Disclaimer: Not Mine.

A/N: Thanks so much to Losingntrnslatn and Mingsmommy for taking time out of their busy schedules to help me with this. I appreciate it more than they will ever know.

January 3, 2008

"We can't prove he killed those women, Gil." Brass' gaze flicked to the man beside him before returning to watch Malachi.

The doctor was sitting in the interrogation room, an ice pack between his legs, staring at the mirror behind which Brass and Grissom stood. At some point since after being placed in the patrol car, he had regained his composure. Even with his hair standing on end and his eyes bloodshot, Malachi's expression was strangely calm.

"Then we'll just have to get a confession." Grissom's lips curved up in a sad smile as he thought about the women who died and the families who suffered because of the man sitting on the other side of the glass.

Slowly, Brass turned to look at him. "What do you know that I don't?"

Without a word, never taking his eyes from the man in the other room, Grissom held out a piece of paper. Brass took it and let his eyes skim over the page, absorbing the words.

Giving a low whistle, Brass asked, "How long have you known about this?"

"Sara called Greg from the motel. He didn't call back until it was over." Grissom turned to face Brass.

Brass read over the information one more time. He ran a hand over his head, baffled for a moment by the implications of the words on the paper. "Wait. Isn't that…?"

Grissom nodded. "Yeah. So, how do you want to play this?"

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"Dr. Rosenthal," Brass' tinny voice floated through the speaker into the observation room. "You have been arrested for the kidnapping and attempted murder of Elizabeth Bethune." Grissom watched Brass through the glass. "Did the officers at the scene read you your rights?" The doctor did not acknowledge the detective and Brass heaved a sigh. "Well, then let's make sure you're properly Mirandized for the record." Brass put a printed version of the rights in front of Rosenthal. "You have the right to remain silent…"

As Brass was reading the man his rights, Grissom turned his gaze to Malachi. He had come across a lot of killers in his years on the job but Malachi Rosenthal was a different breed. Giving credit where it was due, the man had been caught, red-handed, and yet he didn't appear even the least bit worried. If anything, he seemed confident, as if this was just a temporary setback for him.

The charges against him were astounding; kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon, forgery. The list went on and on. And they hadn't gotten to the murdered women yet. Both Grissom and Brass knew some of the charges would get dropped. But Brass' theory was sling all the shit at the wall and something was bound to stick.

Grissom wanted nothing more than to be in that room. But when he called Maddie and explained the situation, she was more than adamant he stay out of the interrogation. He was, after all, still on suspension, and his presence could compromise the case. Hanging up with her, Grissom paged Ecklie. He needed to talk to Malachi and Ecklie was his ticket.

Sara was at the hospital with Greg, who was interviewing Elizabeth and collecting any trace. While Sara couldn't do any of the actual work, she felt the woman would be more comfortable with a female present and Grissom and Brass both agreed. Greg, of course, was thrilled to spend any time with Sara and had left the building with a smile on his face. Catherine was at Elizabeth's house with a deputy to process that scene while Nick and Warrick were at the Lucky-U. And Grissom stood here, hands tied, and waited.

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Retrieving his pen and the signed copy of the Miranda, Brass slid those to the side. "So, Doc, how's it hangin'?" He smirked.

Malachi merely stared at him, his dark eyes flat, before lifting the ice pack and dropping it on the table with a quiet splat.

"Not feeling up to chit chat?" Brass shook his head. "I can understand. Elizabeth really did a number on you. I'm surprised you can even walk."

"I will not discuss the condition of my testes with you." Despite his disheveled appearance, Malchi's voice was even, his words clear.

Pursing his lips, Brass nodded. "Okay, then let's talk about Elizabeth Bethune."

With a tilt of his head, Malachi waited for Brass to continue.

Brass asked question after question in an effort to establish a timeline for the previous evening. But Malachi just maintained his silence. He refused to either confirm or deny his involvement in the kidnapping. He merely sat, watching Brass with derision in his eyes.

Changing tacks, Brass leaned back in his chair. "You have some sort of grudge against her?" Brass shrugged. "I mean, it's not every day a guy drugs a woman, kidnaps her and uses a scalpel to cut her up. What'd she do to you?"

Once again, Malachi simply said nothing. In fact his only show of emotion came when he winced after shifting in his seat.

"Maybe it was just a little love play gone wrong." Brass smirked at the look of revulsion on the other man's face. "Come on, Doc. You don't have to pretend for me. I know how it goes."

