CHAPTER FIVE
Gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, Greg could make out the sirens behind them. As long as he continued to hear them – better yet, see police cruisers – he felt as though could maintain some semblance of calm. The police were keeping their distance, but obviously not letting Greg and Silver out of their sight. That much was reassuring.
Without any direction from Silver, Greg had just maneuvered the car through Vegas traffic onto I-15 South. He figured that it would be best to get as far away from innocent civilians in case the situation turned violent. A high speed car chase on the Strip did not seem like the best idea.
He could hear the suspect muttering under his breath, but could not make out much more than a few profanities. This guy was not handling the pressure well and it made Greg nervous. He'd much rather be taken hostage by a calculated criminal, than one who was a loose cannon. Regardless of the man's mutterings, Greg could still feel the gun pressed solidly against his side. He was just thankful that it was no longer pointed at his head.
Greg took a deep, shaky breath. He knew that if he made it back to the lab, this incident would become fodder for the constant argument he had with Catherine and Nick. Ever since the beating, his colleagues had tried to convince him to carry a sidearm. Yes, he had passed all the certifications and tests, but no, he still did not feel comfortable carrying a gun to any crime scene.
After weeks of suffering from nightmares, Greg had confided in Sara, who had constantly harassed him about carrying a weapon. In one of his recurring dreams, he always did. He'd woken up sweating, shaking and screaming in terror every time: that gun was used to kill the tourist, Stanley Tanner, and himself. He just couldn't force himself to ever consider the option after that.
Shaking his head, Greg tried to clear his thoughts of the image. That was one dream he was glad did not make a nightly appearance anymore. They were now coasting along the highway out of Vegas and heading towards California. He decided to try his luck in trying to convince the suspect to let him go.
"Hey man, I really don't think you want to do this. If you kill me, it'll be much worse. Just let me pull over and get out, and you can keep driving out of town." Silver didn't respond, so Greg continued. "You don't need me anymore."
"Shut up! Just shut up! I can't think with you going on and on."
Greg closed his mouth. He wasn't sure what to do next. He could still see the police cruisers behind them and thought he had spotted a chopper a short while ago. He just had to trust the LVPD in getting him out of the situation.
Greg looked in the rearview mirror; the state of the suspect was not making him feel any more confident. Silver was still crouched between the driver's seat and the back seat, obviously trying to keep out of the line of sight. He was rocking back and forth in the tight space, muttering under his breath.
Shit. This was not good. Why the hell were the police not doing anything?
All of a sudden, Greg felt the pressure of the gun disappear. Silver had pulled both hands to his head and was pulling on his hair.
"They weren't supposed to be there. Those girls, that lady. They weren't part of the deal."
Greg knew Silver was referring to the Hopkins woman and daughters. The suspect had already alluded to this fact at the house, and he appeared to be really distraught over the events.
"I only took the money to help him out. He said I had to do it so that it would look like he was murdered. When I got there, the women were there too. He had them tied up. I swear. I didn't do it!"
Greg was on the verge of panic. The guy was obviously talking about the crime. He had no idea how to respond.
"He did it. He killed his wife. Then he shot his girls. It wasn't me. It wasn't me!" Silver screamed.
"I understand, Mr. Silver. I know you didn't kill those women. Why don't we pull over? You can give your formal statement to the police. Let them know you aren't to blame."
"SHUT UP. Didn't I tell you to shut your mouth, boy?" Silver looked at Greg through the rear view mirror, wild-eyed and angry.
"I took his money. I took his gun. I killed him. Just like he asked. I killed him. Cops'll get me for that."
Greg noticed the suspect put his head down, taking his eyes off of the gun and Greg. With the weapon no longer pointed at him, Greg felt this was probably his only chance. He slowed the car down slightly, hoping Silver would not notice.
"What the hell are you doing?" The suspect suddenly lashed out at Greg hitting him violently across the face with the butt of the gun.
