Chapter Four

He'd managed to get some sleep after his run, so he didn't feel too worse for the wear when he returned to work. Finishing up, Greg closed his locker and left the room, heading towards Grissom's former office, the one he now shared with Nick and Riley.

Pulling a file from his drawer, Greg flopped into his seat. The office was "cozy." Actually, stuffed to the gills was a more accurate description, but he liked having his own place to go through case details. In the past, they'd have to scope out an available conference room, often moving multiple times to accommodate another CSI's larger collection of evidence. When this office housed Grissom's multiple bookshelves, specimens and other assorted furniture, you'd never have guessed it could have fit three desks.

Greg flipped through some of the lab results that had been placed on his desk, barely noticing Riley as she entered the room.

"Hi." She placed her kit next to her desk and sat down within arm's reach of him. "Still working the Hopkins murder?"

"Yeah. Hopefully we'll be able to bring our primary suspect in for questioning tonight." He smiled at his new colleague. He liked her, but still didn't feel as though he knew her very well yet. He wasn't quite certain if she actually was as confident as she acted, or if it was just false bravado.

Chuckling, he recalled her response to his Yellow Pages comment on one of their first cases together. That was when he first realized that he wasn't the "kid" of the team anymore.

"What's so funny?" Curious, Riley gave him a sideways glance.

"Nothing." Still smiling, Greg remembered that after that case, he'd stashed a copy of the phone book in the back of their filing cabinet. One day, he was going to come up with a fantastic prank to pull on her, and that copy of the Yellow Pages would play the starring role. He just hadn't figured it out yet.

"Have you seen Nick yet?"

"Sorry."

Grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, and the file from the desk, Greg made a beeline for the door. "I'll see ya later, Riley." He saw her lift a hand in a half-wave as he turned down the corridor.

Before he could make it into the break room to grab a cup of coffee, he heard his name being called.

"Sanders. Should have guessed you'd be here." Brass nodded towards the room. Greg's love of –or addiction to – coffee was well known within these walls. "Wanna take a ride?"

"Sure. Warrants come through?" Eyebrows lifted expectantly, Greg turned to the older man.

"Yeah. We're heading to Edward Silver's house to pick him up for questioning. Grab your kit. I'll meet you out front." Brass turned to leave.

Making sure to send Nick a text with his plans first, Greg grabbed his supplies. Grinning, he hurried to meet the detective before Brass was tempted to leave without him. He loved interviewing suspects with the older man. Brass had a wicked sense of humor and an uncanny ability to sense when a suspect was about to launch into a tall tale. His snappy one-liners were famous within the LVPD. The crazier the suspect, the better Brass's response.

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In complete contrast to the victims' home, Edward Silver's house was a dump. The shutters were barely hanging on by their hinges and the front yard was completely barren – except for the random pieces of litter strewn across the property. It looked as though Silver had completely neglected his home for years.

"Wait here until the house is cleared," Detective Brass warned Greg. He was fully aware of protocol and did not need to be told twice.

Even so, it seemed pretty obvious to Greg that the suspect was not home. There were no lights on inside the house and no car parked out front. That didn't mean the man was hiding somewhere inside. This was why the officers had to identify themselves before forcing the door open. Everyone was given a chance to turn themselves in without a fight.

Slowly, Greg climbed out of the passenger side of the detective's sedan, pulling his heavy kit with him. The process of clearing a house could be over in seconds, or last several minutes depending on its size and any complications. He shuffled up the walkway and paused at the door, holding back until he received the signal. It came a moment later.

"House is clear," Brass's voice clearly called from one of the back rooms. Greg was inside the next moment, the door swinging closed behind him.

The interior of the house was in slightly better shape than the exterior. While it was obvious from the orange 70's sofa and slightly battered, mismatched furniture that the occupant did not have much money to spend, the living room was clean and uncluttered. Pulling a pair of gloves from his kit, Greg set to work.

He started from there, sweeping through the room in similar fashion as to any other case, holding himself back from what he wanted to finding, and instead looking over everything the scene had to offer. One of his rookie mistakes had been to overlook evidence because of the drive of wanting to find the case-breaking piece of evidence. He had lost count of how many cases he had nearly lost by following that theory.

Sighing, Greg stood up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The house was not air conditioned – rare in Vegas – and it was getting stuffier by the minute. It was made worse, perhaps, by their presence there. Extra bodies in tight spaces certainly didn't relieve the accumulation of heat. He was pretty sure Nick was going to make some comment about his B.O. when he returned as payback for his remarks earlier. Greg took a moment to collect what he needed before moving to the next room.

It was there on the dining room table that he found exactly what he wanted; a black duffle bag carrying a dark hoodie, a roll of duct tape, and a single black glove. Bingo. Greg couldn't help but smile to himself. He knew that all they had to do was match these items to those at the lab, and Mr. Silver would be arrested for murder. Carefully, he placed the items into individual brown paper evidence bags, and sealed them for transport back to the lab.

Thoughts interrupted, he jumped as the front door slammed open. It could be anyone, he reasoned, but his heart skipped a beat as the voice called out.

"What the hell are you doing in my house? You have no right to be here!"

