A/N:There was no beta on these latest chapters, so please excuse any typos or grammatical mistakes. If you find any, feel free to point them out and I'll fix them.
Chapter 7
Near the end of shift, Sara took a break to stretch out her muscles. For most of the night, she and Greg had been going over the evidence collected at the last crime scene. While he finished that up, she had examined some of the files on the previous deaths, concentrating on addicts who had died of apparent heart failure with only a moderate amount of drugs in their system. So far, they had little to show for their efforts.
Not that she was surprised. The very nature of the cases worked against them. The majority of the deaths had been considered routine overdoses at the time and had a cursory investigation at best. Even the locations were an issue. Too many people using them, too exposed to the elements, too much time since the crimes – any evidence that might have been left was too compromised to be useful.
So far their killer had been either very good or very lucky. Personally, she was hoping for lucky. Luck ran out eventually while criminals tended to get better with practice.
Sara was debating getting some herbal tea – she was determined to sleep well after this shift – when Brass strolled in.
"Any chance you found a drivers license drenched in potassium chloride?" he asked with a hopeful smile. "Or a sales receipt for the stuff with the credit card number?"
"I would have let you know if I had," she said lightly.
"You would? I mean since you can do better than me and all, I wasn't sure if I stood a courtesy call or not," Brass said, giving her a wink. "Even huggy bears have feelings."
Sara smirked at him. "Oh, bite me."
"I'm afraid what you would do to me if I tried."
"Smart man. I take it Gonzalez' report didn't help?"
Brass gave her a weary look. "And I take it you haven't had a chance to look at the Van Buren evidence yet?"
"No," she replied seriously. "What's up?"
Brass rested his hip on the table. "Well, whoever killed him didn't take his wallet stuffed with cash and credit cards, his watch, phone or his gold frat ring."
Sara didn't attempt to hide her surprise. "Addicts mainly commit crimes to fund their habit. No way they would have left those behind."
"It gets better. The only fingerprints found on his doctor's bag and the stuff in it belonged to the three addicts who were in possession of it when the police found them."
"It's not likely they would have wiped the bag and contents clean before they pawed through it. Didn't Gonzalez find that odd?"
"You did met the man, right?" Brass joked.
Sara swore to herself about sloppy work. "And he died in an accident right after he retired so we can't go back and ask him anything about the case."
"Is it ironic that a man who always rushed through things pulled into traffic too slowly and got plowed by a tractor trailer?"
"Tragic," she said.
"Well, I doubt he could have told us anything useful. He was just going through the motions on this one," he quipped.
Sara gave him a dark look but didn't pursue the matter. "What about the addicts who had the bag?"
"They claimed someone threw it through a broken window."
"Was their story believable?"
Brass shrugged. "They weren't stoned when the cops found them, there were no drugs with street value in the bag, and all three actually had real alibis for the time of his death."
She tossed her arms up. "Great. Either we have an addict who killed the doctor but ignored all his valuables, or someone else killed him and tried to frame an addict."
"Well, I'm going to try to find the three addicts. I don't know if they have enough brain cells left between them to tell us anything useful, but it won't hurt to try."
"What about the clinic?"
"It closed shortly after the doc's murder. Seems the volunteering spirit didn't extend to the chance of becoming an actual spirit," he said dryly.
"Did Swing find anything at all?" Sara asked.
"There was a bit of latex and powder in the hinges. It's consistent with medical gloves." Brass paused to bob his head for a moment. "I've never met a doctor so anal they wore gloves while handling their bag, but I suppose it is possible."
"The latex and powder could have gotten in there anytime, but it's hard to believe Van Buren never left a fingerprint or DNA on anything."
"Look, I know Swing held up their end of the investigation, but I'd appreciate it if you could re-examine the evidence. I don't think Gonzalez was on the right track with the addict killing the doc for his stash."
"More work for us. Yeah," Greg said tiredly as he joined them, a printout in his hands. He only shook his head in disgust as they brought him up to speed on Gonzalez' slipshod investigation.
"Did you find something useful?" Brass asked.
"There was no trace of potassium in the syringe found in our John Doe's body," he said without preamble as he slouched into a chair. "And, more interestingly, there's no fingerprints on the syringe either."
"He wasn't wearing gloves when he found him," Sara said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the table. "Not that addicts are notorious about hygiene."
Brass shrugged. "It fits with what we suspected. Someone gives or injects the addicts with potassium chloride, removes that syringe and plants the one with heroin on the body."
"Once they're dead, it wouldn't be hard to move their hand onto the syringe to leave a print," she mused. "Personally, I would have planted the fingerprints first, then left the syringe in the body. Easier to get a good transfer."
