Chapter Five

Jim pulled his Ford Taurus to the curb and slammed on the brakes. He got out of the car and hurried over to Officer Taggart, dressed in jeans and a tee and leaning on an older model Mustang across the parking lot, partially concealed by the dumpster. The officer jerked his head in greeting and ducked behind the dumpster.

Jim jogged, as well as he could, over to the spot. "You're sure he never left today?" he asked. He'd asked this question at least three times on the phone already, but he wasn't taking any chances with this. It was Nick.

The officer nodded. In any other situation, he might have been agitated at being asked the same question over and over, implying he hadn't done his job properly, but just like Jim he knew there was no screwing around here, not when one of their own was involved. "Yeah, the neighbors came and went, but nothing moving from 209."

Jim peered up at the second story row of windows of the apartment building and nodded. "Alright. Thanks, Chase. Stick around out here."

Officer Taggart nodded and leaned back against the car.

Jim turned and started to leave, but stopped and looked back. "Do you think he saw you?"

The officer shook his head. "No, I checked it out before I came over here. Can't see back here from the second level. Not where his unit is, anyway."

Jim nodded again and headed for the stairwell that ran up the side of the building. When he got to the ninth apartment, he found himself hesitating. It was strange, but he pushed it aside and knocked authoritatively on the door. "Mr. Crane? Las Vegas PD," he called.

There was movement inside, and Jim heard slow footsteps coming towards the door. His fingers wanted to reach for his gun, but his brain told him to stop. The door opened, and the person standing in the doorway was a completely different man than the one he'd personally wrangled off of Nick and arrested four years earlier.

Nigel Crane was still shorter than average, that was something that couldn't be changed, but he no longer wore glasses, and seemed to have a much neater and more put-together air about him. His hair was freshly washed and neatly combed, his face clean-shaven.

"Can I help you?"

Jim was taken aback with just the sight of him. The last time he'd glimpsed the man, Crane had been a rocking, mumbling mess, obviously out of his mind.

"You said something about the police?" Crane prompted. He didn't appear to remember the officer that had tackled him in Nick's house.

Jim regained himself and stood straighter. "Detective Jim Brass. I have a couple of questions to ask you."

Crane seemed surprised but nodded, holding the door open for the detective to enter the apartment.

Jim took a moment to survey the area. "Looks like you've settled in here, Mr. Crane," he said as his eyes took in the small apartment.

What he could see was neat and tidy, nothing like Crane's last accommodations. The small living room had both a couch and easy chair, positioned around a small coffee table and pointed at a TV set, just as Catherine had said. It looked a normal, however sparsely furnished, living room. The adjoining kitchenette area was also neat. The counter was clean and there were already a few take-out menus pinned to the refrigerator door with magnets.

Crane nodded with a small frown. "I have, thank you." He motioned for his visitor to take a seat on the couch. "I wanted something a little homier after living in a hospital room for four years."

"Sure, sure," Jim said, taking a seat.

Crane settled across from him. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Jim was once again taken aback by the man, this time by his politeness. That, and also because he didn't seem even the least bit crazy. He shook his head. "No, thanks. This should only take a few minutes."

Crane nodded in an annoyingly understanding way. "What can I do for you?"

Jim got right to the point. "Tell me, Mr. Crane, what have you been doing to pass the time in the past few days?"

Crane frowned at the question but answered easily enough. "Nothing special. The center set me up with the apartment, but I had to buy food and things. And I've been looking for a job."

"Any takers?" Jim asked, somewhat coldly.

"No, not yet," Crane answered in an affronted tone.

"Well," Jim continued, sitting back, ready to let the first punch go, "have you happened to take a walk past the crime lab? Maybe Nick Stokes' house?"

"No, of course not," Crane answered forcefully. "I would never do that. I had wanted to tell Nick…Mr. Stokes…that I was sorry about everything that happened, but Doctor Kendall told me that wasn't a good idea. That I should just stay away from him."

Jim leaned forward, his most intimidating face set. "And have you?"

"Stayed away from him? Yes. I swear, I don't think I even remember where he lives."

"You don't think you remember?"

Crane leaned forward as well. "Detective Brass, I know you all must think that I'm the same guy I was when those…unfortunate events occurred. I'm not. The things I did back then are regrettable, and I am truly sorry for any pain that I may have caused the people involved."

Jim wasn't impressed. "Pain that you may have caused? You killed two innocent people and attacked a member of law enforcement. You threw him out of a window."

Crane looked down. "As I said, I'm truly sorry."

"Words don't mean much in situations like this, Mr. Crane."

Crane's head snapped back up, and his eyes appeared dark and cold. "Can I help you with anything else, Detective?"

