19) The Mystery Writer Strikes Again

Grissom stepped off the elevator, heading for the exit.

"Leaving early today, huh, Grissom?" one of the guards asked.

Grissom smiled. "Only for a little while."

"So that group you hang out with, are they normally just completely weird?"

Grissom stopped and turned, looking back at the man watching him. His partner, on the other hand, was either oblivious to the conversation, or convincingly acting like he wasn't paying any attention to it.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Two of them have been here asking us all kinds of really strange questions."

Grissom walked back to the desk. "Such as?"

"Oh… One asked us to write a sentence in the neatest print we could. And then he asked if we drew flowers. I think Andy was about to pummel him for that question."

Grissom didn't know who Andy was, but he made the assumption it was his partner who was currently preoccupied.

"They're working on a practice case."

The man's eyebrows lifted. "Practice case?"

"Even CSI and lab techs have to keep up their skills."

"And do they normally go around asking everyone in the building if they've seen this symbol?" He held up a piece of paper. On it was a color print of the logo that was on the sweatshirt.

"Normally they're asking suspects about that. Since this is a practice case, everyone in the building is a suspect."

"Right. Well, could you maybe tell them to stop making us their practice case suspects? We do have work to do, you know."

"I'll pass it along when I seem them tonight."

"Tonight?"

"When they work."

"They haven't left the building. At least not this way they haven't."

Grissom smiled. "Well, wherever they are, I'm sure you'll be left alone for a while. I'll talk to them, okay?"

"Right." He didn't sound convinced.

Andy, the otherwise preoccupied guard, spoke up. His voice was very deep and throaty, surprising for someone who didn't look that big. "You tell that lab tech with the attitude that if he ever insinuates I go around drawing flowers again, he'll be drinking his meals from now on."

"And which one would that be?"

He looked up at Grissom. "I dunno. The squints all look the same."

"Squints?"

"Lab techs," the first guard explained.

"Ah. Well, I'll pass it along too."

"Have a good day, Grissom," the first guard told him.

Grissom turned, not risking a smile. His team had become dead set on finding the mystery writer for two weeks now – and quite clearly they'd broadened their list of suspects without his knowledge. It amused him how serious they were taking this investigation, even if the trail had gone stale.

#

Grissom found the Crew crowded around a layout table when he came in early for his shift – apparently they had come in much earlier, according to the night guard. He hadn't been as offended by the questions they'd asked him, and asked if they'd caught Professor Green or Missus Peacock. Grissom laughed. So now they had named the mystery writer too? Well, if that kept them occupied with the case, so be it.

"Okay, folks, you have ten minutes to catch me up on the case and then we have real cases to work," Grissom informed them.

They didn't argue, but the dark glares conveyed the unspoken. He knew they wouldn't object anymore. The first day he'd stopped them during a shift, they had argued and fought him on it, but when he finally told them either do as he asked or have every bit of their evidence tossed into the burn pit, they became obedient immediately. Not to say they didn't still try to convince him to spend extra time during shifts working on it.

"Sorry I'm late," Catherine said as she hurried in with Wendy.

Wendy carried two folders in hand, handing one to Greg and one to Nick. "Here's your DNA results, boys."

"Thanks," they told her in unison.

Wendy smiled, watching the group. She looked at the pictures on the table.

"What case is this?" she asked, reaching for a picture.

Hodges snatched it away from her. "One of ours. Don't you have DNA to run?"

"Rude much?" she asked before turning on her heel and leaving.

Grissom watched her walk out, and then looked at Hodges as he sat the photograph down.

"That wasn't really necessary, was it, Hodges?"

"She's still on our suspects list. We haven't cleared any of them yet."

"That wasn't the question."

Hodges looked somewhere other than at Grissom. Grissom turned his attention back to the table.

"So, what's new?" Grissom asked.

"This was on the table this evening," Greg said, handing him a picture.

Grissom took it, looking over the image. The mystery writer had drawn a crossword puzzle with one word clues listed below. Well, that was intriguing.

"I'll have to work on this in the morning. Anything else?"

"The hairs on the sweatshirt we found came back as Equus caballus."

