"Okay..."
Nick was at the head of the processing table in the materials lab. He was leaning on it with both hands on each edge of its narrow end. Morgan was sipping at some coffee, and Sara had taken a seat in a sliding stool from the DNA computer. Brass seemed a little bemused, by the look he was giving everybody; why, Sara could not guess.
"So, this guy, Hector, winds up dead in the living room a while back..." Nick recap-ed. "So long ago that his decomp is oozing out into the neighborhood."
"Right, and... before he died, which had to have been no less than a week and a half ago... he sleeps with this weird lady from a small jewelry store," added Sara. "Where he drove an old lady to buy a near-real diamond that she'd saved up for her entire life."
"And if the weird lady isn't lying to us, the old lady was gone when she woke up the next morning from her nasty nocturnal adventures with the soon-to-be dead guy," continued Morgan. "And she finds this old lady's grandson there with bruises all over him."
"Which would mean he had to have taken off his shirt," Hodges interjected. "For some reason..."
"And there was sperm, booze, and blood all over the crime scene, suggesting an at-the-very-least unsavory lifestyle," brought home Brass. "All of which would make perfect sense for a potentially-closeted victim that apparently made frequent stops in with his same-sex tendencies."
The room went quiet. Sara began to roll over the remaining evidence in her mind. What else was left to look at? They had some fingerprints to compare... but Mandy and Hodges had already put two and two together. And it equaled four... The prints matched even the limited ten card David had gotten them; and if they didn't, the evidence was sufficient enough to reassure a jury, because they came from the same articles as prints that did match outright.
DNA was a go, too. They could now confirm that the sperm all over the house was mostly the victim's... and the rest was not a match. So they were still looking for something to compare that to... But in the meantime, there was nothing they could do with it. And it would be a bit, still, before the autopsy on Mrs. Samekey would come through.
But then, it occurred to her. "Wait a second... What about the postcard Mrs. Samekey left in the jewelry store?"
"Oh, yeah!" chimed Morgan. "We never finished processing it!"
"Wait a minute, what?" asked Nick, confusion all over him. "What are you talking about, now...?"
"There was a postcard in the dumpster outside of the alley," explained Sara, with a little impatience. "Clara said that Brandon's grandmother left it behind. Morgan found out it was a forged message, but we never did find out where."
There seemed to be a light in Nick's eyes. "Well, there you go." He smiled at her like she imagined he would a Texas sunrise. "Why don't you check that out?"
"Sounds good. Come on, Sara!"
As they hurried around the corner, and back to the evidence vault, Nick pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, and drew the report he had been writing about his stolen evidence toward him, from where it had sat on the table.
"So, Nicky... What are you going to do about that?"
He looked up. Brass was watching him gravely, hands dangling quite passively at his sides. At once, Nick felt defensive.
"What do you mean, what am I going to do with it? I'm going to turn it in. Take my punishment like a man... God knows, there's plenty of that to go around, here, especially lately..."
Brass raised his eyebrows. "You're not gonna look for it?"
"I... think I'm going to go and... get some coffee," interjected Hodges.
Nick watched him go... waiting until he was well out of earshot before answering Brass' next question. "Well, yeah, I'm gonna look for it, but I have to notify IA. Which'll mean another inquiry..."
"That's my point," Brass pressed. He leaned in, and adjusted his tone. "Why not just skip that whole thing, unless it's absolutely necessary?"
Nick stopped his chicken scratching. "That's... seriously illegal."
Brass' face turned up into a smile. "All right. Just checking to see where your heart's at. I shoulda known."
Nick did not necessarily volunteer his next comment; it burst out on its own. "Yeah, you should have known I'd do the right thing, Jim."
Brass shrugged casually, but sounded a little more taken aback than he seemed to have wanted to let on. "Hey, Nicky, it's just part of the job. I mean, I know nobody's behavior is perfect, all right? There's just been a few of those moments today..."
Nick nodded, but did not look up. "Yeah, I know. I missed that body at the other crime scene. I lost my cool in a couple of interrogations..."
He stopped. Suddenly, something occurred to him...
"Alls I'm saying–" began Brass.
"–hey," Nick interrupted. "Wait... Did we ever run serial checks on the rest of the jewelry Sara found?"
"Sara and Morgan...?" asked Brass. "I don't know. I was out lookin' for that Trem guy. Why? I thought they had that pretty well covered."
"I'm not sure," said Nick.
He reached into his back pocket, and pulled his cell phone out. Under the home screen's "Business" tile, there was a DEC function: Departmental Electronic Communications. And one of the top choices was always "Front Desk".
"What you need them for?" inquired Brass, when Nick had pressed it.
"I wanna ask if they can send me Pip," replied Nick.
"Who?"
"Hi, Candace? Can you put me in touch with Maintenance?"
"Okay, so here's what we want to do... You were with Morgan when we looked at these earlier, correct?"
In front of him, the squeaky-voiced young maintenance man – with a wrench in one hand, and his helmet in the other – nodded.
"Do you remember if she scanned the jewelry for any additional serial numbers?"
