A/N: Thanks again for the reviews and for reading.
Ch. 7: Lamb in the Lions Den
March 20, 2011
Las Vegas
6:30 AM
~"All day walking
I ain't had nothing
But a concrete hot head—"~
"What? When?" Langston asked as he shut his locker door and slung his work bag over his shoulder.
Night shift was coming to an end, and he'd taken a long hot shower, removing all the sand and dirt from the case he'd worked away before changing back into his suit and tie. It was the little things. Putting on a suit and tie, tie clip, and slipping into his comfortable leather tanned colored oxfords brought a much-needed change; that was why he always wore a suit and tie into work despite changing out of it once he got there.
The clothes he'd worn during the night, the ones that were covered with the sand, dirt, sweat, and blood or saliva or whatever else from the crime scene had been transferred to it, were put in the bag and dropped off at the cleaners on the way home.
"It was last minute," his mother-in-law told him. "She said that the performer that had been scheduled got sick, so they asked her. She left last night."
He couldn't believe this. Gloria was gone. Had left Baltimore for Los Angeles to perform at some fundraiser for domestic violence victims. Letting out a sigh, he rubbed his head as he heard someone else walk in; looking over his shoulder, he spotted Nick who smiled at him as he opened his locker.
There was no way to stop his wife from living her life, and he would never ask her to, but now wasn't the time. "I hope they're paying well."
"Ten thousand."
His eyes shot up at that price and whistled. "No wonder she dropped everything. I'll try calling her again. She was probably on the plane when I first tried. Thank you."
Before she could say something else, which would have been some condescending retort about him not being a good husband, he ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket.
"Got plans after work, Chief?" Nick asked.
"Cleaners, breakfast, and then bed. In that order."
Nick removed his gun as he gave a nod as he asked, "Wanna go Dutch? Breakfast's been on my mind all night."
"The usual?" When Nick nodded, he told him, "I'll drop this off at the cleaners and meet you there. The more the merrier. If you Greg or Cath on the way out—"
"Greg's long gone. He had a date or something. I'll let Cath know."
He left the locker room and headed out to his car. Grimacing at the bright light of the sun, he slipped his sunglasses over his eyes before digging out his car keys
~"Get a hot head
I get the words wrong—"~
Parking in front of the diner that they all frequented, he pulled the laptop out of his bag and turned it on. As it booted up, he saw through the window of the diner Nick and Cath sitting at the counter. They were talking and laughing about something as they drank their first cups of coffee.
Before going in he wanted to check the recording from the surveillance cameras and microphones he'd put in Heather Kessler's house. There wasn't much activity. Both women worked during the day and Sally was mostly gone. Just Heather and Edmond. There was a recording of a phone call around eleven o'clock at night. Moving the video in the sitting room to that time code, he pressed play as he listened to the one-sided conversation.
"Hello?" he heard Heather's voice and then silence as she sat down in the chair by the fireplace. "Why are you calling—" she asked in surprise.
He waited as he eyed her and tried to notice everything he could. She was surprised. The call had been unexpected. Edmond walked over to her and sat down; she petted him as she asked into the phone, "How do you know that?"
Her eyes started darting around the room; she was looking for something then stopped and looked back down at the dog. "Grissom, why don't you come here."
At the name, he sat up in anticipation as he listened more intently, his gut tensing in anticipation.
"We can talk—...Where are you?" she asked.
Heather had asked Grissom where he was and his only hope was that she said it out loud, if not, he wouldn't know—
"California?" She asked in surprise. "Why—"
California. Grissom was in California. He thought about that as he listened to the rest of the conversation, but the rest didn't matter. What was in California for him? Why was he there and not here? He'd been right; Grissom wasn't coming for Sara. He was protecting her, that was his job.
Thinking back to what he knew about Grissom, he realized that he was from California. It'd been his home once upon a time; where he'd been born and raised. He'd gone back home, but why?
He then heard Heather say, "I can't talk to you any longer. I'm supposed to meet Sally in the morning for breakfast at the hotel and it's getting late."
What time was the meeting? Looking at the clock, he saw it was seven-thirty. It might have been too early for breakfast, or they were meeting right now at the hotel while he was there in a diner parking lot with Nick and Catherine waiting on him.
"Grissom." Heather's voice cut through his thoughts as she said, "take care of yourself. You sound…different."
He watched as she hung up the phone and then left the room. What had she meant by that? Grissom sounded different. Different how? He wished he knew; it might have given him so much insight into Grissom's frame of mind. Had he been drinking? Did he sound sad, depressed? Stoic, indifferent?
Letting out a breath, he shut the laptop and debated on whether to go into the diner to join the CSI team or head to the hotel where the FBI was keeping Sara and see if he could find Heather and Sally.