"No, I think that'll do for now. I'm sure you'll be seeing us again." Jim stood and moved to the door.

Crane stood as well and went to open the door for the detective. Jim gave the obligatory "thanks for your time," but he didn't mean the words, and they came out flat and monotone.

Crane smiled and nodded and then shut the door neatly in his face.

Outside the apartment, Jim stood a moment, frustrated and confused. The guy had obviously changed. He seemed…normal. Sane. And like he was telling the truth, and that wasn't what Jim had wanted. He wanted something on this guy so he could be locked up in a small, cold cell where he belonged.

Jim pulled out his cell phone as he started down the stairs and dialed Grissom's number. He repeated the conversation for the CSI, and told him that Officer Taggart was going to be staying outside the apartment, still keeping an eye on Crane.

Jim sighed. There was nothing else they could do at the moment. And it sucked.

"Thanks, Jim," Gil said. He closed his phone and set it on the table. He looked up into four sets of wide, unblinking eyes, and shook his head. "Apparently, Crane claims he hasn't been anywhere near the lab or Nick's house."

"And Jim just believed him?" Warrick asked angrily.

"Warrick, all we can do is ask the questions, you know that. We don't have a warrant, we don't – "

"Then why don't we get one?" Warrick shot back.

Catherine glanced at him but kept quiet.

Gil shook his head slightly and sighed. He knew how much this was getting to all of them, but he was still expecting a little support from his team.

Greg and Sara also remained quiet. In fact, once had Gil hung up with Brass, the CSIs just sat around the table, quiet, unsure of what to do next, each with their own thoughts. And none of them good thoughts.

They sat like that until Jacqui stepped into the room. She had put a rush on the cup when Catherine and Greg brought it to her, and checked for prints quicker than anything she'd ever worked on before.

Sara saw her coming first and nearly leapt out of her chair. "Anything?"

Jacqui looked around at the anxious faces and shook her head. "Nothing."

"No prints or no matches?" Gil was quick to clarify.

"No prints."

Catherine shook her head angrily, Sara sank back into her chair, Greg looked away and Warrick slammed his hand on the table. "Damn it!"

Everyone looked at him for the outburst. Warrick stared back at Gil. "What the hell is going on here, Gris?" he asked.

If only he knew.

Tina Brown studied Nick from across the living room. He hadn't said more than two words to her since arriving at the house. In the relatively short time she'd known him, she knew enough to know this was very unlike him. He'd been over for several meals, always lively and vibrant and keeping her husband smiling. He was good for Warrick, who tended to run the extremes of both hot and cold.

Nick was now sitting just as silently, staring at the TV screen, though she doubted he was really following what was going on. Tina wasn't exactly following what was going on either. Not just on the program, but out in the real world. All she knew was that something was wrong, and whatever it was, Nick wasn't taking it very well. Warrick had been short on the phone. Not with her, necessarily, just with the situation, whatever it was. He hadn't really told her. He just said Nick was coming over for the night and to try and keep him occupied and calm.

She tried all right. She offered to make him something to eat. She asked him if he wanted to go out and do something. She tried to make small talk. For every offer, he smiled a small polite smile and said no, thank you, he was fine. As a last result, Tina turned on the television and channel surfed. They had settled on some late afternoon courtroom show.

She glanced up at the wall clock in the kitchen and saw it was nearing seven. It was time for food of some kind, and a small grumble in her stomach seconded that. She looked back over at Nick, who was still staring at the TV set, idly playing with the tassels on a pillow from the couch.

"Well," Tina said, lightly slapping her hands on her thighs as she rose from her chair.

Nick looked over, seeming surprised by movement in the room, like he had been spacing out altogether.

"I think I'm gonna order a pizza."

Nick looked at his watch and grinned tightly. "Sounds good to me." A sentence with four whole words. Now they were making progress.

"Great," Tina said, returning the smile, and headed into the kitchen for the phone. "What do you feel like? Plain old cheese? Something more?" She bent to rummage in the bottom drawer, pushing things aside to find the phone book.

A knock on the door sounded before he could answer, and Tina frowned. She wasn't expecting anyone to come by. Nick glanced at her questioningly and she shrugged, heading for the door.

She looked through the peephole and squinted. "It's a man," she said, reaching for the doorknob.

For some reason, those three words seemed to shoot a spark through Nick. He jumped up off of the couch, the pillow in his lap flung carelessly into the side table, jostling the lamp.

"Wait," he said, but she was already opening the door.

Tina had barely turned the knob when it was ripped from her hand. The door flew inward and impacted harshly with the wall as she stepped quickly out of the path of the swing.

