Note: thanks again for all the reviews! If I didn't get a reply out to you...I'm sorry! Things are kinda crazy today...between writing this chapter...and things with my folks...well, there hasn't been time for much else! It makes me smile that all of you are enjoying this story! Seriously...
Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last!
Chapter Nine
Word had spread quickly around the lab. It always did. It seemed to come as no surprise that Grissom's team was in trouble again. And while Grissom was out trying to find a clue, Catherine was left to deal with the bureaucratic backlash of the lab supervisor.
She had already had one rendezvous with Ecklie. It had come as no surprise his reminder on the lab's policy of dealing with terrorists.
Terrorists?
These guys were just kids. Sure, they were kids with guns, but still. How could they possibly be quantified as terrorists?
The thought of it made her shudder. They'd been through all of this before. She knew the drill. But this time there'd be no running to daddy for help. No, Sam Braun was of no use to her this time. This was something she had to handle on her own.
Standing in the DNA lab she was faced with information she dreaded. Blood samples had been collected from the scene. She'd taken it upon herself to process the evidence, to run the lab. The piece of paper sitting on the counter in front of her stared back up at her, laughing at her; it mocked her in her attempt to make heads and tails of the chaos from hours ago. It gave her no real useful information only seemed to confirm the fears she'd worked so hard to keep buried.
The blood they'd gathered from the scene had belonged to the gang members and Officer Sparks. When they'd ended up near the community center building, they'd found drops of blood, but hardly enough to process. Hardly. There was still enough to get a primitive sample and run the necessary procedures.
It hadn't taken long to finish the tests. The results were inconclusive. Still, the feeling in the pit of her stomach told her all she needed to know. Nick and Warrick were hurt, bleeding, and she was powerless to help them.
Unappeased by the results, yet satisfied that there was nothing left for her to do she walked across the hall to the ballistics lab. There she found Greg and Sara where she'd left them with Bobby Dawson.
"Striations match up perfectly. The bullet on the right is the bullet pulled from the scene. The one on the left is the test fire," Bobby Dawson smiled taking a step back from the microscope. "Take a look," he motioned for Sara to step in.
"Which gun did this one come from?"
"A .22 Semi-auto," the ballistics lab tech noted from his file. "It was one of the guns found on the scene. Tracked it back to a guy named Robert Valdez."
"Robert Valdez?" Greg asked.
"Yeah, and get this. One of the victims from the first scene was a Jorge Valdez."
"Well, the original crime was a drug deal gone bad, wasn't it?" Greg shrugged. "That doesn't mean the cases are linked other than the fact that Nick and Warrick are involved."
"They could be related," Sara added on quickly.
"Hold it," Catherine raised a hand, stopping the conversation. "I'm not following. We picked up a gun from our crime scene?"
"A .22 semi-automatic," Sara nodded as if seeing Catherine for the first time.
"This .22 was used how?"
"A bullet from this gun was pulled from Officer Sparks," Greg put light on the situation.
"Was it the fatal blow?"
"Yeah," Greg nodded.
"Okay, and we have evidence that this same gun was used in the case Nick and Warrick were working?"
"A bullet from this same gun was pulled from one of their victims, a Jorge Valdez," Sara nodded.
"If this gun was used in the first shooting, and then in this one…" she trailed off, lost in her thoughts. "You think we're looking for the same shooter? Maybe the shooter from the first scene was at the second?"
"Yeah, maybe," Sara thought. There were so many damn questions and the answers weren't coming fast enough. Every minute they spent standing in the lab, running over all the what-ifs, was a minute they weren't out there looking for Nick and Warrick. She looked over at Greg, hoping to find an answer, something to bring them closer. She was met with the same desperate look she knew was on her own face.
"Okay. I've got blood from everyone on the scene," Catherine said as she walked the halls of the lab with Sara and Greg. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm fed up with sticking around here. We're as close to finding Nick and Warrick as we were three hours ago when Grissom left."
"What are you suggesting?" Sara asked.
"I'm going out there. I'm tired of sitting on the sidelines waiting for fate to deal us our next hand."
"I'll get the car," Sara smiled.
