A/N: Oh, man, only two more chapters to go (and the epilogue). I'll try to get both of those up this weekend.
Ch. 8: Before I Die Alone
March 21, 2011
Los Angeles
Penwick Hotel
Gil checked his laptop website and viewed the web camera footage. Upon seeing the images, the two people in the hotel, he quickly grabbed the keys to the house and his rental truck, pulled on his jacket, and left Arvin Thorpe's house. Driving through the streets of Los Angeles, he thought about how to best handle the situation.
There were many options, but only one that would get everyone to Los Angeles. He knew what he had to do. The tall buildings of the skyline surrounded him as he headed toward Studio City. Arriving at the hotel, he parked in the back alley and went through the emergency entrance/exit door in the back.
~"Before I die alone
Let me have vengeance—"~
Walking down the hallway, the red walls and green carpet, he pulled the knife from his right pocket. Using his latex covered thumb, he flicked it open, exposing the serrated blade as he stepped into the room with number 110 on the door. It was the last room on the right, by the exit. Murder central.
He spotted her the moment he stepped into the room. On the bed, handcuffed to the bed frame, was Gloria Langston. She was awake, her mouth taped shut with duct tape, and upon seeing him her eyes widened in fear and panic. She tried to protect herself by curling her legs up to her chest.
The light in the bathroom was on and he saw a shadow of a person in the light before he tilted his head at the blond woman who stepped out of it into the room. Around her neck was a Star of David necklace.
As he looked at the necklace, her hand rose up to it as she figured it while looking at him. "You're not Nate."
~"Before I die alone
I will have vengeance—"~
Shifting his eyes up hers, he felt his desire rise up into his chest as he fiddled with the knife in his right hand. His mouth twitched upwards as he almost smirked as he imagined the knife piercing her skin, the feel of her warm blood over his hand, and watching life leave her eyes as she died.
Without taking his eyes off Nate Haskell's bride, Vivian, he told Gloria, "I apologize, Mrs. Langston, but…you might want to shut your eyes for this."
Vivian's eyes grew wider as he crossed the room towards her. She backed up, going back into the bathroom as she realized his intentions. Her eyes saw the knife in his hand as he brought it upwards and then he saw her fear right before he drove it into her stomach.
~"Before I die alone—"~
She gasped; her body falling into his, her hands grabbing at him, trying to get him to stop as he yanked the knife out and turned her around in his arms to stab her again in the back. As she screamed, her fight never leaving her as she tried to break free, he stabbed her again before sending her to the floor. Getting on top of her and holding her back, he repositioned the knife in his hand so he could stab downwards as he had to stab her ten more times. Twelve in total.
~"Let me have vengeance—"~
By the time he was done, he and the bathroom were covered in blood from the splatter. Digging into her pockets, he found the keys to the handcuffs. He stood up and pulled off his glasses and cleaned them and his knife off using tissue paper that was in the bathroom. Then he turned on the faucet and cleaned off his face and hands the best he could.
Looking up into the mirror, he saw his dark eyes staring back at him and smiled. That felt good. So good, in fact, he wanted to do it again. Going back out into the room, he saw Gloria shivering in fear on the bed.
Taking the key, he undid the cuffs from one of her wrists so she could be free from the bed. "Mrs. Langston, my name is Gil Grissom," he calmly told her as she continued to shiver. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want to get you back to your husband. But first, you have to do me a favor."
She looked up at him then; her eyes searching his eyes and then she saw the blood on his clothes. Behind the tape over her mouth, she screamed. Watching her fear wasn't the same as watching Vivian's. There was nothing inside of him that wanted to kill the woman screaming in fear in front of him. He wanted to help her.
But she wouldn't be cooperative. Pulling out the syringe from his jacket pocket, he injected her with it. Once she stopped moving, he removed the duct tape and the handcuff from her other wrist. He picked her up and moved her off the bed and sat her in the chair. Then, he went back into the bathroom and picked up Vivian's dead body.
