Chapter Two

Note: This is not a very gripping chapter. It's here to establish the crime and scene and is basically just process. I did not know how to proceed without it.

"Hey, Detective Brass. Wanna give me a quick run down before I head in there?" He glanced down the hall and could just catch a glimpse of Nick in what he believed was the living room.

The seasoned detective smirked as the younger man slipped past him into the vast foyer.

"Sure. Next door neighbor heard what she though might be shots around 8:20 last night and decided to snoop through the window. Saw the four vics on the floor, apparently lying in their own blood. Called it in around 8:30 pm. We've got what we believe to be husband, wife and their two teenage daughters. All four received shots to the back of the head. No apparent signs of forced entry or burglary." He looked up from his notepad and glanced at Greg. "Nick's been here for about an hour and Dave just got here 15 minutes ago. Busy night to die in Vegas."

The two men exchanged a knowing look. Every night was a busy night for the LVPD.

"Thanks."

Greg walked cautiously into the next room, careful to avoid anything that could be potential evidence. He stopped at the entrance to what appeared to be a very large and overly-ornately decorated living room. It never ceased to amaze him that so many crimes took place in rooms the size of his entire apartment. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but not by much.

One of the many pearls of wisdom provided by Grissom included taking in as much of a crime scene before attempting to process it for evidence. Greg placed his kit at his feet and surveyed the room silently. Dave and Nick were crouched over the bodies. He knew they had sensed his arrival, but both were focused on their individual tasks. Dave, the assistant coroner, was checking for liver temps to establish time of death while Nick was religiously documenting their positions with the camera. It wouldn't be much longer before the assistant coroner escorted the unfortunate family to the morgue.

Turning his attention to the surrounding room, Greg took in every detail. Nothing seemed out of place other than the four bodies on the floor. They were lying face down on the plush carpet in a pool of intermingled blood; each face stark white against the sharply contrasted crimson. The wife and two daughters had their hands duct taped behind their backs, while the husband's lay loosely at his sides. Curious; it was a definite inconsistency.

"Hey, G. Just get here?" Nick's quiet southern drawl snapped him away from the focus of the scene and onto his colleague.

"Yeah. Catherine called me in. Where do you want me?"

"Sorry about that, man. You know how it gets. I think this is the fourth 419 of the night. Even some of Days have been called in." Nick sat back on his heels, letting the camera fall against his chest as he stared directly at Greg. They all knew too well that the crime rate in Vegas continued to rise and their small team could only tackle so many cases alone. With two new team members, and the loss of three seasoned CSI's, they were operating at a slightly slower pace than before.

"S'okay. I didn't have plans anyway."

"Why don't you take the kitchen and back door." Nick nodded towards the opposite end of the house. "It looks like the perp may have used that route. Take the perimeter too? I'll join you if I finish before you."

With no verbal response necessary, Greg picked up his kit and walked in the general direction that Nick had indicated. He had long since shaken the veil of fatigue, but was now kicking himself for not grabbing something to eat on the way out of his apartment. His stomach growled angrily in agreement. Hell, a cup of coffee would have been enough to keep it quiet for a few more hours.

The kitchen was huge. Actually, that was an understatement. It was a gourmand's dream; shiny granite countertops, sleek, top-of-the line stainless steel appliances, and more than enough room to maneuver your way through the preparations of a five course meal. Ah, what he wouldn't have given – back in the day when he had time to cook – for a kitchen of this scale. While it wasn't obvious from looking at his own kitchen – and bare fridge – that he liked to cook, Greg had picked up the skill during his teenage years. Being trapped at home with his over-protective mother had some privileges. He had enough culinary skills to woo the woman of his dreams.

Sighing, Greg rubbed his eyes and set his kit down. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from the case and set to work. The woman of his dreams had run off a long time ago, and he didn't have an ice cube's chance in hell of ever getting her to reciprocate his feelings. Much to his mother's chagrin, he hadn't had a serious girlfriend in years. Hell, he hadn't had a date in months and hadn't the opportunity to get out and meet anyone new anyway. His mother was just going to have to deal with the reality that he wasn't going to "settle down" anytime soon. Ah; his mother.

