Setting: Las Vegas: Friday, July 22, 2005, around three o'clock in the morning:
Pulling up in front of the guard building for the Lake Mead campgrounds, Warrick slid from his Tahoe and paused. He let his green eyes rove over the darkened tents and campers. Three in the morning was hardly the time for a lot of activity, which would make his job easier. Turning, Warrick headed into the building, noting the family of man, woman, and three children sitting with the guard and a local police officer. Voices overlapped as the woman continued to complain about the level of guests at the campground while the children cried or whined, tired and confused.
"Walking around in his drawers!" The woman ended on a breath mixed of indignation and excitement.
Stepping over to the family, Warrick pulled out his identification dn displayed it. "I'm Warrick Brown of the Nevada crime lab. Are you the people who found the John Doe here?"
"He was only in his drawers," the lady began again, "and he came for my daughter!"
Shaking his head, Warrick said, "actually, ma'am, you and your daughter saved his life."
"What?" Confusion won over excitement and the lady sat up straighter, studying the investigator.
"Yes, ma'am," Warrick continued. "That man was one of our crime lab investigators. He was kidnapped this morning. You helped him get away and get medical help. You saved his life." He'd received the good news of Greg's identification on the way over to the campground.
Before the woman could say anything else, Warrick asked, "could you show me where you found him, ma'am? Any evidence we can get would help us. You can let your family stay here with the officer just to reassure yourself they aren't at risk."
"I'll show you," the man, apparently her husband, stood and stepped over to Warrick. Come along. Don't know what'll be left with this rain, but I can show you our site. He passed our right in front of our camper."
Nodding, Warrick offered a thankful smile to the woman and her children then followed the man out. He signaled Bobby D to follow with O'Reilly and let the witness slip into the Tahoe.
Shortly after, they arrived at the assigned campsite for the family from San Diego. The man got out at Warrick's soft order then gestured to a muddy place on the ground and tire tracks.
"Those are from the ambulance. And that's where he fell down. He was carrying that," the man pointed to Greg's forensics kit, still on the ground, a crime marker by it. Two local cops processed the scene but stopped as the investigator approached.
"Hello, thank you for coming out in this deluge. The man down was one of ours," he informed them. "From the lab. We had an APB out for him all night. Any idea where he came from?" Warrick slipped on gloves and squatted by the kit, opening it to peer inside. Greg's kit had no flashlight, tape, or trace lifters but blood smeared the other contents. "Good boy, Geg," Warrick murmured, feeling the missing objects could have been left behind as breadcrumbs.
He rose to his feet and looked around, noting absently that O'Reilly helped with the lighting and tarp. Not far away sat a silver VW Passat, a bit of debris stuck under the tire. Warricked headed over and realized the debris was a left over wrapper from a large trace lifting swatch. He let his flashlight shine on the trunk, noting damage to the trunk lip as well as what could be mud of blood. The license plate, however, drew Warrick's eyes and he mentally checked it off digit by digit. "O"Reilly, we got the car!" he called, alerting his police officer partner.
Immediately O'Reilly hurried over, calling for a tow to get the car in for processing. The outside might be a lost cause, but the inside could be a feast of forensic information.
Setting: Las Vegas: Friday, July 22, 2005, around three-thirty in the morning:
Those at the lab, including Cath, swarmed over the vehicle, processing every piece of evidence they could find. Someone worked the front seat, another the back, while a third tried vainly on the outside. Cath, herself, worked meticulously in the trunk where a very large pool of blood had settled.
After all necessary photos, she took preliminary swabs of the blood then moved on to an interesting flash of odd color in the latch: a piece of teal cloth. Working it carefully free, Cath felt her stomach clench when something a bit more flesh and blood toned came free as well. She logged the item and had it run immediately to testing, feeling she knew what that object was: Greg's flesh must have been caught in the trunk latch along with the T-shirt.
