"Forgive me, Mitch," Brass spoke up from the corner of the room. "But you were just a child – you seriously expect us to believe you lived in fear of your life from another child?"

Mitch turned and pointed a finger in Brass' direction. "See, this is why no one believed me – except for my aunt. My parents kept telling me I was imagining things, that these kids just needed a loving home, and they would turn out fine." He snorted. "Yeah right! They would turn into fine little psychopaths, pyromaniacs, and God knows what else!"

"You didn't have any proof?" Gil prompted him.

Mitch shrugged. "Nothing I could take to the police – and nothing to make my parents believe me either."

Sara cleared her throat as she opened another folder and pulled out 8x10 photos of the foster children. "We have some pictures here that your aunt gave us – she thought these were all the children that were living in the house with you while you were growing up. Would you mind taking a look and telling us if you recognize any of them?"

"Why?"

Gil spoke up, watching Mitch closely for his reaction. "Because we believe one of them is responsible for a series of murders here in Las Vegas, and used your father as an accomplice."

Mitch sat back in his chair, his complexion once again going pale. "You're talking about the miniature killer."

Brass came out of the shadows and joined Gil and Sara at the table. "You've heard of him?"

"It made the national news – especially when my father killed himself as the police were storming the house-"

Sara interrupted. "Wait - Alina didn't tell you?"

"About my father killing people? No. Since the day she took me from my parents she shielded me from anything having to do with them and the chosen ones – though mom did call me every year on my birthday, until she got sick and-" Mitch cleared his throat. "I don't believe that my father killed anyone. He was a lot of things: naïve, weak, short-sighted when it came to people, always seeing what he wanted to see instead of the reality. But a killer? No. I don't believe he had it in him to take someone's life."

"What about one of the fosters?" Sara pressed, sliding the stack of photos across the table.

"I don't need to see any of those pictures to tell you who would be at the top of my list: Shaun, Tiffany, Natalie, and Raymont."

Sara spread the photos out on the table so she could pick out the ones Mitch had selected. "These four?"

He glanced at them briefly and nodded.

"Why them?" Gil questioned. "What makes them so memorable?"

Mitch smiled, but there was no joy in it. "Because they were Ernie's Fab Four – his 'special boys and girls'. They spent the most alone time with him out of all the fosters – building miniatures, going to train expos with him, hanging out in his workshop. He would do anything for those four."

"Even murder someone?" Brass suggested.

Mitch shook his head. "No, but he'd cover up for them if they broke the law – somehow he'd justify the action they'd taken in his mind, talk to them about how naughty they'd been and then get them to promise never to do it again."

"How do you know?"

Mitch sighed. "Because that was what he did! He did it over and over and over again! He and my mom were trying to 'fix' these kids – they were broken, and he was convinced that if he loved them enough, listened to them, showed them enough forgiveness, they'd magically mend themselves. He never understood that sometimes, people are so broken you can't put the piece back together."

"But you at your tender age of what – ten years old – did?" Sara didn't try to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"Look," Mitch explained. "I know that most of my insights come from years of therapy and hindsight – but there are some things that happened to me in my own home that had me living in fear. Those four – they were different from the others. They were dangerous."

"How so?" Gil prompted again. "What do you remember about them?"

"Shaun's family died in a house fire – he was the only survivor. That kid loved fire – anytime there were matches around, they would disappear and reappear in Shaun's possession. A month after he moved in, our kitchen caught fire one night. No one knew how it happened, but I told my father that I had seen Shaun playing with the fireplace matches earlier that afternoon – he told me that it must have been a coincidence. Two nights later I woke up to smoke in my room. My blankets were on fire and Shaun was standing in the doorway, just staring at me. I screamed and jumped out of bed and started to beat my blankets on the floor. My mother ran in to help and when the fire was out, she asked what happened. I was hysterical but I managed to get out the words that Shaun had set fire to my bed. She just rocked me and said that I must have dreamed the whole thing. After that, I never said anything about Shaun and matches again."

