Disclaimer: Still want to sue me? I tell ya, I got nothin'!
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3
He was alone again in the house, lost in his thoughts. Above the silence that engulfed him, he could hear his heartbeat. It echoed in his ears as his blood pressure rose and fell. As he leaned against her dresser and held the small blue butterfly in his hand, he tried to know her. Why butterflies? Was it the beauty or the magic? Setting it down, with gloved hands he picked up the framed photo sitting beside it. He shook his head as he drifted further into the hell of his mind. Every thought he had was assaulted with visions of Sara. Did no one else see it? Catherine was in the bathroom and had said nothing. Certainly she saw it. Or was he slipping?
He felt more like he was sinking. Sinking into an agony that he could not bring himself to explain. His heart wrenched again as the picture of Debbie in his mind was replaced once more by that of Sara. He was falling even deeper into torturous depths when his cell phone rang and brought him closer to reality. Without looking at the caller ID he managed, "Grissom."
But he only fell further down into his nightmare when the voice on the other end of the phone was Sara's, "Hey."
Thinking of the quickest lie he could, he fumbled, "Sara…uh, listen I'm in a bad area…I'll call you back." He couldn't talk to her now. He wasn't ready to hear her voice.
But she was not convinced; "I got a skin tag off the bathtub drainpipe."
"Skin tag…that's great. Uh, give it to Greg." He had to hang up the phone.
Still oblivious, "Yeah, I did. Hey, do you want me to come over there and give you a hand."
"No…I, I, I'm fine. I'll, uh, I'll talk to you back at the lab." On the verge of tears, he abruptly ended the call. He stared in the mirror, trying to regain control, but a single tear ran down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away and tried to tell himself it was from stress, but deep down he knew it wasn't.
He had to solve this case, and fast. Not only was he losing his mind, but he was also losing his sense of self. No one had ever taken that away from him before. What was it about her that he couldn't push away? He'd denied every romantic attempt she'd made towards him. He'd pushed her away when it hurt him the most. He'd hurt her. Why was it so hard then to push her from his thoughts now?
He admitted to himself that he knew the answer. This could be her. It was the thought that had entered into his head a billion times since he'd seen the victim lying on the floor. If it had been her, there would be no going back. He'd have no chance to tell her how sorry he was for hurting her. No chance to tell her he regretted choices he'd made. No chance to tell her that he needed her in his life. It was that chance that made his decisions okay. Without that chance, his choices would turn to mistakes; mistakes he could never make up for.
But this wasn't her. He still had the chance. With new determination, he went back to work. This whole thing had to be put behind him, or he'd never bring himself to take the chance.
Hours of working silently went by with no sign of useful evidence. He'd managed to stay focused on his goal, but needed help. With a quick phone call, he got Catherine to gather the team and he joined via speakerphone as they talked out the case.
Catherine started, "Two days ago Debbie Marlin is off work. Sometime in the morning she buys groceries"
Warrick added, "Pendales, closest store on West Charleston."
Sara got her two cents in, "Brass talked to the box boy, remembered her. Saw her just before his lunch break at 11:15."
"Pendales is about 20 minutes from her house," Catherine threw in, then, "Where's Nick?"
Sara answered, "American Academy of Forensic Science Convention."
Then from the speaker in the middle of the table, "Hey Guys, can we continue, please? She comes home from the grocery store. She parks in the driveway and she begins to unload."
As Warrick continued he walked thru the house to picture every move, "She takes out her perishables first. She has to go back for a second trip so she probably leaves the front door open."
Blocking out the voices, he only listened to the story unfold. "Explains why there's no forced entry"
"Getting ready for a date, lighting candles, multi-tasking."
"She opens up a bottle of wine, two glasses."
"Her girlfriend said that she was locking down for the afternoon with Michael Clark."
"Nosy neighbor puts the Mercedes in the driveway sometime around noon."
He came back to reality as Greg began to speak, "Thought you guys would want to know the hair Sara found is a match to the bags of human tissue. Prints confirm it per Jaqui, it's Michael Clark.
Catherine sounded frustrated, "So, uh, most of our efforts have been towards identifying another victim.
From the speaker again, "Michael Clark. But can we place him dead at the house? Greg what else can you tell us about that hair?"
"You mean hairs? There were two. Ancillary, maybe arm or leg hair."
Sara interjected, "Found it in the tub drain."
"The epitwar of choice for dismemberments," he thought out loud as he headed into the bathroom.
Then Greg added another piece to the puzzle, "According to Jacqui there were no prints found on the scalpel blade or handle but the blood's a match to both victims."
Catherine stated the obvious, "So Michael Clark was dead in the tub, we just don't know how he got there."
From him, "Well I KM'd the carpet at the threshold of the bathroom. It's negative for blood."
He flinched at the sound of Sara's voice, "So, all the violence took place in the bathroom; at least anything that had to do with blood."
He was relieved when Catherine interrupted, "Well the bathroom is big, but it's not big enough to kill two at the same time."
Taking a deep breath, he talked it out, seeing the scene unfold in his mind, "She lights the candles in the shower. Her back is to the door. He grabs her from behind and slits her throat. Then he positions her body so that her face is the first thing the boyfriend sees when he walks in." He stopped; shocked that he pictured himself as the killer. Surely he wasn't capable of…no. He had hurt Sara, but…no.
"So he takes seconds to kill Debbie," Catherine said, then asked, "Why does he spend so much time cutting up Michael Clark?"
As the fog cleared in his mind, he began to understand. The killer had not come there for Debbie Marlin. He'd come to punish Michael Clark for taking her away. The killer wanted to show him what it was like to have the one you love taken away from you. Knowingly, he answered, "Most likely because Michael Clark was the real focus of his rage." They were finally getting somewhere.