Chapter 42- Journery Through the Past
Catherine Willows crouched down next to the still body of Daniel Pritchard. The man had been shot twice in the chest. Looking around the man's modest home in Henderson, the strawberry blonde investigator noticed that everything was neat as a pin. Though the house was a small two-bedroom bungalow, the furnishings were quite fine.
The officer had the latest in electronics from a 90 inch plasma television to the blu-ray player. Watching Assistant Coroner David Phillips check out the body, Catherine waited patiently for Phillips to report his preliminary findings.
"Well, David, do you have a TOD?" asked Catherine.
"From his liver temp, I'd say he was dead 2-3 hours. COD was obviously gunshot wound in the chest, right through the heart. By the size of the entry wound, I'd say he was shot with a 357 Magnum at close range. Looks like a through and through. Exit wound in the back. There are powder marks on his shirt and around the wound. He was dead before he hit the ground. Looking at his hands and condition of the body, there wasn't a sign of a struggle. I'd say that he knew his attacker and probably didn't see this coming," observed Phillips as he pushed up his glasses with the back of his gloved hand.
Catherine nodded in agreement with his assessment. "David, turn his pockets. Let's see if he has anything interesting on his person."
The assistant coroner quickly ran his hands over the Pritchard's body and felt inside each of the man's pockets, pulling them inside out. All the man's pockets were empty.
Catherine stood up, lifted the Nikon camera that had been hanging from her neck, and started taking pictures of the body. Hearing the familiar footsteps of the seasoned police detective, Catherine paused in her picture-taking to observe Jim Brass carefully make his way towards where she was standing. Snapping on a pair of latex gloves, Brass cocked his head to one side to stare at Pritchard's body.
"You know, I never did like the sorry son of bitch. He was up to his eyeballs in whatever dirty dealings McKeen was into. Looks like Pritchard was in way over his head. Can't say that I'm sorry that's he dead. It's just too bad the Knights got to him before the DA could offer him a deal. I'm sure that given the right pressure he would have given us the information we needed to clear Gil completely."
Sighing, Brass looked over the furnishings of the house.
"Not bad digs on a patrolman's salary. Guess he knew how to manage his money, hey Catherine?" said Brass dryly.
Nick and Greg entered from the rear of the house. Stopping briefly next to Pritchard's body, Nick glanced down at the body and shook his head with disgust and indicated to his young colleague that he was headed to the kitchen. Greg nodded and turned to follow Nick.
"Found nothing probative in the bedrooms, no drugs, no weapons," reported Greg as he strolled into the kitchen to find Warrick.
Catherine watched as the two investigators continued to work their way through the house. Sighing, she turned to the police detective.
"How much you want to bet that we won't find anything that will lead us to who made the hit or who ordered it," commented Catherine.
"Not a bet that I would likely take, Cath," Brass said drily.
"Jim! Cath! Found something interesting in here," called Warrick.
"Maybe I will have to eat my words," said Catherine.
As they turned to follow the sound of Warrick's voice, he appeared from the entry of the open kitchen area. Holding up a 357 Magnum inside a clear evidence bag, the tall African-American tilted his head to one side. "Looks like I found the murder weapon. I'm sure that you won't be surprised to know that I've already checked for prints, and it has already been wiped clean."
"I'm sure that we won't find any records on that weapon or that it was supposed to be destroyed from a previous case. Warrick, process and run it anyway. Maybe if we're lucky, the perp might have missed something," said Catherine.
"I'm on it," Warrick replied as he returned to the kitchen for another sweep of the room.
"We'll need to finish processing the house before I can send anyone up north. When the preliminary walk through is finished, Nicky and Greg will re-sweep the desert area near the clinic and the clinic itself."
"Catherine, I'd feel better if you sent them up sooner than later. I just have a gut feeling that if we don't get a team up there, any evidence in the re-sweep is somehow going to disappear. I'll go with them."
"This case has really gotten you on edge, hasn't it?"
"I think we're all on edge. Mallory's got more going on than just wanting to get back at Gil for nailing him twenty years ago. He had to have connections to get out of Folsom and to be able to set up all the financial dealings implicating Gil. This guy has information about the Knights they don't want leaked out. The fact that they haven't somehow found a way to kill him in lock up tells me that they're keeping him alive for a reason."
"Okay, Jim. I'll pull Nicky and Greg and send them up to Goldfield. I'll call Ecklie and request some help from Days. Heaven knows, we've covered their asses enough times. It's time they can pay back some," said Catherine as she hit speed dial to get the assistant director of the crime lab.
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Scott sat in his father's hospital room, waiting patiently for Grissom to return from his session in physical therapy. Sara had suggested that his father might be ready to see him, and Ken Jones had readily agreed. Scott nervously fingered the book he was holding, Thoreau's Walden's Pond. Thinking that it might give them something common to chat about Sara had given him the book from Grissom's private library.
