Warrick left the interrogation room and headed for the lab's garage, not seeing the point of sitting around, listening to more lies. He needed to get up, to move anyway, to be an active part of the investigation, not the passive role of interviewing. What the hell had Carly gotten mixed up in? A husband who didn't seem to love her, and a so called niece, who knows what kind of lies that girl had fed to her, wrangling herself in to Carly's life. Why had he left last night before he got to really talk to her? He hadn't liked the possessive way Tommy Bryans had treated her, as if Carly was a money making machine rather than his wife, nearly dragging her away. He was pissed at himself for not making Carly talk to him right then, when he had her in front of him. His blood was pounding in his ears. Stopping at the water fountain nestled in the wall, he sipped the cool water, the coldness running down his throat and hitting his empty stomach with a frozen thump. He cupped his left hand underneath the stream, letting the water pool in his palm, then splashed the water onto his face.
"Stay here, I'll get you a towel." Carly laughed and ran to the back of the house, leaving a soaking wet Warrick dripping just inside the front door. He wiped his hand down his wet face, and wondered if it did any good, or if he'd deposited more water than he'd removed. The rustling of Carly's dressed announced her reappearance before she appeared from the darkened hallway, a fresh flood of laughter escaping when she caught sight of him."It's really not funny." He playfully scolded her, taking the towel and drying his face.
"I'm sorry. You just look…you look like a wet penguin." Moving behind him, she tugged the tuxedo jacket off of him. "Oh, it's worse than I thought" she murmured, seeing the soggy wet white dress shirt that clung to the skin on his back. "Come on," she grabbed his hand and led him down the hall. "You can wear my mom's robe while this thing dries."
"I really don't want your mom to see me wearing her robe." Warrick protested. "Especially when I tell her I left her umbrella at the prom."
"She's working the graveyard shift at the diner. Traded so she could be home with me this afternoon." Carly steered him to the left, depositing him into the bathroom, off the hallway carpet. Her mothers bedroom was just two steps across the short hallway, and she disappeared into the room, coming back a moment later with a light pink silky robe, with a lace collar. Warrick took the garment from Carly's outstretched hand, holding it between his thumb and index finger. He looked at it. Then he looked at Carly. "You'll catch pneumonia if you stay in that wet tux." Acquiescing, Warrick took a step backwards, further into the bathroom and shut the door to change.
By the time he'd slugged out of the wet clothes, draped them as neatly as he could over the shower door, and talked his self in to the robe, a screaming whistle intruded through the quiet house. Warrick followed the noise into the kitchen to find Carly pouring hot water into large blue mugs, a tea bag string hung over the side of each cup. She'd changed out of her dress, and now wore a pair of dark blue leggings and a white t-shirt, about three sizes to large. The high-heels were gone, and she padded around the kitchen in bare feet. Her hair was still piled up in the prom perfect do, and was a stark contrast to the unfussy clothes, a contrast that Warrick found endearing.
Looking up when she heard him, she took in the sight of her tall lanky friend wearing a frilly, somewhat flimsily pink robe, his hands clutching the material closed in the two most important places. She began to laugh again.
He let her laugh for a minute, before releasing his death grip of the robe where he held it at his chest and held up his index finger "Not a word of this at school."
She crossed her heart and held up the hand, oath like, "Promise."
Handing him his tea, she passed him and made her way into the living room, beginning the rehash of the evening.
In the lab hallway, Warrick slammed his right fist into his left palm, at the same time two dayshift CSI's turned the corner, headed toward him, they caught the pumped fist and immediately began to back away. For the first time since leaving the interrogation room, Warrick took stock of himself. His shoulders were tight and hunched up, every muscle in his body screamed pissed off. Add in the scowl he knew he was wearing, and the punch into his own hand, he supposed he'd back away from him too. Consciously forcing his shoulders to relax, he strode past the other CSI's, gave them a sociable nod and continued on down the hall toward the garage.
Behind him, in the interrogation room, Grissom broke the silence left by Warrick's statement and departure, "So who is she?" he asked, referring to Ginger.
Catherine, working on nothing but instinct, tucked her head for just a moment, before looking at Grissom. "I don't know, but I have an idea." She stood up, and leaned back over the chair she had been sitting in. "Get a cheek swab for me, would ya?"
Gil lifted his chin, realization swimming into his eyes. "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"
With a shrug of one shoulder Catherine said, "Only one way to find out." And she swept out of the room.
When Warrick walked into the garage, he found Nick standing near the headlights on the passenger side, lifting the tent of plastic off the car, waving away the fog of fumigant drifting out. Although it was obvious, Warrick still asked, "You fumed the whole car?"
Nick nodded, still staring at the bank of fumigant lifting out from under the plastic, his face serious, all of his attention at the task at hand.
Stepping to the driver's side of the car, Warrick lifted the corner of the tarp, the part that covered the hood. "Want some help?"
"Yeah." Together, the two men pulled the giant sheet of plastic off the Camry, folding it over itself until they reached the trunk, tossing the tarp on to the ground. "You want the outside or in?" Nick asked, and the look Warrick gave him answered his question. "Dumb question, I guess."
"Yeah." Warrick let out in a breathy humorless snort. He took the two steps back up to the driver's side door and opened it with a yank. Nick started with the trunk, going over each inch of the metal with his flashlight, looking for any fingerprints the fumes had attached to and made prominent.
Warrick used his own flashlight, searching the driver's seat, drops of Carly's blood showed in the flashlight beam, long since dried, he could see the trench in each drop that Sara's swab had made when she took samples at the scene. Pulling himself out from the car, he closed his eyes, and stretched his neck, rolling it back and forth, then with a deep breath, he slid into the drivers seat.
Nick opened the door on the passenger's side, sticking his head inside. "You find anything?"
Warrick stared at the steering wheel for a moment before answering. Several pale gray fingerprints dotted the top of the circle. "Yeah. Lots of prints. Smudges mostly."
"Here." Nick handed Warrick a cluster of tape lifts.
"Thanks" Warrick muttered taking them and placed all but one in his lap. Peeling the plastic-like tape off the first card, he pressed the sticky side down on to the visible fingerprint, the oils from the skin adhered to the tape, and then to the card when the tape was pressed back down.
"Does the engine turn over?" Nick asked nodding toward the ignition and the set of keys dangling from it. Warrick turned the switch; the engine made a gurgling sound, and didn't turn over, but the battery still worked. The headlights turned on, splashing their beams against the wall of the garage, the dashboard lights sprang on, and the radio began to play.
"Lady in red is dancing with me" the music filled the car.
"That's an old one." Nick said, backing himself out of the passenger door.
"Yeah. It is." Warrick replied sadly, and turned off the ignition switch.
Grabbing the short trolley that was leaning against the wall, Nick tossed it to the ground, and lowered himself on to it, face up, and pulled himself under the car. After a moment, Warrick heard his friends muffled voice. "Axels broken."
"That could have happened in the crash."
"Yeah it could have" Nick pushed himself out from under the engine and stood up, looking at Warrick through the windshield. "Or, it could be sabotage. Maybe it wasn't Carly who was supposed to die."