DISCLAIMER: Oops. Forgot to include this in the first two chapters. The characters do not belong to me. I'm only borrowing them for a little madness and mayhem.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many thanks for the wonderful reviews. The ego strokes are great, but please be sure to offer constructive criticism as well. I have my blind spots, and only a neutral party can help me see past them.
Now, on with the story!
Chapter Three
Chilling Discovery
Wednesday/Thursday, After Midnight
"Highway Patrol chopper spotted the Tahoe and another car up on Harper Ridge," Warrick reported when they gathered in the break room. "They didn't see any sign of movement, though. Grissom and Nick – and maybe Stevens – are probably somewhere inside the mine. They're checking it out and they'll let us know what they find."
"I'm guessing they ran into some kind of trouble," Catherine said grimly. "Assuming they headed straight for the ridge this morning, they've been up there at least twelve hours. That's plenty of time to find out if anything's hidden inside." As ranking investigator, she had vetoed Sara's suggestion that they personally follow the one lead they had to the possible whereabouts of the two missing men. They still had their duties, and the state police helicopter could reach the area in far less time than their ground vehicles. Until they knew something definite, it was business as usual.
She had already ruined Sara's night by sending her to the scene of a convenience store robbery to collect evidence. Her own had taken an even sharper dive down the crapper when she admitted the distasteful necessity of calling Conrad Ecklie to request that personnel from the day shift be called back in to help cover for Grissom and Nick. A departmental chopper was put on standby for them in the event that Harper Ridge turned out to be a crime scene.
Catherine tossed back the last of the coffee in the mug she'd already filled three times. "I'm going to change clothes," she told Warrick, "in case we're needed at the mine. Come get me if you hear anything."
Warrick watched her walk away toward the locker room. Her slim back radiated the same tension he felt in every inch of his tall frame. Though he remained calm, concentrating on the essentials of locating the two missing men, every nerve screamed at him to do something now. Mines – especially old, abandoned mines – were dangerous places. The possibility that the state troopers would find Grissom and Nick injured or dead somewhere deep inside that god-forsaken ridge kept intruding on his thoughts. He dropped into a chair and leaned his elbows on the table, hands covering his face as if he could barricade his mind from the unwanted scenarios.
Catherine returned, her slacks and tailored shirt replaced by jeans, a pullover sweater, and sturdy hiking boots. "Curtis and Ecklie just got here," she said. "Ecklie's taking over the shift, and another of his guys is on the way to assist Sara at the convenience store."
"Good." Warrick clasped his hands together in front of him. "No word yet from the troopers. It may take them a while to check out that mine."
"We know the guys are in trouble," Catherine said. "Otherwise they would have been back, or at least contacted someone by now."
Warrick knew where her thoughts were leading. "Sara will kill us if we take off before she gets back."
Catherine's full lips twisted in a wry smile. "Yeah."
She and Warrick both nearly jumped out of their skins when Warrick's cell phone warbled. He answered it after only one ring, and Catherine could tell by the shifting expression on his face that the news was not good. She sat forward, almost reaching across the table, and waited until he snapped the phone shut after a terse, "We'll be there as soon as we can."
Warrick met Catherine's imploring gaze with torment in his eyes. "Troopers found the mine shaft collapsed," he reported with a faint tremor in his voice. "They've called in Search and Rescue, but they were able to confirm one body in the rubble. No ID yet. It's mostly buried, and they're afraid of setting off another collapse if they try to dig without expert help."
Catherine sagged back in her chair as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She couldn't stop the flood of nightmare images invading her brain, images of two men she had known and worked beside for years, crushed and mangled. A trembling hand covered her mouth, and her eyes closed as if the lack of sight could protect her from that horrible reality.
"Call Sara and have her meet us at the helipad," she said roughly. "I'll tell Ecklie we're leaving."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Flight time to Harper Ridge was roughly twenty-five minutes, but to the three passengers in the LVPD chopper it seemed twenty-five hours. Even though they wore headsets that made conversation possible within the noisy confines, none spoke more than a few words. As the chopper banked steeply around the jutting silhouette of Harper Ridge, they saw flashing lights below signaling that Search and Rescue had made it to the scene. Dark shapes moved near the trucks, gearing up to begin their grim work inside.
