Disclaimer – Me admitting I don't own CSI is like mafia snitches admitting they don't like car trunks or the latest in concrete fashion, so there you go!
Notes – Not much to say here, you've all probably seen this coming, but that's brains for ya. Sometimes they are the greatest spoilers of all. Speaking of which, they are present throughout, focused mostly on 'The Accused is Entitled', but also featuring 'Ellie', 'Hollywood Brass' and 'Cool Change' to name but a few. Basically, anything from seasons 1-5 is fair game.
The drive over to McAllen's plantation was brief, yet memorable. Mostly because of Nick's initial insistence that he knew of several shortcuts that would get them there in half the time, and Grissom's undisguised opinion of such a stratagem. Both Nick and Warrick remained silent throughout the remainder of the journey.
When they arrived, they were unsurprised to find Brass' Taurus and a SWAT transport waiting for them at the entrance to the woods. Grissom fully intended to let the bad boys of the LVPD do their work. God knows he would be entirely useless in a combat situation. Brass, on the other hand, was more than willing to ride into the woods with his posse to bring back the damsel in distress.
Understandably, some of the larger SWAT members looked slightly embarrassed at this. After all, Brass was not a young man anymore, by any stretch of the imagination. However, once it became abruptly clear that Brass was going to get his little girl, authorised or not, the young lieutenant relented.
The SWAT team, with Brass more or less in tow, departed into the trees, leaving behind two of the newer recruits, Carver and Meelan, as a rear-guard. Nick bounded out of the vehicle, looking more than a little put out by the proceedings.
"Is that it? We drive all the way out here, we set a world-speed record doing it, just to sit back on our asses? Why did we even bother trying? What's the point of us hanging around out here?" Nick was almost whining.
"Nick…" began Warrick, but Grissom interrupted.
"Three reasons, young Nicholas. Firstly, we are of no use whatsoever in a situation like this, a situation which hopefully won't involve shooting, but might well end up doing just that. I notice your scores on the firing range aren't exactly first-rate stuff. Secondly, once their job is over, ours begins. We need to collect enough evidence to indict Kyle Andrews, Conrad Ecklie and Philip Gerard for the kidnapping and any murders they committed. With Marjorie Wescott defending, that means a thorough job."
Grissom turned to face Nick. "Lastly, and most importantly, she's my God-daughter, and even though she's made a real mess of her life lately…I need to see that she's all right. Okay?"
"Okay." Nick replied quietly., He understood perfectly…
"Hey Griss," Warrick piped up. "What made you think of a conifer plantation, anyway? Tell me about that bug you were talking about earlier…er…the Wandering Skimmer, or something…"
"Wandering Skipper, Warrick." Grissom's voice took on a more neutral, calm tone, as if he was giving a lecture. "And the Carson Wandering Skipper, which Sara found in Melanie's bedroom, is an endangered species. It's preferred habitat is within the trunk of a conifer tree, where it lives for…"
Nick grinned privately. Nice move, Warrick. Take Grissom's mind off his problems with the one subject he practically lives on: Entomology. He blinked after a moment as he realised that the King of Bugs had stopped talking, and was moving slowly towards the base of a relatively small Thinleaf alder. Exchanging 'I don't know' looks, the younger CSI's followed him.
Circling around to the other side of the alder, Grissom put his finger to his lips. Moving very slowly, he crouched down next to the roots. Following suit, Nick and Warrick saw that Grissom was staring at a thin red insect. Exchanging 'Figures' looks, the younger CSI's sat themselves down on the grass.
Grissom was wearing that same involved expression he wore whenever he looked at bug evidence, the almost childlike smile that said 'You have my full attention, no matter what species you are'.
"Ten points if you can guess what this is." Grissom whispered.
"Your latest girlfriend?"
"Funny man, Warrick." Grissom broke out of his trance long enough to direct a quick annoyed glance his way, then turned back to his find, which was, of course, the esteemed Carson Wandering Skipper. He stretched out his hands to try and gently catch it. And almost had a heart attack as three rapid explosions of sound echoed across the clearing and into the woods.
Terrified not just at what the sounds meant, but at their proximity, Grissom and the others darted back into the clearing and onto the road.
