"Broken nose, cheek bones, fractured ribs, all from probable impact with the steering wheel or perhaps the dash board." Doctor Al Robbins bent slightly over the body on the shiny metal table, his fingers gently nudged at the abrasions. Across the table, his assistant David stood with his back to the door taking notes, occasionally using his index finger to push his glasses back up his nose.
When Warrick burst through the double doors of the morgue, his eyes scanned the familiar room as if he was seeing it for the first time. Stopping his examination, Doc Robbins looked up, meeting Warrick's eyes, recognizing the blue orbs of his co-worker, but not the fear, confusion and pain they carried. "Warrick? Are you alright?" David turned around, following the elder doctors line of sight, his face turning from quizzical to worried in the instant it took to take in the sight of the man standing in the open doorway.
Through the dull hum in his ears, Warrick heard the doctor's question, but the words made no sense to him, his own name meaningless. His entire universe consisted only of the mass of blonde hair hanging off the end of the table. Every fiber of his being, every nerve of his body, all vibrating; if he'd been able to consciously think about it, he would have felt like a newly tuned violin; strung tightly and ready to wail.
Nick appeared in the open doorway, out of breath from the run to catch up with Warrick. He stopped short before running smack into Warrick, who was as still as a statue, his arms stretched out to his sides, holding open the doors.
"Gentlemen?" Doc Robbins voice took on the authoritative tone he usually reserved for his kids, not for CSI's he worked with. Nick held up a hand, stopping the doctor's discourse, at the same time Warrick found his feet and walked over to the body on the table.
"Guys, I know the vic was famous. . ." David began, but Nick cut him off.
"He knew her David. Carly was an old friend of Warrick's."
"Oh." David answered, his voice half full of shame in his assumption and half in awe of Warrick's proximity to someone famous.
Robbins, for his part, was more concerned about Warrick. The lanky CSI had still not uttered a word, and only stood there, staring at the woman's face, somehow avoiding, or just not seeing the torso that had already been laid open, her organs removed and lined up on another table, next to a clear jar of liquid, Carly's stomach contents. "Warrick, don't remember her like this." The doctors voice employed the bedside manner quality that he so rarely got to use.
Warrick didn't respond.
With a deep sigh and a shake of his head, Nick moved up behind him, and clasped his friend's shoulders. "Come on man, Doc's right. You shouldn't see her like this."
Warrick swallowed hard. "She…" was all he could manage to say.
"I know." Nick soothed and pulled at Warrick's shoulders, maneuvering him away and out the door.
"I want this case."
"I think you need to go home and get some…"
"I want this case." Warrick stood up from the couch; setting down the glass of water Nick had brought him ten minutes ago after steering him in to the break room. Now, partially recovered from his shock, Warrick stood, staring down Catherine.
"Technically, it's Grissom's case…" Catherine tried her last excuse to keep Warrick off the case she knew would hurt him more than help.
"Catherine…" Warrick's voice held a warning and she took it to heart.
Holding up a hand to stop him from saying whatever it was he was about to say, she gave in. "Ok, ok. I'll talk to Grissom. He'd probably welcome you with open arms."
Gil Grissom shook his head. "No." He offered nothing in the way of explanation, just the simple no. Catherine wasn't giving up without a fight.
"Gil, he needs to do this. He feels…well, I don't know what he feels, but when I lost Eddie…"
Grissom cut her off. "When Eddie died, I didn't allow you to work the case, because you were to close to it. Same with Warrick. And," Gil pointed at her with the pen in his hand "he's already proved himself incapable of emotional detachment when a friend of his involved."
"Yeah, I remember, but that was different, he hasn't seen Carly in so many years, she's like a complete stranger to him now…"
"Then why does he feel the need to work this case?"
"Because…" Catherine held her breath, searching her brain for just the right answer. She exhaled loudly when the right words didn't come. She shook her head in defeat and tossed up her hands. "I don't know why. But he does need to."
Grissom pulled off his glasses, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath of his own, the actions of man who knew all to well the meaning of the phrase, 'damned if you do, damned if you don't.' "Catherine…" he began, and opened his eyes, surprised to find Conrad Ecklie, the assistant director of the lab, standing behind Catherine in the open office doorway. "Conrad." Grissom greeted his boss civilly, if a little coolly.
Catherine turned, and from the look on her face, Grissom knew Ecklie's sudden appearance was a surprise to her as well. "Gil, Catherine." Conrad stepped into the room, and stuck his hands in his pants pockets. "I'm glad you're both here, I've just spoke with the Sheriff; Carly Lynn James was a star, the press is already setting up camp outside, the Sheriff wants both teams on this case, all resources are available to you."
Catherine turned back toward Grissom, a cat like grin spreading across her face. "Problem solved."
Several spot lights crisscrossed around the dance floor. Warrick held Carly around her waist, and hoped that his sweaty palms weren't seeping into her dress. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and she felt him swallow hard. Lifting her head, she looked up at him. "Did you request this song for me?"
