Chapter Eight – Chaotic Remission
"Griss wants us back in an hour," Nick said closing his phone. From the way things had progressed thus far, wanting things done in an hour was not a far fetched goal. Evidence wasn't exactly popping out at them. It seemed the killer had, for all intents and purposes, successfully covered his trail. It made their job of collecting evidence rather easy, their time spent at the scene usually shorter. But everything about this case, this house, seemed to require just a little extra. Extra effort, extra time, extra energy.

Now, as Nick and Warrick stood in the doorway of Frank Harris's study they felt the hour slipping away. An hour had seemed like a reasonable goal

The room was handsome, masculine, and it sat choked and hidden under a mad chaos. The two criminalists stood shocked by the sight that was conveyed before them. Solid oak furnishings and a deep green leather sofa took up much of the room's space. The solid cream colored walls were accented neatly with wallpaper bordering, displaying mallard ducks, along the top of the wall. A large leather sofa lined the wall just to the left of the door, the cushions of which had been upturned or simply thrown to the floor.

A large, rather impressive, desk sat slightly skew of front and center in middle of the room, back dropped by a wide picture window overlooking the backyard. A high backed leather chair, matching the color of the sofa, sure to have sat behind the desk at one point, had been pushed into the far back corner of the room. The desk drawers had subsequently been removed from their proper places within the desk, their contents dumped atop the desk, and haphazardly discarded to the floor.

The high gloss stain of the solid wood floor was sure to have given the room an elegant feel, yet was now hidden under a mess of dumped books and discarded papers.

Large, solid oak bookshelves lining the wall just to the right of the door sat half emptied. Books, of varying subjects, that had once lined the shelves were now piled high on the floor.

"Damn," Warrick shook his head, his brow furrowed in a slight state of shock. "Somethin' nasty went down in here."

"Mmm," Nick nodded his eyes taking in the same carnage. "Wonder what exactly."

"Griss said an hour?"

"Uh huh."

"Damn."

"Uh huh."

Slowly, after taking detailed photos of the room at large, the criminalists began sifting through the chaos.

Pictures that had once hung along the walls now lay broken and scattered across the floor.

It was a black and white 8X10 picture of Emily Harris that grabbed Nick's attention first. Behind the cracked glass shone the face of a little girl. Laughter and joy covered her face, filled her eyes, and gave her life. The dark scarf covering the girl's head seemed obtrusive, even harsh against the girl's fair complexion. The sun filtering through the trees in the background, threw a glare on the lens, adding to the artistic taste of the snapshot. If possible, it only worked to accentuate the delicate features of the young girl's face.

It was Emily's day.

Hannah and Nathan had spent over an hour decorating the cake their mom had baked to perfection. The pink icing was perfect, as Hannah began to spread the confection over the dark chocolate cake. Nathan stood ready with rainbow sprinkles, itching to cover the cake in the sickly sweet morsels of sugar.

Emily had been sick for several months, but today was a special day of celebration. Today, she had officially achieved remission; her doctor had even smiled when he gave the report. The cancer, the leukemia, was gone; she had beaten the disease.

It couldn't have come at a better time. Now, Emily had the chance to begin school, and actually attend regularly. It had been the one thing she'd wanted more than anything, to start first grade with her friends, to ride the bus like all the other kids.

She'd been too sick to attend kindergarten, so her mom had taken to tutoring her at home. She'd taught her to read, to write, to spell all while working to balance the rest of the family life, as well as her catering business. The latter of which had been put on hold indefinitely, at least until Emily was well again.

Now, at the end of August with the start of a new school year on the horizon, and the promise of the little girl's improving health, things seemed to be falling back into their proper places.

While Hannah and Nathan busied themselves with the cake decorations, Diane Harris worked to put the finishing touches on all of Emily's favorite foods; mashed potatoes, chicken fingers, and fruit salad, heavy on the strawberries.

Emily had excitedly picked out her best outfit, in anticipation of the big event. She'd even prepared a special play for the family and with the help of her dad had set up her puppet stage in the living room.

