A/N: Sorry, I'm a complete idiot. I forgot to add the date to the last chapter. I've updated the previous chapter to include the date, but if you don't want to go back, the date for the crime scene they're investigating in chapter 1 is Sept. 2, 2006. Sorry again.

Chapter 2

6:41 AM

The image stuck with him. Hours after the young woman's body had been taken from the room, Greg could still see her lying spread eagle on the hotel room bed. The horrific scene wasn't leaving his mind, and probably wouldn't until he could get out of that room. Soon. Soon they'd be done, leaving the hotel room with almost no evidence to account for. There was the body, the bloody scalpels and the bloody towel, an unaccounted for footprint, size 11 if he were to hazard a guess, a needle, yes, they'd found a needle, placed on top of the toilet's tank, presented in a way that seemed to match the presentation of the scalpels, and then, there was the bowl; he'd never forget the bowl. They had also found a cell phone, sitting closed on the edge of the bathtub, wiped clean of course, and if Greg was to guess, he'd surmise that it was a disposable, and most likely the cell phone that made the anonymous 911 call. Absent from the usual array of evidence was everything else. After spending hours combing through the room, they hadn't found any fibers, hadn't lifted any usable fingerprints, hadn't discovered any hairs, and really hadn't recovered any trace from a room that would normally be teeming with it.

They also didn't have a clue. Apart from the footprint, they didn't have anything to go on. Greg had spoken with Sofia and with the clerk at the office, and with the motel's manager, and neither the manager nor the clerk could describe the person who rented the room for the night, and neither could give any hints about who the woman was either. Apparently their business operates better when details aren't observed or remembered. He wondered if the clerk even bothered to look at the man renting the motel room when he checked the man in. If the TV blaring in the corner and the clerk's obvious clueless face were anything to go on, then no, the clerk couldn't have cared less who'd rented the room that night. No age, height, weight, eye color, nothing, the clerk gave them nothing. Wait, not true. He did give a name. The killer registered as Emile Durkheim. At first Greg was excited, thinking that maybe the killer had slipped up and given his real name, because maybe the woman wasn't supposed to die. It seemed to fit, as usually when someone plans on committing a crime in a shady motel, they usually use a name that is so obviously fake, like Joe Smith, or, quite often, register as someone famous, like Joe Pesci, a rather common one for Vegas. His hopes were dashed moments later, when Grissom informed him that Emile Durkheim was someone famous, an important sociologist or something, and that the likelihood that the killer's name was actually Emile Durkheim was around the same likelihood that the killer's real name was Joe Pesci. So as far as witnesses go, the clerk was useless.

Greg watched Grissom pack up his kit, as he did the same thing. While Grissom loaded the Denali, he hung back with Sofia, glancing every so often to the door of the hotel room. "Do you miss being a CSI?"

"Sometimes. Nights like this, no. I would have hated to process that. Being the detective assigned to this was hard enough."

"Is it any easier to be the detective?"

"Well, I'm more detached from the crime scene, so that can make it easier to deal with the stuff that goes on, but I have to deal with more people, so it can draw you in that way…and it's…more dangerous."

"Yeah. You heard from Brass?"

Sofia gave off a soft laugh. "Yeah. He's been grumbling to the doctors. They're letting him out in a day or so, then it's bed rest."

"He'll go crazy."

"I doubt he'll last long. Jim will find something to do. I'm sure we'll see him in PD pulling desk duty soon."

Greg looked at Sofia and pondered her words. He gave her a small smile. "I'm looking forward to that sight."

"Me too."

He nodded before glancing over at the Denali. Grissom had the driver's side door open and was leaning against it, waiting for him. "Well, I guess it's time to hit the lab. See you later."

"Right, later, Greg. Take it easy, okay?"

"Yeah, will do." He gave her a small wave as he walked away. Grissom saw him moving and climbed into the driver's seat. Greg made his way around the vehicle and took his place in the passenger's seat. He stared at the hotel through the side window as Grissom started the car and pulled out of the motel parking lot.

7:24 AM

The temperature in the morgue felt cooler than usual, or maybe it was the body on the table that caused the chill to run up Grissom's spine as soon as he walked through the doors. Dr. Al Robbins looked up at him as he entered, before turning back to the body on the table. Grissom stepped closer to the body, clutching an evidence bag containing the wooden bowl in his hands. Doc Robbins raised an eyebrow at Grissom as he approached, peering at the bloody mess in the wooden bowl. "You have the missing parts?"

"So it is…"

"Excision, Type II Female Genital Cutting." Doc Robbins stood up from his stool and walked down along the body, coming to a stop in front of the pelvic region. It was strange, but as Doc Robbins hobbled down the body, all Grissom could focus on was the sound Doc Robbins's cane made on the cold, hard floor. "Gil, put down your bowl and take a look at this." Grissom's head snapped up as he took his eyes off of the cane. He stared at the Medical Examiner for a moment before turning and placing the bowl on another table. He turned again and hunched down beside Doc Robbins, looking down at the body. Now that the victim had been washed, Grissom could see what they were dealing with. Despite being a seasoned criminalist, the sight still caused his breath to catch and his stomach to turn.

