Chapter 30
It was growing late in the day shift, and both Karson and Nick's frustration with the jailbreak case was increasing. It wasn't helping that the D.A. was insisting on hourly updates, despite his impossible one-week deadline for empirical proof of Grissom's guilt.
Karson wished he could tell the D.A. exactly what he could do with his interference with the case, and had had half a mind to leak the information to Grissom's attorney of what the prosecutor was doing. But, he'd quickly realized that wouldn't really help Grissom in the long run, and he needed all the help he could get.
The evidence was confusing, to say the least, as it had no clear indication that pinpointed who did what and why. And while it didn't scream that Grissom was guilty, nothing concrete exonerated him either. Yet, both Karson and Nick held more intensifying beliefs that Grissom was being set up. It was just proving a tough job to prove it.
Karson frowned in intense concentration at the photo of the polo shirt that Grissom had been wearing. From its size, it was clear that it wasn't his. Not just because Grissom had lost weight in the last few months, but the shoulders were too broad, suggesting it wasn't his shirt to begin with. Still holding the photo and picking up one showing Fromansky with a single bullet hole to his head, Karson studied both silently for a few minutes before he turned to his younger companion.
"See this," Karson said about the photo of Grissom in a shirt. "There's blood from two different donors on the shirt. The blood smear on the front is a match to Fromansky, but the blood on the back, is a match to Grissom."
Nick nodded, picking up another photo, this one showing a full body shot of Grissom, trouser-less and unconscious. He swallowed with difficulty. A part of him felt he had had some responsibility in what had happened to his former boss. If he'd dug a little harder, he might have found something, anything, that would have helped Grissom. "You think this was staged? That it was made to look like Grissom killed Fromansky?"
"I'm not sure what someone was trying to stage, but I would agree it would suggest that Fromansky was stripped."
Nick followed Karson's train of thought. "Then if Fromansky was stripped of a shirt, for whatever reason, Grissom was possibly forced to wear it. The blood on the front of the shirt isn't Grissom's you said. It's definitely Fromansky's?"
Karson nodded. "Tested positive for Fromansky. And the blood pattern on the front, suggests that it was smeared on."
"Probably to make it look like Grissom smeared Fromansky's blood on the shirt."
"But there wasn't any blood, aside from his own, on Grissom's hands," Karson said. "Now, Grissom's blood is on the back, I would assume from some of his wounds on his back. Some of the whip lashings were still fresh. There was a partial print in the blood pool, near Fromanksy's head – that matched to Rory."
After hearing Karson talk about whip lashing, Nick closed his eyes for a moment.
"You OK?" Karson asked.
Nick opened his eyes, which were focused and intense. "Yeah. I'm good. This is all too convenient to pin something on a guy who had the piss beaten out of him."
Karson smiled at Nick's choice of words. "Can't argue with that."
"I'm thinking, Rory killed Fromansky," Nick stated. "But why kill him off, if he killed Jake?"
"Fromansky was collateral damage; he'd served his purpose and was surplus to requirements," Karson surmised. "My guess is Rory is busy tying up loose ends, and something tells me, despite his vanishing act, he's far from finished with Grissom."
"Well, if he wanted to pin Fromansky's murder on Grissom, why didn't we find the gun that killed him?"
"Good point," Karson said, as he picked up another photo, this one, of an on overturned chair and a video camcorder. "There's a lot of why's in this case. I didn't find a gun, but I found a video camcorder, but the tape was missing. There was overturned chair in direct line to the camera, which suggests to me a recording of some kind was made. I found traces of blood on the chair – positive match to Grissom."
"You think Rory made a recording of his torture of Grissom, like some sick trophy?" Nick asked, appalled.
Before Karson could answer, Karen O'Shea entered the layout room. Her eyes settled on the photos scattered across the layout table.
"Is that the evidence from the jail break? That's my case."
Karson looked at her incredulously. "You worked the case, yes, but I've been the lead from the start, Karen," stated Karson, his tone authoritative.
Nick pretended to busy himself with the evidence, not wanting to get in the middle of anything. But he saw how Karen's eyes slid over to him, her eyes flashing with quick anger. "You know what, I'm going to take a bathroom break. Be back in five."
After he left, Karen turned to face Karson again, lifting her chin slightly.
"I need to speak to you about this, privately," she said to her supervisor.
Karson had turned his attention back to the evidence on the table. He really wasn't in the mood for any territorial squabbles over cases. "At any other time, Karen, I'd say sure, but the D.A. is breathing down my neck on this one, so whatever you have to say, say it now and make it short."
Karen crossed her arms before turning her furious glare back in Karson's direction. "Why aren't you asking a day shift CSI for help? Why are you taking in strays from other shifts? First Sara," Karen's tone was heavy with contempt. "And now Stokes."
Karson froze, keeping his face averted from Karen, as he blinked once then twice. The feeling that she was being far too defensive crossed his mind. Especially since she'd already messed up the whole Fromansky connection. Nor did he appreciate the snarky attitude against a fellow CSI. He slowly turned to face the younger criminalist.
"Let's get one thing cleared up, O'Shea," Karson's voice was authoritative. "I really don't need to discuss my decisions on who works on what case with you. Since this is my case, I get to pick and choose who helps out. As your supervisor, I know that you have a full caseload to deal with. I suggest that you put your energies into clearing those up, before jockeying for a place on another case."
"But if I worked the case before…"
"And there was a mistake made that turned out to be fatal," Karson said. "When I believe I need support on this case, I will call upon who I feel is confident to help me. And that goes for any CSI on staff. There are no strays in this building, Karen."
Feeling chastised Karen's gaze, far more wary than before, drifted back to the evidence table, before quietly slipping from the layout room.
With a huff of annoyance, Karson turned back to the table. He heard Nick reenter the layout room a minute or two later.
