AN: Next chapter for you guys, hope you like! As always, I would love to hear from you…
Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI
Chapter 27
"What are you thinking, road trip up to Glendale?" Sara asks as they trek back to the lab.
Grissom glances at his watch before answering. Four thirty. "I know she said this guy was 'always there', but I think she probably meant during the day."
"Sounds likely," she agrees. "It's about an hour drive, if we leave at the end of shift, we could get lucky. I doubt these preacher types care about weekends."
He frowns. "If we don't get lucky, it could be hours before we get back."
"You know you can't actually protect me from double shifts forever, right?" she asks, voice amused, and he shrugs.
"I know. But in this case, I can. We don't even have a name so we can't get a warrant out. Let's just send up a detective from dayshift to ask around, maybe we can get him down here tonight."
She lets out an exaggerated sigh, but she's still smiling. "Fine, have it your way."
So, they spend the rest of shift going through the report the dayshift put together on the first victim, reading and rereading statements, scrutinizing photos and double-checking evidence.
Greg, Nick, and Warrick join them eventually, but by the time seven o'clock rolls around, they still haven't gotten any further than they already were.
"Let's hope the surveillance tapes from Glendale give us something," Grissom notes as they pack up. He's not particularly hopeful, though – the clerk on duty at the gas station knew Jamie and said he hadn't seen her on the day in question, and just like in Mesquite, the place only has surveillance in the actual store, nothing outside.
"Or the preacher just confesses," Nick adds.
Grissom just hums – the more he looks at the photos, the less he thinks this is the work of some roadside doomsday prophet. But it's still a lead they have to check out and, most likely, dismiss before moving onto the next one.
"We should be so lucky," Warrick says with a huff. "Right, I'm off. Anyone for breakfast at Frank's?"
Nick and Greg quickly join him, leaving Grissom and Sara alone in the Layout room.
"You're not liking the preacher guy," she says after a moment, not so much a question as a statement, and once again he's amazed by how easily she can read him. Well, when it comes to work, at least.
"I'm not ruling him out," he hedges. "But no, I don't think he's our guy."
"So what are you thinking?" she continues, grabbing one of the evidence boxes while he takes the other two.
"At first glance, I'd say we're looking for a trucker," he replies, leading the way down the corridor. "Or at least someone with a basic knowledge of the gas stations along the I-15, someone who knows where the cameras are. Plenty of gas stations have surveillance at the pumps, but not these two, I'm not sure that's a coincidence. But it could just as easily be someone who wants us to think that."
They get the evidence dropped off and clock out.
"So, you're getting used to the schedule again?" he asks as they leave the building. "Not as tired as last weekend."
Sara lets out a laugh. "I think so, yeah."
"Good." He waits until they've reached her car. "So, no need for me to bring breakfast and take Shelby off your hands for a few hours?"
She tilts her head to one side. "No need, but I never say no to free breakfast."
"I walked right into that one, huh?"
"So, uh… you going to be living here on your own?"
Sara holds back an unpleasant shiver at the words, laced with innuendo. She knows she can take care of the creepy landlord if she has to, but she still regrets not taking Grissom up on his offer to go with her to check out the apartments.
"Oh, no." She flashes him a fake smile. "My husband's out of town and I can't bring the kids anywhere, so I left them with their grandparents. With four of them, we were ideally looking for somewhere a little bigger, but, well…"
"Oh." He considers her for another moment. "Well, this is it. Bedrooms and bathrooms are down the hall. Dishwasher's broken, so you'd have to replace that if you want one."
The combined living room and kitchen they're standing in is about the size of her dorm room at Harvard – there's no way the apartment is 1200 square feet like the ad claimed. She wants to walk out, but still takes a look at the rest of it. The master bedroom is a decent size, but the other two bedrooms are no more than box rooms – one might even be a repurposed closet as it doesn't have a window – and both bathrooms are in desperate need of a face-lift.
The landlord was laying it on thick when she arrived, but the comment about a husband and kids seems to have done the trick, and when she says she'll think about it, he just waves her out the door.
When she's back in her car, she leans her head back for a moment and takes a couple of deep breaths.
This is the third viewing today, and the third write-off. The first one practically backed onto the freeway – which she would have known if she'd looked up the address, but the three bed for a reasonable price had been too distracting – and she couldn't hear a word the landlord was saying whenever a semi passed by. The second one she ruled out as soon as she stepped into the hallway and a huge cockroach scurried across the floor. And this one, well… if it had only been the creepy landlord, she could have handled it, but the place is a dump.
