A/N – Okay… I'm going for a little edgier, and I'm actually trying to write something of a case file. Basically, I'm forcing myself out of my comfort zone and trying something new. I hope you like. I'm personally withholding judgment at the moment. LOL
Please, please review.
Disclaimer: Every once in awhile, I wonder if anyone from CBS worries about the little world the fanfic authors have created. Then I think…. Nah.
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Grissom had barely entered the building the next night before he received the page from Toxicology. Got your results.
"Okay, here's the strange thing," Henry began before Grissom even stepped foot in the tox lab. Henry moved around excitedly as he explained, "I've never seen this before. I've heard of it, but never actually got to see it happen to a person. Strange."
"What did you find?" Grissom snapped.
"Sorry," Henry said, sobering, "You need to look at this."
The lab tech thrust a sheet of paper into Grissom's hand, and waited nervously. He was used to his boss's abrupt attitude at times, but the snarling had become typical Grissom over the last few weeks.
Dropping his reading glasses onto his nose, Grissom scanned through the results and looked up sharply at Henry.
Henry bobbed his head in affirmation. "I double-checked the results. I've never seen it in the human body before, but there you have it. The safety protocols are tightly restricted, so this stuff doesn't get out. I also verified that my own stash of the stuff was safely stored and not contaminating the evidence. It's all accounted for, so I know it's not cross-contamination of any kind."
"Traces of Dimethylmercury," Grissom murmured.
Back in his office, he found the coroner's report waiting on his desk and read through the notes. Grissom knew the cause of death was about to changed from Unknown to Poison. A slight amount of the chemical would be enough to kill someone not wearing specialized protective gear.
Having reviewed his own evidence, Grissom went in search of Nick and Greg. He found them in the evidence room, with a table full of effects found in and around the container where they'd found the victim. He laid out the available reports on the table, and looked up at the men.
"What do you have?" Greg asked, peering over the baseball cap he'd found half-buried a few feet from the victim.
"You show me yours, and I'll show you mine," Grissom quipped in reply.
Greg propped his clipboard in front of him and started reviewing the notes he'd made on the evidence and waited for Nick to sit down. "Unless Robbins came up with a wallet, we have no identification on the victim. However, we've got a baseball cap and a jacket found next to the trough. Right now, I'm working on pulling a sample from the edge of the hat to see if maybe there's enough to get a DNA sample."
"We've sifted through everything else, and logged it all, but there's not much else to tell," Nick told his boss. Picking up the shirt, he said, "I'm going to take a sample from the arm pit of the shirt to see what kind of hit we get in CODIS, as well… eliminate two sources for the clothing we have."
"Let me tell you what Robbins found," Grissom said, and relayed the information from the coroner. Continuing, he said, "Toxicology found Dimethylmercury in the hair sample sent up from the morgue."
"Isn't that a neurotoxin?" Nick asked.
"Yes," replied Grissom.
Thinking out loud, Greg said, "You know, the stuff is not easy to get a hold of. For that matter, it's strictly regulated. I'll check out the chemical labs around Vegas, and do a search on distributors in the country. With any luck, maybe we can pinpoint the source of the poison."
While Greg went off in search of the chemical source, Nick went through the evidence they'd gathered at the scene. While there hadn't been much of anything around the victim, but land, land, and more land, they'd sifted an enormous area, and still had people sifting out more. Even though Nick's gut told him they wouldn't find anything else, he headed back out to the scene to check on the progress being made and determine if more searching was needed.
While his CSI searched their own leads, Grissom began a detailed analysis of the compound that had killed the victim. Deep in an article, he'd barely heard his phone ring, and absently flipped it open.
"Grissom," he answered.
"Gil," Sara said on the other end of the line.
That's all it took for everything in him to heave a sigh and relax a fraction.
"Sara… How are you?" he asked and winced, knowing how she hated that question. Quickly, he walked over and closed the door, all the while ruefully saying, "Sorry – force of habit. I'm trying not to always ask."
Blowing out a slow breath, she said, "That's okay. I think I've got a better answer than the other day when I started sobbing over the phone. How does terrible, but better sound?"
The smile felt foreign on his face, and he responded, "It's better than fine or good or okay."
Laughing softly, her voice watery, she said, "I really wish I knew what I was doing here. I know I need to be here, but I can't manage to wrap my head around the 'why' or 'how'."
