Note: Real quick...keep in mind I wrote this back in March...so...this story is taking place around that time. Reference to the Discovery Channel's show "Ultimate Survivor" is based off that timeline...a GREAT show if you ask me!
Chapter Seventeen – Messy Karma
"The blood's a match to all four victims," Greg said entering Grissom's office. Nick and Catherine were already seated in front of his desk. "And the prints on the knife handle belong to Ted Goggle."
"Whom we can't find," Catherine shook her head.
They were about an hour into their regular shift, three days into the Harris case. Nick had managed about seven hours of sleep around midday, getting up around dinner time to shower and get back to the lab. He wanted to finish sorting through the adoption files he and Sara had found in Ted Goggle's home office.
"So, we have our killer," Greg said, enthusiasm working through his voice.
"It would appear so," Grissom nodded.
"I don't get it," Nick shook his head, not ready to buy the story the evidence seemed to be telling them. "I mean, Warrick says this guy was a close friend of the family. What reason would he have to kill them?"
"Well, what did you find from the adoption files?" Catherine asked.
"Well there are two adoptions under investigation. Warrick confirmed it with the law firm," Nick started.
"Chandler and Kao," Catherine nodded.
"Turns out Goggle was trying to forge adoptions."
"How did he do that?" Greg asked leaning against a file cabinet.
"Basically, he was sliding kids under the table. Family's weren't going through the chain of command, weren't undergoing background checks," Nick continued. "So far only two cases are in question. A kid went to a family in Henderson and a month later was pulled. He's in a group home right now; the adoption's still pending while a background check is being run."
"What about the second case?" Grissom asked.
"The girl was put back into the system," Nick shook his head. "It didn't hold."
"Hey guys," Brass entered the office. His expression was somber, even for him. "We got a hit on Ted Goggle's car, parking garage outside the Sphere. Bring your kits."
The parking garage was dark, the fluorescent lighting doing little to bring void to the darkness of the night. It was the only car sitting on the eighth level of the parking structure; a red Toyota Corolla, it sat small and isolated within the concrete structure.
"Call from an anonymous witness came in, dispatch relayed it over the radio," the officer on the scene informed as the group pulled up. The name on his uniform read Jackson. "I was the closest to the scene so I rolled. He's in the car," he nodded as Brass took over.
"Did you touch anything?" Grissom asked pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
"Uh…sir…it's pretty messy."
"Did you touch anything?"
"The window was down," he shook his head. "I felt for a pulse and radioed in for you guys."
"Alright, kid," Brass nodded placing a hand on the officer's shoulder. "You did good."
The officer watched the CSIs walk to the car, walking the perimeter of the vehicle taking it in with almost every sense. Were they hoping to absorb everything through osmosis? He never really understood the scientists; probably never would. They carried guns, but they were barely cops. He stood back, though, allowed them to do their job.
"Okay, Nick you start with the photos and sketch," Grissom began delegating tasks.
"You got it," the CSI nodded.
"Greg, go with Brass and collect all the surveillance videos for this garage, every floor. If they want a warrant, tell them we'll have it in a half hour. Take the video back to the lab and get started on it. Archie's off tonight. Call Sara if you need help. I've got her backing Warrick up for now." He paused watching the young man turn and walk away, the detective following him to the nearby elevator. "The medical examiner should be here any minute. We need to get the outside processed so he can get to the body. Catherine, the passenger side," he nodded moving to the driver's side.
"Damn," Catherine let out a long sigh. "Check out this blood spatter," she shook her head, her eyes wide as she bent at the waist to take in the passenger side window.
"Looks like a gunshot wound to the left temple," Grissom nodded crouching to dust the car door for prints. Skillfully he brushed the powder across the vehicle, and with great precision, tape lifted the palm print he found on the ledge where the window met the frame.
"Hey Griss, I've got a partial footprint here," Nick called from his position about three feet away. "Somebody stepped in blood," he snapped a photo before swabbing the print and applying a drop of phenolphthalein. "It's not much, and it's dried but…" he called over his shoulder.
There was no response from the man behind him. Had Grissom even heard him? He didn't have time to repeat it, though, as his attention was pulled toward the arriving Coroner's van. This time it was Doc Robbins responding to the field. Nick watched as the older man climbed down from the vehicle, instructed his assistants, and made his way to the crime scene.
"Hey Doc," Nick nodded a greeting as he shone his Maglite along the concrete floor. "Busy night?"
"I've got every guy I have in the field," the ME nodded as he passed the Texan. The rather short man leaned into his metal crutch, his mostly white hair catching the light as he approached the car. He looked remarkably crisp in his black slacks and gray polo. "What have we got?"
"Dead guy in a car," Nick stood, his eyes trailing the path of the coroner.