He frowned, confused.
"Did she use this?" tried Nick again, pointing to the laser used for reading otherwise-hidden numbers.
Pip regarded it. "I don't think so. I don't wanna make it a claim..."
"That's alright. Rather she did or not, I'm going to."
He gave a slight pull on the box, and it slid towards him. Taking the first of several pieces of jewelry from the inside, he brought it over to the laser, and positioned it on the small, adjustable stand. The first piece fit fine.
"What's this for?" asked Pip, less quietly.
"This is one type of serial check," explained Nick. "A lot of things we buy and sell here in America are numbered. Particularly really expensive things... This is how we drag them out so we can search them up. We have a database for just about everything you can imagine. I wanna see if all of these items trace back to the same store as the first one Sara and Morgan found..."
Pip nodded, and leaned in a little closer to Nick's shoulder. From behind them, Brass adopted a satisfied expression, and meandered out of the room.
It took a long time to read all the different jewelry. Or so it felt. But as each one was passed, and the numbers recorded and run through the system, Nick felt a growing sense of accomplishment creeping up on him. And, unlike most of what he had been feeling that night... accomplishment was a welcome sensation.
But finally, he slid the laser up, and set it back in its hold. "There," he said to no one in particular. "We got it."
"Er... got what?" asked Pip.
"All the serial numbers. Let's check these out..."
There was a function on his makeshift supervisor's card that would allow him to run all the numbers at once instead of one at a time. Hodges came in on the tail use of it, carrying a mug of coffee.
"What'd I miss? The magic card...?"
"No," Nick spat. "But we did scan all these diamonds, here, for serial numbers..."
Hodges stuck his lower lip out, in an expression of being impressed. "Oh. There's a good idea..."
In spite of himself, and the person he was kinda, sorta interacting with, Nick smiled. "I have those every once in a while. Now watch..."
A bit of coding flashed across the screen. Strange combinations of letters and numbers and symbols that Nick had never grown accustomed to. Always a sign that the lab computers were working, and working as they should be, on the given task to them...
It came with a flash. The only difference in all the serial numbers was on a green, generically-gem-shaped article that had not been sold from to the store from which the others were eventually bought.
"Well, what do you know..." remarked Hodges. "Those bastards..."
But Nick's phone was already on its way to his ear. "Yeah, that sounds about right."
After a couple of rings, the other end answered. "Brass."
"Hey, Jim?"
"Nick?"
"Yeah... Where's Officer Mitchell at, tonight?"
The last known place of business for the green-ish gem seemed very remote. As Nick and Mitchell pulled up by it, and Nick cut the GMC's engine, it struck him as an odd place for anything as nice to have come from... He looked down at it, sitting on his driver's seat in its bag; what a weird little thing, it appeared...
The sound of the door opening and closing on the squad car reminded him to get out, himself. His feet touched the ground, and he grabbed the bagged gem with some fervor before closing and locking his own ride's door.
"So, is anybody home?" asked Mitchell, surveying the place with his hands on his hips. "Looks pretty deserted to me."
"No, no, this is the place," assured Nick.
"The place for what? The diamond?"
"We're kinda calling it a gem, for differentiating," explained Nick. "We already got a significant jewel in the picture."
"Yeah, the victim's family cross jewels," joked Mitchell, though quite straightly. "I hear he was having him a freak night before he died."
"That's what our suspect is telling us," said Nick. "But she works at the store we got the diamond from. We're out here because that diamond was pretty close to real. This one's not." He scanned the gem in his hand with a bit of a disdain. "It's got almost no genuine quality to it. Who or whatever was involved with its production and sale, they made or sold a bad fake. So let's see what we can learn while we're out here."
The inside of the building was brightly lit. Contrary to its industrial outside appearance, the interior was obviously trying to come off as upper class. This was a much more respectable establishment than Sara and Morgan had described the little store as being. But the people in it were twice as snobby as the ones Sara and Morgan had described in the store, as well. It seemed completely phony, even for a stereotypically-defined well-financed business person, when the woman with the fanciest dress approached, and offered to shake Nick's hand.
"Madame Briey Challal," she introduced herself as. "Owner of the fine Woman's Best Friend jewelry boutique. Welcome, law enforcement."
Nick pressed his lips together at the small, unconvincing bow she sank into.
"And what can we help you with tonight?"
But it never worked to put off signs of see-through. "Why, thank you much. Uhm..." Nick looked down at the gem in his hand. "During the course of a murder investigation, we came across this."
He handed it to her gently. She viewed the item with a small flicker of disgust before accepting it from him.
"I ran its serial number through my database, and it led me to here."
"Here...?" repeated Madame Challal. As if the very idea were scandalous... "Surely, not here. Anyone with even the slightest knowledge in fine jewelry could see that this is not even a partially believable piece."
"Yeah, I dug that up, too," said Nick. "I learned all kinds of things about that little gem. Literally..."
He chuckled. But she did not seem to appreciate his humor much. She stared back at him in a completely monotoned way.
