Note: I know I said it'd be a couple days...but I had the day off today, so I spent it writing. I know the first chapter was kind of on the short side...no worries, this is a little longer. Thanks to all y'all that read and reviewed the first chapter, made me smile to wake up this morning and see my inbox bustin' out with reviews! Hope you like this chapter!
The air in the home was stifling. The thickness in the air was closing in on the two CSIs, at least on Nick anyway. Cigarette smoke lingered, threatening to cut off the air supply in the small house. There was a yellow tinge to almost everything in the home.
It was typical for a Vegas home, a one-story white stucco ranch style house. The two bedrooms located at the end of a short hallway were near the miniscule bathroom. Nick slowly made his way into the missing girl's bedroom. Sweat dappled his forehead; he could feel perspiration running down his back, between his shoulder blades causing his black tee shirt to stick to him. Couldn't someone turn down the heat?
"Wonder where the mother is?" Grissom asked as he lingered in the hallway taking in the few family photos hung on the wall. There was no response from Nick; he really shouldn't have expected one. The family looked happy. He saw their eyes; they weren't hiding anything like most of the photos he saw. There was life in their eyes, the happiness ran deep.
Funny how things change… and they always change. He'd already witnessed what change can do to a man. He inched his way down the hall, toward the girl's bedroom.
Nick was busy taking in his surroundings, oblivious to the man that stood and watched him in the doorway. The girl really liked colors; her room was bright, vibrant, and full of life. It was a shell. It was as if Nick could feel the life slipping out of the room as he stood there. He put his field kit down on the purple shag carpet and made his way to the far wall where the girl's dresser was piled high with books. Cinderella, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe…the girl was into fairy tales, he thought as he ran a gloved finger over the bindings of the books.
"She was a princess," Nick said under his breath as he took in the framed award certificates lining her wall. She'd won several spelling bees and received awards for writing; Best Short Story in the Second Grade, he read.
Then there was the closet. Her clothes were as lively as the room. Colors danced across the bar; dresses, scarves and sweaters lined the closet. The room screamed creativity. It was easy to tell the little girl was an artist.
"Finding anything?" Grissom asked entering the room. His voice was off. It was gentle, soft, tender even.
Nick looked up from a photo he held in his hand. A girl smiled back at him, her front two teeth were missing. She was dressed in a bright pink taffeta skirt, colorful leggings, a bright purple tee shirt with a pink feather boa draped around her neck. Her blue eyes were vibrant and bright as she played with the golden retriever in the photo. A small tiara sat atop her long brown crimped hair. She was a princess through and through.
"Susan Tedesco," Nick said motioning with the picture frame. Was that a catch in his voice? Grissom walked around the room his hands in the pockets of his navy CSI parka. He began making mental notes of the girl's life as it was captured in the many pictures lying around.
"Why don't you go process the father's room?" Grissom said standing next to the CSI. "I'll take this room," he nodded a hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"I'm okay," Nick shook his head. "I've got it." His accent was thicker than usual as he pulled at the neck of his shirt. If it wasn't so damn hot in here, he thought.
"I mean it," Grissom said handing the man his field kit. "I'll take this room. Go check the others."
"Fine," he sighed in resignation. He took his field kit from his boss and walked out of the room. The hall was narrow. The pain he was getting behind his eyes wasn't helping matters any, either. He looked down the hallway toward the father's bedroom. The door was half closed; there was no light on in the room. He cringed at the thought of what he might find behind that door.
Nick leaned against the wall and shut his eyes, taking a minute to gather his senses before diving further in. There was a tightening in his chest. He hadn't felt like this in several months. He took several deep breaths to try and calm his rapidly beating heart.
"You alright man?" Warrick asked causing Nick to jump. "Hey," he said stopping abruptly in his tracks, "Sorry. I thought you heard me. You alright there?"
"Fine," he nodded, "just catching my breath."
"Where's Griss?" the tall CSI asked slowly moving closer while keeping a concerned eye on his partner.