Now standing in the bathroom, a safety step stool aiding in her ability to see into the wall mirror, Emily smiled at her reflection. The outfit she had picked out hung just a little loose around her still thin frame. That didn't bother her much, it was her favorite outfit and she liked how she felt in the pink fleece top. The navy blue pants she wore accented with tiny pink flowers added just enough contrast to her bright blue eyes. She hadn't felt this good in weeks. The navy blue scarf she had tied around her head, matching her outfit perfectly, would soon become obsolete as evidence of new hair growth was already making itself known.

Ready to present herself to the rest of the family she hopped down from the step stool after securing the knotted scarf on her head. A bright pink pair of Converse sneakers adorned her feet as she made her way down the stairs to meet her waiting father.

The sun was warm as it angled in through the beveled glass of the front door. Once at the bottom of the staircase she greeted her father with a bright-eyed smile. He'd never seen his daughter look more beautiful. Sweeping her into his arms he kissed her cheek lightly and carried her into the dining room, placing her in the seat at the head of the table, the seat of honor.

Today was her day.

The girl in the picture was a girl full of life, full of laughter. It was hard to imagine the girl lying in a bed over at Sunrise Children's Hospital, clinging to life, was the same little girl as that in the photo.

"What have you got?" Warrick asked bringing Nick back to the current reality. He'd noticed his partner's hesitation, his stiff posture almost immediately as he stood mesmerized by the object in his hands. He'd seen that look before, just…well…just not so intense. He'd had a similar expression when he'd taken the lead in the McBride case five months back. Now, though, the look was more intense; the look went deeper. It worried him, sure, especially now that it seemed to be happening more often. He knew Nick had a tendency to get wrapped up emotionally in his cases, had seen it on more than one occasion. But, there was something different about this one. There was something different about him.

"Photo of Emily Harris," Nick said his eyes still glued to the framed photo. He felt Warrick's eyes on him, but didn't trust himself to meet his friend's gaze. The image of Emily was haunting enough. He could almost hear the girl's laughter reverberating through the house, reverberating in his head. He gently placed the photo on the sofa and resumed his search for plausible evidence.

"Well, I've got a ton of stuff over here," Warrick smirked from his spot behind the desk. "The guy must have been in junk bonds."

"Yeah," Nick nodded. "He worked the stock market."

"Well, I've got over a dozen bond certificates, and even more stock receipts here. This stuff could be worth millions. Guess it's safe to say the killer wasn't looking for money."

"Yeah. Grissom and I found a safe in the master bedroom. There had to be at least a half mill left inside."

"Damn," Warrick let out a long sigh. "I still don't get this."

"Nothing about this is making sense," Nick shook his head bending to sort through the papers on the floor. "Hey, Rick, come check this out."

"What've you got?" he asked walking around the desk.

Nick had quickly sorted through a stack of papers, successfully clearing a spot on the floor just in front of the sofa.

"What do you make of this void?" Nick looked to Warrick. It was clear there had been a couple boards replaced in the floor. An area rug had been used to cover the discolored boards, but in the chaos of things had been upturned and rolled away.

"Those boards look new," Warrick raised his brow, looking toward the ceiling. "Water damage?" he asked pointing upward. Directly above them they could see the ceiling had recently been repaired and a fresh coating of paint applied.

"Maybe," Nick shrugged pulling out his pocket knife. Carefully he opened the blade and eased it between the newer planks of wood. With surprising ease the boards gave way revealing a void under the wood. His eyes looked to Warrick then quickly back to the hole in the floor. There sat a gray metal safety lock box. "Well, that's convenient," Nick offered a small smile as he reached in with gloved hands to extract the metal box.

"Is there a key?" Warrick shone his Maglite into the small space.

"Don't see one," Nick responded after lifting the second board, and shining his own light into the hole. "Maybe in the desk?"

"Yeah, good luck with that. I think I can pick this thing open," Warrick took a closer look at the metal box, focusing on the key lock. It wasn't the best, as far as lockboxes were concerned. He used to break into his cousin's lockbox all the time when he was a kid; this wouldn't be much different.

