Chapter Eighteen – Silent Wonderland
"Ted Goggle was murdered," Nick threw the ballistics report on Grissom's desk as he took a seat. Warrick wasn't far behind him. "The gun's registered to a Cathy Warner…"
"Who is now Cathy Hampton of Reno," Warrick added.
"So now our murderer is our victim?" Grissom sat back in his chair, the ballistics report in hand.
"Do we know for sure he's our killer?" Warrick asked.
"DNA confirms it," Nick nodded. "His DNA was found in both female victims."
"Well that only proves sexual assault," he shrugged.
"His DNA was also found under the fingernails of each family member," Grissom added, "plus we found the murder weapon in his home, his fingerprints on the handle, and an add mixture of blood from all four victims on the blade."
"So, now our killer's a victim," Warrick sunk into the chair beside Nick.
"Anything coming from the surveillance videos?" Grissom asked.
"Greg and Sara are still running through them. They had two tapes to finish up. We just ran Cathy Hampton through the DMV database; she drives a 2000 Dodge Caravan," Nick said leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
"Hey guys, we found it," Greg smiled from the doorway of the office. Quickly he turned leading the way back to the A/V lab where Sara sat, a slightly smug smile inching across her face.
"You found what exactly," Grissom asked following the trail of his CSIs.
"Take a look," Sara's smile broadened. She turned her attention to the monitor, the scene inside the parking garage unfolding before their eyes.
"Our killer knew how to avoid most of the cameras," Greg started. "When she got to the eighth floor, though, she got sloppy."
"She?" Grissom asked.
"Check this out," Sara cued the video and allowed it to play.
The black and white image was fuzzy, but clear enough to depict to everyone in the room what was happening. The obvious female form exited the minivan and slowly approached the driver's side of the parked sedan. There was a quick flash, a moment's hesitation and the female was gone from the frame.
"Can we clear this up any?" Grissom asked with his arms crossed in front of him as he stood with Nick and Warrick behind the other two CSIs.
"I managed to clear up the license plate of the minivan," Greg nodded switching to a closer image of the object of interest. "958 TKJ, it's a match to our Cathy Hampton," he turned to Warrick and Nick.
"Good," the supervisor offered a half grin.
"Gil," Catherine breezed into the A/V lab. "I've run Cathy Warner's background."
"You mean Cathy Hampton," he corrected leading his team back to his office.
"Whatever," she shook her head, "look this lady is big time scandalous," she took a seat in front of the man's desk. The rest of the team found roost around the cramped space.
"Big time scandalous isn't a crime these days," Grissom shrugged perching in his office chair.
"It is when you're trying to forge adoptions."
"Whoa," Nick shot up. "Forge adoptions? We know Goggle was trying to do that, but how does Cathy Hampton fit into the equation?"
"The Hamptons have had at least a half dozen foster kids since their daughter went missing last year," Catherine started.
"Six kids in six months? Speaking of missing kids," Sara interrupted. "Warrick, do you know who the girl in your case is yet?"
"Still working, really bustin' our rumps on it. Missing Persons is backlogged with several cases," he shook his head turning back to Catherine.
"So, I looked into these kids that were worked through the Hampton's home. As it turns out, Goggle was slipping kids through the cracks and handing them off to the Hamptons."
"What do you mean?" Grissom asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Older kids, mostly," Catherine continued passing the file over the man's desk.
"Unwanted kids," Sara nodded looking over Grissom's shoulder. "No one misses them when they fall off the face of the earth, basically." She knew how it worked. It was always the same.
"I think that's what Goggle was hoping for," Catherine nodded. "Social services finally got a clue about it and fired him about a month ago."
"So…what?" Nick asked. "Bitter social worker seeks revenge? Why kill the Harris's?"
"Well, Warrick said Tom and Cathy Hampton investigated the Harris's right? Thinking they'd found their lost daughter?" Catherine turned her attention to the man standing against the wall.
He nodded in response.
"Well, maybe they had tunnel vision. Maybe they were so sure that Emily Harris was really their daughter…" she trailed off. "Maybe they got desperate."
"So how does Ted Goggle figure in?" Nick asked.
"He had an in with the family," Greg spoke up.
"A close friend of the family," Warrick nodded.
"Look, this may all be fine and true," Grissom spoke up now. "But do we have the evidence to prove any of this?"
The team sat silent, unable to answer the question.
