Nick waited for his supervisor as Dr. Stanfield paced along the hallway. Grissom nodded for his co-worker to come over, leaning his weight against the brick wall behind him. Nick cast a backwards glance at the physician's agitation and frowned, shaking his head.
"You think he'd be more cooperative," Nick remarked dryly.
Grissom looked thoughtful. "You took a risk spurring Patterson on like that."
Nick matched the confident stance of his superior. "That man has spent the last few years dodging blame for his actions because he can't own up to his crimes. He's surrounded by shrinks and doctors with pills in one hand, while discussing motivations that give him latitude and justifications in the other." He shrugged. "The way the interview was progressing, it seemed the only thing that might shake loose some answers was…"
"Bad cop, Good cop?" Grissom asked holding his gaze.
Nick's head slowly tilted to the right, a motion he did when accepting an answer without modesty. "Sort of. People who are blindsided or caught off guard tend to expose truer feelings or intentions."
"Or bottle their emotions up even more," Grissom replied automatically.
Nick stood silently and cleared his throat. "You believe his inability to remember last night?"
"I'm not going to make an assumption until I have a chance to study Kincaid's notes on these guys. See if this was part of his pattern of behavior."
Nick opened his mouth to add a comment when they were interrupted.
"Why does it matter?"
Both CSIs turned to face the baffled look of the nerdy Dr. Stanfield, fingers adjusting his heavy glasses. "Those four patients murdered my co-worker and friend. You have physical evidence connecting them to the crime. They were the only four people in that room. I thought this would be an open and shut case."
Grissom tried to answer in a respectful tone. "Our job is to determine how Dr. Kincaid was killed. We're not sure if all four patients had a hand in his death. We're still gathering and processing evidence and these interviews might shed some much needed light."
Stanfield balled his hands into fists, the first real emotion from the man other then petulance. "Just do your jobs professionally. I still have to work with these patients day in and out. I don't need any more repeats of unnecessary provocation. Your actions could have direct consequences with this hospital's reputation. We depend on the grants and research here to keep this facility running.."
"What about the lasting effects for Dr. Kincaid's family? You thought about those?" Nick asked.
The physician gave him a smug look. "Dr. Kincaid had no family. This hospital and his work were his life. The treatments here can have profound impacts on the patients here, to give them the needed help and ability to fight their illnesses."
Nick wet his lips, his voice softer. "Too bad their victims don't get the same type of resources or devotion after the crime is over."
Stanfield stalked back towards the interview room. "I've got a meeting with an important drug company about my study. You've still got two more interviews. Can we hurry this along?" He enforced his request by pointing to the entrance to the room.
Nick's face betrayed his feelings, but he calmed once he took his seat. Grissom studied both men from the doorway, deciding when he could address what he thought was Nick's biased emotions towards the mentally disturbed.
The two criminalists had settled down at the table and the head of the hospital joined the group to stand next to his colleague. Dr's Stanfield and Rhodes discussed the upcoming set of visitors and their plans for dinner later on. The head of the facility had assured both CSIs that he merely wanted to observe aspects of the unfolding case, so he could help them with any other resources to aid the investigation.
Dr Stanfield flipped through his clipboard, the papers crackling in the silence of the room. "Patient 4575895." He glared at Nick when he was done.
The head honcho took the offered clipboard and cleared his throat. "Leon Stoyanov. I've asked for him to be accompanied by three guards; one will be outside the door if he's needed."
Leon Stoyanov entered the interview room, his escort of guards maneuvering him towards his seat. Stoyanov's broad shoulders and thick arms made his straight-jacket look as effective as paper mache. His unshaven salt and pepper whiskers and dark bruises gave his face an even more rugged appearance. His thick, dark shaggy hair looked unruly, like a pelt on a werewolf.
Narrow steely eyes studied each individual in the room silently. A sharp, deadly mind sized everyone up in a matter of seconds. Stoyanov cracked his neck from side to side and leaned back into his chair, almost daring someone to speak.
"Mr. Stoyanov, I'm Gil Grissom and this is Nick Stokes with the crime lab. We're here to ask you a few questions."
The Russian did not fuss in his chair, but spoke with a low, gruff voice. "No, you're not."
Grissom interlined his fingers along the desk. "Yes, we are here to talk to you about what happened last night."
"What happened…" The brusque man shrugged. "Happened."
"Do you mind filling us in then?"
