Chapter Twenty-One: Don't Be Hasty

"We are entering day three of the investigation of the Las Vegas Courthouse murder. Yes, it was three days ago that kidnaping suspect David Mason was found dead in his holding cell, shot in the head. There were three people present at the time of his death: two officers, Larson Wolfe and Connor Bradshaw, and another suspect that was being held there, the victim's own brother, Roger Mason, who is currently being held in the county jail. Although he is an extremely likely suspect, new evidence shows that this untimely death may not have been a homicide, in fact...but a suicide. More reports are on the way as-"

These sounds from the television filled the room where Nick, Warrick, and Greg sat at a table, staring at the screen. Their investigation had reached a dead end. Several dead ends, actually. For each of the Level Three's was biased towards their own opinion and Greg had been forced to withhold the further questioning of Officer Bradshaw.

"Turn it off," Greg mumbled, banging his head on the table and closing his eyes. Warrick pressed "power" on the remote control and the sounds stopped. "Stupid newscaster. Go and tell the world that we don't know what we're doing."

"Ah, I guess it serves us right for arguing about our case in a room full of reporters," Nick said, folding his arms. "And anyway, it was a suicide."

The other two put their hands over their ears. They had been through this so many times.

"That gun was found in Roger's cell, Nick," Warrick said loudly, pointing to his evidence laid out on the table and nearly hidden under all their paperwork. "His fingerprints were on it. He had motive. He was there. End of story."

"It was a cop's gun!" cried Greg, slightly muffled by the table. "A cop. I got Bradshaw to admit that he drugged David in order to shut him up." He put a hand on the table and groped around blindly for the notes on his interview, but couldn't find them.

"Yeah, but he died because there was a bullet in his head, Greg, not of drug overdose," said Warrick, tired of Greg's theory based on a pill. "And it was Wolfe's gun, not Bradshaw's."

"And the note!" Nick called out. "The suicide note!"

"Just because he wrote the note doesn't mean he actually killed himself," Warrick sighed obviously. "And that pill didn't kill him. So let's focus more on what matters - the murder weapon."

"Ooh, this is a pointless!" Nick burst out, jumping out of his chair. "This investigation is going nowhere! Let's just call this case unsolved and move on with our lives!"

"No!" cried Greg, popping up automatically. "No. I know what to do. We have to call in someone else."

"No, we don't!" snapped Nick. "We can do this case fine by ourselves. It's already got two more people on it than necessary."

"Well, it's too late for that," Greg sighed. "I already got Grissom."

"What!" Warrick said, jumping up as well. "When did you do that?"

"Remember when I said I was going to the bathroom?" Greg reminisced, his eyes darting to the door. "I lied."

With unbelievable timing, their boss appeared in the doorway. He waved casually and strode into the room, ignoring the hostility surrounding him.

"So what's the problem?" Grissom asked, approaching the table full of scattered evidence.

"We're at a standstill," Greg answered while the other two glared at him as though he had betrayed them. "The evidence doesn't point in any one direction."

"Hmmm..." Grissom looked over the evidence, the reports, and the notes on the interviews. They watched him in silence as he read through everything. After a few minutes, he announced, "I know who did it."

"What?" Nick blurted out, forgetting his vow to be grudgingly silent. "Who did it? It was a suicide, wasn't it, Boss?"

"No, Nick, it wasn't a suicide," he said seriously. "I'll tell you that much because you should have realized it already. It's clear that all of your biases for your own evidence have blinded you to the truth. So I want you to figure it out for yourselves. Meanwhile, I'll keep an eye on the culpirt and make sure he doesn't do anything suspicious." He turned to leave as they all stared on, open-mouthed that their boss would do something like this. "Working together is an important lesson in becoming a CSI, Greg," Grissom noted. "And that works for the other two as well. I'll just give you one hint. Time is everything." He then disappeared as suddenly as he had come.

"I can't believe him!" said Nick, thoroughly annoyed that his theory was wrong. "Why didn't he just tell us? And if he didn't commit suicide, then what's with the note?"

"Let's just do what he said," Warrick replied, sitting back down and gathering all the papers near him. "We'll go over all the evidence together."

He sorted all the paper into three piles, the three groups of evidence that each one of them had gathered. Then he pulled one towards him.

