And one pill makes you small…
--
Nick shared a look with Sofia as he moved closer to knock on the door, rapping on it three times before backing away. He took out his notebook and pen as they waited for Susan Wilcox to answer.
Apparently, it appeared that Thomas Wilcox had a wife, which didn't seem too strange after Catherine pointed out the dark, circular impression around the man's finger. But what was strange was the fact that they couldn't get in touch with her by either number found in Wilcox's cell phone; instead discovering that she was staying in the Venetian – the same hotel her husband was in – and only a floor above his.
It took some time to locate her, but since she was listed as Wilcox's next of kin, Archie was able track her location through her cell phone number by GPS.
Nick sighed as he watched Sofia lean over to knock on the door again. The capabilities of technology never failed to amaze him, but at the same time, he wasn't that deluded that he missed the possible repercussions and consequences of what could happen when it was used in the wrong hands.
After a few more moments, he was about to knock for a third time when he could pick up sounds of footsteps on the other side; the door opening to reveal a pale woman wearing a long white robe pulled tightly around her chest.
"Mrs. Wilcox?" Sofia asked; shoulders slightly tense as her gaze skimmed over the other woman.
She was pale, cheeks slightly flushed as her large green eyes peered inquisitively at Nick and Sofia. "Yes…" she said cautiously.
"Hi, my name is Nick Stokes and this is Sofia Curtis," Nick said while motioning to Sofia with his head. "We're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab, and we'd like to ask you a few questions if you wouldn't mind?"
"Actually," she said, putting herself between Nick and the room, slowly closing the door behind her, "I'd prefer it if we talked outside."
Nick didn't have any objections, and knew Sofia didn't either as long as she was willing to talk. A question on the tip of his tongue, Nick stopped mid-sentence when he heard what sounded like a loud groan from the room; able to catch a glimpse of a bare chest on the bed before the door closed all the way. He coughed politely, not mentioning the man in Susan's room who was obviously not her husband.
"I know I'm not in trouble or anything. So, what are the cops even here for?" she asked impatiently, moving a strand of dark red hair from her face. Either she didn't care that they saw the man in her room or she chose to ignore it.
"Your husband's death, ma'am," Nick began. Judging by first impression alone, he wasn't sure that she would even care if he was gone. "I'm sorry for your loss and-"
"Oh, don't tell me this is another one of those stunts he's trying to pull." She crossed her arms in annoyance; leaning languidly against the doorframe.
"You don't seem too concerned," Sofia pointed out, the tone in her voice confirming the sceptical expression on her face.
"He's always saying he's going to kill himself one day. But what does a deadbeat like him have to off himself for?"
Nick looked at Sofia warily before turning his attention to Susan. "Well…no, he didn't kill himself; at least intentionally."
"And we don't believe it was an accident, either," Sofia added.
"And you're looking at me because…?" Susan cocked her head to side, uncrossing her arms and straightening her posture.
Nick withheld from making a comment about her lackadaisical reaction to her husband's death. While he did suspect that she was involved in some way, she didn't seem too concerned about him and Sofia seeing the man in her room – if he was any indication of her having an affair – more or less concerned for his privacy if nothing else. "We found your husband dead two days ago in his hotel room and no evidence that you were even here until now. And you checked in four days ago – the same time your husband did. Want to explain that for me?"
"We were having our second honeymoon," she answered shortly.
"Staying in different rooms at the same hotel?" Nick asked flatly.
"It was a separated honeymoon."
Sofia raised an eyebrow, gaze moving to the small ring on Susan's finger before moving back to rest on Susan's face. "You didn't even know he was dead."
"Okay," Susan began, releasing an exasperated sigh. "But I didn't even know he was here until I got checked in myself, when I saw him coming out of the elevator in the front lobby. I thought he was just going off on one of his so-called "business trips" she said, murmuring the last two words with revulsion. "And I don't think it can be any more obvious I'm having an affair – well, I guess it doesn't count since he's dead now, though."
"And that's why you killed him in the first place," Sofia accused, "because he found out about it."
"Please," Susan said scoffing. "Like I'd waste my time on him. Thomas was just excess baggage."
"You still don't seem too concerned about his death," Nick said. "Excess baggage or not, he was still your husband."
Susan sighed. "I only married him because it made my parents happy and he'd just come into his inheritance. But it didn't take long for him to spend it all and leave me dry."
"And you weren't thinking about an insurance policy?" Sofia continued.