Stoyanov made a clicking sound with his tongue, running it along the inside of his teeth. "It was all about a larger plan. A...more evil deed."
Grissom prepared for the tale. "What plan?"
The beast of a man flared his nostrils. "Yours. I knew you were coming back."
Nick folded his arms along his chest, his face a scowl. Grissom didn't notice as he studied the suspect, not bothered by his words. "I'm here because of what happened to Dr. Kincaid."
"You appeared in my dreams," the brutish man stated.
"You were under heavy sedation after you resisted the guards. You saw me then when I examined you for evidence."
"Nyet. When I peered into the blue eyes of the devil, I knew you were here to finish your plans. As an instigator of death, you reap destruction along the path." Stoyanov leaned, his biceps bulging taut under the restraints. "I do not fear Hell. You sought me out and I am here." A twisted smile formed on the battered face.
Grissom sensed Nick's unease in the chair next to him. He risked a quick glance to instruct stillness at a moment of tricky head games. The younger CSI kept calm, but it was obvious he didn't appreciate the gesture.
The Russian's eyes followed the movement, his interest piqued. "The Devil
has an apprentice, yes?"
Nick was not easily put off by suspects. "No. I'm a scientist along with my co-worker."
The suspect held an aura of command: the vein on the side of his head pulsed visibly beneath skin. "The Devil always has minions to do as commanded. Evil always tugs at the strings of the weak."
Nick held the intense gaze, not reacting to the verbal barb. "Is that how you view yourself? The strong overpowering the weak like Dr. Kincaid?"
"I had no problem with the doctor. He was not smart enough to match wits with me. He was no threat." The suspect peered steadfastly at the supervisor. "Him, however… You come here to try to take me with you to your fiery pit, but I will defeat you. I'm more evil than even then this Devil."
Nick didn't hide his disbelief at such ramblings; the ends of his mouth twisting. The Russian focused back at the younger criminalist. "Do not dismiss me, youngling. Your tools of unmasking death do not frighten me. You are slowly boiling within from your own fear. You can not hide it. It oozes from your human body."
Nick felt his body become isotonic , but held back any outward reaction. The observant prisoner grinned, noting the tenser posture. "Your soul is being eaten alive." The man's eyes darted towards the supervisor. "Don't let the Devil hold you back, young one. His influence must be purged."
The man shifted his weight, the chair squeaking with the movement. "I will help sever your connection. Then you'll be set free."
Grissom tried to gain control of the interview but all of his further questions were greeted by silence and cool glares. The suspect didn't invoke any more theories nor did he react to any prodding. He seemed to study the two CSIs, eyes narrowing and then drifting off to gaze at the other occupants in the room.
After another half an hour Grissom sighed inwardly and asked for the prisoner to be escorted back to his cell. The guards pulled Ivan to his feet, the brute making a show that he was in control of when he left. He moved only when all three security men shoved him forcefully and even then one got the impression he let them escort him into the hallway.
Dr. Stanfield spoke with his boss concerning his need to leave and work on some paper for a review, while Grissom walked over towards his co-worker, jaw working back and forth.
"You've been oddly hostile during these interviews, Nick. You've got to get a better handle on your emotions, or suspects will continue to pick up on your tells. You've encountered a lot worse offenders in the past years then anyone we've talked today."
Nick shook his head. "I don't think I've been out of line. Ivan seems pretty fixated on you. I'd be careful."
The supervisor gave him an un-amused expression. "Stoyanov proved he's in control of his actions. He demonstrated the calculated thought necessary to commit the crime, but he's too much in control."
"He murdered at least seven people, Man. How is he not capable of what happened?" Nick challenged.
"He was meticulous in his crimes. Kept his victims for hours, torturing them, reveling in his ability to exact pain and ultimate control. He's too much of a sociopath to give into primal rage."
Nick nodded, giving the words time to sink in. "Then what are you suggesting?"
Grissom looked lost. "I don't know, but we're still missing something."
Nick's response was cut off by the ringing of his cell phone. "Stokes. I can barely hear ya…hold on."
Grissom ignored the sets of eyes on his back, sighing outwardly this time. Before he could ask the two physicians what was on their minds, Nick finished his brief phone call. The Texan walked over towards his boss.
"That was Sara, could barely hear her. Place has bad reception." After getting a pointed look, Nick grinned slightly. "Anyway, she wanted me to know that shard of glass I found on the floor didn't match up to any of the glass cabinets. It belonged to a camera lens."
