"Good morning!" The tall, dark-haired man with the receding hairline moved briskly towards the waiting woman. "I'm Conrad Ecklie. It's so nice to meet you, Miss Laval." The CSI dayshift supervisor gave an ingratiating smile, as he clasped the brunette woman's hand between both of his. "When Sheriff Mobley called and mentioned the idea of you coming, I have to say that I gave my immediate support. Please know that you'll receive my full co-operation, and that of my team." Thin lips curled around a toothy grin, as dark eyes appraised the tall, fortyish woman with intruiged speculation.
"I do a bit of writing myself," Ecklie added, leaning in conspiratorily and lowering his gaze with apparant humility. "I've published a few articles in some trade magazines, and have often considered doing a novel of my own."
Cecilia Laval smiled graciously as she extricated her hand from his clammy grasp. "That's wonderful," she replied. "Thank you so much for agreeing to assist me with my research, and for taking the time to show me around this morning. And please, call me Cecilia."
Cecilia had been playing with the sketchy outline of a novel featuring a forensic scientist as the protagonist, for a couple of years now. The idea had continued to germinate while she had written her last book, and was a natural evolution for her genre of popular suspense/thriller fiction. Her first two novels had sat gathering dust on bookstore shelves, despite receiving decent reviews. But her last one, Winning Ticket, had just edged it's way onto the New York Times bestseller list.
She was hardly a household name, but there were enough people who had purchased Ticket, to justify it's reprinting in paperback. This past summer, on vacation in Hilton Head Island, as Cecilia had taken a solitary stroll along the shoreline, she had been thrilled to note a fellow vacationer lounging on a beach towel, immersed in a copy of her book. That was the first time she had actually witnessed anyone who was not known to her, reading her work. Seeing her lifelong ambition come to tangible fruition like that, had been incredibly sweet.
The income she had earned from Winning Ticket, coupled with the advance she had received from her publisher for her fourth book, had allowed her the luxury of quitting her job as a highschool English teacher. Her agent, Sally Long, had been enthusiastic after reading the proposed summary of the new book, proclaiming that it's plotline was a fresh twist, and that coupled with Cecilia's talent for characterization...her greatest strength according to Sally...earmarked the novel for wide popular appeal.
The literary agent had gotten in touch with an old friend from college, Janice Kellerman, married now to Ron Kellerman, the current mayor of Las Vegas. Through this contact, Sally had arranged for Cecilia to do her research by following an actual CSI team through its assignments for the next few months. Cecilia would have the opportunity to be as close to the forensic work and the agents as was possible without risking compromising their investigations.
Plunging in, Cecilia had prepaid the rent on her townhouse in Erie, Pennsylvania, and arranged to lease a furnished apartment in Las Vegas for the next few months. She had boarded a plane, traveling to Nevada for the first time. She had no spouse, no children, and now no steady job to structure her life around, and the unaccustomed freedom had been both unnerving and exciting.
As the jet had circled the desert airport, Cecilia had realized soberly that life as she had known it for the first forty-one years of her life, was about to change. She was no longer a teacher, she had given up that security net, the seniority in her union, the pension, the comfort and familiarity of it all, to invest everything she had into pursuing her dream of being a full-time writer.
Since before she could even put pen to paper, as a little girl listening to her mother's voice open to her the incredible worlds found between the pages of a book, Cecilia had known that one day she would create such fictitious realms for others. She was looking forward to being able to throw herself into that pursuit without any distractions.
Cecilia hadn't been certain what her reception at the front desk this morning would be, and she had waited curiously, and somewhat nervously, while the secretary had called Conrad Ecklie to the lobby. She had been prepared for some resentment, imagining that the hardworking investigators might not be too thrilled with being ordered to accommodate a civilian this way, especially for an extended period of time. But Ecklie seemed eager to open his world to her, and while Cecilia found the man initially off-putting, she appreciated his interest and his willingness to assist her in her research.
Conrad had never heard of Cecilia Laval, and his first instinct when Sheriff Mobley had informed him that both the police department and the companion CSI unit would be open to the writer while she researched her new novel, had been to proclaim that he was too busy. His work was far too important, for either he or his agents to babysit some hack writer who wanted to observe the intricacies of forensic science. He had been on the verge of objecting, and insisting that either the swing or night shift deal with the woman, when it had occured to Conrad that having a contact in the publishing world might one day be beneficial to his own goals and desires.
As he had listened to the sheriff reiterate that Miss Laval was to receive the department's full respect and co-operation, as much as possible without hindering their investigations, Eckley had begun to warm to the idea. By the time the sheriff was finished outlining how much it would mean to the mayor, or more accurately the mayor's wife...everyone knew who was the head of that household...Conrad had visions of his name appearing in print in the finished novel's acknowledgements. Perhaps Cecilia Laval would want to model the hero after Ecklie. Maybe even dedicate the book to him.
