The plan was set – it was time for an experiment. All the variables had been checked – weight of the victim, height of the bed, the length of the corridor in the Marshalls' house. In Sara's arms was a large, white forensics dummy, its featureless face fixed on the ceiling, and as she rounded the corridor she caught sight of Greg, struggling toward the department's elevator with a set of weights.

'Sorry, but are we working the same case?' inquired Sara, making her way toward her partner. 'I thought we were going to be doing this in the garage; that's where we usually do stuff like this.'

'Ungh!' Greg grunted in exertion as he shoved the last stack of weights across the floor.

'Are you okay? Why didn't you put them on a dolly or something? Something with wheels?'

Greg drew a deep breath, pressing his hands to the small of his back. Finally he straightened himself, before replying 'I didn't think of that.'

Sara tossed her head back, and shouldering her burden, let out a throaty laugh. 'Still… you feel like clueing me in, or anything?'

'All in good time. Get yourself in the elevator, and I'll explain. But first,' he added, pointing his thumb in the direction of his cargo, 'I'm going to act on your suggestion and go fetch a dolly so I don't slip a disc during round two.'

'Greg – you're not serious.'

'Deadly.'

'Come on – this isn't time for joking around. You know I'm on Ecklie's shit list.'

'Stop worrying,' he soothed. 'Everything's been sorted out.'

As the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open, Sara stood speechless. While Greg busied himself hauling the weights onto the dolly, she walked toward the office door, its new brass nameplate glinting under the fluorescent lights – 'CONRAD ECKLIE – ASSISTANT DIRECTOR'. She had to hand it to the man; he didn't miss a beat when it came to self-promotion. Stepping closer, she peered through the reinforced glass of the door's window. In comparison to Grissom's office, Ecklie's was positively vast, yet entirely soulless. Sara shuddered as she recalled sitting in that chair in front of the desk, when he had made it quite clear he wanted her fired. At least he wasn't in there now. She wasn't keen to risk aggravating him again, considering his powers of life and death over her career. That was why Greg's scheme seemed to spell professional suicide for herself at least, even if her partner didn't see it for himself.

She decided to try and make the boy see sense one last time. 'Look; this is… insane. We can do this fine in the garage.'

'Come on, Sara – what does Grissom always say about doing an experiment? Always make sure you replicate all the variables!' Sara looked at him doubtfully. He continued. 'Right. When I first started out in the field, and I got paired up with Nick, all I got to do was draw up crime scenes and measure stuff. Remember that case with the sex-change clinic, murdered showgirl? Guess who got to go and drive her last mile? Or rather miles… yours truly. I'm very handy with a trundle wheel now, you know – always keep one in my trunk.'

'You've got one over me there.'

'Well anyway, back to the story. So, at the interrogation with Brass, when the wife said how she'd been the one who'd pushed him down the stairs, I thought 'Aha! Right. So she lifts this guy from his side of the bed, hauls him out of the room, down the corridor, onto the landing, them chucks him down the treads. Okay. Now, you've seen the size of Mrs Marshall – she can't be over 5' 2". On the other hand, our vic's 5' 9", 150lb, which is a little shy of what I weigh…'

'Letting slip your vital stats there, Mr Sanders?' teased Sara.

'Anything for you, Ms Sidle. Anyway, so I'm doubtful, you're doubtful, the good Captain is doubtful. I have a word with said Captain; apparently because it's suspicious circs, and the coroner hasn't ruled yet, the scene hasn't been released; the Wife's staying at the Tangiers for the time being. So I trundle off to Summerlin with my trusty trundle wheel, and I find,' he said, retrieving a notepad, 'that the Marshall's bed – including the mattress – is raised nineteen inches from the floor; that Mr Marshall slept on the side of the bed furthest from the door, so that's at least 26 feet; then from the bedroom door to the stairwell, that's another…' he checked his pad, '71 and a half feet. And not in a straight line, either.'

'Right. And the precise reason for our standing outside Ecklie's office is what?'

'Well, the incident allegedly took place on the upstairs floor of the house, and unless I'm missing something, the garage doesn't have one of those. On the other hand,' he said, flashing a grin, 'Ecklie's office is upstairs, and even better, just happens to be 70 feet from the stairwell. Or sixteen from the elevator. And now, it even has a bed.'

Sara looked the office window once again. Sure enough, propped against the wall was a folding bed frame she recognized from the one of the storerooms downstairs, with a mattress to match alongside. 'When did you do all this?'

'Oh, like, half an hour ago; I got Bobby D to give me a hand.'

'Does Grissom know about this?'

'What do you take me for? Of course he does. As does the director… it's all fair and above board.' He turned to face Sara, a reassuring smile on his face. 'You know, a lot of people don't like Ecklie that much, either.'

'You promise?'

'Cross my heart, hope to die,' he replied, hefting the last of the weights onto the dolly. Lowering his voice, he continued. 'Besides, it's about time Ecklie got a visit from the Karma Police. Even better that it's for the 'good of the lab', eh?'