"How old were you?"

"I was nine."

"Were there any more incidents of fire?"

"One or two – but after that matches and all the other flammable materials were removed from our home as a safety precaution and my father got Shaun involved with his modeling hobby. I made sure to stay out of his way."

Sara swallowed and picked up another photo. "What about Raymont?"

"He was a crack baby – addicted to the drug from before he was born. Of course, as a child I didn't understand this. I just knew that he had a violent temper that could only be tamed when he managed to score some drugs. It was his stash that I was caught with that day the state made a surprise visit. Raymont didn't want to get caught with the drugs, because it would have been his third strike and there would have been nothing my father could do – he'd be out of our house and on his way to juvie. I can still remember him tossing me the packet just before the door opened and my parents walked in with the state rep. I could have denied the drugs were mine – after all, Raymont was the one with the rap sheet, but I instantly saw that my parents thought the drugs were mine – they thought I was using. And I didn't want to fight. I wanted out of that house, even if it meant going to juvie for a couple of years."

"Did you ever tell them the truth?"

"Why bother? They thought I was a drug addict – but they never did anything to fix me – not like they did with the chosen ones."

"I don't know," Gil spoke thoughtfully. "They gave you what you wanted – they sent you to live with your aunt, who provided you with a loving home away from Vegas and the fosters. Perhaps that was their way of 'fixing' you."

Mitch shrugged. "Maybe."

"What about the girls – Tiffany and Natalie? What do you remember about them?" Sara asked as she held up the last two photos of teenage girls, one blonde, one brunette.

The trio watched as Mitch pulled back into himself and shuddered. "Those two girls were the worst of the lot – they were certifiably crazy – even back then."

"How so?"

Mitch licked his lips. "Remember what I said earlier about waking up with a knife to my throat? That wasn't a nightmare – that really happened – and my parents couldn't deny that it happened because my father was there." He lapsed into silence, staring off into space. "Tiff walked in her sleep – with knives. One night, about six months before I got arrested for possession of narcotics, I woke up to find her leaning over me, pressing a knife to my throat - the blade nicked my skin." He pointed to a tiny white scar on the left side of his neck. "I thought that was it – I thought I was going to die that night. But suddenly my father was in the room, and he lifted Tiff straight up in the air off me and she began to scream and kick him as he took her outside. Mom came in to check me over and cleaned up my cut but she didn't talk about what happened – they never talked to me about what happened. But I noticed that they started to lock Tiff in her room at night. And that was the night I vowed to find a way to get out of that house before one of them killed me."

Sara was speechless. Her childhood had been the stuff of nightmares, but Mitch's had been a living hell every single day. Whereas the foster system had been her saving grace, it had been his instrument of torture. His parents may have had the best of intentions in their desire to save broken children, Mitch was right: some children were broken beyond repair.

Some children were criminally insane from the beginning. It was written in their DNA.

Sara stood and slipped out the door, needing a minute to collect herself.

Gil watched her go before turning back to Mitch. "And Natalie?"

"I remember the woman who brought her to the house – she warned mom not to put her in a bunk bed or to use bleach around her. When my mom asked why, the woman said Natalie freaked out and became violent whenever bleach was used in the house – and she tended to push other children out of the top bunk."

Gil frowned. "Did she say why?"

Mitch shook his head. "But I heard my parents reading her file out loud in the kitchen later that night. They thought I was asleep, but I often crept down to listen. It was the only way I found out about the new kids and got secret information to protect myself against them. The file said Natalie's younger sister had died from falling out of a treehouse – and that Natalie was present at the time."

Brass spoke up. "Natalie pushed her own sister out of their treehouse. And no charges were filed?"

Mitch shrugged. "She was only five years old at the time – but I can tell you that I made sure I was never up in our treehouse alone with her."

Gil found Sara sitting on a bench outside, cradling a lukewarm cup of terrible LAPD coffee, staring in space. She looked up at the sound of his approach and slid over, making room for him to sit next to her.