Cath pushed away her personal feelings, as she always did when working a scene, and continued processing debris from lifting tape and trace swatches; it seemed Greg or his captor had used quite a bit of those and left the trash behind, but there was no sign of the actual tape or swatches. "Someone collect whatever Greg had on him, including any tape stuck to him!" she called.
"Blood and debris smears in the back seat," someone else called.
Cath set her mouth in a grim line, nodding once but continuing the long process. Every fiber of evidence they collected could mean a longer sentence for the man or woman who'd done this.
Setting: Las Vegas: Friday, July 22, 2005, five o'clock in the morning:
Gil slipped once more into his vehicle and drove, with Hodges, back to the law office they'd been at mere hours before. This time, the law assistant seemed resigned to see him but merely glanced over the presented warrant, not interfering in the evidence collection.
"Hodges, you get the CCTV. I'll get the desk," Gil announced, startling the woman.
"The entire desk?"
"Yes, and the rug beneath it, as well," Gil agreed without indication of amusement. "We don't want to miss anything. It's in the warrant." He knew they didn't really need the desk or even the carpet, but the collection of those items distracted the assistant from their real goal: those tapes.
Two lab techs showed up as if on cue and Gil directed them to package and retrieve the entire desk while he began to work the carpet.
The woman stared helpless, not even bothering to contact her employers, as controlled chaos erupted around her.
Setting: Las Vegas: Friday, July 22, 2005, noon:
Archie shifted in his seat yet again, eyes trained on the video footage from the law office. He looked for any sign of Greg's neighbor. So far, he'd seen the man identified as Lassiter go into the office, with no visible signs of injury, about five AM the morning before the day Greg went missing. He'd left around noon then gone back in around two. He'd taken two apparent bathroom breaks before five the next morning, one more ending inside his office.. That meshed with the suspect statement.
The tape showed a time marker of one thirty six PM when the man finally emerged once more. Archie bolted straight up in his seat and watched intently as Lassiter headed down the hall and out of the law firm. Rewinding, Archie played the scene again and shook his head.
Lassiter had a bandage on his head and nose. No sound had emitted from the office loud enough for the security setup to record and no camera had been placed in Lassiter's office, but the departing lawyer had definitely been injured at some time between entering at five AM and leaving at one thirty-six PM.
Rewinding further, Archie watched carefully, also using the attached computer software to scan the footage. The lawyer hadn't left for bathroom breaks or food, nor had he allowed clients or other staff into the room. The door had remained locked for the questionable period of time. Archie fumbled for the lab phone and quickly dialed.
"Gil, did anyone look at the fire escape for the law office?" Archie asked, his tone excited but controlled. "There's a window of about eight and a half hours where he doesn't come out and the door seems locked. No potty breaks. No food. He went in fine and came out bandaged."
Gil's voice returned over the phone, "yes, we thought of that and processed the evidence. We're canvassing for CCTV that might have captured the fire escape from another building. The law firm didn't have a camera out there."
Researching not far away, Nick watched data cruise by him on various screens. THe entire lab had put a rush on any evidence, especially DNA, from Greg's scene. As they waited for the minimal processing time to pass, Nick began to run the other angle Sara had suggested: Lassister's daughter.
Typing in the names Lassiter and Greg Sanders, Nick felt a jolt of surprise at the immediate match to a newspaper article. He pulled the article up and read: DNA expert Greg Sanders to testify in Lassister murder trial. Skimming further, Nick found that Lassister's daughter had been murdered. Greg had viable DNA but no match had been found by the time of trial, setting the lead suspect free.
Nicked pulled up the roster of lab techs and investigators that had handled the Lassiter murder case, knowing already which names would appear. Ten techs and investigators in all had testified at the trial that exonerated the lead witness. Lassiter had filed malpractice injunctions against the lab, which had failed. And now, it appeared Lassiter targeted each person who had apparently failed him in gaining justice for his daughter.