The man on her front step was no taller than herself, still holding out the hand he'd used to push the door open. He was smiling ear to ear.

"Hi," he said, stepping into the house. "Is Nick here?"

As Tina gaped at the stranger who would have the nerve to come barging into her house, something was tugging at the back of her mind. Something that was telling her this was not a good man.

He turned and surveyed the living room. Tina followed his gaze and saw Nick visibly cringe away from his look. It was just for a second, though, and then an unfamiliar fury overtook his features.

"Get the hell out of here," Nick said in a low, even tone. He moved closer to where they were standing in front of the doorway.

Tina started slowly backing up. She knew the layout of her own home, knew that directly behind her was the kitchen counter and, more importantly, the phone sitting on top of it. If she could get to it…

The short man cocked his head. "Is that any way to greet an old friend, Nick? I thought we'd talked about manners."

"Get out of here," Nick said through clenched teeth. "Just go, and nothing will…" He took a step towards the smaller man but was stopped in his tracks when the intruder pulled out a gun.

His smile had faded.

Tina gasped, but she didn't seem to be this man's primary concern at the moment. Nick's uncharacteristically threatening expression was replaced with one Tina really couldn't place, a mix of fear and fury that was extremely out of place of his face, and he held up his hands.

"Put that down, Nigel," Nick said.

Nigel? Tina knew that name from somewhere, but couldn't really remember where. It was a name from a story Warrick had told her. When it hit her, she started reaching for the phone a bit quicker.

Thankfully, Nigel wasn't paying any attention to her. He stepped further into the house, away from her and towards Nick, who was taking his own steps back into the living room. Leading this Nigel away from her. He was putting up a pretty good front, but it was clear that he was afraid of the smaller man. It might have just been the gun.

"Don't talk to me like you know me, Nick," Nigel said in a scolding tone, almost as though he were berating a misbehaving child.

He seemed to debate something in his head, but it only took a second, and then Tina heard the loudest bang that she'd ever heard, like a firework had gone off in the living room, followed by a grunt of pain.

She jumped and squeezed her eyes shut, afraid for the sound to be what she feared it was. Terrified, she peeled them open again to see Nick holding a hand to his side, bent over and glaring daggers up at Nigel.

Tina's mouth fell open and, forgetting all pretenses of stealth, she hungrily grabbed up the cordless phone.

"You see, Nick, we talk and we talk about manners, and you're still just as rude as ever, aren't you?" Nigel punctuated the question by bringing a knee up into Nick's chin, knocking him back onto the floor.

Tina managed to get the numbers '911' punched into the phone, but the beeping of the buttons being pushed was louder than she'd anticipated. She didn't have time to react before the man swung around with the gun and struck her across the side of the face.

"So, what's the plan?" Catherine finally asked, breaking the tense silence.

It was now only her, Grissom, and Warrick in the room. Sara and Greg had been sent out to a scene. They weren't happy about it, but work had been bound to come into play at some point. It was technically still Swing's shift, but the CSIs were all wrapped in a quadruple homicide, so Grissom had ever-so-graciously offered up two of his own. Sara had not gone willingly, and Greg had made a crack about leaving the serious stuff to the grown-ups.

"Well," Grissom said slowly, "there's not much we can do without any real evidence against – "

"Oh, come off it, Gris," Warrick stated loudly. He couldn't keep it inside any longer. "Damn the evidence, this is Nick!'

"Do you think I don't know that, Warrick?" Grissom returned in an uncharacteristically venomous tone.

"Guys, guys," Catherine stepped in. "Fighting is not going to accomplish anything."

Warrick rubbed his face. "You're right. I'm sorry, Gris, I'm just so worked up over this."

"We all are," Grissom said, and started to say something else when his cell phone started ringing. They were always getting interrupted.

He picked up his phone and studied the screen. "It's Brass. Probably has another case. Grissom," he answered.

Warrick watched as Grissom's face fell even further than it already was. "Call us the second you get there." He snapped his phone shut and tossed it on the table, shaking his head. "Damn it," he said softly.

Unaccustomed to hearing Grissom utter even a single curse, Warrick was put instantly on edge.

"What is it?" Catherine asked.

Grissom's eyes met Warrick's and he could feel his heart pick up a faster pace. Grissom looked away, and that was not a good sign.

"There was an incomplete 911 call from your house, Warrick."

Catherine's jaw dropped and she sat back in her chair.

"What do you mean 'incomplete'?" Warrick managed.

"The call went through, but before anyone said anything, the line went dead. I'm sorry."

Warrick shook his head, and began to pace the small room with heavy, frantic footsteps. No, not Tina. "Don't even say that. It's gotta be a mistake." He ran a hand roughly over his face. "What am I – I gotta get over there."

