When men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go…
--
Nick folded his arms over his chest in an attempt to calm himself. His patience was steadily waning, and he found himself torn between barging into the interrogation room and walking away from the situation entirely.
He wasn't on the case from the beginning, but the last past week had taken more than just a toll on him. And if Nick were truthful with himself, he'd admit he'd practically given up on the case, much less bared any hope of finding the Harrisons. But with the photo he found in the hotel room that was uncannily similar to the one picture linked to one of Ecklie's old cases and the fact that the Harrisons were now in custody, Nick was coming up with more questions than answers.
Sighing, Nick spared a quick glance at Sara's reflection in the two-sided mirror. She was standing on his right, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together at the sight of the people in the interrogation room. They hadn't really spoken much since they closed the Wilcox case, but he knew Sara wasn't happy being on the sidelines, either. Her hands were in her pockets and her stance appeared casual. Yet, her shoulders were tense, and it didn't take much for Nick to realise that being forced to stand idle was eating away at her, too.
It was trait they shared, and considering their backgrounds, it made sense that they had trouble stepping back for things like this, cases that caused them to involve too much of themselves.
He couldn't speak for Sara, but sometimes a small part of Nick wondered if he would have been better off staying a cop or going into another profession altogether.
Even Warrick was more reserved. The other man stood calmly on the other side of him with an expression that remind Nick too much of Grissom, and he could easily imagine the kinds of questions and scenarios running through Warrick's head. But Warrick was good with dealing with situations like this, better than how he used to be while Nick seemed to have gotten worse.
And Greg…
Nick's gaze moved past Sara's reflection and settled on Greg's. He was biting his bottom lip in the same way he always did whenever he was nervous or anxious. His head was slightly tilted to the side the way it did when Greg was trying to figure something out. It looked like he was hugging himself, with his arms crossed over his stomach. If he was shaking, Nick would have thought the other man was cold. But Nick knew it was more along the lines of Greg not knowing what to do with his hands.
Nick was taken out of his thoughts when he heard the slight cough coming from Warrick. He doubted it was aimed at him, but it did make him realise he'd been staring at Greg and spending too much time trying to analyse the behaviour and body language of his colleagues. If they were in a different situation, Nick would have allowed himself to laugh.
Still, in a way, there was something almost comical about the four of them standing outside the two-way mirror. It reminded Nick of the times when he would sit on the stairs with his three older sisters, discreetly trying to squeeze in between his siblings for a place on that one step so he could find out why their brother was in trouble that night.
Though, most of the time, Nick had difficulty eavesdropping on the conversation between his parents and his brother because his sisters would make him sit behind them. Often he found himself confined to the step nearest to the top of the stairs, trying to peer through the back of three heads that blocked any chance of actually seeing what was going on in the kitchen.
Yet, as nostalgic as Nick felt, it didn't change the fact that he was still looking on from the outside. Only this time, it was Catherine and Grissom sitting across from the Harrisons while with Brass stood at the head of the metal table between them. Silence replaced the raised voices of his parents and his brother, and the Harrisons' will not to speak left Nick to deal with his wondering thoughts.
In reality, it's only been a few minutes, but Nick couldn't say he wasn't grateful when Brass finally broke the quiet.
"Normally, I wouldn't have a problem waiting, but even my patience can wear off from time to time."
"We're not speaking without our lawyer," Mr. Harrison said.
"And since you won't accept any of our guys that may take awhile, so, why don't we just clear any misunderstandings in the mean time," Brass suggested. "That way everybody can go home early."
"We haven't done anything wrong," Mr. Harrison protested.
"Apparently, people never do," Catherine said.
"Look, charge us with something or we're leaving," Mr. Harrison said tersely. He made a move to stand, but was halted by Brass' hand placed firmly on his shoulder.
"Have a seat, Nathan," Brass said with forced politeness, his tone turning into one of false assurance. "Really, we just need you to answer a few questions."
Catherine leaned forward, arms crossed as she placed them on the table. "Believe me when I say we have more than enough probable cause to charge you with murder."
Mrs. Harrison suddenly became rigid, the hold she had on her husband's hand noticeably tightening. "Murder," she whispered softly. There was a hitch in her voice that didn't go unnoticed.
