Chapter Three

A few hours later, Greg and Nick found themselves sitting at the layout room table, surrounded by crime scene photos and assorted pieces of seemingly unrelated evidence. Earlier, they'd dropped the glove off with Wendy for DNA analysis and given Mandy the few prints to run. However, both women were suffering the consequences of the rash of crimes from that night, and had many hours of samples and requests to slog through. The backlog extended into the morgue, and the CSI's were waiting for the page from Doc Robbins to let them know their victims were next on the slab.

At this point, neither man had much to go on other than what was spread out in front of them. They were becoming increasingly frustrated from the delays and lack of leads. The night shift often dealt with the annoying reality that not all of Vegas kept their hours. While high profile and extremely time-sensitive cases could mobilize warrants and rouse individuals for expedited interviews, the majority of cases required that they at least wait until dawn.

Without warning, Greg pushed against the table sending his chair back a foot. "I'm going to get coffee." It was a statement often heard from the younger CSI's mouth.

Nick chuckled. "Is that your answer for everything? I don't think you need any more caffeine today. You've had four cups in the past two hours alone and you can't sit still as it is." He leaned back in his own chair, lifting his eyebrows in amusement at his jumpy colleague.

"Okay, fine. I need to get up and stretch my legs and I can't think of any other excuse to do that. I'm just sick of sitting here, hoping that something new will just jump out at me." He reached over the table and grabbed two photos, holding them up for Nick to see. "This is really bothering me." In one hand was the image of the wife, Lynn Hopkins, and the other held that of the husband, Robert.

"Yeah. That's been eating at me too. Why bind the hands of the women but leave the stronger victim's hands free? Maybe he wasn't supposed to be there and walked in after the fact?"

"Nah. That doesn't mesh with what the nosey neighbor told Brass. She said she heard shots then went to look in the window. Surely she would have heard yelling if the guy walked in to find his family like that?" He put the photos back down and started pacing the room. Being seated for so long made Greg antsy and walking gave his body the release he needed to clear his mind. "What do you think, Nick? Want to run through some possible scenarios?"

Suddenly, Nick's phone beeped. "It's Brass." He quickly scrolled through the short text before standing up. "He's heading out to Hopkins' office to speak to his employees. Guy owns a small construction company. Wanna go?"

As if on cue, Greg's phone vibrated in response. "Uh, no. Doc Robbins is ready to start on our vics. I'll cover the autopsies if you head out with Brass." The men quickly gathered their scattered evidence, put it into a box, and stored it securely for later. They each went their separate ways thankful for something different and hopeful that their case could now move forward.

"Thanks, Mandy"

Greg walked out of the fingerprint lab, paper in hand, and ran into Nick in the hallway.

"So, my day has picked up. Turns out, there was nothing new from autopsy except that the husband didn't have any defensive wounds. All four were killed by a single bullet to the back of the head. 9 mm to be exact."

"Well, that would match the shell casings we found at the scene" Nick replied.

"I'm not done." Greg handed Nick the paper he was holding. "The fingerprints on the casings belonged to our vic, Bob, as did the fingerprints on the duct tape. However, the DNA in the glove matched some guy named Edward Silver."

"Wait. Ed Silver?" Ducking into the nearest conference room, Nick gestured for Greg to follow. He opened the folder was carrying and flipped through a pile of typed pages until he found what he was looking for.

"Ed Silver is on a list of current and former staff that Bob Hopkins' receptionist gave me. It appears that his construction company is a casualty of the current economy and our vic recently had to lay off most of his staff. Ed was one of the last to go."

"Okay. So we've got a possibly disgruntled former employee, but the only thing linking him to the scene is a glove that could have been dropped at any time. We still have the shoe print, but we need something to compare it to. I somehow don't think any judge will give us a search warrant right now." He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. It was well past the end of shift and he really just wanted to go home.

"Right. I'll get the motions rolling on getting Hopkins' bank, credit card and phone records. Maybe we can find something to link Ed Silver. At least enough for a warrant. Go home and get some rest, man. I know this was supposed to be your shift off. I'll meet you back here at eight tonight."

