A/N: This was supposed to be a part of chapter 1, but I decided to break up the chapter as I'm aiming for shorter chapters with this story. Also, thank you for the reviews, I truly appreciate it. Years ago, I was obsessed with the Hannibal series, still am, so I've read all the books and seen all the movies, and I'm still convinced that Will Graham is the best character Thomas Harris ever wrote. And my head canon is that Grissom is Graham in Witsec. You can't convince me otherwise.
Chapter 2:
As Brass walked out of the Hayashi house, he heard Sara behind him, "Hey, Brass?"
"Yo," he said as he turned to face her.
She glanced back at the house while asking, "Is Grissom okay?"
How to answer that one? "Yeah," he told her. "Tough scene, but, hey, it's Grissom. He'll be fine."
His mind was still on that picture. He'd worked Homicide in New Jersey during all that Hannibal Lecter business. Due to the proximity, they'd gotten all the BOLO's and news from the Law Enforcement Bulletin. They also had the newspapers and tabloids. He remembered reading the bulletins and then the writeups from journalists just to see how accurate the reports were. They always amused him.
One in particular he remembered but only vaguely. Something about the FBI guy who caught Lecter. He'd been badly injured, nearly died. Years later that same guy came out of retirement and caught another serial killer: Francis Dolarhyde.
Then, nothing. Not a word about the guy since. Oh, there had been made-for-tv movies and horror films based on true events, but they were mostly about the serial killers that'd been caught and not about the guy who did the catching. There hadn't even been a peep after Lecter's escape. Hannibal Lecter's been on the run ever since; fifteen years, in fact. Coincidentally the same amount of time that Gil Grissom's been in Las Vegas.
And now, here in Vegas, a horrific murder straight out of one of those horror movies along with a picture of both Hannibal Lecter and Gil Grissom. Lecter's arm had been around Grissom's shoulders like they were old buddies. As he went to his car to call the Sheriff, he felt something in his gut. He didn't like it; not one bit.
He got back to the police department and went straight to his office and shut the door. Bringing up the database, he started searching for everything about Hannibal Lecter and the guy who caught him. He had forgotten the FBI agent's name, but now it was right in front of his face: William Graham. And he hadn't been an agent, per se, but a Special Investigator. Whatever that meant.
He did an extensive search and was surprised to find there wasn't much. It was like the guy disappeared off the face of the earth. No work history since 1990.
He did a DMV search and found nothing. He searched all the databases and found nothing. He did find that Graham had written a book in 1980. Huh, look at that, it was about determining the time of death by insect activity. Graham was a bug guy.
He also knew a bug guy. He wondered if that bug guy had Graham's book. Any thoughts he had about stopping his investigation was pushed aside as he left the department. He'd been in that house, he'd seen the scene, and he'd seen that picture on the refrigerator.
Grissom had told him to tell the Sheriff to call in the Feds. Grissom hated the Feds. If Hannibal Lecter was in Las Vegas killing people, then he wanted to know why. He wanted Grissom to explain the picture. Given Grissom's track record for explaining anything personal, that'd never happen.
Arriving at the crime lab, he headed for Grissom's office. It was unlocked and he walked right in as he heard Catherine's voice behind him.
"Jim?"
He walked over to Grissom's bookshelves and started looking for the book.
"Jim? Is there something you need?"
"A glass of scotch, steak dinner, and the ability to forget the past couple of hours," he said as he spotted the name William Graham on the spine of a book right beside a book written by Gilbert Grissom.
One was the first edition volume. The other was the revised second edition volume. Pulling down the first edition, he flipped the book over to the backside. There was no picture on the back, so he opened it to the author's information. The moment he saw the picture he knew everything.
"Son-of-a-bitch, I hate being right."
Catherine walked up beside him as she asked, "Right about what?"
It was all going to come out sooner-or-later. The picture was evidence and if the killer was Hannibal Lecter, then the press was going to be all over it. The news was going to get out and Grissom—Well, he didn't want to be in that guy's shoes. Without a word, he handed her the book.
Catherine looked down at the picture of the author. "It's Grissom. Very young—"
"Read about the author."
Her eyes started reading. Then she gasped. "Wait, this isn't—" She closed the book, looked at the front cover and author's name before flipping it back to the back page again. "I don't understand. Grissom is William Graham?" she asked in stunned disbelief. "The guy who caught—"
"Hannibal Lecter among others. Three serial killers, in fact. That one in Minnesota back in the mid '70's, Garrat Jacob Hobbs. Lecter in '80, and then Dolarhyde in '86."