"Brass is going over there now," Grissom said with his standard issue air of authority. "He's going to call when he gets there."

Warrick sat stiffly in his chair, staring at Grissom's phone, willing it to ring. Catherine was rubbing his shoulder, but it wasn't even really registering in his brain. All he could think about was how it had been his dumbass suggestion for Nick to stay at his house. And now there was not only the possibility that something had happened to his best friend, but also to his wife. If that had happened…

This was the one time that Warrick was happy that his train of thought was interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone.

"Jim?" Grissom nodded. "Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker." He pressed a button and set the phone down in the middle of the three CSIs.

Warrick stood and hovered over the phone, his hands flat on the table, bracing his arms.

"Someone was definitely here. Door's open – "

"Is Tina okay?" Warrick asked, feeling his palms start to become sweaty. Next to him, Catherine stood as well.

"She took a jab in the cheek, but she's awake. She's gonna be alright, medics are with her now."

Warrick was pissed but still breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't something worse. "What about Nick? How's he doin'?"

There was silence on the other end of the line.

Warrick looked up and met the wide eyes of Grissom and Catherine. Catherine's lips parted and her eyes never moved from the phone.

"Jim?" Grissom managed it before either Catherine or Warrick could.

"He's not here, Gil. He's gone."

"What in the hell happened?"

The loud and angry voice of Jim Brass was unmistakable as it floated – or crashed – through the halls of the crime lab.

Grissom, Catherine, and Warrick rushed out into the hall to meet him as he came in. A few steps behind the detective, who was red in the face and yelling into his cell phone, was Tina, walking slowly with an icepack to her face and an officer at her side.

Warrick pushed past his supervisors and embraced her, kissing the top of her head. "You okay?" he asked her quietly, and the voices of the others in the hall receded to a dull, unimportant buzzing in the background.

Tina nodded but there was a frightened look in her eyes. Warrick moved the icepack from her cheek and his lips parted as he took in the angry mark there. A dozen curses raced through his head, and he gently replaced the ice.

"I tried to call for help," she said quietly, her voice cracking.

"Shh," Warrick said, attempting to comfort her. "You did good. Otherwise, we wouldn't have known anything had happened."

"He's right," Catherine said gently.

Warrick looked over at her. He hadn't realized anyone else had been listening. Not only were they all listening, but watching the exchange with wide eyes, probably hoping Tina could tell them something about what had happened at their home.

The only person otherwise engaged was Brass, who had taken a few more steps down the hall and was still yelling into his phone. "Where's Taggart, huh? He was supposed to be watching the son of a bitch. What do you mean you can't get a hold of him?"

All eyes in the hall immediately turned to the captain. Catherine sighed and Grissom turned his attention back to Tina.

"What happened?" he asked in a voice he probably thought of as his soothing voice, but still came out somewhat cold and businesslike.

Tina hesitated. Warrick put his arm around his wife's small shoulders and found himself unable to look her in the eyes. He knew something was about to come out of her mouth that he wasn't going to like.

Tears formed in Tina's eyes and Warrick guided her to a chair. She glanced up at him gratefully but quickly averted her eyes. "I didn't know what he looked like. I – I answered the door and he just came in. He had a gun."

This was news to them, and not the good kind. Even Brass hung up with whoever he had been on the phone with and took a few heavy steps towards their small crowd.

"Did he use it?" Warrick asked, placing a hand on her knee.

She nodded slowly and a few tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes. She took a couple deep breaths and collected herself. "I couldn't see…I don't know how bad it was."

Catherine crossed her arms and looked away. "We have to do something. Now."

Warrick looked up at her and Grissom, whose face looked something like a frown, but there was something else altogether in his eyes.

"I left an officer at your house, 'Rick. It's, uh, it's ready for you guys."

Warrick's eyes moved to Brass and he nodded at the implication. His house, their home, was now a crime scene.

Brass's phone rang and he retreated to a quiet corner to take the call.

Grissom straightened. "Warrick, you and Catherine head over there. I'll call Greg and Sara and tell them to go over to Nick's house."

"What are you hoping to find there?" Catherine asked, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Ideally, nothing. But when are we ever faced with an ideal situation on this job?"

"What are you going to do?" Warrick asked.

Grissom's eyes darkened. "I'm going to Crane's apartment."

Brass returned, closing his phone, and sighed. "That was Officer Taggart," he said ominously.

"The officer that was supposed to be watching Crane?" Catherine asked, her forehead furrowed in confusion.

Brass nodded. "He just came to…with a bump on the head and a missing gun."

To be continued...