"How does it go, Captain?"

"Guy like you. Woman like that." With a chuff of laughter, Brass shook his head. "Never would've thought you'd go for that type, but hey…everybody has their own kink. Right?"

Malachi clenched his hands together, his knuckles showing white against his tan. "I have never…would never…"

"Sure, Doc." Brass's smile was condescending. "Maybe that's why you were so upset. Skinny trophy wife find out you like a woman with a little meat on her bones?"

His jaw clenched and Malachi shook his head from side to side. "That is the most ridiculous-…"

Once again, Brass cut him off. "Did she call up the little woman? Did Elizabeth tell her about your affair? Is that why you decided to carve her up like the fatted calf?"

"Shut up!" Malachi's hands slammed down on the table and he jumped to his feet, towering over Brass. His chair toppled over, the plastic and metal hitting the tile floor with a loud crack.

The door opened and a uniformed officer stepped inside. Brass, his eyes glued to Malachi, held up a hand to stop the officer.

"Sit down, Doc." His voice was calm, but there was steel underneath. "Now."

Reluctantly, Malachi righted his chair and sank into it.

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"Gil," Ecklie shoved his hands in his pockets and took in the scene in the interrogation room, "you shouldn't be in here. Are you trying to get fired?"

Grissom turned to look at the other man. "There are worse things, Conrad." When the man stiffened in shock, Grissom let a satisfied smile slide over his face.

Ecklie studied Grissom, his confusion evident. Finally, he shrugged and turned back to the scene in the other room. He had learned long ago not to try to figure out the man beside him. "So, why did you page me? And please make this good."

"Don't worry. You won't have to find my replacement just yet."

Quickly, succinctly, Grissom explained the situation. Beginning with the string of dead women and ending with the kidnapping and assault of Elizabeth Bethune, he laid out the facts. When he was done, he nodded toward the window, "Brass has been with him for about an hour, but I'd like to talk to him."

"Gil, I still don't see how you hope to tie him to these dead women." Ecklie held up a hand to stop Grissom from interrupting. "Obviously he's going down for the woman at the motel. But we don't have one shred of evidence for murder."

"Look, Conrad," Grissom ran a hand over his mouth, "You're right, I don't have any evidence. And you know how hard that is for me to admit."

"Give me something, Gil. Anything." Ecklie ran a hand over his head and heaved out a sigh.

Silently, Grissom handed over a sheet of paper, waiting patiently while Ecklie read over the information.

With a shake of his head, Ecklie handed it back to Grissom. "This doesn't prove anything. Tell me how he killed them. Tell me somebody can place him near one of these women around the time she died. Tell me you have a smoking gun. A wife who…."

"Someone I trust once told me that often the why is just as important as the how."

"Do you record everything I say?" Sara chuckled as the two men spun toward her, surprise evident on both their faces. "Hi, Ecklie."

"Sidle…um…Gri…Sara." Ecklie blushed, the top of his head turning a brilliant scarlet.

Sara raised a questioning eyebrow at her husband, who had the good grace to look embarrassed. With a chuckle, she shook her head. "I may have something that will help. Greg took the official statement from Elizabeth, but I made my own notes."

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The door snicked closed behind Grissom as he entered the interrogation room. When Brass looked up, a question in his eyes, Grissom merely nodded and made his way to the chair next to the detective.

"Good morning, Malachi." Grissom gave the man a small smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Do not patronize me, Mister Grissom. I expect better of you. And I do not recall granting you permission to use my given name."

Grissom dipped his head and pursed his lips. "I apologize." Calmly, he opened his notebook and skimmed over the words on the page. "May I ask you a few questions, Doctor?"

"Did you come here to play the good cop to his bad?"

"I'm not a police officer. And I am not here to play." Grissom held the man's gaze. "I take kidnapping and assault very seriously, as seriously as I take murder."

For a moment, Malachi studied his adversary. Then, with a slight nod and a wave of his shackled hands, he said, "Then by all means, ask your questions."

"Thank you." Grissom turned to Brass, sliding the man's folder over in front of himself. "May I?"

Brass shrugged, watching the criminalist curiously. Grissom opened the cover and began to scan the page that was on top. After a moment, he slid the page to the side and rested his forearms on the table. Lacing his fingers together, he cleared his throat.

"We both know you weren't having an affair with Elizabeth Bethune." Grissom shook his head, bemused. "I've seen the way you look at her. So, the question is, what happened?"