He shrugged. "I need to know everything you do about this thing. I've got the serial number right here. Could you run it through your own system? See if it comes up?"
Madame Challal looked to give this a fair bit of thought. For such a simple question, Nick thought, she sure did take her sweet time answering.
And when she did, it was not any more pleasant than her personality. "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for you, Mr..." She squinted at his name tag. "Stokes. We do not produce these kinds of items. This is a mockery of my family's art! I think it's time for you to leave."
Nick leaned his head back a little. "Are you making an official refusal? Because, you know, it wouldn't be that hard to get a warrant."
"Then, please... Do get one." A sickly-sweet smile spread across her face. "I will not cooperate. Anything you get out of me, it will not come easy."
Nick's eyelids fell just a little bit. "Look, ma'am: I'm in a bit of a tight spot, here. I have a lot to get done, and not much time to do it. I'd really appreciate your help. I'm not accusing you or your company of anything. I just want to know who killed the victim I found."
At this, the snooty woman gave a short, pretentious, single laugh. "I have no interest in the outcome of your investigation. I know nothing of who murdered your victim, and I do not want an investigation rooting through my reputable company. Please, Mr. Stokes; I must ask you to take your leave."
She held the gem out to him. He folded his arms across his chest, and stared at her for a moment. About a thousand things went through his mind, from calling her names to snapping at the blonde employee girl behind the desk and a couple of customers browsing the shelves to get back to their lives. He would potentially face worse consequences if he did that, though.
So he took the gem back, perhaps with a little too much force, and followed Officer Mitchell out the door. "I'll be back," he sighed back at her. "Just as soon as I've got the warrant."
"And I shall be waiting with bells on."
"What a bitch."
Nick almost choked on the water he was drinking as Sara's blunt response to his relaying of the story sank in. It was so very like her fom about eight years ago... Before the Miniature Killer had affected her...
"Jeez, Sara. Don't hold back, now, tell me how you really feel..." he laughed.
"Well...? What am I supposed to say? She was..."
He rubbed his lips with his fingers, and tried to brush some of the water droplets out of his beard. "I know she was, but there was nothing I could do. I've just gotta come back and get the warrant. So you and Morgan, can you follow up on that postcard?"
"I think we can, actually," Sara answered. "Because, speaking of new venues, we've got a lock on one: Pressing Printers, out in the desert. On the west side?"
"Closer to the setting sun..." Nick remarked. Though it was a memory from childhood that came to his mind, then.
She seemed to sense something weird in the way he'd said it. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," he responded automatically. "I've just got a lot to sort out. It's hard to keep up with, sometimes..."
"I know it," she all but whispered back to him. "But trust me: you've got this."
"I thought it was a 'we' thing. I'm still counting on you as my character witness, Sara."
"Then you should know it'll be fine." And then: "Okay, I'm coming!"
Nick grinned out the windshield at the setting sun ahead. It suddenly occurred to him that he had gone out in the exact opposite direction she was going... "Morgan?" he stated, as if that said it all.
"Morgan," sighed Sara. "She had another Rock Star drink."
Nick wiped some of the sweat off his forehead. "Well, be careful with that. She's liable for anything, that crazy Morgan."
"Hey!" he heard the aforementioned crazy one shout from the other end.
He chuckled at her. "Just keepin' it real."
The sound of Sara's laughter seemed to echo in the cabin. The cabin, or his mind, he was not sure which. But he took a breath, and bid them goodbye before hanging up.
"Bye, Nick. Be careful out there."
"Yeah. You, too..."
He had received no less than ten text messages from his family while he'd been on the phone with her. But rather than mess with it, he gave the phone a slight toss into the passenger's seat. It landed by the gem, and clinked against it just enough to be audible. His eyes flashed over to it automatically; the last thing he needed was to damage the evidence, and then be left explaining what happened to it. There was already enough trouble riding on his head, at the moment...
But rather than focus on that... he let his eyes veer from the road for a moment. He was fortunate that Officer Mitchell didn't like driving ahead. Technically, it was the department's policy, but on the country roads, Nick had taken the lead on the road many times. And he always enjoyed it when they wandered a little out into the desert. Particularly on the east side of the city... He rolled the window down enough to lean his elbow on the sill of it, and let the air flow in and around. It was a beautiful sight out...
Looking down, he could see the various kinds of cacti growing; each one seemed to flaunt a different array of flowers and arrangements. Looking a little farther out, he could see small dunes of sand; they were plain in color and detail... but each one was as different as a person, he thought, with their many shapes and sizes. The road, itself, was a bit of a marvel; it wound so interestingly through the sand, he felt like it was a scientific theory in practice, with a bright future ever on. And looking up to the sky, he could see some kinds of birds flying across the horizon; somewhere up a little closer to the always-beautiful clouds, his long-repressed romantic side wondered, like a child, how it would feel to float on them.
To touch the birds' wings or backs when they flew by... How very much like Grissom he was turning out to be. Although he couldn't remember the last time he'd thought of that as something he wanted, it brought some peace as it settled in.