"Carol," Nathan said quickly, gaze turning to his wife.
"Not to mention running from the cops doesn't exactly help your defence," Brass pointed out as he removed his hand from Nathan's shoulder.
Grissom took off his glasses as he turned his attention to Carol. "If you know something, it's in your best interest to tell us."
"We couldn't have any children."
"Carol, you don't have to-"
But she ignored her husband and continued. "We've been trying since I was 20 and no matter what fertility drugs we tried, what special foods or herbs we bought or how much we prayed – I can't begin to tell you how much we spent seeing specialized doctors.." She paused, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. "We're getting old, you know. I'm…neither of us or as young as we used to be. And for a while…for a while we gave up."
"Then why did we find that little girl dead your house?" Grissom asked, now looking at Nathan when it seemed like Carol wasn't going to say anything else.
Nathan firmly held Grissom's gaze. "We've been thinking about adopting for a couple of years now and finally decided it wasn't too late, even for people like us. After some research, we found a facilitator who could match us with a child."
"Who was the facilitator?"
Nathan ran a hand through his greying hair. "At this point, I don't even care if I'm pronouncing it correctly, but it was someone named Baitu."
"And let me guess," Brass said, "You've never seen him before?"
If Nathan was surprised at Brass' assumption he didn't show it. "No," he said simply, "and the only contact we had was over one phone call with him and through some guy named Peterson."
Grissom frowned. "And did Peterson handle your transactions with Baitu?"
"Through the computer," Carol clarified, seemingly unconcerned about the fact Grissom knew about her financial records. "But it was safe. He told us it was secure."
Catherine didn't bother to hide the disbelief on her face as she leaned back against her chair. "Why not just go through an adoption agency?"
Nathan laughed loudly, a hollow sound that echoed off the walls. "We didn't want to go through the paperwork, it was easier – who knows?"
"We saw a picture of her," Carol said slowly. "Of course we knew we were treading a fine line, but it somehow seemed more familiar and personable. And she was…" She raised her head, blinking away the moisture gathering in her eyes. "When we saw the picture, she was the most precious thing we'd laid our eyes on and…and I knew it was right. I knew that we couldn't go back, that we at least needed to meet her."
Nathan sighed. "And we were doing the right thing until…"
"Until what?" Catherine said, urging him to explain.
"Nobody's helping those little girls over there," Nathan said, his voice rising. "Their own parents don't want them and sell them on the streets."
"So, it made more sense to kill her?" Brass asked. "Is that how people justify themselves these days?"
Nathan sneered at the mocking quality behind the words. "She was our daughter, and we loved her."
"But she had and still has no legal identity here," Grissom said irritably, annoyance creeping through his voice. "How could you love her if you couldn't even give her a life?"
"We saved her," Carol said resolutely, steadying her voice as tears streamed down her face. "We saved her…we saved her from ending up like them." She swallowed the lump in her throat, narrowing her eyes before whispering harshly. "Don't tell us we did anything wrong."
"Didn't do anything wrong?" Grissom asked disbelief.
"We were going to give her a better life!"
"You killed her!"
Greg jumped when Grissom's fist hit the table, not sure if he was startled by the sound or the abruptness of Grissom's action. It wasn't that he'd never seen Grissom angry before nor was he oblivious to how this case was affecting the older man. But Greg was expecting that subtle kind of emotion Grissom was prone to show. With the exception of a case a few years back when Grissom had actually raised his voice at Warrick, rarely did Greg witness Grissom truly angry, or even expressing that anger physically.
Of course, that didn't mean that it didn't happen, but it somehow seemed so…out of place.
The way Grissom was looking at Carol, with such clear disdain in his eyes…
But Sara wasn't bothered by it. Neither were Nick and Warrick. And it was times like these where it seemed nothing fazed his older colleagues.
Greg pulled his arms tighter around himself, fingers gripping the sides of his jacket. It was a testament to his inexperience despite being in the field for almost a year. He still had trouble understanding things like this, how people could do the things they do to each other. Or maybe the fact he keeps trying to understand was his problem. Maybe it would be better to just accept the fact that he couldn't make sense of everything and leave it at that.
But maybe he would have already done so if it was that easy.
