Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 8
Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me. The lyrics to Young Lust belong to Pink Floyd. The lyrics to Fingerprints belong to Leonard Cohen.
Spoilers: Reference to Jimmy Tadero from Felonius Monk.
"Willows." Catherine answered.
"Cath, it's Nick. We've got a mess to sift through here. I'm sending Timothy Afton's truck back to the lab. Can you work it?"
"Yeah, Warrick is back. He can help me. What's with the truck?"
"The owner of the motel said it was gone until sometime after two AM last night. He was keeping watch because Afton owed two weeks back rent and promised to pay up yesterday. We know Afton was dead by two so I'm thinking whoever iced him brought the truck back."
"And, they might have used it to transport Gil."
"I think it's a good possibility."
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Catherine, dressed in CSI coveralls, gathered her hair up and secured it in a ponytail while she walked the perimeter of the truck. Warrick was a few steps in front of her, photographing the exterior. Donning a pair of Latex gloves, she printed the door handle then opened the driver's side door while he took pictures of the interior. After completing the passenger door, she went to the back of the truck, printing the handles of the hatch and the tailgate.
"How do you want to handle it?" Warrick asked, setting the camera down.
"We'll probably get the prints quickest if we fume it."
"I'll get some sheeting." Warrick said.
"Hey, Cath." Jacqui Franco greeted.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Just wanted to let you know I finished with all the prints we have so far. I made a spreadsheet to cross-reference multiple hits. The janitor, Daryl Henson, was all over the place, most significantly on Grissom's personnel file."
"Brass is already looking for him. Are you up for working a few more?" Catherine indicated the stack of prints they had already lifted from the truck.
"Why not? Fingerprints are my life! I can chase Greg out and put on Leonard Cohen."
"Send Greg this way. We can use his help." Catherine could hear Jacqui bellowing the lyrics to Fingerprints as she left the garage bay and headed back to her lab.
I touched you once too often
Now I don't know who I am
My fingerprints were missing
When I wiped away the jam
Yes, I called my fingerprints all night
But they don't seem to care
The last time that I saw them
They were leafing through your hair
Fingerprints, fingerprints
Where are you now my fingerprints?
"I think she's had way too much caffeine." Warrick commented.
"I think you're right."
Catherine set up the apparatus while Warrick and Greg spread the plastic sheeting over the top of the truck. Half an hour later, they tore the duct tape loose that sealed the makeshift tent to the concrete floor and went to work. Warrick and Greg were working the cab when Catherine found a hand print on the Plexiglas window in the back. It appeared someone had purposefully put it there. Holding her hand up to shadow the print she estimated the size and shape as consistent with Grissom's. Trying to contain her excitement, she quickly photographed and lifted the print then clamored out of the truck bed.
"I found a hand print." She shouted then rushed off to the fingerprint lab.
"Hey!" Catherine skidded around the back of the truck where Warrick was watching Greg lift prints. "It was Gil's handprint! He was here and aware enough to leave it!"
"I found something too. It was behind the passenger's seat." Warrick held up a sawed off double barrel shotgun. Anticipating her line of questioning, he added. "No prints and the serial number has been ground down. It's been wiped clean but it has been fired recently. I called Bobby to work on it; he might be able to recover the serial number."
"I'm finished with the undercarriage. Have you guys found anything else?" Warrick asked, rolling out from under the truck and climbing to his feet.
"Positive for blood on this spare tire. Greg, help me get it out."
"Cath, there's a roll of duct tape behind you." Warrick said and all three CSIs focused on the silver roll of tape lying to the side. "They might have used it to bind him."
"Good thinking. Knowing Gil, he'll figure some way to preserve the ends of the tape so we can compare it." Catherine said, picking up the roll of tape. "So, I'm gonna print it and work the end off the roll. When we find him, we've got one more link in the chain."
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Out in the desert with Grissom………..
When he awoke again, it was night andtoo dark to see his watch. With a grunt of pain, he moved to look at the night sky. The full moon hung, large and low on the horizon; therefore, it was still early. A coyote howled in the distance and an answering yip came from nearby. "They don't get too far from water." He thought.
Eyeing the walls of his desert prison, there was only one way he could hope to climb out. Crawling to the base of the rocks, he rested and gazed up at the edge. It looked far more formidable from the base. Twice, he tried. Twice, he made it halfway up before falling back. After the second tumbling slide back down, he realized he would never be able to get enough leverage with only one good arm and leg, both on the left side. He slammed his right shoulder repeatedly against a rock, trying to force it back into alignment. It didn't work. He tried climbing out again anyway, hoping he could force his injured shoulder to hold his weight long enough to gain further purchase. The third time he slid down the slope, he gave up.
He didn't feel hungry, although it had to have been more than twenty-four hours since he last ate but he was extremely thirsty. He soon realized he needed something to keep his mind off the persistent thirst and throbbing pain from his knee and shoulder. He felt around and found a smooth stone to suck on, hoping to slack the thirst. To occupy his mind, he began going over the open cases that were within his purview.
Sometime later in the night, when he began to shiver, he located his windbreaker and wrapped it around his shoulders. It stank of stale sweat but he was grateful for the warmth it provided. The night before, it had been unseasonably cold, after a brief thunderstorm passed through in the late afternoon. He had changed from his leather jacket to his CSI windbreaker, then noting that the convenience store doors stood wide open, pulled his leather jacket on over it to ward off the chill in the air.
He began thinking of Catherine. Knowing she would be leading the troops in the search for him, he worried for a moment that she would push too hard. He could still picture her as vividly as the first time he saw her. He had only been in Vegas for a month and the sight of her on the stage had taken his breath away. The lyrics to Young Lust by Pink Floyd drifted into his mind.
I am just a new boy,
Stranger in this town.
Where are all the good times?
Who's gonna show this stranger around?
Ooooo I need a dirty woman.
Ooooo I need a dirty girl.
Sweat gleamed on her lithe form, darkening her blonde hair where it came into contact with her damp skin. Rivulets of sweat trickled between her bare breasts. A completely unprofessional desire overcame him; he wanted to chase those salty remnants away with the tip of his tongue.
Will some woman in this desert land,
Make me feel like a real man?
Take this rock and roll refugee.
Ooo babe, set me free.
Ooooo I need a dirty woman.
Ooooo I need a dirty girl.
Ooooo I need a dirty woman.
Ooooo I need a dirty girl.
"Forget it, pal. She's married, to an absolute ass but that doesn't make her any less married." Jimmy Tadero informed him with a wink and a smirk. "And, close your mouth, that drool might contaminate the scene."
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It was well after midnight when Warrick carried a sleeping Catherine into the break room and laid her gently on the sofa. He found a blanket in the corner closet, covered her and slipped out the door. He turned around to see Jim Brass striding down the hall.
"Hey Rick, where's Catherine?"
"Asleep, in there." Warrick gestured to the closed door. Brass noted the sign Warrick was taping to the door 'Catherine is sleeping. Enter at your own risk.'
"She finally passed out, huh?"
"Yeah. She needs to get some rest." Warrick didn't tell Brass he had been massaging the kinks out of her neck when he looked around to see she had fallen asleep. He stood with her head nestled against his chest for a long moment; wishing things were different, before picking her up.
"We've got Darryl Henson in custody. I thought I'd see if she wanted to sit in on the interrogation. You interested?"
"He's the Janitor, right?"
"Yep, left his prints all over the place. I figure he can't be too bright."
"Alright let me tell Nick where I'm going."
TBC