"Horse hairs?" Warrick asked.

"Yeah."

"Nothing on the cup." Greg said.

Grissom looked up at him. He had seen lipstick on the edge of the cup and just from the patterns he knew that lips had put it there. There had to be DNA trace. So whoever it was must have tampered with the test. Grissom didn't say anything. His CSI was going to have to figure that out on his own or not at all."

"Finally found someone who could tell me what the emblem on the sweatshirt was," Catherine said. "It was the logo for the National Rodeo Finals three years ago."

"How did you find that?" Hodges asked.

"Do you really want to know?"

The room was divided by yes and no. Grissom didn't care either way, just as long as he had the answer – although it didn't really piece together who the mystery writer was.

"Fine," Catherine said with a sigh. "Lindsey's best friend's boyfriend's sister's boyfriend's sister's best friend is a Pro Rodeo bull rider."

"How long did it take for you to get this answer back?" Hodges asked.

"Three days."

"So teenagers can come up with fast answers?" Mandy asked.

"Only when they want to. So I guess that's where we are with the evidence."

Grissom nodded. "Okay. Pack it up and let's get to work."

The evidence was returned to its box and handed off to Grissom. The group dispersed and Grissom headed back to his office. He glanced in the DNA lab, watching Wendy and another tech working. Grissom turned and went in. The two ladies looked up at him, smiling.

"Can I ask you two when you got in tonight?"

"I came in at eight-thirty," the other lab tech.

"Five till nine," Wendy answered.

"Did you notice if anyone was in here that should have been the last few days?"

They both shook their heads.

"Okay. Well… have a good evening." Grissom turned and then stopped, remembering to tell Wendy something. "By the way, I was able to approve your time off next weekend."

"Oh. Thank you!"

"Sure. Something special planned?"

"Yeah."

He waited for a moment for her to tell him what, but she just turned back to work. He decided not to press it. She was allowed her privacy.

#

Nick arrived at The Wall, slipping inside. He found Grissom sitting at the table, working on the crossword puzzle. Nick pulled out a chair next to him.

"Any luck?"

"Not much. This is quite challenging."

Nick grinned. "Something that has even the great Gil Grissom stumped, huh?"

"Only because the clues are one word, but the code was easy to break. The words for the blanks are antonyms of the words listed. The problem is there may be dozens for one word, and finding the right one is a challenge."

Nick smiled, looking up at the wall. "Well… Our writer has struck again, I see. And I bet that palm print will lead to nowhere too."

Grissom turned as the rest of the crew began filtering in. On the wall the mystery writer had added:

276. Lye is not to be used to 'soften' office chairs.

277. Claiming that, "the revolution is now," only cements the trouble you're in.

278. Burn pits not revel fires - therefore it is wrong to dance naked around them.

Grissom smiled. "Well, this person is around when you are, Nicky."

"I don't soften the office chairs with lye."

"No. You sing 'Hit the Road Jack' at the top of your lungs. Often. And off key," Hodges told him.

Nick grinned. "It's my prerogative."

"Not any more. It is written," Hodges said.

"By someone we don't know."

"Even if we don't know who wrote them, Nick, we have to abide by them," Grissom told him.

"Now hold on," Warrick said. "We don't know who this person is. They don't have a right to tell us what we can and can't do."

"Anymore than we do?" Grissom asked.

"Man! That's just not right."

"You know what else isn't right?" Ecklie asked as he walked to a wall and started writing:

279. The city does not fund investigative cases of missing food from the break room – nor should you claim you are "honing your investigative skills" by doing so.

"It's bad enough you're investigating a mysterious writer, but this is just a little too much."

"But it helps keep us sharp and prepared for anything," Nick retorted.

"It's going to help get you an unforeseen vacation if it doesn't stop."

"Me? For that. What about him?" Nick pointed right against Warrick's nose.

"Get that finger out of my face," Warrick said, batting it away. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Oh yeah. Tell him how you got that entire collection of 'That 70's Show' then."

Warrick smiled, and it was far too sweet to be on his face and not be hiding something. "I got them it for Christmas."