He'd seen the Harrisons' pictures from their driver's licences numerous times, almost memorised the couples' faces and could easily recognise the curvature of Nathan's hooked nose and thin slant of Carol's small eyes. Nathan had greying dark hair that looked even more greyed in person while Carol retained a full head of sandy blond hair.
They both looked haggard and weary in a way that Greg believed had little to do with their age.
He didn't know if they killed the little girl or not. Neither of the Harrisons confirmed or denied the accusations, and despite the bravado Grissom, Catherine, and Brass were displaying, there was little evidence that wasn't circumstantial. It didn't help that Dawkins was the only eyewitness they really had and any kind of testimonial from the Harrisons' neighbour could easily be discredited because of his lacklustre tax history.
However, the Harrisons did confirm the financial connection with Megan, and the fact that they paid almost twice as much as the other people listed on those transactions obviously meant something, and if they could–
"Excuse me," Greg heard from an unfamiliar voice behind him. He turned around to see a woman and a man walking in his general direction, more specifically towards the door to the interrogation room.
Before they could go any further, Warrick interceded, standing in front of the pair. "Sorry, but you can't just-"
"Agent Tyler," the woman interrupted as she raised the black wallet that was already in her hand. She didn't waste time in flipping it open to reveal the badge that confirmed who she was. She nodded to the man beside her. "And this is my partner, Agent Perry." His identification was on display, as well, but only long enough for Greg to catch a glimpse of Perry's badge.
"We're here to clean up your mess," Perry said absently, placing his wallet in the side pocket of his grey suit jacket.
A little miffed at the comment himself, Greg didn't miss the affronted look on Sara's face. However, it was strange that Warrick and Nick were uncharacteristically quiet, and Greg had to wonder how much was going on that he and Sara didn't know.
But Tyler didn't wait for anyone's response as she brushed past Warrick and opened the door to the interrogation room. "Mr. and Mrs Harrison," she said, her eyes trailing over the older couple still seated across from Catherine and Grissom. "We're placing you both under protective detention."
Brass looked up in surprise, a brief flash of recognition passing over his face as he turned to Tyler and Perry. "Wait a minute, what's going on here?"
"Brass," Tyler acknowledged, "it's been a while." There was some semblance of a smile on her face, an almost forced smirk that made her seem older than she appeared. She straightened the collar of her light blue blouse, placing herself between Brass and the Harrisons while Perry motioned for the older couple to stand.
"What you call a while I have the urge to call a little too soon," Brass bit out sarcastically. "You're detaining them on what grounds, Tyler?"
Perry answered impassively. "The Harrisons are being detained for withholding information concerning the whereabouts of a known felon that's currently high on our priority list."
"And what – that's supposed to be your trump card, this time?"
Tyler looked at Brass impatiently. "It's a big one, Brass."
Grissom shared a quick glance with Catherine. The anger he displayed early was replaced with an almost unnatural calm. "Are we expected to turn over anything relevant to our case?"
Perry snorted. "It's funny how you're speaking like you have a choice."
Tyler looked admonishingly at her partner, ignoring the reactions he was inviting from the other people in the room. "No. We only expect you to cooperate while we retrieve our detainees," she said as her eyes wandered from Grissom to Brass. "There's no reason to involve politics this early in the game." She turned back to Grissom. "So, you don't have to worry about keeping your case."
"You giving us a cut-off date, this time?" Brass asked seriously.
"I'm giving you for now, Brass," Tyler said calmly. "That's enough."
Yesterday surprised him.
Nick knew the Feds were keeping an eye on their case, but he wasn't expecting them to intervene this soon. Just when it seemed that things were finally turning around for them, their one break in the case was taken away. They only needed a little more time, a chance to do something.
Though, he would readily admit that it could have been worse. At least they had another opportunity, one the Feds have apparently lost interest in.
Nick took off his shades when he stepped into the old warehouse, recognising it as the one he saw in the photograph he found in the hotel. He gave it a quick survey as Warrick stopped beside him.
The warehouse itself was smaller than Nick expected it to be. From what he could tell, it seemed to be no more three hundred feet in length, half that in width, and maybe fifteen or so feet high. Two rows of thin support beams ran through the middle, leading to a large doorway that was probably used to carry anything that couldn't fit through the main entrance.