"Somehow, I don't see you killing this way," Greg said.
"Thanks. I think," Sara said, flashing him a quick grin.
He leaned forward, shaking his head. "No, I don't think you're going to go on a killing spree – unless you go psycho from lack of sleep – but if you did, you wouldn't do it so ..."
"Ruthlessly?" she suggested.
"Ineffectively."
"Given how many dead addicts there are, I'm not sure I'd say he's ineffective," she said in confusion.
"Okay, inefficiently, then," Greg said shortly. "Why kill them one by one? There are faster ways to get rid of a bunch of addicts."
She nodded her head in agreement. It was something she had considered since Robbins first approached her. Poisoned food or a gun would be much easier. Despite his obvious bad mood, she was glad to see Greg was thinking the case through.
"I would have described it as dangerously," Brass said. "Not for the victims, but for the killer. He had to get up close and personal. I agree with Sanders – this isn't a smart approach."
"Well, the vics all had heroin in their system, so they were stoned before he gave them the lethal injection," Sara said, tilting her head in thought.
"What?" Brass asked. "I know that Sidle look."
"Do addicts have a Heroin Fairy? It wouldn't make sense for the killer to just hang around on the off-chance of finding a lone addict shooting heroin. The killer must have supplied it," she said.
"An addict might be suspicious, but I doubt they'd turn down a free trick," Brass said. "But it is an expensive way to kill people. All those little doses of heroin over three years – it adds up."
"Do you think it ties in with Van Buren's killer leaving all that loot behind?" Greg asked.
"Well, the one useful thing Gonzalez did was pull Van Buren's financials. He was loaded, big trust fund, the whole shebang. If the addict killer is someone from his social circle looking for revenge …"
"Blowing a small fortune on heroin wouldn't be a hardship," Sara finished.
"Assuming the two are connected," the detective added as an afterthought. "I know we don't have anything firm yet, but there's a helluva lot of coincidences if it's not."
"Wouldn't doctors know about better ways to kill someone?" Greg asked.
"The killer may not be a doctor. Could be a nurse, a friend, a relative," Brass said. "Besides, you're the one who pointed out how easy it is to buy potassium chloride. Something better may raise too many flags if you try to get it."
"If the killer does have a medical background, they may consider this the most humane way of killing them," she offered calmly. "It's quick, so no suffering beyond the injection itself."
"I suppose," Brass said doubtfully, "but it goes against the whole Hippocratic Oath."
"First off, I'm pretty sure the oath is completely optional. Doctors don't have to take it if they don't want to. And history is full of doctors who also killed," she said.
Greg gave a reluctant nod of agreement. "We've seen it here. That Lurie guy, even if he got away with it."
"Yeah," Sara softly, fighting back the memories of the case.
Whether it was her exhaustion or her state of mind over her lover's departure, she couldn't stop the flood of emotions associated with her murdered doppelganger's case. The way Grissom had worked himself to exhaustion, his refusal to talk to her and finally his broken admission of love – but that his work was more important.
After his blunt refusal and curt behavior to her, she'd come to the conclusion hers was an unrequited love. But to hear him admit that he did love her but was too afraid to try – that had hurt more than she thought possible. It wasn't the only factor, but it did help accelerate her downward spiral.
It had been hard enough to bear the first time, and replaying it didn't dull the pain.
"So, Sara, you'll look into that for me?" Brass said, touching her arm. He had moved so he blocked Greg's view of her face, his own expression one of concern.
She gave him a quick smile of thanks as she forced the memories down. "I was planning on doing it anyway."
"I'm going down to the hospital in the morning to see if Stan is in any condition to talk. I'll see if I can find anyone who knew Van Buren while I'm there."
"Grab me before you go," she said as he left the room.
"Oh, yeah, you're in fine shape to work another double shift," Greg muttered darkly.
"I'm going straight home after that to sleep," she assured him.
"Must be maxed out on overtime, then."
She ignored the comment but kept a close watch on him as they went to the vault to pull the Van Buren evidence. He grouched about the time it took the clerk took to find the right boxes, and he was still complaining as they walked back.
Once inside the Layout Room, Sara deposited her box and turned back to close the door. "Do you want to talk about what's really bothering you?" she asked quietly as she moved back to the table.
Greg sulked for a minute, before dropping his head and letting out a sigh. "Sorry, I didn't mean to take it out on you."
"You haven't, and I don't mind," she insisted. "Was it something your lawyer said?"
"Worse." He opened the first evidence box hesitantly. After a moment, he looked up. "My mother."
"Okay," she said, opening the next box as she tried to make sense of his comment. She knew his mother was overprotective, but he was very close to his whole family.