"He traded his luminal, all of it, for bootlegs."

"I did not."

"You so did!"

"You traded that finger powder for a date."

"I didn't trade the finger powder for a date!"

"Yes you did," Greg said.

"Stay out of this," both told Greg.

Warrick added, "Besides, you traded handcuffs for a small child."

"I did not!"

"You did too."

"I traded a pair of gloves and magnifying to the kid's older brother, – well, he was ten – so he'd give me the baby so that I could process the kid's clothes. There's a difference."

"I don't think anything I've heard so far I'd approve of," Grissom said.

"I second that," Ecklie added.

"And the rule gets put on the wall," Catherine told them.

With a dark glare, Warrick added:

280. I may not trade any item in my field kit for: cigarettes, booze, sexual favors, small children, or bootleg DVD's or CD's.

"And, Warrick, what is it we don't call our co-worker's anymore?"

"Stupid?"

She walked up, snatching his chalk away. "No." And then wrote:

281. Do not refer to your fellow co-worker as 'the old ball and chain.'

The CSI and lab tech taunted Warrick. He smiled, nodding. "Alright. Okay."

"You called Catherine your old ball and chain?" Bobby asked.

"It was a term of endearment."

"Right. Which brings me to another thing you, Warrick, aren't allowed to do anymore."

282. Entire training sessions are not to be used to discuss the new, hot, lab tech.

"I didn't spend the entire training sessions doing that. Maybe an hour."

"That was the time you spent not talking about her," Nick corrected him.

"Are you trying to get me in trouble today?"

"You're doing fine on your own. You don't need my help."

"You're not saint."

"Tell me about it," Ecklie said.

"Supervisor or not, you aren't allowed to help him."

"I don't need to. As you told him, you're doing fine on your own."

"What? What do you have on me?

Ecklie grabbed Nick's chalk and wrote two down:

283. When operating any city vehicle or equipment you may not attempt something "you saw in a cartoon".

284. You are not allowed to sing 'We Are the Champions' when a guilty party has confessed. Contributed by Mandi 96

"I never did that… with the vehicle. And I don't sing that every time."

"Only every time you're in the observation room," Greg said.

"Not every time."

"At least eighty-nine percent of the time," Grissom told him.

"But I never did anything crazy with the vehicles."

"Oh, let's see if this refreshes your memory," Catherine said. "'Hey, Cat! I saw this on Teen Titans last Saturday! Let's try it!'"

"I—" Nick started to object, but the room jeered him until he finally just smiled. "Alright. Okay. Maybe I do that. Maybe."

"And let's talk about your choice of sugar containers," Hodges said.

"What are you talking about?"

Hodges wrote on the wall near him:

285. Radioactive material containers may not be used to store sugar, coffee or other consumables.

And then turned to Nick with a raised eyebrow.

"It keeps everyone else from using them," Nick argued.

"And explains your glowing personality," Mandy quipped.

"Oh ha ha. Those containers were only marked radioactive. Hey, wait a second. If I'm going to get my butt chewed for singing We Are the Champions, Hodges needs to get his chewed for his singing."

"I don't sing."

"You so do sing," Henry retorted.

"I do not. I've never sung."

Nick wrote his rule:

286. Even after the suspects or victims have left the building, I am not allowed to sing, 'Hit the Road Jack.'

"You sing," Nick told him.

"At least I sing in tune."

"I sing just fine."

"You both suck," Greg told them.

"That wasn't very nice, Greg," Hodges told him.

"Yeah, well…"

"Are you in a bad mood, Greggo?" Nick asked.

"No. I'm reliving my mob days."

Warrick reached around Greg and wrote:

287. I should not confess to crimes that took place before I was born, and to which I could not have ever partaken in.

Then pointed a finger in his face. "No. You were never in the mob. You weren't old enough to be in the mob. You will stop pretending you're in the mob."

"I was, I am, I won't."

"You going to remind him about his weapon, too?" Nick asked.

"What about his weapon?" Grissom asked.

Warrick wrote the answer down:

288. Realistic water pistols filled with Tabasco® sauce are not LVPD issued weapon and may not be used on duty.

"Greg," Grissom said with a warning tone.

