Chapter Three – Coppertone Medley
The darkness within the house was thick, the air still and disturbingly bone chilling. The quiet was nearly deafening and very much unnerving. The smell of copper was strong and permeated the air. It was a smell he thought he'd have been used to by now, after years in the field,yet it still managed to turn his stomach at almost every crime scene. The smell was so strong he could smell it even before he'd entered the house, as he and Grissom had paused near the front porch to slip sterile booties over their shoes. Silently now, Nick followed Grissom into the house willing his stomach to calm down. Warrick followed close behind him and quietly found his own way to the kitchen.
"Hug the walls," Grissom said, his eyes already directed toward the top of the winding stair case. Nick nodded silently already moving closer to the ivory painted dry-wall, his Maglite shining toward the stairs.
Nick slowly took in the pictures covering the wall as they ascended to the second floor. Pictures of the family mainly, some were professional, others candid. It was a reflection of a family in their prime. They were happy, energetic, and close.
"They look happy," Nick said his eyes glued to a photo of the three children.
The day had been unusually warm for late January. So, they thought they'd take advantage of the day and take in a game of touch football. The weather had been perfect and the park had been inviting to a lot of people that afternoon. People were out in droves, trying to catch as much of the high temperatures before a cold front swept it all away.
The patch of grass they'd staked out had been perfect for the ensuing game of pigskin. Trees provided ample shade from the sun, yet allowed the warmth to radiate through the bare branches. It was just enough ground for the kids to run, the grass was unusually full, patches of new grass taking root in the warm weather, the dark green of baby grass was keen to the eye. Spring promised to come early this year.
It had been Hannah's idea for her and Emily and their mom to take on Nathan and their dad. She'd boasted that girls were better at football anyway, so Nathan had eagerly taken on the challenge. It had quickly become a battle of wills between the siblings as the parents were quickly negated and Hannah quickly teamed with Emily to tackle Nathan to the ground. Their laughter filled the air as Emily climbed to the top of the mound and spiked the football. The girls clearly had gotten the better of the sixteen year old boy.
It had been a moment captured in time as Frank Harris pulled out his camera and snapped off several shots. His favorite image of Emily, her bright blue eyes closed tightly in laughter while her brother and sister tickled her to the ground had been framed and hung on the wall. Her mop of dark brown curly hair flowed around her round face. It seemed that little girl was never without a smile on her face.
That had been the last time Emily had been outside. The next week she'd gotten sick. A trip to the doctor had revealed what they all had feared the most, a relapse in her leukemia. She'd immediately been started on a regimen of chemotherapy, but the family was assured her only chances of a full recovery would be to find a bone marrow donor. So they entered her name in the national donor registry and they held out hope that a donor match would be found. They knew their little girl was strong, and they prayed she would beat what was surely the hardest battle of her little life.
The photo captured that day in the park had been the last image of the live, vibrant, fun-loving child they'd loved so much.
It had been the last image of a family enjoying life.
It had been the last image of the family.
"They do," Grissom nodded, his flashlight focused on the same photo. He turned then and continued up the stairs. "Watch your step," he said his eyes now on the floor, "I've got blood."
"It's going to be hard to get a good read on this carpet," Nick shook his head, his Maglite shining on the trail of blood drops. "Directionality is damn near impossible to get on carpet this thick."
They'd reached the top of the stairs and were now headed down the hallway. The beige carpet that had covered the stairs ran the length of the hall and into each bedroom ending with the room at the end, the master suite. Emily's room was the first door on the right. Hannah's was next to hers and Nathan's across and down from Hannah's. Blood droplets could clearly be seen leading to, or from, the far room.
"Did you see any blood when we came in?" Grissom asked taking in each new blood drop.
"Nuh, uh," Nick shook his head as he shone its beam illuminating each new step he took. Silently he took in the sight of each of the bedroom doors. They were each closed, concealing the rooms behind them. He'd take a closer look into each one once they'd taken in the master bedroom. "Hard wood floors downstairs though."
"Dark stain," Grissom nodded as he inched closer to the bedroom. He could just make out the forms of the bodies lying on the floor.
The scene inside the room was so much more than either had anticipated. The lights were left off but it was still easy to see the blood.
