Chapter 8
Two women shared the elevator in the Luxor with Gil. Both in their thirties, one slightly overweight, the other morbidly so. Both chattered about what to do and see next. First timers, they were easy to spot.
Gil wondered what they thought of him, if they noticed him at all. He was fidgeting and sweating, though the air was conditioned to maximum comfort range. If he stepped out at the next floor and someone asked them to describe him later, could they? His guess was probably not. No one paid attention any more. A frequently fatal flaw that seemed epidemic.
A ding announced the 17th floor. Grissom turned right as he exited the soundlessly moving doors of the elevator. Brass was outside of room 1717.
"You got here fast."
Grissom didn't answer, he narrowed his eyes to see into room. Empty.
"They took her to Desert Springs. I kept the uniforms out of the room."
The CSI moved past the detective and stood in the room, reading it. "How was she?"
"Hard to tell. I'm not a doc. Letters are on the desk." With that Captain Brass stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Grissom went to the bed. Peanut butter was smudged on the pillows, the spread and the nightstand. An open jar sat half empty with a small plastic spoon stuck in the center of the remaining super chunky.
"Brass?" he raised his voice to be heard through the door but the walls were too thick here. He opened it, "Jim?"
"Yeah."
"Did anyone try to contact her sister? Do they know where she is?" Grissom avoided eye contact.
"Didn't you read the note?"
"Not yet."
"You might want to get to that, but yeah, I sent a uniform over to take her to the hospital."
"Thanks." Grissom closed the door, leaving himself once again alone in the room.
A stack of envelopes and papers sat on the desk, neatly arranged. There was no peanut butter on this side of the room. A pen sat beside the stack, a note on top was the only piece written on Luxor stationary.
The handwriting was childlike with large letters that were of uneven size and legibility, but it was unmistakable that someone had take great care to make sure it could be read.
IF YOU FINE ME PLEESE CALL DOCTER GIL GRISSOM. YOU CAN GET HIS NUMBER ON THE LETTERS. PLEESE HAVE HIM FINE MY SISTER SELINA KEITH AT THE MEETING FOR RITERS. ONLY LET DOCTER GRISSOM FINE HER PLEESE. I WAN THEM TO BE HAPPY.
KERRY KEITH
His name was lettered carefully, as though she had copied it from one of the envelopes tucked under the note.