Instinctively, Greg let go of the wheel and reached up towards his head. He could feel the warm trickle of blood and his vision began to cloud and narrow. Feeling the car shift in direction, Greg panicked and slammed on the brakes. With the squealing of tires and a sudden crash, the car came to a sudden stop against the median.
Lifting his head from the steering wheel, he was blinded by the sudden pain. He reached towards the door, grabbing at the latch, frantically trying to pry the door open. Suddenly, he found himself falling onto the dusty ground. Greg pulled himself further from the car, barely noticing Silver's movement. With a sigh of relief, Greg heard the car peeling off without him.
He pulled his arms under his body and tried to push off the ground. His head felt like it weighed a ton and he could barely get his limbs to respond. As he lifted his head slightly and opened his eyes, he could just see two squad cars in pursuit. He placed his head back down, unable to support its weight any longer. Before he slipped into darkness, he heard his name being called.
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His ears were ringing and he could hear murmuring. His head felt like it was in a vice and there was no way he wanted to lift it an inch.
"Greg. Greg. Can you hear me?"
Oh god. Someone was trying to pry his eyes open and assaulting them with a very bright light. That did not feel good.
"Yeah," Greg lifted his hands to block the light, batting the additional hands from his face. Squinting, he recognized the two EMT's hovering over him. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Help me up." He attempted to push himself up off the ground, but was firmly pushed back down.
"I don't think you should be moving just yet. I want to finish checking you over first."
Greg relented, mostly due to the fact that it hurt too much to move on his own. He did a quick internal scan of his body. Despite his painful head – which he attributed to being wacked with the gun and the force at which his head hit the steering wheel – he seemed to be okay. Maybe a bruise here or there, but he certainly didn't feel as though anything was broken.
Keeping his eyes closed, he let the EMT treat the cut on his forehead without a fight.
"Hey Greggo."
He turned towards the voice, opening one eye. "Catherine."
"You okay?" She reached over and touched his arm, concern written across her face. "When Brass called, we came as fast as we could."
Greg hadn't noticed Nick walk up with her.
"Hey, man"
"Hey." Feeling slightly self-conscious and fully aware of the fact he was still lying flat on his back on the side of the road, Greg attempted to get the EMT's attention. "Can I get up now?"
"Yes. Let me give you a hand." Both the EMT and Nick supported Greg as he struggled to a seated position.
Groaning, Greg held his head in his hands, feeling the handiwork of the medical professionals under his fingers.
"Those steri-strips should be enough to hold the cut closed. It's deep, but I don't think you'll need to be stitched up. You should be checked out though; I really think you should take a trip to the hospital. Make sure you don't have a serious head injury." The EMT was well versed when it came to the LVPD CSI's. Most of them, regardless of shift, were reluctant to seek medical attention if they had any say in the matter, however he had to offer. "Les and I can give you a ride to Desert Palms in the ambulance."
"Uh, no." Greg shuddered at the thought. Ambulances were reserved for emergencies, and he certainly did not need to bring back memories of his last ride in one. "Thank you, but I think I'll get a ride from someone else." He looked at Catherine and Nick, still crouched next to him.
"I'll take you, Greg. Nick is going to stay and process this scene." Catherine patted his arm and pushed herself to a standing position. "I have a few questions I need to ask you anyway."
Of course. His less than glamorous exit from the escape vehicle had left a crime scene for the CSI's to process and he was now the unfortunate witness to yet another crime. Nick and Les helped Greg to his feet and to the department truck. He was dizzy and his head hurt, but he was happy to be out of the suspect's car.
"I'll come by to check on you later. Take it easy." Nick waved at Greg, who responded with a wan smile and wave of his own. He just wanted to go home and crawl back into bed. He had a feeling it was going to be a while before he got his wish.