When Catherine set her mind to something, she was just as driven as the rest of the team. The look of determination may have hidden the appearance of concern that was sure to have shown on her face but it did little to squelch the feelings in her gut. It was time to get answers and do whatever was necessary to get them.
Grissom, Brass, and Cavaliere now stood behind the GMC Denali, about twenty feet from the main entrance of the community center. A call had been made, SWAT teams were in route. If their guys were in there, they weren't taking any chances.
The pit of Grissom's stomach again threatened to stage a full fledged attack. He was nervous. He never got nervous. It was all he could do to remain on his feet as he felt his knees buckle. Leaning against the vehicle he resigned to waiting. He hated waiting.
The tow truck would be at least an hour getting to the scene. It had apparently been a busy night in Las Vegas. It didn't matter. With possible evidence that his guys were inside the building, the banged up Denali was the least of his worries.
The call for backup, made nearly forty-five minutes ago, called for a discreet arrival. Chances are the people inside were already alerted to their presence. Still they didn't want to take any chances. Things had to be done right if they wanted the CSIs back as relatively unscathed as possible.
The arrival of the SWAT team, though, was a little less than discreet. Gil cringed as the bus pulled into the parking lot, and officers filed out of the vehicle awaiting their orders. If the men inside didn't know they were there yet, they knew now.
The less than discreet arrival had quickly raised the alarm in the neighborhood. Curious bystanders and onlookers flowed from their homes and now stood in the chilly night air watching things unfold. Mothers held their children. Fear and concern blanketed the crowd as Grissom allowed his eyes to scan the faces.
He hoped this was done right. He needed this to be done right.
"We haven't had any contact with anyone inside," Brass was talking to the SWAT commander. "We found evidence of a break in around back, found blood, so we called you guys."
"Okay, we'll set up a perimeter, you guys need to stay back out of the way," he nodded, his eyes surveying the building.
It looked as if all the windows had been barred over, and then plywood used to board up the interior.
"All the windows have bars?" he asked the detective.
"All but the one we found smashed in around back. Don't ask me how they got them out."
Grissom stood silent watching things unfold before him. He heard the blur of orders being given and saw the flurry of activity as the SWAT team scattered around the perimeter of the building. Things were happening quickly.
"Hey, Gil, have you called the lab? You're guys need to know what's going on," Brass brought the man back to reality.
He'd not even thought about the lab since he'd talked to Catherine nearly an hour ago. Patting down his parka, searching for his phone, he came up empty. Where was that damn thing? His frantic search was halted, though, as he saw the rest of his team pull into the parking lot.
"What the hell, Gil?" Catherine asked throwing her arms in the air as she surveyed the bustling scene. She too wore her navy Forensics parka. The air had grown cool after the rain storm. The parka, however, did little to ward off the dampness of the night air.
"Are they inside? Are Warrick and Nick in there?" Sara asked joining the mini-powwow in the parking lot.
"We don't know anything definitive, yet," Grissom raised a hand, bringing the seemingly unending chain of questions to a halt. "I found their Denali ditched in the ravine about 100 yards that way. It's pretty banged up. I also found some shards of glass and a broken window. You said there was no glass found on the scene earlier?" he directed his question toward Catherine.
"Right," she nodded urging him on with his story. Sometimes it took the man forever to get his words formed and delivered.
"I found blood evidence on the window. It was fresh."
"By fresh you mean since the rain," Sara commented. It wasn't a question, just a statement of clarification.
"Brass called in SWAT and now you're up to speed," Grissom said turning his attention back to the building of interest.
"So you think they're in there?" Sara asked.
"Well, you know as much as I do," Grissom said irritation mounting in his voice. "Did you guys get anything on the evidence?"
"A big goose egg," Greg smirked, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans. The long sleeved tee shirt he wore under his field vest was of little protection against the cold. "We were able to match ballistics on one gun used in both shootings and trace it back to an owner."
"Who?"
"Robert Valdez," he offered the name. It apparently meant nothing to Grissom. "A Jorge Valdez was one of the victims in the first shooting, shot with the same gun. That same gun was used to kill Officer Sparks in the second shooting."