"Gil," the doctor nodded in greeting. "Catherine."
"Got a no-brainer for you, Doc" Catherine spoke from the passenger side. She'd already processed the outside and now worked to make sense of the chaotic interior.
"Hey, isn't this the guy…?"
"Well…he was," Nick sighed joining the group once more, his camera balanced in his right hand.
"There's gray matter all over the window here," Catherine offered an involuntary cringe. "Check out the size of that exit wound," she flashed several photos.
The body sat slumped forward over the steering wheel. Ted Goggle's eyes were open, vacant, empty as his chin rested on the top of the steering apparatus. He was dressed in a cheap looking pair of khaki chinos, a solid white collared shirt and a khaki overcoat. In his left hand, sitting atop his left thigh, rested a gun.
"What are you thinking?" Catherine looked across to her male counterpart. Nick had moved a few feet away now, his eyes trailing his light as it scanned the ground for evidence. "Suicide?"
"At first glance," Grissom shrugged, "it would appear so." With a steady hand he removed the gun from the deceased's, examining it, careful not to disturb any possible prints. "Hey Nick," he called over his shoulder, "care to help me out." He handed the gun over as the younger CSI made his way back around the car. "I don't see any prints, do you?" he watched as the man examined the gun.
Nick shook his head, "Smith and Wesson 629. It's been wiped clean."
"Check the revolver," he nodded.
"Six cylinder revolver, cylinder's empty. Guess he only needed one bullet," the CSI reported turning the barrel on the pin. "I haven't found it yet."
"Bag it, get it to ballistics," Grissom nodded as he turned back to the coroner. "Doc?"
"Liver temp places time of death around five last night. Single gunshot wound to the left temporal lobe. Death was most likely immediate," he stood up straight, motioning for his assistants to wheel the gurney over to load the body.
"That would do it," Nick nodded returning to his search of the ground, the questioning, and slightly perturbed, look Grissom cast his way going unheeded.
Doc Robbins returned the same questioning glance to the entomologist. He slowly gathered his clipboard grasping the handle on his crutch. "I'll have the preliminary report done in a couple hours," he said turning to leave the scene. "I like to get the easy ones out of the way."
The air was chilly in the parking garage. The continual flicker of the green tinted lights was cause enough for the headache plaguing him, but quite honestly Nick was just tired. The fact that their primary suspect was dead by apparent suicide didn't bode well for them, or the case. Taking the easy way out…the coward's way out seemed to be the trend among the criminal world as of late. It had been for the Gordon's. But, why stop there? Hell, why not Ted Goggle? This sure as hell wasn't justice for the Harris family, for Emily, regardless of whether the man deserved to live or die. Suicide was a lousy way out, and a damn selfish one at that.
He moved back around to the passenger side of the vehicle taking in the site of the fractured, blood spattered window.
"Hey Cath, you got a trajectory rod in your kit?"
"Yeah," she nodded pulling away from the car to fetch the tool.
"Care to close the door for a sec?" he asked as she handed the florescent red plastic rod to him. "I want to get an idea of where the bullet could have gone."
"Yeah sure," she nodded acquiescing to his request.
She watched as he inserted the rod into the spider-veined glass.
"That's nearly perpendicular to the ground," she shook her head. "Sure looks like suicide. Trajectory would normally be at a sharper angle if someone else pulled the trigger."
"Yeah," Nick sighed following the line the bullet would have traveled. Carefully, keeping his light on the ground just in front of his feet, he inched away from the car. A .22 caliber bullet would be hard to find, even if it was on a straight trajectory.
"We'll get the car back to the lab, finish processing there," Grissom shook his head. "My guess is, our best bet for a lead is…" he trailed off interrupted by Nick.
"How about a bullet?" the CSI called out standing at the wall of the garage near the elevator. "It got lodged in the wall," he shone his light on the point of interest in the concrete brick. The bullet had penetrated at least a couple inches into the wall.
"Nice eye," Catherine smiled as the flash of Nick's camera filled the night.
Nick quickly snapped off a couple more shots of the wall then pulled his multipurpose tool from his vest pocket. Carefully as to not destroy the evidence he pried the bullet from its concrete cage.
".22 caliber," he nodded holding his light on the small piece of metal. "Looks like we've got some blood," he placed the evidence in the plastic bag offered by Catherine. He then took his light, shining it on the wall at the point of impact.
"What've you got?" the female asked curiously.
"Looks like a skin tag, maybe a couple hairs attached," he squinted while using his tweezers to extract the possible DNA evidence. "I'll get this stuff to the lab," he finished placing the hairs in a bindle. Upon labeling both pieces of evidence, he placed them in his vest pocket. "So you think this guy had a sudden attack of conscience?"