The blood.
There was so much blood.
"Hey, Griss. You thinking what I'm thinking?" Nick asked his eyes wide as he slowly took in the scene. There at the foot of the king size bed laid the four family members. Their hands had been bound behind their backs, each of them gagged with duck tape. Each of their throats had been brutally cut, a fatal wound to each.
"It's different," he shook his head.
"But, it's the same," Nick responded shaking his own head. "Check out this arterial spray," he shone his light on the white walls of the bedroom.
"The killer knew exactly what he was doing," Grissom said, his voice low, his eyes still on the bodies. He had moved to a crouched position next to the father's body. "The cuts are rough, but they're deep. The killer knew exactly how to do this," he shook his head.
"Look how they're positioned," Nick said his eyes now on the bodies, his head cocked slightly to the right. The father laid to the far left, the mother beside him, then the son and the daughter. "Paramedics didn't move the bodies. Said they felt for a pulse and that was it."
"Curious, isn't it? It's almost as if the killer was being…careful. Almost as if he cared for them."
"Mmm, that's sick" Nick shook his head, his Maglite again trailing slowly around the room. The glance Grissom cast his way had gone unheeded.
The room had been pristine, free of blemish. The white walls, the white carpet, the white duvet on the bed all seemed to give the room a near sterile feel. Black and white photos of the family surrounded the room, adding life, if not color, to the open space.
It had all been tainted, though.
"I'll start taking photos," Nick set his kit on the floor as he reached for the camera draped around his neck.
"We'll have to try to lift prints from the carpet," Grissom shone his light around the bodies as he stood and crossed the room. "Check out the void in the blood," he pointed to the pool nearest the parents.
"Yeah," Nick nodded as the flash of his camera lit up the room.
The room was cold, empty, and full of void. He hated the feeling, and it was the same at every crime scene. He tried imagining the room before, when life had thrived within the walls. It was hard.
"Wasn't Frank Harris a big Fortune 500 guy?" he asked Grissom from his now crouched position. He was working on getting photos of the blood pools around the bodies.
"Mmm hmm," Grissom nodded from his new station across the room. "Apparently did a lot of work in stocks and bonds." His attention was drawn to the bedside table and the open drawer.
"What have you got?" Nick asked shining his light across the room.
"Nothing. The drawer's empty. What did you get?" he returned the question noticing Nick's crouched position beside the father's body, his eyes glued on the tweezers in his hand.
"A brown hair, tag's still attached. Here's what I don't get," he said placing the hair in a bindle and labeling and initialing the seal. "Why'd he leave the little girl? Why kill the whole family and leave her?" he rested his arms on his knees.
"I've quit questioning why people do what they do," Grissom shook his head as he crossed the room to the walk-in closet. "Hey, Nick, come get a shot of this."
"What?"
"Well, we can rule out robbery as motive," the man smirked as Nick entered the closet. He stood shining his light into an open safe.
"Whoa. There's got to be half a million in cash there," Nick let out a low whistle. "Who leaves that kind of cash behind?"
"I guess the killer was after something more valuable," Grissom shrugged, his eyes returning to the bodies of the family.
"Hey, Nick, sorry to interrupt," David Phillips hesitated outside the bedroom.
"Oh, hey Super Dave," he waved with a nod of his head as he shone his light on the man in the doorway. He and Grissom slowly emerged from the closet.
"Uh, Mr. Grissom, the sheriff would like a word."
"I'm sure he would," the man nodded picking up his own camera. He quickly began snapping photos of the blood stained walls.
"Uh...are you guys ready for me to process the bodies yet?"
"Yeah, just about," Nick nodded making his way back to his abandoned field kit near the door. "Just a few more things to do and they're all yours."
Nick quickly dug out his handheld ALS. The room was subsequently illumined in blue light as he proceeded to shine the light over the victims' bodies.
"What have you got?" Grissom asked noticing Nick's hesitation and concentrated gaze over the body of Diane Harris.
"Semen."
