AN: Hope you are all doing well. Thanks to every one of the reviewers – this is always for you.
Take care and enjoy.
CHAPTER 12
CATHERINE POV
"You ready?" Gil asks, taking his keys from his pocket and handing them to me.
"Uh, yeah," I answer, looking at the metal items in my hand. "What's this?"
"You need to learn your way around Vegas, driving to our scenes is a good way to start."
I can't exactly argue with him, not only because he's the boss but also because it makes a bit of sense. So, instead, I simply shrug and grab my jacket from the back of my chair.
"Sara's going to be joining us at the scene," he states over his shoulder as we start making our way to the parking lot.
Trying not to miss a step, I keep walking confidently.
"Great," I say evenly.
Though, to be honest, on the inside I'm a bit nervous and flustered that my working relationship with Sara Sidle is about to be put to the test on day one of her return to duty. If our interactions to date are any indication, this is about to be one hell of an awkward shift.
"Sara," Gil greets, seeing Sara leaning up against her Tahoe parked in front of the yellow crime scene tape. "You go inside yet?"
"No," Sara answers, eyes roaming over the taped off house in front of us. "Wanted to wait for you guys."
Gil raises a brow, alerting me that Sara Sidle waiting for backup is not a common occurrence.
"Brass was still inside," she offers, perhaps as explanation to his look.
Nodding, Gil raises the crime scene tape.
"Ladies first," he offers, letting us through.
As Sara leads the way, I note the officers at the door looking us over. Their eyes are neutral, but they definitely linger on the dark brunette much longer than warranted. Pushing the door to the house open, one gestures towards the darkness inside.
"All yours."
His tone is low, almost challenging.
Chin angling upward in response, Sidle meets his eyes squarely. Not a single word is exchanged, but she clearly gets her message across as the young man clears his throat and suddenly looks a whole hell lot less confident and arrogant then he did before.
Entering the house, I get the feeling that this scene is going to take much longer than the B and E Gil and I caught yesterday.
A lot longer.
"Four bodies," Brass steps around the corner, having heard our entrance. "Two upstairs, two out back."
"Yard?"
"Shed."
Gil nods, eyes already taking in the scene as we stand in silence, letting the scene 'speak' to us as my good friend always liked to say.
"All occupants of the house?" I question when I feel that the house has no more silent messages to share with me.
"The two upstairs," Brass answers. "Two in the shed currently Jane Does."
My heart tightens at his wording. People being found murdered in sheds is never a good thing under most circumstances. But, two unidentified women found on someone else's property, murdered in their shed? Really bad news. A deep, dark dread starts to well up inside me, and I have to push it down as hard as I can.
I knew what I was getting into when I decided to transfer to Vegas. Our lab in Montana saw a lot of action, mostly because we were the only lab covering a large geographical area. But, let's be honest, we were in mostly rural Montana. A lot of our crimes were farming violations, MVAs, burglaries, assaults at bars.
We saw violence and theft, yes. But the tone of the crimes were generally void of what I would call pure evil. People murdering for the sheer pleasure of it. Torture. Rape. Yes, it happened, but it was rare. Perhaps a few cases that truly kept me up at night. I knew Vegas would be a whole different environment of crime. And, I'm getting the sinking feeling that this case is about to be my initiation.
"I'll take upstairs with Catherine," Gil says. "Sara, why don't you take the shed?"
Sara doesn't even hesitate, nodding as she absently checks her weapon and moves towards the back door of the house.
Holy shit, Willows, I chastise myself. Get it together. Soon you're going to be running cases solo, and it's going to be you heading out into the dark night to process a creepy shed with two dead women inside. You can't act like a kid on Halloween being asked to go into the haunted house alone.
Sidle didn't even hesitate. Pull yourself together.
Squaring my shoulders, I follow Gil upstairs as Brass shows us the master bedroom. Quickly, my eyes adjust to the dim lighting to spot the two bodies lying across the bed.
