Chapter Five – Sidelong View
The early morning air had grown cold; the dampness from the earlier rains was thick and heavy. It was that bone chilling cold that seeped deep into Sara Sidle, deep into her core. The black tee shirt she wore was of little help in the combat against the chill. Though, it wasn't just the change in weather bringing the onset of cold that seemed to seep in through every pore. It was something else, something darker, something more unsettling.
There was something about this scene, something about this house.
Too many things were off. Yet, too many things seemed so damn familiar.
She watched Greg saunter up the front path, the front door his first priority in the arduous task ahead of them. Carefully, her Maglite in hand, she made her way around the garage to the backyard, unlatching the gate to the privacy fence and letting it catch behind her. She hoped there would be some semblance of a clue in the confines that once served as the kid's playground.
The backyard itself was an open space. Lush grass, uncharacteristic for most of the greater Las Vegas area, covered the ground. A rather large oak tree stood vigil in the far left corner, its branches bare still from the mild winter. It looked desolate against the dark sky, the only real sign of potential life within the confines of the yard.
Slowly, deliberately she worked her way around the perimeter, her light inching across the fence paying special attention to the points where the fence met he yard. She was hoping to find anything leading her to a suspect, a getaway route…anything.
The landscaping of shrubs lining the fence was clean, well kept. There were no obvious signs of foul play. The fairly recent mulch was undisturbed, untouched. There was nothing.
The back of the house, much like the front, was rather plain, understated even for the size of the house. There were no shudders on the picture windows, no real form of decoration adorning the home. Sliding glass doors lead from the kitchen, near the center of the structure, to a decent sized concrete patio. A large chrome barbeque grill took up much of the concrete surface. Various cooking utensils hung toward the ground from the side slats of the grill; a two-pronged fork, a spatula, a wire brush.
"Every man's dream," Sara smirked, her light reflecting off the cooking machine.
The patio, playing stage to the lush, green yard, sat directly opposite a black iron picnic table and five matching chairs. The lawn furniture, which had been arranged front and center just off the patio, now sat abandoned, unused, unneeded. There would be no more family picnics in the backyard.
The rain had without a doubt washed away any evidence, were there to be any, on the outdoor furniture. But, still Sara took her time carefully looking over every square inch of the table and each chair. Water beads still clung to the metal surfaces, making her print powder an obsolete tool.
Slowly, shining her light on the path before her, she crossed the ten feet from the outdoor dining room to the back doors. Inside she could just make out Warrick's form moving about, rummaging through drawers deep in his own search for evidence.
Frustration mounted in what appeared to be a futile search of a clue. Nothing appeared disturbed, or out of place to her. Still, she stood mesmerized by the glass doors, and then the shrubs just to the right of the patio.
There was something amuck with the foliage.
Setting her kit on the concrete, she stooped for a closer look, shining her light on the vegetation. A smile crossed her face, her eyes lighting up as she gazed on the prize before her.
Carefully, using her tweezers, she plucked up the small piece of evidence.
A cigarette butt.
Curious, she brought the object to her nose.
"That's odd," she puckered her brow. Normally she would have expected the smell of burnt tobacco to be strong, to be recent. Normally she would have expected to smell the pungent odor of the nicotine, which had at one time seemed sweet and inviting to her but, now only served to turn her stomach.
Instead, she was met with nothing.
There was no smell.
She careened her light upward, her eyes following, landing on the second floor windows as they caught the light in the early morning dawn.
Maybe one of the kids smoked?
Reaching for a plastic evidence bag, she placed the cigarette within. Chances of getting an uncompromised DNA sample were slim, but it was worth taking the odds.
Slowly, she maneuvered her light around the landscaping, her eyes taking in each inch of dirt, each leaf, each twig. What she was looking for, she wasn't quite sure. But, as her light hit the second shrub, she felt the uneasy familiarity of earlier creep back into her, her gut twisting in knots.
Lightly, she knocked on the sliding door, grabbing Warrick's attention.
"What's up?" he asked easing the heavy glass door open.
"The Collin's case…you and Nick worked perimeter if I remember correctly," she said, her dark eyes lifted to catch his gaze.
"Yeah," he nodded leaning in the door jam. "That was a while back."