"Okay," she finally said as she tried to wrap her head around all of that. He was still trying to wrap his head around it. "Why were you looking into Graham and Lecter in the first place?"
Brass glanced around Catherine, out into the lab rooms and didn't see anyone watching or listening. Sofia was out at a scene and the swing shift was ending. "I just came from a crime scene out in Summerlin South—"
"The one I called Sara to take?"
"Yeah. Anyway, I get on scene and…it's bad, Catherine. I've never seen anything like it. As I'm looking around, just, y'know, doing a once through to secure the house, I see a picture on the refrigerator. Only, it's not the homeowners in the picture. It's Grissom—along with Hannibal Lecter."
Shaking her head, she asked, "You're thinking that someone who knew him back then is the one who committed the murders?"
"Not just someone. Lecter himself."
Catherine gapped in shock. "You can't be serious?"
"I saw the scene, Catherine. I saw the picture. Most of all, I saw Grissom's response. It was like he'd seen a ghost. The FBI's been notified. They'll be here soon enough."
"Lecter is on their Top Ten Most Wanted List." She handed the book back as she sat down in the chair behind Grissom's desk. Looking around the office, she asked, "You're thinking Gil's in Witness Protection?"
"Possibly," he shrugged as he put the book back where he got it, right beside the updated version written by Grissom. "All I know is when Lecter escaped, Will Graham vanished off the face of the earth. Presumed dead but no death certificate. A few months later, Grissom arrives in Vegas. Everything fits. His secretiveness—"
"No personal life and the fact that he knows more about signature serial killers than any forensic entomologist should possibly know."
He faced Catherine as he told her, "He wanted me to keep this quiet. Told him I would."
"I won't spread the news. He's going to have to do that all by himself once the Feds arrive." She sighed as she pushed herself up out of the chair. "This was supposed to be our last week apart before becoming one team again. Ecklie rearranged personnel, got some new hires…Now this. Seems like we're going to get an early start."
"How so?"
"I don't see this case being a two-person job. Gil and Sara. This is going to take everyone."
As they left Grissom's office, he spotted a familiar face rounding the corner. "Stokes? I thought you were on admin leave pending a psych eval?"
"He's supposed to be," Catherine said as Nick came to a stop in front of them.
"Grissom called me in," Nick told them. "Said he cleared it with the Director. I'm to relieve Sara out at the Summerlin South scene. Double homicide."
Brass glanced at Catherine as he started to leave, saying, "So it begins."
There wasn't anything he could do there at the lab, and he'd talked to all the neighbors. He'd go back to his office and do some digging into the Hayashi's. Hell, he had no idea where to start. What's been eating away at his gut, making him uncomfortable, was that he knew that the reason Hannibal Lecter was in Las Vegas—if it was Lecter—was because of Grissom. A psychopathic killer was gunning for his friend, and he had no idea how to stop him.
Standing outside on the back patio, Gil paced around as he waited for Brass to pick up the damn phone. His head was killing him. He was hungry. Nick had offered him a protein bar and beef jerky. He refused the jerky but took the protein bar; it was in his back pocket.
"Hey, Grissom," Brass finally answered.
"I sent you a photo of the wine label—"
"Yeah, I got it."
"Domaine Armand Rousseau. Anything on it yet? It's very rare—"
"We're striking out on recent purchases—"
"I don't think it was bought here, or in this country. It was most likely purchased overseas—"
"Yeah, I know. That's why I also sent out a notification to customs—"
"Have you found any correspondences yet between the Hayashi's and any possible suspects—"
"We're working—"
"The killer didn't just walk up to their door, knock, and invite himself in. They had a rapport—"
Brass finally cut him off as he angrily said, "Grissom! I don't need you to tell me how to do my job, alright. We are working on it—"
"Then why has it been six hours and I haven't heard a damn thing," he said as he also started to get angry.
"You know it takes time. I've got Sanders helping with the wine. We also have security footage from neighbors coming in that Archie is sorting through."
He rubbed at his head as he stopped pacing. Letting out a breath, his eyes darted around the property, taking in all the neighbors' houses, as he said, "And not a single neighbor heard anything?"
"No one heard a thing. They're used to the Hayashi's entertaining guests."
He spotted Warrick in the study through the open draperies. He was getting Joy and Daniel Hayashi's home computer and their laptops, and all the electronics from the home to take back to the lab. The light was on in the bedroom upstairs and he saw Nick walk out onto the balcony. He waved down at him.
"Take a chill pill and calm your ass down."
His jaw started to hurt. He was so angry, but that's because he was so scared. Lecter was in Las Vegas killing people he knew.
