Disclaimer: Not Mine.
A/N: Many thanks to the wonderful women who've helped me with this. They are all truly special.
Chapter 11
December 16, 2007
Dr. Gilbert Grissom. Renowned entomologist. Crime scene investigator. For a moment, when he pinned me with his gaze, I was nervous. But only for a moment. Then he started asking questions and I realized he was flying blind. He may believe a crime is being committed, but he has no proof. He doesn't have a clue about who I am and what I do. Why should he? He could never understand the need for the service I provide. He would never be able to appreciate the amount of suffering I have saved those women and their families.
I've done some checking on Dr. Grissom and I know that, along with being eccentric and reclusive, he's very good at his job. He was instrumental in taking the Las Vegas Crime Lab to number two in the nation. He and his team have been credited with solving more crimes than almost any other team of criminalists in the country. If he knew anything, had anything, he wouldn't have shown up alone asking the questions he asked. I can't believe such a smart man would tip his hand like that.
And I have no doubt he is a very smart man. But then, so am I. I have no intention of giving up on my work. I had to postpone helping someone last night but I'll figure out a way. I can afford to be patient, patience is, after all a virtue. , I am doing God's will and He will not let me fail.
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Half an hour before shift, Grissom pushed through the doors to the morgue. The normally busy rooms were quiet and the lack of activity was somewhat eerie. Continuing past the gleaming metal tables and sinks, he made his way into Al's office. He rapped on the door a couple of times, interrupting a game of computer solitaire.
"Got a minute?" He smiled and settled into an empty chair.
Clicking pause, Al nodded. "I was just relaxing while I had a chance. It's a timed round. Don't want you to cost me points." Placing his hands on his desk, he leaned toward the other man. "Shoot."
"I…uh…I went out to St. Rose last night."
Al's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"
Grissom rubbed a hand over his mouth, his expression sheepish. "I was…um…fishing."
Once again, Al's eyebrows rose toward the top of his head. "Did you say fishing?" When Grissom nodded, he looked around the room. "Am I being Punk'd?"
"Excuse me?" Grissom's brows drew together.
Waving a hand dismissively, Al barked a laugh. "Never mind. It's just something Greg was telling me about."
"Oh, well, I'm sure I wouldn't know then." There was an awkward pause before he continued. "I think I know who has been killing the women. I just don't know how."
Al waited but Grissom didn't seem inclined to say any more. "Would you like to share?"
The question seemed to startle Grissom. A slight flush brightened his cheeks when he realized he'd been so deep in thought that he'd forgotten where he was. "Have you ever heard of a Dr. Malachi Rosenthal?"
Al thought for a moment and then shook his head. "No. Should I have?"
"Probably not. He's an anesthesiologist on staff there." Choosing his words carefully, Grissom continued, "I was talking with the charge nurse on the fifth floor when he came out of the stairwell door."
"Doctors can't climb stairs?" Al couldn't quite disguise his mirth.
Nailing his friend with a glare, Grissom continued. "It wasn't just that. It was the way he came out the door. He was looking around like he was trying to make sure he wasn't seen. And for just a second he looked angry to have been noticed."
Shaking his head, Al gave him a skeptical look. "So he climbed stairs and looked sneaky. Not sure why you think that makes him a killer."
"He was wearing latex gloves. Said he forgot to take them off." Grissom's eyes narrowed at the memory of the man's flippancy. "How often do you forget to take your gloves off? And why would an anesthesiologist even need gloves outside the OR?"
"It's all circumstantial. It doesn't prove anything."
Grissom nodded. He knew very well that he had nothing to substantiate his suspicions. "It's just a feeling, Al."
Leaning back in his chair, Al ran a hand over his beard. "Wow. I'm shocked." Grissom tilted his head quizzically. "Since when do you go off on your own based on a feeling? Well, aside from that FBI thing a few years back."
Rising to his feet, Grissom turned his gaze inward. "Sometimes, my friend, you have to follow your gut." Moving to the door, he continued, "Let me know if any more women fitting the profile come in."
Al Robbins sat stunned for a long while. He had seen a lot of strange things during his career, but he never thought he'd see Gil Grissom following his gut. Turning the situation over in his mind, he found himself unable to comprehend what he had heard. That sounded like something that…that Sara would say. Realization dawned bright and hot. Suddenly, he needed to worry about his friend's professional well being, as if he hadn't already been worried about Gil's emotional well being.
Quickly, he reached for the phone on his desk. He punched in a number, counting the rings until his call was answered. "It's Al. We need to talk."
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The shift had been particularly trying. There seemed to be no respite from the craziness of the people who lived and vacationed in Las Vegas. Grissom had spent most of the night juggling his people in order to cover all the things that popped up. Home invasions, B&E's, sexual assaults, the fun just never stopped. If he were honest, he would admit that he was grateful for the work. It kept him from missing Sara, if only for a little while.