It was an easy choice to make, grabbing his cell phone as he shifted his car into reverse, he called Nick and apologized. Something came up and he wouldn't be able to meet for breakfast.
"That's alright. Cath's here and we'll go ahead and order. See ya later, Chief."
Smiling into the phone at that nickname that Nick had given him, he said, "Enjoy breakfast." Then he ended the call as he neared the Las Vegas strip.
~"Get the meaning right
With a left hook—"~
Los Angeles
7:30 AM
~"Bunny in the foxhole—"~
The bright red lights of the Penwick Hotel were illuminated as the taxi dropped her off on the corner. Looking up at the tall hotel, she hesitated as the taxi sped away. On the sidewalk at her side was a suitcase and her cello case. She'd been told that part of the hotel was under renovation, but the rest had been restored and that the hotel would be used to house victims of domestic violence. A benefit would be held that evening and they wanted her to perform.
In her bank account ten thousand dollars had been deposited. Picking up her suitcase and the handle to the cello case, she walked inside.
~"Rabbit in the headlight—"~
Walking inside she spotted no one in the lobby but there was a sign pointing down the hallway indicating the way to the banquet hall. Following the signs, she felt an uneasy feeling grip her as she peered into the hotel rooms that hadn't looked restored and walked down the halls with peeling wallpaper and chipped paint. Some of the lightbulbs were burnt out and the carpet was dirty and torn.
Entering the giant banquet hall, she felt her stomach clench as her hand gripped the suitcase and cello case tighter. It was in shambles: overturned chairs, tables covered in dust covered sheets, broken mirrors over the bar. Backing down out of the room, she turned and nearly screamed as she dropped the suitcase.
A woman was standing behind her; a big bright smile plastered on her face as she said, "You must be Gloria. I'm Vivian. Welcome to the Penwick Hotel."
~"Lamb in the lion's den—"~
Las Vegas
8:10 AM
~"I don't know why I'm angry
I don't know why they hate me
I don't know why, who why where when—"~
He'd parked in the garage and quickly headed into the hotel restaurant and searched around. Across the restaurant by the windows that looked out over the garden below, he spotted them. Heather, Sally, and Edmond.
As he took a step, a hand hit his chest as he looked at the security guard and standing right next to him was an FBI Agent. "Sir, are you a guest at the hotel?"
"No," he said as he glared at both men as he removed his ID wallet and showed them his credentials. "I'm CSI Ray Langston. I—"
"I'm sorry, sir," the FBI Agent said without even looking at his ID. "But unless you're a guest, I can't allow you access."
He felt his jaw clench along with his fist before he shoved the hand away and said, "Then, I guess I'll check-in—"
"No, sir, you won't." The FBI Agent smirked slightly before telling him, "No new guests are allowed to check-in, only those who had a reservation before—"
"Before you choose this hotel to stash Sara Sidle in. You do know that I was there for her interview with Agent Moore and Reynolds. Dr. Philip Kern and I."
"We're aware, but since we no longer need your assistance, and haven't asked for it, you don't have clearance to be here."
They stared at one another until he finally realized that he wouldn't get anywhere. And if he threw the punch he wanted to throw into that man's cocky face, he'd be arrested.
Glancing over their shoulders, he spotted Heather and Sally walking through the restaurant toward the lobby. Heather's eyes looked around and she spotted him.
Recognition filled her eyes before she smiled slightly. It was a knowing smile, like she knew he'd show up. Then she handed the dog off to Sally, kissed her bye, and started toward the doors
Toward him.
~"Just that I have nothing
To believe in—"~
Getting to him, she said, "Dr. Langston. What a pleasant surprise. Agent Patterson, it's okay. I invited him for breakfast. He's here for me, not Sara."
Agent Patterson worked his jaw but moved aside to allow him through.
Without looking at Heather, he said, "You knew?"
"About the surveillance you illegally set up in my house, of course."
"Is he really in California?" he asked her as they headed toward the hotel restaurant's bar.
"Yes," she told him as they sat down at the counter and not at a table. This was going to be a very short meeting.
~"Nothing to be dreaming
Nothing to decide on—"~
He ordered a coffee to go as Heather only sipped on the water that was placed down in front of her. "Why?"
She shrugged, saying, "I don't know why he's in California—"
"No. Why let me know where he is?" he asked as he thought about it. "Unless…he wants us to know. But, why give up his location?"
"He hardly gave up his location. California's a big state."
It was, but Grissom was from California. He was certain he wasn't anywhere else but in Santa Monica or Los Angeles. Looking at her, he said, "You know who else is from Los Angeles? Nate Haskell."