He hadn't been paying attention to the lyrics, and paused a moment, listening to the words. "Lady in red is dancing with me. Cheek to cheek. Nobody here, just you and me" He smiled, realizing the significance.
"No, but I probably should have."
"Yes. You should have." Carly teased before she laid her head back on his shoulder.
"Warrick?" he looked up, and under different circumstances, Sara might have been amused by his expression. He seemed bewildered, a little lost. "You alright?"
"Yeah, fine. Why do you ask?" He forced his muscles to relax, leaning his body against the doorframe of the layout room.
She looked away from him, the way anyone does when they know they're being lied to and don't want to press the issue. "You've been standing there for a couple of minutes, staring into space" she told him, as she looked at the evidence laid out on the table in front of her.
He didn't bother to try and explain. Even if he'd felt the need to, he wasn't sure what he would say.
"What've we gotten so far?" Warrick walked into the room and stood behind her, she glanced over her shoulder at him, then turned her attention back to the table and reached for a report encased in one of the files stacked at her side. Handing it to him with one hand, she tucked strands of brunette hair behind her ear with the other and answered his question, speaking as she went back to work, dusting fingerprint powder on to the water bottle in front of her.
"Police report on the accident. My notes and sketches of the scene." Warrick held the report in front of him with both hands gingerly, as if it contained the secrets of Life itself, and he slid into the chair at the head of the table. Each CSI studied what was in front of them in silence for a few moments before Sara broke the silence. "Gris says you knew her."
"High school." Warrick answered without looking up. Sara nodded once in reply.
"You date her?" Sara asked, cocking an eyebrow, and tilted the bottle, examining a fingerprint the dust had made visible.
"We were friends." Warrick answered, his tone telling her he was done with that line of conversation. He flipped the page, his hand stopped in mid air, the page standing perpendicular. Sara noticed the sudden lack of activity and looked up, finding Warrick staring down at the first photo of the scene.
The Camry had gone off the road, veering into someone's yard, and smashing into a tree. The hood of the car now formed a squat v shape, with the tree stuck in the middle. The headlights were still on, and they beamed up at him from the photo like unblinking eyes. Sara had been standing roughly ten feet from the front of the car when she'd taken the picture, and the flash reflected back in the windshield, the small circle of light caught Warrick's eye, and when he looked closer, his heart jumped into his throat. A mass of blonde curls lay on top of the steering wheel; Carly's head had fallen forward at some point during the accident.
"Here." Sara reached across the table, taking the file from him, replacing it with another that contained only her sketches. When Warrick looked up at her, for just an instant she could see his eyes were wet, before he blinked several times, sweeping away the tears.
"Hey guys." Nick walked in and up to the table, and hooked his hands on his hips. "You seen the press outside? It's startin' to look like O.J. out there." He moved his chin, indicating everything on the table. "What can I do?"
"Well" Sara pulled the word in to two syllables. "It was a one vehicle incident. We haven't ruled if the scene was an accident or possibly malfunction of the vehicle or…" she paused and glanced at Warrick.
"Or driver error" he finished for her.
"We're still waiting on the tox report," she said apologetically.
"Warrick." Catherine's voice came from the doorway. When he looked up, she was standing just outside the threshold, her palms on either side of the doorframe, with her upper body leaning in through the opening. "You wanna come with me, we've got an interview. You might be better suited to handle this one."
"Yeah, alright." As he stood he glanced down at Sara, "You let me know when the tox screen comes back?"
"Um hum."
Nick watched Warrick leave the room, still worried about his friend. "It was her nieces car, right?" he asked, slipping down into the chair Warrick had just vacated.
"Yeah. A huh…" she checked the police report from the file Warrick had been reading. "A 2005 Camry."
"There shouldn't be any mechanical problems on anything that new."
"The niece drove in from Wyoming…could have been a slow leaking tire, Carly lost just control."
"Is the car here yet?"
"Yeah, Brass called a few minutes ago, tow truck just dropped it off." Sara looked up from the water bottle, her brown knitted, wondering what it was he was thinking.
"I'll go check it out." He stood from the chair and took one step toward the door before turning back around to face her again, a grin spread across his face "Unless of course, you need some help."
Sara's eyes could have shot arrows as she stared at him. "Didn't think so." Nick teased and turned back around, headed for the lab's garage.
Jim Brass, Capitan in the Las Vegas PD wasn't sure what to make of the man sitting on the other side of his desk. In his years on the force, he'd seen surviving spouses, both guilty and innocent, in tears, in shock, and even indifferent. His gut was telling him there was something wrong with this picture, he just couldn't figure out what it was.
Tommy Bryans sat with his hands folded neatly in his lap, the creases in his pants, the freshness of the unwrinkled shirt let Brass know the grieving husband had changed clothes not long ago. And the whiff of cologne told him the other man had shaved and showered in between learning of his wife's death and coming to the police station to discuss the accident.
"I don't know what more I can tell you." Tommy tugged at the cuff of his shirt, pulling it out from the suit jacket sleeve. "Carly and I spoke after her concert… she was tired, so I sent her home while I stayed at the theatre to finish up."
