The Emancipation of Nick Stokes - Chapter 3

The day shift is still very much in evidence when Grissom strolls into the lab. He's managed to avoid doing the team's yearly evaluation reports for as long as possible, but a not-so-subtle reminder from Catherine the night before had finally kicked him into action. So here he is, bright eyed and bushy tailed (well, metaphorically speaking anyway), ready to do battle with the scourge of managers everywhere: paperwork, in triplicate.

By the time the rest of his team arrives for shift almost three hours later, Grissom is feeling antsy and frustrated and seriously in need of a break. Still, he hands out the assignments for the night and returns to his office. About an hour into his official shift a call comes in, and with everyone else already out Gil feels obliged to take it. From the information he has it doesn't seem to be urgent. He could simply wait and give it to one of the others when they return, but he's been looking for an excuse, any excuse, to get out of the office; as he's never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he grabs his kit and heads out. In the lobby he runs into Sara, returning from what turned out to be a hoax call. Seeing as she has nothing else to do, she immediately offers to tag along with him. Gil doesn't really want her company and the case certainly doesn't merit two CSIs but he can't very well send her away and still justify his own involvement, so he reluctantly allows her to join him.

Arriving at the scene, Grissom finds himself in a dingy alley off The Strip. A section has been cordoned off with the usual crime scene tape and the uniform on scene fills them in with the details of the crime. A young female kitchen worker taking out the trash had discovered the body of a young man, unconscious and badly beaten beside a dumpster. After calling for help she had tried to offer comfort to the victim and was now waiting to be examined by CSI before giving her statement. After nodding his thanks to the officer for his assistance, Grissom instructs Sara to process the witness and take her statement while he processes the dumpster.

The alley itself is awash with garbage and filth. However, Grissom is able to collect some evidence, mostly blood. He'll have it cross checked with that of the victim and the lab's DNA database. You never know, sometimes even CSIs get lucky; it might just lead them in the direction of a suspect. There are splatter patterns on the walls, indicative of a violent assault. After photographing those and surveying the scene a second time, Grissom is satisfied that there is nothing more to be gained from the scene. He determines to see if the victim can shed any light on what has happened and what evidence he can provide. Seeing that Sara is still occupied with the young kitchen worker, Grissom decides to go to the hospital and process the victim himself.

XOXOXOXOXO

Even at this early hour the emergency room of University Medical Centre is a hive of activity. Doctors and nurses move with efficient, practised ease through the seeming chaos. At the reception desk, Grissom identifies himself to a rather officious, overly made-up receptionist. He is pointed in the direction of a harried looking intern who escorts him to a cubical in the treatment area. She informs him of her patient's medical condition and continued state of unconsciousness and consents to his request to conduct a brief examination to document his injuries and collect any evidence that is still present on his body. Then she bustles off to continue with her own work

After pulling aside one of the curtains that separates the occupant on the bed from the controlled clamour of the ER, Grissom gets his first look at their victim. Lying prone on stark white hospital sheets is a young man; his pallor is almost identical to that of his bed linen. The angry black and red from his swollen eye and split lip are the only splashes of color evident. After setting his equipment down on a cart at the side of the bed, Grissom snaps on a pair of latex gloves. He examines the bag at the foot of the bed which contains the victim's belongings. Inside, he finds a short, dark coloured jacket, a pair of dark jeans, a bloodstained white T-shirt, socks and a pair of dark hiking boots. A through search of various pockets turns up a few dollars, multiple packets of condoms and a tube of lubricant, but of any form of identification there is no sign. There is no sign of any underwear either.

There is no immediate way of discovering the victim's identity from his possessions. Grissom turns his attention to the injured man on the bed. He documents the contusions and abrasions that liberally covered the toned body before him, paying special attention to the bloodied and bruised face and torso. Someone had really gone to town on the kid and Grissom can't help but wonder why that seems to bother him so much. Once he has sufficient photographic evidence of the assault, Grissom sets aside his camera to process the rest of the victim's body for evidence. He takes blood samples to compare to the blood found at the scene and scrapes under the victim's fingernails. Hair and skin samples are bagged as well and while there are no overt signs of sexual assault he determines to have the doctor run a rape kit, too. Finally, Grissom collects a full set of fingerprints, hoping that they will help him identify the young man. As he works, Grissom finds his attention drawn repeatedly upwards, seeking some sign of returning consciousness, but finding none. What he does see were fine lines of pain creasing the smooth skin around shuttered eyes, and a pinched mouth. Even battered and bloodied it is still a beautiful face, with strong classic features and an underlying hind of boyish charm. He wonders what color the man's eyes are, and how he looks when he smiles. Grissom returns to his work with a shake of his head, pushing aside such foolish, unprofessional thoughts.