Hearing a shuffling of feet just outside of the door, Scott stood up to face the people who were entering the room. The young man heard the terse voice of his father as Grissom and Sara entered the room, followed closely by James, the physical therapist.
"Really, Sara. I can do this myself!" exclaimed a clearly exasperated Gil Grissom.
"Griss, I just have my hand on your elbow in case you lose your balance. If you would use the cane that James is carrying it really would make things a lot easier."
"I don't need…" Grissom stopped abruptly upon seeing the young man with slightly curly hair staring at him. Grissom was speechless as he gazed upon Scott. A wave of memories flooded over him, and he suddenly felt light-headed.
"Sara…I think I could use your help to sit down," Grissom said weakly as he felt his knees might give way at any minute.
Sara took the cane from James and dismissed him. Quickly grabbing the IV pole and Grissom's good arm at the same time, Sara maneuvered the shell-shocked man to the nearest chair. Sitting heavily down in the chair, Grissom shut his eyes in order to stop the room from spinning.
Scott looked quickly at Sara, pointing towards the door. Sara shook her head at the young man.
Give him a minute. Sara signed to Scott.
Scott nodded and stayed where he was. Meanwhile, Sara crouched down next to Grissom and whispered softly, "Hey, Griss. You okay? You still with me? You remember who this is, don't you?"
Grissom released a deep sigh and opened his deep blue eyes to stare at Sara's dark brown ones.
"I'm okay," he said softly as he took in a deep breath to steady himself.
Looking up at Scott's distressed face, Grissom tried to give him a reassuring smile. In a slightly shaky voice, he whispered softly, "Scott, I'm sorry. I…I just wasn't expecting to see anyone in here. You…you startled me."
Sara continued to stare at Grissom from her crouched position.
"Grissom! You remember Scott? How much? What do you remember? Do you remember meeting Scott?" Sara asked in a rush.
Turning his attention from Scott, Grissom tilted his head to look at the concerned woman before him.
"I…I don't remember everything, but I do recall Scott helping me in a cemetery, in front of a grave. I had fallen, and I was staring, looking at a headstone…" said Grissom as the light-headedness and the initial shock of the memories that had flooded through him subsided. His eyes suddenly had a faraway look to them and his voice became distant.
"I…I saw Rachel's headstone. Scott helped me. I was being chased…someone…others were coming for me and I had to get away. It was dark. The night was warm. I…I was barefoot. Scott put his own socks on my feet to help protect them a little."
Grissom took a shaky breath as the memory of that night crept back into his consciousness. His chest tightened as his heart ached for the loss of his wife. For Grissom, the loss was still fresh as if her death had just occurred. He clenched the fist of his right hand, fighting back the raw emotion of grief.
"I had seen him before, but that night, after seeing…after seeing the headstone, I realized that my boy, Scott, was alive. That he…that you were still alive and not dead. You and your mother did not die in that car explosion," Grissom said in a low voice as he turned his attention to the young man standing near him.
"I thought that all the times I had seen you before were hallucinations or figments of my imagination until that night. You were…are real," Grissom said, shaking his head to loosen the cobwebs that suddenly seem to fill his head.
Scott remained silent, not really sure what to say. He watched his father struggle with the memories of that night and was grateful that, at least, he remembered who he was. Scott looked sideways at Sara, trying to gauge what to do next, but all of Sara's attention was on Grissom.
Sara stood up slowly, reached over to the bed tray, and poured a glass of water for Grissom. Taking a sip, the man let the cool liquid slide down his throat. Taking the glass from Grissom, Sara put it back on the bed tray.
"Griss, what else can you remember from that night? What do you remember about the circumstances of that night/ Do you remember the place where this memory took place? Do you remember why you were being chased?"
"No, Sara. I don't remember anything about where I was or why I was there. All I know is that I needed to get away was overwhelming, or maybe it the need to run to towards something. I don't know."
"Father, those men…" Scott started to say, but a warning look from Sara stopped him.
Swallowing, Scott bit back what he was going to say, but instead confirmed what Grissom had already shared.
"Yes, I helped you to get away. That's how your feet got cut up, running through the desert."
Grissom looked up at his son and continued, "Yes, we ran through the desert. The rocks cut up my feet. The socks helped some but they ended up being a bloody mess. We made it up a wash. Part of it was sandy. I remember that part because it didn't hurt my feet so much." Grissom gave his son a half-grin.
"Do you remember anything else?" asked Scott.
Grissom opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short. "I don't know what happened after the wash, where we went, what we did. I only remember what I've told you. I know that you can't tell me anything I can't remember in order to fill in the holes," Grissom said somewhat bitterly.
Silence blanketed the room. Scott regarded his father for a moment and an inspiration formed in his mind.