"Well, let's get the evidence we need. Sitting here forming conclusions before the evidence is processed won't get us anywhere. Warrick, get back to missing persons; concentrate on the Hampton case. Pull up the old case file see if the file photo's a match to the girl in the morgue. I'll call Brass and get a warrant for the Hampton's residence and vehicles. If Cathy Hampton killed Ted Goggle, there will be more evidence. I want to find it."
The Reno neighborhood was quiet, most of the houses dark, the occupants asleep for hours. It was late, or early. It was all told in the a.m. of the five o'clock hour as Nick hit the Indiglo button on his watch. Early. Very, very early.
He stood outside the single level home, working to ward off the late night/early morning cold. Now with Grissom, Catherine, Sara, and Brass he waited for the warrant to come through. The call had been made to the judge nearly an hour ago. Any minute now, they expected to hear the computer in the Denali ring true, presenting them their search warrant. Greg had stayed at the lab, following up on the bloody clothes found in Goggle's house and to help Warrick if he needed it.
Silence added to the void of night as the group huddled near the rear of the first mobile crime unit.
Brass worked to stifle a yawn as he leaned against the rear bumper. His eyes fell upon the uniformed officers standing just to the right of the criminalists. He sort of felt bad for the guys. Sort of. They were obviously new to the beat, new to the uniform, and working graveyard shift was no picnic. This time of night, or morning, was always the hardest to get through. The end of shift mocking them, just out of reach, and exhaustion bearing down, it took everything they had just to push through.
"I thought you said it'd be cake to get this warrant," Nick yawned as he offered a playful punch to the detective's arm.
"Yeah, you try calling the judge up four hours before he's due to be in court," the detective grimaced. "We're lucky it's only taking an hour."
"Yeah," Nick nodded as his attention was drawn to the vibration of his cell phone. Unclipping it from his belt he flipped it open to receive the newly received text message.
"What'd you get?" Sara asked, her curiosity aroused by the man's pleased expression.
"Adoptions check out for both Nathan and Hannah Harris. The documents are legit. As for the shredded stuff we found in Goggle's study? Nothing probative, other than the check we recovered from the shredder."
"I didn't know the Harris adoptions were ever really in question," Grissom arched his brow.
"Well, when Rick and I found the papers in Frank's study I bagged them," he shrugged in response. "Then when we learned Goggle was working his own forged adoptions, I had our lab verify the documents."
"Warrick already verified their adoptions with the law firm," Sara shrugged.
"Call me thorough," Nick smirked.
"Thoreau?" Grissom waxed a smile as the computer beeped to life, the printer subsequently spitting out a printed warrant signed by the judge.
"Well, we've got our warrant," Catherine handed the paper to the detective.
"Shall we?" Brass led the crew to the front door. There were no worries, this time, about catching the homeowners off guard. In fact it was what they were going for. They were always at their most vulnerable when taken by surprise.
From the outside the Bradford Ranch home was nice, well kept. As the group approached the front door they were slightly surprised to see a light illumine their path.
"Security light?" Brass asked as his ears perked up to the sound of deadbolt locks unlatching. Slowly, stealthy he placed his hand on his holstered weapon, the cold metal rushing a wave of nervous energy over him. Motioning the CSIs to remain where they were he inched forward watching as the front door inched open. "Las Vegas Police! We have a warrant to search the premises."
They watched as the door swung fully open, the silhouette of a rather thick man took up much of the open frame. "Honey, stay inside," he spoke softly as he inched further onto the front porch. "What the hell's this all about?" he asked, working to keep his voice relatively calm as he moved to stand on the edge of the front step. The boxers and tee shirt did little to impress the man's image.
"Thomas Hampton?" the detective asked.
"Tom, yeah, that's me," the man nodded.
"I'm Detective Jim Brass; this is Gil Grissom from the Las Vegas Crime Lab. We have a warrant to search your home. If you and your wife would please step outside with these officers," he motioned to the uniforms.
"What the hell?" he asked casting a quick gaze toward the open door behind him. "I don't think so. You come to my house in the middle of the night. Our neighbors call us telling us there are people lurking outside."
"If you would just please go with this officer I'll explain everything."
"You'll tell me now," he insisted.
Slowly his wife inched out the door, clad in a rose colored bathrobe. Her face was a muddled mix of fear and concern. "Tom, what's wrong?"
"Nothing honey, go back inside."
