Author's Note: Much thanks to ALL my reviewers!

bethsmom was looking for a little Dean Winchester...OKAY!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY; they are property of CBS and Anthony Zuiker.

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Chapter Seven: Graverobbing

Some days, Danny Messer hated his job.

Especially days like this. Or, nights like this, rather.

He, Sheldon and Flack had been assigned to go dig up Grayson North. This was why Danny was standing in Eastwood Cemetery, flashlight in one hand, kit in the other. Sheldon Hawkes was behind him with a shovel. And Don Flack was there to ward off any graverobbers.

"Minus the ones I'm escorting, of course," he teased, prompting Danny to whack him with the flashlight. "Ow!"

"Not funny, man." Danny told his friend. "How was your dinner date?"

"Great," Flack said. "Went over to the Haven, got a couple of paninis."

"I wasn't talkin' about the food," Danny replied, earning him a smack from the homicide detective. "You and Stella. Who'da thought?"

"What's wrong with that?" Flack replied.

"Nothing!" Danny said, holding his hands up in protest. "Nothing. I'm happy for you. I really am." He smiled at his friend. "I mean it, you guys make a really good couple. She's smart, sexy, funny…what does she see in you, again?"

Sheldon Hawkes ignored the two bickering men behind him. As he got closer to Grayson North's headstone, he held up a hand. "Guys. Shut up."

Danny snapped his mouth shut. He'd heard it too.

"…think I hit something."

"Gee, maybe it's a coffin, ya think? This isn't Treasure Island. That ain't diamonds and gold down there."

Don Flack drew his gun, the crack about graverobbers fresh in his mind.

"Okay, pry it open." The two people were definitely male.

Danny and Don heard a crack, then one of the men swore. "Damn it!"

"You were right," one said.

Flack stepped up. "NYPD! Hold it right there!"

The two figures froze. The one who appeared younger held up his hands, shovel still in hand. The other, Flack could only see his head and shoulders, was in the hole. "Get those hands up, nice an' slow," Flack growled.

Slowly, the other man raised his hands. "Danny. Take the kid."

Danny stepped over to the younger man and cuffed him expertly. Flack hauled the older one out of the hole by his jacket. As he cuffed him and sat him down, he couldn't help but peer into the hole.

What in the hell… "Danny. You might want to come see this."

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The youngest boy turned to the older one. "That's the guy," he whispered.

The older one frowned. "You're sure about that?"

He nodded. "Yes. That's him."

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Danny kept his gun trained on the two men, and walked backwards over to where Flack was standing. Flack pulled his flashlight and aimed it into the grave. "You see what I see?"

"I sure as hell see what you don't." Danny said.

Grayson North's body was not in its coffin. In fact, there wasn't even a body in Grayson North's coffin.

The casket was open. It was empty.

Danny whirled on the two men. "You two better start talkin'," he said.

The oldest one exchanged looks with the youngest one. "My name's Eric Braeden," the oldest offered. "I'm with the city inspectors. We got some reports of some water damage-"

"Nice try," Danny said, watching as Sheldon Hawkes leapt into the hole, forensic kit in hand. "Eric Braeden's a soap opera actor."

The older boy seemed surprised. "Aw, hell, he's up on his pop culture," he said.

Flack looked at Danny. "How the hell do you know soap opera actors?"

He shrugged. "Lunch with Lindsay." He returned his gaze to the two boys. "Start talkin'." When the two didn't say anything, Danny continued, "Maybe your teeth'll come unglued downtown at the precinct, huh?"

"I'm Sam Winchester," the youngest man blurted out, prompting the older boy to glare at him. "This is my brother, Dean."

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