"I'm just happy to hear your voice," he murmured, and added, "and as hard as this is, I know you'll figure it out."
"You're always so confident about that when we talk. I wish I had just a fraction of that to go on."
Grissom thought about her statement and said, "Have you ever noticed how cynical you get when you're tired? You eventually solve whatever problem is in front of you… unless you turn into the meandering pessimist."
His voice lowered when he said, "Have faith in yourself, honey. I have faith in you."
He heard her breath quietly shake on the other end of the line, and they both went silent. Grissom closed his eyes and just listened. He relished the sound of the rhythmic breathing, and could feel himself breathe in time. Both seemed content to just be for a few minutes. Finally, Sara murmured, "I'm so glad I talked to you. I hate leaving you messages. You call me back, but I feel like an idiot talking into some machine, trying to explain… and I'm babbling again." She sighed.
"You know I'm here, and I'll always listen," he offered, then softly added, "I really miss you… and your babbling." Her soft chuckle always soothed him.
"I miss you, too, Gil. For the first time in days, I think I might actually be able to sleep," she told him on a yawn.
"Then I'll let you go, but Sara? Anytime you can't sleep, just call," Grissom offered.
"When is your next night off?" she asked, and was met by silence. He could just about see her brow furrowing and her lips compressing in annoyance when she said, "Schedule a night off, Gil. If I need sleep, then so do you."
"Yes, dear," he sighed, whispered "Goodbye" and hung up.
His eyes closed, and he imagined her at home, sitting on the couch, flipping through a forensics book or journal. It was not uncommon to walk in and see the dog's head in her lap and hear her hum while she became engrossed in an article.
He could also still see her standing outside his office, with that look on her face saying she needed to talk. When he'd looked up again and she'd been gone, the confusion warred with the reports in his hand, and he'd let it go. Feeling the tension build in his muscles once again, Grissom stood up and paced his office a few times, knowing he needed to find a release, but also knowing it wouldn't happen anytime soon.
Pulling on his glasses and sitting back at his desk, he did the one thing he still knew he was good at – he worked.
It wasn't until much later – the start of Grissom's typical double – that Wendy stopped Grissom in the hall.
"I got a hit back from CODIS from the samples Greg, and Nick gave me, and they match what I got from the bone provided by the coroner," she said, smiling.
"Then why aren't you talking to them?" he gruffly asked. He barely made it two steps before sighing, turning back to Wendy, and asking, "Who?"
"Andrew Baker. He's in the system because he works with a company called LV Labs, Inc., and they handle controlled toxic substances" she said, handing him the results.
Report in hand, Grissom headed towards his office. Over his shoulder he said, "I'll give Greg and Nick the results."
When Greg walked into his office just a few minutes and a page later, excitement evident on his face, Grissom sat back and waited for it. His patience thin, he luckily didn't have to wait long.
The excitement faded, as Greg watched the storm of intolerance pass over Grissom's face, and instead the young CSI felt irritation rise.
Speaking low, his face now completely sober, Greg stated, "I just got off the phone with the only distributor that has sent any Dimethylmercury to anyplace in Las Vegas or the surrounding area. The first place it was shipped was this lab, and the other place is-"
"LV Labs," Grissom interrupted.
"How did you know?" Greg asked.
"Wendy found a match in CODIS for Andrew Baker, who works or worked for LV Labs. It appears we've got an ID on the victim," Grissom explained. Handing the report across to Greg, he said, "He was never reported missing."
Furrowing his brow, Greg vaguely asked, "Hmmm… why was he never missed?"
"That's a good question, Greg," Grissom said, "why don't we see if we can find some answers."
Grabbing his coat, Grissom and Greg headed out to find out precisely when LV Labs had lost their employee. On the way, Grissom contacted Brass and Nick, gave them the address of their victim's residence, and told Nick to process the scene.
Located in the business district, neither was surprised to find the building surrounded by fencing akin to what would be seen in a prison.
Grissom explained, "Homeland Security is beginning to have more strict requirements on substances with the label neurotoxin. Because of the potential for terrorism, most toxicology labs now follow strict protocols for handling and transporting these compounds, and often with armed guards. It's one of the reasons our own is stored in a specialized safe in the lab, and restricted to only supervisors and toxicology lab technicians."
Flashing their badges at the entry gate, they were escorted to the lobby by a security guard, and left in the care of the receptionist.
