Thanks for the reviews. And in answer to MC New York's question, a friend did once say she had read somewhere that that actually was a hangover cure. But no one I know has ever dared to try it, and I most certainly do not recommend it!

Em x

"Her son?"

"That's what he said."

"How old was he?"

"I don't know, Gil. I told him he should come in to speak to us."

"You haven't told him she's dead?"

"I didn't fancy telling the poor guy his Mum was dead over the phone," Catherine replied. "Besides, we're going to have a few questions for him."

"More than a few."

"Exactly. Anyway, he sensed something was up. He said he could be here in around an hour."

"He's local then?"

"Well, he must be in the area."

"Looks like we just found ourselves a suspect."

I.I.I.I.I

Sara had decided not to take Grissom's advice. Even had she had had an egg in the house, the thought of subjecting her queasy stomach to a concoction of orange, salt and raw egg made her feel decidedly more ill. Instead she had gone for the more traditional method of a shower and two extra strong aspirin. Now she was feeling a lot better, if not quite up to her usual standards.

Making her way into the living room, she spotted her mother's photograph sitting on the table next to the empty bottle. She picked it up and headed back into her bedroom, where the wooden box was still sitting open on her bed. She sat down next to it and pulled out the letter on top. It was dated the 15th September 1989. Sara had received it on her 18th birthday. She pulled it carefully out of the envelope and began to read.

My darling Sara,

Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I hope this letter finds you in good health on the day you are going to officially become a woman. No longer my little girl Sara, but an independent, mature, beautiful woman. In my head you are still the fourteen year old girl you were the last time I saw you, but I know much must have changed since then.

Everything is the same as ever with me. But I have made a decision. If you do not reply to this letter, I will not write again. It has been four years of one sided conversation and neither of us needs it to continue if you do not want to contact me. Do not think I am doing this because I do not love you. Nothing could be further from the truth. I love you so much that I cannot express my love in words. But I do not want to cause you pain. You are an adult now, with your own life. If you no longer wish to affiliate yourself with me then I understand that; I will not force you to do so. But if you decide you would like to see me, or simply write to me, I will always be here – you know my address. I hope you understand that. I will never give up hope of hearing from you.

With all my love, forever, always,
Mum

Sara folded the letter carefully and replaced it inside the envelope carefully. Then she placed it back into the box, with the faded photograph on top. Finally, she closed the box and once more hid it underneath her bed. It was out of sight again. She only wished she could hide away her feelings as easily.

"I'm sorry, Mum," she murmured. "I'm so, so sorry."

I.I.I.I.I

Adam Sidle slowly sat down. "Dead?" he murmured.

Catherine sat down beside him. "I know this must be difficult, Adam."

"She can't be. I only spoke to her on Wednesday."

"Wednesday?" Catherine could not help but query.

Adam turned to look at her. "Is that meant to mean something?" The look in his eyes dared her to question him. There was no grief in his face, Catherine thought; there was purely confrontation.

"Do you know how we got in contact with you, Adam?"

"I'd rather you called me Mr Sidle. I'm 19 years old. I'm not a boy. And in answer to your question, I presumed I was next of kin."

"You may well be," Catherine replied, no longer trying to be friendly to this man who evidently had no intention of returning the sentiment. "But actually we got your number from your mother's cell phone. The last call she received was from you. And it was not Wednesday, it was 10 minutes before she died."

Adam looked alarmed for a moment, before he composed himself. "Oh, yes, I remember. I called her to check what time I was coming round for dinner tonight."

"Dinner?"

"Yes. Nothing important."

Catherine marvelled at the fact he could recall their meal arrangements seemingly without a twinge of sadness. "I see," she began. "And did your mother call you twenty times in the hour before that call to finalise dinner arrangements also?"

This time if Adam was alarmed he did not reveal his feelings in his face. "Do I need a lawyer, Miss Willows?" he asked.

"That depends whether or not you're hiding anything from us."

"You seem to think I am."

"Why don't you prove me wrong?"

"Are you going to arrest me, Miss Willows?"

Catherine stared at this man, apparently devoid of emotion despite the fact he had just found out his mother had been murdered. There was something not right. She shook her head. "I believe you're well aware that I cannot arrest you, Mr Sidle."

"Then I think I'll leave."

"We have more questions for you."

"Then I'll come back. But for now I need some time alone. After all, my mother has just died."

As he stood up and left the room, Catherine could have sworn she could see a smirk on his face.

I.I.I.I.I

Grissom and Nick were talking about John Doe number 3 when they spotted Sara coming around the corner. Upon setting eyes upon them she immediately turned in the other direction, but Grissom called out to her. "Don't you go anywhere."

She turned back to face him. "Remember what I said before, Grissom. No lectures."

"That's alright because I only have two simple words for you. Go home."

"What good can I do at home?"

"You know you can't work on the case of your own mother, Sara."

"Then I'll work on another one. We've got enough John Does to fill a bus."

Grissom shook his head, exasperated but with a smile on his face. "Stubborn."

Sara smiled slightly in return. Nick shifted from one foot to the other, feeling slightly like a spare wheel in this strangely intimate conversation. "How are you, Sara?" he asked. It was a pathetic question, he knew, but he had nothing better to offer.

She smiled at him but he could see sadness in her eyes. "I'm fine, thanks."

"You can help me on John Doe number 1, if you like," he suggested. "I have a possible ID."

Sara turned to Grissom. "I'll work with Nick. No straying, I promise." She proffered her hand. "Deal?"

Grissom smiled, took her hand, his grip tight, and shook it firmly. "Deal."

I.I.I.I.I

Sara was on the way to the lab to offer Greg some evidence, when she stumbled upon the young man on his cell phone. She guessed him to be in his late teens and he looked extremely aggravated. He was pacing up and down the corridor, the hand that was not holding the phone moving restlessly in and out of his pocket. His face was drawn and he had dark, bloodshot eyes. Drug use, Sara supposed. "You know I can't get it that quickly," he was muttering into the phone. A moment of silence, then, "I'm doing my best." Sara stood still for a moment watching him before he became aware of her presence. "I have to hang up now," he spat down the phone before doing just that and putting the phone in his pocket. "Can I help you?" he asked Sara brusquely.

"Are you alright, sir?" Sara questioned. She was used to finding unsettled people around here. They had often been forced to confront situations that were alien to them. People reacted in strange ways to death.

"I'm fine, thank you," he replied, still curt but apparently calming slightly.

"Were you looking for someone?"

"Actually I was just leaving." Sara noticed him scan her body up and down. By the look of the smile on his face when he met her eye once again, he liked what he saw. "But thank you for your concern."

Player, Sara thought, thinks he's so suave. "Well, maybe I can show you the exit, Mr-?" she began, trying to remain polite and distant from this boy who evidently thought he was in with a chance, despite the fact he must have been half her age.

"Sidle. Adam Sidle."

Sara's blood chilled. It had to be a coincidence – but Sidle was not so common a name. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. At last she managed to stutter, "S-Sidle?"

Adam looked confused. "Yes. Why?"

"May I ask why you're here, Adam?" Sara questioned, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"My Mum has been murdered," he replied with a chilling lack of emotion. Sara drew her breath sharply.

"Mum-" she began.

"Excuse me?" Adam queried.

"Laura Sidle?" Sara murmured.

"Yes, that was her name. What's the problem?"

I have a brother, Sara thought. Thanks for telling me, Mum. Just when I was starting to forgive you.

Sara looked the boy in the eyes, all of a sudden the family resemblance strikingly obvious. "My name's Sara Sidle," she announced matter-of-factly. "And I think I'm your sister."