Note: thanks for the reviews...comments...they're very helpful. So, we're making progress in this chapter. Not quite to the present...but getting closer. Patients! We'll get there! So...enjoy!
Chapter Four
Warrick sat silently in the layout room, working hard to concentrate on the evidence before him, yet sidetracked by the constant pacing of the man in the hallway. His voice was muffled, so he couldn't make out who Nick was talking to, or what he was saying. He could tell, though, by the expression on his face it was a conversation the man would rather not be having. It took restraint on his part to stay rooted to the stool on which he was sitting. He wanted more than anything at that moment, to walk over and listen in, to support his friend. But, he didn't. In part because he knew how Nick relished in his personal space and in part because, quite frankly, the glare in Nick's eye was enough to even scare Ecklie.
He again, trained his eye on the crime scene sketch in front of him. The backlit table almost burning his eyes, he rubbed them hoping to work out the exhaustion plaguing him.
"Damn it! Get off my case!"
He looked up quickly as he heard Nick say the harsh words into his phone.
"Yeah…uh, huh…fine…" he heard Nick say, his tone clearly full of frustration. That frustration bordered on anger, as Nick stopped his pacing, his hand on his hip. "Look, I can't talk now; I'm in the middle of a case. I'll call you later. Why'd I call? To get you off my damn back, that's why. I can't get into that now. Jesus," he said lowering his voice, now aware of the stares thrown his way. "Where do you think I am? I'm at the lab. Look, I've got to go. Yeah, whatever," he said flipping his phone closed with a little more force than necessary.
"Everything cool?" he asked throwing his partner a look of question more than concern as Nick entered the evidence room.
"Fine," he shook his head. The word caused Warrick to flinch; it had become stronger than any four-letter word Nick could throw at him.
"Finally talk to your mom?"
"Yeah, if that's what you want to call it. The woman won't leave me alone."
"Sounds like she's doing her job," the tall CSI smirked as he leaned over the table.
"This the crime scene sketch?" Nick asked ready to change the subject.
"Yeah, check it out," he started in reply pulling out several sketches, "this is the primary scene, right? I've plotted out the shell casings and bullets I found around the first victim and the second. It's clear the primary target was the older guy, Jorge Valdez."
"Valdez…"Nick thought on the name.
"What?"
"I know that name. Did he have a record?"
"Yeah, I ran his prints through AFIS, got an immediate hit. He's been busted on possession, selling, carrying a concealed weapon, you name it."
"Wait a second," Nick said pulling out his phone. "I know a guy in the gang unit."
"You think this guy's a banger?"
"Kent, man, it's Nick," he nodded in response as he spoke into his phone. "Jorge Valdez, what do you know about him?"
He was silent for a couple minutes, taking in the information, as Warrick again turned his gaze to the sketches. He couldn't help but think something was off about the scene.
"Alright, thanks man," Nick said a smile edging onto his face. "It's what I was thinking. Valdez is a major player in the 83 Gangster Crips."
"Say that again?"
"The 83 Gangster Crips are the rival gang of the Rollin' 60's. Kent Jameson in the gang unit knows Valdez as well as he knows his own son."
"So…" Warrick started, processing the information.
"If Valdez was a kingpin in the 83, you know what that means?" Nick offered.
"We're in the middle of a turf war," Warrick nodded. "What do you make of this?" he asked pointing to the papers in front of him.
Nick leaned over, bringing the paper into view.
"What am I looking at?"
"Look at the blood pattern, check out that void."
"I don't know," Nick shrugged, "could be anything."
"Hey guys," Bobby Dawson smiled joining the CSIs.
"Bobby D," Nick grinned greeting the ballistics lab tech. "Tell me you have some good news for us."
"Well, yes and no," he smiled taking a seat across the table. "The bullets Doc pulled from your first victim?"
"Jorge Valdez," Nick nodded.
"All from the same gun. Unusual for a ground war," the tech raised a brow.
"Yeah, I'd say," Warrick smirked reaching across the table for the lab report as it was slid across the table.
"Came from a semi-automatic, Colt revolver."
"Damn, goin' old school," Warrick stretched his back muscles.
"I ran the bullets through IBIS, got a hit. The same gun was used in a drive by six months ago, and a robbery last year. Both cases are still unsolved."