"Nicky," he said to the CSI standing over his shoulder. "We'll start with yours, just so we know what the hell that note was all about."

"I guess there really isn't that much evidence on it after all," said Nick, looking at the three pages. "All I have on that is that David Mason wrote it. I assume the 'Roger' in the note is his brother. And this is an apology for all he put him through."

"But David Mason's not the sort of person to apologize for such a thing," said Greg, sitting down beside Warrick and rememberingthe personality of the devious victim. "At court he was laughing at Roger's pain and sorrow." He bit his lip, finding it difficult to say these words. After a moment, he continued. "So the question isn't really who wrote this note, it's why he wrote this note."

"Scared, maybe," Warrick mumbled. "Maybe he thought he was going to die. People get sentimental on their deathbeds."

"He's the sort of person who would embrace death," Greg said softly.

"Well, before the why, let's think of the other questions," Nick said, getting slightly off topic. "Who? David Mason. What? A letter. When? Three days ago. Where? In his holding cell. How? Pen and paper obviously-"

"Pen and paper?" said Greg. Something sparked in his mind at these words. Grabbing his own pile of interviews, he flipped through it rapidly until he reached the very last paper. He thrust it down on the table and pointed to one of the last lines: Asked for a piece of paper and a pen.

'Who was this interview with?" asked Nick curiously. He scanned the rest of the page until he saw a name on the top. "Connor Bradshaw."

Warrick pulled the papers out of Nick's hand and started going through them himself. "Never mind who it was with...look at the rest of the interview. He says he gave David Lunesta, you know that prescription sleep aid with the green moth, and then he asked for a pen and paper...he wrote this note while under the influence of the sedative!"

"That's right!" Greg shouted, remembering something. "The coroner said that he didn't have enough sedative in him to kill him...but with that much, he'd be acting funny."

"So we got the why on the note," said Nick. "Do you think he was acting funny enough to shoot himself in the head?"

"Ni-i-i-ick!" yelled both Warrick and Greg at once.

"Sorry. Glad I didn't make a bet on this one, eh, Rick?" He grinned.

"So we got your clue figured out, Nick, and we got your clue figured out, Greg," said Warrick, now reaching over for his own pile of evidence. "And neither of them conclude who the killer was. They just explain the random evidence we found. But now..." he smiled, "we get to start on the real investigation. My evidence actually points a finger at a killer with real evidence. This report from DNA," he slid over the fingerprint comparison so that Greg could see it properly, "says that Roger's fingerprints were on the gun."

"But his weren't the only fingerprints on the gun," Greg noted, pointing to the results on the page. "It was Roger's and Larson Wolfe's."

"Well of course his fingerprints were on the gun, Greg," Nick said. "It was his gun. But this interview here..." he picked up Warrick's interview with the gun's owner and skimmed through it. "...Wolfe says that when he came to bring Roger his food that evening, 'that little sneak' took his gun from its holster."

"He's lying!" Greg cried. "We have no proof that his account is true!"

Warrick and Nick exchanged a glance. The Warrick said slowly and soothingly, "Except for Roger's fingerprints on the murder weapon."

Greg looked down sadly. All the evidence was pointing to Roger. Perhaps he was wrong about him all along.

"Don't worry about it," said Nick comfortingly, slapping his shoulder in a friendly gesture. "I'm sure that in the future you'll find...other abused people to get attached to. And I'm sure those people won't have actually killed - hey, what are you doing?"

For Greg had gotten up, reached over, and grabbed his own pile of evidence. He was now flipping though the papers at record speed, obviously looking for something specific. As he got to one of the last pages, he let out a "ha!" and pointed to a note he took on the interview with Bradshaw. The other two glanced at it but had no idea what this had to do with anything. Nick shook his head in an answer, making Greg roll his eyes and explain as though it were obvious. "The other officer! He said...that he heard a gunshot and ran into the room. What was he doing out of there?"

Warrick opened and closed his mouth a few times before taking the paper himself and looking for an answer. But he didn't find it. He shrugged.

"Bring in the officers!" Greg ordered, standing up with his hands on his hips. This was just starting to get interesting.

Author's Note: Chapter 21, and you know what that means...BLACKJACK!
Don't worry, I'm not gonna drag this on forever, just until I get bored by it.