"What, so he just kills himself?" Catherine asked as they walked back to the car.
"Happens," he shrugged. "Maybe he was just too coward to face what he'd done. Seems to be the trend these days." He practically spat the words out; they tasted venomous on his tongue.
The words had caught Catherine off guard. They weren't angry words. They were words full of pain, full of animosity. She watched silently, taken aback, as Nick busied himself, seemingly unaware of the effects his words had on the woman.
She wanted to say something, knew she needed to say something, but words seemed to be failing her. It was a new thing for her. Words never failed her. She stood silent for a minute, willing the words to form.
Just as she began to corral the words together, she was stopped by the opening of the elevator doors. She watched then as Brass and Greg walked back onto the eighth floor.
"Got the videos," the detective motioned toward the bag in the CSI's hand. "The jackass parking lot attendant swears he doesn't know anything. He's only been on the clock a few hours," he shrugged rejoining the group. "You guys done here?"
"Waiting for the tow truck," Grissom shook his head, still working on the driver's side of the car.
"I'm gonna head back with Greg," Nick stood upright upon gathering his gear, his field kit gripped firmly in his left hand. There was a tension in his stance. He needed to get out, get away from the scene.
Gil, Catherine and Brass watched as Nick and Greg headed toward the parked vehicles.
"You guys okay here?" Brass asked.
"Yeah," Catherine nodded, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her navy forensics parka.
"I need to get back and follow up with the guy that was on duty before the moron down there now."
"Go," Grissom nodded. "The officer's still here. We're fine."
They watched as the detective picked up his pace quickly crossing the garage and climbing into the idling Denali.
"You have that look," Grissom frowned at the woman beside him.
"What look?"
"Never mind," he waved a hand hoping to shrug off the comment, and the impending doom he felt upon the release of his words.
"No, there's no never mind. What look, Gil?"
"It's just a look," he shook his head.
"Come on, tell me."
He sighed, knowing he'd stepped into the hole this time. "It's just…It's the same look you had when…" he paused.
"When…"
"When Nick…"
"Oh," she said promptly bringing the man's comment to a halt, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You wanna talk?" he sighed, knowing it was an inevitable situation with the woman beside him. If he was in the hole, he might as well go on and fill it in.
"It's just something Nick said," she shook her head turning to face the car. "It's nothing really."
"Oh."
"How do you think he's coping?" she turned back to him. She had to get it off her chest.
"Who Nick? He's fine," he offered what he hoped was a light hearted smirk.
"Do you think this case is getting to him?"
"It's getting to all of us," he shook his head nonchalantly. "We've been pushing for three days straight, falling down rabbit holes, coming to dead ends."
"This is different," she shook her head, her hands on her hips. Her eyes trailed back to the spot where the Denali had been parked just seconds ago. "I don't know," she threw her hands up. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."
"Well, you want to help me wrap the car?" he held up a roll of clear plastic wrap.
"It's not just this case," she stopped, still unable to drop the uneasy feeling.
"It's not."
"It's this case, it's the McBride case, it's the Gordon cases, it's the Crane case," she listed. "Have you even talked to him since the Kelly Gordon case? I mean, Christ Gil, the girl killed herself in front of him."
"Catherine, you know as well as I, if Nick was having trouble, he'd come to one of us."
"Would he, Gil?"
"Come on, Catherine. It's Nick."
"Yeah, it's Nick," she nodded emphatically. "He's not exactly an open book when it comes to emotions. I mean, Jesus, he's becoming more like you every day. Has he even really talked about what happened last summer, what happened last month?"
"I'm sure he has," he shrugged.
"He hasn't to me," she shook her head defiantly, her eyes boring into him.
"Well, Catherine. I'm sure he's talked about it. He's fine."
"It must be a lonely state," Catherine shook her head, turning back to the car once more surrendering to the fact that it was pointless to carry the topic any further with the man in front of her.
"What state is that?"
"The state of denial," she turned back quickly. "You've been there for ten months now. When are you going to wake up?"
"I can't do anything unless he comes to me," he raised his hands in mock surrender. "You know that as well as I." Together they stood in silence, his eyes unwavering in their gaze as they peered on the woman before him, her eyes downcast.
In all honesty, he was concerned. Lately, it seemed Nick was rooting himself in his cases, emotionally as well as physically. And truthfully, he really was concerned. He just didn't know how to approach him about it, and well, was maybe hoping Catherine would beat him to the punch. "Look, the tow truck's here. Can we please get back to the car? I'd like to have this thing processed tonight," he motioned with his hands.
Conceding, Catherine nodded. Silently they wrapped the car, preserving the possible evidence within until they could gather it back in the garage at CSI.
"Bobby D," Nick smiled entering the ballistics lab.
