Chapter 3
The double-homicide investigation was going nowhere… fast, and Detective Vega didn't have a solid lead. Well, besides the name of the second victim, which proved fruitless; Carey Peters had no other connections in Vegas and was fairly new to the town. Most of the information the crime lab had passed on to him wasn't enough and he shared in the criminalist's frustration. Vega had been waiting on any news Gil Grissom had uncovered, after he had finished going through the box of collected evidence from the scene again. But the phone call—which had come into the nine-one-one dispatch center—made them set that aside for later.
Now, he hoped that any evidence collected from Captain Brass and his home as a result of his altercation with their suspect would give it a kick start and move it along.
Jim had almost paid with his life during his struggle with the perp.
After arriving at the new crime scene Vega had interviewed Sara, who had placed the call into dispatch after finding Jim in need of medical attention. She then told Detective Vega whatever Jim was able to tell her, and it wasn't much. After all, the man was in bad shape and Sam didn't expect to learn anything this early.
Vega let her go after Sara said she needed to go along with Jim to the hospital. He then looked around and spotted Grissom along with Greg Sanders standing near the entryway to Jim's home. They both watched as the senior detective was loaded onto a stretcher and taken over to a waiting EMS truck. Jim was semi-alert and tried speaking to Grissom, but the medics pleaded with him to conserve his energy.
Sara met the stretcher halfway and leaned in to whisper something to Jim which seemed to calm him.
Detective Vega would see to it that the perp got what he deserved for the murder of those two women and the attempted murder of his boss.
He had on occasion worked with Detective Tobin and respected her abilities on the force. Homicide wasn't for the squeamish, but she had handled herself well. And, she was a pro in the interrogation room. It was common knowledge around the department that she had been at this racket for far longer than she cared to admit.
"What did Sara have to say?"
Vega looked up to see Grissom approaching him.
"Jim's a little out of it, doesn't remember much, and he didn't get a good look at the guy's face," Vega replied, once Grissom was close enough.
"I'm not surprised. He did manage to put up a struggle. Sara was fortunate enough to process the scene and collect some evidence from him before we arrived."
"Yeah, she was fortunate, but you should be thanking Jim. He urged Sara to do so." Vega's comment elicited a pause from the criminalist.
The early morning ruckus hadn't gone unnoticed by a few neighbors, particularly the ones living close to the homicide captain. They were drawn to the scene like moths to a flame. And the flashing cacophony of red and blue washed out all the color in the surrounding area, making this crime scene resemble a nightmare.
Where the hell were these people when Jim needed help? Vega was disgusted by their curiosity. He turned away, but a slight commotion near the yellow crime scene tape attracted his attention.
Grissom raised an eyebrow, and looked at him when he noticed it too. "A possible witness?"
"Let's find out, shall we?"
Detective Vega, with Grissom in tow, stepped over to the yellow tape and the detective asked the uniformed officer restraining the young onlooker for an explanation.
"He wants to speak to the person in charge, Sir," the officer said over his shoulder.
With a wide-eyed look, their possible witness glanced over the officer's shoulder and asked, "Is that you? I saw something, it was dark, but I know I saw something…"
Vega tapped the officer on the arm and motioned him to let the civilian go. As the uniformed officer stepped away the detective gave their witness the once over. One of the neighbors all right—dressed in his pajamas, and a black robe tightly tied at the waist undoubtedly to keep out the chill in the air. Their potential witness cleared his throat and they traded introductions.
"Mr. Trevino, what exactly did you see?" Vega asked, withdrawing his pen and notepad from his breast pocket.
"Um, call me Brian. Anyway, I was uh, up late chatting online with some friends then the power got knocked out." He shook his head and then continued, "Well, I went around the house checking to see if everything was all right and I happened to look out of the window facing the street."
"Pardon me, but which house is yours?" Grissom interrupted.
"My family lives a house down from this one… Anyway, I looked out of the window and there was this truck; it looked out of place." Brian then pointed across the street. "It sorta looked like yours, Mr. Grissom, except that one was black and yours is blue."
"Those are some good observation skills, Brian." Grissom was amazed at the detail his eyes had managed to pick up on. "Are you sure it was black? I'm only asking because the visibility was low, due to the rain."