"Throats slit?" I ask Brass, voice strong as I let my body start to slip into work mode, shutting out all outside emotions that distract me from being able to do that work to the highest standard.
"And more."
Lifting the shirt of the male victim, I see multiple slashes across his abdomen, blood pooling and spattered across much of the white bedsheets.
"And her?"
"Same."
"IDs?"
"Appear to be Mr. and Mrs. Feller from the driver's licenses in the purse and wallet by the door. David will have to confirm."
Gil and I slip into silence, both of us wordlessly taking a side of the room and working the evidence. Barely a word is spoken, and I'm relieved to see that the easy rhythm we had yesterday was not a fluke. This scene is much the same, both of us processing efficiently, sharing observations when they are relevant, otherwise letting the other work and think in peace.
I'm not sure how much time goes by, but eventually we finish with the bodies and the room, both of us proceeding through the rest of the house.
I see the cops stationed throughout, and I note Gil's lack of any sort of hesitation. It in turn makes me feel confident about my safety. These are Gil's people, his city and his team. If he trusts them, then so do I.
Glancing idly out the back screen door, I see Sara's flashlight moving around through the windows of what I presume to be the shed at the back of the property.
"I'm running out of room," Gil comments, bringing my attention back to the kitchen where we are currently standing.
I take in the number of evidence bags filling both our kits and the floor surrounding them. The bedroom was riddled with blood spatter, and every item it touched was labeled, photographed, and if possible bagged. Sheets, lampshades, pillows, carpet swatches. And that was just the bedroom. Space is quickly growing a bit limited.
Sighing, Gil places the lens cap back onto his camera, hanging it along his neck.
"Why don't I take these things back to the lab. We're almost done in the house and Sara probably doesn't have much further to go either. I can get a head start dropping these off to trace and DNA, have things ready for when you guys get back."
While I'm not exactly excited about this particular plan, I can't really disobey or argue. Not this early.
Instead, I help him load things into his Tahoe.
"Gil?" I question as he gets into his car. "If we need a lead…?"
I trail off, hoping he's getting what I'm trying to ask.
"She's level 2, Catherine. You're level 3."
His answer is clear, simple. But, the dynamics aren't exactly either of those. I hope Sara and I don't need to establish dominance here, her and I hopefully only being minutes from finishing and joining Gil back at the lab, but I need to know who has control of the scene so there isn't any confusion should it come up.
And, though Gil has been clear regarding my status here, I apparently still feel a bit hesitant to enforce that status when out at a scene with his people. For some reason it feels wrong to step up to someone like Sidle, who's been here in Vegas doing this a hell of a lot longer than me, and order her around.
But, that's part of what being a supervisor here means.
Nodding, I again stand tall, watching Gil as he drives off.
Grabbing my camera, I move around the side of the house to meet Sara in the back.
Pulling out my flashlight and cautiously making my way through the unkempt grass, I note the officer standing towards the back tree line.
"Someone inside with Sidle?" I ask him.
He looks a bit nervous, shuffling subtly closer to the broken down structure.
"No, ma'am…I was just…"
"Just what?" I ask. "Waiting for someone to come out of these woods and sneak up on my unprotected partner in there?"
"No," he states. "I just thought…"
I step closer to him, placing myself directly in his face.
"You thought you'd give Sidle a little payback, right?" I read right through him, seeing the situation exactly for what it is. "She nailed a bunch of your boys in blue in court, and so now you're going to teach her a subtle lesson. She didn't have your guys' back, so now you won't have hers."
I stare him right in the eyes.
"Is that right, officer?"
He squares his jaw, trying to look confident while his eyes are having a hard time meeting mine.
"I asked if that was right?"
He doesn't answer, cheeks going red with both embarrassment and anger.
I lean in, making sure I am as close as possible.