The weight of it in his arms reminded him it was lifeless; he felt the blood on his arms, heard it drop to the floor as it left a trail from the bathroom to the bed. Placing the body on the bed, he grabbed her arms and felt the clammy cool texture of the skin against his warm hand as he crossed the arms over her chest like he'd seen done with the bodies that had been buried in Mr. Thorpe's backyard.
Staring down at Vivian's lifeless body, he felt like taking a picture. He hadn't brought his camera.
But he could use his webcam.
After he moved a camera into the hotel room, focusing it down upon the bed from up near the ceiling in a vent, he picked up Gloria's suitcase and cello case first and took them out to the rental truck. His jacket was covered in Vivian's blood and he couldn't get caught wearing it, so he pulled it off and tossed it in the dumpster. Next, he unzipped the coveralls and tossed them into the dumpster. He took off the latex gloves and stuffed those into a plastic store bag that was in the truck. He'd get rid of those someplace else. They held his prints.
He didn't care if the coveralls and jacket was found by the CSU team investigating the scene. It wouldn't matter. He returned to the room and lifted Gloria's paralyzed body in his arms. Walking down the hallway with her in his arms, she wasn't anything like Vivian. Her body was warm; her skin was soft and smooth.
She was very much alive.
~"Before I die alone—"~
Going out the emergency exit door, he carried Gloria around to the passenger seat and placed her down into it and then fastened her seatbelt. Her eyes never left his as he walked around the front of the truck to the driver's side.
He got in and started the engine as he looked over at her. "Now, as I was saying, Mrs. Langston, I'm going to need a favor."
Her eyes were on his and they were still scared, pleading. She knew she was looking into the eyes of a monster, regardless if he intended to kill her or not. She saw the truth of what he was. And that truth terrified her.
Starting the engine, he realized that she should be. His eyes were that of an evil man.
~"I will have vengeance—"~
Las Vegas
Crime Lab
~"Before I die alone
Before my time has gone—"~
"We just received a call from the Los Angeles CSU unit," Brass said as he walked into her office. "They have a body they believe is a victim of Nate Haskell's. Same signature. One stab wound to the gut, twelve stab wounds in the back. It's a woman, blond hair with a Star of David necklace."
"One of his brides," Catherine said as she stood up from behind her desk and grabbed her cell phone as she walked towards him.
Brass checked his notes as he turned to follow her out of the office, saying, "A CSU tech, name's ah…Brody. Morgan Brody is on scene, she's holding it for us." Looking around, he asked, "Where's Ray?"
Catherine was dialing her cell phone as she told him, "Went home from the cabin, said he wanted to shower and change, check his messages. He was supposed to be back already." Putting the phone to her ear, she stopped and faced Brass as she shook her head. "He's not answering his cell."
Brass pulled out his phone as he told her, "I'll get a unit out to his house to check it out. He might be on his way here and doesn't talk and drive."
"Have you informed Sofia yet?" she asked.
"My next stop—" he came up short as his cell phone rang in his hand. "Her ears must have been burning. It's Sofia. Brass," he said as he answered the call. "You've got to be kidding me." Looking at Catherine, he told her, "Sara's missing."
"What? How?" she asked in shock. "Her room was guarded by the feds."
He held a hand up to her, telling her to stop talking, as he listened to Sofia who was talking to him. Brass said, "Okay, we're on it," before ending the call. "The FBI thought she was in shower, heard it running," he told her. "Said the maid dropped off some towels…But, after a while, they checked on her again and the shower was still running. They went in and found the bathroom empty."
Catherine let out a breath as she said, "Ray's AWOL. Sara's missing, possibly taken. Haskell's in the wind…Anything else?"
"Uh, Grissom's probably on a boat somewhere in the Pacific…?"
Glaring at Brass, she shook her head at him then headed to the locker room to grab her gun. "I'll grab Nick and head to L.A.. Have Greg get over to the hotel they had Sara stashed at to see what the security cameras have to show us. Oh, and text me the number for Morgan Brody in Los Angeles," she shot over her shoulder.