~"Only that I have nothing
To imagine
Nothing to put time in
Nothing there to choose from—"~
He didn't want to call Grissom. He didn't want to ask for his help. And he certainly didn't want to keep all this from the FBI or the LVPD, but…Grissom had told him when Haskell first escaped that he had information. That he wanted to help.
The to-go cup of coffee was placed in front of him, as he grabbed it he told Heather, "You know, I thought I would get ahead of Grissom by putting those cameras in your house…He's always five steps ahead. All I did was play right into his hands, didn't I? He wanted to feed me information and I gave him a way to do it."
"Dr. Langston," Heather said as she placed her water down. "Let me tell you something about Grissom. He doesn't think like you. He doesn't think like me. He doesn't think like any normal human being. Because he isn't one. He has spent his entire life studying people in order to understand human nature because he's not like us. He can't be. He may act like it sometimes, but that's the mask he wears. He has learned how to act normal. He came to me to learn how to feel; how to be intimate because he didn't know how. You know this. We've both met the real Grissom. The killer he is underneath all the masks he wears. And I ask you, do you honestly think you'll ever be able to get ahead of that man? Don't you understand that he's always in control."
"I thought Sara was in control. She's his submissive."
"Only because he allows her to be," she told him. "Don't get it wrong, Dr. Langston, Sara is what she is to him because that is what he wants her to be. If he didn't want her in control as his submissive, she wouldn't be. And she's not in control of anything he doesn't want her to be in control of. He controls everything and everyone in his life."
"Even you?" he asked her. "You said he was the only true friend you ever had. But, he used you, didn't he?" He saw it in her eyes, how they shifted away when he asked that question. She wasn't hurt by it, having expected it from Grissom, but she was conflicted. Bitter. "He put you right in the middle; compromised you. You'll be fine. I'm the one who's going to have to answer for the illegal wiretap. But now you're wondering if Grissom knows how to even be a true friend. You're wondering if "the friend" is just another mask."
She took a sip of the water before telling him, "All he does is ask himself questions and then figures out the answers by using people. He solves problems and how to win at the games he plays." She looked at him and said, "I've known that for years but never told him that I knew that. He never asked and…I understood and respected his need for me not to tell him what he truly desired. And it isn't what he says it is."
"And what does he say?"
She took another sip of the water and he realized it was a nervous habit. He'd never seen her so nervous. Whatever Grissom told her, whatever she realized about him, it unnerved her. "He'll tell you that he desires only two things in life: anonymity and autonomy."
"To be a ghost and to have his freedom. Sounds about right."
"Only it's not what he truly desires," she told him. "I read him the moment I met him. How he was with everyone. How he kept everything to himself and only dished something out when it benefitted him and his needs. How he manipulated and controlled me–Manipulated you. It's what he does."
"Is that what he desires?"
"No. I'm just letting you know what he is. He's a natural dominant in everything he does, just as he's a manipulator of the world around him and the people in his life. It's all so he can do the one thing he wants to do: kill. And to kill is his desire."
He thought about that as he told her, "Dr. Phillip Kern, the LVPD psychologist, doesn't believe that. He said Grissom desires the choice. That he has to face down that choice and choose his path, but since he's already chosen it, it all leads to the same place."
"He's wrong—"
"Dr. Kessler—"
"Dr. Langston," she said, cutting him off. Glaring right at him, she told him, "Dr. Kern, just like you, was used by Grissom. Didn't Grissom even tell you that he told Dr. Kern exactly what he wanted him to hear? He manipulated him into thinking exactly what he wanted him to think. Just as he used you. He knew you would put surveillance cameras and microphones in my house because he fooled you once. It's your pride, he said."
Langston shook his head as he swirled the coffee around in the cup. "You are bitter. You just learned that he used you to get what he wanted. What was it? How'd he get to you?"
She sighed as she took another drink of the water. "He knows how to do it without lying and his manipulations are hard to detect. He does it with the best intentions for you in mind. Or, at least, that's the way he makes you feel about it, at first. Until the veil is lifted and you're able to see that you were playing right into his hands. For him...he does what's in his best interest but says he's doing it for yours. What I haven't been able to determine is if Sara is aware of this or not. Because right now, he has her exactly where he wants her: in his complete control."
He remembered what he told FBI Agent Moore in the observation room. That this was Grissom's game and that he was just a pawn. They were all his pawn's. They were all moving around the chess board without even realizing they weren't even in control of their actions. Were they also expendable?
Would Grissom allow a sacrifice in order to beat Nate Haskell? If Sara was his Queen…
"Something's bothering you," she said.
