Disclaimer – See Chapter One.
Author's Note - Warning - buckle up; lots of angst approaching...
Chapter Ten – The Decision
"It's an all too easy catchphrase. 'The evidence never lies'," Ms Spencer began her impassioned argument, as she gravely paced in front of the judge's bench. "It is designed to inspire confidence. Believability. It takes the questions out of your hands. The science says it's true, and you have to believe it. Because science is never wrong. Right?"
She ceased her movements and stood facing the jury square on. "Wrong. The evidence might not lie, but the people who interpret it? Who process it? They're just human, just like you or me. And they can lie. They can misinterpret. They can manipulate. And all you and I see is the end result. They expect our belief in their science to translate to a belief in them. And yes, in a perfect world, it should."
She shook her head gravely for effect.
"But we don't live in a perfect world. We live in a world where, unfortunately, there is corruption. A world where, in order to cover for one of their own, criminalists and members of law enforcement are in a position where they can manipulate, conceal and lie.
"Now, the District Attorney will tell you that an independent investigation has taken place within CSI, clearing them of all charges of wrong doing in this case. But those doing the investigating are the friends and colleagues of those involved in this case. Does that sound impartial and independent to you?
"The facts of the case are these and they are simple. Hank Pettigrew was found brutally murdered. My client's fingerprints and DNA were not found at the scene. A member of law enforcement's fingerprint and DNA were however recovered. That same person's car was captured on CCTV arriving at the scene of the crime. Someone matching her description was seen entering the crime scene. And yet, she claims that my client set her up. Drugged her to implicate her in the murder of a man my client never even met.
"Yes, the prosecution has presented you with circumstantial evidence implicating my client. A few strands of hair and a fingerprint in CSI Sidle's car. Fingerprints on some bullets," she said as if it were a throw away comment.
"But let me put this too you. What is more likely? That my client, a Public Relations executive, set up an experienced crime scene investigator, planting evidence to make her look guilty? Or is it much more likely that a woman who has worked in law enforcement for eight years, and is described by her colleagues as one of the best criminalists in her lab, set up my client to take the fall for a crime she herself committed?
"Now, the reason, the sole reason that Ms Sidle is not sitting in the defense's chair is because of a blood test which seems to prove that she was drugged and unconscious at the time the crime took place," Spencer held up her hands in mock submission. "On the surface - irrefutable evidence. That is, until you remember that her lover drew the blood for that test. And that he too is an experienced criminalist, more than capable of adjusting the evidence to say whatever he wanted it to say.
"There are too many question marks hanging over this case, ladies and gentlemen," she told the jury, winding up her argument. "Too many questions. But there is only one that you need to focus on right now."
She regarded them gravely, looking at each one as if charging them with a sacred task.
"Can you believe, in your heart of hearts, that Jill Davenport is guilty, beyond a reasonable doubt?" She peered into each juror's eyes before she continued. "Now, what do we mean when we say reasonable? Has the so-called 'proof', presented by the Prosecution of such a convincing character that you would be willing to rely and act upon it without hesitation? If so, if you are convinced by the Prosecution and by the so-called crime scene investigators in this case, then by all means, find my client 'guilty'.
"But if you have any doubts, based upon your own reason and common sense and after careful consideration of the evidence which has been presented to you, then you must deliver a 'Not Guilty' verdict."
As Helen Spencer made her way back to her seat, Sara fought off the urge to be sick. She felt the bile rise in her throat with each accusation. It didn't really matter what was true anymore. The defense had painted such a vivid portrait of corruption and deceit that even Sara wasn't sure if she was guilty or innocent.
As the DA rose to give his closing argument, Sara picked up her bag and made to slip out quietly. As she reached the door, she felt someone's eyes upon her. Turning slightly she was greeted by Jill's smirking face, looking back at her from the front of the room.
Sara swallowed her fury and left.
Grissom arrived home to an empty house. A small part of him thought – or perhaps just hoped – that she would be waiting there for him, full of apologies he wouldn't need to hear and ready to fall into his arms. Romantic notions that, up until a few months ago, a man like him would never have wasted his time on.
But the relationship had changed him. He had changed. Finally allowing himself to love her - and to be loved in return - had opened up a whole new range of possibilities. But it had also opened him up to a world of pain.
Walking to the kitchen, he spent a full minute staring into the half empty fridge before deciding he wasn't hungry. He went back into the living room, but didn't feel much like reading or listening to music.
Finally giving in, he did the one thing he wanted to do. He picked up the phone. Dialing the familiar number, he was startled when it didn't ring, but rolled straight to voicemail.
"Hi. You've reached the voicemail of Sara Sidle. I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message at the tone and I'll get back to you as soon as possible…"
Wondering why her cell phone was switched off, he immediately hung up and dialed her home number. When he was again greeted by her recorded voice, he decided to leave a message.
