Note: Finally have things in working order...and well...as for reveiw replies...figured a new chapter was a better gimme! So...here ya go! Seriously thanks for the reviews...mucho gusto!
Chapter Sixteen – Go Fish
"The Harris's did everything by the book," the awkward and rather skittish attorney assured the detective and CSI. Howard Lawson was a rather lanky man. In his early forties, he was the epitome of Mayberry's Barney Fife, the only addition being a thick pair of tortoise shell rimmed glasses. Damn, he even had the voice down and it was grating on the ears Las Vegas' finest.
"We'd like to see your files regardless," Detective Vartann cast a skeptical glance toward Warrick. Silently they watched the nerve ridden man rifle through his files, coming to the folder of interest within seconds. The man's office was remarkably small. Each wall, painted a deep shade of pine forest green, bolstered by floor to ceiling metal bookshelves, seemed to be closing in on the civil servants the longer it took for the squirmy man to find the needed information. The CSI and detective had each taken a seat in the surprisingly comfortable leather chairs of contrasting colors. The man was in desperate need of an interior decorator, Lord knew the man could use some lessons on how to maximize small spaces.
"This is everything," he finally handed the manila files over.
"You keeping a book on the family?" the detective asked, his eyes already scanning the top pages.
"I don't know how much you know detective, but I've handled everything for the Harris's. They were a wonderful family," the man started, adjusting the plastic frames on the bridge of his nose. He had finally settled in the high backed leather chair positioned behind his particle board desk. "I handled Nathan and Hannah's adoptions. I worked with the adoption agency to make sure everything was in order. I also handled the investigation back in December."
"So, you know about all of that?" Warrick asked. He'd almost been late meeting detective Vartann that morning, his half hour nap unintentionally turning into an hour long snooze had actually been worth the semi-frazzled look of the detective as they pulled into the parking lot outside the office complex of Chandler and Kao.
"Of course," the attorney nodded.
"Then maybe you can tell us why we can't seem to find any records on Emily Harris."
"That's easy. I have them," the wiry man shrugged. "They're in the second folder, on top."
The detective handed the folder of interest to the criminalist beside him. Warrick immediately opened the file, finding birth certificates for each of the Harris children.
"I found birth records for Nathan and Hannah in Frank Harris's library," Warrick looked up. "Are these just copies?" he held some papers in hand.
"I hold on to copies for my own records," Lawson nodded. "They come in handy when… investigations arise."
"I bet," Vartann smirked. "So, you want to tell us what the check for a hundred fifty thou was for?"
"Standard fees, the verification of documents…you name it."
"You verified documents?"
"Of course. I was very thorough."
"So, tell us about the investigation back in December," Vartann said closing the file now resting on his lap.
"Frank Harris came to me for legal advice. A family in Reno was claiming Emily to be their missing daughter. I was presented the case of the missing child and asked to verify that Emily Harris was indeed the biological child of Frank and Diane Harris."
"Why not just perform a DNA test?" Warrick asked.
"We did, but Frank also wanted me to verify all the documents they had on Emily, her birth certificate. It really became a tangled mess, but he spared no expense."
"A tangled mess, huh? How so?" Vartann asked.
"I ended up having to verify the legality of the adoptions of the two teenagers as well."
"The adoptions you processed?"
"Yes, sir," Lawson nodded. "The family was adamant that Emily was their child. They saw a story run on the local news. When Emily had failed to respond to her chemotherapy, the Harris's urged the community to become bone marrow donors. When the family in Reno heard the story…" he trailed off. "They worked to find a loop hole, to find any reason why the Harris's would be unfit parents."
"So what happened?" Warrick asked.
"Well, the family in Reno had their attorneys look into everything. They had social workers sent to the home; they had records brought in from the state."
"What social workers?"
"Um…" Howard hesitated. "They had a couple out there on different occasions. I know the social worker that worked their adoptions made a couple visits."
"Ted Goggle?" Warrick asked.
"As a matter of fact…" the attorney nodded. "It was Ted Goggle. He's really become a close friend of the family."
"I bet; then what happened?" Vartann asked glancing at his watch. The meeting had already stretched into an uncomfortably long half hour. He wasn't sure how much more he could take.
"Nothing," the wormy man shrugged. "It was as if the case dropped off the face of the earth. The family in Reno dropped everything."
"Just like that, huh? What's the name of this family?"
