Thanks Marlou.

As per usual, a swarm of tourists had congregated around the perimeter of the crime scene. What was it about that yellow tape that was so like a beacon? Heads moved from side to side, each trying to get a better view of what they could only assume was the carnage inside.

'That's Vegas, baby,' Captain Jim Brass surely would have said if he wasn't intent at keeping a migraine at bay. He had since stopped attempting to get the hawks to turn away; it was of no use. Death and destruction drew more of a crowd than the coming of the messiah himself would.

Passing a hand over his gruff countenance, he look on as the sea of people parted to reveal two people he knew very well. Warrick Brown ducked under the tape and then stood, holding it high for Sara Sidle. They both smiled bleakly at him and Brass found himself musing on the fact that it was as if the Queen were being led by a minion.

That's how it always looked when someone crossed the tape, at least to him-one person leading the other, holding up the plastic, introducing them into another world. Shaking the amusing image off, he walked a few paces towards them, the three congregating like a strange, scientific triumvirate in the middle of the floor.

Warrick looked up at the partially-destroyed chandelier. "Vardas Jewelers," Warrick mentioned, deliberately sounding off hand. "They have nice pearls."

Sara smiled, her gaze too drawn to the shattered light fixture. "Tina?"

Warrick simply smiled, looking at Brass. "Good place to hit; far enough off the Strip so it's not so much a tourist haven." Sara nodded and acquainted herself with the surroundings. Other than the body of a male, face up on the floor, she saw no other casualties. Glass, however, was strewn about everywhere, most of the jewels having been taken by the murderer.

Before she could ask, Brass launched into a run-down of the case. "One vic, a Brian Simonise." Brass tapped his pad, looked at the body and then back at the two criminalists. "Was shopping for an engagement ring with his," the detective sighed, but pressed on, "fiancée, Natasha Martinez. She's out in the van, hasn't been questioned yet."

Sara turned her eyes towards the ambulance, perched on the outskirts of the parking lot. "Shame."

"Life's too short, right?" Brass intoned, meaning for it to sound casual, only succeeding in sounding morbid. He rolled his eyes at his own pun but continued on.

"Anyway, we've got God knows how much in stolen 'bling'," Warrick smiled at that, "but the owner is on his way, distraught as all get out." So colorful when he wanted to be, the captain cracked a crooked smile at his two companions.

"I would be too," Sara said and bent down to look at the body, twisting her own lips when she saw the placement of the bullet. "Hey," she said, piping up, standing, and wincing as her knees cracked. "Where's Grissom?"

"Pulling up the rear," a familiar voice sounded behind them, and as a group, all three turned around.

Grissom entered the scene looking weary. "The news vans just pulled in." He looked a tad distraught, though no one brought that fact up. Chalking it up to the presence of the media and knowing Grissom's distaste for publicity, they all ignored it.

If the group had been prone to public displays, they would have groaned, but each simply flinched, the three looking to the latecomer for instruction. Grissom stood to look at the scene, already having been filled in on the details earlier. "Alright, Warrick, take the perimeter, though I gather there isn't much to be found." Warrick nodded, bent to pick up his case and disappeared. "Sara, you start with the counters and move your way around, I'll start with the body."

Brass nodded and watched Sara move off to begin processing the scene. "Was I interrupting something?" Brass asked, pretending to flip through his little log. The criminalist turned to face him, bewildered.

"Earlier? No, I just had... a date." His friend stopped flipping and glanced up. "With a rollercoaster," Grissom filled in, smiled a bit flippantly and shifted his case from one hand to the other. "The tapes-"

"Mr. Vargas said whatever is his is ours," Brass supplied helpfully. "As soon as he gets here," he finished rather irritably.

Grissom nodded a fraction of an inch and began to walk away. A sudden, high-pitched shrieking stopped him in his tracks.

"Goodness gracious, mother of mercy! My store!" A man, who Grissom could only guess was in his late thirties, appeared under the tape, hands clasped over his mouth. His hair was slicked back as neatly as his suit was pressed. 'Mr. Vargas, I presume,' the criminalist thought to himself, raising a brow at the man's flamboyant entrance. "My goooode-ness," he shrieked again, eyes wide with horror. "Who did this?"