Shaking his head, he told her, "I was just wondering if Grissom would allow someone to die in order to beat Haskell. Are we expendable to him? Is she? If she's his Queen…In some traps in chess, the Queen is sacrificed. The one I can think of off the top of my head, is the Légal Trap. It's a chess opening trap, characterized by a Queen sacrifice followed by a checkmate with minor pieces if Black accepts the sacrifice. Would he do that to her? Is she bait for Haskell?"
She was quiet for a moment as she used the straw to stir around the ice cubes in the water. For once, she seemed at a loss for words. She didn't have an answer for him. "He believes that masks exist to hide monsters. That's because he believes himself to be one. And without his masks, he's exposed…which gives him the freedom to be what he believes himself to be. What he desires to be—"
"A killer, and a monster," he said, finishing her thought.
Leveling him with a steely look, she told him, "And in my experience, Dr. Langston, monsters can't be trusted, especially those that kill. Is he willing to sacrifice her to get Haskell? He is."
Taking in a deep breath, he grabbed his cup and stood. "I don't like being yanked around—"
"You think I do?" she asked.
"No. That's why I think you can help me with the whole illegal tap thing." He looked down at her and she smiled a little.
"I can say I did it myself in the hopes of gathering evidence against Grissom since I knew it was likely that he'd call me. Then, I contacted you to listen to the conversation once he called."
He gave a nod as he glanced around the hotel restaurant. "He would still consider you a friend, you know."
"I know," she said with a sense of resignation about the whole thing. "That's why I'm so bitter. He doesn't think he's doing anything wrong."
Leaving her at the bar, he left the hotel and headed home. He needed some sleep.
~"Just that I have nothing—"~
11:45 AM
~"No one come tuck me in at night
Say, "I love you son
Dearest to my heart, my darling one."—"~
He was told to create a diversion and send panic through the LVPD and Ray Langston. Haskell wanted blood. Blood in the streets to show the LVPD and Dr. Raymond Langston just who they were dealing with. He wanted blood too.
Gerald Tolliver was a loose end and he'd recently been caught speaking to the cops. So, he gave the police something to investigate. After strangling Gerald, he left behind a Star of David necklace and some planted hairs.
It would all lead back to the "Dick and Jane" killer: Nate Haskell.
Tom Donover left the house and pulled out his cell phone to call it in as an anonymous tip before calling Curtis. It was time to get another couple and this time he wouldn't allow Curtis to botch the copycat killings. He would take control.
He had already selected his next victims. The Master's: Maureen and Jeffrey.
1:23 PM
~"I'm a stray dog walking with his ribcage showing
And tongue hanging out
Foamin' at the mouth—"~
Detective Moreno let the CSI's handle the processing of the dead body of Gerald Tolliver as he snapped on a pair of gloves as he helped to search the rooms of the house.
"Found some hairs," he heard a CSI call out to him as he dug around the couch cushions.
When all he came up with was loose change, food crumbles, and beer bottle caps he sighed heavily and then headed over to the entertainment center. He thumbed over the DVD's and the VHS tapes. The VCR was empty. Going into the kitchen, he went through the cabinets, refrigerator, and all the containers, dumping them all out and even searching through the coffee grounds and flour and bag of sugar.
"Are you planning on baking a cake," asked the police officer who was at the door.
Pulling out a stash of money from the bag of sugar, he smirked as he held up the money and told the officer, "People stash things in the most unusual places at times, Officer Deckard."
After he was done in the kitchen, he made his way down the hallway with a CSI in tow who took photos of everything. They searched the bathroom, linen closets, and then ended up in the bedroom. As the CSI searched the dresser drawers and the closet, he tossed the bed.
There was a slit in the side of the mattress. He pulled out some concert tickets and a VHS tape with only a year written on it in black marker: June 15, 1997.
Detective Moreno went back into the living room and turned on the TV and put the VHS into the VCR then he pressed play on the player. At first all he saw were a group of people hanging out after a concert in the parking lot. They were drinking and doing drugs most likely…
The image cut off and he saw a man in a cabin with a woman. She was tied up and screaming. The man looked toward the window where the video camera was, filming. The camera jerked away before it returned to filming what was happening inside the cabin.
He recognized the face of the man who was murdering the woman. It was the face of evil: Nate Haskell. Pulling out his cell phone, he called it in. This case just went sideways.
3:05 PM
~"Blue-eyed evil cap'talist pig
Hang that fucker in the big white wig—"~
"Why was I awakened from my sleep?" Langston asked as he entered the conference room at the crime lab.
Catherine looked up from the large cup of coffee in her hands and glared at him, saying, "Like I wanted to be here? We received videos in the mail."
"Videos?"