"That woman in there defended the integrity of this jurisdictional department. She rid your department, as well as her own, of those standing between good criminalistics and the corrupt. She put away the people on your force who betrayed the oath they took to protect this city and the people in it. What about all those innocent people they framed for crimes they didn't commit? Or the guilty people that you worked hard to process that they just let go free?"
I watch him closely, seeing his eyes focused squarely on the house behind me.
"She returned this division to the honorable people it should be made of, so that you can hold your head high knowing you are a part of it and that the women and men standing beside you are here to protect and serve like they swore to do. If that isn't having your back," I tell him. "I don't know what the hell is."
Reaching forward, I place my finger along his badge.
"If I ever catch you acting like a petulant child while you leave Sidle unprotected again, I will have this shield taken and melted down for scrap metal so quickly you won't have time to process your new position in the unemployment line."
I push my finger down harshly.
"Am I clear?"
He swallows tightly, features paling.
"Yes, ma'am."
"You sure?"
"Yes, ma'am," he finally meets my eyes. "Very sure."
"Good."
Shaking my head in disgust, I push away, turning to the shed and hearing the officer finally taking up his appropriate post near the door.
Entering inside, the gasp leaves my throat before I can censor it.
"Holy shit."
Glancing up at my expletive, Sidle simply lets out a tired sounding sigh before she takes another photo of something near the back wall.
The scene in here is as bloody as the master bedroom, but much to my horror a lot of the stains are clearly old. Deep browns and burgundies are soaked into the wooden walls, almost no corner left unscathed.
It doesn't take long to note the bloody metal objects sitting along a workbench.
"What the hell was this place?"
Sara doesn't answer, likely knowing she doesn't have to.
Her eyes simply roam over the places in the dirt where I can see the bodies had been, sadness coloring her hazel gaze.
"They weren't the first," I surmise darkly, knowing a lot of these stains could be years old.
Sara swallows. "No," she agrees. "But hopefully they're the last."
"You think that couple in there knew…?"
Sara nods, "Their shed. Where they have their lawn mower and other items they have clearly recently been using. No way they didn't notice their shed was serving as a butcher shop."
"But why? And who? Them? Someone else?"
Sara looks up at me briefly before looking away, knowing the questions were essentially rhetorical. There's rarely a satisfying answer in these cases anyway. No real conceivable answer that anyone could ever give to explain or justify something as evil as this.
"Fuck," I mutter out, hating the violence and vile acts of inhumanity on glaring display in front of me. But, as much as it perturbs me that this is going to be more par for the course here in Vegas, I am for the first time also starting to get eager. Motivated.
While the crimes are more vile and horrid then most of Montana's combined, so are the criminals. Which, makes it all the more pressing and gratifying to work towards getting these hateful monsters off the street.
Sara takes one last photo, pulling herself to a stand.
Seeing her tense, she grabs at her side as she quickly turns away.
"I, uh, packaged most of the evidence along the back wall," she says tightly, working hard to keep her voice even. "I just have to bag these tools and I'm finished."
"Sara."
"If you want to get some of them in the Tahoe I'll finish in here."
"Sara."
Finally, Sara grows quiet, head hanging slightly as she lets out a defeated breath.
"I'm fine," she tells me, knowing exactly what I saw before she could hide it. "Just got up too fast."
"Were you cleared for duty?"
Sara's back is still to me, her breathing still shallow as her hand holds tight to her side.
"Were you medically cleared?" I ask her again, moving around so that I can see her face.
I can see the answer clearly despite her stoic features.
"They didn't even know, did they?" I ask, realizing I'm essentially the only person who knew about Sidle's injuries. In jail perhaps the infirmary knew, but even then they aren't required to disclose anything. And, knowing how sharply Sara reacted when I suggested letting the jail know so they could keep her protected, I doubt she ever sought treatment for anything anyway.
"Sidle," I caution. "You know I can't let this go."
Swallowing, she moves her eyes to meet mine.
