Note: I'm back...here's chapter one. Thank you so much for all the reviews! Sorry I haven't been able to get out replies..it's been such a weird...such a HARDweek! Thanks for being understanding about all this crap going on. I neverexpectedto be so impacted by this girl's death...it's still getting me...man!
Anyway...thank youall so much for reading...to answer a couple questions...yes...you'll find out how all this unfolds...howwe got to the point with Nick and Warrick bound in the back of a van...and yes...it'll all be explained. No worries!
Anyway...enjoy this chapter...it's light...a little background leading up to where we're going!
Without further adue...
Chapter One
"Face it Sara, the guy just didn't do it," Nick said as he followed his fellow CSI down the dimly lit corridor of the lab. It was late, or early, he wasn't quite sure which. It was still dark outside the last time he'd checked, but it'd been hours since then.
"Hey," Warrick patted the man on his shoulder as he passed the two of them in the hall. "You guys wrapping that thing up?" he asked after their case.
"Yeah," he smirked. "You?"
"Ah, I'm all over this one," the tall CSI nodded making his way down the hall.
Nick nodded as he watched the man enter the DNA lab. He and Sara were neck deep in their own case, almost to the point of putting the thing to bed, he hoped.
"I don't buy it, Nick," she said beside him stopping in her tracks to face the man she was talking to. "We found blood on his clothes, the murder weapon with his prints on it…" she trailed off.
"I just got this from the print lab," he shook his head. "The prints on the knife handle were his, I'll give you that," he said handing her the file from the print lab. He allowed her time to read through the report.
"His prints were in the blood," she said her eyes scanning the report.
"Not under the blood. If he'd killed his wife…"
"There was another set of prints?" Sara asked interrupting the man's thoughts.
"If what he says is true," Nick nodded. His brown eyes were alive and energetic. It was a look that sent chills up Sara's spine.
"We're looking for another suspect."
"I'm way ahead of you," Nick nodded. "Check it out," he smiled handing her another piece of paper. "We missed something the first time on the scene. I went back to the house while you were at autopsy."
"You went back to the house without me?" she asked pursing her lips, her eyes lit with playfulness.
"Hey, I was following a hunch," he shrugged picking back up on their trek down the hall. "Don't tell Grissom. Anyway, I used the electromagnetic print lifter on the kitchen floor. The man always loved the laminate flooring. Now I know why," he gave a small laugh as they entered the break room. "I picked up several different prints. One set belonged to the wife. One set belonged to the husband," he paused pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Come on Nick," Sara urged as she pulled out a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.
"I found a third set of prints," he nodded. "They belonged to an unknown male, size 12. From the treads on the soles I'd say they were a pair of Rockport shoes," he said taking a seat at the table.
"Old man shoes? Doesn't really narrow it down. No offense," she sighed tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear.
"Yeah, but what kind of men do you know that wear Rockports?"
"Well, Grissom…" Sara shrugged taking a drink.
"I had the print lab run the second set of prints through AFIS, and we got a hit," Nick laughed.
"Kyle Duncan," Sara read the report.
"He's the Dunsmore's CPA," he nodded. "Brass is bringing him in now," he nodded.
"Nice," Sara nodded.
"I'm waiting on the judge for a warrant to search the guy's house," he said just as his cell phone rang. "Stokes," he said flipping the small electronic device open. "Yeah…okay…thanks, man. We've got ourselves a warrant," he smiled flipping the phone closed.
"Let's go catch ourselves a bad guy," Sara smiled following Nick out of the break room.
"Now, Mr. Duncan, you seem like a relatively reasonable guy. Why don't you just tell me what happened?"
Nick and Sara stood behind the double paned mirror watching Brass interview their new suspect. The man was unflappable.
"Look, we already know you killed Cynthia Dunsmore. Now, just tell me what happened," Brass said taking a seat across the table from the still silent man. He didn't look like a killer, by any means. He looked like somebody's grandfather. An old man, probably in his late 60's, wearing a navy sweater and a pair of khaki pants. His dark gray hair was covered by a Navy Seals ball cap. His eyes were the only thing that gave him away. They were deep, dark, and void of any emotion. The old man was a stone.
Discouraged, maybe that wasn't the right word; Brass stood and made his way to the pane of glass separating him from the CSIs he knew were in the next room. That was their signal.