"Finish up…what?" Brass asked, leaning into the desktop.
Tommy smiled as if speaking to a small child. "Business."
Brass's eyes narrowed at the slight, but he kept his tone light. "How were you going to get home?"
"I caught a ride with one of the back up singers."
"Which one?"
Sighing deeply, Tommy pulled a face, the only true emotion he'd shown since Brass had met him. "What could that possibly matter?"
"Call it curiosity." Brass said simply and shrugged.
"Jill Johansen." Tommy told him reluctantly.
"What time did you get there?"
"Around three."
"Late night." Brass said narrowing his eyes at the quick flicker of something in Tommy's own eyes.
"I had quite a bit of … business to do." The flick of surprise with a trace of fear in his eyes was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the cool demeanor the captain had come to know so well.
"Business with … what was her name? Jill?" He let a devious man-to-man tone underlie his words.
"I resent that." And his voice reflected the resentment, Brass thought. Actual emotion from the tin man.
"I bet Carly did too."
Tommy stood up quickly and jerked at the lapels of his suit jacket, a gesture of disgust. "I won't be privy to these accusations. If you wish to speak to me further, you can do so through my lawyer." Turning on his heel, he left the room, letting the office door slam behind him.
Brass brought his coffee cup to his lips, sipping slowly, wondering if it was the girlfriend or the wife that had finally evoked some emotion.
"I still can't believe it." Ginger James rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes. Grissom, sat across the table from her, wondering why he didn't have the forethought to bring a box of tissue in with him.
"We understand this is hard, but if you could try and answer our questions, it'll help us figure out what happened that much sooner.
Ginger sniffled and nodded her head. Grissom opened his mouth to begin, when the click of the door opening stopped him. He turned, grateful to find Catherine walking in, Warrick right behind her. Questioning suspects he could handle, a crying girl was just a little too much for him.
"Ginger, this is Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown, they're also with the crime lab."
"Warrick Brown?" Gingers bright blue eyes shimmering with tears, found Warrick's and locked. "She used to talk about you all the time, she was so excited about seeing you again." A fresh flood of tears threatened, but Ginger held them back with another sniffle.
Warrick, not knowing what to say, and feeling his own threat of tears as a lump in his throat, only nodded.
"Ginger." Catherine got the girls attention as she slipped in the chair across from the young woman. "When did you get to Vegas?"
"Yesterday afternoon. I drove in from Wyoming."
"For the concert?"
"No. I ah… my grandma died a few months ago, just before I graduated, and I've been having problems with my boyfriend, Aunt Carly just thought it'd be a good change for me, to come up and live with her."
Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine saw Warrick raise his chin; his stare went from sympathetic to confusion. Without knowing what it was that had raised his reservations, she continued with the interview. "So you got in yesterday…"
"I went to the theatre, saw Carly for a few minutes, told her I was here. She had her driver take me to her house. Aunt Carly said it'd be easier that way, rather than me trying to find the house, and that she'd take my car home that night, after the concert." The memory of her aunt's final act of generosity broke the boundary and fresh tears flowed.
The CSI's let her cry for a few moments; Catherine took that time to study her friend sitting next to her. The confusion hadn't left Warrick's expression, and she took advantage of his far away stare to watch him, trying to figure out what it was the girl had said that bristled him.
"Ginger, have you called your parents, told them about Carly's death?" Warrick asked, his voice rushed, if Catherine hadn't known better, she'd have sworn he was interrogating a suspect, trying to catch a lie.
The girl shook her head; unruly curls bobbing with the motion. She wiped her nose with a crumpled tissue and starred at the tabletop for a moment. "My parents died when I was a baby. Car accident, my grandma and Aunt Carly raised me." With this answer, Warrick sunk into the back of his chair, his body language saying 'gotcha'.
"What about Carly's husband?" Grissom asked, trying to move the interview on.
"What about him?" Ginger asked, touching the tissue to the corner of each eye.
"What'd he think of your staying in the house?"
She shook her head. "I don't think he liked it. He's never been very friendly to me, and it's gotten worse since I got pregnant. Like when… this morning, when, he told me about Aunt Carly…he just said it, he didn't ease into it, or break it gently, he just said it. 'Your Aunt is dead, get dressed' I just didn't know what to do …" Ginger sobbed out in a rocky voice. Her face grew suddenly pale and she brought her fingers up to her lips and looked at Catherine with a frightened stare. Mumbling around her fingers, she said "I'm gonna - where's the …"
"Down the hall on the right." Catherine raised her arm and pointed to the right of the door. Ginger stood up quickly and rushed out of the room. Catherine watched the girl and debated going after her, her gaze shifting from Ginger's disappearing back to Warrick's face. "What?"
He turned his head slowly, and met her stare head on; Catherine saw something close to hatred in his blue eyes. "She's not Carly's niece. It's impossible."
Confusion clouded Catherine's features, and she squinted at him. "Why is it impossible?"
"Because, Carly was an only child, there was no brother or sister to have died in a car accident."