Title: Paradox
Author: Kristen999
Category: Drama/ Case File/ Angst
Rating: R
Spoilers: Through Season 6. Post "Daddy's Little Girl"
Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.
Summary: 'Par-a-dox'- A statement contrary to received opinion. Lingering fallouts. Missed opportunities. A violent case. Grissom and Nick's friendship is put to the test in murder that is more than it seems.
Notes : This is character study of season 6. A large does of casefile, helpings of introspection, and a lot of angst. This is dense, but I hope you'll tag-along enough to enjoy the ride. This has been very challenging to say the least. Feedback welcome, just keep in mind that that I'm dealing with characters who have been shifting all over the canon map. My take on it all.
The walk through the lobby of the Reynolds Institute was oddly surreal. The front walls were made up of large panels of glass. Low lighting illuminated the entrance as the swishing sound of the automatic doors closed behind them. The excitement of the outside was muted, while the heavy dread of the atmosphere inside weighed down on their shoulders. Both ID badges were a one-way ticket through the detectors and avoidance of a metal wand.
A loud sound buzzed from a machine as Nick went though, his weapon agitating the annoying device. A security guard waved both men in, by-passing tables and boxes for personal items to be stored. The hallways narrowed, now stark white painted walls, lights overly bright compared to the low-lit area of the lobby. Nick flexed his neck from side to side, his camera bouncing against his chest, his metallic kit hanging in his right hand. The halls reeked of bleach covered up by cheap air refreshener.
The corridor lead to a glass-enclosed area, almost like a cubbyhole. The occupant, a large balding man observed the two visitors seated behind the safety of his desk. Nick shook his head. "Another security checkpoint," he complained, annoyed at another delay.
Grissom turned his attention towards his comment, resting his case on the floor. "The first was for visitors, that are then directed to a different hallway and a common area for family and patients."
Nick's eyes flicked over in his boss's direction. "Just commenting on Fort Knox."
Grissom flashed his identification in front of the guard seated behind the two-way glass. He nodded, hitting another buzzer, the automatic door opening to allow the two CSIs to continue through.
"This is a private facility. They can have as much control over who comes in and out as they want," Grissom added, as they walked down the hall.
The colors of this section of the hospital morphed to a light tan, then a calm yellow. "It's still a prison to keep people from the outside. Except in here, you're too scary of a criminal even for the lawless," Nick responded as they continued deeper into the building.
Both CSIs came to a stop in front of large encompassing oak desk. Little gold plaque nametags lined the barrier almost like something at a bank. It was a blockade, with nowhere to roam. A wall to the right, small offices behind the stop point. Grissom looked around for some sort of escort, when he noticed Jim Brass near a set of elevators towards the left.
The gruff detective wandered over towards the duo, his eyes glancing around as he walked. "This place gives me the creeps. Definitely a one man stop for psychos R us," he remarked dryly.
Grissom raised an eyebrow. "The Reynolds Institute is a mental health care hospital that leads the country in research grants and the development of rehabilitation programs."
Jim snorted. "Yeah, well, this house of freaks is also the biggest hospital for some of the most violent offenders, whose rich family ties has kept some of the esteemed from behind real bars."
"Some people don't belong in prison, Jim," Grissom rebuked tiredly.
"Well, Gil, I doubt some of these buckaroos know what planet they're on anyway."
Nick cleared his throat before looking straight at the older man. "So, what do we got?"
Jim Brass let out a low sigh. "Scene's on the third floor. A real mess. A Doctor Steve Kincaid was in the middle of group therapy when it seems his entourage of merry men went nuts, no pun intended. Body's a freakin' mess, blood everywhere, and all over the four suspects."
Grissom looked at his watch in an exaggerated fashion, brows knitted in disbelief. "Group therapy late at night?'
"Maybe it was reserved for the ones who thought they were vampires?" Brass quirked.
Grissom glared.
"Where are the inmates now?" Nick asked.
"They've been sedated and placed in a secured area of the infirmary. We're waiting for the head of this place to respond to our calls, so he can help figure out what the Hell happened."
Grissom wrinkled his face. "Dr. Kincaid was their primary physician?"
"The good doctor was one of two shrinks, overseeing all four guys' care."
Nick looked perplexed. "Awful lot of cooks."
Jim shrugged. "Well, not sure what's going on till the rest of the white coats show up and can give us some details about their kitchen"
"Coroner here?" Nick asked.