Nick entered the interview room first, Sara was right behind him.
"Mr. Duncan, I'm Nick Stokes, this is Sara Sidle. We're from the crime lab." The old man took in the appearance of the two criminalists.
"Mr. Duncan, you want to tell us how your fingerprints got on the knife that killed Mrs. Dunsmore?" Sara asked sliding a photo of the murder weapon across the table for the man to see.
"You don't have to answer that," the man's attorney spoke up.
"You're right," Brass nodded, "but if you don't, think how that makes you look."
"Maybe you can explain, then, how we found you bloody footprints in the Dunsmore's kitchen," Nick said.
"Or maybe, the bloody clothes we found in your garbage," Sara said with a raised brow. "Mrs. Dunsmore's blood was all over the shirt we found."
"Look, we've got more than enough to hold you," Brass said standing behind the CSIs. "Talk, don't talk, it's your choice," he shrugged as he turned to lead Nick and Sara out of the room.
"It wasn't supposed to be her," the man said subsequently causing the detective and criminalists to turn and face him. A tear slowly slid down the man's cheek.
"I'd be careful with what you say," the lawyer said putting a hand on the man's shoulder.
"What the hell good's it gonna do now?" he asked, throwing an icy glare at the man next to him. "She was supposed to leave him. She wasn't happy in her marriage. She wasn't supposed to be the one in the kitchen. My damn eyesight hasn't been the same since the war," he shook his head. "It was supposed to be…" he trailed off.
"The husband," Nick said, his voice low, barely above that of a whisper.
The old man nodded slowly, hesitantly.
He didn't know how to respond to this realization. He should be used to the surprises of the human condition. What people do to each other shouldn't surprise him anymore. He remembered the case Warrick had last year, an elderly man shot and killed a telephone sales rep. He was ex-military, like Mr. Duncan. Nick turned to leave the room, following Brass and Sara.
"So an old woman plots with her lover to have her husband killed," Brass sighed. "Typical," he smirked. "Well, I'll walk him down to central booking. Nice job guys," the detective offered a weary smile.
Sara and Nick nodded in reply.
"What time have you got?" Sara asked as she walked alongside Nick, heading back to the lab.
"Uh, almost eight," he replied.
"You headed home?"
"Rick and I are headed out," he shook his head. "It's Greg's birthday."
"Oh yeah," she smiled with a nod noticing Grissom in his office. "Have fun. I'll see you tonight," she said cutting away down the hall toward the man's office.
"Later," Nick nodded heading to the locker room.
"You close your case?" Warrick asked placing his service piece in his locker.
"Yeah," Nick nodded wearily. "You?"
"Yeah," he replied unbuttoning his shirt.
"You sure Tina's cool with you staying out?" Nick asked with a small chuckle, hoping desperately to get the case out of his head.
"Ah, it's cool," Warrick nodded, pulling on a UNLV tee shirt. "She's working. Besides, you think she dictates everything I do?"
"Face it, Rick, she's got you whipped," Nick nodded placing his own service piece in his locker.
"Hey," Warrick said pointing a finger at his partner. "I am not whipped, bro."
"Oh, you're whipped. You've got the hash marks on your back to prove it," he laughed changing his shirt.
"Well, just because I got the girl…" he laughed.
"Ah, you're gonna throw that sucker punch huh?" Nick shook his head. "That's a low blow," he smiled.
"You think so?" Warrick smiled. "Low blows beat the upper cut every time," he smirked playfully pushing his partner out into the hall his fists up ready for the boxing duel.
Nick laughed with a nod, taking his stance, ready for the fight. "Well, I'll let it go this time," he nodded straightening his posture. "I don't wanna hurt ya."
"Ya think so, huh?" Warrick smiled.
"Hey, have you seen Greg around?" Nick asked as they headed toward the break room.
"Not since mid-shift. My money's on the break room," he pointed as they rounded the corner.
Sure enough the young CSI was stretched out deep into a magazine, oblivious to his surroundings. Was he sleeping?
Nick passed a glance toward Warrick, a menacing grin on his face. The message of his menacing glance clearly received. Warrick offered a stealth nod, a grin crossing his own face.
"GREGGO!" Nick smiled tackling the man on the couch.
"What the…" Greg stammered, startled by the sudden attack.