"He didn't plan ahead for it. Since we decided not to have kids, he thought mom and dad would continue to be his main source of income." She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face as she said, "Until they finally cut him off, of course."
"So, where were you on the morning of September seventeenth between the hours of six and seven?" Sofia asked.
"Not here. I didn't get back to my room until eight or nine. I went down to the pool around five or so. You can even ask the pool boy that was there – Mark or something, I think." She shrugged at the looks Nick and Sofia were giving her. "I like to get up early to swim. But seriously, I did not kill my husband. I couldn't even be bothered with him on a regular basis."
"So, you just happened to be at the wrong place and the wrong time," Nick said, sounding more as if he was making an incredulous statement rather than asking a question. Grissom taught him better than to blindly accept anything as coincidence.
"Believe it or not, I actually like this hotel. It's where Thom and I came for our first anniversary and where my affair with David," Susan nodded to the room behind her, "first started. We've been married for five years and the only thing that would surprise me is if Thom didn't know I was having one."
"So, he knew about your relationship outside of your marriage?" Sofia asked.
"Of course he did. But that was only because the lack of chemistry between us wasn't exactly one-sided, you know?"
Nick nodded as he closed his notebook, putting his pen in his pocket.
Noticing the action, Susan said, "Are we done now?" She opened the door behind her, ready to go back into the room.
"We'll call you if we have any more questions," Sofia said, smiling tightly.
"Thank you for your time," Nick added as the door closed, Susan on the other side of it. He turned to Sofia. "Travel all the way from Maryland to Nevada just to keep up with an affair?"
"I know. I don't believe it, either. And I'm having a hard time imagining her putting that much time into anyone else but herself."
"That David guy must really be something, then."
Robbins said she looked to be about five or six years old. And while her Asian features made it obvious she wasn't related to the Harrisons by blood, it still didn't rationalize her death or explain the couple's absence. Not to mention explain why the Harrisons were housing someone so young who legally didn't exist.
And maybe that's why Greg thought it seemed so odd that she didn't have a name, unfair that she died without anyone really knowing who she was. Some part of him wanted to give her a name himself, something to call her other than "the little girl". But he was already too involved in the case enough as it was and didn't need to make a personal attachment to someone he didn't even know…someone he would never know.
He stared at her for a little longer; her small face ashen and grey against dark hair that fell limply on the metal table. He felt a pang in his chest at the sight of her closed eyes, imagining them open and a gleam in them that would match the wide smile on her face. Resisting the urge to push the bangs out away from her forehead, Greg looked up when he heard the coroner's voice.
"While there is some evidence of smoke inhalation, it ultimately wasn't what killed her."
Grissom and Warrick looked at Robbins expectantly, waiting for the man to explain further.
"The complications were actually in the initial stages. Reduced oxygen at the tissue level, thermal injury to the upper airway," he paused, using his finger to point to the girl's nose and moving it over her open chest cavity, "and chemical injury to the lung – these occurred right before she died; barely noticeable compared to someone who'd actually died of smoke inhalation."
Greg looked thoughtfully at the pathologist but it was Warrick who spoke. "What killed her, then?"
"She died of asphyxiation due to smothering," he responded simply. "I found traces of a pink fiber in the back of her throat and in her nostrils."
"The blanket I found her in…" Greg said absently, immediately wondering if he could have saved her he reached her sooner; if he went straight for the bed instead of waiting for Grissom. The multiple what-ifs and should-haves quickly began to permeate his mind, mocking and silently ridiculing him. But any urge to speculate the possibilities not explored ebbed when Robbins continued to speak.
"And if the reported time for the fire is accurate," the pathologist said wearily, "she probably died right before it was put out."
Greg bit his bottom lip when the older man continued; closing his eyes as he sighed heavily.
"It's a shame, though. She was a pretty little girl."
After few seconds of quiet between them, Greg opened his eyes to see Robbins looking at Grissom expectantly; gaze admonishing as he addressed the other man. "You know what I'm going to say, Gil. I don't know much time you're going to have, but I hope you find something soon."
Grissom choose not to reply directly, walking around the metal table as if he was searching for something Robbins missed. "Did you find any evidence of-"
"Nothing in her rectum, or stomach," Robbins said as he shook his head. "No sign of tearing or abuse, she was clean."
"Wait a minute," Warrick said, looking at Grissom and Robbins. "Are you thinking this was-"
"Yes," Grissom interrupted, lifting his head and looking at Warrick sharply.