How did he even get on that train of thought? Her constant calls and smothering were enough to make him move as far away from home as possible. He didn't need her interrupting his concentration at work as well.

Brushing aside the unintended thoughts of his mother and dateless nights, Greg set to work processing the pristine kitchen. It didn't look as though the home owners ever used the appliances other than the fridge.

It was immaculate. Either they spent a lot of time eating out, or they had a housekeeper whose sole purpose was to make sure this room was spotless. Stainless steel appliances could be one of two things for a CSI; a fingerprinting nightmare or a bonanza, depending on which perspective you took. They recorded every touch, smudge, or object that happened to brush up against them. In this case, it was none of the above. Greg managed to lift a handful of useable prints off the fridge, more than likey from the family, but nothing else. The surfaces were clean.

Greg painstakingly made his way towards the back door, collecting and documenting anything that could be evidence. Groaning, he realized that in all the time he'd spent in that room, he probably hadn't collected anything related to the case.

Noticing something by the back door, he dropped to his hands and knees. Was that a shoe print? He shined the flashlight at the spot and cocked his head to the side. Yup. Finally! Didn't Warrick once say that you could solve a case by shoeprints alone?

He wasn't quite sure if that was true, but the experienced CSI had been pretty adept at manipulating the most stubborn of shoeprints. Shaking his head, Greg tried to file his memories of Warrick back away. He found that processing scenes always brought out those little tidbits and anecdotes. While he and Warrick were nowhere near as close as Nick and Warrick had been, Greg had a lot of fond memories and owed much of what he knew about crime scene analysis to his former colleague.

After processing the door, which appeared intact, he made his way outside. There was a pot there that was very visibly out of place. The watermark stain left on the cement indicated that it had been moved.

Done processing the back landing, Greg stepped into the grass. It was obvious that the homeowners had once put a lot of time and money into keeping the back yard green. However, even in the dark, he could tell that the once lush lawn had recently become a victim to Vegas' arid environment. Without constant watering and care, it did not take long for grass to become yellow and crispy. And the grass was definitely crispy.

Sweeping his flashlight back and forth, he paused as something shiny caught his eye. Was that a key? YES! He grinned as he patted his chest, searching for a plastic bag in one of the pockets to slip the key inside. A closer look told him that this key could possibly be to the back door; further more he would bet $100 that it was once hidden beneath the flower pot. With any luck, it would yield a nice clean print too.

Greg shivered with a sudden chill; he really regretted leaving his jacket in his locker at the lab. His lab-issued vest was not doing much to protect him against the chill of the night air. Hopefully, processing the perimeter would not require as much attention as the bloody scene inside and he could head back to the lab soon.

It was an hour later, when he found himself on the opposite side of the fenced back yard as someone called out for him. Nick. Greg caught a glimpse of a flashlight sweeping across the yard in search for him.

"Give me a second!" he yelled back. Greg hopped back over onto the victims' property, carrying another evidence bag. "Sorry. Found this on the other side of the fence. If we are lucky, the murderer dropped something on his way out. If not, I think I just found the neighbor's missing glove." He grinned as he waved the bagged item in front of Nick's face.

Nick returned his smile. It was hard not to. Even at the most inappropriate moments, Greg's infamous grins were both mischievous and infectious. "You done out here?"

"Yup. This is the last item. Need some help loading the evidence into the truck?"

"Yeah, thanks"

They loaded the Denali in silence, both feeling the wear and strain of the long shift. Even still, there was more work to be done; they couldn't call it a day just yet. "I'll meet you back at the lab?" Nick raised his brows questioningly.

"Mind if I stop off and grab something to eat on the way? I'm starving. I can pick you up a burger if you're hungry too."

"Thanks, man. I'll have what ever you're having. I'll meet you back in the layout room."

Parting ways, Greg tossed his kit back into the truck of his car. He was happy to see that the media seemed to have lost interest in the scene, and the random onlookers had dispersed. Right now, his top priority was taking a quick detour through the nearest fast food drive-through and then heading directly back to the lab to sift through the evidence.