"Oh believe me, I thought it was blue but I'm positive it was a black SUV—a passing car's headlights helped out." He showed the scientist a small grin and Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Well, I turned away from the window, that's when I heard the squeal of car tires. I ran back and looked out. I noticed the truck drove off a little erratically, with its headlights turned off."
Vega was busy jotting all of this information down, though the hopes of this being a solid lead were not very high. Not much information to go on. There were thousands of SUVs fitting this description roaming the city. This was a veritable needle in a really big haystack. But, he pressed on—maybe this witness had seen something else, besides just the color and model of the truck.
"Is there anything else you can remember?" Vega looked up from his notes. "Think about it before you answer."
Grissom and Vega shared looks, during the drawn out silence and their own disappointment began to set in. The detective's posture took on some frustration and he checked his watch. They could be at the lab processing the evidence, and then maybe they would have something better to go on.
Their witness slowly began shaking his head then abruptly snapped his fingers. "Yes! I remember something. There was this figure, and he was dressed in black. I only caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye and even then I thought I was seeing things; that's why I didn't turn to look. Anyway, there seemed something wrong about him." He smiled broadly at having successfully recovered the memory.
The detective nodded his head; this wasn't anything new. Sara had mentioned to him that Jim had shot his attacker. So, out there somewhere was a wounded man. That was something he had asked one of his officers to radio in. The surrounding hospitals were on alert for any gunshot victims within the last hour or so. As of yet, he hadn't received any word from either one of them.
Vega then looked over at Grissom, urging the scientist to ask any questions.
"Brian, I know there's something else you remember. Close your eyes and think about it. This is important. A good friend of mine has been hurt here this morning."
"Yeah, I know who lives here. Everyone on this block knows a cop lives in that house." He looked over Grissom's shoulder at Jim's home. "I uh, yeah, wait a minute. Here, this might help."
He handed Detective Vega a slip of paper with a couple of numbers and one letter scribbled on it.
"Thanks, Brian. You've been a great help." Vega turned the note over to Grissom, and they both raised their eyebrows in surprise.
"Glad to help you guys out." Their witness was about to leave, but stopped and turned around. "Detective Vega what is your friend's name; the officer that was injured?"
"Captain Jim Brass." Vega replied, and smiled at the familiarity that the name invoked in the young man's eyes.
Apparently, Brian did on occasion watch the evening news.
oOoOo
Jim felt as if he were treading water, his limbs were heavy and everyone and everything sounded muffled. He opened his eyes partially and blinked at the harsh light directed into them from overhead. Something covered his mouth and the rush of cool air brought him out of his stupor. Jim then moved his lips, but the words poured out in a whisper. An unfamiliar female face loomed into his field of vision and he tried to speak again.
"Doctor, he's awake."
That statement answered the other question he had on his mind.
"Good. Nurse, make sure the OR is ready for us. We need to take care of that gunshot wound then stitch up the laceration on his forehead."
"Yes, Doctor Phelps."
Jim's right hand involuntarily twitched and he gritted his teeth.
"Take it easy, Captain Brass. You're in the hospital. You've sustained a broken hand, and a single gunshot wound to your shoulder. The bullet traveled through the soft tissue and exited cleanly."
Jim nodded his head in response.
"We just need to take care of the open wound then run some tests—we have to make sure there aren't any fragments left that could cause an infection."
The detective moved his left hand and pushed the oxygen mask down, but his voice sounded harsh. Obviously frustrated at his inability to enunciate his words, Jim shut his eyes briefly.
The doctor understood and patted his left shoulder. "She's out in the waiting area. You'll be fine, I promise. We'll take good care of you."
Jim managed to whisper the words thank you and then closed his eyes.
—————
Sara paced the length of the waiting room then thought better; she sank into a chair as far away from human contact as possible.
Had it really been two hours since Jim was brought into the trauma area?
A slight shudder coursed through her body and she rested the back of her head on the wall. How long had he been lying there, in need of aid? There were so many questions, but the most important one demanded an answer. Who had attacked him, and why?
Sara opened her eyes and looked at her hands—the blood stains were gone, but the sight of Jim after she had discovered him still frightened her.
She closed her eyes at that thought, and inhaled sharply when her cell phone rang.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." She sighed. Actually, she wasn't, but her problems paled in comparison to what Jim was going through at the moment.