And, in fact, it wasn't.

Within just a couple minutes, Warrick had successfully worked the lock with Nick's pocket knife and popped open the metal box.

"Another reason your Grams was so watchful when you were a kid?" Nick offered a sly grin.

"One of many," Warrick chuckled as he began looking through the contents of the now open box.

"What have we got?" reaching in the pile for his share.

"Looks like birth certificates, social security cards, a few legal documents…a will…" Warrick listed. "What have you got?"

"Adoption papers," Nick said, his eyes scanning the documents. "Hannah and Nathan were adopted by Frank and Diane Harris."

"What?"

"Yeah," Nick nodded handing the papers to his partner. "Looks like they were adopted at birth. You've got their birth certificates there?"

"Yeah, well, Nathan and Hannah's. You got any papers on Emily?"

"No adoption papers," Nick shook his head his eyes drifting back to the lock box. "What's left in the box?"

"A few more bond certificates, looks like some educational Savings Bonds, that's it."

"So…where are the papers on Emily?" Nick asked.

"I don't know. I looked all over the desk…" Warrick trailed off, his eyes tracing back over the piece of furniture. "Nothing like that stickin' out."

"All the same," Nick shook his head as he pulled out his cell phone. "I'll have Brass follow up on the papers. Maybe he'll have something by the time we get back to the lab."

Warrick stood as Nick dialed the detective's number and returned to the desk. Looking at the turned over clock, he could see that it was almost noon. They only had a half hour before they had to be back at the lab.

"Hey Jim, its Nick. Can you check into the history of some adoption papers? I've got some papers here for Nathan and Hannah Harris. Says they were adopted back in '89 and '90."

"You got it," the detective responded.

"Thanks," he closed the call.

"Hey man, you think there's anything probative under all this?" Warrick asked as his eyes scanned the chaos on the floor.

"Only one way to find out."

"ALS?"

"ALS," Nick nodded pulling on his orange goggles. Shutting the door to the study and turning off the lights, the two got down to business.

"So, you think the killer was after the adoption papers?" Warrick asked as he busied himself by the window.

"Well, anything's possible, I guess. The question now would be; what would he want with them?"

"Adoptions weren't legit."

"Papers look legit," Nick shrugged as he scanned the sofa with his alternate light source. "They're either legit, or one hell of a forgery job."

"Weirder things have gone down. I mean, a bad adoption isn't exactly the best motive for murder, but…"

"What is?"

Silently, the CSIs got deeper into the detritus of papers, photos, and books. From what they could gather, which was actually very little, Frank Harris' study was clean, forensically speaking.

"I think I just hit the mother load," Nick spoke up after nearly ten minutes of silence.

"What'd you get?"

"Well," he started after turning the overhead light back on, "some of these books alone are worth thousands of dollars. This guy's got some first editions in prime shape."

"That's all you've got? A pricey book collection?

"Uh…no. I have a card catalog of information here. Looks like a list of every book on these shelves, and then some. What do you want to bet the guy's insurance company has this same list?"

"Good luck finding them," Warrick smirked from his spot in front of the desk now.

"Bernadette Stepney should be able to help us out."

"How you figure?"

"Well, the list is printed on her letter head. Stepney Insurance Company," Nick smiled his broad grin.

"Well, if anything, it'll only help us catalog this mess. If robbery wasn't the motive, no tellin' what this punk was lookin' for," Warrick took a deep breath. "I can tell you one thing I'm not finding."

"What's that?"

"Blood. There's no evidence that our killer was in here, after he killed the family anyway."

"Maybe he changed clothes once the deed was done."

"I dunno man," Warrick let out a long sigh. "Maybe Frank Harris went on a rampage."

"And destroyed his own office? Come on, Rick. I saw the rest of this house. I don't buy it. What about prints on the desk?"

"Swipes and swirls. The guy probably wore gloves and wiped everything down for good measure."