"Nice work Bobby," Nick said taking the lab report.
"The bullets from the second victim," he continued, "came from a .38 Special."
"We found a Special on the scene," Warrick nodded. "Was the kid shot with his own gun?"
"Hey, that's your job," the tech shook his head. "I just give you the bullet," he smiled, the CSIs exchanging their own amused looks. "I can tell you though, the Special you found on the scene, is the gun that killed your second vic."
"Any hits in IBIS?" Nick asked.
"Still running it. There are more Specials registered in Vegas than you think."
"And the third vic?" Warrick asked.
"There was a third?" Obviously this news took the lab tech by surprise.
"Yeah," Nick nodded.
"I only got the bullets from two." The expression on the southern gentleman's face was almost pure panic. Had he missed something? Had he been given bullets from a third victim? Had he misplaced them?
"You're kidding me, right? Didn't you go to autopsy?" Nick asked Warrick slapping the man lightly on the shoulder.
"Yeah, Doc wasn't done posting. He told me to come back in an hour."
"When was that?" Bobby asked now slightly amused at the befuddlement of the scientists in front of him, his slight panic attack now gone by the wayside.
"Uh, almost an hour now," he said looking at his watch standing to leave the room.
"Hey, you guys get me a bullet, I'll tell ya what I can," Bobby called after the retreating CSIs.
"Stokes! Brown!" Detective Cavaliere called out as the two made their way toward the morgue.
It was morning, now, as the CSIs stood at the crux of the lab complex. The glass entrance illumined from outside by the morning sun.
"Damn," Nick froze in his place, ready to take on the detective. Warrick noticed the tension mount in his partner's face immediately. What had put the man on edge?
"Hey, go on, I'll catch up," he said allowing Nick to duck out. He wasn't sure he could handle any more hostility between the two. He knew they'd never really gotten along, and with Nick on edge more than usual Warrick didn't want to take any chances.
"What have you got so far?" the detective asked watching Nick make his way down the hall.
"Not a hell of a lot," Warrick sighed turning to face the squat detective.
"You're gonna have to do better than that. Come on Warrick."
"We've got photos of the crime scene. We've got preliminary ballistics reports, but we're a victim short."
"What? What do you mean you're a victim short?" Warrick was beginning to see why Nick disliked the detective so much.
"Look we're working as fast as the labs can take us," he offered his hands up in resignation. "We've got bullets matched to two of the three victims. We've got reports matching the bullets to guns; we've only got one gun."
"So, we're looking for two more guns."
"Basically," Warrick nodded, "and one of those guns killed our third victim."
"Don't leave me hanging on this, Warrick. I know you and Stokes are buds."
"Now, don't go pullin' this personal shit out," the CSI said crossing his arms across his chest taking the defensive. His tone matched the expression of annoyance on his face. "Just because you and Nick don't get along…" he trailed off. "Look, I'm supposed to be at autopsy. When we know something, you'll know something," he glared now at detective leaving him standing in the hall.
"The bullets disintegrated on impact," Doc Robbins was saying as Warrick entered the morgue.
"What have we got?" Warrick asked joining the men.
"A lot of nothing," Nick sighed pulling down the breathing barrier over his mouth.
"You know, there was a case a couple years ago. A man used frozen hamburger to tip his bullets. When the bullet fragmented upon entering the body, the meat melted."
"Yeah, yeah," Nick nodded, "I remember the case. There was no evidence of the bullet inside the body. So, where does that leave us?" Nick asked looking now, over to Warrick.
"Looking for a third gun," Warrick sighed, resting his palms on top of the autopsy table.
A rock and a hard place.
It wasn't unfamiliar territory for either of them. That didn't make it any less frustrating, though. They'd been trained to find answers. And, so far in this case the answers were illusive. In fact, the answers just weren't there.
It was something Nick hated most. Unanswered questions were the primary reason for the extra strength Ibuprofen he'd just taken. Pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut tight; he sat on a stool staring at the evidence table. Unanswered questions were the reason he sat back in the layout room hours later, staring at photos from earlier that night.
