Disclaimer: Not Mine.

A/N: Many thanks to Mingsmommy and Losingntrnslatn for all their help. I really appreciate it.

January 3, 2008

"Okay, Doc, I don't have time for this." Brass snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Why don't you tell us what you two did talk about?"

Malachi turned his gaze toward the detective. "Ask Elizabeth."

"Oh, we have." Grissom nodded.

"Then you have no need to hear it from me."

"See, that's where you're wrong." Brass jumped in. "How do we know she's telling the truth? You aren't exactly her favorite person."

"Captain Brass, I feel your sense of humor leaves much to be desired. Perhaps you should stick with police work." Malachi gave a malicious smile. "Or, as they say, don't quit your day job."

"Everybody's a critic," Brass muttered. Rubbing a hand over his lips, he continued, "Fine… If you want serious then, by all means, let's be serious.

"Since you refuse to talk about Elizabeth, let's go back to the women in those photos." Brass picked up the stack and stared down at the picture of Jessica Williams. "Let's talk about where you were on the night of December sixteenth."

"I am sure I was at home. All night." Malachi relaxed in his chair, resting his hands in his lap. "But I would have to check my schedule to be certain."

Brass nodded. "How about December third? Or November tenth? Or October twenty-second?"

"Again, I would have to check my schedule. But I am quite sure we were at home." Malachi's lips drew back in a cool smile. "I am sorry to disappoint you, Captain."

With a nod, Brass made a note in the pad he had placed on the table. "We'll check your calendar. Your surgical schedules, personal appointments. It was all in the warrant."

"What warrant?" For the first time the doctor looked as if he was uncertain.

"The warrant we obtained that allowed us to search your house and office." Brass studied the man across the table, noting his unease. "What? Did you think we wouldn't look into your life?" He shook his head, surprised at the man's naiveté. "By the time we're through, Doc, we'll know everything about you."

"What does my home have to do with Elizabeth Bethune?" Malachi clasped his hands together, his right hand twisting the band around and around on this left ring finger. "She was never there."

"Then our search won't find any trace of her." Grissom replied calmly, watching as Malachi's façade cracked a little.

"That is an invasion of my privacy. You have no right…" His voice trembled a bit, a quiver that was almost undetectable.

Brass barked out a laugh. "I think you have it wrong, Doc. You don't have any privacy. Not anymore."

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After talking to Ecklie and getting his reluctant approval for her plan, Sara went back to the police department and entered the observation room. She watched through the glass as the questioning of Dr. Rosenthal continued, Grissom and Brass swapping back and forth, keeping the man off balance.

He looked so normal. Dark eyes, dark hair, well built, handsome. A man who could turn a woman's head. Further proof that danger didn't always come with a warning sign. Suppressing a shiver, she clutched the evidence bag tighter.

Elizabeth Bethune had trusted him and she almost paid with her life. Her physical wounds would heal. They would leave scars, but over time the pain would become nothing more than a memory. The nightmares would fade, too. Sara knew that from experience. She no longer dreamed of her time in the desert. Instead, her dreams were of Grissom and Hank and the happiness just beyond her grasp. Despite the different subject matter they made her just as sad.

She let her eyes drift to Grissom. Observing him without his knowledge, she could see the toll the last six weeks had taken on him. The circles under his eyes told of sleepless days and too many double shifts. His hair was a little too long, curling at his collar. His lips were chapped, his nose and cheeks red from the sun.

She let her mind drift back to the feel of his body under her hands. He had lost weight. Not much but enough to make him feel different in her arms, between her thighs. A deep sigh escaped and Sara's eyes slid closed against the burn of unshed tears.

Blinking, she sniffled and wrapped her arms around her waist. She wanted to touch him, to ease his pain. To tell him, once again, how sorry she was. Her hands actually ached with the need to smooth away the new wrinkles around his mouth. She wanted to lay her head on his chest and listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. She wanted to hide from all the bad things in the world. She wanted to remember that, no matter how she grew up, no matter what had happened to her in the past, she wasn't evil.

What, she wondered, made people like her and Grissom different from people like Malachi Rosenthal and Natalie Davis?

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"You know what I find interesting?" Grissom's arms rested on the table, his fingers toying with his pen. "Every one of the women in those photos was a patient of one of your partners."

Grissom studied his prey, waiting for a reaction. Finally, he was rewarded with just a tiny flicker of uncertainty in the man's eyes, an almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. The hot rush of the hunt flared in his veins but his expression remained neutral.

"There are not many anesthesiologists on staff at St. Rose's. I am sure it is merely coincidence."

Grissom smiled. "I don't believe in coincidence. As a man of science, the mere idea goes against everything I know. Everything happens for a reason."

"What do you think, Doc?" Brass tilted his head, waiting for an answer. "Is it just a fluke that those women can be traced back to you? Is that what you're trying to tell us?"

Malachi ignored Brass, his eyes focused on Grissom. "God has a plan for each of us, Mr. Grissom." A smile tugged at his lips. "Destiny, if you will."

"So, it was God's plan for these women? Is that what you're telling me?" Brass leaned forward, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Am I getting it right?"

Malachi nodded, but his eyes never left Grissom. "We all must bend to God's Will. We must subjugate ourselves before him."

"Even if that means murder?" Grissom held is gaze.

Malachi's eyes burned with the fire of conviction. "God does not lead us where we should not go."