"Thanks. It can't hurt to pick things back up with a fresh set of eyes, and in your case, maybe a fresh shirt." He grinned and pointed at Nick. "That thing's rank, Dude. When was the last time you did laundry?" He deftly sidestepped as Nick feigned a punch.

"Hey, some of us were hard at work in the Vegas heat this morning, instead of hanging out in the air conditioning with Doc Robbins."

Greg laughed and turned towards the locker room. "See you in a few hours, Nicky."

Emptying his pockets, Greg tossed his keys and wallet onto the kitchen counter. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a flashing number four. He quickly jabbed the 'play' button on his voicemail before rooting through the fridge. Other than a few half empty take-out cartons, and something mysterious wrapped in foil, there really was not much in there. Cereal it was. Grabbing the milk, he gave it a quick sniff. He couldn't remember buying the milk, but it didn't smell too offensive.

The mechanical voice of his machine kicked in as he sat down to eat:

Greg. It's Mom. I haven't heard from you in a few days. I just wanted to check and make sure you are okay. I love you, sweetheart. Call me when you get this.

Greg, it's Mom again. I know it's your night off and you're probably out with friends, but don't forget to call me when you get in.

Greg groaned as his mother's distinctive voiced filled the room for the third and fourth times, getting increasingly agitated as the messages got shorter and more direct. He should have known they'd all be from her. Ever since his beating in that back alley, she'd panic when he took too long to return a call. He really didn't want to tell her what had happened, but didn't know how to keep an incident with that high of a profile secret. The woman had some super-mom powers when it came to her only son. There was no way she wouldn't find out on her own.

Crap. Now he was going to have to call her back and endure at least an hour long lecture on the etiquette of returning calls, eating well, and his non-existent love-life. Fantastic. He rolled his eyes as he reached for the phone. It was best to get it over with as soon as possible.

Greg stared at the ceiling. His call to his mother had gone as expected. After a while, he stopped listening. As long as he added an "uh huh" every now and again, she never noticed. He used the old standby, 'I'm really tired and need to sleep before next shift,' to finally get her off the phone, but now he couldn't sleep.

After years of working night shift, his body had become acclimated to sleeping in a somewhat lit room. Since switching from the lab to the field, he was so exhausted he'd just stumble into bed right after shift. This had done quite a number on his social life. During his DNA tech days, he'd have time to hang out with friends, maybe a date now and again, but all that had changed. He did not regret his switch in career – not at all. He did however find that life was getting more and more lonely.

At first his friends understood when he'd stopped hanging out on a regular basis. They didn't complain when he had to cancel at the last minute, or when he'd get called into work on a night off. After a few months, he noticed that they stopped asking him to join them at the local bar or to parties. By the end of the first year, they'd stopped calling completely. Not exactly the actions of friends, but then again, he hadn't been a good one either.

Now, he was stuck in a vicious cycle; work, home, work, home and on a night that he didn't get called in, a chance to run some errands. The closest he got to a social life now, was breakfast after shift with the team and regular calls from his mother.

Greg rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable. When he'd first started training as a CSI, he thought that he and Sara had made a good team. He enjoyed hanging out with her, both at work and after hours and he thought she'd had fun too. She had slowly stopped agreeing to go out after work with him around the time he imagined that she'd started dating Grissom.

Despite what he had told Nick after she had been taken by Natalie Davis, he really hadn't known Sara and Grissom were together. He had been just as shocked as the rest of the team. It had made sense though.

Since the team had been broken apart, and two new members added, Greg found that it just wasn't the same. Camaraderie was the glue that held them all together, and they hadn't had enough time to develop it yet. It had taken the original team years to become a family of sorts, and he expected it would be a while before Ray and Riley found their place.

Often, he found himself reaching for the phone to call Nick. Maybe invite him over for beer or to watch a game? But, he never did. Greg was afraid that Nick would think he was trying to take Warrick's place, which he wasn't. He was just tired of being alone all the time.

Ugh. Great. Now he was feeling like such a wuss. There was no way he was going to fall asleep now. Greg abandoned his efforts and grabbed his running gear instead. There was nothing like a long run in the desert heat to smack some sense into him. Or maybe it was just distracting enough to forget about his current woes.