Ok, so I am realising how good I am at procrastinating. Whilst the delights of Emmeline Pankhurst and Millicent Fawcett await me in my 'Votes For Women' textbook, somehow I still find myself drawn to the computer to write. Why can't my brain be as focused on history and maths as it is on writing? Anyway, what resulted from my procrastinating this time was this...

Feedback, as always, is extremely welcome, if only to let me know people are reading!

Em xxx

Seventeen year old Carly Zimmerman rummaged through her too-small purse, trying not to place it into one of the dirty puddles on the side of the sinks. The public toilets in the shopping mall were not the most hygienic she had been in and she did not want to get the contents of her purse wet. Eventually she grasped her lip gloss, but as she pulled it out, her keys fell onto the floor. She swore under her breath and bent down to pick them up, aware of the fact that her short skirt was riding up at the back, but not concerned because she was alone. As she was standing up again, however, a middle-aged woman walked in. Her eyes fixed disapprovingly on the back of Carly's skirt. Embarrassed, the teenage girl tugged it until she felt certain it was covering her underwear as the woman disappeared into a cubicle.

After liberally applying her lip gloss Carly squashed it back into her purse and yanked the zip shut. Flicking her hair in the mirror she turned to leave. As she opened the door to go back out into the busy mall, a man pushed past her, making her trip backwards over her own feet. "Hey!" she cried out. "You can't come in here!" She turned to look at him but he had a hood pulled down low so she could not see his face. He turned his head from side to side agitatedly, observing the cubicles and noting there was only one door closed. Then he reached into one of the pockets of his jacket and pulled out a gun.

In an instant Carly had fled the toilets. She was barely out the door when she heard a single gunshot. An oppressive scream filled the air, high-pitched and desperate. By the time Carly had realised the sound was coming from her own mouth, the man had left the toilets and run through the shocked crowds, leaving startled people gawping in his wake.

I.I.I.I.I

Grissom wandered into the room, interrupting Sara and Catherine's discussion over a series of photos lying spread out on the table.

"Any news on our John Doe?" Catherine asked, looking up from the pictures of their unknown victim's mutilated body. It was a relief to be able to stop studying the worst kind of example of man's treatment of others. Sometimes even she was shocked by the things she saw in this job.

Grissom shook his head. "Mr Doe is no longer the top of our priority list."

"Poor guy never really made it to the top in the first place," Sara commented with a grim laugh. "Who's the lucky one this time?"

"That's what I need you to find out for me. Just got a call in – 419 at the Boulevard Shopping Mall."

"Can't someone else take it?" Sara asked, her attention half on the photographs spread out before her, half on Grissom. "We're kind of busy here. Surely this guy, whoever he his, deserves more than a couple of hours of our attention?"

"I'd love that to be the case, Sara, but since he died two others have also met their makers. Greg and Nick took the last one, about half an hour ago. Now it's your turn. It's a busy night." He shrugged helplessly, by means of an apology.

"You manage to make that sound half normal," Catherine smirked. "Like a 'busy night' means lots of phone calls rather than lots of dead people."

"It's an art," Grissom replied. "So, can I leave it in your capable hands?"

Sara sighed and began to collect up the photographs into a neat pile. "Do we have a choice?"

Grissom smiled at her. "I always ask – it makes me sound less domineering."

Sara could not help but smile back.

I.I.I.I.I

"What've we got?" Sara asked a uniformed officer standing guard outside the public toilets, upon arrival at the crime scene. The shopping mall had been closed but a teenage girl with dyed blonde hair was still sitting on a bench a few metres away from the entrance to the toilets. A female police officer was comforting her but it did not appear to be working because the girl was shaking violently, the tears flowing down her cheeks showing no sign of stopping and creating black mascara smudges underneath her eyes.

"Woman, aged between fifty and sixty, shot through the head whilst using the bathroom." The officer described the murder in a monotone voice; he may as well have been describing what he had eaten for dinner last night.

"She was- on the toilet?" Catherine repeated, disbelieving.

