Chapter Seventeen The Trial, Part 4: Till Death Do Us Part

David sat and waited as his brother finished embarrassing himself. He was making an idiot of himself in front of a crowd of people, squeezing them for the sympathy he said he didn't want. Looking over at the sobbing fool, he realized this was his own doing. That made him smile. For nearly ten minutes, he watched the tears flow, enjoying every moment, wearing a sick, twisted smile. "You're sick, David Mason," he said to himself, but that only pleased him more.

When the ten minutes were over and Roger was sent back to his seat with a box of tissues (David sniggered hard when they handed it to him), Dave looked over at his brother's red, swollen face, repressing the urge to laugh his ass off. His smile was not unnoticed by both defense lawyers. Nadar raised his eyebrows and seemed as though he were afraid of his own client. Castor and Nadar both seemed to tell him telepathically, "You're a cruel man." He showed no remorse for his feelings, and instead stood up.

Greg followed his movements with narrowed eyes. It was not normal for someone to be happy after what had just happened in the courtroom; Greg came to the conclusion that David must be crazy. It would certainly explain a lot. He glanced over at Sara, who also had a horrified look on her face that David seemed proud of his accomplishments. She looked ready to kill him.

Roger could not stand to look. His eyes flickered towards the windows through which dusk was coming on fast, dissolving the remaining light and hope that was left outside in the world and inside in his heart. Life was harsh. But if he was lucky, he would get to be away from his brother forever. Even if he was locked behind bars, caged in like an animal, it was much better than what would happen if they were both found innocent.

But the trial would soon be rendered pointless: David was in the midst of taking his oath, a falsely sincere smile on his pale, thin face, when a member of the jury let out a loud, audible yawn. Judge Saber looked over at the jury box, and in doing so, noticed the window and how dark it was outside. She bent her head and glanced at her wristwatch, raising her eyebrows.

"Wait, wait," she said to the officer holding the bible next to David. "Don't let him take the stand. It's later than I thought." She looked up, clutching her gavel. "I was hoping we'd be able to do this in one day, but what's a few more hours tomorrow?" There was a single bang! "Bring the Mason brothers to the courthouse's cells. We'll continue this trial tomorrow morning at 8 am. This time-" she glared at Castor. "-everyone better be on time."

The crowd and jury silently got up and went out of the courtroom without a word to each other. Even Sara and Greg didn't speak, preferring to watch the reaction of the defendants and lawyers to the delay.

Roger looked up when it was announced that the trial would be continued later, and could barely believe it when everyone got up and began to file out. No way...not another day stuck next to that maniac! Not another day pending whether he would live until next week! Even as David was cuffed again and led back to the holding cells, Roger did not get up, in the hopes that everyone would come back in a few minutes and they would continue now. Tom approached him with a pair of jingling handcuffs in hand, took one of his arms and clicked the metal restraint around his wrist. This couldn't be it...this couldn't be the last moment of his life. He wouldn't let it end this way, he wouldn't go out quietly. They would have to drag him kicking and screaming! As Tom grasped his other arm, he wrenched it free, and jumped up from his chair, backing away from the cop, handcuffs hanging from one arm. The clatter caught the remaining crowd's attention. They stopped walking, and turned in one movement to face the excitement. A different officer jogged down and tried herding the people out, but they refused to budge. Like a group of reporters, they were willing to defy the law and anything else they had to in order to catch a piece of the action first hand.

"No!" cried Roger desperately, taking a few steps backwards as some more officers rushed over to Tom's side and began advancing on him. "You can't bring me back there! Didn't you see what he did to me last time? He'll kill me!"

These words had no effect, and the officers kept coming forward slowly. One of them took out his nightstick and brandished it threateningly. At the sight of this, Roger panicked - he made a break for the jury room door. A cop leapt forward and caught him by the shoulder. The pair of them fell to the floor, and the cop, thinking he had Roger pinned, reached for the handcuffs and tried to get them around his other wrist. But Roger swung them around like a mace, striking the officer in the face. At once, the other cops ran forward, nightsticks in hand, trying to knock Roger out. The crowd let out a few gasps as the police knelt down, holding Roger down with one hand and raising their clubs with the other. Tom stood by, watching: his club was in hand, but he couldn't find it in his heart to use it.