And what if the novel happened to be a runaway best seller? It could even be made into a screenplay. Maybe Ecklie would be called upon to be the technical advisor if the book was made into a film. His imagination had transported him to Hollywood. Conrad Ecklie had seen his name in lights, if only on his own inner eye. By the time the sheriff had finished his spiel, the day shift supervisor had been salivating over the opportunity being presented him. He was a people person he felt, and he was confident that he could work this situation to his future advantage. In Ecklie's world, everything was a possible road to personal glory.
Conrad had taken special pains with his appearance that morning. He wore a charcoal grey suit, crisp burgundy shirt and matching silk tie. He would be his charming best with the writer. She was not an unattractive woman, he noted, and in any other town she might even have been considered moderately pretty. But this was Las Vegas, full of youthful, stunning women, and Cecilia Laval wouldn't even rate a second glance here. She had to be close to forty, though her olive-toned skin was relatively smooth and unlined, and her long hair showed no traces of grey. The figure beneath the long, denim skirt and pink blouse was full, curvaceous, and indicated an enjoyment of food and a propensity towards a sedentary lifestyle. Her eyes were pretty though, Ecklie thought, as he gazed into their velvet brown depths.
"Truly, it's my pleasure," Conrad continued suavely. "Let's go up to my office and I'll show you around the lab and introduce you to my agents." He touched a hand to her elbow and guided her down the hall towards a bank of elevators.
One of the broad, brushed steel doors slid open, and a trio of two men and one woman stepped out directly into their path. Cecilia felt the fingers tighten on her skin as Conrad Ecklie pulled up abruptly. She was face to face with a distinguished man with greying hair. Beyond him stood a younger, tall, well-built, bronze-skinned man with striking green eyes, and next to him a slim, serious-looking, dark-haired woman.
"Gil," Ecklie acknowledged tersely. Cecilia glanced at the man at her side, and saw his nostrils flare disapprovingly. "Gil, this is Cecilia Laval. The writer who's going to be doing some research here for the next little while," he prompted the other man's memory. "Miss Laval, Gil is the night shift supervisor. These are two of his CSIs, Warrick Brown and Sara Sidle." There was no warmth in Ecklie's voice as he made the reluctant introductions.
Gil Grissom regarded Cecilia appraisingly with a cool, intelligent gaze. He had forgotten that there was going to be some writer trailing Ecklie and his team around, purportedly learning about 'real' forensics work, before going off to create some glamorized novel that would likely have no resemblance to the real thing at all. Gil had been surprised that Ecklie hadn't tried to stick the graveyard shift with the woman, but assumed that either the conventional hours of day shift had appealed to her, or that, just as likely, Ecklie had seen this as some other way to advance what Conrad considered a glorious career. Either way, Gil was relieved that he wouldn't have to expend the energy to deal with her.
"Miss Laval," Gil Grissom said politely.
His voice was pleasant enough, but Cecilia had the sense that the other supervisor had already assessed and dismissed her. She saw the slight curl of his pale, pink lips as his blue eyes turned to Conrad Ecklie, and she knew instinctively that Grissom would not have been quite as accommodating as the other man was being.
"Hey, Ecklie," the young, brunette woman announced, after a bored shifting of her dark eyes from the writer, "I thought you might like to know we solved that Balfour case." She was smiling smugly to herself. It was evident to Cecilia that the young woman did not have a lot of respect for Conrad Ecklie. In fact, none of the three did, and their distaste seemed to emanate in palpable waves. "It wasn't murder like you sang to the papers," she continued. "It was accidental death, just like Grissom suggested from the beginning." Her eyes, fixed on Ecklie, gleamed with triumphant pride.
Cecilia watched the man's right jaw clench as the muscles there worked convulsively, and a slight crimson stain spread up from the neckline of his shirt. "I never said it was murder," Ecklie retorted quickly. "I said that initially it appeared that the death was a murder, but that the investigation was ongoing." His eyes narrowed at the young woman. "I'm glad that the case has been solved though, Sara. Finally," he added with a drawn out sigh. "Now maybe you can start on that backlog that's been building, and day shift won't have to worry about the overflow anymore," he suggested with pointed malice.
Cecilia felt uncomfortable during the exchange. It was apparant that not only was there no personal respect between the four, but there was little professional respect either. Warrick Brown's mouth had worked at the last comment, as though he intended to say something, but after a quick look over Grissom's shoulder at the writer, he had seemed to change his mind and satisfied himself with rolling his eyes instead.
The pager clipped to Conrad Ecklie's belt sounded, and as he reached for it, his colleagues stepped around and continued past he and the novelist. "Hit and run fatality," he announced as his eyes scanned the message. He shook his head. "Off-duty cop." Ecklie raised his voice and it rang with self-importance. "Sherrif wants me to oversee this one personally." He turned to Cecilia. "Well, Cecilia," he said, his animosity towards the other three CSIs temporarily suspended, "it looks like I have work to do. Welcome to our world."