That got Grissom's attention. "Really?" He nodded at Nick's enthusiasm. "That means that Kincaid might have been taping this particular session."
Nick glanced over at the doctors who whispered between them, and stepped closer to Grissom not wanting his words to carry. "If it wasn't from a previous session, then that means someone else was in that room after the crime. Another murder suspect or someone wanted to cover up what was filmed."
Grissom matched the low voice. "We need to dig more into the reason why this therapy session was held in the middle of the night."
Dr. Rhodes approached the criminalists with a smile. "Well, you've got one last interview. I need to get back to my rounds. I'll leave you in capable hands."
The head of the facility left the room and Dr. Stanfield cleared his throat loudly. "Patient 575754."
Nick turned to glare at the man, with a smug smile of his own. "Joseph Brighten."
Joseph Brighten had brown eyes. Nick had not noticed before because the first encounter had been when the man had been literally disconnected from his body; a mind filled with artificial sleep, although this wasn't much different. The guy might as well been some sort of walking mummy, a body wrapped together in protective gear, nothing but an empty shell. Usual introductions were made, but this time no one was home. Just a vacancy sign behind dulled reflexes.
No, it wasn't the medication. No, he had not spoken in about a week. One of his 'moods.' Dr. Stanfield was as helpful as a student on the last day of school.
Grissom varied his questions, tone, but to no avail. Nothing. No recognition, just the pale face of Mr. Everyday Joe. Nick chuckled on the inside; the staff called him, Joey. It certainly fit. At least this version. Who knew what lay beneath...something, a gut feeling, told him this guy wasn't like the others.
Grissom relented in his chair, lips pursed to have the suspect dismissed when Nick rose from, passed the table and knelt in front of the subdued patient.
"Hey, Joey. I'm Nick." He kept his voice soft, casual.
The CSI smiled, looking about the room. "Kind of a dull place." He licked his lips. "Guess its a hell of a lot better than where you were last night."
Nothing. Blank stare; eyes that didn't make contact.
Nick could picture the sort of worried glare being burned into the back of his skull but he wasn't going to worry about that right now.
He swallowed, sighing heavily, broadcasting in waves a rare sort of openness. "You tried to tell me something the other night. I'm all ears, if you want to give it another whirl." He tried to give a slight grin, eyes intently focused.
The empty orbs move downward, a spark of something inside, a lazy gaze. Nick seized the opportunity. "I try to solve puzzles and I've got a lot of little pieces. Parts of it tell
me you tried to help."
Nick could hear heavy breathing from behind him, almost picturing a scowl, disappointment, but he didn't care. "Your finger prints were on a chair leg. You hit Ivan with it...can you tell me why?"
Silence greeted his question; the eyes drifting away, staring off into space. A slight facial twitch, followed by a tic to the edge of the man's mouth. Nick squinted, thinking back to the odd spasms from the previous encounter.
Nothing. Nick stared at the floor, feeling his body sag. Gathering his wits and looking back up, he plastered on a semi-genuine smile. "All right. You might be tired; maybe we'll talk again later."
Nick rose to his feet, for the briefest of moments patted the prisoner on the shoulder, then quickly stuffed his hands into his pockets. He signaled the guard to take the suspect away. The security man guided the patient, who shuffled on autopilot out the door.
"We done here?" Dr. Stanfield's voice interrupted the silence and despair of the room.
Nick twirled around, more energized then he'd been in days. "No, I'm afraid not."
His statement caused both men in the room to stare at him puzzled; annoyance was like a bitter afterthought.
"Those the patient files?" Nick pointed at the box of stacks of folders left by the director.
"Yes," the impatient physician answered.
Nick strolled over, picking apart folders, his boss's gaze on him throughout his movements. Nick rifled through the stack of documents on Joseph Brighten. "Does Joey have any friends here? Anyone he talks to on a regular basis?"
The doctor huffed, rubbing his temples. "I have no idea, Mr. Stokes. I don't…"
"Yeah, I know you don't get to know your patients," he stated, not looking up. "Joey stays on the third floor, right?"
"Yes," the huffy man repeated.
Nick inhaled deeply, calming his nerves. "That's treated like general population, right?"
"Yes," this time drawn out with impatience.
Nick shook his head. "What about roommates? Did Brighten have one?"