Turning to another computer, Nick brought up the DNA evidence found in that case and set it to run against any known DNA sample on file in the United States.
Setting: Las Vegas: Sunday, July 24, 2005, nine-thirty in the morning:
Jim Brass walked the suspect, Howard Lassiter into the interrogation room. He gestured towards a chair and nodded as the man sank onto the hard wooden surface, directly in the line of view from the security camera. Brass watched the man for a long moment then said, "care to explain why you attacked Greg Sanders?"
"Why would I attack Greg Sanders?" Lassiter frowned, meeting Brass' eyes with defiance. "I never even spoke to him."
Nodding again, Brass pulled over a file and opened it to the first page. He slipped the paper from the file, turned it, and slid it across to the suspect. "Says here you did more than talk to the guy. You threatened him that if he didn't stop playing around and pin the DNA evidence on a Mr. Hardy, you'd make sure he needed his own DNA evidence." Looking up, meeting Lassiter's cold gaze, Brass added, "Hardy. Wasn't that the guy you pinned for your daughter's death, despite all of the evidence?"
"The lab did shoddy work and substituted false evidence to cover their own failings," lassiter growled. He shoved the paper back at Brass. "It doesn't mean I attacked my neighbor, even if he was the biggest failure of the lot of them."
Brass pulled out several more pieces of paper from his folder, laying each down side by side. "Your fingerprints on Greg's steering wheel. Your blood on Greg's laptop. Your blood on the fire escape outside your office. Your bloody clothes, also containing Greg's blood, in a firepit up at Lake Mead. Your shoe prints in blood at Greg's house."
"You'll try anything to pin things on me - - on anyone handy!" Lassiter stood up, slamming his hands on the table. He growled low as he said, "I will not tolerate this farce!"
Not even stepping back despite the threatening man before him, Brass pulled out a pair of sturdy handcuffs. He ordered, "Howard Lassiter, you are hearby under arrest for the kidnapping and attempted murder of Greg Sanders. Please turn around or I will be very pleased to get help."
An incredulous look crossed the suspect's face before he turned and stiffly let the cop handcuff him.
Brass guided Lassiter from the interrogation room and down the hall towards booking. On the way, he forced the suspect to do the perp walk past the techs and investigators and cops who'd worked so diligently to solve this case.
Stopping in front of the battered, bandaged form of Greg Sanders, leaning on a wall for support, Lassiter glared at the former DNA tech, hostility radiating from every pore.
"May I say something, Brass?" Greg asked, his voice firm and clear.
"Sure, Greg, but make it quick."
Greg turned his eyes on the man who'd been his neighbor for most of his adult life. He studied him briefly, Lassiter tall and proud and defiant before him. Finally, Greg broke the stand off by saying, "there was a hit on your daughter's case today. We're bringing in the suspect as we speak. I look forward to testifying at her trial . . . and yours, Mr. Lassister."
Brass pushed the suspect along the hall as the investigative team swarmed around Greg in a show of solidarity.
Notes:Disclaimer: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation was created by Ann Donahue and Anthony E. Zuiker and produced by Alliance Atlantis Communications, CBS Paramount Network Television (2006-2009), CBS Productions (2006-2009), and Jerry Bruckheimer Television. I am in no way connected with these people, and I do not claim ownership of these characters, lands, or names. I have borrowed them to share a story, and most likely not a story any of them would have written, had they had the time or no. I am making no money from this and it is just for my entertainment and that of free entertainment to a select group. Thank you.
Note: In the SpeedBurn timeline series significant changes occur in various episodes, marking differences in each series. The initial drastically changed episodes are in chronological order: "Bait" (Without a Trace), "Reveille" (NCIS), "Lost Son" (CSI: Miami), "Bodies in Motion" (Crime Scene Investigation), "Summer in the City" (CSI: NY), and "In Name and Blood (In Birth and Death)" (Criminal Minds). Many episodes after those changed are also different. This story is number 20 in the grand scheme. Thank you.