"What's the best way to get down there?" Sara asked, nodding toward the bottom of Pyramid Canyon.
"We could all rappel, but it's a tough exercise, and I don't recommend it unless you have to collect evidence," Percival said. "It's a bit of a roundabout trip, but if your Tahoe's got four-wheel drive, I can transport all of you that way."
The next 35 minutes passed in near silence as Percival steered the Tahoe off road at low speeds over rough terrain, each member of the party lost in random thoughts of Grissom. Sara stared out the side window from the front passenger seat beside Percival, who drove. She tried to will her eyes to see a stocky man, nearly six feet tall, stumbling along in search of help. She would have settled for a vision of the same man lying on the ground, as long as there was a rise and fall in the chest, a pulse at the neck.
What she actually saw made her stomach turn over.
"Oh, no," she whispered. "Oh, dear god, no."
"What?" The question came from Brass, sitting directly behind Sara. He tried to follow her line of sight and recognized immediately what upset her.
Percival braked, and his passengers were out immediately, all looking at the sky where seven turkey vultures wheeled on air currents rising from the desert floor. Their wings were spread in broad V positions, and the red heads were diagnostic of the carrion-eaters. All had their heads bent and their eyes intent on something dead or dying below.
As if on signal, the breeze picked up. It was blowing in their faces and carrying the distinct gagging stench of the early stages of decomp.
Natural human reaction would have been to turn away, but Sara began running toward it.
Nick caught up with her first and hauled her to a stop.
"Don't, Sara, please," he said. She swallowed hard. She had no desire to see the body of the man she loved torn apart by scavengers, but she had to know. Was this the ghastly end of the search?
Brass had joined them. "Stay here with Catherine," he told Sara. "Nick and Ron and I will go. We'll find out what's out there, and we'll let you know as soon as we do, kiddo. Please, will you wait here?"
Sara felt herself nod. She was numb.
As the men walked off, Catherine turned Sara away from them, away from the vultures and urged her back toward the Tahoe. Abruptly she stopped, turned away from Catherine and got sick. Since she had eaten nothing since the day before, the retching quickly turned into dry heaves she didn't seem able to stop.
Catherine rubbed her back, and the nausea began to subside.
"Let's get in the truck," Catherine said. "At least we can wait in air conditioning."
Sara climbed into the front seat and let her head loll against the window. She closed her eyes, suddenly tired beyond description. What was it about her and Grissom? Why did fate step in at odd, unfortunate times and simply dictate, "Stop. You've been too happy. And you're going to have to suffer for it now." Was their happiness such a crime? Had they been such horrible people that they didn't deserve joy and contentment together? What gods had they offended so deeply?
Please let him live. Stop his pain. Heal his injuries. Don't let him die.
Sara wondered if she had been praying, and if so, to whom. She had told Grissom once she didn't believe in a higher power. At the time it was true. Had something changed? Or was this an act of desperation – just in case?
She was vaguely aware of Catherine reaching across her and rummaging in the glove box. She handed Sara some wet naps to clean her face and a small aerosol tube of Binaca mouthwash spray to cover the residual taste of bile.
They sat in silence until Catherine's cell phone rang. She had been holding it at the ready and flipped it open immediately.
"Talk to me," she said.
"Yeah? Really? On our way."
She turned to Sara. "It's an elk."
Sara closed her eyes and blew out a breath. She used the Binaca once more and then tossed it back in the glove box.
Catherine turned over the engine and kicked the truck into gear as she continued talking. "Somebody poached it. Probably in the last 24 hours. They took the meat and left the rest. There are tire tracks, and they lead off in the direction of that pinion tree. We're going to pick up the guys and follow the tracks. They might explain where Grissom is."
Sara felt her eyes go wide. "If somebody found him and picked him up…"
"Yeah," Catherine finished for her. "He might be alive and getting medical help somewhere."
Sara frowned. In that instant she realized she might have to rethink this whole higher power thing.
xxxxxxx
Catherine continued to steer the Tahoe along the desert floor, staying well to the left of the tire tracks they followed. Brass had changed seats with Sara and served as Catherine's eyes, telling her when to move further to the left to avoid overrunning the trail. When the pinion tree came into view, he ordered, "Stop here." Catherine did, and they all left the truck gingerly, eyes focused on the ground, watching for anything that might provide a clue to the identity or ownership of the truck.
Nick grabbed his kit and camera out of the back.
"I'll find the best imprint available, take photos and do a mold," he said. When he found one he liked, he stopped and began working. The rest of the group moved forward.
Brass pointed at the ground about 20 yards from the pinion. "Looks like they stopped here, backed up and repositioned the vehicle."
"Yeah," Catherine said. "Somebody spotted Grissom, but the angle of the headlights here …" she pointed at the bottom-most track "… wasn't quite right. So the driver backed up, here, and turned to get the lights straight on the scene."
"Look at these," Percival said. "Two sets of footprints. Two people got out of the vehicle, one on either side."
"Nick needs to mold these, too," Catherine said as she lifted her camera and took photos. She called to Nick and pointed them out.
"In a minute, Cath," he yelled back. "Can you come over here and help me? I found a place to measure the wheelbase, and I need another set of hands."
As Catherine trudged back to Nick, Brass looked for Sara. He found her standing at the pinion tree, her hand over her mouth. He walked to her and put his arm around her shoulders. She sagged against him.
He looked where she her eyes were focused and saw the blood, now brownish black and crusted over. There was a lot of it, in a lot of different places. Grissom had bled from a number of different wounds, and the blood loss had been considerable. Brass couldn't escape the possibility that Grissom had bled out and died right here, and whoever found him and picked him up had transported a dead body. He wouldn't give voice to his thoughts, but they must have occurred to Sara, too. He saw the tear tracks on her face and felt her trembling.
She seemed to be struggling to rein in her emotions, and she shouldn't be doing that.
Brass turned her away from the scene and wrapped her in his arms to let her cry it out. But crying wasn't what she wanted.
"Catherine and Nick are busy with the tire tracks," she said into his shoulder. "You want to collect the blood trace, or should I?
Eventually, Catherine collected the samples. When they had done all there was to do at the scene, she suggested they continue to follow the tire tracks. Ultimately, they could provide a clue to the truck's destination. Brass practically had to pull Sara away from the pinion tree. He understood she felt as if she was abandoning a part of Grissom to the harsh desert.
"Can't we at least bury this?" she said, her eyes pleading with her friends and then glancing up at the wheeling vultures. Eventually, they would find the lost blood.
Brass and Catherine exchanged looks.
"There's nothing left here to find," Catherine said. "I guess I'm the senior CSI. I'll release the scene if it's all right with the Park Police."
"Sure," Percival said. "It's the right thing to do."
He and Nick grabbed shovels out of the back of the Tahoe. Nick spotted something seven feet from the truck.
"Hey, guys, look at this." He took a swab from his kit, ran it into the mouth of the empty Black Jack bottle lying in the sand and held it up for everyone to see. "Hasn't been out here long," he said. "Might be worth checking it for DNA and prints."
After it was bagged and tagged, Nick and Ron dug a three-foot-square hole next to the scrub pinion. When they were ready, they looked to Sara for a sign that she was.
She nodded. Her face contorted in an effort to hold off the tears as the earth soaked with Grissom's blood disappeared into the makeshift grave with clean earth covering and protecting it. She allowed Brass to lead her back to the Tahoe where she curled up in the back seat, alone with her thoughts and her memories and her worst fears.