"Yeah, David got here just a little while ago. If you gentlemen want to follow me, I'll lead you to the chamber of horrors."
Grissom shook his head, and both criminalists followed suit to the elevator. Inside, Jim took out a note card and punched in a security code.
"That's peculiar," Nick noted of the extra precaution.
"Like I said, place is full of the sickest and most violent whackos."
The three men rode in silence as the arrived on the floor. When the doors slid open the temperature drop between floors was dramatic. The corridor was cast in darkness, except every three feet where a single red light flashed ominously.
Grissom looked up in annoyance. "You'd think they'd find someone to fix this."
Jim grumbled under his breath. "Yeah, some odd security response. Now all we need is the soundtrack to Halloween to accompany the mood."
Jim didn't hear Nick's soft snort.
Both CSIs approached the door, a jumpy officer straightening to attention at the group of men.
Nick and Grissom stood at the entranceway, taking in the room. David was in the corner scribbling notes.
There were five plastic chairs in various upturned positions on the floor. Each one was destroyed somehow; legs broken, the outer plastic covering bent and stained with blood. There was cast off and splatter that dotted the linoleum floor, trails going off in sporadic directions. The male victim was on his back, left arm bent in an awkward angle, his pristine lab coat soaked a bright crimson. The vic's shirt looked shredded; a puncture wound in his thigh, and a trail lead to a small pool of blood a few feet away. A pair of
eyeglasses lay crushed in the middle of the room.
The most disturbing aspect of the body was the fact his head was crushed in. A piece of shattered skull poked out from under his scalp, brown hair matted with his own life's fluid, a dark pool beneath him. Nick kept his feet still as he self-consciously leaned forward; it was hard to detect a face at all with so much carnage. He'd seen worse, but this was definably blunt force trauma personified.
After scanning the room for objects that could have caused such damage, the younger criminalist spotted a demolished table to the side, one of the wooden legs missing. To the right, one of the cabinet's glass doors was shattered; pieces of debris littered the ground, with more red stickiness all over the dispersed pieces.
Nick steeled himself for a long night of canvassing. He looked over at his boss for instructions, biting down the instinct to begin on his own accord. Grissom seemed so focused, Nick felt like he was another shadow along the wall. Instead of waiting for an order he glanced at the young coroner.
"Dave, you have a preliminary COD?"
The MD seemed at a loss for words and settled for shaking his head. "Massive blood loss, or severe head trauma. Either of those right now. Won't know more till we get him on a slab. Time of death was about an hour ago."
Nick nodded, expecting as much. Grissom finally peered at him through his glasses. Nick beat him to the punch. "I'll do the sketch, gather and document the surrounding room."
Grissom was silent for a beat. "I'll go over the body then."
The entomologist bent down and began to take pictures of the unnatural position of the body. Afterwards, he examined the head with a gloved hand, searching for any trace from a possible murder weapon. He used his tweezers to pull out wooden splinters embedded in the skull, and placed them in a bindle. He searched for any other obvious trace fibers. He found two different hairs along his torn dress shirt and bagged them.
Grissom carefully explored every inch around the body, knowing the clothes held potential keys and would be gathered at the morgue during the autopsy. He studied the hands, noting dried blood and more hair under the fingernails. Grissom snapped off a few pictures after scraping underneath the nail beds. Then he noticed an odd wound pattern on the man's right hand. After closer inspection, Gil swabbed the area for possible DNA and documented it as well.
The supervisor worked diligently in the difficult environment. The lack of light wasn't necessarily a hamper to the investigation as observing the environment in which the murder took place aided in placing oneself within the context of the action. The red flashing lights from the hall still flared in five-second intervals. The sporadic illumination, even from the depths of the hallway, made it a bit more difficult to concentrate inside the small room. The reddish hues kept bouncing along the glass and walls, causing odd shadows to dance along all the major surfaces of the room.
Nick placed markers as he went, taking photos of every area of blood, the trails leading to several objects. He searched for any other clue that might paint a better picture of what went on instead of just an all-out slaughter. He estimated the victim lost almost two liters of his blood volume.
Nick imagined the destruction and wondered how on earth did such violence go on without anyone noticing.
The smell of copper permeated the air and Nick kept to his haunches to gather every possible weapon. He located one of the broken table legs under a cabinet. It tested positive for blood as well as several of the chairs. Although based on the caked red areas he didn't need his chemical kit to verify that. Nick's inspection led back towards the body. Just under a foot to the left the young CSI noticed a shard of glass. He bent down to
retrieve it with a set of tweezers, noticing the density difference from the pieces collected from the window of the cabinet. He wrote his initials on the bindle and pocketed it in his vest.
