A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed this – you're the best! It's amazing what a little encouragement can do for one's motivation. :)

Spoilers: None really

Disclaimer: See chapter 1. And – thank God! – I don't own "Hello Kitty." The inspiration for that little tidbit came from a gift of "Hello Kitty" pajama bottoms a friend of mine got this weekend. Too funny. :)

Chapter 3

Stepping quickly into the formal dining room, Sara stood for a second, waiting to see if Catherine and her motherly instincts would follow. When she heard footsteps retreating in the opposite direction, she let out a sigh and leaned against the wall. Trying to compose herself, she closed her eyes and focused on regaining her professional demeanor. Don't do this, Sara. It was just a family picture. This is really not the appropriate place or time for your personal baggage.

But the memories came anyway. She squeezed her eyes closed tightly in a valiant effort to prevent the unbidden mental images, but it was no use. She thought of the last family portrait she'd been a part of. She was 17, and she and David had both complained so much that their mother had broken down in tears and their father had threatened to throw them both out of the house for making her cry. They had managed to smile sappily enough for the picture, but Sara knew they had all been internally seething when it was taken. One week later, her father's sudden death from a heart attack had caught them all by surprise. The irony of the whole situation was almost laughable now. Sara could still remember her mother's words right before the tears started flowing. "All I want is one picture of my whole family before my kids move out and leave us." Who knew it would be her husband that would leave first? To this day, Sara felt guilty about the grief they'd given their parents over that stupid picture. She could only hope the Ellis children wouldn't look back on theirs with the same sense of self-reproach.

Shaking her head and forcing her mind onto the task at hand, she looked around the room. I'm looking for anything out of place, she told herself. That was her evidence mantra. Find what shouldn't be there, and follow it to the criminal. The problem was, everything in this room seemed to belong. The plush, off-white carpeting was deep and would have left good foot impressions, but the only ones she could see were her own. She mentally berated herself for stepping on this kind of flooring without looking for that sort of thing first, knowing it was her own agitated mind that had caused such a rookie mistake. But there had been no harm done, so she photographed the room, ensuring that she included photos of her own footprints on the carpet. She had to be sure to document that.

Eying the thin layer of dust on the table, she idly wondered if the Ellis family had a maid. If so, either she wasn't very thorough, or she hadn't been there in a few days. A bank executive could certainly afford a maid, but that didn't guarantee one. Maybe Mrs. Ellis did her own housework. That would be somewhat refreshing, Sara thought with a smile. She could ask about the maid when they questioned Mr. Ellis.

The carpet had obviously been vacuumed since the last time anyone had been in the room, but Sara had no idea whether that had been recently. She made a mental note to grab the vacuum cleaner bag when she found it.

Finding nothing else in the dining room, she slung the camera around her neck and grabbed up the kit, summoning up her courage to brave the stairs and its wall of pictures. She wanted to tackle the kids' rooms before finishing up downstairs.

XXXXXXXXX

"What's going on with her?" Brass asked quietly as soon as they were out of Sara's earshot. "She looks like somebody just ran over her puppy."

Catherine sighed and answered honestly. "I don't know, Jim. There have been a couple of cases lately that have kind of gotten to her. Maybe it's the first stages of burnout."

"Let's hope not."

"Yeah," she agreed. "We really need her around. Plus, I hate the idea of her doing this to herself. I'll try to talk to her later. Maybe she just needs to get some things off her chest."

"Good idea," Brass concurred.

"In the meantime, though, wow, nice digs." She let out a low whistle of appreciation. The master bedroom was large, and the oversized canopy bed in the center dominated the room. The comforter was some sort of African jungle fare, and beiges and blacks in the drapes and throw rugs gave the décor a decidedly safari-like feel. Bronze giraffes, lions, and elephants were prominently displayed on various surfaces throughout the room, and mosquito netting over the bed completed the picture.

"Somebody wants to be on safari," Brass commented.

"Ya think?" Catherine laughed. "I actually kind of like it, though. Well, except for the mosquito net. That seems a bit over the top."

"Yeah, and I think the jungle animals would creep me out a little bit," he replied with a shudder, earning himself a laugh from Catherine.

"Seriously, though, Jim, the house is nice but not exactly what I'd expect for an executive vice-president of a large financial institution."

