Author's Note: It's been far too long since my last post. I have changed computers, again, and the transfer was actually very smooth. I took a promotion at work and my hours changed and things are getting busy with the holidays coming on. That doesn't mean I haven't been writing. It's quite the opposite, I have this story in the bag. I'm doing a little bit of editing here and there, but for the most part, it's done. This chapter, however, is not beta-read and I'm sure there are errors. In other news, I have decided to start a LiveJournal page. I am not very good with it, I've had them before and given up in frustration, so any pointers will be helpful. It will be another place where I will post my writing and updates and what-not. If I could figure out how other people would get there, I would post the link or address or whichever it is. All right, this chapter is called critical mass because allot of things are happening. Read, enjoy and send along your comments and critiques, please.
Chapter XLVIII
Critical Mass
Warrick Brown rolled into PD around two in the afternoon, much earlier then the start of his shift. Unlike many of his teammates, though, he hadn't worked all night. He had, on Grissom's suggestion, gone home after he'd gotten back from Laughlin. He was relieving Nick, so the other man could go home and get some sleep. Greg had already gone home and hopefully Cath or Griss would leave when Sara clocked in. They were all on edge and desperately needed sleep.
He rubbed a hand over his face and sat for a minute in the still cool SUV. Then he reached into the glove compartment, his hand paused before pulling the latch to open the storage compartment. The bottle of pills, amber plastic with a typed out label and a white childproof cap didn't look like much. It had two refills left and the bottle was a little more then half empty. It was just a little nudge, a boost to counteract the sleeping pills, also prescribed to him by a doctor, he took the night before. He would take just enough to get through the night. He couldn't do his job if he was drowsy. He dry-swallowed the bitter pills with a quick toss of his wrist. It was no big thing.
Warrick opened the door and felt the oppressive dry heat hit him like a kick to the gut. He pulled his chrome-toned field case out of the Tahoe and closed the door. He locked the Tahoe with the keychain remote out of habit.
"CSI Brown!"
Warrick got less then three paces away from the Tahoe before the mob of reporters surrounded him. Camera flashes half blinded him and he threw up a hand to both hide his face and protect his eyes. That didn't stop them from asking questions. Every single reporter, photographer and cameraman was trying to get his attention. Everyone wanted their questions heard and answered. Questions he wouldn't have responded to even if he had known what the hell was going on.
He vaguely recognized the pretty reporter from Channel 8 shoving a microphone in his face and decided that she wasn't half as good looking in person. Of course she wasn't the only one. He went more on what logo was on the microphone then faces, for the most part, and was surprised at what he saw. Newspapers, CNN and practically every other major news outlet had sent people with a capital P.
"CSI Brown, all we keep hearing is 'no comment, no comment' do you have a comment?"
While he knew the Dupree angle was big, this was getting ridiculous.
Another reporter jumped in before he could reply, "Can you tell us where Sara Sidle is right now and will she be making a statement?"
He grimaced and tried to break away. He definitely didn't have a comment about Sara.
"How is she taking this latest development in the case?"
He had just got here, he didn't even know about this development yet, and he would tell them so if he could get a damn word in. He clamped his mouth shut, held his free hand up in front of his face and tried to get to the PD door.
"Sources inside the Paris, are telling us that CSI Sara Sidle was in the room when the arrest was made this morning and had spent the night, do you know if that will have any bearing on this case?"
Another reporter, one he didn't recognize, stepped between him and the door and shoved a digital recorder in his face. "Sources inside the crime lab say that this is not the first sexual indiscretion on Ms. Sidle's record. Do you have a comment on the rumored relationship she had with Gil Grissom, her and your superior?"
Then the writer, if you could call someone whose articles kept birdcages clean a writer, went too far.
"Or are you another one of her inter-office boy-toys?"
The drone of the other questions was drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears.
People could talk smack about him all day long. Bring one of his friends into it and you were begging for a fight. When it came down to it, he would inject mercury in his gloves before letting someone walk all over his family.