Sensing her confusion, he continued. "She called me before shift started and said my Uncle Per would be delighted to have me work in his real estate company."
"I didn't know you wanted to leave," she said in shock. The whole incident with James had upset him, sure, but that badly?
"I don't!"
"But she does," Sara said as the pieces fell together.
"She never understood why 'I'm wasting my talents' working in the crime lab – her words, not mine."
Sara glanced up from the evidence bag she was examining to smile at him. "I figured as much."
"I mean she freaked after the lab explosion. I never told her I went into the field until after the … attack. I don't think there's a word in the English language to describe her reaction to that."
She laid a hand on his arm in silent support. "She loves you, and she doesn't want to see you hurt."
"I know! I get that. Believe me, I don't want to get hurt!" he said hotly before taking a deep breath. "I don't know what to tell her. She doesn't understand – or doesn't want to understand – why this job matters to me."
Sara considered what to say. Learning of Greg's attack has been hard enough to hear about as a friend. She couldn't imagine what the news must have been like for his family.
Even her own parents, as flawed as they had been, had always been mortified when she got caught in their crossfire. Afterwards, both doted on her, pain evident on their faces as they tried to ignore the latest cast or bandages. Of course, they were never mortified enough to change their behavior …
"So, what do you tell your family?" Greg finally asked.
The question startled her, and she her first instinct was to deflect it. That was a part of her life that she guarded closely. Looking in his eyes, she immediately felt guilty. He was coming to her with his troubles, never questioning whether she cared, looking for support and she had wanted to lie to him.
"I don't," she eventually answered.
Sara caught the flash of annoyance in his tone."Is this another no-go discussion area?"
"No, it's just …" She paused only briefly. "I never kept in touch with any of the foster families I stayed with."
Greg looked up in surprise and was silent for a long time. "You're serious." It was more a statement than a question, and she nodded. "Did your parents die in an accident?"
She thought the question sounded almost hopeful. In their line of work, they came across many horrible ways kids ended up in the system, and an accident was one of the least traumatic ways.
"No." Sitting back, she felt herself relax. Just the decision to open up to Greg, to stop lying by omission, made it easier to continue. "My parents … definitely two people who should never had been together. It was a bad scene, lots of a fights."
"Sara, I'm sorry, I had no idea," he apologized.
"How could you? It's not something I brag about," she said, touched by his concern.
"I mean, everyone knows you never take off to visit your family, but we assumed you were just too much of a workaholic."
"I am," she conceded. "But there's really no one left to visit."
Greg rooted through his box, grabbing the next bag of evidence. "I thought you had a brother?"
She was surprised he knew that, but she had told Grissom about him in the locker room. Plenty of people could have overheard that conversation.
"Yeah, but he ran away from home when he was sixteen. There's no been no trace of him. Legally, he's considered dead for years now."
"Wow. I, I really stepped in it this time. No wonder you never talk about your family," he muttered.
"Don't feel guilty, Greg. It's just … being in foster care, being moved from home to home – you learn not to share too much. It's not an easy habit to get out of."
"If you don't want to talk …"
"It's okay," she assured him. "You guys are probably the best friends I've ever had. But it's not something I like to talk about. And it's not something most people want to hear."
Greg leaned forward. "Believe me, I'm imaging the worst already. If you want to talk, you know I'm here."
"I had a few broken bones, nothing like what you're thinking," she said quietly.
"That's bad enough."
"It wasn't the worst." Sara took a deep breath before continuing. "My mom was an undiagnosed schizophrenic. One night, she snapped. She stabbed my father to death while he was asleep. I still remember the scene. Castoff all over the place, the smell of blood and vomit from the cop."
She stopped and gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry, you probably didn't need that much detail."
"God, Sara, no kid should have to see that. I can see why you don't want to talk about it, but, hey, I know now. Anytime you want or need to, I'm here."
"Thanks. You don't know how good that is to know." She gave her head a quick shake and forced a smile. "Let's move on to something less depressing – our serial killer."
They finished opening all the boxes and carefully sorted out the evidence bags on the table. Next came the methodical re-examination of each piece of evidence. After a while, Greg flashed her a contrite smile. "You're nearly as closed off as Grissom. That's not a good thing."
"Hmm," she replied neutrally.
He chuckled for a bit. "Did you hear that Nick thinks Grissom's got a girlfriend? Can you imagine what a relationship with him would be like?"
Sara paused in her work only briefly, looking him directly in the eye. If she was going to be honest with him …
"Greg, I don't have to imagine."
Seeing the range of emotions work their way across his face, she fought to keep her own expression neutral. Finally, she nodded to confirm she was serious, and he went back to work in a stunned state.
TBC