"Nick found a cigarette butt and match, right?" she asked her eyes back on the evidence in her handheld tweezers.
"Yeah…" he trailed off. "What's up? You've got that look."
Her eyes narrowed into slits, concentration clouding her face, the evidence filling her eyes. "I've got that feeling."
"You too, huh? What'd you find?" he motioned with his head, his own light trained on the object in her hand.
"A cigarette and a match," she said bagging the second piece of evidence.
Warrick let out a long sigh. "Man, this whole crime scene…"
"Yeah," she nodded standing from her crouched position.
Silently, the CSIs stood in the dark, their minds racing through the possibilities.
"Hey, Sara!" Greg called from the side of the house. "I've got something you'd like to see."
Throwing a look at Warrick, she grabbed her kit and joined Greg around the house, her search of the backyard finished. The side of the house, much like the back, was lined by four evenly spaced shrubs, each neatly trimmed and well kept.
"Check it out," the young CSI smiled, his flashlight beam trained on the ground between the two center shrubs. "I think I know how the killer got into the house," he smirked, his light angled now to reflect off the window just at eye level.
The window was half open and the wet ground held two distinct footprints.
"Maybe," she nodded, a slight hesitation in her voice, as she shone her light, imitating Greg's motions, her light illuminating the muddy prints and then the window.
Like everything else, something was off.
Something wasn't right.
"It's a good find, Greg," she patted him on the shoulder hoping to give the man some encouragement. "Take photos, and then cast them, we'll need them. Did you get anything from the front?" she asked watching the man stoop to the ground his camera in hand.
"Nothing," he shook his head. "There was no sign of forced entry. I dusted every last inch of the door, the knob, the door knocker, the doorbell. Not a single print."
"Maybe the killer wore gloves," she shrugged.
"Still, it doesn't make sense," he shook his head again, the camera flashing in the dim early morning.
"I know what you mean," she nodded, her eyes falling on the scene of onlookers and media just across the street. Lights from the news cameras filled the dawn with artificial light. The murmur of voices belonging to reporters and concerned neighbors filled the air. She could just make out the form of Brass talking with some of the neighbors. "Nothing about this scene feels good."
"Does it ever?" Greg asked, his eyes meeting hers.
"I don't know," she shrugged. She stood silent, the sound of the clicking camera, the quick burst of light from the flashbulb filling her senses.
"Hey, Sara…what do you make of this?"
"What?" she knelt down.
"Check out the size of the impressions."
"I'd say male, size ten, maybe ten and a half."
"Check out how shallow they are," he shook his head. "Wouldn't you expect them to be deeper…as muddy as it is?"
"Well, size ten, give or take, we can estimate the male to be between five-eleven and six foot?"
"About my height," he nodded.
"And at your weight, you leave a pretty hefty indentation in the mud," she smiled, her light trailing back in the yard, Greg's path to the window clear in the wet grass.
"Thanks," he smirked.
"I don't know, Greg, maybe," she shrugged, her light cast back on the prints in question. "You thinking this is a rouge?"
"I don't know," he shrugged his eye back in the viewfinder of his Nikon.
"Look, while you finish up here, I'm gonna go on in and give Warrick a hand."
"Yeah, okay," he nodded pulling out his casting frame and carefully placing it around the shoe impressions.
"Oh, and Greg?"
"Yeah."
"Be sure and print the windowsill while you're at it," she smiled as she rounded the corner of the house.
He knew that.
The sun was slowly beginning to let its presence be known, the first hints of morning peaking over the neighborhood houses. Catherine was pulling up to the scene as Sara made her way around to the front yard.
The females seemed to match each other, near mirror images in their solid black ensembles. Silver field kits hung to their sides, held firmly in each of their left hands. Meeting the other female, Sara offered a weary smile as they walked to front porch of the house together stopping to slip on shoe covers.
"Hey Cath," Warrick offered a nod of his head as he met them in the front foyer. He looked rather dapper in his celadon green shirt and jeans.
"Grissom upstairs?" she asked, a finger pointed in the direction her feet were already gracefully carrying her.
"Yeah, master bedroom," he nodded. "Sounds like he's got something right up your alley, too."
"You know I love it," Catherine offered a half smile as she began her ascension.