"Thinking about what?" Greg asked; a bemused expression on his face as he tried to keep track of the conversation the other men were having without him; feeling as if he was missing something important.
"There's a good chance this little girl was a product of a child trafficking ring, Greg," Robbins explained.
"Child trafficking?" Greg repeated, voice rising slightly. "Why would-"
"It makes sense," Warrick answered. "No legal documentation, no record of her existence – she's an Asian little girl…probably Chinese."
"But that doesn't explain…" Greg began weakly.
"It actually happens around here more than you think," Warrick said patiently. "A lot people and drugs come through Vegas. You just don't hear much about it because the Feds are the ones who pick up these kinds of cases."
"And if we're right," Robbins added, "it won't be long until they try take over this case, too."
Greg felt his whole body sag, the weight of Grissom's words weighing heavily against him; the tone of the older man's voice grave and foreboding.
"But we're not going to stop until we find this little girl's killer."
Nick closed the refrigerator door lightly, the barely audible snap sharp against his ears. He frowned as he made his way to the couch, small green apple in hand as he sat beside Greg. He tried to force himself to relax into the lumpy cushions; loosening his shoulders as he made sure there was notable space between himself and the other man, who had yet to acknowledge Nick's presence.
He didn't blame Greg, of course, and they hadn't really had time to talk in the last few days. Nick had no desire to start a serious conversation anytime soon, but sometimes sitting next to each other would be enough. He didn't know much about the case; only that Greg had found a little girl wrapped in a blanket; held her in his arms. And while Nick had his fair share of bad situations, Nick couldn't even imagine how the other man felt; especially knowing Greg still hadn't had much exposure to these kinds of cases.
Nick never did like when kids were the victims. No one did. And while he knew he had his own personal demons that may have contributed more than anything else, Greg only had his lack of experience to fall back on. And Nick knew well enough how harsh of a teacher experience could be. Even now, almost year officially into the field and Greg still didn't know how to deal with how callous people could be – didn't know what to do with the information; his reactions still raw and poorly disguised against some of the scenes they came across.
Though, that wasn't to say Greg was as sensitive to some things as he once was. But it worried Nick each day he saw the shine in Greg's eyes began to dull, fade a little more; lines appearing around his face that weren't there before; the weary expression seeming like a permanent etching that Nick had seen more than once in the mirror. Because sometimes it felt as if the person he once knew was beginning to wither away.
However, as concerned as he was, Nick knew better than to let his personal relationship with Greg interfere with work; through both experience and a subtle admonition from Grissom it didn't take him long to learn that lesson. And it was fine because he and Greg weren't openly demonstrative about it, either. Their jobs demanded much from them and they knew what their priorities were. But it was in moments like this – where it seemed that maybe the demand was too much – that made Nick question the price he had to pay and wonder if it was really worth it in the end. And the realization that Greg might become as cynical as he was; as jaded as he was scared Nick more than he would have liked to admit.
It didn't help Nick feel better that Greg was having nightmares, again, either. He didn't know what they were about, just that Greg wouldn't shout after he woke up. He wouldn't move, stilling enough so that Nick could hear the slight quickened breathing until he opened his eyes; finally going back to sleep when Nick put an arm around him. Greg probably thought he didn't know, but Nick chose not to say anything. And honestly, he was hesitant to do so. He didn't want Greg withdrawing again like he did the last time. And while their roles were reversed this time around, waking up in the hospital and seeing the younger man after he was found, Nick couldn't remember an instance when anyone was so quiet, much less Greg.
Nick opened his eyes slowly, thankful for the dim lighting in the hospital room; the lamp in the corner Catherine turned on. Noticing she was no longer here, he looked at the clock on the wall, noticing that visiting hours were almost over. She probably left while he was asleep. He rubbed his forearm gently, careful not to scratch the marks on his skin when he caught sight of someone sitting in the chair in the corner. Hidden in the shadows, Nick had almost overlooked him entirely.
And Nick didn't understand how he could have in the first place. Even with the low lighting, he recognized his old college shirt immediately and the bottom of dark, faded jeans covering a pair of red Converse shoes. He began to sit up, ignoring the small pain in the back of his head from trying to sit up too quickly. "Greg…" he called out quietly when the younger man didn't move at the sound of the sheets on the bed rustling.
He called out Greg's name again, not sure if the other man, was sleeping or not when he noticed Greg's hands tightly gripping the ends of the sleeves of the shirt; his head still resting on his legs as he continued to bend over in the chair. He tried to get Greg's attention once more, this time raising his voice slightly.