Grissom backed off and smiled at the Captain, slipping away before the man could ask him any questions. Afterwards, it was the evidence that did all of the talking. As Grissom moved over the body, he heard Brass finally perk up. "Mr. Vargas, if we could step outside, I have some questions to ask you."

Shaking his head at the man's gruff way with people, he clicked open the lid of his kit and produced a pair of latex gloves as well as a pair of Tyrex shoe covers. "Foot covering as well Sara," he called in that matter-of-fact way he often had. "There's too much glass."

"Way ahead of you," he heard from below one of the counters and looked over to see her leg peek out from behind the display. He couldn't help but feel a rush of affection then and realized that for the first time in a very long while, he hadn't banished her to the perimeter. "Good," he murmured and watch the leg disappear once more behind a counter of mirror and metal.

There was a peace in science, in the gathering of evidence that he had yet to find anywhere else. Even the seclusion of his home, being wrapped in Pachelbel and Poe, didn't offer quite the endless anonymity as tweezing and lifting did.

The clicking of a camera went off several times in rapid succession, the quick flashes reminding him of the breadth of the scene at hand. Each piece of glass would have to be collected and photographed. "Can you imagine?" Sara called out, her disembodied voice carrying over the din of the commotion outside. "How much do you think the thief slash murderer," she paused and snapped a few more photos, "got away with?"

"I don't like to guess, Sara," Grissom said as he produced his own camera and began taking photos of the body and its surroundings.

Her head popped up above the destroyed display. "Come on, humor me."

With a sigh and a slight smile that she couldn't have seen, "Five million? Give or take?"

"That much?"

"Vargas is a very wealthy man, or so I've heard." He glanced around at the advertisements still clinging to the walls, some ridden with bullet holes. "I don't think we'll find that Enrique Vargas housed any cubic zirconias in these cases."

"I've got some expended bullets over here," Sara called after a few moments.

Grissom called back, "And I've got, well, a bunch of cartridge casings." For so many bullets, most of the damage was done to the walls.

"You thinking auto? Multiple shooters?" she called back, clicks going off in the wake of her words.

He shook his head, though no one could see it. "Too early to tell."

With that they both fell into silence, collecting the evidence that surrounded them. Grissom was particularly interested in the bullet wound in the victim. One shot, through and through, to his throat. How could the place be showered with bullets and only one person was shot? He'd have to review the tapes but the chances were good, even off-Strip, that at the peak hours there were more than two people in the store.

He bagged the glass shards surrounding the body, as well as the debris. "How can only one man..." That was something that didn't add up, something that truly didn't fit in his mind. Grissom hated that, knowing something on instinct. You couldn't quantify instincts, couldn't testify to them in court.

That was the issue. Sometimes his instincts simply wouldn't subside, even if there was no real evidence to go on. He wasn't sure which irked him more, the fact that he was feeling such things or knowing, deep down, that someone was getting away with a crime that they couldn't make a case for. "Damn."

Sara popped her head up, hair a bit tousled. "Huh?"

"Oh. Nothing." An expert at hiding his worries, he quickly switched the subject, not quite throwing her off the scent. "I wonder how Warrick is doing." Sara raised a brow at her supervisor but let it go, she wasn't one to push. A moment later, Warrick appeared, camera around his neck.

"Hey," he nodded a hello to Sara and Grissom and held up the camera. "Tire marks, something peeled out of here."

Grissom, who had figured as much, just nodded. "But, s'ta be expected, right?"

The three criminalists all nodded and began packing up their things.

"So whaddya think, standing smash and grab?" Sara asked, but then amended her statement. "I mean... other than the casualty?"

Grissom shook his head slowly, glancing around at all of the damage that had been done. "There's... something I can't quite put my finger on."

Warrick's mouth hung a little agape, but then he smiled. "I feel a lot of overtime coming on..."