Greg turned away and tried to push his way through the rest of the crowd who, it seemed, would watch anything as long as there was some action. But it was too concentrated, and he couldn't get out of the room. He closed his eyes as though in pain as the too-familiar yell echoed through the vast courtroom, over and over again, each time getting fainter and more breathy. At last, they stopped completely, and the crowd continued their journey to the parking lot. This was horrible, Greg thought. Hadn't he seen enough last week?

Finding an empty space between two avidly gossiping women, Greg pushed his way through the crowd as fast as he could to find some fresh air. His eyes shut tight, even when he could no longer feel people around him, he kept running forward until he hit into something. What he had hit into went "oof." He opened his eyes, looking up into an intelligent, bearded face. It was Grissom. Just what he needed - the man who determined if he was to become a CSI or not was seeing him cry. Over nothing!

"Hello, Greg," said Grissom, giving him a slight shove so that he would stop leaning on his chest. "Are you okay?" He added, noticing Greg's red face and eyes.

Greg was about to shake it off and say that he was fine, but he looked up into the wise, caring face and thought better. Grissom had authority. Grissom was well-liked and well-known. Grissom could help Roger. He shook his head. "Boss," he started, "One of the men they want to prosecute, Roger Mason...I think he's in mortal danger being held in that cell with his brother."

He half expected Grissom to laugh at this, but instead he looked thoughtful. "Is that a known fact, Greg, or is it just a theory?"

Greg was confused. "Uh...a theory, I guess."

Grissom thought again. "Do you have any evidence to that theory?" Great. It was just like Grissom to turn this into one of his cases.

Greg nodded. "Physical evidence. Not that I could present in court, but it's not like I need this for a trial, anyway. Just enough for the guards to understand that and move him to a different holding cell."

"Tell me this evidence."

"Well...in court today, Roger showed up late. And he had a..." Greg swallowed. This was difficult to say. He was embarrassed that he knew this information, because it seemed so unorthodox. But the lump in his throat would have to be put on hold. "...a black eye and bloody nose. And the officer that accompanied him - he said that he had more wounds..." Greg looked down as though it was his wounds he was describing. "In court, he said that his brother did it. It was forced out of him. And I believe him."

Grissom folded his arms and looked down on Greg. It was shocking how much taller he seemed with that look on his face. "Is this belief based on evidence or a whim?"

"I've got evidence," answered Greg, tired of this constant need for evidence. "I heard..." He swallowed again. The lump in his throat had just gotten bigger. "I heard a scream from the holding cells...a few night before."

"Well, as long as you're sure," said Grissom. "But people do lie, even under oath. And that scream could have been to fool-"

"It doesn't matter!" shouted Greg, exasperated. "A man could be in danger! If you heard a distress call, would you wait to see if it was genuine?"

Grissom stood silent. He did not look angry from Greg's outburst. On the contrary, he looked intrigued. Then, he cracked a smile. "It's good to see you stand up for what you believe in."

"And I hope you believe me, Grissom," said Greg. "I need your help."

"My help?" asked Grissom. "You know I'm not supposed to get involved-"

"You're head of graveyard shift in one of the best crime labs in the country! If you tell the guards it's not safe for Roger to stay here, they can move him into Las Vegas Crime Lab custody, and he'll stay alive for the remainder of his trial! Please, Grissom! There's no harm if I'm wrong, is there?"

There was a pause in which Grissom though for a moment. Then he sighed and nodded. "We'll go and visit the Masons, okay? And if we see anything, then we'll know, and we'll get him out of there, okay?"

Greg nodded eagerly, and the two of them walked off towards the holding cells. The hallway was white and empty, and it was eerie as their footsteps echoes off the walls. At last, they reached the chamber, where a large guard stood, arms folded, looking bored. As they approached, he snapped into a mode of authority. They stopped.

"I can't just let you come in here," he said. "It's the holding cells, you know. Got criminals in here. Who are you?"

"Gil Grissom, CSI 3," Grissom said automatically. "And this is my trainee, Greg Sanders. We need to visit the suspects you're holding in there."