"Sorry about that," he said quietly, in apology to Nick after a few minutes. "This case..." he shook his head.
Nick remained silent as he pieced together what they'd discovered. His thoughts returned time and time again to Fromansky. "Let's go back to Fromansky," Nick suggested after a few minutes of quiet thinking. "We've established that we believe it was Rory who killed him, we just don't have direct evidence of that."
"For that we need the gun or Dunbar to show up."
"Let's not lose hope for that," Nick said. "But if Rory was tying loose ends, it would make sense that Fromansky is the one who killed Jake. Now, the boots is the piece of evidence that really damns Grissom, but Sara swears up and down that she saw Grissom throw those shoes away."
"Grissom said that from the beginning," Karson added.
"Add to that the night he supposedly threw them away, Sara said Hank, their dog, woke up during the night barking at something outside. They never did figure out what it was."
"So, you're thinking Fromansky got hold of the boots. Pinched them from the trash."
Nick nodded, his eyes alit with possibilities. "Grissom threw away the boots because Hank chewed them up. But if you were determined enough, they could still be worn."
"There's no more evidence in regards to Fromansky at the warehouse, but there's a chance there could be something at his home or his office at the prison, perhaps. He may have suspected that Rory would double-cross him and wanted to cover his ass, as a precaution."
"I wouldn't mind taggin' along if you're thinking of searching his house," Nick said, an eagerness in his tone. "See if it's possible that there is anything connected to Jake. I know it's a long shot..." he added with a shrug.
Karson smiled. "C'mon, Nick. Let's see what a former cop and assistant prison warden had to hide," he said as he packed the evidence away.
Enterprise, Nevada, sits north of down town Vegas. The bedroom community sports upper-middle class, to upper-class homes. Fromansky's sea foam, grey-green house was the last in a cul-de-sac among similar-looking houses in the neighborhood. A drive curved up from the road, ending in a large garage, which was the main feature of the front of the house. The front door was set a ways back to the left of the house, under a small portico. Gravel rather than grass covered the lawn next to the drive, giving Nick the impression that Fromansky wasn't the gardening type.
Nick's first impression on seeing Fromansky's house was despite the nice enough neighborhood, it shouted "dirty cop" rather than "cop who made wise and prudent financial decisions." He wasn't sure if he was biased because of his history with Fromansky and the former officer's attitude towards Grissom a few years back, or because of Fromansky's sudden involvement in Grissom's latest situation. Maybe it was both.
Entering the house, Nick got the impression that Fromansky was obsessive compulsive about organization. Immediately catching his eye was the row of awards that he'd earned over the years. Nick gave a disgruntled snort. He'd heard of the numerous complaints he'd received over the course of his career. He wasn't convinced that Fromansky deserved any of his accolades.
There were more awards and trophies, some going back to his childhood, displayed throughout the house. What also stood out was how the only photos in the house were him holding some award. He definitely thought a lot about himself. And everything was neat as a pin.
An hour later, Karson stood in the middle of Fromansky's bedroom, with his arms akimbo, and sighed with frustration. He had searched the room thoroughly, and he'd come up blank.
As he gathered his silver kit, he hoped that Nick had faired much better than he had. He found him in a small office across from the dining room sitting at a desk. He looked up as Karson entered.
"Anything usable?"
"Nothing jumped up at me," Karson said. "Fromansky's shoes are a size bigger than Grissom's."
"That means he didn't use the boots?"
"I'm not willing to say that yet. He probably could have got his foot inside it, if he wasn't wearing socks, which means he might have left some skins cells as it scraped against the inside of the boot."
"We need to check for a DNA sample inside the boots when we get back to the lab," Nick said. "I'm thinking we need to get a warrant of Fromansky's bank records. I looked for a hand-written ledger, but no such luck."
Karson had been rummaging around, as Nick was talking, and paused as a floorboard creaked. He stepped back, and then forwards again, testing his weight, as he did so. The floorboard was definitely loose.
The floor was laminated and covered only by a large rug. Kneeling down, he pulled the rug back, and took out a pocket knife to pry the loose board free. In the space under the floor was a small, green deposit box. Having caught his attention, Nick was quick to take several photos of the box before Karson pulled it out.
"Looks like your 'cover his ass' theory might hold water, hoss," Nick said.
The box was padlocked, but after more photos were taken, Karson picked the lock. Inside was a black notebook. He picked it up and flickered through it, before taking a much slower look. It looked like Fromansky had kept a detailed journal of meetings and places, along with dates.
His eyes widened at his find, and he looked up at Nick who was watching him expectantly.
"Well, I don't know if he's the one that definitely killed Jake, but he's in this conspiracy pretty deep. Deep enough to want to cover his ass if this ever went south. He mentions Rory quite frequently. There seems to be a $200,000 wire transfer three days after Jake's death."
"Makes sense if he killed Jake and Rory wanted to make sure Grissom was arraigned," Nick said.
"Well, Fromansky was due payment the day he died and then was going to meet up with Dunbar for a final payment."
"When was that scheduled?" Nick asked.
Karson glanced up toward Nick. "The day Fromansky died."
"Tough luck for Fromansky," Nick said.
"Yeah, but it looks like plans changed at the last minute," Karson said, pointing to a scratched out entry in the ledger. "It looks like going to the warehouse was a last minute decision. He was originally going to meet 'RD' at the Happy Lodge Inn at Desert View Point."
"You know the phrase don't shit where you eat?" Nick asked.
Karson smiled. "In this case don't leave a dead body where you eat."
"This could be the lead we need," Nick said. "That might be Rory's hiding place."
"Gather up your stuff and let's get out of here," Karson said. "We'll call the detectives on the road. A visit needs to be made to the Happy Lodge Inn at Desert View Point ASAP."