Chapter 2

There was something between us yet there wasn't.

It transpired and expired.

The sun set over Las Vegas, tinting the sky and everything under it a vague orange. With Greg and Sara in tow, Grissom crossed the police barricade and onto the lawn of a nice, suburban home. Brass exited the front door before they could enter and silently led them to the crime scene in the backyard. Grissom spoke first when they came within sight of the body. "Dispatch said this was an assault."

"Dispatch was wrong. The deceased is a Mr. Robert P. Howell, human rights activist," Brass answered before popping a Rolaid in his mouth. The three criminalists stared at the body laying face up on the lawn, his pajama top ripped open, exposing a pale white chest.

"I see the paramedics have already been here," Grissom noted. Howell had some swelling and a large bruise on his right cheek, but otherwise, there were no obvious signs of assault. "Where's the suspect?"

"Next-door neighbor's being questioned by Vega now in his kitchen," Brass informed him. "Name of Steven Landry. Said he threw one punch when Howell came towards him and that was it."

Sara furrowed her brow. "Witnesses?"

"Howell's wife was doing the laundry at the time. She's in her house crying hysterically. A neighbor in the next house over," he explained, pointing past Landry's home to a large pink stucco building, "said she was gardening and heard the altercation -- one man yelled, another yelled back, and then boom. Landry called 911, tried to resuscitate the victim himself."

Grissom regarded the body for a moment longer and then turned to Greg. "Start processing. Sara?"

"Yes?"

"Come with me."

They walked onto Landry's back patio and through the screen doors that led to the kitchen. Vega was questioning the suspect at his kitchen table. The man was large, around three hundred pounds of muscle, Grissom estimated, and was answering the detective's questions in a soft voice as he stared at his hands.

"Rob charged at me. Instinct kicked in. I hit him."

"Why would he charge at you?" Vegas asked skeptically. "You're a big guy. Hey, I work out myself but I'm not stupid enough to mess with a man your size."

"He said I was after Rachel," Landry answered.

"His wife?"

The suspect looked up at him. "He was away for three months -- in Africa on business -- and she needed help putting together a bookcase for her home office. I helped her. He got mad, I guess."

"So the human rights activist -- the man who travels to other countries and lobbies for the rights of other people -- charged at Mr. Universe because he helped the guy's wife build a bookcase," Vega summed up. "Does that sound right to you?"

Landry threw up his hands. "I don't know what was wrong with Rob. It seems like every other night I hear him and Rachel fighting. She's got a broken arm. Ask her how she got that," he said defensively. "Fell down the stairs, my ass," muttered the suspect, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Their house only has one floor."

Vega narrowed his eyes into slits, his mouth firm. "So you rid the neighborhood of a bastard, a wife beater? You were doing the world a service?"

"I didn't mean to kill him," Landry said hotly. "I'm friends with Rob. He charged at me."

The detective put his hands on his hips. "Yeah, well we're gonna go downtown and you can tell us all what good friends you were with the man you beat to death."

Grissom and Sara, kits in hand, walked around Landry's house and found nothing out of the ordinary. "Lots of porn and sports memorabilia," Sara muttered as they wandered into the den. "Typical male."

Grissom felt his face grow hot. He had a couple of signed baseballs in his office and three or four old Playboys buried deep in the drawer of his nightstand.

"The guy was a total workout junkie," Sara noted as they opened the door to Landry's immense home gym. "Man, you could teach my tae bo class in here."

His head whipped around and he stared at her. It was odd to think of Sara in an environment other than work. He knew she had to go to the grocery store and the mall and get her hair done every once in a while, but for some reason, he didn't like to picture her doing those things -- the regular everyday things that meant she had a life when he wasn't around. No, his Sara was supposed to leave work and go straight home to her apartment and read forensics journals while listening to her police scanner. The idea of her interacting with anyone on a personal basis irked him.

He shook his head, attempting to clear it of everything but the case at hand. "Let's go talk to Landry's neighbor."

"Don't waste your time," Brass said, walking through the sliding door and into the kitchen where the two CSIs stood. "Mrs. Alma Barnaby saw nothing but her prize azaleas. She was on her knees, weeding."

Sara furrowed her brow. "But what did she hear?"

"'I'm going to kill you,'" Brass quoted.

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but who said it?"

"Mrs. Barnaby said it was a man's voice."

"Well, that narrows it down," Sara sighed.

Grissom sat back in his desk chair and yawned, deciding it was time to pack up and go home. There had been little evidence to collect and the victim's wife was too grief-stricken to interview just yet. He was waiting on the coroner's report, which he wouldn't have until next shift at the earliest, seeing as the dayshift coroner was handling nightshift cases while Doc Robbins attended medical lectures. It was time to call it a day.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Grissom blinked and focused on the figure standing in his doorway. "Uh, how can I help you, Catherine?"

"You can help by getting Ecklie and the Sheriff off my ass."

Confrontations were never his forte. He felt his stomach drop. "Um…why?"

"Brooke Rivers," she told him. When she got no response, Catherine threw up her hands. "Brooke Rivers! Hotel heiress, resident Las Vegas party animal, sex tape scandal. Ring any bells?"

"She was killed, wasn't she?"

"Strangled in the presidential suite of one of her parents' hotels; three of her socialite friends shot, execution-style in the bathroom," Catherine explained.

"Okay."

"Okay? I need more guys on this," she exclaimed. "This is the biggest murder of the year and the media is going crazy. Forget Tom Haviland. Tom Haviland was nothing compared to this."

Grissom secretly said a silent prayer of thanks for not getting stuck with Catherine's case. He loathed the media. They seemed to place an importance on specific, hindering rather than helping any progress. The more time the crime lab spent reporting, the less was spent on actually studying the evidence. On the big cases, everyone seemed to want an update on every single step of the investigation and that drove the normally calm Gil Grissom up the wall. He knew he had to appease Catherine enough so she wouldn't ask for his actual participation.

"Okay, all of your evidence is first priority for the lab techs and I'll give you Greg."

"Greg?" Catherine scoffed. "He's a CSI Level I. I love the kid, but I don't have any time to babysit. Not on this case. Give me Sara."

He didn't want to. For some reason, he wanted desperately to work with her, to be around her. They had been spending more time together as of late. Grissom had vowed to be a better leader after his old team was reunited under dire circumstances. Nick's almost-death had been a wake-up call for everyone, and Grissom decided to make small steps towards bridging the gap that had widened between himself and his employees since he assumed the position of nightshift supervisor. He started taking them all out to breakfast after shift a couple of times a month. The six of them would all go to a nearby diner and scarf down pancakes and omelets while discussing their most recent case or sports or nothing at all. Catherine always left first, followed by Warrick, and then Nick and Greg would usually leave together and go to the gym to work off their breakfast, leaving Grissom and Sara alone with their cold coffee. She would always smile shyly at him when she realized it was just the two of them, and he would always ask her how she was doing. They didn't talk much, but it was so nice to just sit with her, and he increasingly found himself wanting to take only Sara to breakfast.

But he had to relent and give her to Catherine for the one case. He'd take her out right after they closed it.

"Alight, you can have Sara," Grissom mumbled, mourning the hours they would have spent together quietly going through the contents of their blessedly boring case.

TBC…