Nick waited a few more seconds; his gaze still frozen on Greg as he concentrated on listening to the monotonous ticking of the clock. He wasn't expecting the delayed reaction when it came, didn't expect the look on Greg's face when he lifted his head slowly; a haunted look in his eyes and most of his features obscured by the dark.
"…Nick," he said uncertainly, tentatively, and Nick had to swallow the lump in his throat when Greg looked at him; the light from the lamp catching the slight sheen in the other man's eyes.
Nick inhaled deeply, pressing his lips together before trying to speak, trying to keep the choking sound out of his voice. "The bite marks don't mean I'm contagious, you know," he said jokingly, the humour a poor attempt to mask the fear he hid from everyone else; the disappointment in himself for allowing Greg to see him like this.
But Greg didn't move, eyes unwavering and not leaving Nick's.
"Is it okay?"
It was a rough few weeks after that, but they eventually managed to get over it, like they always did. Of course, Nick had his own share of nightmares since being buried alive and coming to a point where he actually thought of killing himself. But Greg seemed more shaken by it than Nick. And while Nick wouldn't call Greg's behaviour clingy in the weeks that followed, he seemed so willing, so eager to please that Nick would have thought it disturbing if he didn't know how scared Greg was at the time.
He didn't readily agree with it, but it was Greg's way of coping. Nick preferred to talk about things in the open and he couldn't help but become frustrated when Greg chose to bottle things up. He was still trying to shake Greg out of the habit, but Nick was grateful it wasn't as bad as it was a couple of years ago. Now, only certain situations would bring out that side of Greg.
Nick sighed as he looked at Greg. The younger man's eyes were closed as he continued to sag further into the couch. He held his head down, chin almost touching his chest and the sides of his jacket collar flared up and hiding his face.
"Hey," Nick said quietly, watching Greg as he blinked; widening and closing his eyes until he decided to leave them open. Nick would have found the expressions Greg made funny under different circumstances.
"Hey."
"You hungry?" Nick asked, motioning at the apple in his hand.
"Is that from your secret stash?" Greg asked playfully, a small smirk on his face that came out more as sad smile.
"That got old after the first time you said it." Nick rolled his eyes. "But yeah, I brought it from home."
"Not hungry," Greg admitted, sitting up a little.
"You didn't eat this morning."
"I wasn't hungry then, either."
"You honestly think I'm going to buy that?" Nick asked, raising his eyebrows. He knew that Greg would sometimes forgo food if caught up in a case. And it was something he understood because he would do the same thing, too.
Greg didn't say anything to the remark and held out his hand, letting Nick put the apple in his palm. He looked at it curiously before lifting his head to peer at Nick. "Grissom's not happy," he finally said. "And I have a feeling I'm going to be here all night."
"You know Grissom would make you leave before asking for something like that."
"You know how he feels about these kinds of cases – how everybody feels." He looked at Nick keenly, not bringing up Nick's own issues. "But Grissom…something's not right about this one. We haven't found anything in the past two days. Nothing is matching up and now this could be part of some child trafficking ring…"
Nick didn't respond, letting Greg continue.
"I mean, I'm not looking for a case breaker anytime soon, but it would be nice if we had something to work on, you know?"
Unfortunately, Nick knew all too well. At least with his case, they had a suspect, possibly two, and were now waiting on a tox report for Wilcox. And as much as he would like to spend a few more minutes with Greg, he had to meet Catherine and Sara. He happened to see Greg as he was walking past the break room and wanted to make sure the other man had something eatable in front of him while he was there.
Whether or not Greg would actually eat it was an entirely different matter altogether.
Nick patted Greg on the thigh before standing up from the couch; hoping the gesture was somewhat comforting. "Eat it," he said pointedly. "And don't waste my money."
Greg snorted. "I'm the one who paid for it." He shook his head at Nick's comment as he took a bite out of the apple.
"Even more reason for you not to waste food," Nick said slyly as began to walk away; somewhat content that Greg was eating after all.
"You're just cheap," he heard Greg call out as he left the break room, the accusation falling flat. Nick smiled sadly. He could hear a faint trace of the familiar teasing in Greg's voice; the other man still not sounding his best. But Nick could admit that he didn't feel that much better, either.