Anger flowed through Grissom. His blue eyes were icy as they bored into the man across the table. "People have been hiding behind God for centuries, Dr. Rosenthal. Using him to justify their violence and hatred. Killing and maiming in the name of religion."

"You are obviously not a religious man, Mr. Grissom." Malachi leaned forward, his voice strong and sure. "If you were, you would understand."

With a pensive note to his voice, Grissom replied, "My religion is justice. And I understand more than you will ever know."

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Sara opened the door and slipped into the interrogation room. With a quick glance at Malachi, she made her way to Grissom. Placing her left hand on his shoulder, her diamond encrusted wedding band catching the light, she set the evidence bag and Henry's report on the table beside him.

Leaning over, she whispered in his ear. "The report is from a vial Greg found in his house. The evidence bag is a fake. Thought it might help though." Straightening, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. With a final glance at Malachi she left.

In a voice that trembled, Malachi asked, "Who was that?"

Grissom looked at him curiously, his eyebrow rising toward his hairline. "You mean, Sara?" He gestured toward the door.

Malachi nodded, his brow furrowed in confusion. "She was at the motel. In the parking lot."

Brass nodded. "Yeah. She was there."

"She looks like…" Malachi trailed off, his words sad, haunted.

"Who does she look like?" Grissom's question was soft.

Shaking his head, Malachi brought a hand up and rubbed at his eyes. "Is my wife here?"

Brass glanced at Grissom, before turning back to the doctor. Grissom's gaze never wavered from Malachi. But the anger was gone from his eyes, replaced by a deep, abiding sadness. "I'm afraid not."

"She should be here. Did you call her?" His eyes darted between Grissom and Brass. "I need to call her. She will worry."

"Where is she?" Grissom leaned forward, his quiet words sliding through the tension in the room. "I can have someone call her."

"We…we argued. She went to her parents' for a few days." Malachi's eyes filled with tears. "I said horrible things to her. I need to tell her I'm sorry."

"What did you argue about?"

Malachi clamped his eyes closed, fighting the tears. "It isn't important."

"Oh, I think it's very important." Grissom waited a beat, watching the man unravel before him. "Did you argue about the women in those photos? Did she know what you were doing?"

"I am entitled to a phone call. And I wish to call my wife." He drew a shuddering breath. "Please."

Grissom shook his head. "I don't think talking to her is an option. And I think you know that."

Befuddled, Malachi looked at him. "What do you mean? Why can't I talk to Renee?" The man's voice rose with each question, his confusion turning to panic. "Is something wrong with her? Has something happened?"

"Dr. Rosenthal…Malachi…we both know Renee isn't really at her parents'." His voice betrayed the sympathy he felt for the man in front of him.

"No! I don't know that! Where is she?" Malachi was frantic. His hands ran through his hair, tugging the strands into further disarray.

With a deep sigh, Grissom said, "She's dead."

His voice a mere whisper, a sigh, Malachi asked, "How? How did she die?"

"She committed suicide." Grissom's heart ached at the man's obvious confusion. Living with his wife's ghost was obviously better than the alternative.

"She would never do that." He was insistent. "That is the one unforgivable sin."

"We both know she did." Grissom pressed his fingers to his eyes, exhaustion sweeping over him. "And I like to think God understands."

The silence was profound. Not even the whisper of a breath could be heard. Then, slowly, building in tempo and volume, Malachi repeated one word, "No." With a final tortured cry, he buried his head in his arms and wept.

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"So, he kills his dying mother on his ninth birthday. His wife commits suicide after a hysterectomy. Then a year later he just starts killing women." Brass leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "I don't know why anything surprises me."

Grissom took a sip of scotch before staring into the coffee mug he was holding. His gaze was pensive. "The thread tying it all together was the cancer and subsequent hysterectomies. He seemed to think he was saving these women and their families from something. Maybe he was saving them from the pain he suffered."

"You know, any attorney worth his salt will get that confession thrown out." Brass took a swallow from his cup.

"Won't matter." Grissom rubbed the back of his neck, massaging away the tension. "We've got the Sux Greg found in his house. His statement will give us enough for a warrant for the hospital security videos. That should place him on the scene for at least some of the deaths. Ecklie has agreed to send Jessica Williams' samples off for testing. She was the last victim so that's our best chance of detection.
When we get positive results from her samples he'll agree to send the others."

For several minutes the two men sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The last thirty hours had been exhausting and they were both in desperate need of some rest. With the quirk of an eyebrow Brass raised the bottle in a silent question. Grissom held out his cup.

"What was in that evidence bag Sara brought in?"

"Water, I imagine." Grissom grinned. "She told me it was fake."

Brass smiled. "She has good timing." He watched Grissom, a questioning look on his face. Finally, with a shake of his head and a chuff of disbelieving laughter, he asked, "And the ring she was wearing? That a fake too?"

Shaking his head, Grissom said, "No. It's real."

With a flush of embarrassment over keeping more secrets from the team, Grissom waited on Brass to start peppering him with questions. He shifted in his seat, but held his friend's gaze. Relief flooded through him when he saw a smile spread over Brass' face.

"Congrats." Brass raised his glass in a toast.

Grissom dipped his head. "Thank you," he said before swallowing the last of the scotch in his cup.

"Gil?" Sara leaned in the doorway of Brass' office, her eyes warm and loving as she took in the familiar scene before her. "You ready?"

He turned in his chair and gave her a soft smile before rising to join her. Taking her hand in his, he said, "Yeah. Let's go home."