"Damn, he really took his time with this," Nick shook his head. "We're not gonna to get lucky with this guy."

It was that thought, and that thought alone that seemed to weigh heavily on his mind. If the killer had taken the time to search for…whatever it was he was looking for, and then clean up after himself, how long had Emily Harris stayed hidden away?

How long had she sat cowered away in her hiding spot, terrified that the person was coming after her next?

The thoughts sent chills up Nick's spine. He knew what it was to be held captive by a man with no face. He knew what it was to hear a voice, to have that voice run on constant repeat in his brain, to wake up in the middle of the night sweating because the voice wouldn't leave him alone, wouldn't shut up. No one, especially Emily Harris, deserved to go through that.

He looked over at Warrick. The concern on his face was enough to amplify the tension already working and building in his muscles. He knew Warrick had been watching him as he looked at the photo of Emily and it was clear his partner had been watching him more closely the deeper he went into his own thoughts, the deeper they got into the room, the deeper they got into the case.

He hated that.

He hated feeling like his friends, his co-workers, were waiting for him to crack, constantly waiting and watching, ready to rush over the second he tripped or stumbled, or heaven forbid got too emotionally involved.

It seemed he couldn't work a case without Warrick, or Sara, or Catherine glancing over their shoulders to see how he was handling it. It seemed he couldn't work without hearing the same questions.

You okay?

You need help?

How ya doing?

They plagued him. Troubled him in his sleep. They were simple questions. Yet they sent as many chills up his spine as the black and white photo of Emily Harris that sat staring at him from the leather sofa. It was a haunting feeling.

"What have we got left to do?" he asked working to ignore the probing of his partner's eyes, hoping to bypass the inevitable questions.

"I'm just bagging up these bonds and receipts. Not sure they'll lead us anywhere," Warrick offered a half shrug. "Other than that…"

"I'll start loading gear into the car then," Nick nodded bagging the questionable legal documents and sliding them into his kit. He'd drop them off for verification and follow up with Brass on the family history and background checks.

He prayed the adoptions were legal. He prayed everything checked out.

They had to be legal. Everything had to check out.

Everything within him told him this was a good family. Everything within this house told him the family was a good family. He didn't want to have to handle the reality of a family, this family playing a part in their own demise. He didn't want to have to hand that deck of cards to the little girl left to live without them.

Other than a few blood stains, the house was immaculate. Never before had Nick seen a house, with two teenagers and a seven year old, appear so orderly.

It was just…odd.

The sun was at its highest as Nick stepped out the front door. The temperatures were warming up, most likely into the low seventies already. Early spring was the best time of year to live in Vegas. Temperatures were relatively mild and with the winter rains ending, the desert was in full bloom.

Nick was glad to see the streets cleared of the early morning onlookers as he opened the back doors of the Denali and began filing away the collected evidence. Other than a couple cops keeping watch over the crime scene, the streets were empty. The news reporters had moved on, most likely developing their stories back at their respective stations or working on new angles while waiting outside the crime lab.

"I gotta go up and collect the kid's computers," Nick nodded as he passed Warrick on his way back into the house, tossing him the car keys.

"Yeah okay, I'm all set," he nodded walking down the front path.

Securing the scene, applying crime scene tape to the front door, sealing it shut, and signing out with the cops on scene, Nick climbed into the passenger seat of the SUV.

It was nearly half past twelve, he noticed as he pulled on his sunglasses.

It was obvious he was staring down the barrel of a double shift. A crime scene this messy usually required nothing less and usually more.

He took in a deep breath, holding it until his lungs burned as he kept his eyes forward. Slowly letting it go, he turned to Warrick, aware of the wary gaze his friend continued to pass his way.

"Gonna be a long day," he shook his head.

"Gonna be a long week," he nodded in response as he started the engine.

Good, so far no questions. At least with the looks, he could pretend he didn't notice. Questions were never that easy.

"Let's roll."

They'd be cutting it close to be on time for the team powwow.

Traffic this time of day was always murder.