"Man, what the hell you doing sleepin' on the job?" Warrick asked taking a seat next to his friends. "You want Grissom on your ass?"
"I'm…I'm off the clock," the younger man stammered glancing at his watch. He rubbed a hand across his face trying to wake himself up.
"Well, what are ya still doing here?" Nick asked slightly winded by the dive he took. "Let's get out of here," he stood leading the way out of the room. "Oh, Greggo," he said stopping in his tracks. "Happy birthday," he smiled pulling the man in a headlock and applying the world's best noogie to the top of the kid's head.
"Yeah, man," Warrick slapped his friend on the back. "You got plans?"
"Well, not…"
"Good, we've made plans for you," Nick laughed as they walked out of the lab. "I'll drive," he said pulling out his sunglasses.
The sun was working its way higher into the sky. It was going to be a warm day. Spring promised an early return this year. Nick breathed deeply, allowing the fresh air to fill his lungs. It was going to be a good day.
"So where we headed?" Greg asked piling into Nick's SUV.
"Only the best place in Vegas," he smiled.
"Ah, man, I hate the batting cages. The last time you guys took me there I made a total fool of myself," Greg wined. "I don't have the mechanics for baseball."
"Now, come on man, would we really humiliate you on your birthday?" Warrick asked from the back seat.
"Okay, it's the second best place in Vegas," Nick laughed weaving his vehicle out of the parking lot and into traffic. "Now no more questions. What good's a surprise if you guess it?"
It took nearly a half hour to get to their destination. Traffic was unusually heavy for the early morning hour.
"You're kidding right?" Greg asked taking in the sight before his eyes. He was like a kid in a candy store. "Are you serious?"
"One hundred percent," Warrick laughed climbing out of the vehicle.
"Hey, Chip," Nick said to the man that met them in the parking lot. "Thanks for giving us the track," he shook the man's hand.
"No problem," the man nodded. "It's all yours."
Nick and Warrick led the way down to the race track. Go-carts lined the outer track, three of which had been singled out and lined up, ready to race.
Each man piled into a car, ready to outdo the others.
"Your ass is mine," Warrick called after Nick as they were given the green light.
The men passed the next two hours racing. The sun was at its highest point in the sky as they pulled their cars back to their original starting position.
"Damn, I had you that time," Warrick shook his head as the three walked off the track and back toward the parking lot.
"Face it man, I'm just the better driver," Greg laughed.
"I got cramped. Those damn cars aren't built for…"
"Yeah, yeah," Greg laughed. "You're what…all of three inches taller than me? Nice try."
"Alright," Warrick nodded in resignation. "You are the go-cart master."
"Now was that so hard to say?" the younger man laughed.
"You guys hungry?" Nick asked starting the engine and pulling out of his parking spot.
"Starving," Greg said buckling his seat belt.
The drive to the diner took only fifteen minutes. After eating, and returning Warrick and Greg to the lab for their own vehicles, Nick found himself alone, driving home.
He was tired, no doubt about it. It had been a great day; it had been a well rounded day. There wasn't much he enjoyed more than time with his two best friends, except maybe sleep. Sleep was good. He always made an exception for sleep.
Pulling into his driveway, Nick turned the engine off and walked the length of the driveway to check his mail. The usual bills filled the metal box as he opened the hatch and retrieved the handful of envelopes.
Unlocking his front door, Nick entered his home, slinging his coat across the back of the chair nearest him in the living room. He threw his keys and wallet on the bar separating his kitchen from his living room. The answering machine flashed with new messages. He pushed the play button, listening to his missed calls as he scanned his mail.
Message one: Nicky, honey, it's Mom. Haven't talked to you in a while. Just wondering how you're doing. Call me. Love you.
Message erased.
Message two: Hey man, it's Rick. You're not home. I think I left my shades in your backseat. Catch ya later.
Message erased.
Message three: Nicky, it's Mom again…
Message erased.
Nick made his way down the hall, to the welcoming presence of his bed. Closing his door, pulling down the shades to block out the light, Nick pulled off his tee shirt, slipped out of his jeans and crawled into the vast expanse that was his queen sized bed. Quickly setting his alarm, he allowed the warmth of the blankets to envelope him, welcoming the oncoming state of unconsciousness. It was bliss.