It didn't take Grissom long to work out what had happened.
Gerard had seen them coming. Simple as that. Stupid of Grissom to believe that his old mentor wouldn't have figured out a way to avoid a standard SWAT flanking deployment, even if he had been running scared. Grissom's mind reeled with the potential consequences of this disaster. If Gerard had seen the SWAT team approach, then what had happened to Ellie…?
Hopefully not the same as what had happened to Carver and Meelan, who now lay dead on the road. Most of their skulls were missing. Warrick noted (with a calm detachment that was almost unreal) the pack of cigarettes next to the bodies. Smoking, it seemed, could kill you in more ways than one. Both cops had taken their helmets off to light up.
Gerard was frozen in the act of opening the door of Brass' Taurus. He hadn't seen Grissom and his colleagues hunkered down by the base of the alder, only the two SWAT cops. Having blown their heads apart he'd bolted for the nearest vehicle, and had seen the CSI's at about the same time they had seen him.
Inside a second, three guns were up and trained on the old ex-criminalist. But that didn't matter, as Gerard's gun was clearly fixed on Grissom's solar plexus. Fingers froze an inch from their triggers. Nobody dared breathe for the longest of seconds.
Then Grissom broke the silence. His voice was deadly calm. "Did I say you'd become a bottom feeder, Philip? My mistake. You've become a full-blown asshole."
Philip Gerard gave Grissom the smallest of smiles. "Still sore over the way I tore your team apart on the Haviland case? Grissom, I'm surprised. You're not usually the type to hold a grudge."
"One: You lost the Haviland case." Warrick was growling the words out. "Two: Looks to me like you're the one who's still sore about it, and Three: I am the type to hold a grudge, and I haven't forgotten that case either. Put the gun down NOW!"
The last word was a shout to rival the volume of the earlier shots, and it had the intended effect of making Gerard twitch. Warrick's blood was pumping in his veins and part of him yearned to shoot. The rest of him was rigid with fear. He silently prayed that they would all make it out alive.
Nick Stokes hated guns. Hated them. More than anything he hated having them pointed at him, or in his general direction, or worst of all, at his friends. He couldn't think straight. At any second, Gerard's gun might fire, and one of them, probably Grissom, would almost certainly die. The horrible knowledge was like an iron clamp on his lungs, and a block of ice on his back.
Grissom couldn't remember feeling so enraged. So utterly betrayed. This was the man who had taken him under his wing all those years ago. He and Conrad Ecklie had learned almost everything they knew from this old man with a mad light in his eyes. This was his mentor, and he was pointing a GUN at him! At his star pupil!
With a start, Grissom noticed that his hands had begun to shake. He forced himself to hold the gun steady, as his treacherous mind waved memories of the firing range at him. He was a good shot now, but it had taken him a long time to get that way. And that was against harmless and stationary paper targets. Here he was confronted with an armed, animated and very much alive human being. One he knew, once…
Grissom spoke again, and this time his voice shook with suppressed emotion. "Why? Why, Philip?"
"Kyle can be very persuasive when he wants to be." Gerard's voice was calm, but there was a hint of tension in it. "Call it a combination of money and personal threats. After Gribbs, there was no going back…"
Gribbs? Grissom knew that name from somewhere, but he had no idea what Gerard meant by it. He tried to bring the conversation back to a plane he understood.
"Where is Ellie Brass?" Grissom was sweating now and his teeth were bared. He'd never felt less in control of a situation than now.
"The SWAT team will have found her by now." Gerard told him unsmilingly.
"What do you mean? Is she still alive?" Grissom's voice wavered and broke slightly on the last sentence.
"No u…"
If it came as a surprise to Gerard when Grissom's gun fired, it came as even more of a surprise to Grissom. Moreover, there was no time for it to register. The bullet entered Gerard's mouth, and left through the base of his skull, taking most of the cerebellum with it. There was simply not enough time for his ruined brain to send the neural message to open fire to his fingers. Instead, the gun fell lamely to the ground.
Half a second later, Warrick and Nick both opened up, tearing holes in the driver's-side door of Brass' Taurus and flinging what was left of Grissom's old mentor against the shattered window.