~"There's just one thing I have to do—"~
Enroute to Los Angeles
I-15
~"Before the fire and stone
Before your world is gone—"~
The ground under Sara's body shook; she was rolled, jostled around until she opened her eyes. She was surrounded, enclosed in a small space that was moving. Stretching her legs out, she hit something solid.
~"Have you some patience
'Cause I will have my vengeance—"~
Rolling onto her back, she tried to kick up and her feet hit metal. Closing her eyes, she listened and heard the road, car engine, and tires. She was in the trunk of a car. Her hands were bound in front of her but not tightly enough as she was able to shimmy her hand free by forcing her thumb down flat against her palm.
~"Before I die alone—"~
Once her hands were free of the flexi-cuffs, she felt around the inside of the trunk and found the jumper cables. Pushing against the back wall of the trunk, she felt the seat go down. She pushed it down enough to see up and out the back window and then enough to see the rearview mirror. Peering into the car, she saw the driver. It was Tina. The radio was blaring music and it was dark in the car; dark outside the car. Not a single streetlight.
They were in the desert.
~"Let me have vengeance—"~
Los Angeles
Penwick Hotel
~"Before my time has gone
I will have vengeance—"~
After he finally answered his phone to Catherine's non-stop calling, Langston learned that she and Nick were also enroute to Los Angeles. There was a body found at the Penwick Hotel that matched Nate Haskell's signature. The sun had yet to kiss the morning sky as he got out of his car. He pulled his CSI windbreaker out of the trunk and made sure his ID badge was visible before approaching the scene.
The hotel was completely blocked off with crime scene tape, the entire front and back of the hotel. The Los Angeles police officer checked his badge, got his name, and then let him under the yellow tape. He stopped and slipped on some booties before following the crowd. The red and green hallway was lined with cops and the Los Angeles CSU unit techs were outside the room at the end of the hallway.
Murder central. It made no difference in this hotel seeing how it was abandoned and rundown. There were no other guests. His stomach twisted, his heart hammered in his chest, and he had to keep himself from running to the door as everything seemed to slow down.
This was where Gloria was supposed to have her performance. The victim was killed by, assumingly, Nate Haskell. It was getting harder to breathe as he neared the room and the looks he was getting wasn't helping his nerves, but then he saw Catherine step out of the room.
Upon seeing him, she didn't try to keep him away from the scene. She didn't try to stop him from entering the room, something he thought she'd do if the victim was Gloria.
"It's not her," Catherine told him.
All the tension seemed to ease as he gave a nod before rounding the corner; his eyes shifted from the pale blue walls inside the room to the bed. On the bed was a woman, a blond, and from the Star of David necklace he could make out through all the blood, he realized who he was looking down at. Vivian Tinsdale. One of Haskell's brides.
~"Before I die alone
Let me have vengeance—"~
She was clothed, her body like all the bodies they'd found under the floorboards of Nate Haskell's cabin. She was prone, on her back, arms crossed over her chest. Glancing around, he saw the blood trail that went to the bathroom and a young girl, a CSU tech, snapping photos as she placed the markers along the blood trail.
He walked to the bathroom door and peered inside and saw all the blood. He was trying to stay professional; this was a job, his job, and they were there for a reason. They had to confirm if this actually was Nate Haskell's doing or not.
"She was attacked in the bathroom and killed in the bathroom," the CSU tech told. "Then she was carried out here to the bed and posed." She stopped taking pictures and looked up at him and said, "You must be Ray. I'm Morgan."
"Nice to meet you, Morgan," he told her as he kept looking at the scene in the bathroom.
All the red blood on all the white walls, the ceiling, and the sink. Then he went back to the body as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "Has the coroner cleared her yet?"
"Yep, 'bout two hours ago," she told him as she stood and started taking pictures of the body as he rolled her onto her stomach.
It was hard to see with all the blood, but he counted twelve stab wounds to her back. "Twelve stab wounds to the back, one to the front. That's Haskell's signature. She was his twelfth victim."
"I thought he only killed ten as the Dick and Jane Killer?"