The interior walls were made of decaying wood, with dusty, broken windows aligned close to the ceiling. The sun came through the dark and jagged panes, bouncing off the dirty cement floor and illuminating the grime and trash that had collected over the years.
"Well, at least we know this is the place." Nick bent down to pick up a newspaper that was by his foot, surprised to see that it dated back to Wednesday, which meant someone was here three days ago. He showed the paper to Warrick. "And now we know we're not just grasping at straws this time."
"Yeah, assuming that paper isn't some kind of fluke," Warrick said as he pointed to various piles of paper, food, and junk that littered the floor. "If there's actually anything left, this is going to take a while to sift through to find what we're looking for."
"Whatever that is," Sara said as she stepped beside Warrick. She wrinkled her nose. "I'm actually surprised the smell isn't as bad as you'd think it would be considering everything is pretty much rotting."
Greg entered the warehouse behind Sara, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. "Speak for yourself. You're used to it…probably even like it by now."
"Go sit in the corner, Greg."
"Ha ha," Greg replied dryly as he adjusted the camera strap around his neck. "I call the corner in the back – the one that actually looks close to clean."
"That isn't much considering how this place looks in general," Sara returned, her voice and Greg's reply fading as she made her way to the back of the warehouse, heading towards the corner opposite of Greg.
Nick turned to Warrick. "I guess that means you and me get the front."
"Of course that's where most of the mess is."
"I know," Nick agreed with a small smile. "Next time we make sure we get the good spots."
Warrick smirked, pointed to the corner to his right. "And that's why I'm going to take the lesser of two evils and start over there."
It wasn't that much cleaner, but it still looked more appealing than the area Nick was left with. "Every man for himself, Warrick?"
"You know it."
Greg stilled at the sound of something scraping across the floor.
His first thought was that it was rat, which wasn't exactly unlikely in this situation. And while he had been referred to as a "lab rat" in the past (and even now on some occasions), real rats were something he'd could do without. Not that it had to do with any kind of irrational fear concerning them, because it didn't apply to all rats; just ones he was more likely to find in the less sanitary places…places like this.
Hence, it was why Greg had yet to move.
He was still hunched on the floor, camera aimed at over a couple of small, deflated red balloons surrounded by traces of some white substance. He had a pretty good idea of what the substance was but didn't want his mind to delve into the possibility that any overexcited rats that could be lurking around.
But then, he heard it again. It was prolonged this time and sounded like something was dragging against to floor. He turned his head, looking to see Nick, Sara, and Warrick at the other corners of the warehouse. None of them were making that much noise, and if no one else noticed, he wasn't sure if that mean he was beginning to imagine things or not.
And then it came again, some cross between a high pitched whine and low moan. Greg narrowed his eyes in concentration as he attempted to place the sound.
He stood up slowly, looking around the warehouse warily. As far as he knew, other than the three other people inside the warehouse, there were the three officers outside. And there were only two ways to get in: the main door and the supply door near the back, where he was. But he knew there was an officer by each one, with the third officer with one of the other officers or near one of the squad cars.
Either someone was playing some kind of trick on him or…
There was a sudden rattling noise and Greg quickly turned to the right. It was coming from there, from the wall.
He looked back at Sara, who working from the area closest to him, and was surprised she didn't hear it. Some part of him briefly contemplated calling Sara over, but he was already moving closer to the wall. He reached out to touch it, placing a little weight until it seemed to move. Momentarily thrown off, he backed away. He frowned and then pushed again to find it was a kind of hidden door that opened outward, which meant the creaking was the sound of the door moving, but who was moving the door?
He peeked through the door, surmising that it was more of a makeshift decision that was made after the warehouse was built. And judging by the lack of corrosion on the hinges on the outside, Greg could make a safe bet that the door was a pretty new addition in general.
He lowered his gaze, picking up the camera that was resting against his chest. But he dropped the camera in surprise when he lifted his head and came face to face with Officer Davis. It was the same woman with the mousey features he'd first met at the Harrisons' house.
Greg sighed, inhaling deeply in an attempt to lower his now elevated heart rate back to normal. He was relieved that the camera was attached to the strap around his neck, and maybe even more so that this wasn't one of those situations where the suspect came back to the scene of the crime.