"Well, he supports three kids and a stay-at-home wife. College funds, mortgage, active kids, two vehicles. Expenses probably pile up."

"Yeah, especially if he's also got a mistress on the side. Can you check out his financial records?"

Brass smiled tiredly. "Sure. First thing tomorrow. He doesn't strike me as the philandering type, though. Really seemed broken up, you know?"

"They always do," she said with a sarcastic smile. Her tone softened at his wince. "We just have to check out every avenue, Jim."

"I know. Will do," he responded with a smile. "Just hoping he turns out to be a good guy."

"Me, too." She sincerely nodded her agreement as she glanced down at the hardwood floors, scanning for footprints. There were none. "Hey, I didn't see any sign of forced entry at the front. What about the back door? Or the garage?" she questioned.

"Nope. Neither. Both locked and not pried open."

Looking at the body of Marilyn Ellis lying on the floor by the canopy bed, she voiced her thoughts. "So she knew her killer. At least well enough to open the door."

XXXXXXXXX

Sara cautiously climbed the stairs, ensuring she wasn't missing any important piece of evidence and looking closely for anything out of place. She examined the pictures carefully, looking for smudges or anything else out of the ordinary. She found nothing but took pictures anyway, just to ensure herself she had been thorough.

She had nearly made it to the top of the stairs when the door opened to allow David Phillips entrance to the home. Seeing her on the staircase, he flashed a shy smile. She grinned and waved in return, and David lowered his head to hide his blush as he moved toward the master suite. She pursed her lips in amusement as she returned to the task at hand.

There was little in the way of evidence to be found in any of the children's rooms, although she did discover that Madeline Ellis was the proud owner of the largest "Hello Kitty" collection west of the Rockies. No one should have this much whiskered kitten crap, she had thought upon entering the room. Jack's room turned up little besides the knowledge that he played the guitar and, like every other teenaged boy in America, wanted little more than to be left alone, as evidenced by the prominent "Keep Out" sign displayed on his door.

She also ascertained that Rachel Ellis had apparently entered that god-awful, prepubescent hormonal phase that caused her to be interested in a different boy every week. Countless flowery renditions of "I love Hunter" (or Parker... or Colby...) had lined the insides of her notebooks. Sara idly wondered if her own mother had fought the laughter when she had come home gushing about her latest adolescent crush, and she speculated on the latest trend in naming male children with surnames rather than normal first names like John or Michael or Gil. Gil? Where did that come from? A mental image of herself writing, "I love Gil," in great sprawling cursive on the top of her supervisor evaluation form sprang unbidden to the forefront of her thoughts. I'd just have to be sure to use a little heart in the word "love," she thought. That would really freak him out. Yeah, Sara, because that little heart is the only thing about it that would freak him out. Who am I kidding – that whole thing would freak me out, let alone him! He'd probably run screaming from the room or something. But, for some reason, the whole idea had her grinning like an idiot. I think I'm suffering some weird mental breakdown, but at least it's funny.

XXXXXXXXX

Catherine documented the positioning of the body with multiple snapshots and flashed David a quick wave as he entered the room. As he took in his surroundings, she smiled at his slightly flabbergasted expression. "What do ya think, David?"

She and Brass both laughed at his response. "I think I'm in the mood to bag an elephant."

"Never knew you to be so macho," she purred, grinning at the blush that developed at her tone. "It becomes you." He merely smiled shyly in response.

She returned to her photos, focusing this time on the pantyhose that bound the woman's wrists. Once finished with the pictures, she peered closely at the restraints. "Hey, Jim,..." she started, reaching for the nylon material and hooking a gloved finger under the bindings. Rather than holding the victim's wrists tightly together, the hose hung loosely from the joints, almost as if it was placed there as an afterthought. "What do you make of this?"

The detective looked closely. "I'd say our perp didn't need to restrain her. Or she did it to herself."

"So why would he? Or why would she, for that matter?" Catherine furrowed her brow in thought. Brass merely shrugged, not knowing the answer and realizing the question was a rhetorical one anyway.

Within minutes, she bagged the pantyhose and turned to the young coroner. "He's all yours." David nodded and moved towards the body, taking out a thermometer to obtain a liver temperature.