He straightened as he pulled off the gloves and told Morgan, "I was supposed to be his eleventh, but…he only got to stab me once."
~"Before I die alone
I will have vengeance—"~
Morgan regarded him a moment, grimacing at that before she went back to taking photos of the crime scene.
He spotted Catherine at the door, watching him. The last they spoke on phone, she ripped him a new one for not calling anyone once he learned that Haskell was in Los Angeles, and for leaving his own house which was the scene of a crime, but he would deal with that later. Now wasn't the time. They had to find Haskell.
He had to find his wife. She was there somewhere. "Where's Nick?" he asked Catherine.
She gestured around and said, "Pick a floor. There are twenty of them. He's somewhere. So far, no sign of your wife, Ray. There are tire treads in the back alley and we found a bloody jacket and coveralls in the dumpster."
Looking around the room, he took in everything in the room. Dresser, two chairs, a table, a lamb…a picture on the wall over the dresser—Stepping over to the painted picture that was framed and hanging over the dresser, he noticed the air vent right above it.
Getting up on the dresser, he called out to Morgan, "Miss Morgan, got a screwdriver?"
She pulled one out of her field kit and handed it to him.
"This had been opened recently," he told her.
"How can you tell?" she asked.
He ran his latex finger over the top of the frame of the painting and said, "Dust on top of the frame. No dust anywhere on the vent." Once he got the screws out and the vent open, he smiled as he looked into the lens of a webcam.
~"Before I die alone
Let me have vengeance—"~
Smiling at the camera, he told them, "Don't look now, but…we're being watched. And I can guess who."
"Haskell," Catherine said as she walked into the room.
Shaking his head, he told her, "Haskell didn't do this. There's no torture. He had all the time in the world and he didn't torture her. There was no suffering. No three days in heaven before Heaven. That's not Haskell. This was quick and to the point. It was precise and with purpose. Nearly clinical. There was no fun in it. An imitation of the signature to get our attention."
"Then, who was it? Who did this?" CSU tech Morgan asked.
Grabbing the camera and looking right at it so he could read his lips, he told Morgan, "Grissom."
"~I will, I will have my vengeance—"~
Peru, South America
~"Before your world is gone
Before the fire and stone—"~
"I am tired, and hungry, and I don't trust the tap water in this country. Can someone please get me a bottle of water," FBI Agent Moore yelled out as they exited the SUV. "Preferably Sierra Springs."
Agent Ben Wilson gestured for a young man, a rookie out of Quantico, to go find a bottle of water. Glancing over at him as they approached the post office where the P.O. Box belonging to Gil Grissom's alias of Leonard McCartney was located, he asked, "Are you OCD?"
Moore glared at Agent Wilson before he opened the door to the post office, saying, "That's none of your damn business."
As he walked inside, he removed his sunglasses as he looked around the tiny post office and spotted the P.O Boxes lining one long wall. Grissom's was number 52. As he searched for the box, Agent Wilson went to talk to the employees seeing how he was bilingual.
He found the P.O. Box and didn't wait for an employee to come and open it. Taking out his lockpick kit, he pulled out the tiny two tools needed and got to work on picking the lock. Within seconds he had it open and there was something inside of it. A white envelope.
After he pulled on a pair of latex gloves, he used a pair of tweezers to pull it out of the box as Wilson walked up to him with a Post Office employee.
"Agent Moore, this is José," Wilson said as he introduced him to the employee.
Without looking at either of them, Moore said, "Hello, José." Flipping the envelope over, he read who it was addressed to. Special Agent Rick Culpepper. Smirking, he asked José, "What'd you know about the owner of this box? Leonard McCartney." As Wilson translated, he used the tweezers to open the flap of the envelope. It wasn't sealed.
He heard them talking back and forth to one another in Spanish before Agent Wilson told him, "All he knows is that he lives on a boat." Looking down at the blank piece of paper that he had removed from the envelope, he asked, "What does that mean?"