"I'm Gil Grissom, LVPD Crime Lab. I'd like to speak to someone regarding Andrew Baker if I could."
After reviewing the presented credentials, the young blond woman tapped a button on the phone and said, "Mr. Stevens, there are a couple of gentlemen I think need to speak with you. They're from the police." Grissom would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't given up trying to explain the difference between a cop and a criminalist a long time ago. Unfortunately, Greg hadn't learned it yet, and happily explained it to a woman who probably could not have cared less.
When the twenty-something man approached nearly fifteen minutes later, wearing shorts, sneakers, and a t-shirt, Grissom eyed him wearily. Feeling irritated at having been left with nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs, he impatiently stood up from the generic chair in the lobby.
"I'm Evan Stevens, founder of LV Labs," the kid said, extending his hand.
"Gil Grissom," came the reply, and he took the kid's hand.
"Greg Sanders. We're from the Las Vegas crime lab," Greg informed him.
"You wanted to talk about Andy?" Stevens asked – his face quizzical. Looking around the lobby, he said, "Let's go on back to my office."
The hall consisted of a series of doors, all key coded for restricted access, but all having a large window next to it. "We use bullet proof glass in all of our rooms," Stevens explained as they passed by several large labs, where they could see people in protective gear. "Because of the possible risks around using some of the chemical compounds here, we try to mitigate the risks the best we can, so nothing can possibly escape the lab," the young man continued.
"I've seen the company name of LV Labs, Inc. on several reports," Grissom said, then added, "You've done some independent toxicology reporting for court cases, and acted as expert witness."
Smiling, Stevens stopped in front of a door with no accompanying window and punched in his code. "You're absolutely right," he said.
Stepping into the large office, Stevens waved the criminalists over to a comfortable seating area. Once they were settled, he said, "The expert witness cases provide much of our bread and butter. We also have some independent research going on, so what we do in court helps pay the expenses there. Plus, we've done some toxicology analysis for drug manufacturers. Andy worked on the independent research and expert witness sides of the company. Can I ask why you're here?"
"He's dead. Mr. Baker's remains were found less than forty eight hours ago," Grissom bluntly stated, and watched Stevens' face turn ashen.
Sinking into a chair across from the criminalists, Stevens whispered, "Fuck me." Looking at Grissom he shook his head, as if trying to clear it, and asked, "Are you sure it's Andy?" When he received the nod, Stevens closed his eyes and Grissom watched him force a slow breath.
"Have you seen him lately?" Grissom demanded. At Greg's stern look, he softened his tone and rephrased the question, "When was the last time you heard from him?"
Stevens sat back, and murmured, "It's strange." Frowning, he added, "I came in one day about three months ago, and there was an envelope with a letter of resignation. I hadn't expected that – I hadn't seen it coming."
"Do you often have people just quit?" Greg asked.
"Actually, it's a first. We try to provide a family-friendly, relaxing work environment. If we're not in the lab where being alert and on edge is pretty much a requirement, we try to be laid back and loose. I provide as much as I can to my employees, because it attracts the best of the best, and keeps employee turn-over low," Stevens explained.
"Do you still have the letter?" Grissom asked.
Crossing the room, Stevens pulled open a filing cabinet next to his over-flowing desk and pulled up a file. "I've got it right here," he said, and handed the envelope to Grissom, who placed it in an evidence bag.
"What was Stevens working on before he resigned?" Greg asked.
"He and another co-worker had a joint project for a new anti-biotic. We have been very excited about it, because it seems to fight of the super-staph infection MRSA. Currently, there are no drugs that really fight it well, because it's mutated and become something of a superbug. The fact is, it can kill a perfectly healthy, strong child in a matter of weeks," Stevens said, taking his seat.
"I'll need the name of the people he worked with directly," Grissom said.
"He really only worked with one person directly. Her name's Amelia Kohl, but it's her day off," Stevens relayed. He added, "I'll get you her personnel information."
As they walked out towards the lobby, Stevens suddenly exclaimed, "Wait here!" and disappeared into another window-less room. Emerging just moments later, he handed Greg a box.
"When Andy resigned, I boxed up his personal affect, thinking he might come back for them." Stevens added, "I should have known something was wrong when he didn't."
"Thanks," Greg said. As they approached the front door, the young man frowned and stated, "I know Andy didn't have any family. If no one comes forward, would it be possible for me to take care of his remains? I want to make sure he gets a proper burial. He is… was… a good guy."