"Stop! STOP IT!" Grissom yelled, pulling both their guns down. The echoes of gunfire died away gradually, replaced by something worse. Utter silence. Then frightened, rapid breathing from the three survivors.
"…what the hell did I do?" Grissom's voice was quiet and subdued and terrified. The voice of a little child who has broken Granny's favourite vase. He remembered what he'd said to Gerard on the Haviland case: "All those years I worked for you, you never got to know me at all, did you?"
Grissom now realised that not only had Gerard not gotten to know him, he didn't even know himself. At least, not anymore…
Had he meant to pull the trigger? No! No way! He couldn't have! The gun went off by itself…didn't it? What had Gerard said? His last words had been "No u…" What was that? What did that mean? With a sickening jolt, Grissom realised that now he would never know. He would never know what had motivated Gerard to do this, or what he had meant.
Because guns never answered questions. They only stopped them forever.
It was this train of thought that his mind was caught in when Brass and the others arrived to discover the three CSI survivors amidst the carnage. With considerable relief, Grissom saw that Brass was holding a gaunt, terrified but assuredly alive Ellie in his arms.
Nick and Warrick finally broke into tired smiles. Ellie tentatively returned them.
Despite having several holes in the driver's side door, Brass' Taurus made the journey back to Las Vegas. Grissom knew that Ellie and her father were going to stop off at their house, and he planned to make the rest of the trip in Nick's Tahoe. However, he needed this one opportunity while the events were still fresh in her mind.
"Ellie, listen. I know this is going to be hard, but I need you to think. Do you remember anything that Gerard said that might be important?"
Ellie replied between quiet, hitching sobs. "All I remember is the big man. That huge bastard that kidnapped me. I remember he…he talked to that old guy about getting somebody called Ecklie out of jail so they could kill him. I was supposed to be some kind of insurance" she spat the word out "in case things went wrong."
Grissom's mind was reeling. Gerard and the giant set this whole thing up to kill Ecklie! "But why were they paying Ecklie to screw up certain cases in the first place. What could be in it for them?"
Ellie seemed to think it over. "You should probably ask this Ecklie guy, but my guess is money. There were piles of it all over the house."
Brass nodded grimly. "Yeah, I imagine a lot of cons would pay good money to have the evidence against them kicked in court. Especially Tom Haviland."
Grissom's voice was cold with anger. "So all they have to do is tell Marjorie Wescott which evidence needs to go, and she tells Gerard, who tells Ecklie to take care of it. God, it's like an anti-CSI unit!"
"We don't know that Marjorie Wescott's involved yet Griss," interjected Brass "although it would fit. I'll start checking her out tomorrow. Meanwhile we need to get some rest…"
"Wait, Jim. I-I'm sorry, but I just need one more question. Ellie, did you ever hear the name Gribbs mentioned at any time?" Grissom was keeping his voice even and gentle, not without difficulty, as his gut was still churning over the shooting.
Brass frowned. "Gribbs…Gribbs…I've heard that name before…Shit! Holly Gribbs! Remember, Grissom? Before Sara arrived?"
"How could I forget?" Suddenly it all made sense. For whatever reason, Gerard had told Kyle Andrews about Holly Gribbs, and where she was in Vegas. Anyone with a police scanner would have known that Gribbs was investigating a robbery on that day, but not necessarily that she had been alone…
The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Now all that was left was to confirm it. By having another little talk with Kyle Andrews…
Grissom said his goodbyes to Brass and his daughter, and headed for Nick's Tahoe, where he and Warrick were waiting. Grissom idly wondered if Warrick still carried the weight of Gribbs' death on his shoulders. He hoped not. Either way, this news wasn't going to be pleasant for him.
Sighing heavily, Grissom climbed into the back. This was still going to be a long night…
It had been generally agreed between Catherine Willows and the six or seven cops that had escorted him to his cell, that Kyle Andrews, for all his terrifying strength, could not bend steel.
They were right. But he had absolutely no problems with bone, as the cop in his former cell could have testified to.
Not that she could testify to anything now.
AN: As I mentioned before, my knowledge of the Carson Wandering Skipper is limited at best. If I have misrepresented the facts surrounding this insect in any way that particularly annoys you, feel free to flame (but don't go nuts, okay?).