"Sorry, no," said the guard unenthusiastically. "Didn't you see what happened in the courtroom today? After that, no one's allowed to see them who don't have proper protection."

"But surely if you were to accompany us-" Grissom started.

"No way in hell am I going in there!" said the guard in a slightly frightened voice. "After what I saw that guy do today, I wouldn't touch him with a 39 foot pole."

They had no choice but to turn around and go back down the echoing white hallway and back into the main entrance of the building. There was no one there anymore, even Sara had given up and gone home. Grissom looked around the deserted hallway. Greg knew he was thinking about what the guard had said.

"What did he do today in court?" he asked. "Roger Mason. What did he do?"

Greg shrugged. "He kinda went ballistic," he answered, avoiding his boss's eye. "Smacked an officer in the face and tried to run away, until he was...beaten into submission." He could feel his eyes watering at these words, waited for it to pass, then continued. "He didn't want to go back to the holding cells. He was afraid of what his brother would do to him."

Grissom gave a sympathetic look that didn't quite suit him. He put a comforting hand on Greg's shoulder. "Go home. Get some sleep. It'll all turn out okay in the end."

Greg returned a half-hearted smile and went out into the parking lot. It was now a lot later than he had expected to get home, but that didn't really matter. His stomach was twisting in knots, worrying about Roger and about the rest of the trial the next day - if there was one. He barely got any sleep that night, and when his alarm went off and he opened his eyes to the light, he found that he didn't want to go anymore. Thinking logically, it was impossible for the worst not to have happened, after all the wounds before the first part of the trial. Yet, it also seemed perfectly logical that they would just continue the trial from yesterday. He didn't want to go, either way. But he knew he had to, because he knew he would feel much much worse if he read the headline "Murder in the Las Vegas Court House Holding Cells" before finding it out himself.

Greg got back in his car and drove back to the parking lot he was in just a short amount of hours ago. Mumbling with tiredness, he slumped up the stairs to the Courthouse, and found himself in a jumble of people. A gigantic crowd had gathered in the main entrance, and they seemed to be encircling something. A flash went off - there must be reporters here. Greg spotted a few newscasters and video cameras. Were they broadcasting the second part of the trial?

Sara spotted him through the crowd and rushed over. The expression on her face was switching between jubilation and disappointment. "Greg, they can't continue the trial!" she cried. "Something..." she paused, unable to come up with the proper adjective for the situation. "...something happened!"

Greg's heart plummeted to his stomach. Was it true? Was he really about to read this obituary in the newspaper? He got on his toes and tried to see what everyone was staring at. Pushing his way through the crowd to get within earshot, he heard the guard he and Grissom had argued with yesterday talking to the reporters.

"I can't give you any information about the death in our holding cell," he was calling loudly. "Only that it was most likely a murder. There was another man we were holding, his brother, Mr. Mason, and he had the motive and opportunity to kill his brother. One thing I do not understand is how Mr. Mason got a hold of one of our officer's weapons. But judging by his violent behavior, it is likely that..."

The rest was drowned out over the roar of the crowd to hear more information regarding the murder in the cell. It was really true. Greg pushed his way back to Sara, tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes.

"I don't know why you're crying, Greg," Sara said. "Are you really that sensitive a guy? If you cry over every death you encounter, you're not going to do well as a CSI."

"Of course I'm crying!" Greg snapped. "Why aren't you? After all we did to try and help him, Sara, after all the warnings he gave us about his brother trying to hurt him, Roger's dead!"

"What?" asked Sara. Greg broke out, sobbing, and Sara began to chuckle softly. Greg looked up into her smiling face, and for once, felt he wanted to see it no more.

"What are you doing?" he cried. "Why are you laughing? Roger's dead, don't you care?"

"Of course I'd care if Roger's dead!" she said triumphantly. "But he's not dead!"

Greg took a step back so he could see her properly. "Not - not dead? But the officer-"

"There was a death in the holding cells," said Sara, her smile fading. "And Roger has something to do with it. David Mason was found this morning lying dead in a puddle of his own blood. And, of course, the number one suspect is Roger. But on the plus side, he's not dead."