"VHS. Old school. And, all of them are addressed to you," she said as she gestured to the VHS tapes that were laid out on the table. There were three in total.
After setting up the old VCR to the television, Brass, Archie, and Nick joined them in the conference room as they watched the first tape.
While listening to Nate Haskell ramble on mindlessly, Nick asked, "Is each tape six hours of this?"
"No," Langston told him. "The tapes are T-20's, each recorded for LP speed, long play, which is only 44 minutes."
"Thank God," Nick said as he leaned back in chair and continued watching. "I don't think I could handle eighteen hours of this madness."
As he watched Nate on the tape, he couldn't help but think of his words to the reporters as they escorted him to the prison bus after his stabbing: "You all have no idea what I've started! Langston thought he was so clever. A person has to do what I have done to understand me! You understand. I know you do! I'm a teacher too, and I've set my students free! They're out there. My disciples are everywhere. Spreading the word. My word! It's too late! The blood is on your hands, you hear me!"
~"His street full of sheep screaming blue murder
A howlin' wolf at the big house door—"~
Haskell stared at them through the television screen as he said, "I'm going to take them, Ray. I'm going to take them and there's nothing you can do about it. I told you that one has to do what I do in order to understand me. You have to be willing to take things away from people, Ray, and until you can do that, you'll never understand me or how to stop me. You can't save her, Ray. Three days of heaven on earth and then just…Heaven."
Langston's jaw twitched as he felt the anger rising up in his chest. That was the timeline. "We have three days to find whoever he took before she's dead."
"I thought he took couples; shouldn't we be looking for two missing persons?" Nick asked.
"The male vic is already dead," he told him. "Haskell kills them quick and then dumps them."
Brass stood as he said, "I'll put out a BOLO for—" his phone went off and he pulled it out. Answering it, he said, "This is Captain Brass." Looking around the room and then at him, he gave a nod into the phone and said, "Bring it to the crime lab. We're already having a nice slumber party over here." Hanging up the phone, he told them, "We must be the new America's Funniest Home Videos. Got another VHS; this one is really interesting. Dated June 15, 1997, and it's believed to be a video recording of Nate Haskell's first "Dick and Jane" murder. It was found at the home of Gerald Tolliver."
~"Cause they have nothing—"~
7:00 PM
~"Right outside your front yard
And the tires screeching in the hot tar
Anger, hunger—"~
Nick caught up with Langston in the hallway as he caught him up to speed. "The hairs collected at the scene of Tolliver's murder belong to Nate Haskell and his first female victims: Tiffany Cohen. The Star of David necklace that Tolliver had on him was identified by Joel Steiner's mother as being his."
"It's all about the first," he told Nick as they headed toward the A/V lab room. "He said during our interview that you always remember the first. Serial killer's love to revisit their past victims. Their first are always the most special to them because they are usually someone they know or had obsessed over killing for years, it drove their fantasies. The first kill brings them a level of excitement that can not be matched by any other kill they commit afterwards. Nate Haskell makes his brides wear a Star of David so when he looks at it, he is reminded of his first "Dick and Jane" kill."
Nick had been silent the entire walk to the evidence room where the VHS video had been reviewed by Archie. Archie wasn't in the room at the moment, and when he sat down in the chair, he looked up at him and asked, "Does that pertain to Grissom as well? Is he like that?"
He didn't have an answer for him and he didn't know if Nick really wanted to hear his answer if he had one. "I don't know, Nick. Everyone's different. Even serial killers. Some keep trophies, some don't. From all I know about Grissom, he doesn't have a signature. He never had an established M.O.. His only type was that they were criminals, but not avenge, run-of-the-mill criminals. They had to be, according to him, evil. How he determined that, I have no idea. But, does he fantasize about killing his victims? Yes, he does. Does he revisit his past victims? I honestly don't know."
Nick looked back at the video and sat for a moment, thinking, before telling him, "I heard Grissom talking to a kid once. A young guy who he thought was a murderer; turns out he was just a good brother, helping his older brother out. Grissom stepped up to his guy and talked to him about the body. He said that when he left a scene where he'd been particularly involved with a dead body, that he would sit in his car and—think about how close he was. How heavy the dead body was. The texture of it and how it felt…" Looking over at him, he said, "I thought he was just trying to get under the kid's skin, make him talk, and he was…but, now I know it was also because he was actually thinking about his own experience burying dead bodies. He was fantasizing, imagining himself committing the crime…His crimes."
"There was no way for you to have known, Nick. He's a professional."
"Professional what?"
He thought about that as he stared at the Nate Haskell video evidence. Professional what? Killer? Monster? Truth manipulator? All of the above. Shaking his head, he asked instead of answering, "What'd we got on Haskell?"
