Title: Goodbye, Mr. Grissom - Chapter 12
Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me. Hey Man, Nice Shot was recorded by Filter in 1995.
Back in the desert………………….
Gil Grissom drug his swollen tongue across his cracked, parched lips. It was dark again. The first thing he noticed was that his unwelcome companions had stealthily departed. He'd spent the remaining hours of daylight in battle with the vultures - some real, some not. The real ones had retreated when it was evident he was not close to death. They settled on the rocks atop the crevasse, patiently waiting. Occasionally, one would take flight and alight near him, awkwardly hopping closer until another was tempted to venture down. Squawking and squabbling, they would beat the air with their wings, trying to intimidate one another other. Then, it was his turn to wait patiently until one inadvertently drew close enough for him to hit squarely with a rock.
Once, he swore the dark shape that swooped toward him had Ecklie's face. Other times, he saw enemies from the past or the faces of the victims from unsolved cases. He found himself muttering apologies to them and their loved ones because he had provided no voice for the victim or closure for the family.
Now, studying the night sky, he occupied his mind by attempting to name the various constellations. After a time, he realized some were missing. Growing more alert, he noted an entire section of the sky was dark. Was it due to cloud cover? Was a storm front approaching? He sniffed the air and thought he smelled the fresh scent of rain. Could he dare hope for rain? He'd been without water for nearly forty-eight hours. Was this just another hallucination? It had been years, since he last prayed. But now, he prayed, with all his might, to all the Gods he could think of, for life-giving moisture.
"Yes!" He growled as the first drops pelted his injured leg. He scrabbled around, searching for a way to preserve the life giving raindrops. He found a depression in the hard bedrock, filled with sand, and began scooping it out. Locating another depression, he scooped it out as the full fury of the thunderstorm erupted overhead. He lay back and laughed out loud until he started coughing.
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At the lab………………..
Warrick found Catherine outside the lab, leaning on a bench, staring at the night sky. She was so still and pale, bathed in the moonlight. He wondered if he should disrupt her silent vigil.
"Cath? Are you okay? What are you thinking?"
She wiped a tear and recited: "Star light, Star bright, First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, Have the wish, I wish tonight."
"We all wish he was here."
"He always said one day he just wouldn't be here anymore. I always figured he'd just retire. It just never entered my mind that he might end up dead. I keep thinking, maybe, it would have been better……...if we still thought that was him in the Morgue. I hate thinkin' of him as buzzard bait. I don't think we're gonna find him. At least, not in time."
"I don't want to hear you talk like that – you just need some sleep."
"I can't sleep."
Warrick sat on the bench and joined her quiet contemplation of the night sky. He wished he could think of something to say to comfort and encourage her.
"Looks like a storm front is moving in." He observed after a couple of minutes.
"Yeah." She softly replied then roused herself. "Six hours 'til the morning meeting – I've got to find something!"
"Where do you want to start?"
"Let's go back to Davenport and review all the evidence from his previous case. There's got to be a clue somewhere!"
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At the Tangiers………………
"That's him!" Greg Sanders whispered excitedly to Nick Stokes.
"You sure?" Nick glanced at the photo from Justin Connolly's ID then back at the guy seated at the blackjack table. The greasy, dirty blonde hair and straggly goatee didn't seem to match the preppie looking young man in the photo.
"Yeah, I've run into him a couple of times since he left the lab. He's had the grunge look going for at least a year now."
"Okay, I'm gonna call Brass. You keep an eye on him." Nick stepped back around the bar, pulled out his cell and hit the speed dial.
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Justin Connolly tried to lie his way out when Greg Sanders and Nick Stokes eased onto stools on either side of him. On a computer, he could pull off just about any stunt, but lying face-to-face was an art he hadn't mastered. He just hadn't been able to stay confined in the room anymore and, well, a few hands of blackjack always calmed him down.
He remembered staring at the photo of the Graveyard Shift softball team. They had trounced the Dayshift team. That was when things were good and he had the world in front of him. He traced his fingers over Gil Grissom's face and wished he'd have gotten to know him better before it all happened. Before Grissom caught him - tampering with evidence.
I wish I would've met you
now it's a little late.