His fists clenched tight, he could feel his skin harden over his knuckles. He shifted his feet to a shoulder's length apart and tensed his shoulder. He was going to punch the sucker square in his pretty-boy nose with a hard right jab. They would see what kind of questions he asked then.
"He's not worth it, Brown."
Warrick turned, his neck stiff, to see Detective Vega standing at the door.
He didn't even have time to reply, and even if he had, it would have been drowned out by the reporters' questions. Warrick went in, was half pulled through, the door and it closed quickly behind them.
"Buitres"*
Warrick didn't need to know Spanish to agree with the Detective's observation.
Sam Vega wasn't a LVPD poster boy, far from it. His solid build, barrel chest and thick arms and legs, and rough cut face made him look more like a street brawler then a police detective. He was a five o'clock shadow and a pair of sagging jeans away from looking like a thug. He was tough, prickly and had never been overly concerned with politics. Being on the gang task force either wore you down and burnt you out or it toughened you up. It was easy to see which way Vega had gone.
Warrick didn't and couldn't begrudge him that. He didn't like him shoving his nose where it didn't belong. Warrick Brown had always been able to take care of himself.
"There were twenty cameras out there. The last thing we need on the six o'clock news is video of you cleaning one of those bastards' clocks. The last thing Sidle needs is for you to clean one of their clocks."
He didn't like the fact that Vega was right, but it didn't change the fact.
He paused to blow out a sigh and take a deep breath. He massaged his forehead, "I know." He took another breathe, "Fine, what have we got?"
They started walking again, Vega leading him through the maze of hallways and squad rooms.
"You caught the shit shift, man."
Warrick turned to look at Vega, startled out of his thoughts, "Right now no shift comes out roses."
"No," Vega shook his head, "I mean it has hit the fan, big time. You've got three suspects lined up like ducks in rooms one, two and three. We've got lawyers and DAs and I'm sure Atwater will be coming in soon enough to breathe down our necks. It's elbow deep around here and you're right in the middle of the shit storm of the year. Vega handed him the folded warrant, "DNA for all three lovely ladies, fingerprints were taken in booking. There's a uni in each one." Vega started walking away.
"Aren't you going to come in and press them?"
Vega chuckled, "Oh no, this is Homicide's baby and I was just the sitter." Vega handed him the three file folders that presumably belonged to the three suspects in the interview rooms. "I," Vega shook his head, "am on my way to toss Curtis out of her rack, you were just a detour."
Warrick winced; waking an armed woman up after what had probably been only a few hours of sleep didn't sound fun. He almost pitied Vega.
"Oh, by the way, the one in two is a biter."
He could hear Vega chuckling as he turned the corner.
Warrick hoped Sofia woke up like an angry bear with a jerky trigger finger.
The interview rooms had a very simple set up. They were lined up on one side of the hall. There were three unevenly spaced doors marked one, two and three. There was, of course, observation rooms were investigators could record and observe the interrogations but they could only be accessed from the hallway on the opposite side of the bullpen.
Warrick looked at each door, and shuffled the files to get them in order and see exactly what he was up against. Room One had a half hysterical assistant to the stars. Room number two had a silent college student who had bitten the female officer who had tried to do her cavity search in booking. Room Three was the winner though; it had a seething Alexandra Dupree in it.
Warrick scrubbed his hand over his face; he should have called in sick.
Out of all the humiliations and horrors the only thing that came to her mind was that she looked terrible in bright orange. Jennica would have laughed at that, only if she started laughing she was pretty sure she wouldn't quit, ever.
She was at a complete loss, and had no idea what to do. She had gotten her one phone call, and her brother-in-law, a CSI back home, had promised her that everything would be okay. Only it wasn't okay. David was in San Francisco, which might have well be on a completely different planet then Las Vegas.
They thought she was the Male Mutilator! They actually thought she was a serial killer! She was a member of PETA for crying out loud. If she couldn't stand the idea of killing an animal for food how could they think she could kill a person?! A living, breathing person with a life and friends and everything! Oh god, her mother was going to totally freak. She was only supposed to be Alex's assistant for a few years and then she would be able to move onto any job she wanted in the industry or beyond.