Going back to the video, Nick let out a breath as he told him, "Okay, so this guy here is Thomas Donover. His wife Hallie ID'd him from the news report we released with this video still. Brass and Catherine are following up with her. The other guy is Gerald Tolliver who was killed earlier today, no prints at the scene. CSI's found the hairs that match Nate Haskell and his first female vic. But, there are unknown shoe prints, size eleven and a half, that do not match the size ten's of Haskell. Tolliver wore a size twelve and a half."
"Could it be this unidentified third guy?"
"Either him or Donover."
"Okay," Langston said as they went through the stills of the video again. "We determined that all roads lead to Lake Mead."
"And we can narrow it down to the northside of the lake," Catherine said as she walked into the room. "Tom Donover wears a size eleven and a half. And we found moss on the bottom of the soles. Hodges said that type of moss can only grow on the north shore of Lake Mead."
"Way to go, Hodges. That's all we have, Chief," Nick said as he looked up at him and crossed her arms. "Wish we could narrow down the search perimeter even more. All we have of location is this one still shot that Archie pulled off the tape as they jerked the camera to the right side when they thought they were caught snooping."
He had an idea, but…"Could, uh, you and Catherine give me the room?"
Nick looked up at him as he stood and then at Catherine since she was the boss.
"Yeah, sure," she said as she gestured for Nick to follow her out.
Without asking, they both left the room. Once he was alone, he sat down in the chair that Nick had vacated and pulled out his cell phone. Dialing the number that he swore to himself he would never call, he called it.
After a couple of rings, he answered, "Dr. Langston."
Smirking into the phone, he said, "Dr. Grissom."
"I'm assuming you're calling because you're stuck. Either that or Archie is tracing this call to find me."
"Even if we were tracing the call, I doubt it'd lead to where you are," he told Grissom. "I asked Archie to check out the number for me. It's a satellite phone, and while most automatically share their location, the one you have doesn't. In fact, in some countries satellite phones are illegal to possess because their signals can usually bypass local telecoms systems, hindering censorship and wiretapping attempts, which has led some intelligence agencies to believe that satellite phones aid terrorist activity. And in this case, a fugitive serial killer."
He heard the approval in Grissom's voice as he told him, "Very good, Dr. Langston. I knew that you'd be a benefit to the crime lab. Now, how can I help you?"
"Nate Haskell took a couple today. Jeffrey and Maureen Masters. We found Jeffrey along the side of a road. We matched up other dumpsites of Haskell's male victims. They were all dumped along the same road leading to Lake Mead. We believe Haskell has a cabin there."
"What evidence do you have that it was Haskell and that he has a cabin at Lake Mead?" Grissom asked him.
"Hairs at a murder scene today matched Haskell. At the same scene, an old VHS cassette tape of the first murder caught by a couple of Peeping Toms. In this case, a Tom Donover and an unidentified accomplice. A few hours later, Brass was informed of two missing persons; the married couple. And, I received a couple of tapes from Haskell addressed to me today, taunting me that I won't be able to find them in time to stop him."
Grissom was quiet on the other end of the phone before saying, "The Haskell hair could have been planted and the tapes held in someone else's possession to be sent out today, giving Haskell time to slip away. While you think he's in Vegas, he's not."
"With all due respect, Dr. Grissom, you're not here. I am. It's Haskell."
He was quiet again before asking, "Inside the cabin?"
"What?"
"The video, was it recorded inside the cabin?"
"No, outside," he told him.
"Day? Night?"
"Nighttime," he said as he leaned back in the chair and removed his glasses.
Grissom then asked, "Can you see the stars?"
"The stars?" he asked as he looked at the still photograph that they had. "Stars, the moon, and two mountain peaks. Why?"
"I'm a huge fan of Ansel Adams, an environmentalist photographer. He often forgot when he took his photographs, so a bunch of astronomers tried to figure it out using the image itself. By referencing the moon's position in relationship to known landmarks and lunar azimuth tables, they were able to determine the date and time the photo was taken. Reverse the science. You know when it was made. Maybe the relation of the moon and stars and the mountain peaks can determine the location of the photo."
"Forensic astronomy? Is that even a thing?"
"Should be. Get with Nick and Greg, they'll help you figure it out."
"How do you know it'll work?"
He was quiet again before telling him, "I don't, but…I was a member of the Las Vegas Astronomical Society. It should at least give you a more accurate search perimeter."
"Dr. Grissom, before you hang up, I have a question for you."
"Shoot."
He looked around the A/V room, making sure he was still alone, before saying, "I know how Haskell plays his twisted little games: he'll kill anyone and do anything to win. How about you? How many people are you willing to sacrifice? Should I be worried—"
"Dr. Langston…"Yet she must die else she betray more men. Put out the light, and then…put out the light."" Grissom told him before hanging up on him.
