"True peace is not merely the absence of tension: it is the presence of justice."
Martin Luther King, Jr.
... ……
Sara paced back and forth in the observation room, staring intently at the scruffy, unshaven man seated across the table from Brass. Her curls flew wildly in every direction, and Greg frowned, seated on the back counter, getting a glimpse of the disheartened expression across her features. Neither of them had slept, really, between bringing the baby home and finally getting a break through in Nick's case. Warrick didn't look any better, shrugging off Catherine's gentle touch to seethe at the glass. Greg was suddenly glad Mike Akers was the uniform lingering by the door. Akers was a pretty strong guy; between him and Greg, they might have a chance at keeping Warrick out of the interrogation room, should the need arise. Hopefully it wouldn't, he liked his limbs attached.
"Look, I told you, I meant to shoot my wife." Greg listened to Russ Hurley's voice turn sourly metallic through the microphone. "She was sackin' it with somebody, so I followed her few months back. I figured, the guy she was talkin' to was good-lookin,' obviously she's got good taste." Sara ran a frustrated hand through her hair, irate as the suspect cocked an eyebrow, and gestured to himself, insinuating what a good catch he was. "I figured they were meeting for a little lover's rendezvous. So I fired. That guy just got in the way."
"'That guy' was a Las Vegas Criminalist. Father of two. And he was killed." Brass's voice was unwavering, quiet, and Greg shuddered, shaking off the feeling of reality.
"He was picking up his daughter from ballet class." Grissom's soft tenor had turned hard, but he remained leaning against the far wall, beside the glass. Greg wondered if it was for Grissom's sake, or the suspect's. "Your wife told us she dropped her keys. My criminalist picked them up, and handed them back." Grissom's tone was even as Brass slid a pad of paper and a pen across the table, fixing Mr. Hurley with a hard stare.
"I'll be needing your confession, followed by your John Hancock." At Hurley's blank expression, Brass slammed his fist onto the table, leaning over, a glint of fire in the whites of his eyes. "Write."
Greg shifted his gaze from the scene in the interrogation room to the woman before him, his heart breaking as she turned, and reached for him. He pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as hers wound snugly around his waist, her slimming hips resting comfortably against the insides of his thighs. He recognized her need for contact, and smiled faintly as she relaxed a bit into him, taking the comfort he offered, running his fingers along her shoulders and down her back. He rested his head on her mass of wavy curls, watching intently as the suspect in Nick's case became the conviction. After a few moments, Sara pulled back, offering him a smile in place of a thank you. He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers, reassuring her that his comfort was a constant, even if her world was changing. This arrest, this trial, this conviction, would bring closure. Hopefully. They would be able to move on with their life. Sara pulled away completely, offering him a teary smile. This was almost the end.
…
Six days later, the DA finally took Nick's case to court. Assistant District Attorney Jeffery Sinclair had prepared Lauren to take the stand in the event that her account of what happened the day Nick was shot would help elongate the conviction. In the end, they decided to go with Sara. Two weeks after her sixth birthday, Lauren Stokes sat on the worn pew of a pristine courtroom in the Las Vegas Courthouse, swinging her feet briskly, back and forth, in a rhythmic manner. Her dress was pretty, her favorite, pale yellow, the hem coming just to her shins. She shivered; the courtroom felt about as cold as it looked, and she could hear the air conditioning rattling softly on what was probably the highest setting. She mother was very smart, Lauren was thankful she had told her to wear her pink sweater.
She leaned companionably against her uncle beside her, rubbing her nose on the soft, fuzzy warm of the grown up sweater he was wearing. He worried her when he wore grown up clothes, dark and plain. Uncle Greg wasn't a dark and plain guy. She leaned up, glancing at him, confused at the cheerless expression on his face. It scared her. She expected her mother to be sad, but Uncle Greg, Uncle Greg being sad startled her. She was nervous. She pushed stray locks of espresso brown hair out of her eyes, and turned back to her uncle. His jaw was hard, and so was his arm against her cheek.
"Uncle Greg?"