She had listened over and over again to David's "war" stories. She should have listened closer, tried to remember something, anything helpful. Of course she had never imagined that she would be in this sort of situation. She was a glorified gofer, not a killer. She couldn't even stomach those real crime shows.
At least she wasn't handcuffed, thank God for small mercies. The small room they'd had her in for hours and hours was so cold she was shivering. Jennica had drawn her feet up into the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. She just wanted to go home. The female officer who had handled her the whole time, handled as in actually handled her with her hands, stood silent and unmoving by the door. She hadn't so much as flinched the whole time. She didn't even look cold, but Jennica was freezing. Maybe that was part of the whole interrogation thing, keeping the room like a frickin' freezer. What came next the rubber hoses and phone books?
Like magic, black and twisted, the door opened right on cue. It wasn't the Gestapo or if it was, the Gestapo was kind of cute. She wiggled her arms back around her legs and awkwardly wiped her cheeks with one of her hands. "Are you my lawyer?"
She watched him with wary eyes. He shook his head and put his big chrome case on the table. It wasn't an exact match but it was close enough to her brother-in-laws forensics kit. The man wasn't a cop, exactly, he was a CSI. Well, she was pretty sure he was, at least.
"Hey,"
She looked at him and told herself that she wasn't going to cry again.
"I'm Warrick Brown with the Crime Lab. I just need to do a few simple tests, okay."
Jennica scrubbed at her already red nose. "Don't you need a warrant or something? My brother-in-law works with the San Francisco Police and he told me-"
Warrick tall dark and handsome Brown handed her a sheaf of papers. It looked close enough to the papers they passed around on Law and Order. It wasn't like she had anything else to go on. She'd never seen a warrant in her life before coming to Las Vegas. She was a glorified secretary for God's sake.
"Can you hold out your hands please, palms down?"
She jerked, "They a-already fingerprinted me down when they-"Her throat started to close up and she could feel a series of screams bubbling up in her chest. It was getting hard to breathe.
He nodded, "I just need to see your hands."
Jennica nodded and unclasped her fingers from around her knees. The knuckles were white from stress and her hands shook as she held them out. She wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he didn't seem to be finding it.
"Turn them over, please."
She did and he looked over her palms. They were normal enough, her hands. They might be a little smoother then some peoples but that was a perk of traveling with a supermodel. She got all sorts of free clothes and makeup and all the mani and pedis she wanted.
"Okay, now I need to look at your ears."
Gray dots were dancing at the edges of her vision, "My ears?"
Mr. CSI Warrick Brown came closer and she pulled her arms tight around her.
"I have three in one ear and four in the other. Is that what you want to see?"
He looked at one ear and then he went around behind her and looked at the other ear.
"Okay, I just need to get a hair sample, okay?"
She smoothed her hair down with her hand, "Um, okay."
Jennica thought he was going to cut off a strand of hair so she wasn't braced for the sharp sting of the hair being jerked out of her scalp.
The little pain that was less then the usual amount she went through straitening, styling and primping her own hair broke the dam that had been holding back the tears.
"OH GOD! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING I SWEAR!"
Anything else she wanted to say was lost in tears and chest heaving sobs. She couldn't get her breathe. Oh God she was going to die in a police station!"
In the midst of her panic-attack someone, she wasn't sure who, jerked her chair back and pushed her head between her knees. She tried to take the deep breathes like they were telling her, but the sobs and tears were making it hard.
She would only notice after the panic and tears eased off that Warrick Brown and his chrome CSI case were gone.
It wasn't so bad, the seat was jus about as comfortable as any seat in a lecture hall. Of course she had never been handcuffed to anything in her life, the cuffs were starting to chaff and her side was hella sore, but all in all things could be worse. Only one bitch had dared come close to her and she had made that ham handed whore pay. She could still taste the cop's blood on her tongue; it didn't taste like pork in the least. After all this blood contact she was going to have to get an HIV test, ick. She didn't like blood when it was coming out of her body.
Of course she wouldn't be here at all if she had just been able to run a little bit faster. That though wasn't totally her fault; who the hell would have thought that someone would run down the side of the stairs. It was like something out of a really bad action flick.