Shit. Greg could only presume that the angry, middle-aged man screaming at him was their suspect, Edward Silver. With a quick glance in the direction he had last seen the detective Greg took a breath and turned to face the suspect.

Over the years, he'd often been teased about how much he could prattle on about nothing, but at times he had found it a useful skill to be able to talk himself out of difficult situations. Without a gun at his side, this was his only weapon. This was one instance where he truly hoped he had the "gift of gab."

"I'm sorry. Are you Mr. Silver?" When the suspect nodded, still visibly angry and slightly confused, Greg continued. "I'm Greg Sanders with the Crime Lab. I'm sure you are aware, but your former boss, Mr. Hopkins, was found dead last night. Your name was on a list of his employees and we are interviewing everyone for any possible leads."

Greg reached for the radio in his kit, "Let me call Detective Brass. He has the warrant if you need to…"

At the mention of a warrant, Greg could see the shift in the man's demeanor. He went from being angry to panicked, in a fraction of a second. Before he could reach the radio, he saw the suspect reach behind his back.

Shit, shit, shit! Greg lifted his hands in submission as he saw the man pull out a gun. He took a step back, increasing the distance between the two of them just as Silver leveled the weapon directly at him. He could only hope that either Brass or one of the officers had noticed their suspect's loud entrance.

Out of the corner of his eye, Greg noticed the briefest movement. Silver obviously noticed it as well as he glanced in the same direction, keeping his gun trained on Greg.

"Don't come any closer" he warned as Brass and one of the officers appeared from the back hallway.

"Mr. Silver, you're a smart guy, you don't want to do that" Brass lifted his hands motioning towards the gun. "We just came to talk to you about your old boss, Bob. Put the gun down why don't you."

"I don't think so. This guy says you have a warrant. I know what that means. I'll shoot him if you get any closer."

Greg noticed that the suspect's hands were starting to shake and his eyes were darting back and forth between Brass and the uniformed officer. That could not be good. Taking a shaky breath, Greg tried to steady his own hands. While he had been in dangerous situations before, he'd never been held at gun point before. He knew he had to stay calm and follow whatever leads Brass threw at him.

Brass seemed to sense that things were getting further and further out of control. "Come on, you don't want to do this. Let's talk, you and me. You want to keep the gun, fine. Let's leave him out of it. He's not a cop, you have no business with him." He took one step closer to Silver, lifting his hands to his sides.

"I said, don't come any closer!"

Silver's movement was completely unexpected as he lunged towards Greg, grabbing him from behind and shoving the barrel of his gun against the back of his head.

Shit! This was not going well. Greg found Brass looking directly into his eyes, the detective's gun drawn and trying to find a mark. Greg knew that he had to remain calm, but considering the circumstances, he was finding it to be a bit difficult. He took a deep breath, fighting what he could only imagine to be the beginnings of a panic attack.

"Ed. Come on. Do you really want to hurt an innocent man? Let's just have a conversation. Put the gun down"

"He made me do it. I didn't want to. He said he'd pay me to kill him so that his family would get the insurance money." Silver was starting to panic. Greg felt the man's grasp of his neck tighten, the gun pressed even more forcefully against his skull.

Greg looked at Brass in desperation. Brass was always very cool under pressure, and this situation was no different. He could tell that Brass was trying to read the suspect; get a good idea of how best to address him, but Greg didn't think this guy was at a place where he could make a good judgment call.

He bit his bottom lip, willing himself not to make a sound or to move an inch. He didn't need any additional attention drawn to himself. Greg could feel Silver's breath on his neck, hot and fast, and knew the guy was sweating profusely.

"I know you didn't want to. Just like I know you don't want to hurt Sanders. Just hand me the gun and we can talk about this man to man."

"They weren't supposed to be there. He said he'd be alone. I didn't kill those girls. I didn't hurt them." All of a sudden, Silver pulled himself up straight. For a brief moment, he seemed to realize the gravity of the situation; the reality of his confession sinking in.

"No man. I can't let him go. You're gonna let me leave this house first. I'll let him go when I know you're not following me." He pulled Greg back, using the man as a shield as they slowly inched through the front door. Greg had no choice but to follow, stumbling over his feet at the awkward position.

"Don't do something you'll regret later, Silver. Just let him go. You can't run away from this one." Brass slowly moved forward, hesitant to let the CSI out of his sight.

Greg was scared. He was petrified. He had no idea what to do other than let the suspect pull him outside. He knew that any sudden movement could be his last and kept hoping that Brass would give him some indication of what he was supposed to next; how he was supposed to react.

The weight of the gun to the back of his head was enough of a reminder that he had absolutely no control of the situation. The suspect's car was parked directly in front of the house. He shoved Greg into the driver's seat and slipped in the back seat directly behind him. Crouching down low, he tossed the keys into Greg's lap and growled "Drive."

With one last look at the visibly distraught detective, Greg placed the keys in the ignition and placed the vehicle in gear. He had no idea where he was supposed to be going, or even if the suspect had any plans, but he did know he needed to remain calm. He needed to somehow convince Silver that it was in his best interest to let him out of the car – unharmed – as soon as possible.

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