Most of the time, this was one of his favorite places to work. It was one of the quietest rooms in the lab, on the far end of the hall away from the bustle of the DNA and Trace labs. But, tonight, regardless of the quiet, Nick's head was pounding. The light source under the layout table was only a source for more aggravation, his headache now threatening to become a migraine.
None of the man's frustrations had gone unnoticed by his partner. In fact, as Warrick headed down the hall from the DNA lab, he noticed the nearly defeated posture of the man in the evidence room. The man seemed to be taking to cases harder than usual more recently, and he didn't know why. That in itself was frustrating, but even more frustrating was the fact that he couldn't do much, if anything, about it.
"I got DNA results off the hairs from the bandana we recovered from the scene," he said entering the quiet of the room. The tension extracted from the man in front of him was thick enough to be cut by a knife.
Nick nodded in response. His expression tight, unreadable.
"Ran the profile through CODIS, came back Raphael Dominguez."
"He's got a record," Nick said taking the file handed him by Warrick.
"I'd say. He's got a wrap sheet longer than a Catholic priest's sermon."
"You thinkin' he could be our suspect?"
"One of them anyway," Warrick nodded. "I've got Cavaliere picking him up now."
"That should make him happy," Nick smirked. "What about the blood on the bandana?"
"Ah, DNA's still working on it. What have you got?" he asked.
"Other than a headache? Take a look," he said spreading out the photos, a blueprint of the community center park his primary focal point. "We collected bullets from this area here," he circled one area with a blue felt tipped pen, "this area," he circled another using a red felt tipped pen, "and this area," he used a green pen to circle the third area. He stood now, displaying the detailed photos of each area.
"Right," Warrick nodded. "We recovered the .38 Special in the blue area, and a Colt Revolver from the red area. You think there should be a gun in the orange area?"
"Three victims, two guns," Nick shrugged. "It'd make sense if the other two victims were packing, the third would be too."
"Well, I can tell you one thing. I'm not going back to the scene tonight. Cavaliere's bringing in our suspect, now. Some time in lock-up never hurt anybody," he said leaning back against the layout table.
Grissom had been in the lab most of the night. His time in the field had been rather brief. He'd not noticed when Nick and Warrick returned to the lab, but noticed now as the two discussed their case in the layout room. From an outsider's perspective they looked frustrated. They looked tired.
He was never one to meddle. He hated being thought of as a boss who didn't care. He almost hated more, though, being thought of as a boss who cared too much. It was a rough line for him to draw, knowing when to stick his nose in and when to keep it out.
His keen power of observation, however, never failed him, and now he was observing two men at their ropes end. Working against his own judgment, he tucked the file currently opened in his hand under his arm and made the trek down the hall.
"Grissom, I wasn't finished," Catherine said. He'd nearly forgotten he was in the middle of a conversation with the woman working the case with him.
"I'll be right back," he said over his shoulder throwing what he hoped was a look of apology. "How's it going guys?" he asked standing now in the doorway of the evidence room.
Nick and Warrick looked up from their photos. The look on their faces told the whole story.
"Hey Griss, what do you know about the Hispanic gangs in North Vegas?" Warrick asked.
The man pursed his lips, thinking, digging back through the vastness of information floating in his brain.
"Not much," he shrugged, shaking his head, his brow raised in the Grissom confession. "There's a guy in PD…" he trailed off.
"Kent Jameson," Nick nodded.
"Good, so you know him," he smiled his half cocked grin.
"You guys look beat. Go home," he said.
"Oh, I'm all over that," Warrick stood straight now.
"Yeah, I'm right behind ya," Nick nodded gathering the photos and placing them in the file folder. "Come in early tomorrow. We can talk with Dominguez then what?"
"Head back to the scene?" Warrick raised his brow following Nick to evidence lock-up.
"Yeah, okay," he nodded.
"Later, man."
"Later," he waved his head checking his evidence back into the evidence log.
Damn he was tired, and the Ibuprofen wasn't helping the pounding in his head. He grinned to himself thinking of the quiet that awaited him at home. Walking out of the lab, and to his truck he was almost giddy in anticipation.
It was all crushed as he heard the shrill ring of his cell phone.
Mom.
Switching the phone off and throwing it in his passenger seat, he smiled at his small victory. Home was his new favorite place.