Moore felt his face twitch as he told Wilson, "It means that we have nothing. But he's wrong. He thought he'd be dealing with Culpepper, instead he got me. And we do have something. He's living on a boat, in the Pacific Ocean. He's docked here in Peru plenty of times. Talk to every Harbor Master, everyone who owns a dock, and show his picture around. I want the name of his boat before sunset." Finally looking over at Wilson, he said, "Go. Now."
Wilson sighed in annoyance at him as he muttered under his breath, "And I thought Culpepper was a dick," but pulled out his cell phone as he started to walk away to make the call.
He ignored José as he looked back down at the blank sheet of paper. Grissom was underestimating him because he thought he'd be dealing with Rick Culpepper, and that would be his mistake.
Once they had a boat name, they could track it. He would find Grissom and he'd bring him in. And if he tried anything, he would put him down.
~"Have you some patience
'Cause I will have my vengeance—"~
Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California
~"Before I die alone (before I die alone)—"~
It was getting late in the day. They had spent hours combing through everything they collected from the Penwick Hotel. All the blood, the clothes from the dumpster, and the homemade security equipment that Nick had found. Grissom didn't even try to remove any of it before he left. It was like he didn't care if it was found, which was unusual because Grissom was the type of guy to clean up after himself. He didn't leave anything behind, except for what he wanted to be found.
So, he wanted them to find the cameras and the laptop. And the website. As Catherine, along with the CSU tech Morgan Brody headed off after the trace of the website that led to an IP address that was located at Marina Del Rey, he took a side trip to the Santa Monica Catholic Church.
One thing he loved about cops was the fact that they loved to talk.
Langston stared up at one of the oldest Catholic churches in Santa Monica, California. It was made of limestone, brick and mortar with a limestone cross above the front doors and a wooden steeple above the bell tower. There was a walkway under arches that led to the back, but he went through the front doors and immediately looked up at the wooden beams that crossed the ceiling. This was the house that made the devil, he thought as he crossed the floor toward the priest who was walking towards him.
"Are you with the police?" the priest asked him. "I'm Father Kyle."
Pulling out his ID badge, he showed it to the priest as he told him, "Dr. Ray Langston, Father. You reported that you believe it was the fugitive Gil Grissom who was in your church a few nights ago?"
"March 19," Father Kyle told him as he dug something out of his pants pocket and handed it to him. It was a rosary.
He put the rosary into an evidence bag as he gestured around, saying, "Was he here to pray or to confess?"
"Neither. He told me that he thought we should know who it was who killed Father Thomas."
He immediately recognized the name. He'd been right. This was the house that made the devil. Father Thomas had been the first person that Gil Grissom had killed. And, the Father had been his abuser. One of several he had in his young life that twisted his mind up into what it was now. "And the rosary?"
"He said that it belonged to his mother."
He gave a nod as he put the envelope with the rosary in it inside his suit jacket pocket. "Father Kyle, do you know who Father Thomas was?"
Father Kyle sighed and shook his head. "I didn't at the time he mentioned it. Then I looked further into it. Father Thomas had been a priest here and became the Archdiocese. Then, in 1974, someone murdered him in his room. The killer was never found." The priest sat down as he looked up at him and said, "Ever since the 2002 Boston Globe article shined a spotlight on the abuse of the Catholic Church, it's been hard trying to rectify the misdeeds of the past."
"Evil misdeeds of the past," he sat as he sat down in the pew behind the priest. "Father Thomas wasn't innocent according to his killer. Grissom said that he was a child molester. Probably one of the priests that had been accused, who had been protected…"
"Dr. Langston—"
"I'm not here to do…whatever it is we're doing. I just want to know what Grissom said to you. Anything you can remember."
Father Kyle let out a breath as he thought back to the night of March 19th. "It was the fugitive Gil Grissom. I thought he looked familiar but I wasn't sure who he was until I went to the police station to report what he'd said and…I saw his wanted poster. That night, when he came here, he said that he hadn't been back to this church since he shook hands with the devil, long after he first sinned. He said that Father Thomas also wore a mask of a good man, but underneath he was a monster. They were both evil men, both monsters, and since he, Grissom, slayed monsters then…it meant that the only way for him to stop is if he too were killed."