This whole thing was turning into a really fucked up movie. It was all spinning completely out of control. Last night had been a mistake, an enjoyable one, but still a mistake. She had left her dress and God only knew what else behind. She hadn't even had time to wipe her prints off of the baseball bat. The others, though, they didn't know jack about those. As far as she knew they all probably thought Alex Dupree did those.
Well maybe not all of them. A woman like Detective Curtis wouldn't run wild through a library just for fun. No, the last time she had spoken to the Detective the other woman had been very serious and sober the whole time. She had been dressed well and had conducted herself with the air of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. Her companion had been the chick who was all over the news. She was like Dupree's girlfriend or fuck buddy or whatever. Sara something or other, that had been her name, Kera was sure of it. Whatever, she was all for girl love and all chick cops, female law enforcement officers she meant, were like at least bi. Besides, the detective and the brunette had been hot.
It was a damn shame that they were on the wrong side of the fight.
Kera shifted uncomfortably, she had been here forever. She had watched some show that said that you could only be held for a few hours without being charged for something. She should be able to get out without too many problems and hopefully without a lawyer. She was a college student for Christ's sake, she couldn't afford legal fees and besides, pre-law majors made her gag. Did they always keep two cops in one room? It was a little much, two butch cops with guns for one handcuffed woman. Ah well, maybe she shouldn't have bitten that pervert dyke earlier.
She jerked when the door started to open. Maybe she would finally get to go home, or more accurately to class. She had a test in Women's Literature today and she doubted her anal retentive professor would let her make it up.
The man that came in was around six feet tall, African American and he looked pissed. She shifted again, and crossed her legs under the table. An ice cold shudder went down her spine old, but she refused to give into it to her fear. There was more then one way to handle a man.
"Where's Detective Curtis?" She propped her chin in her linked hands and batted her lashes at him.
The man put his metal case on the table she was handcuffed to, "I'm CSI Warrick Brown with the Crime Lab and I'm here to take a DNA sample."
She wanted to flinch away from him but didn't.
"So where's Detective Curtis?"
CSI Brown didn't answer her, he just opened his case.
"Be careful, sir."
The khaki statue at the door finally spoke, and Brown looked at her.
"She took a chunk out of Malone's hand in booking."
She rolled her eyes and crossed her re-crossed her legs underneath the table. "So Warrick Brown, where is Detective Curtis?"
He took an odd looking q-tip out of his bag of tricks.
"Open your mouth please."
Both of the butch cops stiffened up, ready to jump and tie her down like Hannibal Lector. She opened her mouth like a good girl and let the black man swab the inside of her cheek.
She watched him put the plastic cap over the spit covered cotton tip.
"I am also going to need a sample of your hair."
Kera pouted, "So Detective Curtis isn't here?"
He took a pair of long tweezers out of his shiny suitcase, and still didn't answer her.
She hissed when he plucked a few strands of her hair out at the root. It was a little pain, but nothing that mattered.
"What about Sara, do I get to talk to her?"
The CSI went stiff, she'd found his hot button.
"What happened to your ears, Miss Hiene?"
Kera froze, smirk still on her face.
A thin red mist covered her vision and panic jumped up in her throat along with her heart. Her eyes narrowed at the man, Warrick-fucking-Brown, who was standing far too close to her. Her pulse thundered in her temples, her fingertips and deep inside her it trembled in something between fear and hate. She lunged forward and closed the gap, a mere fifteen inches to her left. The sudden movement made the steel handcuffs bite into her skin and the pain that should have been razor sharp was dulled by the adrenaline.
She aimed for his thick brown neck, mouth open. They had tied up her hands but she could still hurt him. Everything was moving so fast, she was moving faster then she ever had. So she was caught completely by surprise when a blinding pain on each side of her head stopped her far short of her goal of ripping out the CSI's fucking throat. Her teeth came together with an audible snap and she let out a guttural sound that she had meant to be a growl. It sounded more like a whimper.