Sensing Catherine's silent question, he spoke as he assessed the body. "I don't see any obvious cause of death. No sign of sexual assault. No trauma. No bullet entry wounds. So my preliminary guess would be either natural causes or poisoning. And, judging from the restraints, I'd lean toward poisoning, although I guess she could have tied herself up and then died from natural causes. We'll know more once we do the post."

Catherine nodded and, moving toward the back of the room, spoke over her shoulder to them. "I'm gonna check out the bathroom."

XXXXXXXXX

Sara made her way back downstairs, stopping at the hall closet to retrieve the vacuum cleaner bag. A quick look in the half-bath in the hall turned up nothing out of the ordinary. She was quickly growing frustrated with the lack of evidence.

Walking through a second entrance into the dining room, she turned to the right to go into the den. She stepped down into the sunken room, noticing with some dismay that the carpet was not as thick and did not afford the opportunity for footprints. The cozy room was tidy but lived-in. A doll rested on the sofa, and a large pair of tennis shoes peeked out from behind the recliner in the corner. She eyed the oak coffee table with a faint hope and, within minutes, had pulled several full prints and a few partials from its wooden surface. Maybe their killer had put his hands on this table, but she knew that was a long shot.

The den processed, she moved into the kitchen. Spotting the plate, glass, and fork in the sink, she bagged each one separately. Those are out of place in an otherwise clean house, she thought, but it's probably just the remnants of Mrs. Ellis' last meal. That thought was sobering, and she pressed her lips together grimly.

Turning for one last look at the kitchen, she saw the piece of paper lying on the table. Probably just a note to her husband, but that's definitely out of place. Her heartbeat sped up as she approached the table, and she casually wondered if she was getting her hopes up for nothing. When she unfolded the crisp page, she realized that was most definitely not the case.

XXXXXXXXX

From her perch over the bathroom sink, Catherine heard her first. "Brass?" came the voice, so weak and uncertain that it made the older CSI shiver.

"Sara?" she called, moving quickly towards the kitchen. Brass heard Catherine's question and followed.

"Hey, Cath," Sara responded, trying to regain her composure. "Found something." She tried to smile as she held the paper out to her colleague, but what resulted was more of a grimace.

Taking the note from her trembling fingers, Catherine looked down, Brass coming to stand behind her shoulder. As her colleague read aloud, Sara could feel the blinding fear growing inside her with each word.

"Dear Las Vegas Crime Lab (and especially Agent Sidle),

I have so enjoyed working with you on our special cases. I hope that
you will appreciate this one as much as I have. I feel that it is
some of my best work yet.

As for you, Agent Sidle, I do hope you will be assigned to this case.
You remind me of a bloodhound, relentless in your pursuit. I so
appreciated that about you the last time. And I have even more
special plans for you in the future.

Sincerely,
Kim

They both looked at her then, her fear reflected in their eyes. Brass reacted first. "Come on, Sara. You're off this case, and I'm getting you out of here."

Despite her terror, his paternalistic attitude rubbed her the wrong way. "You're not my supervisor!"

"No, but I am," said Catherine. Raising her hand when Sara started to argue that point, she conceded, "At least for the night. And Jim's right, Sara, you can't be on this case, and you need to get away from here." Looking at Brass, she said, "I'm calling Warrick in. Get her someplace safe."

With a nod, he took Sara's arm, leading her towards the front door. "Hawkins!" he called to the cop who stood there.

"Yeah?"

"Where's Jenkins?" Brass barked.

"Right here, cap," came the young man's reply from the other side of the front porch.

"You two call in some backup. I want at least two more uniforms here, and one of you needs to stay on Willows until CSI Brown gets here. And keep an eye on the coroner until he gets out of here. Got it?"

Not understanding what had happened but knowing better than to question, they both mutely nodded, and Hawkins picked up his radio to call dispatch. Satisfied that his instructions were being followed, Brass led Sara to his car, warily casting his eyes about looking for suspicious characters. He visibly relaxed when he got her into the front seat. Looking down at her with care and sympathy, he gently asked, "Need anything from your truck before we go?"

Lost in her thoughts, it took her a moment to respond. "Huh? Oh, yeah, my duffel bag," she replied absently. He retrieved it hurriedly before returning to his car and starting the engine.

As they pulled away, Sara's mind was racing, but her thoughts always came back to that note. It was clearly out of place, and that made it the best evidence they had.

TBC...