"Please," she says so quietly it's almost a whisper. "I'm fine. I promise. Just sore."
"You are my responsibility now," I tell her. "If you're injured, which you clearly are despite how stubbornly you keep trying to deny it, then you become a risk to yourself and this team."
Sara's expression grows steadily darker at my words.
"You shouldn't even know about this," she gets out.
"Oh," I scoff. "So that's your response? Because I happened to be there when you got fucking stabbed, then it's my fault for knowing you're still clearly injured? And that's not even addressing all the other things you went through in jail."
"You…"
Sara trails off, clearly trying to keep her words censored, keep this interaction professional.
"Speak freely," I give her permission.
Sara's jaw is clenched tightly, her hands in fists as she breathes out through her nose.
"Sidle."
"You tracked my phone," Sara says. "Ran illegal traces on my GPS to find me out in the desert. Then you break into my fucking hospital room."
She squares her gaze against mine.
"The only reason you know I'm hurt is because you illegally pursued me during your investigation. Time after time."
"And so now you're what?" I ask evenly. "Blackmailing me so that I don't report this?"
"I'm asking," Sara takes a steadying breath. "For you to, for once, just leave me the fuck alone. To stop pushing your way into my life when I've clearly asked you time and time again to back off."
Sara stands tall, her teeth pressed tightly together.
"This year has been hell," she gets out. "I'm asking for you to just let me finally get back to my life."
"And what about this?" I ask, gesturing to her side. "You're clearly in pain, Sara. And you don't have to be. Just let me take you to get checked out."
"So there can be an official report for you to file to Grissom? No thanks."
"Jesus," I get out. "Do you trust anyone in your life?"
Sara swallows, eyes leaving mine.
"Look," I tell her. "I can't just ignore this. You aren't fit for active duty."
Her eyes flash back to mine.
"I'm fine."
"You're fucking bleeding!" I counter angrily, for the first time finally losing my own temper. "In case you haven't noticed. Or we can continue standing here beating our heads against the floor arguing this same point."
Looking down, Sara looks genuinely surprised to see the deep crimson between her fingers. The material of her t-shirt shows a trail traveling from her hand towards the waist of her jeans.
"Shit," she curses, quickly pressing tighter to the wound and grabbing her CSI vest from near her kit with her free hand. Pressing it tightly to her side, she glances around her anxiously. "Damn it."
Seeing her gaze drifting around her, she is clearly most distraught not by the fact she's bleeding, but by the fact that she's bleeding in the middle of an active crime scene.
"You didn't contaminate anything," I reassure her. "I've been watching."
Leaning in, I take hold of her by the shoulder.
"Come on, you're stepping outside with me." I match her gaze. "Now."
She and I carefully work our way back out of the shed, Sara's hands gripping tightly to her bundled vest, pressing it securely against her side.
Once we clear the entryway, we keep walking, placing ourselves a fair distance away.
"Ma'am?" the officer follows us in concern, eyes trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
"Get your first aid kit from your car," I tell him. "Bring it directly back here."
"Miss Willows," Sara gets out.
"You," I point angrily at her chest. "Not a word."
"Officer," I return my gaze.
"Yes, ma'am," he immediately follows my orders, likely still a bit anxious around me following our earlier altercation.
As he hurries through the yard, I turn back towards the angry brunette beside me.
"Move," I gesture to her hands.
She tenses, watching me and keeping her grip firm.
"We're done playing around," I state firmly, using a tone I've perfected for when Lindsey is severely acting up. A tone I rarely use except when I'm really, truly pissed. "Move your hands away from your side right now. And don't you dare fight against me. You are to remain still, silent, and cooperative or so help me God I will see to it that you are not allowed at another scene for months."
Sara's eyes darken, her expression as angry as my tone. But, she knows I'm not joking.
Finally, she lifts her hands away, tossing her CSI vest down beside her as she lifts her arms like a perp on the verge of being arrested.