"See how the clitoris, labia minora and labia majora have been totally removed?" Grissom nodded. "Type IIc FGC." There was a pause as both Grissom and Doc Robbins stood upright. "I've been a medical examiner for thirty-four years and this is the first time I've seen this."

Grissom paused contemplating before asking, "Can you tell if there are any other signs of other sexual assault?"

"What she must have gone through is assault enough, but you're wondering if she was raped. I can't tell; there's too much damage. I did check for semen. There wasn't any present."

He nodded, expecting the answer. It had taken too much preparation to clean the room before. The violence the woman endured prior to her death was all about the mutilation. He doubted that a killer that concerned with creating such a hygienic crime scene would have risked contaminating it to rape the victim. "Do you have COD?"

"Myocardial Infarction."

"Heart attack."

"Caused by shock. The severe pain and hemorrhage would have triggered it."

"There are track marks running up her arm."

"I sent a blood panel to tox. They'll be able to tell you what drugs were in her system. I can tell you what her last meal was. She dined on French fries."

Grissom cocked his head to the side. "French fries? That's it?"

"That's all of her stomach contents."

"Anything else?"

"Yes." Doc Robbins walked over, cane knocking on the floor, to a side table, picking up a tray. Grissom joined him and watched as Doc Robbins took a pair of tweezers and held up a fiber. "I found this in the victim's throat."

"I'll take it to trace, but it's likely a fiber from a scarf used to gag the victim."

Grissom took the tweezers and dropped the fiber into an evidence envelope, sealing it and placing it in his pocket. He looked back at the table at the sealed wooden bowl. "Can you take the cuttings out of the bowl, take DNA and clean them for me? I want to print the victim and see if I can't come up with an id."

"I'll take care of it, Gil."

"Thank you."

8:18 AM

Catherine watched as Greg stared at the contents inside the open fridge, but didn't move to take anything out. She raised her eyebrows as Greg's form didn't move at all. It was as if the contents of the fridge mesmerized him. "Hey Greg, are you going to grab something to eat, or are you going to stand there with the fridge open all morning."

Greg turned to her, letting the fridge door close. "Sorry Catherine, I know I need to eat, but somehow I don't think I could stomach it."

"Tough case?"

"Brutal."

"Hmm. You look tired."

"The night certainly has been draining. How's your case going?"

"Horribly. We can't find anything. I finally got Warrick to go home. I'm about to head out myself."

"Lucky you."

Giving Greg an understanding smile, she placed her coffee mug in the sink and turned to leave. Just as she made it out of the room, she ran into Grissom in the hall. "Oh good Catherine, you're still here. Have you seen Greg?"

"He's in the break room."

"Can you join us?"

She sighed, knowing that he wouldn't keep her from going home if it wasn't important. "Sure, why not?"

Greg gave her a funny look when she walked back into the break room and sat down at the table. She shrugged. "Best laid plans right?" Grissom raised an eyebrow, but she shook her head, telling him to forget it. Greg sat across from her and they both looked up at Grissom.

"What did the autopsy show?"

"She died of a heart attack, triggered by shock."

"What about…"

"FGC. Female Genital Cutting."

"You mean mutilation."

Catherine's mouth opened wide as her eyes moved frantically between Grissom and Greg. Keeping her eyes focused on Grissom, she stared until his face turned away. When she looked back to Greg, she only saw him nodding sadly. "You're kidding?"

"No. Someone removed all of the external genitalia."

Catherine winced and felt a little ill. She couldn't help but imagine what it must have been like. "Was she at least knocked out first?" She looked up at Grissom and watched as he shook his head.

"I just came from tox. Henry gave me the results from the blood panel. There were trace amounts of heroine in the blood, but no other drugs were found."

"Trace amounts?" Greg's voice sounded so disbelieving to Catherine's ears.

"Yes. She would have injected earlier in the day."

"So she wasn't high when her vagina was being sliced apart?"

"No. She would have been lucid enough to feel everything."

"My God," Catherine looked between the two men, shaking her head as she took in their words. "The pain must have been…unimaginable. What do you need me to do?"

"You still have your own case to work on. I was hoping you could break from it long enough to look at the crime scene photos and see if you can come up with any theories that might help us."

"Sure thing."

"You know what you'll be looking at?"

Catherine forced herself to give Grissom a half smile. "I think you've prepared me…and I think it won't be to far off from a scene I've already been witness to before."

Grissom winced. "Catherine, the killer left the labia and the clitoris and placed them in a bowl. The crime scene reads like a presentation."

"That's sick."

"Yeah. Greg, did you get anything on the shoe tread?"

"Yeah, it's a New Balance slip on walking shoe, model number: 750, size 11. It's fairly common shoe."

"Okay, I dropped off prints to Mandy. Hopefully she'll get us an id. If she can't, try to get one. If Mandy can get you an id, take Sofia and check the victim's last known address, see if the neighbors can give you any information about our victim."

Greg stood up and left the room, leaving Catherine with Grissom. "What are you going to do?"

"I have a 911 call and a phone to trace. Then, I'll go over the crime scene photos with you."

Catherine nodded and watched Grissom head to the door. She waited until Grissom left before taking a deep breath and picking up the folder Grissom had left for her on the table. Her hands opened the file slightly before she shut it again. She would take it into her office to look.