Nick motioned with his head toward Susan Tedesco's room as he worked up the willpower to enter the dark bedroom. He hated it more than anything when Warrick looked at him that way, and it had been happening more often recently. He vaguely heard his partner catch Grissom up on his findings outside as he pulled out his Maglite and swept the pitch black room with the yellow-white beam of light. Finding the light switch he flipped it, turning on the light next to the queen sized bed taking up most of the space in the small room. The room itself was a wreck. The bed was left unmade and clothes were strewn about the room, over the armchair in the corner, hanging over half-open and closed drawers in the dresser. There was a pile of apparently dirty clothes spilling out of the closet into the middle of the room.
Like everything else in the house, the walls, though white at one point, were now tinged a dingy yellow. The smell of nicotine and cheap alcohol made Nick's stomach turn.
It was clear this was a man's room. There didn't seem to be a woman's touch in the house outside the little girl's room. That room looked like it belonged in a different house altogether, it was like stepping into another world. The smoke and alcohol seemed to graciously miss that room. The flowered comforter atop the bed in the father's room was the only sign that a woman, at one time, had occupied it. If Nick looked close enough, he could have sworn he could still see the indentation of two bodies on the mattress.
Had the mother died?
Had she simply left the family, leaving Susan behind?
Doubtful, Nick thought.
He really dreaded going over this room, but he gritted his teeth and got to work.
Donny Tedesco was a pig. Everything in this room pointed to a man that cared little about life. Nick found four empty whisky bottles underneath the bed. He bagged each bottle separately and laid them aside. There was a half empty bottle of the same cheap booze in the bedside table drawer. A glass was left half empty atop the small piece of furniture.
What's a girl like Susan doing in a house like this? Nick shook his head as he bagged the whiskey, poured the contents of the glass into an evidence jar and bagged the glass.
He slowly made his way around the room, as he had done in the first bedroom. There were no photos to speak of in this room, though. It was as if the man were trying to erase all memory of his family, or maybe just his wife. It was hard to tell.
Nick came to the pile of clothes spilling from the closet. Sifting through the top of the pile he came to a nearly shredded white tee shirt. He noticed the blood right away. It wasn't a lot, but it was fresh, still wet in spots. He carefully bagged the shirt and sorted through the rest of the clothes. It was harder to notice the blood on a pair of navy blue sweat pants, but it was there, and it didn't go unnoticed by the trained eye of the CSI.
God, don't let this be the girl's blood, Nick sighed and stood from his crouched position.
Had this man been smart enough to change clothes before calling the police? If so, why dump them in a pile of dirty clothes rather than the trash?
He looked at the bed, his hands on his hips. It was the last thing to process, and it was the thing Nick dreaded most.
He grabbed the ALS from the hallway and returned to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Putting on a pair of orange safety glasses, he switched on the ALS and turned off the lights in the bedroom. The light gave the room an eerie blue glow as Nick crossed over to the bed. Pulling back the white flowered sheets, he scanned the light over the bottom sheet. There, as clear as day, were stains. Semen, Nick noted the multiple stains. When was the last time this guy had changed his sheets?
He continued scanning the bed, noting each stain with a black felt tipped pen. He shuddered when he came to another stain. It wasn't semen. Was there a woman in his life after all? He marked these stains with another pen.
As he finished processing the bed, he turned the bedroom lights back on and opened the door.
"Hey, man you finished with that?" Warrick asked pointing to the ALS as Nick gathered up his evidence.
"Yeah," he nodded not looking up from his task at hand. The pain behind his eyes had migrated to his temple and was steadily growing in intensity.
"Griss wants us to tag team on the living room and kitchen," he said pausing in the door way.
"I'm done here," Nick nodded. "I'll get started."
"Is there something up, bro?" Warrick asked not ready to let his partner pass.
"I'm fine," Nick shook his head. He hated the question as much as he knew Warrick hated his response.
Warrick clenched his jaw at the sound of the two words. Nick was lying, he knew it. He also knew the man was too stubborn to talk about it, let alone admit something was wrong. He'd worked with him too long to not know the man. They'd been through too much together.
"I'll start on the living room," Nick said squeezing past his partner and heading down the hallway.
Though there was never a good case to investigate, this particular one gave Nick a feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was something he hadn't felt in several months. It was nothing like the feelings he'd held onto during the McBride case. There wasn't that urgency, the hope that the girl was still alive. This feeling was much darker than that. It went much deeper than that, and he hated it with every fiber of his being.