The pilot brought the chopper to rest far enough away from the center of activity to avoid showering the searchers with dust and gravel from the rotor wash, idling but not shutting down his engine. The three CSIs climbed from the chopper and ran toward the lead rescue vehicle. They introduced themselves to Hal Walcott, team leader, and announced that they would accompany the rescue team. For a moment he seemed ready to deny them entry to the mine, but merely nodded and motioned for them to follow.
Catherine noticed the yellow marker just inside the mine entrance and pointed it out to Walcott. "If you see any more markers like that one," she cautioned, "try not to disturb them or the immediate vicinity. Our guys wouldn't have left it without a reason."
Walcott nodded as he led his team of six, plus the three criminalists, along the shaft. Each of his men carried digging tools and supplies. They moved at a steady but cautious pace, knowing from the state troopers that the collapse was located almost three-quarters of a mile inside. At times they had to travel single-file where the shaft was narrowed by partial collapses. "Be careful," Walcott said as he inspected a timber that had cracked diagonally and seemed on the verge of giving out. "We don't want to get ourselves trapped in here, too."
Catherine sucked in a breath when she saw the extent of the tunnel collapse. "Oh, my god," she said slowly, fanning her light over the floor-to-ceiling pile of stone and splintered timber. She stopped, transfixed, when her heavy-duty flashlight illuminated patches of torn grey cloth and a bloody, mangled arm among the tumbled rock. Her heart banged painfully inside her chest; the jacket looked a lot like one she had seen Grissom wear on many occasions and that he had, in fact, been wearing the last time she'd seen him.
Warrick and Sara came to a halt, one on either side, close enough that Catherine could feel the warmth from their bodies. Sara uttered a wordless, shocked sound, and Warrick breathed an anguished "damn." They remained unmoving until Walcott gave the order to begin clearing the rubble and free the body.
They had to work slowly and methodically to avoid any new falls. Pairs of rescuers used picks and pry bars to loosen sections of the stone, which the others then carefully lifted and moved out of the way. It took almost half an hour, but they finally managed to free the twisted body. The CSIs were accustomed to gruesome sights and bodies that scarcely looked human. This was worse, because all three feared that they would recognize the face of a friend beneath the blood and shattered bones.
As soon as Catherine photographed the body where it now lay exposed on its rocky bed, Warrick rolled it over to reveal a face flattened on one side where cheekbone and jaw had been pulverized by the weight of the rocks. Blood soaked and made indistinguishable the color of the short hair covering a skull split like a melon just above where the left ear should have been but wasn't. The short, harsh sound that emerged from Warrick's throat was both horrified and relieved. "It's Stevens," he reported.
With help from two of Walcott's men, Warrick lifted the broken body and carried it a short distance away from the rock pile. They laid it out carefully, and one of the rescue men unfolded a tarp to cover the body, masking the grisly sight until it could be removed and taken to the morgue. As he bent to straighten the oiled cloth, he paused and looked more closely.
"Hey, guys," he called to the others. "He's got something stuffed in his pockets."
Warrick crouched beside the body and reached into the man's right-hand jacket pocket. His features tightened as he withdrew a holstered weapon. Stevens' own holster still hung from his belt, empty. Why would he have a second gun hidden in his jacket?
He handed the gun over his shoulder to Catherine, then checked the bulge on the other side, finding yet another weapon, also still in its leather holster. "What the hell…?"
"This is Grissom's," Catherine said in confusion, turning the now open flap so the others could see the initials stamped into the underside of the leather.
Warrick checked the one he held. "Nick's."
Catherine stared down at the lifeless lump of Dan Stevens' body, her eyes wide and more than a little frightened. Of no one in particular she asked in a whisper, "What the hell went on here?"
To be continued…