"Where do you need me?" Sara asked.
"Well, I just finished the kitchen. There's a knife missing from the set on the counter," he led the way into the spacious room. "Other than that, the place has been wiped clean. There's not a single print."
"You're kidding," she said incredulously.
"Wipes and swirls," the man shook his head.
"Seems we're getting a lot of that."
"Man, this case is giving me a headache already," he ran the back of his gloved hand across his forehead.
"Have you done the family room?" she asked pointing down the three steps into the comfortable looking den.
"Headed there now."
"Care if I join?" she smiled.
"By all means."
Quietly, the two entered the spacious, homey room. The near rustic furnishings were comfortable, cozy, and obviously well used. The room was a far cry from the formal living room across the hall from the kitchen.
The wood paneled walls provided an almost country western feel to the room. Paintings of outdoor scenery lined the walls above the chocolate brown leather sofa on the far right wall, a large wooden barrel served as an end table. The hard wood floor sat decorated by a large rust orange braided rug.
"Damn," Warrick let out a low whistle. "This the same house?"
"Like walking into Cracker Barrel," Sara smiled as she crossed the room, her attention drawn by the entertainment center. The large cherry piece of furniture housed a massive wide screen flat panel TV. The shelves surrounding held the latest in DVD, VCR, Stereo, and Surround Sound equipment.
"What'd the husband do again?" she asked, her Maglite scanning the massive video collection shelved to the right of all the electronics.
"Stock broker, or something," Warrick replied, his attention drawn to the bookcases along the far wall and the numerous family photos lining them. "You getting anything?"
"Well, I've got a gigantic collection of home videos. Hannah's dance recital, Emily in Cinderella, Nathan pitches first no-hitter," she read off some of the labels.
"Gigantic, huh? Could be nothing," Warrick shrugged.
"Could be something," Sara countered. "I'll bag them."
"Yeah, you do that."
"Hey, you wanted my help, remember? I'm just making sure all our bases are covered."
"I got ya," he smiled turning to face her. He watched as she pulled out a large brown paper sack and began filling it with the homemade VHS recordings. "I'll get Archie and look into them," he nodded finally as Sara finished the transfer of media from the shelves. "You ready for this?" he asked holding up the large ALS he'd carried in. Putting on a pair of orange safety glasses he cast his gaze toward the furniture.
"Let's do it," she smiled pulling out her own ALS subsequently slipping on a pair of safety glasses. Carefully, she crossed the room to flip the lights off.
The rustic room was thrust into a blue glow as the CSIs worked to gather anything that may link them to the killer, their forms ghostlike and eerie. While Sara began the excursion of processing the sofa, Warrick tackled the matching recliner.
"Damn," he whistled between his teeth. "Check it out. Hand me the Luminol," he said. Sara joined him at the piece of furniture, a bottle of Luminol in hand.
"You got something?" she asked handing over the chemical and watching as Warrick liberally sprayed the chair. "Th…that's blood," she said, her eyes widening. "That's a lot of blood."
Slowly, the chair illumined as the chemical fluoresced under the blue light. The once brown recliner now took on a ghastly fluorescent blue glow.
"What the hell…" Warrick trailed off removing the orange goggles. "Grab the camera."
Quickly Sara complied, snapping off several shots of the chair.
"What went on here?" she asked.
"This isn't even our primary scene," Warrick shook his head. "The family was killed upstairs."
"So, what… You think the killer, what…came down to watch the evening news after his little killing spree?"
"Stranger things have happened, I guess," Warrick shrugged throwing a sidelong view toward his partner.
"I guess," she shrugged. "Well, if there's blood on the chair, there's gotta be blood…"
"I'm all over it."
Warrick turned then and began spraying the chemical liberally over barrel beside the chair, the remote controls, and then the braided rug. Slowly the controls fluoresced, as did the rug, blood drops clearly present in the braided material.
"Any blood in the kitchen?" Sara asked snapping photos of the carpet.
"Trace amount in the sink drain, but hard to say if it's human. I found ground beef in the disposal," he shook his head. "Obviously the guy knew how to clean up after himself."
"Any chance this could be bleach?"
"Not from these patterns. Looks like a couple partial footprints here," Warrick shook his head.