He let out the breath that had gotten stuck in his chest as he realized what Grissom was planning. Why he wanted him there, why he wanted all roads to lead to Los Angeles, to here, where it all began. "He's planning on dying here. He wants us to kill him…It's the only way to stop him. Thank you, Father," he said as he stood up and headed out of the church.
As he stepped outside into the setting sunlight, his cell phone rang. It was Greg Sanders. "What'cha got for me, Mr. Sanders," he said as he answered the phone.
"Garth Harris."
"Who—"
"Sorry; let me backtrack. Curtis Keesey talked; he rolled on their drug supplier. His name is Garth Harris," Greg told him. "Turns out Harris not only supplied Tom Donover and Curtis Keesey, but he'd been Nate Haskell's supplier. They were spiking marijuana with salvia divinorum. It's a sage plant that produces a psychoactive trip when smoked: hallucinations, paranoia, dizziness, confusion, I mean, you name it and this stuff will knock you on your ass. That's how they were able to subdue and strangle their male victims. So, I started searching all the databases from here to California, looking for any red flag deliveries of salvia divinorum or marijuana. I got a hit."
"Where?" he asked as he headed to his car and pulled out his car keys.
Greg took a breath and told him, "Los Angeles. The thing is, Doc, the person it was addressed to…was you."
He sat down heavily in the driver's seat as he asked in shock, "Me?"
"Yeah, listen, the delivery of marijuana seeds and salvia divinorum was signed for by the person who got the package. Since it was red flagged, I was able to obtain a copy of the signature and compared it to one of yours from when you signed my book for me, and it's a perfect match. I mean, Jimmy in Documents was impressed by the forgery; he said it was done by an expert."
He rubbed his head at his new information as he thought about how his signature could have been obtained. "What was the address?"
Greg continued on as he said, "It was addressed to Raymond Langston, at 1526 Willoughby Avenue. It's actually the home of Arvin Thorpe. So, I did some further digging. Arvin had a wife, Lois, who went missing in 1968. They had a son named Warner, born February 15, 1960."
"Nate Haskell's birth date," he said as he realized where Greg Sanders research had led him.
"I got a hold of the high school he attended," Greg kept talking, "and I had them send me a picture of Warner. Doc…it's Nate Haskell. Warner Thorpe is Nate Haskell."
Lifting his head up, he stared at the church as it hit him at the same time he realized not only how his signature was obtained, but by who.
"One more signature?" He heard the woman's voice and as he turned around, he saw her face and gaped in surprise. "If you don't mind."
Staring at Dr. Heather Kessler, he smiled as he pocketed the phone. "For you, I don't mind at all," he said as he picked up the marker pen as he took the book from her hands. Flipping open the front cover, he said, "It's a pleasure to see you again. Any particular reason?"
He wrote a quick sentiment and signed his name before handing the book back to her. She took it and read the message with a sly smirk before saying, "We all have reasons. I got mine. Thank you."
Then later on, after they got coffee. He asked Dr. Kessler: "Grissom called you, didn't he?"
She was debating something, he could tell by how she looked at the coffee cup, placed with the edges of the lid. "He did."
"Now that we're both being honest, why are you really here?" he'd asked her.
"To get your book. He wanted a copy."
He glanced at the book and then back into her eyes.
Grissom had wanted the signed copy of his book. Shaking his head, he cursed under his breath as he said, "Thanks, Mr. Sanders. Make sure you relay all this to Catherine."
"I thought she was with you?"
"She's not. Be sure to call her." He turned off his phone and put it into his glove box next to his gun.
Then he started the car, typed the address into the GPS, and then left the church parking lot as he headed towards Arvin Thorpe's house where he knew he'd find both Nate Haskell and Gil Grissom.
