New York
Day 2-- 11:30 AM
Strawberry Fields, Central Park
Nick Stokes was hot.
Sweat beaded on his brow, ran down his face and into his collar. His legs were achingly warm, and on his back was a fine sheen of perspiration. He was sweating in places he didn't even know he could sweat. The Nevada desert he could handle. The New York humidity he could not.
The water bottle in his hand made its way to his mouth without Nick realizing he'd moved it. The cool water slid down his parched throat, providing momentary relief to the intense heat surrounding he and the other criminalists around him. Now was one of the times Nick was glad he chosen Las Vegas as home.
"There's nothing here." Calleigh sat crouched next to where the original body dump had taken place, a camera around her neck and a look of defeat on her face.
"Well, hang on," Eric said, "let's re-examine what we know: Our Jane Doe was kidnapped Wednesday. She endured forty-eight hours of rape and torture before being killed, painted, and dumped Thursday. She's left here with a knife in her chest--"
"Knife?" Warrick's eyes went wide. He pulled out the crime scene photos and flipped through them, "there's no knife in any of these pictures."
Speedle, cottoning on to Warrick's train of thought, retrieved the evidence inventory from the file next to him and ran down the list.
"No knife was collected from the initial investigation, either," he put the papers back.
The five glanced at each other before each heading straight to the back of the SUV and retrieving headphones and metal detectors.
"I've got East," Calleigh said, slipping her headset on and setting up the detector.
"West." Eric set out, followed by Nick, who would go North; Warrick, who would go South; and Speedle, who would examine the dump area.
They worked in silence for over an hour. Once in a while, one of them would signal to the others a possible discovery, but for the most part the area was examined without incident.
Tim was ready to give up. He was hot, tired. His clothes were covered in dirt. The headphones attached to his ears were pinging with old quarters, pop cans, and broken watch parts. It was useless.
A ping.
He swung the detector over the patch of dirt again.
Another ping.
His eyes went wide.
Speedle scanmed the ground. Freshly dug dirt.
He signalled the others.
"What've you got?" Calleigh pulled her headphones off and made her way over to Speedle.
"Take a look."
The three behind them craned their necks.
"Looks fresh to me," Warrick snapped a shot of the area before Calleigh got to her knees and began to dig.
The joined. Together, the dirt was sifted and scanned, then placed in containers that would later be examined at the lab. Eric placed the containers in the back of the SUV.
"Guys," Nick warned the CSIs around him to slow. He pulled out a brush and dusted away the remaining dirt from the now revealed knife.
"Positive for blood," Calleigh held the pink-indicated swab for the others to see. Nick shot a picture of it.
"There's something else down here," Tim said.
After snapping a shot of the partially revealed object, Tim dug it out and examined it in the light. The sign of the LVPD star glinted back at him.
Warrick sighed.
"Shrina Housen's police badge."
New York
Day 2--12:45 PM
Crime Unit Morgue
Blue glass, green-lit floors, and a busy atmosphere defined the Crime Unit's morgue. Gil Grissom stood with Horatio Caine next to a metal slab, in front of them their butterflied Jane Doe. Sheldon Hawkes stood across from them.
"Cause of death is no mystery," Hawkes, dark-skinned and limber, pulled the sheet down on the butterfly woman to reveal a deep wound over the woman's heart. "She was stabbed vertically, once, severing the major arteries. I found the tip of what looks to be a knife lodged in her right ventricle."
Hawkes handed a covered petrie dish to Grissom. He examined it for a moment, then looked up at the coroner again.
"Anything else?"
"Not much. Rape kit was collected—foreign object, most likely. I tweezed some leaf matter from her hair, as well. Sent it off to Trace."
Nodding, both Grissom and Horatio bade farewell to Hawkes and left to morgue. Grissom's phone rang.
"Grissom."
"It's me. I just got a call from Nicky and Warrick. They uncovered a knife while scouring the scene. They also found Shrina Housen's badge."
Grissom sighed.
"Did the knife have its tip on it, by any chance?"
"Warrick didn't mention anything, if it didn't. But the weapon did have blood on it."
"Okay…are they on their way back?"
"Yeah."
"Wait for us, then."
He could tell Catherine was confused.
"Anything you want to tell me?"
"Later."
They disconnected. Grissom continued along the corridor with Horatio beside him. The two looked an unlikely pair, Horatio's red hair paired with Grissom's salt-and-pepper, elegant tan suit versus black slacks and button-up, glinting MDPD police badge to LVPD ID. Horatio walked with more of a gait, while Grissom was quick to take the steps that would lead him to his partner. Both were silent.
"Have you had many serials up in Las Vegas, Dr. Grissom?" Horatio's deep voice questioned the quiet CSI.
"Over the years? Only a handful. This guy—this case—has been the worst."
Horatio nodded.
"Undoubtedly. And Catherine…did she work with you last time, as well?"
Grissom regarded the man with careful scrutiny before answering.
"Yes."
"She's something," Horatio said, not noticing Grissom's prickling at the comment, "really something."
"Yes, she is." Grissom's reply was short, clipped.
"I was impressed with her when we met in Miami. Very professional."
"Yes, well, that's Catherine."
Horatio shot the man next to him an amused look. It seemed that Dr. Grissom was quite protective of his partner.
"You needn't have to worry," Horatio smiled, slipping on his sunglasses, "you needn't have to worry."
Grissom just kept walking.
A/N: Huge thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far--your reviews are why I breath (well, that, and a need for oxygen). Let me know what you think. Constructive criticism, are you happy, are you not happy--tell me!
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