"Hampton. Thomas and Cathy Hampton. They only had the one child as far as I know. Actually, I think they've become quite active foster parents."
"Well," the detective offered a long sigh. Slowly he stood, stretching his back muscles. He was ready to get out of the increasingly stuffy office. "I think we've got everything we need."
"Detective, I watch the news. The girl that was found last night...do you know who she is?"
"Not yet," he shook his head giving Warrick the lead out of the office.
"Well, if you need anything else," he handed over a sheet of paper he haphazardly ripped from his scratch pad.
"We've got your number, but…" he shrugged accepting the flimsy piece of paper. "We'll be in touch."
The midmorning sun was warming the air rather quickly, giving the hope of a pleasant day. The thin layer of clouds from earlier was starting to dissipate giving way to a deep blue sky.
"So, you thinking our vic could be this Hampton girl?" Warrick asked sliding on his sunglasses as he turned to face the detective subsequently leaning back against the Sedan they'd ridden in together. The parking lot was home to several cars, patrons scurried about taking advantage of the spring-like temperatures to shop. Chandler and Kao sat center stage in the main section of the North Las Vegas Shopping Center. A shoe store sat to the left of the law office and a video rental store to the right.
"I have no idea."
"Who was the detective on their case?"
"Well, in Reno I don't know," Vartann shook his head, "but I can check it out."
"Now, you're talking," the criminalist smiled giving the man a pat on the shoulder. "So, you're buying breakfast right?"
"Oh yeah," the detective laughed as he walked around the car, "any place with a dollar menu."
"Sounds about right," Warrick nodded folding into the passenger seat.
"Nick and I went over about half of the files," Sara said as she kept pace with Grissom through the lab. "Ted Goggle had a half dozen pending adoptions, three finalized, and two in question."
"In question?"
"Child Protective Services accused him of qualifying families outside their parameters. Kind of raises a red flag about all of his adoptions."
The two had woven their way through the halls, and now entered the break room. Nick sat at the table, fighting off the drowsing effects of a large breakfast as he attempted to look through a stack of files. Greg lounged on the sofa, his time spent waiting for DNA results on the knife and paper towels he'd collected from Goggle's kitchen.
Glancing at his watch Grissom looked at his CSIs. They looked tired.
"Okay, I'll have Brass check into it. Look, you guys need to go home, get some sleep. You've been pushing for three straight shifts."
"Well, I'm waiting on DNA," Greg spoke up closing the magazine he'd been reading.
"It can wait until tonight," the supervisor shook his head. "Catherine and Warrick are already gone. It's not open for negotiation," he turned leaving the room.
"Well, he's a ray of sunshine," Greg sighed, standing, with a great deal of effort, from his seat. His tee shirt was wrinkled, and though it wasn't an unusual state of existence for most of the man's clothing, it was in a rather exaggerated state as he crossed the room.
"He's tired," Nick shook his head as he closed the file in front of him. He had no problem following orders. He could really go for a few hours of sleep. They'd all been pushing the envelope on overtime with this case, catching an hour of sleep here and there. "When's the last time you changed clothes, boss?" he asked taking in Greg's disheveled appearance
"Huh?" the younger man asked, his eyes scanning down his front taking in his wardrobe. "Oh…a while," he shrugged. "Between processing two cars and chasing old ladies foot prints, I haven't had much time to get out. I haven't had a chance to run home like you guys."
Sara passed Greg her best pouting face of sympathy, before cracking a smile resulting in the cracking of Nick's efforts to remain stern faced.
"Hey, what'd I miss?" Brass asked coming in to pour a cup of coffee.
"Nothing," Sarah shook her head, a slight grin on her face. "Teacher's sending us home." She quickly started helping Nick gather the folders of information and stacking them in cleanly labeled boxes. They'd store them in evidence lock-up until they got back. "You look…awake," she frowned, her gaze held on the detective as he crossed the room, brimming mug of coffee in hand.
"Yeah, well I went home after we finished Goggle's house. Got a few hours of sleep. Oh, and in case you're interested," he shrugged. "That check stub you guys found made out to our social worker?"
"Signed by Cathy Hampton," Nick nodded.
"Yeah, I found a trail in Goggle's phone records. He'd made a dozen phone calls to this Cathy Hampton the day before yesterday."
