Chapter XXIX

On The Brink

Saturday

12:00 p.m.

Channel 5 Action Now News Saturday Edition carried the press conference all across the Vegas area and CNN spread it across the rest of the nation and eventually the world. Another girl was missing, this time one of LVPD's own and there was still no lead.

Sam Braun offered a five million dollar reward the return of Lindsey Willows, publicly. Privately the man had ordered out all of his people and had called in every favor he was owed. He wanted his granddaughter back, by any means: legal, illegal and anywhere in between.

The Sheriff offered his assurances that the search was on.

The Mayor offered empty condolences.

Maria Rymer delved into the meat and potatoes of the story, her relentless questions cut into the heart of the case.

It was not, however, any of the powerful figures of the law enforcement, city government or media that had the most impact. The loose semi-circle of women, of mothers who had lost their children, was what tugged at heart strings. Moira Holloway was their voice, but the message was truly written in the tear ravaged faces and haunted eyes of all of the mothers. Carrol Winters, Amy Black, Frances Thompson and Moira Holloway, their stories sent a chill down the spine of Vegas - protect your daughters. Catherine Willows was notably absent from the press conference. Whispers and rumors moved through the media and the public, wild accusations, fear, paranoia.

Standing behind the mothers was another presence. The woman did not speak, nor was she investigating or reporting on the crimes. She was, nevertheless, the silent centerpiece of the chaos. She was a pillar of strength for the other women, each looked to her, as if for reassurance...or permission. The striking woman's placid, almost frigidly stoic, face gave nothing away, but her hand often strayed to the ornate silver and onyx cross that she wore. A slight breeze, carrying the dry kiss of the desert ruffled her red hair and she tilted her head ever so slightly, listening to the questions and reactions of the crowd. Through her efforts, and those she helped, Vegas would never forget the victims of the Doll Collector.

Sara watched the press conference from her apartment. She was alone, and emotionally drained. Channel 5 cut to commercial and Sara sighed.
A commercial flickered on.

"Nevada is my home and I love it."
The camera panned over the rocky desert, the very dignified government buildings of the capital, over the sparkling waters of Lake Mead and finally, the Strip in all of it's neon glory.
A string of credentials began listing and then the screen was filled with the smiling face of Madison Daniels.
"I've always fought for our children, for families and for safety. Elect me to the Senate this fall so I can help build a better tomorrow."

Sara turned off the television, physically sickened by the false face of Madison Daniels. The thin, but incredibly glossy veneer of "dedicated stateswoman" didn't cover up the barely controlled violence and psychoses that truly made Madison Daniels who she was. Not in Sara's eyes anyway. The woman thought she could get away with murder, and unfortunately, it looked like she could be right. Power and politics apparently trumped crime and punishment in Las Vegas. Ironically, the words of another murderess floated through Sara's mind.

"I ask that you seek justice. Not for me, not for his honor, not even for Shelly Daniels. I ask because justice demands it. Justice is greater then our personal feelings; than revenge, than pity. Do not shrink, do not disappoint, but rather embrace it."

Melissa Winters, former ADA and current guest of the Nevada Women's Correctional Facility. She had killed her abusive husband and had become paralyzed when he had fired back at her. Sara had wanted to bring Melissa Winters justice. Justice for her husband, for the loss of her legs, for many things. Instead, she had brought Melissa Winters to justice, and to peace. Sara knew it was preposterous, but she wondered what the wheelchair-bound attorney would say about Madison Daniels and the case. This had been just the kind of case that the woman would have dove into. They would have pieced together her attack, building it layer by layer until Daniels didn't have a leg to stand on. Unfortunately, Melissa was serving a life sentence and Sara was off of the case.

Not that being officially taken off a case had ever stopped the members of the Night Shift before. Grissom's brush with death while working the Strip Strangler case was a testament to that. Of course everyone had supported Grissom. He'd had Nick, Warrick, Catherine and herself behind him. She had no one. She couldn't ask for help from anyone at the lab, not that they would say yes, but that was beside the point. She couldn't ask Brass or Sofia for help, for exactly the other reason. They would help her and she could not risk their careers too. Cami had already helped her too much as it was. From profiling the case under the table to pulling strings to have the Feds check for matching crimes in Carson City and Washington D.C. No, Sara decided, she was alone. It was not the first time she'd been on her own, and sadly enough, she doubted it would be her last.