"I'll do a rape kit as soon as I get them to the morgue," David said. He then watched as Nick took a swab of the stain. Closing the plastic cover of the swab the CSI returned it to its original box, labeled it and placed it in his kit for DNA processing back at the lab. He continued with the ALS collecting one more sample from the daughter's body. "Neither of them are wearing underwear, and I don't see them lying around here," he shook his head.
"Killer took them with him?" David asked.
"Maybe some sort of a trophy?" Grissom pursed his lips, his attention momentarily distracted from his photo taking.
Silently, Nick returned to his field kit. He skillfully assembled his electrostatic dust print lifter and placed the nickeloid ground plane over the void in the blood pool. Over it he placed the polycarbonate insulator then attached the electrodes. Within seconds he had a workable shoeprint.
"Hey Griss, paramedics wear Coleman steel toed, right?" he asked as Grissom halted in his picture taking.
"Unless their uniforms have changed…which they haven't, yeah," the man nodded.
"And Brass hasn't been in here?"
"No."
"Well I've got a workable print," the CSI managed a small smile, his eyes lighting up as they met the eyes of his boss. "Looks like…a size twelve, definitely male, it's gotta be some kind of a loafer?"
"Not the husband's?"
"Husband's wearing a pair of Nike's. My guess, the killer was standing here while the family bled out. Just watching them die," Nick shook his head, his eyes intently surveying the family. Slowly he began collecting the evidence packing it into his kit. He was finished with the bodies; he'd leave the gathering of evidence beneath the bodies to Grissom, once David finished his preliminary field report.
"Good," Grissom nodded.
"They're all yours Super Dave," Nick stepped out of the way, allowing the coroner access to the room. "I'll…uh…get started on the other rooms," Nick motioned down the hall letting himself out.
Grissom watched the CSI work his way down the hall to the room nearest the stairs, Emily's room. The hesitation he noted from the younger man was troublesome, even to him.
He'd never really said anything to Nick in the weeks following his return to the lab. He'd not even taken the time to catch up with him following the McBride case. He'd learned of Nick's outburst and had ultimately chalked the incident up to stress and high emotions. Hell, it was his first time running point on a case since… He'd heard Nick and Sara had ultimately worked things out, and, as required, he'd filled out the necessary papers. It had been filed away. Logged away. It was over.
Nick had been a brick wall ever since, not even letting a crack show in his emotional exterior. And frankly, he hadn't given it a second thought.
When Nick had entered his office during the Kelly Gordon case, though, when he'd first learned that Nick had become aware of the Walter Gordon tape being logged in as new evidence, he'd braced himself for an emotional release, for the backlash of his actions. He was ready to face the repercussions in his attempt to protect his CSI, when he kept perhaps the key piece of evidence secret. He expected Nick to be spitting fire. Instead, he'd been met with a blank wall.
So, it's over?
It's over.
The words had haunted him, but even more haunting had been the steel exterior, the concrete fortress that seemed to be holding Nick back.
But, now as Nick stood entranced by the sight of the door leading to Emily's bedroom, Grissom got a glimpse of that brick wall chipping, cracking. He knew he wasn't meant to see it, and that…that's what scared him the most.
Sunrise Children's Hospital was quiet, most of the patients sound asleep. There was an unusual energy, yet an ever present calm to this hospital, far from the feel of Desert Palms. The usual stark white walls of Desert Palms Hospital were contrasted here by bright colors. Murals of rainbows, sunny skies, and kids running across green hills, brought a new kind of life to the halls, a new kind of vibrancy. It had an unusual calming effect as Catherine walked down the quiet corridors. Many of the lights had been dimmed, if not turned off completely. The only sounds heard were those of cardiac monitors beeping, ventilators hissing, or the soft pitter patter of feet as nurses moved from room to room.
She'd arrived in the emergency room nearly an hour ago. After waiting in the receiving area hoping for news on Emily Harris's condition she'd managed to track down a doctor. She'd been told Emily had been immediately taken to the Oncology floor, so, that was where the CSI had headed, a blood hound fast on the trail of an interesting scent.
Now, as the minute hand inched toward the three o'clock hour, she slowly found herself losing patience. In the near deadly quiet hallway of the Oncology ward, Catherine stood awaiting the presence of a nurse at the central nurse's station.