Malachi remained silent, watching Grissom as one would a predator.

"Would you like to know what I think?"

"By all means," Malachi sneered, "Tell me your theory."

Sitting up, Grissom plucked a photo from the file and slid it over to Malachi. "I think she knows something that ties you to this woman."

The picture was of Angela Martin, the first woman fitting the pattern Dr. Robbins had found. Her face was waxen, tinged blue at the lips. And the tops of the Y-incision could be seen just below each collar bone.

Without a flicker of emotion, Malachi studied the photo. After a moment, he pushed it back across the table. "I do not know that woman."

"Her name was Angela Martin. She was a thirty-eight year old mother of two."

Malachi shook his head. "The name means nothing to me."

"I'm sure it doesn't." Grissom slid a second photo across the table. "Just as I'm sure the name Sandra O'Dell won't mean anything. Nor will any of the others." Calmly, deliberately, he continued to lay out similar photos of the other ten victims. He named each woman in turn, ending with Jessica Williams.

"What do these women have to do with me?"

"You asked for my theory." Grissom leaned back, tapping a finger against his lips. "I believe you kidnapped Elizabeth in order to find out what she knows about the women who have died at Saint Rose's."

"I can assure you, Elizabeth and I did not discuss any of those women." Malachi pushed the photos back toward Grissom with a hand that wasn't quite steady.

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"Conrad," Maddie Klein's husky voice carried down the hall, stopping the man in his tracks. "What the hell is going on around here?"

Dragging a hand over his face, Ecklie turned to face the Deputy District Attorney. "Good morning, Madeline."

"Don't." She strode up the hallway, her heels clicking on the tiles, russet curls flying around her face. "Have you talked to Grissom?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking." Ecklie put his hands on his hips and stared down at the woman.

"Cut the shit, Conrad." Maddie mimicked his pose. "Is Grissom in there screwing up my case?"

Huffing out a breath, Ecklie shook his head. "No."

"You lifted his suspension?"

"Yes, Maddie. I lifted Grissom's suspension." Ecklie rocked back on his heels, smiling at her irritation. "Don't worry about your case."

"Ecklie," Sara called as she exited the observation room. "Oh, hi Maddie."

"Sara? What are you doing here?" Maddie narrowed her eyes, studying the younger woman. Turning back to Ecklie, she said, "Please tell me she's not working this too."

Sara's eyebrow rose along with her temper. "I'm just relaying information. Not talking to the suspect or the victim. I might not be a CSI anymore, but I do remember some things." Turning to Ecklie, Sara continued, "I just talked to Greg. He found something at the suspect's house. He's got a uniform bringing it in for Henry."

"More Rohypnal?"

Sara shrugged. "Greg didn't seem to think so. But we'll see. I'm headed to the lab to meet the officer." With a stiff nod to Maddie, Sara turned away.

"Sara," Ecklie put a hand on her shoulder, "Thanks. And remember…"

"All hands off." She held up her hands with a smile. "I want this son of a bitch as bad as anybody else."

Maddie watched until Sara turned a corner before refocusing on Ecklie. "What kind of circus are you running over there, Conrad? You let your people do whatever they want. You've got Sidle running around, doing God knows what. You people are going to screw up an open and shut case."

Ecklie stared at her for a moment, watching as she tried to control her anger. He turned, taking a few steps away from her before spinning back. Pointing a shaking finger in her direction, he ground out, "Sometimes, Madeline, you have to put your faith in the people who do the job. I trust Gil. Don't you?"

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"Hey, Henry." Sara smiled at the lab tech. "How've you been?"

"Hi, Sara." Henry Andrews blushed under her smile. "I'm…good."

"Great. Did you get a sample from Greg? A vial from the Bethune case?"

"Yeah," Henry turned and picked up a small glass vial. "But I can't let you touch this."

Sara chuckled. "Relax. I don't want to break the chain. I just need a copy of the report. For Grissom."

Henry looked at her, a brow raised in question? "Where is he? I thought he was taking some vacation time." When she didn't answer, he shrugged. "You know what? It doesn't matter. Let me just print another copy."

When the printer completed its cycle, Henry plucked the paper out of the tray and handed it to Sara. She studied the information.

"Yes," she whispered. "Henry? I need one more favor."

Quickly she began to explain and within a few minutes she left the lab with the report and an evidence bag in her possession.