She paced her small living room, waiting for some kind of an idea or plan to come to mind.

Quantico, Virginia

Saturday

12:30 p.m.

Assistant Director Leonardo Johnson shook his head and once again wondered why he was in his office on his day off wading through VICAP reports. Cambridge Parker, that was why. The woman was as intoxicating as she was intelligent. When she called in a favor, you didn't just do it, you dropped everything to do it right then. That was, of course, not to mention that he owed her his left nut for her help on the Westbrook case.

Sure, he'd heard the hub-bub about Vegas's Doll Collector, but until the killer moved along, it was Vegas's problem. That was, of course, unless they asked for help. They had not, so his hands were tied. In the current situation of viscous territoriality wrapped up in faux open-mindedness and cooperation, he could not just barge in and take a case, not without a damn good reason. He wouldn't send his people to Vegas to get frozen out and resented. Especially with Gil Grissom's people on the case. The FBI still had egg on it's face from the Strip Strangler fiasco.
He ran his hand through his hair. It still had the thickness of his youth, though years of staring into the evil minds of killers had turned brown gray. His mouth was set in an impatient thin line as he waited for the computer to spit out the results. When it beeped, he downsized the E-Bay and looked at the results. He jerked his hand through his hair. "Oh fuck." He fumbled for his phone and started dialing numbers from memory. Three matching cases in Carson City and five right across the way in Washington D.C. He'd just found eight very good reasons to send his people to Vegas.

Within that hour, he had his two best Agents in the air, heading towards Sin City and the field office alerted and on their way to the LVPD to brief the detectives. He frowned at the page, Cami's note had said to call some CSI if he found anything. He shrugged and started dialing the scrawled the number. If Cambridge Parker trusted this Sidle woman, then she must be good. Then again, if Sidle worked under Grissom, she was probably one of the best; Gilbert Grissom only worked with those he saw potential in.

Las Vegas, Nevada

1:24 p.m.

Sara had thought, brooded, stewed, and had exhausted all of her mental processes trying to figure out how to get at Daniels without being thrown in jail. She was quickly coming to her wit's end. She'd gone from 'What would Grissom do?' to 'What would Batman do?' That definitely signaled that she was getting a little bit desperate. Of course, it was Lindsey out there, facing down death. Sara decided that these were desperate times.

She was ready to climb the walls. She hated that she couldn't do anything. She didn't even have her notes. She was utterly helpless. It was, she figured, a mere shadow of what Catherine must be feeling. The thought of her colleague sent a sharp pain through her chest and she had to swallow the bile that had climbed out of her sour stomach.

She was staring at the cabinet that she knew held her "emergency" stash of Tequila when the phone rang. She contemplated not answering, she contemplated ignoring the world and finding solace in the bottle. She picked up the phone, steeling herself for the news that Lindsey had been found dead and it was her fault.
"Sidle."

There was a slight pause and then a familiar voice began speaking in a heavy New Jersey accent. "CSI Sidle, this is Assistant Director Johnson with the FBI. I ran the specs Dr. Parker gave me through VICAP and our CASMIRC database, focusing on Carson City..."

Impatience ate through her nerves, "And?" She interrupted the federal agent. She no longer had to worry about inter-agency friendliness. The man grunted, "There were three matching cases in Carson City in the given time line and five in DC. The reports indicate that five girls were killed..." Sara sighed, "Another was taken." There was another grunt. "I've got people on the way out there and the field office is sending over agents to debrief your people."

Sara nodded, "Of course. Thank you Assistant Director."

She terminated the call and stood in the middle of her living room, phone held in her hand, hands against her chest. Her heart was beating frantically. If Daniels caught wind of the FBI coming in, she would kill Lindsey. To send a message, if nothing else. Sara had to get to Lindsey before the news of the FBI reached the public. She remembered the press conference and the constant updates. There was a leak somewhere, which meant that she had precious little time. There was a time for Grissom's methodical science and careful planning, and there was a time for action.

Do not shrink, do not disappoint, but rather embrace it."

With Melissa's words ringing in her ears, Sara grabbed her keys and her service weapon.