Before leaving the hospital, he instructs the staff nurse that he be informed when the victim regains consciousness. Then he returns to the lab and begins processing his accumulated evidence. He wants a name to go with that beautiful face.

XOXOXOXOXO

Sara is waiting for him when he returns to the lab. Dressed in her usual casual clothes and customary expression of barely concealed impatience, she immediately launches into a concise summary of the witness's statement.

"Grissom, the witness didn't see a thing."

"According to her statement she came out to put some trash in the dumpster, something she's done hundreds of times before, but this time she found a body lying beside it. At first she thought that he was just some homeless guy who was dumpster diving or looking for a place to sleep, but then she saw the blood. After that she just ran inside and told someone to call 911 before going back outside to see if the guy was still alive and then she stayed with him until the paramedics showed up. Did you find anything of value in the alley or with the vic? Do we have an ID for him yet?"

Raising a hand to forestall further questions, Grissom informs her, somewhat sharply, that he has not yet had a chance to process the evidence collected from either the alley or the vic.

"Tell you what, Sara. You process the blood and the evidence from the alley and I'll concentrate on IDing our vic. We'll meet up in the break room later and discuss our findings." Then he hands her his camera and the appropriate evidence bags and heads off in the direction of the print lab.

Three hours later, it is a very frustrated Grissom that Sara finds ensconced in his office. A log jam of prints taken from a drug bust is drowning the print lab, and while Mandy has promised to get his results back to him ASAP, she warned him it would probably be a while. A thorough examination of the victim's possessions has likewise proved fruitless and Grissom is feeling unusually annoyed with his own lack of results. He said as much to Sara.

"You know, Grissom, I may have an idea why the vic was in that alley in the first place. According to cop who worked the scene with us, it is a usual haunt for rent boys. Maybe our vic is simply a pro who picked up the wrong john." Seeing the look of fury that flickered over Grissom's face she hastily added, "Or perhaps he is just some guy in the wrong place at the wrong time. I guess we'll just have to wait until he wakes up to find out."

Clamping down on the irrational anger that her careless statement has triggered in him, Grissom reiterates that they should not jump to conclusions until all of the evidence is in. However, he is forced to admit that it is one possible scenario. After all, he had found an unusually large number of condoms in the vic's pockets, and the lube as well.

Further discussion is cut short by the trilling of Grissom's cell phone. Excusing himself from the conversation, Grissom answers the call; he doesn't recognize the number on the display.

"Grissom."

The call is brief. After he hangs up, Grissom pushes back from his desk and shrugs into his jacket. Seeing Sara's questioning expression, he tells her, "That was the hospital. Our vic just woke up."

XOXOXOXOXO

Grissom's second visit of the night to University Medical Centre went a little less smoothly than he would have liked. Upon arrival he was informed by the intern that he'd spoken with earlier that her patient is preparing to sign himself out AMA. She called him in the hope that he could talk some sense into the stubborn fool. Together they proceeded to a room on the second floor, where Grissom finds a very irate young man yelling at an unperturbed nurse.

"Just give me my damn clothes back and I'm out of here. Really, I'm fine and I already told you, I don't have insurance."

The veracity of his words might have carried more weight with the nurse if he hadn't been hugging his ribs protectively and swaying slightly on unsteady feet as he spoke them. Unimpressed by this weak display of anger, the plain-faced, middle aged nurse just gave a reassuring smile and told him that he would have to see his doctor first. In the mean time she'd see what she could round up for him to wear.

Looking contrite and a little embarrassed at his outburst, the man on the bed murmured an apology. "I'm sorry ma'am. I didn't mean to shout at you. I've guess I've had a really bad night and I just want to go home. I'd be very grateful for whatever you can find for me to wear. Preferably something that doesn't leave my behind on display to the world."

"I don't know, sugar, that's some mighty fine real estate you got there. Be a shame to hide it." Her tone is light, teasing even and the tension in the room dissipates somewhat. That is until the room's occupants notice the two figures framed in the doorway. Surging forward the doctor takes advantage of her patient's momentary silence, speaking in a calm authoritive voice.