"Hey."

"Hey," he parroted back, sitting down and placing a hand on her knee. "You okay?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry I ducked out like that in the middle of an interrogation-"

"You needed a minute."

"I thought coffee would help – but it tastes terrible."

"That's because we're spoiled by Greg's brew-"

She smiled. "Maybe – but this doesn't even smell good."

Hmm, maybe she is pregnant. Gil kept the thought to himself as he reached for the cup. "I'll drink it if you want."

She passed him the cup and placed a hand over his on her knee. "Are you and Brass taking a break?"

Gil nodded, taking a sip and grimacing at the taste.

She smiled. "See? It wasn't just me."

"This isn't fit for consumption." He tossed the liquid on the sidewalk and crumpled the cup before tossing it in the trash can. "Brass thought all of us could use a break. He ordered some food for Mitch – figured it might do him some good."

"You mean, soften him up before we grill him some more about being a POI in Alina's murder?"

He nodded.

"Did I miss anything after I left?"

Gil told her what Mitch had said about Natalie and then watched as Sara went pale. "The girl killed her own sister?"

He squeezed her knee. "We don't know that for sure – her file only said she was present when her sister fell from their treehouse-"

"I don't know, Gil – the whole thing sounds fishy to me."

"After all these years, there isn't going to be any evidence to find to tie her to the crime, Sara, if there was one."

"Well, she's shot to the top of my suspect list."

"It's rare for a female to commit this type of crime."

Sara cocked an eyebrow. "But not impossible, right?"

He shook his head. "Nothing is impossible. It's just more probable-"

She waved his words away. "Forget the statistics. I'm going with my gut here. I think Natalie checks the boxes to be the miniature killer."

"Forgive me if I insist on getting more evidence to back up your gut."

She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. "Well, of course. We can't get a conviction based on my gut – which is hungry, by the way. Do you think we have time to pick something up before we have to go back in there?"

"You're hungry? Sara, you just ate-"

She lifted a hand and covered his mouth. "Never talk to a woman about her eating habits! Besides, I wasn't going to say anything to you yet, but I may be eating for two."

He grabbed her shoulders and looked into her sparkling eyes. "Are you saying-"

She nodded. "I'm late, Gil."

"We've been here before, Sara. How late?"

She licked her lips nervously before answering him. "Ten days."

He shot to his feet and looked down at her in shock. "And you haven't taken a test?"

"Gil, shh! I don't want the whole station knowing our business!" She yanked on his hand, and he fell back onto the bench beside her.

He reached out and placed a trembling hand on her flat belly, laughing when it growled in hunger. "You really think we might have made-"

"I'm not sure – but I do have some of the early warning signs, except for nausea, thank goodness. I promise to buy a test on the way home. But for right now, I need food and then we have to go back inside-"

"Hell, Sara, you expect me to concentrate in there after you just dropped that bombshell on me?"

She reached up and cradled his head in her hands. "Yes, because it's our job and we have to find this killer before another life is taken. You can do this, Gil. How many years did you spend denying your feelings for me?"

"And I'm done with all that."

He leaned in and pressed a short, sweet kiss on her lips.

Natalie watched the couple from across the parking lot, as they kissed and then pulled apart. Grissom's hand drifted down to Sara's stomach, and she laughed before placing her own hand over his.

Natalie's blood froze in her veins as she realized Sara was carrying Grissom's child.

She had been debating with herself for days about who to take – about who would suffer more without the other. But with this latest development, the decision had been made for her.

Sara would fall to pieces without Grissom – would die a slow, agonizing death without the father of her child beside her. And the baby would grow up without knowing the love of her father. How fitting, since Grissom had forever robbed Natalie of her father's love.

Her model was nearly complete – it was only lacking the final finishing touch. And now that she had made her choice of victim, there was no time left to lose. Especially since she knew Mitch was inside the LVPD right now spilling his guts.