Kera gasped and arched her neck back, trying to break the cop's hold on her. As she fought, she felt the pain that was running up and down her face from jaw to temple was coming from a few strategically placed fingers. Knowing that it was pressure point manipulation didn't lessen the pain. God, the longer it went on the more it hurt. It was like having railroad spikes driven into her head.
The cop bitch held her in place, like a dog, so he could take pictures of her ears and then he left without even saying goodbye or screw you. The cop didn't release her hold, which absolutely had to be outlawed in the Geneva Convention, until he was long gone and the door was shut.
Fucking cops.
Fucking men.
After the tears of Jennica Rawlins in room one and the down right creepy vibes and attempted biting in room two Warrick was just about ready to call it a day. Of course he still had another suspect to process and God only what kind of female histrionics and shenanigans he would have to put up with to get Alexandra Dupree's DNA.
Alex Dupree, the epitome of the American ideal of beauty and he was going to swab the inside of her cheek. The world was a screwy place sometimes. Not that he hadn't worked with or on famous people before. Of course they were usually dead, or in a few cases far beyond help, when he met them.
Then there was the entire Sara situation, which he'd already lost patience with. He didn't know exactly what was going on, and wasn't sure he wanted to. That was a whole twisted mess of female trouble and if he had wanted to put up with that he would still be married. On the other hand this was Sara. He was still having problems wrapping his mind around everything. Sara and super model, it sounded like it was one of Greg's wet dreams given form and brought to life in high def with surround sound.
He flipped through the file and leaned against the wall beside room three's door. Catherine was convinced that Dupree had done something. She couldn't be alone in her beliefs, at least one judge believed her or he wouldn't have the warrant.
It was, Warrick decided, just another suspect and just another day. With that in mind, he opened the door and stepped in. She wasn't what he expected or anything like Catherine described. She was dressed in jeans that might have been blue once and a black tee shirt that had Cartman from South Park splashed across it. Cartman was sitting on a Big Wheel tricycle, wearing a blue police uniform and demanding that everyone respect his authority. Her blonde hair fell strait between her shoulder blades in a loose braid and when she turned to look at him, he saw that she wasn't wearing an ounce of makeup. She didn't look anything like the advertisements or magazine covers but she was still instantly recognizable. It might have been her laser blue eyes or the sarcastic smirk on her face. It could have been either, or neither, but for just a second he was mesmerized.
"Can I help you?" She crossed her arms over her chest, which covered Cartman's face.
Warrick blinked and felt very foolish.
"I'm Warrick Brown from-"
"The Crime Lab, I know." She propped her chin on her fist and returned her attention to whatever space she was staring into before he'd come in.
She was one cool customer.
"All right," Warrick put his case on the table across from her, "I just need to get a DNA sample and some pictures."
She leveled a glare at him, "Because you haven't been able to get a match on my fingerprints, right."
Warrick scowled, she was practically an ice queen. "I have a warrant, Miss Dupree."
She didn't look especially impressed, "I want to see it, please." She held out one perfectly clean and manicured hand, and looked at him expectantly. He handed her the neatly folded warrant and unlike most, she actually read it word for word.
"I see you want the clothes and shoes I wore last night, an oral swab, a hair sample and up to a full body inspection. How the hell did you get a judge to sign off on this? I'm not even officially under arrest." She didn't even give him a chance to answer, "Whatever, everything looks like it's in order." She twisted around in her chair so they were face to face. "The faster your squints clear me, the faster I can get on a plane and get away from this parched fucking wasteland."
Warrick shook his head and took a swab out of his kit. "This will only take a minute." He stepped closer, but paused because the memory of Heine's teeth so close to his throat was too fresh and vivid in his mind.
"I won't bite you, Mister Brown, you're not my type." She opened her mouth wide enough for him to see her tonsils. He actually almost chuckled while he swabbed the inside of her cheek.
"Well fuck me sideways."
Warrick capped the sani-swab, "Excuse me?"
Dupree shook her head, "You do have the most incredible green eyes I've ever seen."
Warrick took out his tweezers and a specimen envelope and cleared his throat, "Um, thank you."