"May I help you?" a soft voice said from behind the counter. The nurse was petite, wearing a set of pink scrubs her brown hair pulled into a low ponytail. She couldn't have been any older than her mid-twenties. Fresh out of nursing school to be sure.
"Yes, I'm Catherine Willows from the crime lab," she flashed her ID. "I'm here about Emily Harris."
"Dr. Wilcox is with her now, just getting her settled. He should be out shortly," she nodded with a slight smile.
"Can you tell me what room she's in?"
"Room 407, just that way," the nurse pointed politely.
"Thank you," Catherine nodded as she headed down the hall; the heels of her shoes causing entirely too much noise with each step. She was considering taking them off when she was abruptly confronted with the doctor she assumed to be treating the little girl.
"May I help you," the tall man asked his white lab coat and blue scrubs crisp and clean.
"Yes, I'm Catherine Willows. I'm from the Crime Lab. I'm here about Emily Harris," she said crossing her arms in front of her suddenly self conscious. There seemed to be an immediate downcast look to his eyes at the sound of the little girl's name. The six foot two inch tall man seemed to shrink about six inches. He looked weary, worn, and beaten as he ran a hand through his short black hair.
"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" he asked sympathetically already leading the criminalist down the hall.
"Okay," she nodded walking with the doctor to the cafeteria.
"Emily has Acute Myelogenous Leukemia. She'd been fighting the disease for nearly two years now," Dr. Wilcox said taking a seat across from Catherine in the nearly empty staff cafeteria. "She's battled through round after round of chemotherapy and hasn't responded. This last relapse has really weakened her," he paused to take a drink from his steaming coffee. "We've exhausted every form of treatment we can offer. Just last month we had her set up for hospice care."
"So, she's dying," she stated rather blatantly as she removed her navy blue suit jacket.
"The only hope she has of a full recovery is a bone marrow transplant. As of yet, we've been unable to find a suitable donor."
"What about her family?" Catherine asked. "Were they not tested?"
"Family is usually the best shot at a full match, and usually a sibling," the young man nodded, "but in Emily's case, well that just wasn't the case."
"Why not?"
"While her entire family was tested for compatibility, her parents were her best chance of a match. Nathan and Hannah were both adopted by the Harris' long before Emily was even born. The chances of them matching Emily were nil. Even if they did match, it would be a huge risk. I mean, we'd be risking full blown graph infections, which would only weaken her already weakened immune system."
"What are the chances of finding a donor outside familial relation?" Catherine asked cradling her coffee cup in her hands. The warm elixir felt soothing as it traveled down her throat pooling in her stomach instantly warming her from the inside out.
"Well, there are over five million donors in the national registry. So far we've struck out on all three attempts," he shrugged. "The thing is, with Emily's rare blood type and well the probability of finding an HLA match. The odds just keep working against her, against us. And the longer we wait…" he trailed off.
The longer you wait, the closer Emily comes to dying, Catherine thought. It was a horrible scenario, one she wouldn't wish on anyone. The fact that it was a real life situation, one in which a seven year old girl was struggling made it that much more devastating.
"Look, as hard hearted or even asinine as this may come across, Emily is possibly our only viable witness. I only want medical and law enforcement in to see her. We can't take any chances."
"We've got security already on it," the doctor nodded. "Ms. Willows, Emily is about as brave as they come. She's put up one hell of a fight. She doesn't deserve to go out like this."
"No one does," Catherine shook her head, her long strawberry blonde hair catching in the dim florescent lighting.
"Then can you do me a favor? Find the bastard that did this to her family, that did this to her."
"That's what we're working on," she nodded standing from her chair. Only a coward would kill a family, subjecting a small child to witness the heinous act. Everything about this case was cruel and unusual, and it was that very thought, that emotional hatred of the evil that drove Catherine to offer an encouraging smile to the young doctor. It was that emotional hatred that revved her up to find the monsters and show the victims, the Emily Harris's of the world, just how incredibly strong they are to survive, to stand against the evil, to show just how weak and feeble the monsters really are. Slowly, she slipped on her suit jacket, adjusting the collar as she offered the doctor one more smile, "We'll find him," she nodded, "and thanks for the coffee."