"Everything's going to be fine, baby." She frowned. Even his voice sounded hard. She sighed, twisting around in the bench as a woman and a man entered the courtroom, briskly taking seats across the aisle from her family and all her Dad's friends that had assembled around them.
"Is that the bad man's family?" Finally she felt his arm go soft, and she wrapped her fingers around his elbow tightly. When he answered her, his voice wasn't so hard anymore.
"Everybody's got family, baby. Even the bad guys." Greg slipped his arm out from her grasp, and pulled her closer, inhaling deeply, and wrapping his arm around her tightly. They sat in silence for several minutes, and Lauren turned away from him, leaning back against him, and focused her attention on the number of uniformed police officers standing stiffly along the walls of the courtroom.
"Uncle Greg, look at the wallpaper of policemen." Greg glanced at the two or so dozen uniforms lined up pristinely, standing against the back of the room, before leaning over and pressing a kiss to her Nick Stokes hair.
"Your dad used to be a policeman, before he came to Vegas to be a criminalist. Some of those police officers used to work with him in Dallas. They came with Grampsy. Some of them are from our police station." He had seen a turn out of support in varying degrees in hearings where convictions were made in the cases where cops were gunned down. This was customarily a southern practice, and as Greg scanned the diversity in the uniforms of the officers who were not from LVPD, he was thankful that Nick's southern charm extended post mortem; it was going to help put Sara to ease.
He heard the door of the courtroom open and shut quietly, and the soft click of Sara's heels on the floor as she neared where he and Lauren were seated. He gave her a smile as her fingers grazed his shoulder, his hand out to steady her as she stepped around him and Lauren to take her seat on Lauren's far side, clutching a sleeping Andy to her chest. Greg watched as the fabric of her skirt swayed gently along with her hips, draping over her knee sophisticatedly as she sat down beside her daughter. She caught his eye over Lauren's head, and nodded toward the officers lining the walls, standing at attention.
"Dallas PD?" Her eyes had begun to shine with brimming tears, and he shifted, running a hand through Lauren's hair.
"Most of them." She nodded, turning her attention to the baby in her arms, cradling Andy carefully, and brushing his mop of curly brown hair off of his face.
An hour into the proceedings, it was the persecution's turn to call a witness. Jeff Sinclair stood, nodding politely at the judge, the honorable Peter Croft.
"Mr. Sinclair?"
"The persecution calls Sara Sidle to the stand, Your Honor." Lauren glanced up as Sara stood, handing a sleeping Andy to Nick's sister Charlotte behind them, and steeling her features before briskly making her way to the bench. Jeff had warned Sara to prepare, that he might have to call her to testify. She sat down on the stand, and pursed her lips expectantly. She glanced at the wall lined with pristinely uniformed officers and tried to relax.
"State your name, please, for the court."
"Sara Jane Sidle. S-I-D-L-E."
"What was the nature of your relationship with the decedent, Nicholas Stokes?"
"We were committed to each other."
"You have a child together, right?"
"Yes. Two, actually. Lauren, who just turned six, and Andy, who's two months old."
"What kind of father was Nick?" Jeff shoved his hands in his pockets casually, urging Sara to relax.
"Perfect. Kind, loving, attentive. He loved our daughter Lauren more than anything. Had he known about Andy, he would have loved him just as much."
"Nick didn't get to meet Andy, correct?"
"Yeah." Sara fell silent a moment, scanning quickly beyond Jeff and catching Greg's steady gaze. "Andy was conceived only a few weeks before Nick was shot."
"Did you argue?"
"No more than any other couple, I suppose."
"Work well together?"
"We had a competitively high solve rate on shift, yeah."
"Professionally, how did he contribute to the Las Vegas Crime Lab?"
"His expertise was in hair and fiber analysis, but his general empathy for victims and their families put the team in balance. There's something trusting about a thick Texas accent and a kind smile." Sara's voice wavered, and she took a deep breath before hardening to professionalism again. "The rest of us are less focused on the humanistic aspects of the job. He was an invaluable resource, and the department is hurting, both personally and professionally, without him."
"The last time you spoke to Nick, Sara, what did you say to him?" Jeff Sinclair's question was gentle, but Greg's heart broke as he watched Sara's eyes water instantly.