"Nick Stokes," the lab tech smiled as he swiveled in his wheeled chair to face the voice as it entered the lab.
"Got a bullet and a gun for ya." The CSI had already had the evidence swabbed for DNA and any trace from the bullet sent to Hodges.
"Let's see it," he nodded receiving the plastic bag from the criminalist. Carefully he removed the bullet. ".22 caliber," he smiled placing the evidence under the scope skillfully adjusting the focus. "Wow, it's pretty desiccated."
"Yeah, I pulled it from a concrete wall," Nick nodded.
"That'd do it," the tech nodded. "Where's the gun?"
"S&W 629," Nick held up the prize.
"Aw… a six shooter. You shouldn't have," he stood heading to the water trough as he loaded the chamber. Each man pulled on a pair of safety goggles, and then a pair of sound proof earphones. "Fire in the hole! Firing one!" the lab tech called out, subsequently firing a shot into the ballistics pool.
Removing the protective gear, Nick moved to the side of the pool, lifted the lid and retrieved the bullet from the metal floor.
"Let's check it out," Bobby smiled crossing the room back to the microscope.
"So, have you checked out the new show on Discovery?" Nick leaned against the counter. "Ultimate Survivor?"
"Oh yeah," the tech nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "This guy parachutes into some unknown location and has to make it out in five days with nothing but the clothes on his back," he nodded turning to meet the Texan's eye.
"Yeah, last week he was in the Canadian Rockies," Nick nodded, a twinkle in his eye.
"Take a look," the tech stepped away from the scope, allowing the criminalist a view of the evidence. "Yeah, did you know that guy climbed Everest three different times? He's the youngest Brit. to reach the summit."
"Yeah," Nick nodded, his eyes still down the scope. "Look's like a match if I've ever seen one," he stood upright crossing his arms in front of him. "Let's check out this gun."
"These guns are easily traceable," Bobby nodded leading the way to the computer across the lab.
"If the serial hasn't been filed," Nick nodded taking a seat next to the bullet man.
"Well, on this gun, that's damn near impossible to do. Serial's on the inside of the chamber cylinder. It's hard to read, but not impossible, just gotta know where to look."
"Damn, Smith and Wesson playing like they've got brains now?" Warrick entered the lab. "Heard about the case," he nodded.
"Yeah," Nick nodded. "You got a hit on the missing girl yet?"
"Not yet," he shook his head. "Sara and I are in a corner, right now. She's gone off helping Greg with surveillance. Thought I'd see what y'all were up to."
"Just about to name the owner of your gun," Bobby smiled. "Gun's registered to a Cathy Warner in Reno."
"Cathy Warner?" Warrick asked taking in the photo lifted from the database. "That's not Cathy Warner. That's Cathy Hampton."
"Hampton?" Nick asked. "As in…the Cathy Hampton that investigated the Harris's?"
"One and the same," Warrick nodded leaning back against the counter.
"Wait a second," Bobby wheeled back on his stool. "Let me get this straight. Cathy Warner is…Cathy Hampton now?"
"It happens," Nick nodded, a grin on his face. "Woman gets married, changes her name?"
"Yeah, I got that part," Bobby shook his head, his grin spreading to his eyes. "But, this lady is the same one putting your dead family through the legal wringer?"
"Looks like it," Warrick nodded.
"And now a gun registered to her, winds up being the weapon in a case involving the social worker? Too many twists and turns if you ask me," he shook his head.
"Yeah, that's why they pay us the big bucks. Besides, we still don't have her prints on the weapon," Nick shook his head in response. "The grip was wiped clean."
"A gun registered to her winds up in the hand of a dead social worker? We have more than enough for a warrant," Warrick stood. "And we know who to look for in surveillance, now. Let's go run her through the DMV database, find out what she drives."
"Thanks Bobby," Nick patted the lab tech on the back as he stood from his seat. "You get a report ready?"
"You're the boss," he nodded watching the criminalists leave.
"Greg, we're looking for a 2000 Dodge Caravan. Nevada license 958 TKJ," Nick breezed into the ballistics lab, Warrick was fast on his heels. He handed the file to Sara, a copy of Cathy Warner's current issue driver's license on top.
"How'd…" the young CSI started as his eyes fell upon the report.
"The gun from our scene is registered to a Cathy Warner, who is now Cathy Hampton," Nick started.
"DMV database," Warrick smirked as he focused on the monitor. "What have you got so far?"
"A lot of nothing," Sara sighed.
"We've got over 24 hours of footage to go through. We've still got a couple tapes to sift through," Greg spoke up.
"But, now we know what we're looking for," Sara smiled. Things were finally falling into place. Answers were finally breaking through the seemingly unending barrage of questions. It was a rush, a pure rush of adrenaline for each CSI. "Give us a half hour."
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