What you could've taught me
I could have saved some face
Grissom went easy on him, gave him a lecture and told him he couldn't keep someone on that he couldn't trust. He got a job at a computer firm but it was boring work and the other people working there were either idiot's with their noses stuck up the boss's ass or childish geeks who did nothing but game in their off time. He tried to strike up some conversations about the crime lab and the interesting stuff they did there; he even tried a couple of pitches to the boss about starting a fraud investigation group.
Deciding maybe, he'd start his own business, he started researching, then trying various cyber crimes. After all, one had to understand the crime in order to investigate it. Right? Yeah, sure. He was good and it was so easy. Then he began to think "Why start a business and have to deal with people stupid enough to get their identity stolen in the first place? Naw, just rip'em off first!" So, he did.
Saturday morning, he'd watched the news, trying to find out some sports scores, to see footage of a body bag. The reporter covering the story said the identity of the murdered CSI was 'pending notification of next of kin' but he knew who it was. He couldn't believe Davenport had gone through with it.
He packed a bag, got the cash out of his safe deposit box and checked into the Tangiers under a fake name. And, for some reason, he took that picture with him. He ran his tongue over his split lower lip and remembered the barely contained rage in Warrick Brown's eyes. An exchange of words, then a fist flew up, connecting firmly with his mouth and his head snapped back from the force. Two uniformed officers pulled Warrick down the sidewalk and gave him a push toward the crime lab. Looking at the faces of the men surrounding him, Justin realized he wouldn't get out of this. The disgust in Jim Brass' gaze frightened him. Nick Stokes pinned him with an icy glare for a moment before Justin glanced at Greg. Greg had that faraway sad look that one usually reserved for funerals.
they think that your early ending
was all wrong
for the most part they're right
but look how they all got strong
that's why I say hey man, nice shot.
what a good shot man.
a man
has gun
hey man
have fun
nice shot
Justin Connolly sat in the interrogation room staring morosely at his hands stretched in front of him. The handcuffs on his wrists were fastened to a metal ring in the center of the table. He was decked out in orange coveralls with shackles around his ankles. They were giving him the full treatment and some time alone to think.
now that the smoke's gone
and the air is all clear
those who were right there
got a new kind of fear
"I think I see a tear there." Brass commented from where he and Catherine stood observing behind the two-way glass.
"I hope that means 'let's go' because we really need to find out what he knows, and soon."
"Yeah, I think maybe he has sweated enough. After you, kiddo."
you'd fight and you were right
but they were just too strong
they'd stick it in your face
and let you smell what they consider wrong.
that's why I say hey man, nice shot.
what a good shot man.
a man
has gun
hey man
have fun
nice shot.
Brass and Catherine took seats across from Justin Connolly and waited for a couple of minutes. He didn't make eye contact, just kept staring at his hands, cuffed in front of him. Finally, Brass tossed the CD on the table, then asked. "Did you make that?"
"Yes." He responded, then added in justification. "I never felt like I belonged anywhere before I started working at the crime lab. Grissom just couldn't believe I wouldn't do it again, no matter what I said. He said he couldn't trust me."
"He thought you had a lot of talent. It wasn't easy for him but trust is implicit in this business. He hoped you'd apply at a lab somewhere else and make good use of your ability." Catherine said it softly, hoping she was hitting the right nerve. She had no idea what this young man had done but she knew Gil always hoped for the best.
"Yeah, well……………….it's too late now."
"Gil is not dead, as far as we know." Catherine stated.
"We could use your help to find him, maybe offer you a deal?" Brass added.
"I'll try. I deserve whatever I get, but what do you want to know?" Connolly looked Catherine in the eye.
"Darryl Henson said they dumped Gil, still alive, but injured in a remote area, possibly near Red Rock Canyon."
"He never said anything about doing that." He paused and thought hard. "I don't know if this will help but I met him at his apartment the first couple of times. The last one…………..he got served with a Restraining Order from his ex-fiancé. He said he didn't have any contact with her, but he'd gone out to an old cabin on some property her family owned for target practice. As a convicted felon, he couldn't go to a range. Not supposed to have a gun, you know."
"Yeah, did you catch her name?" Brass asked.
"No."
"Doesn't matter, I'll find it!" Catherine exclaimed as she bolted out of the room.
TBC