Grissom wasn't convinced, though. There was sadness evident in her voice.
"Any word on how Jim is doing?"
"Not yet. I suspect he's in surgery getting the wounds stitched."
"Keep me informed." He paused for a few minutes. "I've got to go. An eyewitness at the scene gave us a vital clue in this case. Detective Vega and I are about to find out where it leads."
That was definitely some very good news. This was something all of them were hoping for, since discovering the victims out by the deserted road. With Jim being injured by the suspect, their murder investigation had taken on a whole new meaning.
"I can meet both of you there."
"The two of us can handle it. I think Jim would appreciate you being there for him when he wakes."
She mulled over the advice in silence and realized he was right. "Well, you keep me informed. And Grissom, if you need me—"
"I'll call you."
Sara smiled slightly, and looked up to see someone standing there staring at her. The older man was dressed in the customary blue scrubs that denoted him as one of the many doctors within the hospital. For a minute he seemed confused at the sight of her smile then returned it. He was about to address her, but Sara held up a finger to stop him.
"Right," she said into the phone, then closed it.
The doctor took a cautious step forward, extending his hand, and Sara shook it.
"Is everything all right?" he asked.
"I hope so." Sara answered, and that stumped the doctor. "Our investigation was at a standstill then this happens. How is Captain Brass doing?"
"Ah, I see, you're one of his colleagues. I'm Doctor Jeremy Phelps, nice to meet you, Miss…"
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's Sara Sidle, and yes, I'm one of Jim's colleagues."
"Mr. Brass is doing remarkably well, considering he lost quite a bit of blood. He's in post-op and in the process of being moved to a private room."
"How soon can he have visitors?"
"I don't see why he shouldn't have any as soon as he's situated. Captain Brass will still be suffering the effects of the anesthesia nevertheless your voice will do him some good."
"Thank you, doctor."
"Sure. You can ask at the nurse's station for his room number, after a few minutes or so."
Doctor Phelps shook her hand again then walked away. Sara observed him disappear around the corner at the end of the hall. She exhaled loudly and settled back in her chair. All this waiting was driving her up the wall; she desperately wanted to see Jim with her own eyes. At least the sight of him would quell the lingering anxiety she still felt over finding him so badly injured.
—————
Jim subconsciously knew the pain was there, but the synapses from his extremities to his brain were subdued. Though, he still managed to will himself awake, at the cost of feeling a little sick to his stomach, he struggled to rise above the drug induced fog, and blinked several times. The only light in his room cast a soft glow that traveled up the wall behind the bed he occupied. With a slight grunt he lifted his head and exhaled softly at the sight of his tightly bandaged hand. In the back of his mind he could still hear the loud crunch as the suspect broke the bones in it.
He contemplated the upcoming therapy he would have to put himself through, and winced.
But he was happy to be alive.
Turning his head, he spotted a blue pitcher and a small plastic cup sitting next to it on a small rolling table. His throat was parched and his tongue felt like sand paper—there was no way he was going to be able to quench his thirst at that moment. Closing his eyes for a second, he silently prayed that someone would come to his aid. Just then the door creaked open, and he listened to soft footsteps as they drew closer to his bedside.
Sara withdrew her hand from his forehead when Jim slowly opened his eyes; she was surprised to see him wake.
"Hey," she whispered.
He searched for his voice, only to find it sounding weak. "Thanks for being there."
With a smile she ran her slender fingers across his cheek.
"I'm glad to see that you're doing okay."
"Don't feel a damn thing," he said with a grin then gestured toward the pitcher of water.
Sara placed her hand under his head and helped him up; she then placed the cup to his lips and let him quench his thirst. Jim smiled in gratitude, and savored the cool liquid against his weak vocal cords.
"I'm sure they're taking really good care of you," she commented.
Jim winked in response.
"Did you get enough evidence?" he asked, after a few seconds of silence had settled on the room.
"Yeah, and Grissom was surprised the idea was yours. Sometimes I wonder where that man's mind is at."
"Have you thought of checking inside one of those liquid filled jars in his office?"
"Good thinking," she answered, with a twinkle in her eyes. "I just came by to see for myself that you were doing okay."
"Had enough of me already?" Jim smiled. "What is it, Sara?"