Catherine climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "I'm really glad you are okay, Greg. You had us really worried there." She gave him a knowing look. Their team had suffered from too many "incidents" over the past few years, and the most recent – Warrick's death – causing a rawness that wouldn't heal. The night shift could not handle another death on their team.
"So, do you want to fill me in on what happened in that car now, or once we're at the hospital?" Greg understood that her question was not callous and cold, rather sympathetic. Regardless of when he gave the rundown, it had to be done. Sometimes, it was better to get it over with as soon as possible; when the memories were still fresh.
"Now is fine."
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Due to the nature of his injuries, Greg was not seen by a doctor immediately. However, because of his association with law enforcement, he was lucky enough to be taken back ahead of the other minor cases littering the ER waiting room. Catherine, having received a call to another scene, had to leave, but promised to send either Nick or Riley to take him home.
As expected, his injuries were nothing serious: moderate concussion, a gash to the forehead, and a few bruises that would probably take a few hours to show their true ugliness. He was warned in advance that his severe headache would probably get worse before it got better, and could last up to two weeks. Lovely. He was in the process of signing the paperwork, when Nick showed up.
"Greggo. Sorry I'm so late. Are they letting you go already?" Upon seeing his colleague's battered face, he looked even more concerned that he had on the highway. "You don't look so good, man."
Despite the pain, he cocked his head and smiled. "It's only a flesh wound."
Nick grinned in response. "At least you didn't damage your sense of humor."
"Mr. Sanders," a young nurse interrupted the two men. "Here's my number. In case you have any concerns." She handed Greg a piece of paper, her hand lingering in his for a moment. "Remember to come back in immediately if you have any trouble thinking or remembering, or if your headache does not subside within a week."
Behind her, Nick looked at Greg in amusement and winked.
"Thanks. I will." He slipped the paper in to his back pocket and turned to leave.
As the two men walked through the exit, Nick nudged Greg in the arm. "Picking up the nurses, huh. Gonna call her?"
Greg chuckled. "Maybe."
"Are you hungry, want to grab a bite to eat before I take you home?"
"No thanks. I'm tired and have a bitchin' headache. I just really want to go home."
"Fair enough." He paused as he opened the door to his car. "Listen, I have tonight off, and I'm pretty sure Catherine'll have your head on a platter if you showed up at the lab tonight. How 'bout I come over later with beer, a pizza, and a movie filled with explosions, car chases, and no sign of a plot?"
Greg looked up in surprise, "Really?" He could kick himself. Way to go, Sanders. Nick does not need to see how desperate you are for someone to hang out with. "I mean, I'd like that, but what about the case? Did you catch him?" He slipped into the passenger seat and waited for Nick to answer.
"Yeah. Silver didn't get too far down the highway after you got out. They managed to get him at a roadblock about 20 minutes later. He confessed to everything."
"He said he didn't kill the women. He said that Hopkins did it himself." Greg sighed. He couldn't fathom why the man would kill his wife and daughters while paying for someone else to murder him.
"Turns out that Hopkins was bankrupt. He was losing his business, house, cars. Basically, he was losing everything. For some reason, he couldn't handle his family finding out about his financial failures, and decided at it would be better for them to die too. He hired Silver to kill himself afterwards, to try and cover up his own crime."
As they drove in silence, Greg stared out the window; thinking about what would bring a man to make a choice like that. It never ceased to amaze him at the distance people went to in order to conceal their darkest secrets. It just didn't seem worth it to him. Sighing, he pointed Nick towards his apartment complex.
"When did you move?" Confused, Nick turned to Greg.
Shrugging, Greg pushed the car door open. "A while ago. " He hadn't realized that most of his colleagues didn't know of his change of address. But then it made sense. It had been a while since any of them had come over. "Thanks for the ride, Nick."
"I'll see you tonight, Greg." Nick reminded his friend. "Get some rest before then."
Greg waved and turned to climb the steps to his second level unit. Despite looking forward to some guy bonding later, he was definitely ready for some Advil and sleep now.