Greg forced his legs to carry him out of the building, heading towards his car so he could go home. While he really did appreciate the gesture, Greg was being honest when he said he wasn't hungry because eating the apple only seemed to make him feel lethargic if nothing else. Either that or not taking care of himself was finally catching up with him.
And he knew Nick was right about Grissom, who even told Greg he looked more than a little haggard; the older man looking at him pointedly before returning his attention to the stack of papers on his desk. Though he was caught by surprise and should have seen it coming, sometimes Greg forgot how blunt his supervisor could be. Still, he didn't disagree because he understood he wasn't amounting to much by wearing himself for no reason. And after living on less than six hours of sleep in the past couple of days, Greg couldn't say he expected anything different.
But there were just too many inconsistencies in this case to let it slip under the radar like so many others have done before. Other than the trafficking angle, there was just something so off about it and he knew Warrick and Grissom felt the same way. It made him even more determined not to let it get to him; not to let anyone see that it was beginning to take a toll on him. He still felt he had a lot to prove to himself and there was frankly too much going on to get bogged down by personal problems.
He didn't want to have to choose between his nightmares and that little girl every time he closed his eyes.
Sighing, Greg reached for the keys in his pocket when he neared his car, putting them back when he heard his phone ring.
"Sanders," he answered dispassionately, running his tongue over his front teeth and swallowing the tangy and sweet flavour lingering in his mouth. He leaned against the passenger side of his car as Warrick's voice filtered through the receiver.
"Hey, man," Warrick said. "I got good news and bad news for you. Which one do you want to hear first?"
Greg paused before he answered, pretending to think. "Bad news," he eventually said, feeling particularly reproachful despite the somewhat encouraging tone of the other man's voice. "Save the best for last right?"
"Depends on what your definition of good is, first."
"At this point, anything seems better than seeing that little girl, again."
There was a short pause before Warrick decided to speak and Greg was grateful he didn't make respond to his comment. "Well, the bad news is we still can't find the Harrisons."
Greg scrunched his face in confusion, sitting up a little as he crossed one arm over his chest. He didn't see how not finding the Harrisons was anything new. "And the good news is…"
"We know they had something to do with it."
"Let me guess: The neighbour was lying," Greg said, already knowing Dawkins had to have called ahead of time in order to make sure that fire was contained to the extent that it was. Without some kind of notice, it was impossible for the firefighters t to arrive early enough so the fire wouldn't spread to the rest of the house, no matter how slow burning the fire was; especially if they were at least ten to fifteen minutes away from the Harrison's house. But even if what Dawkins claimed was true and Harrisons were actually behind the fire, it still didn't explain how they started it and kept it controlled. The candle on the floor in the room was identified as the source of the fire and Greg knew that there wasn't any accelerant used. Not to mention that the damage done didn't suggest evidence of any notable chemical reactions, nor was there any kind of metal found at the scene.
It seemed that either whoever started the fire knew what they were doing or the whole thing really was just a fluke.
"I know. Not so surprising, right? Dawkins came in to confess a couple of hours ago; said it had something to do with a guilty conscience." Warrick scoffed. "He claims the Harrisons were there for the weekend and called him ahead of time, forced him to call for help at least twenty minutes before they left."
Greg briefly wondered why the Harrisons didn't just call ahead themselves and if Dawkins was still hiding something before pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind. "They forced him?"
"Blackmail's more like it. Apparently, Dawkins was afraid of being convicted for tax evasion. Though, last time I left him, he was still trying to make a deal to salvage his law firm." Warrick paused, taking a deep breath and exhaling before he continued. "Other than that, he says he doesn't know much more about them and can't tell us where they went."
"With all that money he has," Greg trailed off, shaking his head. "But dispatch said they received the call somewhere around six in the morning, right? That would mean the Harrisons tried to kill the little girl before they started the fire." His voice softened as he came to a realisation. "And that's why Doc found the fibers from the blanket in her throat."
"But if they really wanted to get rid of the evidence, why have Dawkins call for help before any of it was destroyed?"
"Well," Nick began, sighing as he took a seat at the table across from Sara, "Her story adds up. I was able to get a statement from pool guy, as well as several eyewitness accounts from people who were at the pool that morning."
"How'd she feel about her husband's death?" Catherine asked, turning in her chair to face Nick.
"Not too distressed about the situation, actually."
Sara looked up from the open folder on the table. "Like she already knew or-"
"More like she didn't care," Nick finished. "Get this: She claims she came all the way out here to meet some guy named David she's having an affair with," he said disbelievingly.