It was nearing the end of shift and he was on his way to what he hoped was the last call of the night. It seemed that with the rising of the sun, the criminals had gone home to rest up for the next night of debauchery and mayhem. He pulled up in front of a storefront Thai restaurant that had been the scene of an armed robbery. He climbed out of the car and retrieved his kit. Walking toward the door, he was intercepted by Brass.
Falling into step with Grissom, Brass shoved his hands in his pockets. "Gil. Busy night, huh?"
Grissom watched the other man, noting that Brass couldn't meet his eyes. "You'd think it was a full moon."
Brass continued staring at the storefront, but a small smile curled his lips up. "Um…about yesterday…"
"Did I tell you that I had a visit from Heather?" Grissom stopped walking, forcing Brass to turn around and face him.
"Did you, now?" Brass studied the other man. "And what did she want?"
"To return a favor." He raised an eyebrow. "It seems we both think it's important to return favors."
Brass raised a hand and clapped Grissom on the shoulder. "I'd have to say I agree with you on that."
The two men entered the restaurant to find all the employees huddled together in the tiny dining area. Grissom made quick work of fingerprinting them all while Brass and a couple of uniforms took statements. With some photos and a judicious amount of print powder, the scene was processed. Grissom packed his kit and met Brass just outside.
Brass was on the phone when Grissom stopped beside him. Hanging up, he bent his head forward and massaged the back of his neck. Grissom studied the early morning traffic, the cars full of people hurrying home or to work; their lives full of things to do and places to go. Grissom gave a tired smile as he contemplated how innocent most people were.
"Gil?" Brass' voice broke through his reverie. "You with me?"
Grissom's head snapped around. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I was just thinking."
"There are just too many things I could say at this point. But I won't." Brass grinned.
A look of confusion clouded Grissom's face before he shrugged. "You…uh…want to get some breakfast?" He was tentative. This was the only the second time he had thought of not going straight home since Sara left and the first was mandated by Catherine.
"Sorry, I can't do it today." Brass felt incredibly guilty for turning the man down. "How about a rain check?"
Grissom merely nodded as if he'd expected nothing else. "Sure." He contemplated the traffic for another moment. "Guess I should get this to the lab and get home. Hank will be waiting anyway."
As Grissom walked away, Brass mentally kicked himself for not being quicker on his feet. He opened his mouth to call his friend back but Grissom was already inside his car with the door closed. Once again, he massaged the back of his neck and muttered, "Shit."
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The bar was quiet and not too dingy. It was also as far away from Grissom's side of town as one could get without leaving Las Vegas. At a table in a corner three people sat bent over their drinks. They were huddled together, talking quietly. Their faces, creased with concern, occasionally showed their surprise.
"He said what?" Catherine couldn't believe her ears. Surely, Doc was joking.
Doc had spent a few minutes bringing Catherine up to date on the dead women before dropping the latest development on both her and Brass.
Taking a hefty swallow of scotch and soda, Doc smiled at Catherine's reaction. "He said he went fishing."
For a moment, neither Catherine nor Brass spoke. Then she cupped a hand behind her ear and tilted her head. "Wait. Is that the Four Horsemen I hear?" Both men chuckled. "Seriously, has he lost his mind?"
With a strange look on his craggy face, Brass studied his companions. "It's worse than that. He's lost what gave his life meaning."
"Wow, a little deep this morning, aren't we?" Catherine teased, hoping to break Jim out of the funk he'd been in when he arrived. "Bad night?"
"I just turned Gil down for breakfast so that I could be here. Made me feel like shit to say no because he was reaching out finally." Brass tried to force his features into a smile but failed. "Sorry to be such a party pooper."
Reaching over, Catherine put her hand over his. "You're not a party pooper. We're all worried about him."
Gently disentangling his hand, Brass nodded. "So, what are we going to do about it?"
"We can't really do anything." Doc paused when the waitress walked up and asked if they were ready for another round. Each nodded and he continued, "I just wanted the two of you to know what's going on."
Brass agreed. "We can't watch him like he's a two year old. He's a grown man."
"The thing is… Ecklie. If he finds out, he'll hang Gil out to dry in a heartbeat." Catherine toyed with the straw in her drink, absently stirring the ice.
With a determined glint in his eyes, Brass said, "Then we'll just have to run interference. Save Gil from himself."
Doc and Catherine were nodding in agreement when the waitress delivered the next round of drinks.
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His daily routine completed, Grissom sat on the bed watching television with Hank. Absently, he turned his cell phone over and over in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he flipped it open and punched in Sara's number before hitting send. The four rings before her voice mail kicked in seemed interminable.
"Hi. This is Sara. Leave a message and I'll call you back." Her voice sounded forced and tinny through the tiny speaker.
"Hi, Sara. It's…um…it's me." Grissom shrugged even though she couldn't see him. "I didn't want to bother you, but you said I could call. It's just…I…I miss you." His voice cracked and he swallowed convulsively. "And I love you."
Flipping the phone closed, he reached out with a trembling hand and laid it on the nightstand. He turned his attention back to the television. It wasn't until the image on the screen blurred that he realized he was crying.