There was no peace in Dustin Orwell's neighbourhood that night. He lived in a very large, very expensive house in the suburban area of the city. The house itself was made of top-end brick (two storeys) with a slate roof. There was a large, extremely green lawn with a swimming pool in the back. There was a deck overhanging the front door, which the police were now approaching.
Brass, along with four officers, got to the door first. They all had their guns at the ready. One of them stepped forward and delivered a solid, powerful kick to the lock mechanism of the door, which swung wide open. Brass and the officers burst in and fanned out, pointing their weapons.
The room they had come into was a foyer. The floor was grey linoleum. There was a glass sliding door on the far wall that led out onto the porch. On the left wall there was a wooden door, and on the right wall, two more doors.
After the preliminary sweep was done, Brass held up his walkie-talkie.
"All clear," he said into it. Grissom and Nick entered just in time to see Brass giving out orders.
"Jameson, Vartann, search the back yard," ordered Brass.
"Nick, you go with them," said Grissom.
"Cavaliere and Logan, you guys are with me," continued Brass. Nick and the two officers departed through the glass door on the far wall for the yard.
Detective Logan moved towards the door on the left wall. He carefully took the brass knob in hand and flung the door open. A mop fell over in the broom closet he had just opened, but no one was inside.
Cavaliere opened the right-hand door on the right wall, to reveal a bathroom. He went inside, gun first, and did a brief check around it.
"Nothing," he reported, re-emerging.
"One way left to go," said Brass.
So the three detectives made their way slowly to the last remaining unchecked door.
---
Vartann and Jameson walked cautiously across the cobblestone porch, weapons at the ready. Nick walked around the edge of the swimming pool built into the porch itself, and examined the hot tub next to it.
"Anyone here?" Jameson, responsible for these two words, was quite the hotshot. He seemed to think very highly of himself, and had a bit of an insubordination problem.
"Shh," said Vartann, holding up a hand to silence him. "You'll give us away."
"Sorry," said Jameson sardonically.
Nick rolled his eyes. The cop was just lucky he wasn't with Cavaliere or Brass.
"Doesn't look like anyone's out here," said Vartann. "There's a door to the kitchen right there...let's head in. Nick, you coming?"
"Nah, I'm going to have a look around first," said Nick.
"Jameson, let's go," said Vartann, and headed for the door.
---
Brass reached out and took hold of the doorknob. In one swift motion, he twisted it and flung it open. He, Cavaliere, and Logan all burst in, guns pointed straight ahead. Grissom was right behind them.
But there was no need for the impressive show they put on. The only signs of life in the living room they had just entered were a few potted plants. The TV was on as well, and I To Live And Die In L.A. /I was blazing away, but that hardly counted as living.
"Come on, where are you?" growled Cavaliere, to no one in particular. Grissom glanced out the large window that looked out on the back yard. He could see Nick, searching around the pool area.
---
Vartann and Jameson entered the kitchen through the outer door, which was unlocked and actually wide open. Nothing stirred. There was no one there, unless you counted the tropical fish tank on the counter.
The kitchen-dining room was filled with the scent of spice, and the stove was on and heating up. Orwell was definitely here...it was just a matter of finding him.
Well, one place to look might be up the stairs in the dining room section. Jameson and Vartann speedily approached the spiral staircase and ascended. When they reached the top, they found themselves in a study. There was a computer on a polished mahogany desk, an oak bookcase, and a sofa with a coffee table in front of it. A large window offered a nice view of the suburbia of Las Vegas, and also Mr Orwell's front deck.
There was a door on the right wall. Jameson walked over to it and opened it slowly, looking carefully into the next room before entering. There was literally nothing in it except a sliding door onto the deck, a very big, open window that showed the back yard, and a door on the far end into another room. Presumably the bedroom.
Well, it was past midnight. Their guy was much more likely to be getting his good eight hours than he was to be sitting out on his deck.
Their next destination seemed obvious, so they went for it.
---
Brass, Cavaliere, Logan, and Grissom all entered the kitchen-dining room and looked around. The linoleum-floored kitchen was on the left hand side, and the hardwood-floored dining room was on the right. There was a shiny oak spiral staircase leading to the upper storey near the dining table.
"Very art deco," remarked Grissom.
He looked around the room and noticed something which made a small smile tug at the sides of his mouth. "Shoes," he said, and it was true. There was a pair of newly polished Guccis in the corner.
Grissom walked over, latex gloves on, and tilted one onto its side. He clicked on his small flashlight and shone it on the shadowy underside.
"The pattern on these shoes matches the treads found at the scene," said Grissom, a note of grim triumph in his voice.
"That places Orwell at the crime scene," said Brass. "We've got our guy."
No one had time to discuss the matter further as Logan brought up a question.
"Hey, do you hear someone shouting?"
"Yeah, it sounds pretty heated," said Brass, looking up the stairwell. He couldn't see anyone, but he was pretty certain that was where the noise was coming from. He could make out Vartann and Jameson's voices.
"Come on, let's go," said Brass, starting up the stairwell. "Gil, you'd better stay down here," he added, halfway up.
"I was going to anyway," said Grissom. "I want to have a look round first."
"Cavaliere, Logan, come on."
---
Vartann and Jameson had only just reached the bedroom door when there came the sound of a sliding door opening. They span around swiftly.
"Las Vegas police!" shouted Vartann. "Don't move!"