She smiled and crossed her legs, "Sahara. She said a few things about you, and everyone I guess, last night. It was mostly good. She said that you were something like a would-be-brawler with a heart of gold. I don't know about the rest, but your eyes really are nice."
He plucked three curly gold hairs from the loose strands that she had pushed behind her ears, "So you and Sara really-"
She smiled, "For a few memorable years."
He dropped the hair sample into the small evidence bag and sealed it, "And last night?"
Dupree shifted, leaned back in the strait backed chair and balanced on two legs. "And there's that heart of gold. We just talked, CSI Brown. We talked until the sun came up, or we would have if she hadn't have passed out from the drinking."
Now Warrick crossed his own arms, "You got her drunk?"
Dupree chuckled, "Do you know a better way to get tall, dark and brooding to open up and talk about what's going on in that complicated head of hers?"
He had never tried all that hard to get Sara to open up and didn't have anything to say.
She sighed and sank her face into her hands, "Fuck. I haven't seen her since this morning when that woman burst into my suite." She let out a huff of breathe, "You know what, never mind. I didn't mean to sound like the creepy ex-girlfriend who can't let go. I'm just worried about her. She never reacts well to public nudity or near nudity or embarrassment of any kind, period."
Warrick blinked, "Nudity?"
A tint of color actually blossomed over her beautifully cut cheekbones, "You should ask that fucking blonde bitch who slammed in on us this morning, Mr. Brown." She dropped all four chair legs back onto the hard tile. "Or may I call you Warrick?" She shook her head. "There are only a handful of people I've ever trusted Sahara's safety with are either hours and hours away or dead. She trusts you, Warrick, and her judgment is usually very good. Her occasional choice in lovers excluded, of course. She won't need or want to be coddled or humored, but I bet you knew that already. No, Warrick, I think she would love to get a smile from you." She could use it after dealing with that woman this morning."
He looked over her from head to toe as she spoke. There were shadows under her eyes, but that was easily explained away by a long night of drinking and talking. Her nails were pristine and her ears sported small, elegant sapphire studs. She hadn't soullessly slaughtered a teenager last night.
"Catherine, that woman you keep cursing, isn't all that bad."
Dupree snorted, "It's hard to like someone who's been telling the press you're a serial killer and generally making your life miserable. Half of the time I've been here I've been putting it together and the only thing I can come up with is that I'm here to punish Sara somehow."
Warrick locked his samples in his kit and picked it up off the table. The weight was familiar in his hand, even if the uneasiness he felt did not.
"Cath cares about Sara, she just has problems showing it sometimes. They fight allot, but that's how they work best." He started to walk away, "You know what, it doesn't matter. Catherine and Sara are fine, in their own way. When all this blows over, when you're gone, everything will be fine again."
Her voice stopped him as he was going out the door.
"If you want to put your bets on that, you're a damned idiot."
Warrick walked into the Crime Lab at exactly ten after three o'clock in the afternoon. It took him five minutes to drop his samples off with Whats-His-Face, the days DNA tech and he had two minutes of decompression time. He was halfway to the break room for his first cup of coffee when he saw Nick in one of the layout rooms looking as grim as he felt. He didn't want to, but felt like it was his duty as a coworker and a friend.
He leaned against the doorway, "Do I even want to know?"
Nick looked up, his eyes red from fatigue and aggravation and his jaw heavy with stubble.
"Yeah, it's a slam dunk."
Warrick looked over the neatly laid out photographs and the many tagged-and-bagged items. It was like Santa Claus had come early and handed them their case all wrapped up in a pretty red bow.
Warrick knew what was coming, "But-"
Nick sighed and leaned against the table, "Cath is not going to be happy."
Warrick leaned against the wall and rubbed his fingers over his eyes in fast, frustrated circles. "Nobody is going to be happy when this is all said and done. We followed the evidence, stuck to procedure and did everything in our power to make things go smoothly."
"Some job we did this time." Nick half-heartedly chuckled, "I don't want to be the one who tells Catherine she's wrong on this."
Neither did Warrick. "We don't have to, it's the evidence, man."
* Buitres is vultures in Spanish.