"Really, Mr Riley. I think that you should stay a few more hours at the very least. You were very badly beaten and combined with the concussion you sustained, that's a very good reason to keep you here for the next 24 hours."

"Look doc, much as I appreciate your concern, I'm fine. Really. And as I already told your nurse, I don't have any insurance. I can't afford to stay. So if you'll just find me some clothes I'll be on my way."

Seeing the determination in his eyes, the doctor sought a compromise that would allow her some small measure of comfort. "OK, here's the deal. You let me examine you one more time before you leave and if I have no immediate concerns about your wellbeing I'll allow you to be released. That sound reasonable to you?"

Recognizing a way out when he saw it, Riley nods before he allows his gaze to slide curiously in Grissom's direction. Taking that as his cue, Grissom too steps fully into the room and approaches the bed.

"Mr Riley?" Grissom turns the greeting into a question as he approaches. "My name is Gil Grissom; I'm a CSI with the LVPD. I'm investigating your case." He watches as the man on the bed shrinks from his approach, his eyes suddenly shuttered and suspicious. "Can you tell me what happened tonight? Do you know who did this to you?"

Recovering quickly, Riley merely shrugs his shoulders. "Guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, man. I mean one minute I'm minding my own business, the next these guys drag me into an alley and then the next thing I know I'm waking up in the hospital."

Eyebrow raised in what his team would recognize as a clear indicator of disbelief, Grissom continues his questioning. "Can you tell me how many of these guys there were, or perhaps provide a physical description?" He isn't going to hold his breath for this, as it was pretty obvious that Riley isn't being exactly truthful; however, Grissom has to go through the motions. As expected the information provided is practically useless. After all, there were literally thousands of medium height, medium built, dark haired Caucasian men in Las Vegas, never mind its surrounding environs.

Before he has the chance to progress further with his questioning, the doctor returns and ushers him outside to wait while she performs a final examination of her patient. After about twenty minutes, she exits the room and crosses to speak with Grissom. "I don't really have a choice other than to release him under the provision that he return if he experiences any dizziness, nausea, memory loss or blurred vision within the next day or so. I also told him no strenuous physical activity for at least a week. He needs time to let his injuries heal."

"On that subject, doctor, I'll need a copy of his medical records from the incident to put into the case file and the results of the rape kit. If you could arrange for a copy to be ready before I leave I'd be most grateful." Nodding, the doctor takes her leave of him. Grissom makes his way back to get contact details before Riley can make good on his escape.

Grissom's gentle knock on the room door is met by a muffled, "come in." The reason for the subdued response is apparent when he enters the room. Riley is in the process of pulling on the top half of a pair of surgical scrubs, his lower half already covered in matching pants. His injuries are restricting his movement, and he is having difficulty with even this simple act.

"Can I help you with that, Mr. Riley?" Grissom asks schooling his face into what he hopes is an expression of open friendliness. Dark eyes survey him warily for a moment, before with a slow nod of his head he accepts Grissom's offer.

Reaching forwards, Grissom instructs the injured man to raise first his left arm and then his right until both are safely through the armholes on the garment. Then stepping behind, he reaches to lower the top from where it had bunched around his neck. It is only Grissom's years of professionalism that stopped him crying out at the ruin that is the young man's back. Under the riot of color caused by the fresh contusions are a host of scars. Age had faded them and the damage inflicted from the recent beating disguised them, but to his educated eye they were unmistakable signs of past abuse. He has to swallow hard to cover his reaction and Riley shifts uncomfortably under his hands before moving away from him. The intimacy of the moment is shattered then, and the opportunity for further discovery lost.

Grissom falls back on his professional persona to get him through the rest of the encounter. He collects Mr. Nick Riley's home address and phone number and promises to keep him informed of any developments.

"Sure man, whatever. We done now?"

Before Grissom can answer, the doctor returns with release papers and in a flurry of activity, he is wheeled from the room clutching the script that the doctor has written for pain meds and the bag with what possessions remained after evidence collection. Following behind, Grissom watches unobserved as Riley is wheeled to the hospital doors. He sees pain flash across that beautiful face as Riley hauls himself upright, swaying slightly, before he manages to get himself under control. He observes the shambling walk and awkward movement as abused muscles try to perform. He watches Riley's right arm curl protectively around his injured ribs as he staggers off into the early morning heat. Alone.

Then he returns to his vehicle and prepares to return to the lab. Sitting in air conditioned luxury, one thought cycles repeatedly through his head.

His eyes are brown.