"Well, since we really aren't supposed to discuss what you can't remember and what you do remember is so limited right now, how about we build some new memories? Who knows? Maybe new memories might trigger some old ones," asked Scott softly, taking a seat across from his father.
Grissom's eyes opened wide in surprise and a smile slowly crossed his face. "I..I'd like that very much. I don't know much about you and you probably don't know a lot about me. I can, at least share with you what I can remember about growing up in Marina Del Rey and about your grandmother."
"It's a deal then. Maybe talking about my mother and about your childhood will trigger something," said Scott, as he settled down in his chair.
Sara smiled softly at the two men as they continued their conversation and picked up her shoulder bag from near the window. "I think that I'm going to go down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. You guys want anything?"
Both men didn't hear Sara as she grinned at them. Their attention at that moment was only on each other and building a relationship that had been denied to them so long ago. Sara felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted, realizing that Grissom had a positive focus that would aid in his recovery.
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Officer Nate Johns and his partner, Richard Tanner arrived at County Lock-Up for the change of shift. They had just left the locker room and were making their way to through the security doors that would lead them to maximum security and the isolation block. They had only one prisoner, and their orders were explicit that the prisoner was not to have any contact with any other prisoner.
Both guards waited patiently for their identification badges to be verified through the card reader. As the barred gate slid open to allow the guards through, an explosion rocked the building and both men were thrown backwards from the force of the blast. Johns covered his head as plaster fell down from the ceiling. Choking and coughing from the dust swirling around in the air, the guard struggled to his feet and tried to get his bearings. Officer Tanner lay crumpled under debris that had fallen down from the ceiling. Loud klaxons were blasting, signaling an instant lock-down situation. Johns staggered drunkenly over to his partner and reached down to check his partner's pulse. Tanner's pulse was rapid and weak. Checking his partner for injuries, Johns guessed that he had sustained broken ribs and possible internal injuries. Tanner would need immediate medical attention.
The sounds of men shouting and running feet could be heard over the blaring of the alarms. Johns, with his head buzzing from the blast, blinked at the crowd of men marching down the row of cells. Glancing at the open gate, the slightly disoriented guard realized that the mechanism that was supposed to be triggered for the gate to shut was jammed. The approaching men all wore the bright orange jumpsuits issued to prisoners. Reaching for his radio, Johns tried to call for help, but all he could get was static. Squinting through the haze and smoke, he could see the prisoners pushing or dragging three other guards along with them. Moving closer to his injured partner, Johns drew his weapon and held it with both hands as he warily watched the escaped prisoners make their way to his position.
Officer Johns lifted his hands and pointed his weapon towards the crowd. The prisoners stopped and, except for the blasting of the alarms, the shouting and yelling stopped. Three of the prisoners had the weapons of the captured guards and pointed them at Johns.
Johns shouted at the crowd in a voice that belied the terror that he was feeling, his adrenalin taking over, "Gentlemen, I suggest that you drop the weapons and let your hostages go. If you return to your cells, no charges or actions will be brought against you."
One of the armed prisoners, a tall Afro-American with a shaved head named Wilson, shook his head and laughed harshly at Johns.
"Ya gotta be kiddin' me. Me and the brothers here are callin' the shots. We got 3 guns to your one. We'll kill your partner there and then you, so little man, just drop your weapon and maybe, just maybe, we'll let you and your friend live."
Johns swallowed hard. Looking down at Tanner, Johns realized that he was in a no-win situation. Tanner needed medical attention and a stand off would delay any medical help that the prisoners might allow.
"Prisoner Wilson, Officer Tanner is injured from the blast. He needs medical attention or he'll die. I'll lower my weapon if you promise that we can get him help."
The tall Afro-American laughed heartily and replied, "You're not in a position to make any demands here. How 'bout my brothers put him out of his misery and then fill you full of holes."
"You do that, I'll take some of you with me," challenged the officer.
"You don't scare us, man. Lower the piece. It's the only chance you have. You have til I count to three," demanded the prisoner in charge.
At the count of one, all three of the armed prisoners cocked their pistols. Johns, sweating and shaking, swallowed hard. Slowly he lowered his weapon, and two other prisoners quickly stepped forward and relieved him of his weapon. Grabbing Johns by his arms, the prisoners pushed the man to where his three other colleagues held.
Wilson signaled two other prisoners to search Johns and Tanner and relieve them of their keys, radios, and cuffs. Tanner's weapon was given to Wilson. Handing the keys to a wiry Hispanic named Cruz, Wilson signaled for him to search through the isolation block for the one prisoner held there.
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A/N: Sorry that this chapter was a little short. It was either that or wait another week and have a rather lengthy one. I chose this option. As always please review and let me know what you think. Thanks for hanging in there. beck