"She's still sitting there, pants round her ankles," the officer confirmed. Sara thought she detected a small smile playing on his lips but a sharp disapproving look from Catherine removed any traces of it as quickly as it had appeared. He raised his hands defensively. "No offence meant. Sometimes humour is needed to…you know, lighten the situation. Besides, you're not telling me that a woman shot through the head in a toilet cubicle is a random victim?"

"Are you saying she deserved this?" Catherine asked; her disapproving stare now even harsher.

The officer looked slightly alarmed; his nerves betrayed his youth. Sara thought he looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. "No- I…I didn't mean that," he stuttered, unable to meet Catherine's stern gaze. He seemed to decide the best idea was to move on. "I haven't touched anything. The scene's all yours." He motioned into the public toilets.

Sara found herself inadvertently shivering at the thought of an innocent woman being caught at such a mundane moment; if you were not safe when going to the bathroom, when were you? There was something truly horrific about being murdered in such a way. She turned to look at the young girl and the police officer on the bench. "And that is?"

"Carly Zimmerman, aged seventeen. The perp pushed past her into the bathroom. She saw him draw a gun and ran."

"Sensible girl," Catherine muttered.

"Can she give a description?" Sara asked.

"It didn't sound hopeful." The officer shook his head.

"I'm going to go and have a chat with her," Sara said. "I'll join you in there in a minute," she told Catherine, gesturing into the toilets.

Upon approaching the police officer, Sara noticed that the girl's tears seemed to be drying up. The female officer looked up at Sara, who silently motioned to be left alone with the girl. Withdrawing her arm from the teenager's shoulders, the woman obeyed. Sara took her place on the bench. The girl barely seemed to register her change in companion. The sound of Sara's voice, however, stirred her and she turned to look up.

"Carly, I'm Sara. I know this must be difficult, but we really need to ask you some questions. It's best to do it as soon as possible after…the crime."

The girl nodded weakly. "I doubt I'll be much help."

"Let me be the judge of that," Sara replied, a kindly smile on her face. "So, you were using the bathroom?"

"I was just putting some lip gloss on, you know," Carly replied. "I was meant to be meeting Kevin at 8 – he's my boyfriend." Fresh tears began to flow down her cheeks as though the memory of the evening she had been forced to give up caused even further trauma.

Sara smiled. She had never been the kind of girl who had applied lip gloss for her boyfriend in the shopping mall toilets, but now was not the time to tell Carly this. "And a man came in?" she prompted.

"As I went to leave, he pushed past me. I nearly fell over. I shouted at him; told him he wasn't allowed in the women's bathroom," she explained. "Then I turned to look at him. He looked nervous. Then he pulled out a gun. I just…ran-" she stuttered.

Sara placed a hand supportively on the girl's arm. "You're doing really well, Carly," she murmured soothingly. "Did you see the man's face?"

"He had a hood pulled down. I couldn't see anything. But he was wearing grey pants and a hooded brown top."

"Are you certain you didn't see anything? His eyes? Maybe hair?"

"No, I- he- the hood was totally pulled down over his face. And I didn't hang around."

Sara thanked Carly and called the police officer over to take her details, but as she stood she sighed inaudibly. Not the best start.

She made her way into the bathroom. Catherine looked up upon her entry. She had a sad, almost apologetic look in her eyes. "He shot her straight through the door."

Sara shook her head sadly and moved over to the cubicle. She looked down at the woman's feet, wearing comfortable flat shoes. Her blue pants were pulled down and her panties were just above them. Sara felt distinctly uncomfortable and voyeuristic; no woman deserved to be seen like this. She was so vulnerable. Catherine moved aside and Sara had a clear view of the woman for the first time. The moment she set eyes on her face, Sara felt like she had been slapped; flashes of light went off in her head. For a moment she was glued to the spot, but then she stumbled backwards, tripping over a case of crime scene equipment.

"Sara?" Catherine enquired concernedly, taking hold of her colleague's arm quickly to stop her falling. Her face had drained of all colour and she looked as though she was struggling to catch her breath. "What is it?"

"It can't be," Sara murmured, regaining her balance but not the colour in her cheeks. "No- I- It can't be."

"Sara, what is it?" Catherine asked urgently. "Do you know her?"

"I think so."

"You think so? Who?"

"She's my mother."