Sara shrugged, "I still don't get it. How does an entire family wind up murdered in their own home, without even putting up a fight?"
"That seems to be the question of the hour," Grissom interjected from the doorway.
"Hey, Griss," Warrick nodded, turning to find the supervisor standing in the slightly elevated doorway.
"I'm headed back to the lab. We need to get going on the evidence and I have autopsies to attend."
"Care to drop some evidence off to Archie?" he asked handing the paper bag full of videos over. "Found a home video collection."
"What are you thinking?" the supervisor asked.
"I don't know. There's no sign of a struggle, no sign of forced entry… Maybe they knew their killer."
"And if they knew their killer," Sara added, "maybe the family has him on tape."
"We'll see," Grissom nodded turning to leave.
"Oh, hey Griss," Warrick called out. "Sheriff's lookin' for ya."
There was no response as he watched the man walk out the door, only a wave of a hand over his shoulder.
"Yeah," Warrick smirked. "What a peach." He returned to the blood evidence, the braided rug his primary source of concern. "Well, bag those remotes, we'll have to test them for DNA. Maybe the killer got careless."
"Don't count on it," Sara sighed. "Wanna pack the rug up too? Blood trails all across it."
"Might as well," he nodded. "It's not that big."
"So, what's next?"
"Living room across the hall?"
"The formal room?"
"The formal room," he offered a half smile. People and their big-ass houses.
"I'll race ya," she returned the smile collecting her kit. They'd come back for the evidence once they'd finished everything.
"Hey guys," Greg smiled from the front door.
"Greggo, hop on the train," Warrick nodded. "We're about to process the living room."
"Uh...which one?" he asked passing his gaze between the two.
"This one," Warrick pointed to the room just left of the entryway.
"Got it," Greg nodded turning to take in the massive room. "You want the lights on or off?"
"Off," Warrick shook his head. "Probably won't find much either way."
It was nothing unusual for this house really, a large white room. The same beige carpet covering the stairs covered the floor. A long, white leather sofa lined the right wall flanked by two cherry end tables. Atop each table sat a tall crystal and marble lamp. A cherry coffee table sat front and center to the sofa, allowing just enough room to walk between the two. A large picture window looked out from behind white curtains allowing light to filter in aiding in the feeling of grandness. It filled most of the white wall opposite the leather furniture. Two matching white leather chairs bordered the glass. On the far wall, a large cherry bookcase reached from floor to ceiling. A library of books and framed photos boasted the families many interests in art, history, and drama.
School books covered the top of the coffee table.
"Looks like Hannah was studying anatomy," Sara looked over the text left open.
"How can you tell?" Greg asked as he shone his light over the photos on the wall above the couch.
"Her handwriting," Sara turned to take in the bookshelves. "Plus she's got a massive crush on some guy named Chris."
"The family loved books," Warrick let out a long breath. "I'll get started on fingerprinting."
"Don't count on much."
"Why don't you cover the sofa and coffee table? We may get lucky. Greg take those chairs," he pointed across the room.
The three worked the living room over in silence. They worked best like that. Minutes seemed to stand still, the increasing light outside the window their only way of know time was passing.
"Hannah appears to have been the only one in here," Sara stood from the coffee table, "I'm only getting one set of prints."
"How do you know their hers?"
"Just a guess," she shrugged. "But I did find this long black hair," she smiled holding a set of tweezers in her hand. "The mom had blonde hair, so did Nathan. This hair is too long to be Emily's or the dad's."
"Well, I've got a cocktail of prints over here."
"You get anything else?"
"Besides black lung from all this powder? Nah," he shook his head. "There's nothing here."
He could feel the case spinning away from them. Things were quickly going nowhere.
"I've got a couple blonde hairs, but…" Greg shrugged stuffing the bindles in his kit.
They were all getting that feeling. They weren't going to get lucky with this case. The answers were elusive, were damn near invisible. Whoever they were looking for knew how to stay hidden. Whoever they were looking for was smart. And no matter how hard they tried to talk themselves around it, no matter how many different ways they twisted the scene, twisted their own logic, twisted their own search for clues, they were all scared of the same thing. They were all terrified that this guy may be smarter than they.