The physician ran his hand through his curly locks. "Yes, he did. All patients on the third floor share cells."
"Can we speak to him?" Nick looked over at his supervisor for the first time, noting his constant silence. He saw a questioning expression, but was being allowed a bit of leeway.
Dr. Stanfield, rubbed at his temples. "I guess. He's under another physician's care. If you want to waste more time, feel free. Although, its not going to bother me. I'll be glad to let someone else baby-sit you guys."
Nick didn't look up. "Good. Think we could expedite matters?"
Stanfield glared at him, but gave a fake smile. "Sure. I'll go find whomever is supervising him, inform him of the situation, and let you two play shrink."
"One more question."
The man glared at him.
"Any of the four suspects suffer any nerve disorders?" He smiled. "That you know of?"
"No."
Nick stared, but said nothing else.
The irritable man left, taking a bit of Nick's foul mood with him. The CSI thumbed through more papers, aware of the elephant in the room. After several more minutes of silence, he looked up.
"You waiting until we get back to the lab?"
Grissom's poker face remained. "For what?"
Nick felt the frustration building and normally he would attack his misgivings full force, but shrugged it off. "Nothing."
Grissom rose out of his seat, stretching a stiff back. "You want to see if Brighten's roommate has some insight into his state of being. Trying to learn more on the subject?"
Nick didn't look up, feigning interest in the pages of scribbled notes. "That's what you taught us."
The younger criminalist didn't see the slight acceptance. "Maybe. It would appear you have a keener interest in this particular suspect though."
Nick shook his head, not even aware of the defensive response. "No. I mean, I think he's the best link to what happened."
"You don't think he was involved, even though there isn't much to go on saying that he wasn't."
Nick shrugged. "Got to play your hunches. If you can't trust your instincts, then all you got are--"
"Facts."
Nick didn't look up.
"Did you know you called him by his nickname?"
It was a casual enough question, but he felt severely annoyed by it. An odd hush filled the room, the uncomfortable weight a familiar feeling.
Time didn't seem very fluid, but soon enough the duo were greeted by a young doctor, a black man in his thirties. He smiled warmly at the criminalists, a stark contrast to the previous staff members. He looked more like a pediatrician; humble demeanor, calm eyes.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Timothy Bale, but just call me Tim. I'm not into formalities."
Nick took the offered hand, instantly liking the more easygoing manner. "Nick Stokes."
The friendly doctor shook it with enthusiasm as he released the grip and looked over at the CSI somewhat puzzled.
"Gil Grissom," the supervisor introduced himself, his brow furrowed. "We meet before?" he asked.
Dr. Bale stood back staring at both men with an expression of slight confusion. "No...not that I recall." The man rubbed at his chin, looking like he was trying to solve a great mystery.
Nick shifted his feet with a small laugh. "Somethin' wrong, Doc?"
The physician tried to relax. "No. I mean...Stokes. Nick Stokes? From the Vegas Crime Lab, right?"
Nick gave him an uneasy grin, fluctuating around a grimace. He got this from time to time since last summer. "Yeah."
"And you're here because of Dr Kincaid's death."
Nick looked at his boss and back at the doctor. "Yes. We want to talk to Joseph Brightens' roommate. We...I think he might be able to shed some light on a few things."
The doctor quirked an eyebrow. "I understand. Mr. Brightens' cellmate transferred here a few months ago when I moved from a federal facility with him. I took a few of my patients along because of some of the studies here."
Nick nodded, glancing at his watch. "Cool. Is his roommate stable...er...I mean can we talk with him?"
Dr. Bale nodded. "Yes, of course. He suffers from delusions, but he's been very receptive to treatment. Um...I'm sorry, Mr. Stokes, but I'm still confused on why you want to speak to him...I mean...don't you think your co-worker should conduct the interview instead?"
Nick laughed, feeling bit peeved at such a suggestion. "I'm quite qualified to interview this patient."
Nick turned to Grissom. The supervisor had a growing uneasy expression, which served to only zap away any of his newly formed energy.
Dr Bale stared at Nick. "Um, you know that Joseph Brighten's bunkmate is someone you know?"
Nick laughed, glancing at both men who shared equal anxious expressions. He cleared his throat. "No." Nick cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Who is he?"
The physician looked totally confused. "Mr. Stokes. His cellmate is Nigel Crane."
tbc...