"I was testing out a non-lethal weapon that night."

"Which you luckily didn't need that night."

"Like you were 'testing the full functionality' of the Denali speaker system at our last crime scene tonight?"

"I had to make sure it worked properly!"

Grissom wrote the rule on the wall:

289. The vehicle loudspeaker system is not to be used to replace the radio.

"We've determined it works fine," Grissom told him. "So no more."

"Since we seem to be on this song theme today," Catherine began as she took the chalk from Grissom. "Let's discuss another song I never want to hear ever again."

290. When our suspects have been arrested at the alter before 'I do,' and it turns out the wife has been cheating on the husband, we do not sing the line, 'What a shame the poor groom's bride is a whore.' Contributed by Gema227

"Aw come on!" Nick argued.

"She deserved that song. It was so her!" Greg added.

Warrick piped up, "But the woman was a total—"

"Warrick."

They laughed at his scowl.

"Next time we'll just shoot the philanderer with rubber bullets," Bobby said.

"Like you shoot the supervisor with suction cup darts?" Ecklie asked as he wrote:

291. Shooting passing supervisors with suction cup darts to practice before arms recertification is not tolerated.

"But we needed a moving target to practice," Nick protested.

"I don't think so,"

"But you're such an easy moving target," Bobby added.

Ecklie shot him a sinister glare.

"I have one I think we should address, before our next briefing," Grissom said, taking Ecklie's chalk.

292. A crime scene briefing is not the best place to unveil your newest off color joke.

"But I like Warrick's joke about the naked blonde," Greg said.

"I liked the one about the two Polish men and Jew," Nick said.

Grissom turned to them. "You two just don't know when to stop, do you?"

"Yeah. I do. When Gina docks my pay," Nick said.

"I didn't dock your pay."

"You docked my pay."

"Wasn't me."

"I know the time sheet I put in had more hours than the one I got back – with white out."

Gina smiled. "But you got it back. Didn't he, Conrad?"

"What?" Ecklie asked, as if he'd never heard the question.

"You aren't supposed to be docking anyone's pay," Grissom said.

She sighed, writing:

293. I am not allowed to dock anyone's pay as revenge.

"Happy Nicolas?"

"Completely."

"Well," Catherine said, sidling up to him and stealing his chalk. "If you think you're going to get away picking on her, then I got a few for you that annoy the hell out of me!" She turned and wrote on the wall:

294. While collecting rounds, it is unnecessary for me to imitate Tigger™, count Mississippi, count licks to the center of the Tootsie Pop®, or repeat after each on "another one bites the dust!"

And then turned to face him. "The silence will be so golden."

Gina and Mandy clapped.

"You think that's it, huh? You can just write that up there and I will stop."

"If it's written on the wall, yes," Mandy told him.

"Oh really?" Nick plucked the chalk away from Catherine with an ornery grin aimed at Mandy. "Then we have something to talk about." He wrote down:

295. 'Fraculators' do not exist nor can they be built.

"I never said they could be built," Mandy protested.

"But you said they existed."

"I said they were probable in certain works of fiction."

"That was the same as saying they exist."

"Wait. As I recall, that conversation happened after I'd hit my head on the counter."

"Oh yeah. Blame it on a fall."

"It was his fault," she pointed at Bobby.

Bobby slowly slinked behind Warrick before Nick could look up. "Warrick's?"

"No, Bobby's."

She looked where he'd been. Warrick sidestepped, revealing the lurking ballistics expert. He grinned sheepishly.

"Bobby, what have you done now?" Grissom asked.

Bobby's face started turning red.

"Tell them, Bobby," Mandy insisted. "Tell them, or I will."

Bobby continued grinning stupidly.

"He left a tube of gun lube open in my lab, someone sat a box on it, it squirted on the floor and because it was clear, I didn't see. I slipped and hit my head on the counter, and when I finally knew where I was, I was carrying on an argument with Nick about fraculators."

"What are fraculators?" Grissom asked.

"It's out of a movie," she said with a roll of her eyes. "And completely irrelevant to the point."