Defeated, she stops at the post office where she's rented a PO box until they find a place to live to pick up two weeks' worth of mail. She doesn't bother looking through the envelopes – it's probably just bills, anyway – but brings them with her when she gets to Grissom's place. It's only four thirty and they're having dinner before she and Shelby leave for the day, so she'll have time to sort through it.
"Any luck?" he asks when he opens the door, and she grimaces in response. "That bad?"
"I'm sure you would have loved the second place, it came with free pets," she tells him as she toes off her shoes.
"Was that the only issue? Because there are exterminators."
She gives him a scrutinizing look. "How much did it hurt to say that?"
"I do understand that unwanted bugs are an issue," he tells her drily.
"Good to know. But no, it wasn't the only issue." Shelby's on the couch, a large book open on the cushion next to her, and Sara goes over to join her, dropping the stack of mail on the coffee table. "Hi, baby, did you have a good afternoon?"
Shelby turns to lean heavily against her, pulling her thumb out of her mouth long enough for an "mm-hmm."
She looks up at Grissom. "No nap yet?"
He shakes his head with a slightly sheepish expression. "We spotted some butterflies on the way back from the park, so we had to look those up and, well, that brings us to now."
She has to smile at the image, both of them too distracted by the insects to notice much else.
"Not sleepy, Mommy," Shelby supplies, despite all evidence to the contrary.
"You sure?" Sara asks, pulling the scrunchie off the end of her braid and detangling it, absently noting that she needs a haircut. "Because if you fall asleep as soon as we get home, we won't be able to continue The Lorax tonight."
Shelby pouts for a moment, torn between the lure of the bedtime story and not admitting to being tired. Eventually, the book wins out. "Maybe just a little tired."
"Come on, then," Grissom says, holding out a hand for her, but she lifts her arms to be picked up instead. He obliges, getting her settled on one hip before turning his attention to Sara. "Be right back."
She nods, watching them disappear up the stairs before picking up the mail and starting to sort through it. As she suspected, it's mostly bills, but she also finds the insurance policy for the new car and, at the bottom, a plain, white envelope with her name and old address handwritten on it.
Frowning, she flips it over, looking at the return address in one corner.
Laura Sidle
Central California Women's Facility.
23370 Road 22, Chowchilla, CA 93610
The envelope suddenly feels heavy in her hand, and she can't stop staring at the words.
"What's wrong?"
Grissom's voice makes her look up, and she realizes she didn't even hear him come back down the stairs.
"It's from my… mother."
The worry is immediately obvious on his face and he sits down next to her, closer than usual, leg pressed lightly against hers, as if trying to offer some sort of physical support.
"She's in prison?" he assumes, and she nods, refocusing on the letter. "Are you going to open it?"
"I don't know," she answers truthfully. She can't quite get her fingers to cooperate.
"I take it you haven't stayed in touch."
It feels like a massive understatement, but it's still the truth.
"No, I haven't… I haven't seen her since the trial, and I haven't talked to her since… since that morning. Before she… before it happened."
She hasn't thought about the trial in years, but now the memories seep back in. The uncomfortable wooden bench. The indifferent social worker next to her. The gentle voice of the prosecutor, asking her questions about the worst day of her life.
Grissom moves a little, pulling her back to the present as he slides an arm around her shoulders and squeezes lightly. For a moment, she's frozen, and not just because of the letter in her hand. They haven't been this close since… well, since before she left. Since that day.
If he's thinking the same thing, he shows no sign of it, just rubs his thumb against her arm in soothing motions, and she just… she wants to give in, so she does, resting her head against his shoulder and letting him hold her to him. After a moment, she pulls her legs up to get more comfortable, leaning more heavily against him.
"She tried to write in the beginning, but I didn't write back, didn't even open her letters, so eventually, I guess she gave up," she says after a long, quiet moment. "I guess I've tried to… forget. Not think about it. Put it behind me. However you want to put it."
"Anyone would have," he offers as some sort of assurance, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. "But you can't run from your past forever."
"Apparently not." She sighs, turning the envelope over in her hands a few times before resolutely ripping it open and pulling out the paper inside, scanning the page for any relevant information. She finds it halfway down and drags in a sharp breath.
"What?"
"She's up for parole," she says. "She wants me to come to the hearing and testify for her."