"If this place has such a state of the art security system, then how come no one came to keep our vic from being beaten to death?" Nick asked angrily, shaking his head.
Jim hovered near. "We're still trying to piece together what happened. We have two orderlies on duty who had to receive treatment from their injuries sustained subduing the four patients. The nurse who came in to sedate the suspects is with them. Place went on strict lock down afterwards. So, besides your suspects, those guys are your only other witnesses."
"What about surveillance tape? Did our guy record his sessions for documentation purposes? This place does conduct a lot of research," Grissom asked, looking up.
Nick scanned the room, but noted no signs of closed circuit TV, or cameras. "Don't see any, but I'm sure one of the guards can fill us in."
Grissom signaled for David to transport the body, the assistant finally able to enter the room, avoiding the various makers. The DB was lifted and swiftly removed. Both men spent almost three hours analyzing every speck of dust and splatter of blood. Nick began to draw out the outline of the crime scene as his supervisor finished with the body.
A CB radio chirped and Jim Brass stepped out to answer it.
Nick gathered his collection, placing it in his kit. He'd need to gather trash bags to transport all the chair legs and smashed up pieces of furniture. Grissom stood, scouting the floor that was under the physician, in search of anything he might have missed. Sighing deeply he looked back at the other CSI.
"Whatever happened in this room, it was loud and had to last several minutes. I want to know why no one noticed."
Nick nodded. "We have at least seven interviews to conduct, four patients to process, not to mention we need to find the head of the hospital and get information regarding these inmates. And we get no help on this?"
Grissom appeared to study the distance between where the body had been and the alarm near the entrance. He snapped a picture of it. "Catherine and Warrick are on that ping-pong competition murder, Greg's attending one his mandatory seminars, and I have Sara involved in background research into the hospital."
Nick stood stiffly, working his jaw back and forth. "We could use the extra hand."
Grissom looked up. "I didn't want her involved in this."
Nick peeled back his latex gloves placing them in a plastic bag. "You didn't want her to experience coming back to a place like this. I understand." Nick placed the bagged gloves with the rest of his kit. "It's a nice consideration about what happened last year. She could do her job just fine, but why try to balance an act around such a reminder."
Grissom narrowed his eyes but was interrupted by someone clearing his throat. He turned to see Brass jabbing his thumb back towards the hallway. "Looks like a guy with a really bad suit is coming. Think he's the head honcho."
Grissom stood awkwardly for a moment and walked out the door. Nick gazed at his boss's back silently as he moved his kit next to Grissom's and joined him outside the chilly room. He glanced down at his maroon colored button-up shirt. Maybe he should stick to earth tones after spending so much time around the sickly color of red.
Dr. Timothy Rhodes was a wiry man with thinning gray hair and spectacles. His rumpled suit jacket, un-ironed shirt, and missing tie indicated he had either been in the middle of a very long night or was not very concerned with his appearance. The four men sat in his office, the doctor twiddling his thumbs during the interview. The room was spacious; the typical black leather couch had to be worth more than a monthly house note. Various pictures all over the wall, obviously of important people, several degrees and award certificates. Multiple pieces of art, plants to calm, and one of those sand hourglasses resting on his desk. All the pleasantries aside the man began to spout the corporate line.
"This is one of the top ten care facilities in the United States. We've never had a patient or staff member die from unnatural circumstances. We take pride in keeping a safe hospital."
Grissom didn't waste a moment before launching into his questions. "We're going to need a rundown on each patient that was in that room. We'll get a court order for in-depth medical history as well as all paperwork on Dr. Kincaid."
The bureaucrat resigned himself along his leather chair. "I'll need the warrant for the transcripts, but I can try to give you a brief description in order to aid your investigation."
Grissom nodded. "Please."
Dr. Rhodes flipped through a chart, adjusting his reading glasses. "Robert Patterson age 32, with a history of psychotic behavior and schizophrenia. He was incarcerated seven years ago for killing his wife and her brother during a family dinner. Patterson could never hold down a job at any one place for very long, history of mental illness in the family. Father killed himself when he was twelve years old."
Grissom and Nick took notes, the younger CSI raising an eyebrow with the last comment. The Graveyard supervisor looked up expectantly for more information.
Sighing the doctor made a clicking noise with his mouth. "Patterson's mother owns a lot of land in Vegas, if you know what I mean. Guy has a stutter when he get all riled up, its the best test we have to detect his moods."