He stared at the phone as he thought about that. Had he already made a sacrifice? He had already put out a light. His light? Was he talking about Sara?
He sighed heavily as he realized that he couldn't do anything about it at the moment. He had to find Nate Haskell. Sending a text to both Nick and Greg, he told them to come to the A/V lab. They could figure this forensic astronomy out together.
~"They have nothing
No one saying, "Please, sir"
No one saying, "Yes, ma'am"—"~
9:12 PM
~"None of them that have understand
That I want nothing—"~
Brass headed up the SWAT team as they surrounded the cabin at Black Mesa. Langston hung behind with Nick, Greg, and Catherine and the LVPD officers as they watched from a distance. Nick pulled out a pair of binoculars as he leaned against the car door with his field kit in hand waiting for to hear whether Haskell was down and if the victim, Maureen Masters, was still alive. Thanks to Nick and Greg, and Grissom, they had used forensic astronomy to figure out the location of the cabin.
"Forensic astronomy, really?" Nick had asked. "How'd you figure this one out, Chief?"
"With a little help from a friend."
"Who's that?"
He couldn't tell him it was Grissom, so he told him instead, "A photographer."
Greg walked in and said, "I've got the moonrise tables for Lake Mead, and according to this, the moon was waning gibbous. Whatever that means. And on June 15, 1997, the moon rose at 7:46 pm."
"This video was recorded at 10:41 pm," Nick said, "That's two hours and 55 minutes after moonrise. That puts it about 45 degrees above the eastern horizon."
"So that view is…what? West to east?" Greg asked.
"Yeah," he said as he looked at the mountain peaks in the picture. "Those peaks look like they're roughly the same height."
"I've got the topo map up," Nick said as he started searching for peaks with the same height. "I'm looking for two peaks that are approximately the same elevation with that geographic relationship. Here, Arch Mountain, 3, 335 feet, and Hamblin Mountain, 3, 310. They fit the bill."
"And Hodges said that the moss on Tom Donover's shoes can only be found on the northside of the lake," Greg said, "So, Nick, draw a vector from the center of those two peaks to the north shore."
They all smiled as they looked at each other and said, "Black Mesa."
~"Nothing but your car, wife, life, pride
Dignity, sanctuary—"~
"He's got her," Nick said as he adjusted the lens. "Through the window I can see him. It's Tom Donover—"
"Not Haskell?" he asked as he straightened off the car.
Nick shook his head. "Maureen is…He's got her strapped to a chair. She's alive but…He's got a gun."
Brass's voice came in over the radio as he gave a kill shot order right before he heard glass break. There was no gunshot; it'd been silenced by a silencer.
Nick dropped the binoculars as he said, "Damn; nice shot. Right to the head. Donover's down."
"Suspect is down," Brass said over the radio. "Repeat suspect is down. Victim is alive. Maureen Masters is alive. We're going to need a medic."
After the "all clear" was given, it became painfully obvious that Nate Haskell wasn't there. As they dug up the bodies from under the floorboards, he realized that Grissom had been right. The hairs at the Tolliver murder scene had been planted. The VHS tapes were sent to them well after they'd been recorded. It was all to make them think Haskell was still in Las Vegas, that he had taken Maureen Masters and killed her husband Jeffrey, when in fact it was Tom Donovor all along.
Nate Haskell was nowhere near Lake Mead. He had a feeling that he was nowhere in Nevada.
Haskell was in the wind. Son-of-a-bitch.
~"Nothing but your everything
You goddamn motherfucker—"~
11:30 PM
~"Thought you heard something on the way home
Was that a rustle?—"~
Sara had been anticipating it all day, but nothing happened. Tina, the maid who was actually Nate Haskell's bride, never came by all day even when she called down for more towels. It was another woman who delivered the towels to her room.
Pacing the floor, she looked at the clock and fought down the urge to call Gil. She had the number, but she couldn't call him from the hotel room. The FBI most likely had it wiretapped. She was going to wear a hole in the carpet if she kept pacing. She couldn't eat; her stomach felt empty and nauseous. All she'd have all day was water and a couple bites of her breakfast. She didn't bother ordering lunch or dinner.
She had to try to get some sleep.
There was a knock at the door. She sighed heavily as she walked over to it and pulled the door open. Standing in front of her was the blond woman with the Star of David necklace. It was Tina. She walked in with her cart and shut the door.
"I heard you needed towels," she said as she grabbed the towels off the top of the cart and along with it a gun.