Though, he could have sworn that the three officers that were supposed to be outside the warehouse were male.
"Sanders," she said curtly, breaking Greg out of his musings with the same kind of detachment he'd come to associate her with. He was almost surprised she remembered his name, but then realised it was on his vest.
She reached for something in her back pocket, and Greg wondered if that rabbit tattoo was still on her forearm, eyes briefly lingering on her arm before he heard her say his name again.
"Yes?" he replied awkwardly, not exactly sure what she wanted or why she even approached him based upon how their last encounter went.
She held out what looked to be a blank business card in her hand, urging Greg to take it. "You dropped this when you got out of the car."
"I didn't–"
"I saw it fall out of your pocket, so take it," she said, not really giving him a choice when she took his hand and forced the card into his palm.
Blinking in confusion, Greg looked down at the small piece of paper in his hand.
"Just…just keep it, okay," she added hurriedly, almost softly as she removed her hand from his.
For what, he wanted to ask, but when he raised his head she was already gone.
Greg puffed his cheeks in frustration as he reached to pull the door closed. He only liked puzzles when he had all the pieces, and at this point, he felt as though he had nothing at all. Though, the fact that he had no clue as to what was going on wasn't a matter of importance because Greg understood that there was some kind of significance behind Davis giving him the card.
No, what he really wanted to know was if whether or not whatever just happened was a good or bad thing. There were too many possibilities running around in his head, and Greg needed to speak to Davis if he wanted any kind of answer. It an awkward encounter he didn't want to look forward to, and he had a feeling she would deny even giving him the card in the first place.
He looked around the warehouse warily, confused see that Sara didn't notice anything. Nick and Warrick were far enough away, but why couldn't Sara at least hear something? It was bad enough he was beginning to think it was more likely the last few minutes were a figment of his imagination.
No, he had to think about this one and the sheer randomness surrounding it. His best bet was to bag the card and try to make sense of it with Grissom and Warrick. They were the ones most likely to take him seriously.
Greg turned the card over and frowned when he saw the small, pictographic characters he knew Archie would have better a chance of understanding. Though, underneath the characters was a ten digit phone number with a Vegas area code he didn't have trouble recognising. The number itself wasn't familiar, but if it was legitimate, then it could be traced back to someone. And he doubted that it was Davis.
The underlying question then, of course, was who?
But more importantly, what did it have to do with him?
Nick groaned at the light rapping on the door, loosening his grip on the sheet and turning his face into the cool side of the pillow. The door was opened carefully, slowly, and the harsh creaking that resulted undermined Greg's effort to be quiet. He listened to the soft footsteps, the brush of bare feet on the wooden floor and wondered why the other man still bothered to knock in the first place.
It was Greg's room, too.
Normally, Nick would complain at this point. Somewhere it turned into to a kind of routine, a joke between them, where he would tease Greg about waking him up. But Nick wasn't sleeping this time, not really. It'd been three days since their argument and the first day Greg wasn't sleeping in the guest room. Or at least Nick hoped Greg wouldn't be sleeping there tonight.
"You mind if I turn the lamp on?" Greg asked softly, almost hesitantly.
"No." Nick sighed as he sat up, placing his back against the headboard. "Not sleeping anyway." He closed his eyes when the light his face, pupils adjusting to the sudden change however dim it was.
"I've been thinking…" Greg had his thumbs in his boxers, hanging off the elastic band as his hands rested against his hips. Though he was speaking to Nick, he seemed to be concentrating on the floor and determined not to look at the other man.
But the lack of eye contact wasn't particularly jarring to Nick at this point. It was the most Greg had said to him in two days that didn't have to do with work or some mundane aspect of their personal lives, excluding what happened in the living room. Usually, Nick would have to take proverbial the first step, and it meant something that this could be one of those rare occasions were Greg would take the initiative.
"About what?" Nick asked cautiously, watching as Greg moved further away from the door. He waited for Greg to sit on bed, pleased when he felt Greg's familiar weight beside him. It was something solid and frighteningly reassuring even though the other man still wouldn't face him.
"About what you said."
"I've said a lot of things."
Greg snorted, but was now seemingly comfortable enough to put his legs on the bed. "Yeah, I admit I'm having dreams again. Those dreams and…and it's stupid."