"No, it's not that. I've got to get back to the lab. Grissom and Vega are on to something, though they decided to exclude me."
"Ouch, I can imagine the type of ass chewing Gil will be getting."
"It'll be a thorough one."
His only reply was in the form of a lazy nod, and Sara could tell that the drugs were threatening to drag him under yet again. …Must be some powerful stuff. Physically, he looked terrible, but all the wounds he suffered weren't life-threatening, and she was grateful for that.
"Sleep well, Jim." She gave his hand a light squeeze as his eyes fluttered close.
Sara stood over him a few seconds longer, then took her leave.
Out in the corridor she gave the guard next to the door a curt nod, and wandered further down the hall. Sara was oblivious to the uncharacteristic sneer on an orderly's face, who strolled past her. With her back up against the chilly-white-wall, she seemed to relax for the first time in a few hours.
There was nothing more to do here, however, she found herself unable to take the first step that led her out of the hospital. Sara lifted her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, letting a deep sigh pass her lips. She was definitely tired.
Taking one last look, she frowned, when a weird feeling crept into her brain. Sara shrugged, discounting the sensation as fatigue and tension then finally peeled her tired frame away from the wall. A thought struck her and the nagging in the back of her mind intensified. Instinctually, she stopped in mid-stride and looked behind her, but the object of those thoughts had disappeared.
Something doesn't feel right.
oOoOo
He thought his plans had been thwarted by the sudden appearance of whom he knew to be Captain Brass' guardian angel. But nothing could've been further from the truth when she had failed to closely look him over. And, even then, he blended in so well here that he couldn't be mistaken for anyone else—other than hospital staff.
It was clean and simple really. He had snuck into Desert Palm Hospital under his own waning energy, and had treated his wounds with the help of a horrified nurse. Another victim; just as well, he couldn't let anyone live who knew that he had suffered a gunshot injury. He was aware that a bulletin for a male suspect suffering this type of wound had been issued; no way in hell would he let them find him now. And, through some painful coaxing of Nurse Sandra, he had found out a crucial piece of information.
Captain Brass was on his way to him, and this time he intended on keeping his agreement by finishing the job.
He put on a friendly smile for the cop standing guard outside his target's room. That was easy as well, his credentials were up to par and nothing would deter him from completing the task. The smile turned into an evil grin once he was permitted into Captain Brass' room. He gave the mop and bucket he was pushing a kick, and they thumped into the nearby wall, splashing water onto the linoleum floor. Standing perfectly still he took in the surroundings then his eyes fell on the detective lying on the bed.
Well, it's time to finish this.
Clenching his hands into fists, he swallowed deeply, and walked over to the mop bucket then dipped his hand into its murky water and retrieved a sealed plastic bag. Contained therein was a single syringe filled with an amber liquid, which he intended on using on the sleeping detective. It would be undetectable, yet very painful.
Stepping over to the sink, he pulled out a pair of latex gloves from a box on the wall. The only sounds were his harsh breathing and that of the detective's then they were drowned out by the smacking of the gloves as he put them on. One last glance at Brass' sleeping form then he bent down and whispered into the man's ear.
"First the heart goes, then the rest."
The needle went into the IV line without any hesitation then he pushed down on the plunger.
"Goodbye, Captain Brass."
Jim's eyelids fluttered open, and he recoiled at the sight of the familiar face within his eye-line. He tried to say something, but a sharp pain traveled up his arm and into his chest causing his jaw to clench shut. Jim fought to stay conscious while around and above him the monitors erupted into an ear shattering frenzy.
The stranger grinned again as he stepped over to the door. Upon opening it, he grabbed the uniformed cop and yelled that the patient was having difficulty breathing. The distraction worked well as the uniformed officer ran past him, pushing him aside to see what was wrong. Jim's attacker steeled himself a glance down the hallway and noticed several doctors and nurses running in his direction, so he decided to make his exit.
Little did he know that further along the corridor Sara Sidle stood transfixed by the commotion, catching sight of the orderly as he ran in the other direction. It had only taken a few seconds and her hunch had been proven correct when the hospital staff disappeared into Jim's room. Her instincts told her to go be by his side, but the staff would have something different to say about that.
She decided to take a risk and go after that mysterious orderly instead.
To be continued…