"Hey. It's me… I… I need to see you, Sara. I don't want to put any pressure on you, but… you can't keep shutting me out. Call me back. Please."
After driving around for a while, her car seemed to head back towards the lab of its own volition. She sat in the parking lot as she weighed her options. Doing what needed to be done would be much easier now, in the middle of the day. The likelihood of running into a member of her own team was slim, and after double checking the lot for his car, she knew that Grissom had gone home.
Steeling her nerve, she got out of the car and went inside. The lab was buzzing with members of dayshift going about their business. A few nodded to her, but most were too rapped up in their cases to give her the time of day – a fact which Sara was grateful for. She planned to get in and get out quickly, before anyone could ask any questions.
Her plan went perfectly until half an hour later. As she was coming out of Ecklie's office, she ran headlong into Catherine. The older woman regarded her with surprise.
"Sara? I thought you went home hours ago."
Guiltily looking over her shoulder to ensure she'd closed the office door behind her, her mind went into overdrive as to how to get out of her current situation.
"I did. I'm just dropped by for a minute."
Catherine raised an eyebrow, suspicious. "You dropped by Ecklie's office?"
"He, uh… he wanted to talk about the court case."
Catherine didn't buy it. "Sara, what's going on?"
Sara attempted to feign innocence. "Nothing."
"Come on, Sara."
"Leave it alone, Cath," Sara snapped, wanting nothing more than to get out of there.
Catherine softened, seeing how upset Sara was. "Come on. I'll buy you a cup of coffee."
As they sat opposite each other in the diner near the lab, Sara was torn between wanting to get the hell out of there, and feeling relieved that she could at least explain her decision to someone. Someone who wasn't Grissom.
She took a sip of the strong black brew, knowing full well it would be the only thing keeping her going that day. She hadn't slept, and if all went to plan, she wouldn't have time to sleep until the following day.
Catherine was watching her closely, trying to figure her out. She seemed to be waiting for Sara to speak first. So she did.
"Go ahead and ask. You will anyway."
Catherine sighed as set her coffee cup down and laced her fingers together. "Why were you talking to Ecklie?"
Sara braced for impact. "I was handing in an application for a leave of absence."
Whatever Catherine had been expecting, it certainly didn't seem to be that, judging from her shocked expression. "For how long?" she finally managed to ask.
Sara shrugged. "Six months. A year maybe. I haven't decided yet."
"Have you even discussed this with Grissom?"
"No. I haven't."
Sara expected a barrage of harsh words. Instead, Catherine shook her head. "Why are you running away?"
"Cath, I'm not running away. I'm leaving before I make things any worse."
When Catherine clearly had no idea what she was talking about, Sara continued. "My reputation's been shot to pieces by this case. And if I stick around, Grissom's won't be salvageable either."
Catherine shook her head. "Sofia and I cleared both of you. We presented our findings to the DA and Ecklie and the Sheriff has the report. Both your jobs are fine."
Sara laughed mirthlessly. "Spoken like a woman who wasn't in court this morning."
"Was it really that bad?"
Sara's eyes darkened. "She's going to get away with it."
"You don't know that."
"The hell I don't," Sara's voice rose. "I was there, Cath. I heard what the jury heard. Trust me; the way Jill's lawyer tells it, I'm a much more plausible suspect than her client."
"The evidence…"
Sara cut her off. "The evidence doesn't matter anymore. It's not about what happened. It's about what the jury can be made to believe could have happened." Sara laughed again.
"What's so funny?"
"The irony. That's exactly what Phillip Gerard told Grissom about the Havilland case." All the humor left her and the anger took over. "God, why couldn't have day shift picked up that goddamned case? None of this would have happened!"
Catherine lent across the table and kindly patted the top of her hand. "It doesn't matter what happens in court, Sara. No matter what, he'd want you with him. I know he would."
"And if I stay and his career goes to hell because of me?" she asked, tears beginning to well in her eyes. "Do you honestly think I could stay and watch him slowly start to hate me for destroying what he's worked for all his life?" She shook her head, determined. "I couldn't do it, Cath."
Catherine held up her hands in defeat. She knew she didn't stand a chance in convincing the stubborn brunette. But she knew of a man that did.
"Okay. But you have to talk to Grissom. You can't just leave without telling him."
Unwilling and unable to argue anymore, Sara slowly nodded. "I'll go talk to him."
But as she pulled out of the diner's car park, she turned her car towards home to start packing.
Grissom stormed into the break room, looking haggard. It was clear to Catherine that he hadn't slept. She expected anger. She expected pain. What she didn't expect was for him to look around the room and then regard her with a question in his eyes.
"Where's Sara?"
Muttering a string of curses under her breath, she wondered how hard it would be to make herself invisible. Looking back up at him, she realized it hadn't worked. He was still glaring down at her, waiting for an answer.