"Sir, everything's in the warrant," Grissom stepped forward.
"Look, pal," Brass halted the entomologist's attempt to control the situation, "I don't want to arrest you for obstruction, I just had my suit dry cleaned. Why don't you just let these guys do their jobs and we'll go over here and talk this whole thing over, huh?"
The husband and wife exchanged wary glances and slowly complied with the detective's request following him down the front walk.
"Actually Jim, I'd like them to stick around," Grissom spoke up.
"Suit yourself," the detective shrugged turning to follow the CSIs into the dark home.
"Just had your suit dry cleaned, huh?" Nick smirked at the man, his voice low enough to go unheard by the couple.
"Hell, dry cleaning's expensive, you know that. No way I'm wasting my money on these guys," he smiled, his voice equally low, his eyes focused on the couple as they lingered near the still open front door.
"Uh huh," Nick nodded. "I'll start in the back," he motioned down the hallway.
"I'll help," Sara perked up following him down the darkened corridor.
"Guess that leaves me the garage," Catherine pointed as she made her way through the kitchen.
"What exactly are you looking for?" the wife spoke up for the first time since their meeting.
"Well, that's where it gets a little tricky," the detective mused. He watched as Grissom began processing the kitchen to their right. "Let me ask you something, have you been to the Sphere recently?"
"The Sphere?" Mr. Hampton asked. "Why would we be at the Sphere?"
"I don't know," the man shrugged skeptically, "Why don't you ask your wife?"
"My wife?" he turned a questioning glance toward the woman. "Honey, what's he talking about?"
The blank stare he received was of little help.
"You see, we have the surveillance videos from the parking garage of the Sphere, and well we're all rather curious why your minivan showed up on the eighth level last night."
"I…I have no idea," the man shook his head in response. "I mean, I've never even…" he trailed off.
The detective turned his attention to the criminologist in the kitchen. It wasn't going to take much for him to lose his patients with this couple; he could see that now. Silently he stood with them watching as the CSI did his job, probing and sifting through the contents of the relatively large room. He could feel the minutes ticking away, painstakingly slow. Why Grissom wanted them to stick around, he wasn't sure.But, the relief he felt when his attention was drawn to the approach of Nick and Sara was indescribable.
"Hey Griss, you might want to take a look at this," Nick motioned for his boss to join him and Sara in the foyer. In his right hand he held a plastic bag containing women's clothing obviously covered in blood. It was on this that Grissom's eyes rested before quickly turning to the woman. "Found them in the bathroom."
"I found these shoved under the bed in the master bedroom," Sara held up another plastic bag. Inside the entomologist found a pair of sneakers, covered with what appeared to be more blood spatter.
"Mrs. Hampton, are these your clothes?" the lead criminalist asked shining his Maglite on the upheld evidence.
There was no notable response from the woman, just a subtle widening of her eyes, an increasing look of fear creeping from the depths of her soul.
"Do you care to explain how all this blood got on your clothing?"
She remained silent at the question, averting her eyes from the glare of the criminalists.
"All of a sudden she's mute," Brass smirked. "Look, lady, answer now or answer later, either way it's not gonna save you a trip to PD and a night in holding."
"Honey what's going on? How'd your clothes get like that?" the man asked frantically looking from his wife to the bagged evidence. "Detective, I have no idea what's going on, but what exactly are you accusing my wife of?" he asked inching closer to the detective.
"Whoa, hold on there cowboy," Brass raised his hands. "We're not accusing her of anything…yet. A man was killed last night in the parking garage at the Sphere," he stated blatantly. "We just want to make sure your wife doesn't know anything about it." He watched then, as the husband turned to his wife concern masking his face. The look on the wife's face was a mess of terror, indignation, and sympathy.
"Honey, you don't know anything about that do you? Please, tell me you don't know anything about this," the man pleaded.
Again, there was no response from the woman.
"Is that how you're gonna play this game, Mrs. Hampton? That's fine. Officer," Brass called to the uniform standing just near the door, "escort Mrs. Hampton out."
"I'm not leaving my wife, detective."
"Well, see that's the joy of this. You don't have to. We offer family packages. You get to go with this other officer," he motioned for the second uniform to lead the man away.
The criminalists watched silently as the couple was escorted from their home.
"Uh, Grissom," Sara spoke first. "That's not all we found."
"What else is there?" he turned a questioned glance her way.