Sara smiled, and hugged the fabric body in her arms to her chest. 'Okay, then… let's do it.'

Together the pair succeeded in maneuvering the bed into position, and now the dummy lay on the mattress, 145 pounds worth of weights strapped to its cloth torso.

'Right. So Mrs Marshall is 5' 2" – do you think we need to get Judy from reception again?'

'Maybe,' pondered Greg. 'You know, I don't think I could drag this guy that distance, but that might just be because I'm exhausted from hauling all those weights about in the first place.'

'You tell yourself that, Greggo.'

'Oh yeah? You wanna see if you can get him out that door?'

'Alright then,' she replied, rising to the challenge. 'Let's see what we can do, Mr Marshall.'

With that, Sara set to, trying various techniques to heft the dummy off of the bed. However, lacking adequate fastenings, the weights kept working free, leaving Sara with a markedly lighter load than was required.

'This doesn't seem to be working.'

'Yeah, well, Ecklie wouldn't approve the purchase for the new dummies we wanted where this wouldn't be a problem.'

'Why doesn't that surprise me?' Sara sighed, then paused for a moment. 'Hang on. How much do you weigh, Greg? Exactly.'

'Hey, getting a little forward there, aren't we?'

'Come on… how much?'

'Um… about 155 pounds, I think. I haven't exactly weighed myself in a while…'

'And you're what, 5' 10"?'

'And a half, don't forget that!'

'Right… that's pretty much perfect. Get on the bed, Greg.'

Greg's eyes widened as he stared at his partner. Quickly regaining his composure, he replied 'I thought you'd never ask.'

Sara's lips pursed into her trademark gap-toothed smile, before adding, 'Just lie down and pretend you're dead.'

'Yes ma'am,' he replied, tossing himself heavily onto the bed, which creaked loudly under such unaccustomed use. Sara laughed as he made a comedy 'death' face, his tongue lolling to one side.

'Okay, now… if I start to hurt you, just yell, okay?'

'Have no fear; I will.'

Sara grunted loudly with the effort of trying to lift Greg's frame from the mattress. Greg let his body hang limp, occasionally wincing when her attempts ended in pinching his flesh.

'Ow! You're doing it on purpose…'

'I didn't think the dead had the power of speech,' she deadpanned. Finally she succeeded in pulling Greg over the side of the bed, landing on the floor of Ecklie's office with a thud. 'This is harder than it looks.'

'Yeah; and you're about six inches taller than the wife,' replied the corpse.

'Hmm. Maybe she dragged him to the stairs?'

'Not really possible. If she had, there'd have been post-mortem dislocation in the shoulder joints, and remember he was wearing that belt with the studs in when he was found? That would have left scratches on the hard wood floor, and we didn't find any of those.'

'So her story doesn't add up yet again. Do you think we're looking for an accomplice now?'

'Yeah; probably male, and probably a good sight better built than me.'

'I'll bear that in mind.'

'Can someone explain what's going on?'

Both Greg and Sara snapped their heads towards the door to see the assistant lab director standing in the doorway. Sara did a hasty scope out of the office; Greg was lying crumpled on the floor with her leaning beside him, forensics paraphernalia littering the carpet. 'Well, Sir…' she began.

'We were just conducting an experiment, Sir,' interrupted Greg, quickly picking himself up and dusting himself down. Connected with the Marshall case.'

'In my office?'

'It was the only place in the department that fitted with the case variables, sir.'

'But you didn't think to ask, first?'

Greg pulled a face of concern. 'You mean, you didn't receive a memo about it sir? You weren't available, so I requested authorization from the director, and he said it was fine. I assumed you knew.'

'Evidently not. Now is this circus finished?'

'Oh yes, sir; got the results we need; though obviously if we'd had the correct apparatus…'

'Good,' cut in Ecklie. 'Now I need my office; I want you two out of here, now. And don't think I won't check with the director about this.'

'Oh, I don't doubt it,' muttered Sara, as she and Greg stooped to clean up the debris.

Replacing the equipment back in the garage, Sara sidled over to Greg and whispered, 'you weren't having me on, were you? About getting authorization?'

'No, seriously, I wasn't. I really did go to Grissom and the director.'

'But you didn't think to tell me about all this?'

He tapped her conspiratorially on the shoulder. 'No; that would have ruined the surprise. Did you enjoy it?'

'Well… yeah,' she acknowledged grudgingly.

'Excellent. Lesson one in the art of lightening up has been a success,' he said with a grin. 'Monday, remember? I told you we would start today. Feel like consolidating on our success with a coffee after shift?' he asked, decided to press his luck.

Sara grinned back, touched by the lengths he had gone to in order bring a smile to her face. 'Sure. I'll come and find you.'

'Counting on it,' he replied with a faux Rat Pack flourish.