"I told him to get out of the lab so I could get some work done on a case."
"Did you love him?"
"Very much."
"No further questions, Your Honor." Jeff had wanted to display Nick's personality for the jury, and he took his seat, pleased with the straightforward answers Sara had provided.
"Cross?" The judge nodded to Adam Matthews, who stood up slowly, rebuttoning his suit coat primly, approaching the stand. Sara sat back, crossing one knee over the other, and running a hand through her hair, inadvertently readjusting her curls.
"Define, please, Ms. Sidle, for the court, what exactly you meant by 'committed relationship.'"
"Had a daughter together. And a son. Depended on each other. Loved each other. Lived together. Slept together. Worked together-"
"Do you always look for romantic companionship in the workplace, Ms. Sidle?"
"Objection."
"Denied."
"Answer the question, Ms. Sidle."
"No, I-"
"Let it be known to the court that Ms. Sidle made several advances towards her supervisor, Dr. Gil Grissom-"
"That was years ago-"
"How about your relationship with Gregory Sanders, also a criminalist with the Las Vegas Crime Lab?"
"Objection."
"Sustained." Adam Matthews looked for a moment like he'd lost his rhythm, and Sara said a quiet prayer of thanks that Judge Croft had stopped the train wreck madness that was this cross examination, at least for a moment. She hadn't really come to terms with their relationship yet herself, never mind report under oath a definition of their Thing. But just as soon as he stopped, he picked up again.
"What exactly were the circumstances surrounding your commitment to the decedent?"
"Adam-" Sara shot Adam Matthews a glare, an inquiry as to why this was pertinent to the trial about to fall off her lips.
"Sara."
"I became pregnant." At his raised eyebrow, she wiped her tears from her eyes, clearing her vision. "Unintentionally."
"Objection."
"Denied."
"Were you married to Mr. Stokes, Ms. Sidle?"
"No."
"Had you discussed marriage?"
"No."
"In the months before his death, did Mr. Stokes seem stressed to you? Distant?"
"We were working a tough case. A series of tough cases. It was enough to stress out any criminalist. We'd been pulling a steady diet of doubles. He was really focused on the cases."
"Did he spend an excessive amount of time in the lab?"
"He wanted to be thorough. He was working six or seven hot cases. I closed them myself."
"He wasn't at home as much as he had been?"
"I guess not, no." Her tone had turned sour, and Greg fidgeted in his seat, running a hand through Lauren's hair as she leaned against him. He knew Adam Matthews fairly well in a professional manner, and he recognized the other man's predatory timbre. Oh God.
"Could it be a possibility that Mr. Stokes was beginning to be 'committed' to Mrs. Hurley?"
"Objection."
"Denied."
"I'm not even dignifying that with an answer."
"Answer the question, Ms. Sidle." Judge Croft arched a tired eyebrow at her, daring her to act otherwise.
"I don't believe so, no."
"But you will agree that he had acted increasingly distant, and consistently remained at the lab while you returned home after shift." After a moment, Sara sighed. Cornered, she answered in the affirmative.
"No further questions, Your Honor."
The rest of the trial went fairly smoothly, Judge Croft taking Mr. Matthews' antics with a grain of salt, knowing his acidic temperament. In the end, Hurley was given life without parole, his lawyer's smooth and borderline immorality buying him a seat off the mile.
At the end of the day he had caused Nick's death. Nick had been a highly trained forensics specialist, a former policeman, the youngest son of State Supreme Court Judge Bill Stokes, and a father of very young children. The last time Lauren Stokes ever say Russ Hurley, he was being led out of the court room and into lock up, awaiting transportation to Southern Desert Correctional.
She didn't feel bad for the woman sobbing loudly across the aisle. She could go and visit the man any time she wanted, and talk to him. Lauren couldn't talk to her Dad anymore. She grabbed a hold of Greg's hand, following him out of the courtroom. She heard him say something about dinner with Grampsy and Grandma. All she wanted to do was go home.
…
A/N: one more chapter. Thanks to Robyn for telling me it wasn't cheesy.