"I'm sorry, Gil," she said sincerely. "I told her to tell you."
"Tell me what?"
Wishing she didn't have to answer this in front of the entire team, she swallowed and told him. "She's gone. She handed in an application for a leave of absence and she's leaving town tonight."
She felt the rest of the team react silently, all eyes turning towards Grissom. Fury danced in his eyes. Masking pain he didn't want anyone to see. Catherine's heart broke for both her friends. She had seen the same look in Sara's eyes that afternoon.
"Gil, I'm sorry. I thought she was…"
He was gone before she could finish her sentence.
Sara zipped her hold-all and wiped away another stray tear. Looking around the bedroom, she ensured that her clothes were either packed away in her two suitcases, or in the boxes marked 'bedroom', now sitting expectantly in the living room.
Carrying the last bag out of her bedroom, she stared at her now empty bookcases. The furniture would stay, as would all her kitchen equipment and crockery. Her landlord was being good enough to sublet the apartment in her absence; the movers would arrive the following day to take her books and other personal items into storage.
A couple of suitcases and half a dozen boxes. That was what her life fitted into. Didn't seem like much. But on the other hand, it seemed like an awful lot when, at this moment, she felt so empty inside.
The sorrow and pain welled up inside her again and she indulged herself with a few more tears. Just a few more and then she'd be gone – one brief stop by his house to drop off the letter. An inadequate explanation as to why she was abandoning him – them – everything she'd dreamed for the two of them. And then she'd be gone, dust in the wind.
She paused to pick the letter up off the coffee table. It was only a page in length. There was too much to say, so much that she couldn't bring herself to say any of it. And so she just hadn't.
She tried not to think of herself as a coward. She should have told him face to face, but she thought, believed that would only hurt him more. This way, maybe he could hate her. Maybe it would be easier in the end. Or maybe she just couldn't bear to look into his deep blue eyes as she told him what he'd feared had finally come true.
Her journey to the kitchen counter to retrieve her coat was halted by a pounding on her door. There was no question in her mind as to who it was as she wearily went to answer it.
He was there in a blaze of fury and pushed straight passed her before she could utter a word. His eyes swept the room, taking in the empty shelves and the boxes, as if seeking confirmation of her impending departure. The silence crackled heavily between them, recriminations and regret filling the dead air, daring her to speak. He had yet to look at her, unable or unwilling to meet her eyes.
Finally, she could take no more. "Griss…"
"Don't." His voice was low and dangerous, a voice she had never heard him use before, especially not with her. "Were you even going to bother telling me?"
"I…" she started to make excuses but stopped herself. He deserved the truth. "No."
"Good to know what our relationship means to you," he said bitterly.
She went to him, putting her hand on his arm. "Grissom, I don't want to go. But I have to."
He finally turned to look at her, grabbing her by the shoulders. "No. You don't have to go anywhere," he insisted. "This isn't you, Sara. You don't run away."
The tears were now flowing freely down her face. "If I stay, things will only get worse. Maybe if I get out of town, lay low for a while, this will all blow over," she told him, not really believing it in her heart. "And then I'll come back."
"You're letting her win, Sara."
"She won a long time ago," she replied. "I don't think she ever intended on killing me that night in the warehouse. She wanted to destroy both of us." She brushed away the tears impatiently; her anger towards the woman who'd caused all this building inside her chest until it had no where left to go but out. "She may have succeeded in destroying my career, but I'll be damned if I let her do the same to you! She will not use me to destroy you! If I go now, your career might still be okay."
He slid his hands up from her shoulders to cup her face. "Do you really think I give a damn about my career right now?"
"Oh babe, I know you do," she told him honestly. "I know how important it is to you. It's what you've worked towards your entire life. You might not want to admit it now, but if I was the one to mess that up for you, you'd end up hating me."
He shook his head. "Don't leave." He ran his thumbs across her cheeks in the futile attempt to stem her tears. "Don't leave."
Sara couldn't speak and so he lowered his lips to hers, almost searing her skin with his intensity. She could do nothing but kiss him back, utterly helpless against the torrent of emotions rushing between them. Their kisses were fevered and desperate, as if trying to fit all of the passion they had ever experienced into one single moment of time.
Packing boxes, suitcases and court cases; everything was forgotten as they totally lost themselves in each other. Her shirt came up and over her head, landing in a heap on the floor. His followed a few seconds later. Blindly they stumbled their way towards the bedroom, slamming into walls and door jams and not feeling the pain.
He tore his lips from hers and began devouring her neck as her head lolled back and she moaned. Their hands wandered freely, wanting to be everywhere at once, exploring old territory like new and finding favorite spots once more.
As his lips found hers again, she felt the dampness of his tears on her face. She held him tighter, kissed him harder, willing them to fall into oblivion one last time.
TBC.