"Well, it's not much," Grissom shrugged, "but it's something at least."
SWAT was now in position, ready to make a move. Now if they just knew for sure there were people inside.
As if on cue, the sound of breaking glass came from the front of the building. Within seconds gunfire rang through the night. The sound of metal on metal resonated as bullets struck the vehicles.
"Get down," Brass ordered sharply as he ducked behind the Denali pulling out his piece. Cavaliere quickly followed suit. The vehicle was little protection against the ensuing gunfire as three more shots rang out.
Cries came from across the way as onlookers scattered fearing for their lives.
"Damn it!" Brass exclaimed taking a quick look around the corner of the vehicle. "I can't see a damn thing. Where are those shots coming from?" he called out. A look to Cavalier and the CSIs offered no help. They had all gone into survival mode, and then into the offensive mode, pulling out their own weapons, ready to fire back if the opportunity presented itself.
Grissom couldn't take much more of this. He had to get in there.
"God damn it, Gil! Stay down!" Brass ordered sharply placing a hand on the man's shoulder and pushing him out of the path of the flying bullets.
Time was again passing in slow motion. The whizzing of the bullets had stopped.
There was silence.
Slowly the detectives watched as the door to the community center slowly opened. Unbelievingly, Grissom watched as a young man slowly walked down the walkway, his hands raised in surrender. God, he was just a kid.
"Get on the ground! Get on the ground!" SWAT team members started shouting, their guns trained on the young man.
Slowly he complied, lowering to his knees then lying face down on the ground, his arms stretched out over his head.
"¡No tire!" he repeated over and over, tears streaming, now, down his face.
The CSIs watched as the kid was taken into custody.
Brass quickly made a beeline to the suspect. There was fire in his eyes.
"Where are my guys," he slammed the kid against nearest vehicle. "Where are they!"
There was no response.
"Get him out of here," the detective scowled handing him over to a uniformed officer and returning to his post.Spotlights from various squad cars on the scene werenow trained on the window from which the gunfire had recently come.
"We've got to get our people in there!" Cavaliere said still ducking behind the SUV. "Get SWAT in there, now!" he directed his comment to Brass, his eyes matching the punchiness in his voice.
"We can't just send our guys storming in there. There's still an armed suspect inside. As long as our guys are in danger, we hold off," Brass rationalized as gunfire again rang out from the distant window. "Damn it! Does anyone have a shot?" he directed his question into the handheld radio connecting him to the SWAT leaders.
"Negative," came the response. "We're holding."
Things had rapidly gone from bad to worse. Raphael Dominguez watched now as more cops pulled into the parking lot. He could feel the panic rising within him, and watched with equal desperation as his brother frantically paced the floor.
"There's a lot of cops out there, man," Miguel said, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. It was the only place he knew to put them to keep them from shaking.
"You think I don't see that? You think I'm blind and stupid, man? Jesus!"
"What are they doing?" he asked nervously casting a glance out the crack in the window.
"I don't know man," he shook his head silently beating himself up for bringing his little brother into this hell. "I'm gonna get us out of it though. Don't worry," he said cupping the younger kid's face in his hands. He desperately wanted to protect his kid brother, and there was only one way he knew to do that.
He quickly pried the wood from the window, and smashed out the glass with the butt of the gun. This had to end here and now.
He didn't think twice about shooting the weapon. He'd already shot two cops today, what was one more? The people outside were just faces to him, a roadblock set up to keep him from getting out of there alive. Besides, the cops in the other room were probably dead already. They were just collateral damage.
He heard the screams of the women outside. He heard the cries of children mixed with the sounds of the bullets hitting metal.
Stopping only to check on his brother, he found the room he was in to be empty. He heard the slam of the door followed by the shouts coming from the cops outside.
What the hell?
Looking out the window, the sight before him tore him apart. His brother, now branded a coward, was on the ground, the cops on top of him, taking him away.
This had gone on long enough. He wasn't going down like this.
Shooting two more rounds off toward theparking lot, he left the room. The two cops down the hall were his only insurance now.