"Good," I bite tightly. "You are not to move a single inch from that position."
Sara's eyes are no longer meeting mine, the brunette fixing them darkly on the tree line.
"Here," the officer joins us a minute later, breathing quickly as he catches his breath.
"Thank you," I state, watching him looking between Sidle and I curiously.
"I need you to head back to your car and wait for us," I tell him, seeing him grow nervous at my orders.
"But ma'am, I can't just leave when…"
"This is a direct order," I tell him. "The scene is clear, I have my radio. I'll call if I need you."
He hesitates, still looking unsure. But, finally, he obeys, moving back up the yard towards his cruiser.
Waiting until he is out of sight, I ensure that my weapon is still at my side, ready should I need it. Though, I think honestly my biggest threat right now is Sidle who looks like she's plotting my painful death in her head.
Pulling off my gloves from the scene, I carefully bag them as per policy. Then, I don a fresh pair. Reaching over, I lift Sara's t-shirt while I angle her body towards the moonlight.
Taking in a breath, I study the deep crimson gash along her ribs. The same one she got from the stabbing in the desert. It's clear that it was never given the chance to properly heal, stiches clearly having been torn some time ago, a steady trail of blood now making its way down her torso.
What's more, there's also a deep discoloration around her surrounding ribs, and I know for sure this is something new. Likely from whatever the hell those bastards did to her while she was in jail.
Making sure she has proper undergarments on, I lift her shirt fully over her head, watching her grow even more tense at the action. Using my flashlight, I fully assess the damage displayed before me.
Most of the blood is from her stab wound, but there's a lot of bruising along her ribs that continues all the way around to her back. Reaching out, Sara stiffens as I touch nearby the darkest areas.
Using my fingers, I run them along her ribcage, stopping when I feel what I feared.
"Shit," I get out, feeling Sara's body now breathing shallowly against the pain from my probing hands.
Coming back around to her front, I see her eyes clenched tightly shut.
"Sorry," I offer, knowing she's too proud to have protested, but that I likely just made the pain exponentially worse for her.
Breathing out tightly through her teeth, she tries to get herself under control as I place a steadying hand along her hip.
"I'm going to stop the bleeding," I tell her quietly. "Then we're going to figure out what to do about those ribs."
I know that there are at least a couple that are broken. And, I know just by looking at her expression that she's more than aware of that as well.
Stubborn idiot, I curse to myself, wondering who in the hell deems it appropriate to walk around with broken ribs like nothing is wrong.
Digging through the officer's first aid kit, I find some gauze and antiseptic spray. Wiping away as much of the blood as I can, I toss the bloodied gauze to the side.
"This is going to hurt," I caution, popping the cap on the antiseptic.
Sara doesn't comment, remaining silent. She stiffens as I spray around the stab wound, her eyes darting away as she works to keep herself steady. Holding her hip tightly to keep her still, I apply one last dose of antiseptic with my other hand.
Applying fresh gauze, I hold them there to try to keep pressure on her wound. Unfortunately, it also keeps pressure on her injured ribs.
"You alright?" I question, seeing her features paling significantly.
She doesn't answer, eyes away from mine.
"Sara?"
"Wasn't sure I was allowed to talk," she gets out tightly, voice harboring a slight tremor.
"Don't be an ass," I tell her.
She glares at me, eyes catching the light of the moon.
Then, without warning, she pulls harshly from my grip. Staggering to the trees, she hunches over, grabbing a tree as the sound of her retching filters through the night.
Shadowing behind her, I hesitate a moment before bringing my hand up to her back, my gloved fingers moving gently up and down her bare skin, careful to avoid the injured areas.
"You're okay," I breathe out, noting her hand clenching towards her side as more convulsions follow. Gently taking her hand in mine, I hold it away from her side, not wanting her to cause more damage to herself.