The physician skipped over to the next patient history.
"Sheldon Tanner raped and beat eight women over a period of six years. Diagnosed as a sociopath, being considered for chemical castration, although he'll never see the outside ever again. Both parents are alive and no earlier convictions even though he was suspected in at least three other attacks. Tanner was an IT consultant, no history of family illness." Dr. Rhodes cleared his throat.
"And what exactly does he benefit from here that prison seems to neglect?" Nick asked looking up with unflinching brown eyes.
Grissom shot him a look. "Go on, Dr. Rhodes."
Nick glared back and forth between both men, his hand tightening on his pen as he scribbled away.
The physician scratched his head. "His family doesn't want him to submit to his requested form of treatment. But, he's insistent. His taste of women didn't matter. Race, size, weight, religion, he seemed to pick them at random. His attacks escalated with each sexual assault, his chemical castration is set for next month. His family works in the legal system, they are seeking ways around the procedure."
He looked at both criminalists and moved on to his next file.
The older doctor thumbed though his notes, taking a deep breath. "The third patient is Mr. Leon Stoyanov. Age 41." He stretched his back along his leather chair. "Though people in here call him, Ivan. Born in Russia, whose parents have suspicious ties to the mob. Sort of the bastard child, lock him away so that no one knows about the unwanted black sheep."
"Ignore him and throw away the key," Grissom injected.
The physician shrugged. "He never has any visitors, all of our services are paid direct deposit. He suffers from delusions, and severe paranoia. He was convicted of murdering seven men and women that the police knew of. He meticulously stalked his victims based on some sort of perceived threat, but we've still been unable to detect a pattern. Ivan tortured his victims for several hours in his freezer of the meat pack he operated and was used as a front for his brothers."
"How did he kill them?" Grissom inquired.
The other man flipped though his file. "He stabbed and chopped up two with a machete. He beat to death three with a pipe, and bit the jugular of the his last victims," he added.
Nick peered up from his notes, his tone a low-pitched growl. "And what sort of progress can a man like that make here? How does one get treatment for such brutality?"
Dr. Rhodes stiffened, but replied before Grissom could utter a word at Nick's chiding tone.
"We can study him, try to find out what can lead to such behavior. He's here on a volunteer basis. We can test out drugs and different types of therapy in order to prevent others like him from committing their crimes or catch them while they are young. When they are spray-painting walls and killing small animals," the older man lectured.
"Volunteer… yeah, so he doesn't have to be in prison where he belongs," Nick said under his breath loud enough to be heard.
The physician leaned forward. "Our prison systems are so crammed full of non-violent offenders that there is nowhere to house people like our patients. To keep other inmates safe or to interact with them one on one. To keep the other monsters from being created. General prison population is nowhere to hide the people that you fear so much or disgust you. Society makes some criminals..."
"No, criminals have free will and make their choices. Anytime a person puts forethought into a vile crime or happens to be of higher-level intelligence then they are automatically labeled as mentally disturbed and carted off to a white room. If a poor person kills a bunch of people at a gas station with something as arbitrary as a gun, then they are branded a multiple murderer. If some whack job gets creative or if their act is beyond horrifying, then they are simply deranged and get a patted cell." Nick rested all of his weight on his elbows, his bangs barely concealing his darkened eyes.
"Intelligence doesn't factor into the type of punishment. You lose your freedom. It's where you're kept away that changes. Sometimes we have to look into the abyss in order to try to keep others from falling into it." Dr. Rhodes matched Nick's agitated posture.
Grissom rested his hand along the edge of the table near Nick's elbow. The younger criminalist slowly pulled his arm away and crossed both of them in front of his chest. He played idly with his pen and continued to stare at the man across from him. He never once looked over at his superior; it was as if the man wasn't there.
"And the fourth... patient," Nick prodded.
Grissom's brow furrowed as he stared at his co-worker, words racing through his mind, but silenced by a mouth that did not open. He settled back into his chair and focused on what was an easier topic to dissect.
"The last patient is Joseph Brighten, age 37. He was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and this was successfully used by his team of defense lawyers at trial."
Nick peered intently at the physician, his jaw clamped tightly. His body seemed to clench itself into a totally rigid state, his tenser posture unnoticed by both men.
