A/N: I would like to take a moment to thank everyone who read and/or reviewed the last chapter. I really (really) appreciate it! As well, I think that there will only be one or two more chapters to go (expect some major 'aww' moments in the next chapter), and I am hoping to finish this fic before I leave for vacation on the 19th. So keep your fingers crossed that I can do it, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

Title: The Crime Scene

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The Sidle Residence

"What about the husband?" Warrick suddenly asked, as he grabbed his keys, wallet, badge, and firearm, from the table beside the door. "When did he re-enter the picture?"

Sara closed her eyes in thought for a moment, thinking through her answer. "He eventually returned to his home around two in the morning," she began, grabbing her own badge and firearm. "And he seemed pretty shocked, I have to admit; like he wasn't expecting to see so many flashing lights around his home."

"Why, what did he do?" Warrick questioned her, raising an eyebrow, as his fist closed around the doorknob. Twisting the knob, he yanked the door open, stepping slightly to the side so that Sara could walk past him.

"He ran to his wife's body, and immediately started crying," she informed him. "His face got pale, and he seemed genuinely upset. Then again, he could very well have just been acting," she shrugged, as she walked past Warrick, her elbow slightly grazing his chest.

"True," Warrick replied. "So how did he try to explain the lack of a meeting?"

"Actually," Sara frowned, locking the door behind them both. "He didn't try to hide it; he said that there never was a meeting, but that he just needed a night away from his wife. He claims," she mused. "That he spent the night at a bar downtown, just clearing his head."

"I see," Warrick slowly stated, as he tried to process that particular fact. "So his marriage is—or was—on the rocks?" he questioned Sara, swaggering toward his car, and opening the passenger-side door for her.

"He claims that their marriage was fine," she admitted, sliding into the Denali, and immediately buckling herself in. "But that he just needed one night to himself. Then again," she continued. "If he feels the need to take a night off, well, I don't know how good his marriage could have been in the first place."

Warrick simply nodded, as he drove toward the crime scene. "Why don't you go ahead and call Brass, and tell him where we're headed?" he calmly suggested, his eyes on the road.

"Sure," Sara replied. Pulling out her cell phone, and flipping it open, she hit the speed dial number assigned to Brass. "Hi, Jim," she quietly said into the receiver, after he picked up. "Warrick and I are on our way over to the Conte home now, to look for more evidence," she informed him. "You'll have back-up there for us within ten minutes? Excellent, thank you! You, too!" She added, before hanging up the phone.

"All set, girl?" Warrick grinned, chancing a quick look at her.

"All set," Sara confirmed. "And again, thank you for coming along with me."

"Don't thank me," Warrick chuckled. "Trust me, it's my pleasure." And things will only get better, once this case is solved.

Sara just smiled, as they continued to drive in silence.

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The Conte Residence

"Good," Warrick mused, as they pulled up in front of the Conte's home, parking along the side of the road. "The officer is already here, which means that we can go ahead and get started."

"Right," Sara nodded, reaching over and putting her hand on Warrick's arm for a moment, in order to stop him from getting out of the car. "But what, exactly, are we going to do?" she softly asked him. "I mean, I've looked everywhere inside and outside of this house; I don't know where else that hammer could possibly be, Rick," she frowned, her feeling of despair starting to return.

Turning to look at Sara, Warrick put his hand over her own, gently squeezing it. "Hey, girl, give yourself a break, okay?" he hesitantly advised her. "You need to breathe, and you need to focus. You and I will retrace your steps, and we'll see what we can find. But in order to find anything, you're going to need to calm down," he quietly told her.

"I know," Sara sighed. "I know, and you're right." Removing her hand from his arm, she glanced out of her window, before opening the door, and climbing out. "And I am calm," she mumbled. "I just want to find Lindsey's killer, and it's bothering me that I am missing something so key. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, girl, I know what you mean," Warrick admitted, climbing out of the Denali, and locking the door behind him. "But that is why we're going to work together to solve this case, right here, and right now, okay?"

"Okay," Sara smiled, before glancing up the driveway, and heading toward the door. "So do you want to start inside or outside, first?"

Warrick shrugged. "I guess we might as well take a cursory look around inside of the house first," he mused, following her up the driveway. "Just so that you can show me what you've already done."

Sara again nodded, as they approached the officer standing guard in front of the house. "Officer Pierce," she greeted him. "Any changes to report?"

"No, Ma'am," he replied. "Mr. Conte stopped by earlier tonight, though, just to pick up some clothing. He's been staying at his mother's house, while his house is under investigation."

"And someone followed him while he was inside?" she asked the young officer, glancing at the closed front door.

"Yes, Ma'am," he confirmed with a small smile. "The man wasn't alone for more than a moment."