~"Before my time has gone (before my time has gone)—"~
If Grissom wanted to be killed, then he was going to kill him solely for the fact that he kept yanking him around like some damn puppet master. The only three people that they could confirm were actually at the Penwick Hotel were Vivian, Gloria, and Grissom. Despite the only evidence of Grissom being there was the webcam and surveillance equipment, and the clothes, he knew it was him by how Vivian was killed.
And Gloria was still missing. That meant either Grissom took her, or…Or, Grissom went there to find Gloria but only found Vivian instead, which meant Haskell had her.
His anger shot through him as he yelled out, "Son-of-bitch!" as he hit his steering wheel as he spun his car into traffic and hit the gas.
~"Let me have vengeance—"~
Marina Del Rey, California
~"I will, I will, I will have vengeance—"~
There were police lights all over the marina as Morgan pulled up behind a FBI van and parked. "Looks like someone beat us to the party."
Catherine got out as her phone rang and she saw it was Greg. "Greg," she said as she answered, "I can't talk right now. We found Grissom. The webcam was broadcasting to a website. The uplink got us an IP address for another laptop that was accessing the videos. We traced it. He's on a boat at Marina Del Rey. The FBI's here."
"That's great news," Greg said before telling her, "I was just calling to let you know that I talked to Ray. I found Nate Haskell's childhood home. Well, I should say Warner Thorpe's childhood home; that's Haskell's real name. I'll text you the address."
"Text it to Nick too; I'm out at the marina. He stayed behind at the crime lab to finish up on some evidence we were still processing."
"Will do," Greg said before he ended the call.
She felt the vibration of the phone as the text came through as she pocketed it in her windbreaker. Her and Brody made their way through the maze of FBI vehicles and personnel. Catherine knew exactly who she was looking for: Agent Daniel Moore.
Waving her ID badge around got her nowhere with the FBI. Brody had no luck either as they kept them at more than arm's length. As they stood on the street that overlooked the dock, she saw the boat name that the FBI was surrounding.
Shaking her head as she crossed her arms over her chest, she said, "Call me Ishmael."
"Moby Dick," CSU Morgan Brody said as she stood beside her.
Looking over at the young CSU tech, she said, "I've been meaning to ask you…Are you—"
"Conrad Ecklie's kid? That's me." Morgan smiled over at her and then returned her attention to the activity down on the dock.
Smiling, she went back to watching the FBI agents, including Agent Moore approach the boat as the sun was setting off to the west. The sun dropped down over the Pacific Ocean, leaving them in darkness as she felt a cool chill in the breeze coming in off the ocean. Standing there, looking out over the dark ocean, she wondered if Grissom was going to see another sunrise.
She didn't know why she had that thought, but as she went back to watching Agent Moore step on the boat with his gun drawn, the feeling grew stronger. Deeper. She knew it, felt it in every bone of her body that this was the end of the line for her friend Gil Grissom.
Agent Moore's phone rang in his pocket as he approached the door to the cabin on the boat called Ishmael. He'd tracked it down thanks to a Harbor Master in Peru, South America. Once he had the name, it wasn't hard to track the boat down to California. Sara had been right; Grissom stayed west. He'd gone home.
Pulling out the phone, he didn't recognize the number but answered it anyway. "This is Agent Moore."
"Tell your guys to stop."
Upon hearing the voice, he stilled as he recognized it from the video of the lecture series that he'd watched to learn everything he could about the serial killer Dr. Gil Grissom. "Is this Gil Grissom?"
"Tell them to stop, Agent Moore. One more step and this whole dock will explode."
Wrinkling his head in confusion, Agent Moore holstered his gun so he could remove his flashlight from his pocket. He shined the light around the deck of the boat and saw the trip wires. They were everywhere around the door. The bow of the boat. Then, he saw the bombs.
Pipe bombs under the dock, inside the cabin, and along the side of the boat. It was enough to blow them all to hell twice over.
"Stop!" Moore called out to everyone on his team. "Everyone stop! Back away! It's rigged to explode!"
~"I will have vengeance."~
TBC…
Disclaimer song used: "Vengeance" by Zach Hemsey.