He waited for Nick to go back inside before saying, "You told me to get the address from Sara when you called me. What'd you mean by that?"
Brass took a moment to answer, saying, "Well, y'know—"
"No, I don't know, so why don't you tell me?"
"Listen, Gil, I'm not going to say anything—"
"Jim, I don't care about that. I thought we were being careful, but somewhere along the line we slipped up. I want to know how you found out—"
"It's no big deal—"
"If this killer is targeting people in my life, then that's a big problem. I want to know when and how you found out."
Brass realized his concern. "It was after what happened to Nicky. We'd all been through…you know." He had to clear his throat before saying, "A guy blew himself up in front of you. Nick almost died. I thought you'd like a beer, talk or something. I came by your place, saw Sara's car out front, and kept on driving."
He closed his eyes as he heard the pain in Jim's voice. They hadn't really talked at all since then. It wasn't like they talked before, but that had really bothered him. It was in his voice. Brass didn't drive by his house because he thought that he needed a friend to talk to, but because Jim needed a friend to talk to. He'd been so wrapped up in Sara that he hadn't seen that Brass was struggling.
Jim Brass could be a hard ass, especially at work. He had to be to do the job. But once all that was stripped away, Jim was a sensitive guy with a heart. He cared a lot, especially about the people he worked with.
He had to stay focused on the case. Like always, he ignored what he felt, along with acknowledging Brass's emotions, as he said instead, "It made international news."
That could have been what prompted Lecter to come after him. He saw the news, saw him—That was six weeks ago. Enough time to build a rapport with Joy and Daniel Hayashi. Time to watch him and Sara.
He could be watching him right now from one of the neighbors' houses. Could be a guest in some other prominent rich folks' home. His eyes scanned the windows of the neighbors, most lights were off, but a few were on. It was five in the morning. Time for most people to get up and start getting ready for work.
"You think that the person who killed the Hayashi's is after you?"
He nodded into the phone. "Yeah, I do."
Brass sighed into the phone. "It was Hannibal Lecter in the photo, Gil…with you. I'm assuming you think it's him."
If Brass hadn't figured something out by now, he would soon. He was a good detective. "I don't just think it, Jim; I know it's him." There was no doubt in his mind. He heard the back patio door slide open and looked over his shoulder to see Nick standing there. "What is it?" he asked Nick.
Nick gestured over his shoulder and said, "Sheriff's here."
He closed his eyes in annoyance as he said, "Damn it. Atwater just arrived," he spoke into the phone. "Is there anything I need to know?"
"Once I have something you'll know it."
He flipped the phone shut and turned around to go back inside. Nick grabbed up all the equipment and headed out the front door to his Tahoe while he went to greet the Sheriff who was standing in the foyer.
"Sheriff, good morning."
Atwater was a decent enough guy and had always allowed him time and freedom to do his job. "The press has been hounding me since last night, Gil. The Mayor is breathing down my neck. Please tell me you have something."
He shrugged and shook his head. "Other than the photograph of a serial killer on the refrigerator?"
"Wha—Who?"
"Hannibal Lecter."
Atwater frowned as the news hit him. He knew this wasn't going to be good. "A copycat?"
Even though he knew it wasn't, until they got definitive evidence to support his claim, he'd keep quiet. "We've got fingerprints, DNA on wine glasses and silverware…" He shrugged. "We'll see."
Atwater let out a deep breath and rubbed his head. "It's too early for this shit. Want to grab a coffee, talk this over?"
"I have to get all the evidence back to the lab. Rain check?"
Atwater nodded. "Keep me posted."
Once Atwater was gone, he gathered up all the evidence he'd collected, and his field kit, and then left the house. As he passed Deputy Metcalf, he grabbed the protein bar out of his back pocket and handed it to him. He wasn't going to eat it.
"Thanks," Metcalf said as he pocketed it before securing the scene with crime scene tape and sealed the door.
Neighbors were standing outside, getting the morning paper and sipping their morning coffee. Others were huddled inside peeping out windows. This kind of thing didn't happen in their neighborhood. But it did. It could happen anywhere and to anyone. Money, status, and walls did not make one invisible to evil. Sometimes, that was what invited the evil inside.
He slid into the driver's seat of the SUV that Sara had driven to the house and turned on the A/C. He'd given her his car keys to drive his personal car back to the lab since she was off this case for the night; that left him the work truck to use.
Nick drove by him and waved. Warrick was in another department vehicle, and he drove by him, following behind Nick. He waited for Deputy Metcalf to get into his patrol car before finally leaving.
TBC…