Vomiting once more, Sara spits into the grass, body pressing heavily into the tree for support. Moving myself between her and the tree, I take the place of holding her upright instead of the rough tree trunk.
"Slowly," I caution her as we move back into the grass, "we are going to finish wrapping this cut and then we are off to the hospital."
"Miss Willows…"
"Don't," I request sincerely. "I'm not letting you kill yourself because you're too stubborn to ask for help."
"I'm not dying," she mutters tightly against the pain. "Let's not be dramatic."
Pulling off my glove, I startle her as I gently but firmly place my fingers along her lips.
She goes absolutely still.
Moving my finger along her soft lips, I watch her eyes as I gently pull my hand away. Then, I show her my fingers.
There, along my skin, is a trail of deep red.
"We're going to the hospital."
This time, she stays silent, her eyes downcast as her tongue absently moves to search the area I just touched. Tasting was I showed her, she spits absently away from me, growing eerily quiet. It's one thing to vomit under extreme pain, it's another thing entirely to vomit up blood.
"This isn't the first time, is it?" I question suspiciously as I place fresh gauze along her side.
It takes about four windings of tape to keep it in place against her blood soaked skin. Confident that it will hold until we get to Desert Palms, I search her eyes.
She isn't answering, and she isn't looking at me.
"Sara," I call quietly, reaching over to take her jaw in my hand.
She remains looking away, keeping her eyes on the grass.
Sighing, I grab her shirt and CSI vest from the ground. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I walk her slowly towards the front of the house. Getting her securely into the Tahoe, I stop to instruct the officer to radio to Gil for another CSI to pick up the evidence stored in the shed. Promising he will keep it safe until then as well as promising his discretion, I join Sara in the car.
As we make our way through the streets, Sara leans her head against the window, eyes closing tightly.
"Let me know if you're going to be sick," I tell her. "I can pull over."
"I'll be fine."
I don't comment, but wishing like hell I could instate some sort of rule that would forbid the brunette from ever being able to use the word "fine" again.
As we reach the hospital, I step out, draping Sara's CSI vest over her shoulders to help maintain some of her privacy as she is otherwise left in her jeans and dark bra.
As I get her registered, I absently look down at my phone.
"What?" she questions, noting my continued staring as I push it from hand to hand.
"I need to figure out what I'm going to tell Gil."
My honesty surprises her, as well as my answer. Her eyes meet mine in silent question.
"I'm not fond of letting you kill yourself," I state. "But I'm also not a complete ass who can't relate to your desire to want to get back to your life after all the hell you've been through."
Sara's eyes narrow, watching me closely
"What are you saying, Miss Willows?"
I sigh, "I'm saying let's see what the doctor says and then decide what to do from there. I'm not promising anything," I warn her seriously, "but I'm willing to reserve my judgement until I get more information."
Sara's eyes continue to search mine, the brunette hearing her name being called from down the hallway. Turning, she starts to head back towards the voice.
Then, at the last minute, she turns around to face me.
"Thank you…Catherine."
Meeting my eyes briefly, she follows the nurse down the hall, disappearing from sight.
I watch her go, my heart twinging slightly at hearing her finally for once stop referring to me as 'Miss Willows.' Smiling, I let out a sigh, continuing to tap my phone against my fingers as I set myself down in one of the hard plastic waiting room chair.
Just then I notice that my voicemail light is flashing.
Pressing my phone to my ear, I retrieve the message.
"Hello Kitty Cat. You know, I heard the strangest thing the other day from one of my buddies. Care to guess what it was?"
Pause.
"Good thing you haven't changed your phone number. Though, seems like you changed your address. Beautiful house you chose here, by the way. Love the color. I bet our daughter really likes her pink room."
Pause.
"See you soon, Cat."
Click.
Eyes wide, I watch my phone in horror as my brain tries to register the message that just sent chills up my spine. God, how I had hoped to never hear Eddie's voice again.
Shit.
AN: Thanks for reading.