was the only way to describe it. The torso had been torn clean in two, with the exposed spinal column looking like a broken twig. Both legs had been broken in a number of places, and were bent at bizarre angles. One severed arm dangled limply from a tree branch, where it continued it's post-mortem twitching.
But worst of all was the face. Angela Ecklie's face was no longer recognisable as a human feature. It had been reduced to a bloody pulp of flesh and splintered bones. Sophia had known that it was Ecklie's wife only because her purse lay open by the body. Inside was Angela Ecklie's library card with her smiling face on the surface.
Not without difficulty, Sophia had bagged the card as evidence. Then she'd called in the 419 to Grissom. Perhaps he'd be able to deal with this more professionally. She herself just wanted to leave this gore-strewn crime scene and find the monster that had done this.
As long as someone else made the arrest...
Author's Note: I am so, so, SO sorry that this update has taken so long, but I've been kind of busy. I'll try to be a lot faster next time. Please forgive me? Please?