"Good," Sara nodded, as she slipped on a pair of gloves, and opened the front door. "Ready, Rick?" she quietly asked.

"Of course," Warrick assured her, as he followed her inside. "So walk me through what you did?" he suggested.

"Well," Sara cleared her throat. "When Jim and I first entered the house, I noticed the trail of blood leading from the doorway to the couch," she pointed along the tiled floor. "The trail was made by a combination of footprints, and of something being dragged."

"So someone obviously stepped in some blood at some point," Warrick stated the obvious.

"Exactly," Sara confirmed, as the two criminalists stood in the foyer of the large home, just glancing around themselves. "I measured the footprints, and they match a size seven shoe; Lindsey wore a size five," Sara continued. "So she couldn't have made the prints on her own, even before she died."

"And the husband?" Warrick prompted Sara, his eyes studying the foyer.

"Size nine," she replied.

"So then obviously," he continued. "It wasn't his shoe that stepped through the blood. He would have been able to wear a larger shoe, but not a smaller one. And as for the size seven itself—" he started to point.

"I know," Sara flashed him a small smile. "It could belong to a woman with larger feet, or a smaller male."

"Exactly," Warrick grinned at her. "Just what I was thinking."

"And just what I was thinking earlier this week," Sara sighed.

"Hey, Girl," Warrick frowned, turning to look at her. "Don't look so despondent, okay? We just got here, so keep walking me through the scene," he tried to prod her, reaching a hand out, and lightly placing it on her arm for a moment.

"Okay," Sara nodded, trying to smile for Warrick's sake. "So, Jim and I walked into the living room, where we found Lindsey's body." Starting to walk down the hallway, Sara pulled out a flashlight, shining it along the floor. "We found her right about here," she informed him, shining the light on the ground just next to the couch. "Although nothing was overturned in this room."

"So, do you think she was killed in here? Or somewhere else?" Warrick asked, his gaze sweeping the contents of the living room. Aside from the blood stains just next to the couch, the rest of the room was in pristine condition; nothing was out of place, and everything seemed normal.

"There was a lot of blood out on the front lawn," Sara replied. "And nothing out back, actually."

"So the crime could have been committed out front," Warrick mused.

"Correct. Except, wouldn't you, as a neighbor, notice a crime being committed in your neighbor's front yard? It just doesn't add up!" Sara frowned.

Warrick shrugged. "Not necessarily, Girl. The neighbors might have been gone for the night, or watching television, or just—" he trailed off.

"But she was bludgeoned to death, Warrick," Sara pointed out. "She probably made a lot of noise. Are these people so into themselves, that they just ignore everyone else?" she sadly asked him.

"I don't know, Sara," he stated. "I really don't. But let's take a look outside, okay?" Putting one of his hands on the small of her back, Warrick carefully guided her back out of the front door, removing his hand, in order to walk side by side with her toward the backyard. "Can you take me through what you did next?" he hesitantly asked, turning to look at her.

"Of course," Sara mumbled, scanning the backyard. "There isn't much to tell, though. I came out back, and found absolutely nothing; no footprints, no trace, no evidence. I even climbed up those trees over there, and looked inside of the tree house," she added, pointing to an enclosed wooden tree house sitting in a stand of trees in the far-right hand corner of the luscious yard.

Warrick turned to glance at the tree house, whistling. "Damn, Girl. I always wanted one of those, you know that?" he chuckled, slowly walking over to the fort of sorts, and looking up at it in awe. "My Dad refused to build one for me, though," he softly explained.

"And you couldn't build it by yourself?" she teased him.

"Nah, not the kind of fort that I was envisioning," he grinned, before his smile suddenly faded, only to be replaced by a look of utter confusion. "But hey, wait a minute."

"What? What is it?" Sara quietly asked, walking over to stand beside him. Looking up at the tree house, she noticed a jacket covered with definite red-splotches, haphazardly slung out of one of the windows. "That wasn't there before, Warrick," she nervously whispered to him. "Really; it wasn't there before," she repeated. And is that blood? Is there blood on that jacket? Is there someone inside of that tree house right now, watching our every move? Someone with a weapon?

Warrick nodded his understanding, pulling out his gun, and cocking it. This could get ugly pretty fast, if there is someone in there with a weapon of some sort.

Before either of the two criminalists could react any further, however, a red-haired boy of around nineteen poked his head out of the tree house window closest to their present location. "Wh-who's out there? Who are you?" he boldly asked them.

Immediately stepping in front of Sara as if attempting to protect her from the potential threat, Warrick aimed his gun up at the young man. "LVMPD, although I think the real question," he hissed. "Is who the hell are you?"

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TO BE CONTINUED 