"You'll need to talk to the coroner for that, not me," Grissom replied, his mind already moving away from the interview to the items in the box Greg held. Absently, he waved off the young man, leaving Greg to field anymore questions. Unfortunately, this left Greg in a rather pissed off mood, as he watched his supervisor blow off Stevens.
The ride back to the office was deadly silent. Greg didn't talk to Grissom because he was fuming that his supervisor had not only brushed off Stevens, but also him, and Grissom didn't talk to Greg, because he didn't really want to. By the time they arrived, Greg felt tense, tight, and ready to blow. Grissom didn't feel anything but the norm.
Stalking into his boss's office, Greg stood as he waited for his boss to sit, and then shut the door to the office.
"You know, Griss, I can understand that you've been tense since Sara left," Greg started, but paused when he saw Grissom's jaw clench. Shaking off the reaction, Greg continued, "However, what the fuck was that about? On what planet do you get to treat people like nothing more than tools? I'm getting sick of getting snapped at and walking on egg shells, and so is everyone else around here." That said, Greg stormed out of Grissom's office.
Grissom sat back in his chair, truly surprised by the outburst.
Did he just say that?
As Grissom frowned at his desk, contemplating the length of the suspension he was about to hand Greg, Catherine walked in, laid a file in his In box, and sat down. She noted the circles under his eyes getting darker each day, especially since Christmas, and the fatigue etching deeper into his face. The fact that he perpetually looked pale was telling.
"You know, Gil, you really need to take a day or two off," Catherine mildly said. Tilting her head a bit, she studied her colleague and added, "You're getting hard to take in large doses."
Rubbing his eyes, as he felt that familiar twinge of pain throb across his temples and forehead, Grissom sighed. Resigned to having to say something he murmured, "It's Thursday. I'll take Saturday night off, okay?" Please just leave, he thought.
Forcing a smile and pointedly looking at his watch, he said, "I'll spend some time with our dog. However, right now, I'm finishing up at least a double, so I'm heading home."
Standing, Grissom escorted Catherine from his office, knowing that by the time he reached his townhouse, the pressure behind his eyes would make him want to just pluck them out, and the nausea would set in full force, making him sweat and ache through every pore.
An hour later, half asleep on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, he wished for nothing more than a gap to open up in the ground, and swallow him whole.
Having run into Catherine on his way out, she relayed to Greg that Grissom had agreed to take a night off. While part of him was glad she'd gotten him to do it, the other part was still irate.
Meanwhile, Nick was finishing up his own shift. Starting into a triple, he and Brass had already walked through Andrew Baker's house. Nothing had seemed out of place. In fact, everything seemed perfectly normal, except that the computer's hard drive had been completely wiped. Before heading home, he dropped the blank disk off on Archie's desk, and stopped off at Frank's to get a bite to eat with Brass.
"Christ, I'm tired," Brass muttered between bites.
"I know what you mean, man," Nick replied, "With any luck I'll catch a few hours before shift starts."
Barking a humorless laugh, Brass replied, "Here's hoping your boss does, too, because if he yells at me one more time like he did at the scene the other night, we're going to have more than words."
"Yeah, well… Catherine called awhile ago to let me know she's making him take a day off. With any luck, maybe he'll just relax for awhile and give us all a break," Nick responded. Taking his last bite, he grinned at Brass, paid his bill, and headed home for much needed sleep.
Greg paced his living room, not quite fuming anymore, but knowing that Grissom's distance from everyone and attitude was getting on everyone's nerves. She'd been gone for nearly two months, and he was getting worse, especially lately. Grabbing his phone, he made the arrangements, and then dialed the familiar number he'd called frequently in the past.
At the prompt, he left the message, "Sara, I don't know if you even have this cell phone any longer, but if you do, there's a ticket waiting for you at the airport for Saturday morning. It's a round trip for you to return Sunday. I could care less at this point what you're dealing with, but he's getting out of hand. Either you deal with him, or we will, and I'm pretty sure our way won't be nearly as helpful. I expect you to be on the goddamn plane." He didn't bother saying goodbye. Right now, all he could do was hope.
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TBC?
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A/N – Hello. Please leave a message after the beep. By beep I mean the review button. So… imagine the review button is a beep, and leave it a message.