Bobby looked away, avoiding everyone's eyes. Grissom held out his chalk when Bobby finally looked back.

"I think you know what to do," Grissom said.

Bobby took it and wrote:

296. Never leave open lubricant containers in high traffic areas.

"And by containers, you mean this isn't the first incident?" Ecklie asked.

Bobby just grinned.

"You could answer that question."

"Do I look stupid?" Bobby asked.

Ecklie smiled and cleared his throat.

Bobby's grin melted into something malicious. "But if I'm going to get in trouble for a little accident like that—"

"I had a goose egg for a week," Mandy argued.

"You should ask Henry how he got his last four dates."

Henry, who had been reading something else on the wall turned at the mention of his name.

"What?" he asked.

"How did you get your last four dates, Henry?" Nick asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

Henry didn't answer, or smile. "I asked them out."

"You did not," Bobby said.

"Yes I did."

"Really, because I remember overhearing you tell the last girl how you broke the last serial murders with your superior CSI skills."

"Oh… Well… I was just… It was at a club." Henry slid his hands in his pants pockets, looking innocent.

"Go on," Nick said. "We'd all love to know how you broke that case with your mad CSI skills."

Henry grimaced. "So maybe I told a little fib."

"Just how little?"

"Well… Uhm… I only got one date out of it."

Nick shook his head. "You're right, Cat. It's always the quiet ones."

She nodded. "You have a rule to add, dear Henry."

"But it wasn't in the lab. And—"

"It's been called out. You have to add it now."

"But—"

"Sorry, man, you have to add it," Hodges told him.

With a heavy sigh, he added the rule:

297. Lab rats must never impersonate a CSI to get a date

"Just for that I'm hexing everyone!" Henry said.

"No. No spells in the lab," Ecklie said.

"But—"

"No. None. And by the way…" Ecklie started writing. "We have to have some semblance of order in the lab."

298. While it is rare that all the evidence from one case concludes processing at exactly the same time, this is not a 'bad omen' and 'superstitious charms' are not necessary. (This includes but is not limited to: no cats of any color, tossing salt or rice over the shoulder even in the break room where it's 'on the floor anyway', birds – caged or otherwise, only Bobby's blow-up sheep is allowed in the lab, no breaking of wine glasses or any other type of drinking glass, no avoiding the cracks or seams in the tiles, no bugs, no bouquets of four-leaf clover placed everywhere, and you will not wear clothing inside out.

The room was silent when he added the last period; so silent that they could hear each other breathing. Ecklie turned to face them.

All of a suddenly the lab techs and CSI burst out in protest. Grissom laughed, shaking his head. He turned and sat down, returning to his crossword puzzle. He glanced up when Catherine sat down in the chair next to him, watching them. She smiled, laying her hand on his arm.

"You did a good thing, Grissom," she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Letting them work on this as a case. We always had the best team, but now… Did you notice how they handled that situation last week? That citizen was out to slander Greg and dead set on getting him fired. Did you see how even Hodges stayed to work on the case – even putting this one," she tapped at the puzzle, "aside – all to protect him. And it hasn't been the first time these last few months. This room does seem to have that ability."

"Humans like to belong. It's our nature. And the room isn't supernatural; it's just a room that gives us all a place to belong."

"Okay, Gil." She leaned back, watching them again.

He shrugged. "I have noticed, Catherine."

She smiled, dropping the subject to watch their team. Grissom sighed, looking up the wall. His eyes stopped on writing at the top. He slowly stood, staring at it.

"What is it?"

"The mystery writer was here before we were."

She looked up where he was staring, staring at the flower next to writing. She glanced at the one opposite them and then back.

"HEY!" Catherine said, standing.

Everyone turned to her.

"This person was in here before any of you were," Catherine said, pointing up.

They crowded around them, staring at the quote: "Science is not a sacred cow. Science is a horse. Don't worship it. Feed it." Aubrey Eben. Motto for the New Year of 1999

"This person sure does like horses," Henry said.

"I think our clues are starting to come together now," Grissom pointed out. But then he fell silent; because even he had no idea who they knew that liked or had an association with horses.