Her time was running out and therefore she needed to speed up her timetable. The cops would be on her trail soon and if she wanted to continue to be a couple of steps in front of them, she needed to stop her surveillance and get back to work.

Natalie started her car and peeled out of the parking lot, heading for home to put the finishing touches on her masterpiece.

While Sara went to grab some more food, Gil called Catherine and filled her in on the four possible suspects.

"Well, it narrows down our list, if you think you can trust him."

"I think it's a place to start."

"Do you have any last names?"

"Mitch didn't provide any – just the first names we already had. Search the system by giving them the last name of Dell. We already know that Ernie and Belle adopted some of the fosters – perhaps they adopted these kids too."

"And if they didn't?"

"I'm going to talk to Sofia – see if she can run with the information we've got and get their records unsealed."

"Sofia, huh? Don't let Sara know – that woman's always had a thing for you."

"Catherine," he sighed in the phone. "Sara and I are good – more than good. And Sofia has always been the consummate professional around me-"

She snorted. "Yeah, right. Anyway, I'll run with these names and see what I can come up with-"

"Good."

Catherine called Gil back twenty minutes later as Sara was settling in beside him at Brass' desk, tucking into an enormous veggie burger. He stole one of her fries before answering.

"That was fast."

"Yeah, well, I have good news, bad news, and worse news. Are you sitting down?"

"Hang on, I'm putting you on speaker, Sara's here too. Say hello."

"Hi Sara."

"Hi Cath," she mumbled around her mouthful of food.

"Are you eating again?"

"Lay off, Cath. What's your news?"

"Okay, I tracked down Shaun Dell and Tiffany Dell, both of them are deceased."

"What happened?"

"Shaun Dell died in that big hotel fire on the strip five years ago – and according to LVFD he was their prime suspect for starting the fire, as well as a series of fires on the strip over the previous five years."

Sara rolled her eyes and munched on her fries.

"And Tiffany?"

"She's been in a small private hospital for the mentally ill since she turned twenty-one. Two years ago, she managed to bribe a nurse for a needle, and she injected an air bubble into her vein, committing suicide."

"So does this count as the good news or bad?" Sara piped up.

"Both, since I found two and they're not suspects anymore because they're dead."

"Okay," Gil agreed. "I'll give you that. But what's the worse news?"

"I'm getting there, be patient. I haven't found anything on Raymont or Natalie -"

Sofia poked her head into Brass' office. "Good news, Gil. I just got off the phone with family court. The four names you gave me, combined with the fact that there's been another miniature killer crime were enough to get a judge to open the records. I'm waiting for the email containing the files now-"

"Thanks, Sofia. We only need the files for Natalie and Raymont – the other two are deceased."

Sofia consulted her notebook. "Right – Raymont Kips and Natalie Davis, I'm on it." She ducked back out.

"Gil – you still there?"

"Sorry, Catherine – yes, we're here. I have the full names of the last two now: Raymont Kips and Natalie Davis."

"Well, that's helpful but you need to listen to me. Judy recognized one of our suspects – from the photos we got from Alina."

His eyes darted to Sara's as the shock set in. "What did you say?"

"Well, that's the worse news – or the truly bad news, if you prefer. You remember how Greg was saying there must be a mole inside the lab?"

A cold knot of dread began to build in Gil's stomach. "Yeah, go on."

"Well, I had the pictures in my hands, and I was rushing down the hall when I bumped into Judy, and they went flying all over the floor. She helped me pick them up. She froze when she had one of them in her hands and when I asked her what was wrong, she said: 'Oh, nothing. I just thought I knew – yeah, it is her! Wow, she sure is young!' so I quizzed her, saying 'You know her?' and Judy said, 'Of course I do – that's Natalie – she's a new janitor on the early morning shift.'"

Silence descended for a full minute before Sara broke it.

"You're saying that Natalie Davis – one of Ernie Dell's foster children - has been in our lab for weeks – posing as a janitor – and none of us knew about it until today?"