Holding up her hands, she told her, "Take it easy. I won't put up a fight. I know he wants me," she said as she gave a nod. "I want to see him."
Tina seemed surprised but then smiled, saying, "He can't wait to meet you."
The smile was the creepiest thing she'd ever seen, but it made her relax slightly as she asked her, "How are you planning on getting me out of here?"
Tina pointed to the cart as she opened the doors to show the empty compartment that normally housed the towels. "I cleared out the middle shelf. It'll be tight, but you'll fit. They haven't been checking the carts. First, before you get in, turn on the shower and shut the bathroom door."
Sara did as she was told as she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower and then shut the door behind her as she walked out and then got into the middle of the maid cart. Tina bound her hands in front of her with flexi-cuffs and then shut the doors.
~"Was that my belly rumblin'?—"~
11:50 PM
~"Later on you think you see a shadow
By your front porch
Maybe not, though—"~
Sitting outside his house, Langston checked the security alerts. They were missing one man: Curtis Keesey. Tom Donover's accomplice and the other man in the June 15, 1997 video. Then less than an hour ago, he'd gotten an alert on his phone. Someone was in his house.
Getting out of his car, he grabbed his gun out of the glove compartment and holstered it as he headed for the front door with his key in hand. Unlocking the door, he walked in and turned off the security system that didn't alert the security company. He had Brian make it so it bypassed the company and only sent him the alerts.
~"Then a tap, tap, tap at the window
That's when your legs froze
My god, what's happenin'?—"~
Tossing the keys onto the table by the door, he walked in and pulled his gun. "Mr. Keesey, I know you're in here. Come out, and I won't shoot you."
He cleared the living room, the foyer closet, and then made his way down the hallway toward Gloria's music room. As he cleared the bathroom, he heard a noise behind him, a creak in the floorboard and instead of turning around, he propelled himself backwards. He caught the man off guard as they both stumbled back into the hallway wall, sending picture frames to the floor. He heard glass breaking as he jammed his elbow into Keesey's gut. Then he turned around but since the hallway was such a small space, Keesey was able to grab the gun and jerk his arms upward as he fired a shot into the ceiling.
~"Crack, crack, crack in the glass and
Now he's got the handle
And now your front door's open—"~
A knee came up and kneed him in the stomach. Doubling over, he was hit in the face and his hand with the gun was twisted down and around and he lost his grip. As the gun fell to the floor, he planted his feet, squared up his shoulders, and then charged like a linebacker into Keesey's body as his anger exploded.
~"Swear you have nothing
Thinking, "Is he mad at me?
Will he hurt me? Dunno
Is he just plain crazy?"—"~
Keesey's body slammed into the wall as he pounded a fist into Keesey's side, right into his kidney before grabbing him up by the shoulders and slamming him back into the wall again, making his head snap back. With Keesey dazed, he dropped him to his feet and hit him again into his body and then into his face, right into his nose.
~"I have nothing
And now he hit me
And now he laugh at me
And he strip me naked—"~
As Keesey's nose busted open, he grabbed him and tossed him down the hallway toward the living room. Keesey stumbled and fell backwards and hit the floor. Stepping up to him and staring down in anger at the Nate Haskell copycat killer, he saw Keesey's arms come up to protect him as he dropped down and hit him again.
~"I swear I have nothing
Now I see 'em all 'round laughin'
And he look down, saying that
I own you—"~
Grabbing Keesey up by his shirt, he let go and drew his left arm back as he asked, "Where is he, Keesey? Where's Haskell?" When he received no answer, he hit him again.
~"I own you—"~
"Where is Nate Haskell?! Where is he?!" He punched Keesey again in the ribs. Looking down at him, he told him, "You broke into my house, Curtis. You want to walk out of here alive, you will tell me where he is right now or else—" He raised up his arm again, blood dripping from his fist.
"Los Angeles," Keesey said as a bloody smile appeared on his bloodied face. "With your wife."
~"I own you."~
Langston stilled for a moment as those words hit him in the chest. A furious red rage filled his head as he slammed his fist down into Keesey's face, knocking him out. Leaving him on the floor, he got up, grabbed his gun that was on the floor in the hallway. He walked back into the living room and stared down at the unconscious body of Curtis Keesey.
He didn't want to risk him waking up and leaving before the police arrived, so he pointed the barrel of the gun at the man's leg, his femur, and pulled the trigger.
"Stay," he told Keesey, who woke up screaming as he grabbed his shattered leg.
Langston grabbed his keys off the table on his way out of his house. Getting into his car, he started the engine and headed toward the I-15.
Los Angeles.
…11:58 PM…
11:59 PM…
TBC…March 21, 2011
Disclaimer song used: "I Own You" by Mick Flannery.