The contempt in Greg's voice was palpable, and Nick had to force himself not to say anything, not to do anything when Greg turned around and he saw the tremble pass through Greg's frame.
Greg crossed his legs. He held his head down as he placed his hands in his lap in an attempt to stop the shaking. "But that's…that's not what I wanted to talk about."
"No?" Nick asked, well aware of the almost mocking tone of his voice. Of course Greg didn't want to talk about his nightmares, and Nick wouldn't appease him because Greg was asking him to. But neither was he going to push this time, and he knew Greg would at least be appreciative of that.
"You know the Polaroids we found?"
Nick nodded slowly as Greg finally met his gaze. He felt better with the eye contact and the fact that Greg was no longer shaking. While he did try to appear nonchalant, Nick knew shaking had a tendency to lead Greg to panic attacks. Greg hadn't had one in almost three years, not since he was kidnapped, and that wasn't an experience either of them wanted to go through again.
"I'm listening."
"I've been thinking about the numbers that were written on the bottom, and I think it's like a catalogue system of some kind."
"What do you mean by catalogue – for the girls?"
"It's not exactly how I want to think about them, but what if the first set of numbers were used as some kind of ID and the second set is supposed to be how much people were supposed to pay?"
Nick found himself giving the possibility serious thought. It wasn't as farfetched as some of things he'd heard before, and it made sense if they really were dealing with something as complex as human trafficking. In fact, it made sense if Tyler and Perry were involved, two people he hadn't seen since Ecklie's old case. Still, he knew better than to make assumptions because there was history there he wasn't sure he wanted to get involved with.
"And since this could be related to Ecklie's cold case…"
"That's what I'm thinking."
"But the photo I found only had twelve thousand on it. I thought the Harrisons paid more than that?"
"Right, but the Harrisons…" Greg paused as he began to yawn, turning away from Nick until he finished. "The Harrisons weren't supposed to pay more than that."
It was a fact that heavy yawning was a sign it wouldn't be long until Greg fell asleep, but Nick wasn't going to mention something they both knew already. "Why?"
"It can't be a coincidence that no one else did," Greg said quickly. "Remember that pattern Warrick and I were talking about earlier…and how the Harrison's don't fit?"
"Yeah…"
"So, I'm thinking the Harrisons know something the FBI doesn't want us to know about, that this could be bigger than we initially thought."
Nick could honestly say it wasn't something he put much thought into. He'd been focussing too much on the murder aspect, and he wasn't looking into what compelled the Harrisons into thinking killing was better than the alternative. Of course, the trafficking was an angle he was well aware, but he'd never thought there would be anything more than that.
"I mean, we didn't get much out of them," Greg continued after Nick's silence, "but don't you think they could have paid the extra money to try to get somebody off their backs?"
Nick narrowed his eyes in thought. "That Baitu guy…"
"Maybe," Greg said through another yawn. He covered his mouth with his hand as Nick tried to interpret the muffled words that followed. "We don't have any information on him, but I'd say it's likely that isn't the guy's real name."
Nick snorted when the other man yawned again, using his hand to cover his own yawn. "Save it for tomorrow, Greg."
"Tomorrow?" Greg asked quietly, eyes barely open as he tried to stay awake. "It's tomorrow, today."
Nick looked at the clock behind him. "It's three in the morning."
"See?"
Rolling his eyes, Nick turned the lamp off before situating himself under the comforter. He sighed when he felt Greg lie down beside him, enjoying the feel of the other man's warm breath on his cheek.
"Tomorrow?" Greg whispered again, hand reaching out to clutch Nick's shirt in an attempt to bring the other man closer.
"Yeah," Nick quietly agreed as he wrapped an arm around Greg. "We'll figure it out tomorrow."
Life is unccessarily demanding, school is troublesome, things change (some sites become ridiculously convoluted and downright cumbersome), and I don't think I ever wore Luv's. However, I'm not…not finishing this story because I actually like it/I missed writing/it's pretty much written out - all that jazz. Not to mention the next chapter is the beginning of the climax.
So, thank you to anyone who reads...this roller coaster and thank you to silverrayne621, LaughableBlackStorm, and Andrew-Squee for reviewing.