"Oh, this you have to see for yourself," Nick shook his head leading the way down the hallway. "This is just…weird," he stopped just outside the first bedroom door.
With the lights turned on, the pale pink walls were in clear view. The room sat vacant, the twin bed along the back wall neatly made. Stuffed animals sat neatly arranged at the head of the bed keeping vigil over the room. A toy chest sat opened against the far right wall toys spilling over the top and onto the floor. Spread somewhat sporadically across the floor, were giant puzzle pieces ready to be put together.
"It gets worse," Nick shook his head inching into the room allowing the others entry. "Check out the photos," he pointed to the dresser against the far wall. Atop the piece of furniture sat several framed snapshots.
"This is…" Grissom trailed off taking a photo in hand.
"Molly Hampton's room," Sara spoke up. "I found this shoe box in the master bedroom as well. It contains school work, some art projects…all done by Molly Hampton. Looks like they weren't ready to let her go."
"Hell, looks like she just stepped out of the room," Brass smirked taking in his surroundings.
"Just spending the night at a friend's house," Nick shook his head.
"Hey...uh...guys?" Catherine called down the hallway.
"We're in here," Sara called out.
Joining the group, Catherine took in the small expanse, a wonderland to the eyes. "Whoa!"
"Get anything from the garage?" Grissom asked returning the photo to its original location.
"Found our minivan with some trace amounts of blood on the driver's side. Auto detail just got here and is taking the vehicle back to the lab. Whose room is this?" she asked her eyes still trailing the surroundings.
"Molly Hampton," Sara added as the shrill sound of Nick's cell phone filled the room. She watched as he unhooked the device and took the call out into the hallway.
"This is Cathy and Tom's daughter?"
"Looks that way," Sara nodded again watching the other female make her way around the room. She could just make out Nick's voice as it filtered in from down the hall as he ended his phone call.
Grissom had made his way to the closet, taking in the clothes as they hung neatly, evenly spaced across the metal bar. Everything about the roomed screamed a life still being lived, screamed of life not lost. It was as if the child still lived within the walls, still ran around the house. It was as if she hadn't been missing for…
"How long has she been missing, six months was it?" Catherine asked now taking in the photos on the dresser.
"She's not missing anymore," Nick informed returning to the room. Grissom, Catherine and Brass turned abruptly meeting the younger CSI's serious expression. "That was Warrick. He and Greg just got a hit from missing persons."
"You ever work a missing person's case before?" Detective Vartann asked Greg as they walked the halls back to CSI.
"Not this side of things. This is a first," the young man shook his head. "What now, the parent's have to identify the body, right?"
"According to Nick, the parents are now the main suspects in the Harris case," the man nodded entering the DNA lab.
"Hey guys," Warrick looked up from the counter at which he sat, "Nick just dropped off some sampled. He snagged some DNA samples from the Hampton home; we'll have a DNA profile within the hour,"
"Then we can compare it to the DNA of the victim," Greg nodded.
"Damn fine CSI work, Sanders," Vartann slapped the ex-lab tech on the shoulder. "I've got some paperwork to run. I'll catch you later."
"See ya," Warrick nodded with a chuckle.
"So…" Greg leaned against the counter. "Sounds like the Hampton's are good for Goggle's murder, well at least one of them."
"Sounds like it."
"Cathy Hampton just arrived for questioning," Greg looked over Warrick's shoulder slightly amused at the fumbling fingers of a man usually known for his nimbleness and grace.
"Damn it!" he shook his head, his frustration mounting as his hands worked to grip the test tube and failed. The glass tube clattered on the table top, breaking subsequently ruining the test sample.
"You know…Wendi's out of the lab at least until noon today. She'd be pissed if she came back and you'd destroyed the entire lab, not to mention the cost you'd have to pay Ecklie. I could…" he trailed off. "It'd go a lot quicker."
"You wanna take a crack at this, be my guest," the man shook his head standing from his seat throwing his gloves in the trash. "I'd rather question a suspect any day."
"Yeah," Greg smiled, "picture that."
"You're a punk, you know that, right?"
Slightly annoyed that the man was still standing there, his eyes still cast upon the broken test tube, Greg shoved the man out of the lab. "Cathy Hampton's not getting any younger."
"Hey man!"
"Go!"
"Damn! When'd you get balls?"
"I was born with them, naturally endowed."
Warrick worked unsuccessfully to stifle his smile, "Yeah, picture that!"