"Well, we already know Thomas and Cathy Hampton were the couple pushing the investigation in the Harris's adoptions," Nick shrugged hefting the stuffed box from the table. "Warrick just got done with the law firm. The Hampton's were accusing the Harris's of kidnapping, and then of falsified adoptions."
"Do we have an ID on the girl found off I-15?"
"Not yet," Sara shook her head as the entourage moved into the hall. "Missing Persons is still chasing the photo."
"Well, you want my guess?" Brass offered as they paused at the evidence locker. "I'd say we found the Hampton's lost kid."
"Sounds like the case is moving along."
The group turned abruptly, greeted by a slightly sinister smile from Conrad Ecklie. The man stood crisp in a navy suit, white shirt, and blue gingham tie, straight off the drycleaner's rack. The man never failed to look like he'd walked straight out of a fitting at Men's Warehouse.
"I'm just talking," Brass shrugged. "I can't really tell you."
"Stokes?" the lab director addressed the CSIs flanking the detective. "It seems I can't get any information from your supervisor."
"Well, honestly," Nick shrugged, "there's not a lot to tell." His tone was quickly becoming thick and laden with annoyance for the hold up.
"I think what Nick and Grissom are getting at is that we don't have a lot," Sara shrugged. "There's a lot of evidence to process, and answers are slow in coming."
"Well you know, if you guys are back logged, I can always call on day shift to help with the load."
"We're good, thanks," Nick shook his head his hands on his hips. This was quickly becoming a standoff of wills.
"Just a friendly offer," the man raised his hands. "We're all on the same team here, Stokes."
"Uh huh," he nodded turning toward the locker room. Sara, Greg, and Brass, grateful for the opportunity quickly followed suit.
"Hey Stokes," Ecklie called out, bringing the man, and the group, to an abrupt stop. He watched the CSI turn, the man's square jaw obviously clenched. "Get some rest, you guys look like hell." He watched again as they headed down the hall. "Oh, and Stokes," he called once more trying not to smile at the reaction of the group. His little CSI puppets. "Tell Gil I don't want to have to send him another memo regarding overtime policies. I'm well aware of the Sheriff's standing in this case, but that doesn't change anything. I bend over backwards for you guys, I have to bend over backwards for everyone."
"You know what he does with your memos, right?" the CSI asked over his shoulder a sly grin crossing his face.
"What's that?"
"The same thing he does with your budget proposals," his grin widened.
The director watched, shaking his head, as the group turned the corner, moving toward the intersection of Grissom's office and the DNA, Ballistics, and Trace labs. He couldn't help but be slightly amused.
"Way to go, Nick," Sara shook her head. "Piss off the boss."
"Come on Sara," Brass shrugged. "Ecklie's a dick. You know that as well as any of us."
"At least I didn't tell him what he could do with his memos. Thought I'd leave that to Grissom," Nick smiled as the CSIs parted ways with the detective.
It was nearing midmorning as Nick climbed into his truck and turned the key in the ignition, bringing the engine to life. The sun was warm; the black interior of his vehicle radiated the heat from the sun's rays. He could feel his tense muscles relaxing as he sunk back into the driver's seat. It'd been nearly twenty four hours since he'd been home, felt the soft comfort of his queen sized bed. The thought of a hot shower was almost as tantalizing as the thought of a few hours of sleep. But, as he pulled from his parking spot, and into traffic on Boulder Highway he could only think of one place he needed to be more than home. Waiting for a clearing in traffic, he turned away from the direction leading him home. He had a stop to make before he settled down.
"Go fish," Emily laughed. She sat cross legged in her hospital bed, pretty in pink flannel pajamas and a mass of cards splayed across the blankets. She'd looked more alert, more vibrant as he stepped into her room. The brightness in her eyes multiplying as she saw him enter. He had promised her he'd come back and he wanted to stay true to his word. The further they got into the case, the closer they got to closing it, the harder it would be for him to get away. He'd promised himself he wouldn't stay long.
"You're beating me kid," Nick scowled playfully as he picked up another card, adding to the growing collection in his hand. "You already have twice as many pairs as I do."
"I told you I was good at this game," she shrugged, a twinkle in her eye. "Do you have any kings?"
"Ha, ha," he laughed menacingly, "go fish."
He'd already been there an hour.
The little girl's laughter filled the room as she drew a card, skillfully making a match, emptying her hand of cards.
"I win," she smiled.
Her smile was contagious.