"Motive?" Sara suggested.
"If we're talking circumstantial..." Nick leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. "I mean, this woman wouldn't have cared if Wilcox dropped dead right in front of her; probably would have just walked right over him."
"Unfortunately, that doesn't mean she killed him," Catherine pointed out.
"I went over the security footage we brought from the hotel," Sara said, "three days worth including the days of Wilcox's death." She took out the photographs from the folder, spreading them out so Nick and Catherine would be able to see. "These are the only times he's been seen: By the reception desk where he checked in and twice in the lobby when he first came in and left – apparently to pick up some food to bring back to his room.
"These," she continued, pointing to two pictures in the center, "are the only times he took the elevator to the fourth floor where his room was; and then when he got off the elevator. And since the Venetian doesn't have cameras whose purview includes the rooms by the stairwells, there wasn't any footage that could prove if anyone else – namely Susan Wilcox – actually went into his room."
"Easy entry, easy exit," Nick said, taking a deep breath and puffing out his cheeks before exhaling. "Murder central, man."
"But," Sara said as she picked up another folder from the table. "I also had Archie get some close up on photos taken from the reception area, which I'm hoping you'll find interesting," she said, directing her eyes to Nick as she extended her arm to give him the folder.
Nick gave a quick glance to Sara before accepting the folder from her and opening it. He felt Catherine peering over his shoulder as he narrowed his eyes at the photo. His mouth turned into a frown as he studied the close-up of Wilcox handing his credit card to the receptionist; after a few seconds noticing the familiar piece of jewelry around Wilcox's finger.
"That's the ring I saw on Susan's finger, today," Nick said, putting the photo down and pointing at the ring Wilcox was wearing at the time."
"Either they had matching rings or she took his."
"And considering his wallet wasn't emptied and his ring was the only thing that was missing," Catherine said, "I'm betting it was probably the latter.
"All this melodrama between them – why didn't they just get a divorce?" Nick asked.
"Because divorce is messy, Nicky," Catherine said succinctly. "And sometimes it's just easier to pretend the other person isn't there."
Nick nodded, not completely understanding but willing to concede to Catherine's experience.
"But even if they weren't in Vegas together," Catherine added, "I don't think he would have suspected her of anything; would have any reason to, really. She was his wife and apparently he already knew about the affair so she probably had the element of surprise."
"Or maybe not," Sara interrupted, causing her colleagues to look at her. "You know those two calls Wilcox received that were from a Vegas area code? Turns out it came from a retirement home in Clark county - Acacia Springs."
"A retirement home," Nick repeated. "No kidding?"
"Yep." Sara nodded her head. "And who wants to bet that Susan's David had something to do with it?"
"Unless I missed the memo about 28 being the new retirement age," Catherine began, "we're overlooking something. So, what? We're thinking maybe David was the one getting tired of being second best and wanted Wilcox out the picture for good?"
"Yeah, I'll give Sofia a call to see if we can get him to come in willingly." Nick agreed. "But if he felt so angry not being able to take Wilcox's place, why such a passive MO like poison?"
"A poison that encourages an orgasm strong enough to cause a heart attack," Catherine countered. "And let's say he worked at the retirement home – that would give him access to tons of medication he probably wouldn't know what to do with."
Nick couldn't help the shudder that passed through his body. "Point taken," he said quickly, grateful when Sara reentered the conversation.
"Speaking of which," she said, "the laptop we found in Wilcox's room literally had gigabytes of encrypted files; which basically turned out to be nothing but pornography – pictures, videos, sound clips..."
"That could explain the state he was found in," Nick suggested, remembering his first glance of Wilcox. "It would definitely be the right kind of stimulus. Maybe that was why there was trouble in his marriage."
"Yeah," Sara said softly, lowering her head briefly before raising it again. "But all his stuff was of kids."
There was a moment of heavy silence between them and Nick felt his chest deflate; something twisting inside of the pit of his stomach as Catherine decided to speak.
"Guess that's what you call poetic justice."
I hope this was worth the wait. I didn't get anywhere, but an update is an update - at least I'm hoping - is an update (until I find mistakes). I'm still waiting for the day I finish the whole story, but I almost hit the 6000 word mark for this chapter, which of course slows my computer down when copying and pasting because he's too senstive to handle such a large amount of wordage at one time.
Anyways, as always, thanks for reading and thank you to silverrayne621, scatteredbrains, and DemonUntilDeath for reviewing.