Through the sliding door, the frightened shape of Dustin Orwell entered. His hands were held high in the air, and his arms were all a-quiver.
"W-what's going on?" he stammered, looking from one armed officer to the next and back.
"Mr Orwell, you're under arrest for three counts of attempted murder, one count of kidnapping, and one count of assault," announced Vartann, walking forward.
Orwell started to lower his hands, a confused and petrified expression on his face.
"Keep your hands up!" ordered Jameson.
"What are you t-talking about?" he asked. "I di-didn't do anything like that!"
"Put your hands behind your head and drop any weapons you may be carrying," said Vartann, his voice steady and calm but filled with menace.
"I don't have any weapons," said Orwell, putting his hands behind his head.
"Be quiet," said Jameson, keeping his weapon trained on Orwell's head.
"Whatever you're talking about – "
"Quiet."
" – I didn't – "
"Quiet!"
"Jameson!" shouted Vartann. "That's enough."
Just then the study door burst open and Brass, Cavaliere, and Logan charged in.
"What's going – " began Cavaliere, but then he saw Orwell.
"Why are all y-you guys here?" stuttered Orwell, clearly terrified.
"We've come to tell you that you've won the CSI lottery," said Brass sarcastically. "Your prize is a free trip to prison."
"You can't do that!" protested Orwell, slowly backing towards his deck door.
"Mr Orwell, stay where you are," warned Brass. The officers were slowly encroaching.
"I didn't do anything wrong!" he screamed, still backing up.
Before anything further could happen, however, there was an unexpected intervention. First, Orwell's eyes widened in unimaginable horror. Then, a sound like something flying through the air behind them reached the police officers' ears.
They all saw the pipe bomb spiral past their heads, and suddenly everything, including them, seemed to slow down. They could see it, it was right in front of them, but no one could do anything. They were locked in a trance. The bomb sailed through the air, towards Orwell, who held out his hands in an effort to stop it, and landed smack in the middle of his open palms.
Then all hell broke loose.
The pipe bomb detonated. A massive tongue of flame ripped the walls facing the street and back yard out and strewed them across the ground nearby. The floor under the apex of the explosion was blasted out. The four officers were flung into the air, licked at by fire and sparks. They came down to the ground with loud crashes that were drowned out by the overpowering sound of the bomb.
Brass raised his head slowly and looked around. It didn't seem like they were in a room anymore...the ceiling had a gaping hole in it, and what walls and floor remained were slick with blood – that of Dustin Orwell.
Brass' entire body seared with pain, but he'd live. "Everyone alright?" he asked.
He heard groans to the affirmative from Cavaliere, Vartann and Logan, but nothing from Jameson. That was not good. Just as he was going to speak up again, Vartann did so.
"Shit!" came his voice suddenly. "It's Jameson!"
Brass looked to where the voice had come from. Through the smoke and ash, he could see Vartann looking to his right. There was a figure sprawled on the ground face first, his burnt uniform smoking. Jameson was dead.
Suddenly, gunshots started to ring out down below.
---
Grissom walked back into the living room and looked around. He could hear the police officers negotiating with someone above, so he knew it wouldn't be long before they had their guy in custody. Then, they'd be one step closer to getting Greg back.
By chance, he happened to look through the window on the back yard. He saw Nick, facing the house, and gave him a small wave. Nick gave a thumbs up.
It was then that Grissom noticed the other man standing behind Nick.
"Nicky – " he began, but didn't get a chance to finish. The other man threw something, up to the second storey. A second later, the roof above Grissom exploded in a shower of fire and wood, and he was thrown to the ground.
---
Nick ran his flashlight across the grass. He didn't think he'd find anything to incriminate Mr Orwell out here, but it didn't hurt to look.
He looked up for a moment to see Grissom standing in the living room. He seemed to be watching Nick. He waved, and Nick replied with a thumbs up, to indicate all was good.
His eyes turned down once again, but it was pretty well useless for them to do so. He heard Grissom's voice, muffled through the window.
"Nicky – " Just then, the upper level of the house went up in a burst of angry flame, which shot down to the lower level and knocked Grissom on his face.
Nick drew his gun quickly and held it in front of him. He span around, and the beam of light fell upon a man standing there. He was dressed completely in black, and a mask obscured his face.
"Why, hello, Nick," he said pleasantly. "I'm so glad you're here."
The man raised his arm and pulled the trigger on the gun Nick had neglected to notice in the man's hand. Sparks flew from Nick's gun as the bullet hit it and sent it flying out of his hands.
"You see, you're next," said the man, and with his free hand drew a bowie knife from his belt.
He was preparing to attack Nick, when there was a gunshot and the living room window shattered, sending shards of glass everywhere.
"Hold it, pal!" It was Grissom. He was pointing his own gun, and stepping over the windowsill. "Nick, back off."
"Piss off, Grissom," said the man, a hint of annoyance in his voice, and promptly fired his gun. A bullet tore through Grissom's upper arm, threw him off balance, and sent him to the ground with a yelp of pain.
Nick didn't have time to register this before the man was upon him. Before he knew it, he was pinned down, and the man had plunged the bowie into his arm and slashed him off the chest. He barely had time to scream before the blade sunk into his breast, and then the pain was so extreme that he couldn't make a sound.
The world turned to darkness seconds later. But before it did so, he just had time to see the man leap away and disappear into the night.