Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Many, many thanks to LosingInTranslation and Mingsmommy for their beta work on this. And to those who push me to finish each chapter - I am forever greatful!
December 28, 2007
"Suxamethonium chloride." Grissom's face wore a self-satisfied smirk as he slid into the chair in front of Doc Robbins' desk.
"Excuse me?" Looking up from the report he was reading Al Robbins quirked an eyebrow in question.
"I believe that's how he's killing them."
Slowly, Al straightened and dropped his pen on the desk. He leaned back in his chair and scratched his beard. "Where'd you come up with that?"
Grissom ran a finger over his lips, trying to suppress his smile. "Discovery."
"That Angel of Death special?" Al's eyes twinkled. "I loved that one. Can't believe I didn't think of it. I must be getting old."
"At least we have something to work with now."
Leaning forward, Al shook his head. "There's only one problem…"
"We have no way to test for it." Grissom nodded. "I know."
"No, no. The problem is the cost."
Grissom chuffed out a laugh. "Same thing."
Al thought for a moment. "Let me make some calls. I still have friends at Johns Hopkins, maybe I can work something out."
"Even if we prove the how we're not any closer to who." The frustration he felt was evident in his voice. "I just need a break. Just one little thing that points in Dr. Rosenthal's direction."
Turning worried eyes to his friend, Al sighed. "Maybe we're seeing things where nothing really exists."
"Why do you say that?" Grissom caught the glint in Al's eyes, the one that screamed pity. "I'm not looking for something to replace her, Al. You know as well as I do that somebody is killing these women. You are the one who brought it to my attention."
"Yeah." Once again, Al studied Grissom, the set of his jaw, the fire in his eyes. "You know what? Forget it."
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December 29, 2007
The night had been interminable. Not from lack of work but because he couldn't keep his mind on the task at hand. Grissom was…jittery. He tried to think of a better way to describe how he felt, but there really wasn't another word. He was on edge, his mind running in circles, unable to be still even when he was sitting. Several times during the course of the shift he'd considered checking his pulse, but figured that would only make things worse. Instead, he tried every technique he had ever used to relax, but nothing worked. And all that deep breathing and attempting to clear his mind only made him more irritated.
With a sigh, he let himself into the house. The click of nails on the tile floor warned him of Hank's impending arrival. Even his bad mood couldn't stand up against the excited boxer. Hank appeared and gave a short bark before dancing around in circles at his master's feet. Jumping up, he put his paws on Grissom's shoulders and gave him a slobbery kiss.
"Down, boy." Grissom tried to sound firm despite the smile that was spreading across his face. "Come on, Hank, down." Gently, he pushed the boxer off him and bent to scratch his ears. Giving him one final pat, Grissom moved around him to drop his keys on the table just inside the door. Quickly, he moved through the space to the back door. He opened it and let Hank out into the backyard.
The early morning sun was filtering through the bare branches of the huge elm, leaving large patches of sunlight on the patio. He stood in one of those patches, hands shoved in his pockets to keep them warm, watching as Hank made a circuit of the fence, sniffing for predators, lifting his leg every so often to mark the space as his. Grissom grinned as he watched the dog, allowing some of the tension to leave his body. When Hank was done warning off all possible interlopers, he trotted over and leaned against Grissom's leg, his eyes scanning the area for squirrels and birds just in case any were brave enough to enter his territory. After a moment of breathing in the cool air, hoping to calm his nerves, Grissom went back inside the house. He fed Hank and then poured himself a bowl of cereal which he ate standing at the sink.
Grabbing a soda from the refrigerator and smiling ruefully at the twinge of guilt, Grissom took his briefcase into the office and flopped down in his desk chair. He popped the top and took a long drink before opening his briefcase and pulling out the file he had started on the murdered women. He flipped slowly through the autopsy reports and the reams of papers that always accompanied the body from the hospital to the morgue. When the last page was flipped, he leaned back in the chair and sighed in frustration. There was nothing, NOTHING that tied the women to Malachi Rosenthal. And given that the last woman had died in another hospital there was nothing to tie them to each other.
Exhausted but knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep with all the questions flying around in his brain, Grissom did the one thing that had brought him peace since Sara's abduction. Whistling for Hank, he grabbed his keys off the table and headed out the door. Forty-five minutes later he was once again at the access road that led into Red Rock Canyon, the place Natalie had taken Sara. Oddly enough the place had become a haven for him, somewhere to get in touch with things he had thought put to rest. Even before Sara left, he had gone there. And while they never talked about it, he was sure that she knew and she understood, better than he did himself, what he was doing. Maybe subconsciously he had known something was wrong and he had been trying to find answers he should have been looking for at home.
Quickly he maneuvered the Denali out across the dirt. People thought of the dessert as loose sand, but the Mojave was really more like baked mud, hard and unyielding. The tires crunched over the rocks as Grissom followed a rutted track to the northwest. Finally, he saw it; the gully, surrounded by rocks. The place where he almost lost her. He felt something in him unfurl at the sight of it. Stopping the car, he cut the engine and got out.
As he made his way forward, his shoes sending small clouds of dust skyward in his wake, he took a moment to look around. His eyes registered the soaring mountains with the distinctive red streak running through them. The sunlight spilled over the tops, casting long shadows across the valley floor. The quiet was absolute, all consuming. Once again he wondered if that was why Natalie picked this place. Maybe here she couldn't hear anything; not even the voices in her own head.
With Hank at his side, Grissom made his way to the high side of the furrow. Pushing his way through the scrub brush, he crouched and stared down into the maw. Nothing there to remind him of what had been, but still he saw it. The wreck of a car almost buried beneath the sand that had washed down from higher ground. In slow motion, his mind played back pictures of him and Nick clawing at the heavy, wet dirt. His own voice, screaming Sara's name, echoed off the hills. And just like that, everything else became less.
His mind clear, Grissom allowed himself to consider his next move with the dead women. He knew how they were being killed. He knew who was killing them. What he didn't know was how to prove it. What he needed was something, anything that would get him a warrant. The only thing that didn't fit, the one thing that stood out, was Jessica Williams.
"So call her family. Ask some questions." Sara's voice was so real he would have sworn she was there. "Something is wrong there, Grissom, and you know it."
With a smile, he nodded in agreement. Standing, he stretched and took a look around, awed by the stark beauty around him. With a whispered "thank you," he turned to begin his journey home.
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Sleep and food helped to improve Grissom's disposition. He felt better, more in control, than he had in weeks. His hand hesitated for just a second before he picked up the telephone and began to dial.
"Hello?" The disembodied voice floated from the receiver.
"Mr. Williams?" Grissom paused long enough to hear the man's grunt of agreement. "This is Gil Grissom with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I'd like to come by and speak to you if that's okay."