"Joesph survived a school bus accident that killed twelve of his classmates in high school. It took teams hours to get him out of the tangled mess. After graduation he left his family and started a new life. His wife and baby were killed by a drunk driver a few years ago. When the man got off on a technicality he snuck a gun into the courtroom and killed the suspect, his lawyer and a county clerk."
Grissom adjusted his glasses. "Must have been a hell of a legal firm. Plead temporary insanity?"
Dr. Rhodes nodded. "He was never treated for the first trauma. He withdrew and escaped from that life, but it didn't help. After the death of his wife and child he let all of his fear and horror of both events send him over the edge. He suffers from severe depression and has become non-communicative the past few weeks. Hasn't spoken a single word for days. It's been part of his ups and downs."
Grissom fixed the older man with his first sort of cold stare. "Why would your colleague have a man who was non-communicative in something like group therapy? Kind of hard to share thoughts and feelings with a man who doesn't speak."
Dr. Rhodes laced his fingers within his hands. "Seems this is the reason why I'm the therapist and you're a crime scene guy. I deal with the living and the only way to encourage people to talk openly is to put them in an environment where other people are communicating."
"Motivation is not the key to dialogue; some people just feel too inept to share emotions. Especially criminals who are people who have something to hide or cannot deal with the vulnerability of being upfront and honest," Grissom spoke softly.
The room almost shuddered, the occupants simply unaware.
"What was Dr. Kincaid doing, conducting therapy session in the middle of the night?" Grissom asked, quickly filling the void.
Dr Rhodes tapped the desk for a moment. "I'm not really sure."
It was the first time Grissom' eyes sparkled. "Really?"
The room fell silent again; the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall the only sound within the office. Nick broke the silence, his question thinly veiled sarcasm. "Care to tell us about your security measures just in case something like a room full of violent offenders gets out hand? Kind of like shaking a ticking bomb, don't you think?"
Grissom stole a glance at the younger man and then focused his attention back towards the doctor awaiting an intriguing answer.
"All our patients are given their daily medications before group. Normally all of them are slightly sedated to help aid in therapy. However, guards and orderlies are posted in the hall and at check points. There's also as an intercom system if the physician needs help, which is rarer than you think."
Grissom raised an eyebrow. "What about surveillance. Is there any in that room?"
"No. None is deemed necessary. Dr. Kincaid often videotaped his sessions. He is a primary researcher on this staff. He's only second in grant rewards next to Dr. Stanfield who is conducting studies with some of his patients."
Grissom stood up, signaling an end to the interview. "We'll need full access to all patient records. We'll also need any information regarding Dr. Kincaid and his current caseload. We'll be processing all four men and then will need to conduct interviews with the orderlies who responded."
The physician shuffled his files. "Well, of course. Anything to aid in finding out what happened during this terrible tragedy."
Both criminalists exited the door, with the head of the hospital hard on their heels. "Our patients will remain sedated when you go for your collection, however, per hospital policy. I advise you to wait for a few of our guards to get here to be there for your investigation."
Nick eyed the man wearily. "Isn't there proper personnel already on hand?"
"We're still on lock down. Besides, observing men who are restrained in their bed, under the heavy influence of narcotics is one thing. To poke and prod them…Well, I'd suggest waiting long enough for extra security. It's for your protection," the icy warning clearly evident in his tone.
"Fine. We'll get our findings sent off to our lab and wait at the infirmary for your staff. In the meantime, Mr. Stokes and I will conduct our interviews with the orderlies who were involved after the murder," Grissom informed the head of the hospital as they met Jim Brass in the hallway.
Dr. Rhodes adjusted his unkempt appearance, slicking back errant hairs sticking up. "Of course. But, you will need someone to join you. After all, this is a private hospital and we have our own security in place. I'll go with you, so you can get to the infirmary. Can't have you wandering around by yourselves. Not that you could get anywhere without proper codes and keys."
With his last statement, Dr. Rhodes smoothed out his lab coat over his wrinkled clothes. "I need to make a few phone calls first," and left without another word.
Nick stared at the man's retreating form. "I think he's keeping something back. Got an odd feeling in there."
Grissom bridged the distance between them, his steel blue eyes glared. "We keep our opinions and feelings about aspects of a case to ourselves, Nick. You were out of line and unprofessional. I don't expect that sort of behavior out of you."
Nick didn't lash back, didn't flinch or recoil. Instead of an apology or an excuse he stared at his boss. "That's the first real show of emotion I've seen from you in a long time." Then without another word Nick left the hallway to re-enter the room stained with the rage of someone they had yet to encounter.
Tbc