"You do not have to do that," he tells her immediately. "You have no obligations to her, Sara. None. She gave up on that."
"I know, I know." She turns her head to bury her face in his shirt for a moment, breathing in the familiar and comforting scent of him. She thinks she feels his lips against the top of her head for a second but can't be sure. "She's still my mother, you know."
"Genetics. Biology doesn't make a family; you should know that."
Sara knows he's right, but part of her still doesn't want to give up on her mother. And if she doesn't respond now, she has a feeling that will be the end of it. Laura won't try again.
"I don't know if I can testify," she says after another long moment. "And it's not like I can make any kind of judgment on whether she should be paroled or not, I haven't even talked to her in almost twenty years. But I think I... I think I need to see her."
Grissom's hold on her tightens, and for a moment, she thinks he's going to object.
"As long as you're doing it for you, and not for her," he finally says.
She considers his words for a moment. "I think so. To be honest, I've thought about it on and off since Shelby was born, reaching out… I don't know if I would ever be comfortable with them meeting, but I kind of don't want to rule it out completely. Does that make sense?"
"Of course it does. Why is she up for parole now? I would have assumed she'd get twenty-five to life, but it hasn't been that long, has it?"
Sara does a quick calculation. "No, it's been twenty-four years next month. But she was in a mental hospital for about a year first, and then the trial was delayed for some reason. The sentencing wasn't until… eighty-eight, I guess. She got twenty to life, so I probably should have realized this was coming up."
She can almost hear him processing this new information. "Mental hospital?"
"She's schizophrenic. She was off her meds when… when it happened. It was an endless cycle – she'd take her meds, then after a while, she was doing so good she decided she didn't need them anymore, so she'd stop taking them and then things got… bad again."
"I'm sorry, honey."
The little endearment snags in her mind somewhere. It's like déjà vu, but… he's never called her that before, has he? The memory is just out of reach, and the more she picks at it, the further it slips away.
It doesn't require a response, though, not unless she wants to dive deeper into her childhood, which she doesn't, not right now, so instead she just takes a deep breath, forcing herself to relax, and closes her eyes. His arm stays around her, the warmth of him seeping through her clothing and into her bones, and she just… lets herself be for a moment.
She's just starting to think about how to break the moment without any awkwardness – because they can't just stay like this – when Grissom's phone starts vibrating on the kitchen table.
He curses silently before carefully removing his arm from around her and rising to his feet, crossing the room and snatching up the offending device.
"Grissom," he answers, turning to lean against the kitchen counter and giving her a questioning look. She smiles.
"I'm OK."
He nods before focusing on whoever's on the other end. "Where? OK, yeah, send me the address." He hangs up and lets out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry."
"You need to go in?" Sara asks, and he nods.
"They found another girl; Conrad wants me on the scene before they move the body."
She doesn't need to ask. "Damn it."
"Yeah." He moves further into the kitchen to open a drawer, rummaging around for a moment. "Here," he says, crossing back to her and holding something out. A key. "I don't want to wake Shelby up, just… hang out until she wakes up and then you can lock up when you leave. I'm sorry, I know we were supposed to do dinner…"
"Don't worry about it," she assures him, accepting the key. "Just go." He nods but still hesitates. "Go."
Another nod and then he moves towards the front door. She gets up to follow, feeling weird just staying on the couch, and reaches the front door as he checks his field kit, making sure it's stocked. "I assume you'll call if you need help?"
Grissom nods, a little absentmindedly, and snaps the case closed. "Catherine and Nick are working tonight, so they'll be at the top of the list, but if we need to go all hands on deck, you'll be the first to know."
"Good."
He slips his shoes on and then hesitates again, eyes unreadable. She quirks a questioning eyebrow but doesn't have time to react before he's put the field kit down and pulled her into a hug.
"I'm sorry we were interrupted, I… I know I'm not very good at any of this, but if you need to talk, I'm here, OK? Your mom or… whatever. Anything."
He caught her off guard, but she's recovered enough by now to at least return the hug. "I know. Thank you."
He squeezes her one last time, then he's gone, and she leans her head against the closed door.
AN: OK, so I know that the timeline of Laura Sidle's possible incarceration here doesn't match the one on the show, but call it creative license. Also, I might have stretched the time frame between 'Nesting Dolls' and 'Committed' a little – in this universe, Sara left before the events of 'Committed', so Grissom only knows what she told him in 'Nesting Dolls', i.e. not about Laura's stint in a mental hospital