"I told you I was better at Old Maid, but…" the CSI leaned back in his chair upon laying his cards face up on the bed, "you insisted on this. You're just too good for me," he winked. He glanced at his watch aware of time slipping away. "Hey, you want to go down to the rec room?" he sat up. "I bet you haven't even been down there yet."
"I already know what it's like," she shook her head, her eyes downcast.
"Oh, come on. It'll be fun," he stood. "I'll even carry you myself," he smiled, his arms outreached as he handed her a dark blue robe.
Hesitantly she slid her arms into the thick, warm garment. She stood on the bed then, bouncing on the firm mattress then jumping into Nick's arms her laughter filling his ears.
"You know, I hear Sam hangs out down here a lot," he smiled opening the door and entering the bright hallway. "She's pretty cool, isn't she?"
"Yeah," Emily smiled. "I like her. She's pretty."
"Yeah," Nick chuckled as he paused in the doorway of the play room. Kids were actively indulged in their projects of choice. Sam was busy in the chaos of a group of boys attempting to play a game of twister. "There she is," he pointed across the room as the nurse's gaze fell upon the pair. She spoke softly to the boys before making her way across the room. As she approached he felt Emily shrink into him. His heart leapt in his chest, the softball returning to his throat.
"Hey Emily!" the nurse bubbled.
Carefully Nick crouched down, allowing Emily to stand on the floor.
"Hey, Em," he cleared his throat. "Is it cool if I talk to Sam for a second?" he asked quickly taking a look into the room, there were a couple of girls sitting at a nearby table. "Draw me a picture," he smiled nodding his head toward the table.
Slowly the girl's gaze followed his, her eyes taking in the blank pages on the table.
"Better yet," he smiled, "write me a puppet show."
Her eyes lit up, an idea already formulating in her mind.
"Okay," she spoke softly still holding onto his hand. He led her to the table, pulling her out a chair in which to sit. "I'll be right back," he placed a hand atop her head. He turned then receiving a sympathetic look from the nurse awaiting his return.
"Well," she started leading him further into the hallway.
"I'm not a match," he shook his head as he leaned back against the yellow wall.
"While you're the same blood type, your HLA type isn't," she shook her head sadly. "Look it's a noble thing you did, but I'm sorry."
"Noble or not, it doesn't bring Emily any closer to recovery," he sighed leaning his head back.
"You know, I've been Emily's nurse ever since she started coming to this hospital, going on two years now; and, well, she's never come down to the rec room," Sam glanced through the glass keeping a close eye on the kids.
"You're kidding," Nick lifted his head, his eyes back on the nurse.
"You're good for her," she nodded. A seriousness so deep it was haunting radiated from her. It bored into him. "You're not like most cops."
"So, what happens now? I mean, with the transplant and all. How close are you to finding a match?"
"Well, we're getting closer. We found a preliminary match back east. It'll be a while before we know anything."
Nick glanced back at his watch. He really needed to get some sleep. Pushing himself off the wall, he walked with Sam back into the community room. The group of boys on the Twister mat immediately swarming the nurse, Nick smiled making a bee line for Emily.
"Hey," he whispered kneeling beside the child as she wrote feverishly.
"Don't look," she smiled working to cover her sure-to-be masterpiece.
"I didn't see a thing," he raised his hands in defense, his eyes falling tenderly on the child. She had a grip on his heart, it was strong and unyielding.
"You've got to go, don't you?" she asked looking him in the eye.
"Yeah, kiddo. I've gotta go," he nodded apologetically.
"That's okay," she nodded understandingly. "You have work, right?"
"Yeah, I've got work," he laughed now. "I'll be back."
"I know."
"I have to read your puppet show," he smiled.
He watched as Emily stood from her chair, her eyes downcast again. Slowly she picked them up, her blue eyes meeting his. There was an emptiness to be seen there, an emptiness he knew could only be filled by a parent. It was a feeling this girl would no longer have, would no longer experience. He smiled at her, hoping it was encouraging, but knowing it came across as so much less. He felt the lump returning to his throat. He felt the tears damming behind his eyes, threatening to breech the barricade. He bent, and swooping the girl into his arms he embraced her, not trying to take the place of her parents, not trying to fill that void; just trying to make it less noticeable maybe. Trying to fill his own void.
The tiny giggle escaping the girl's throat was just enough as he sat her back in her chair.
"It better be a good play," he whispered.
"The best," she smiled watching him turn and leave.