A/N: Another awesome beta by JellybeanChiChi, who also contributed to some of this chapter.

Chapter 33

When the door to the Grissom home was opened, Detectives Matty Foster and Tristan Bowden were surprised to see an unfamiliar face on the other side of the threshold.

"We're here to see prisoner Gil Grissom?" Foster said, ready to enter before invited.

But the man in the door frame wouldn't move. "Wilbur Jacobsen, attorney for Mr. Grissom."

"What a surprise to see a lawyer," Foster said, glaring at his partner who he suspected gave a heads up of their interview.

"It shouldn't be a surprise, detective. Someone accused of murder whose rights have been violated yet dismissed has every right to have representation present during questioning," Jacobsen's glance settled pointedly on Matty. "As you're both aware, my client has only recently been discharged from hospital. If, at any time, your questioning causes him any undue distress, or is becoming too much for him, I will end it."

"We'll keep that in mind, Mr. Jacobsen," Bowden acknowledged. "Can we come in?"

Before Jacobsen could respond, Matty cut in, with a baleful glare at his colleague. "This is a murder investigation. There are bound to be questions that cause him some 'distress,' but they need to be asked. Holding off the inevitable will only drag this out longer than it needs to. "

"Its exactly that attitude Detective Foster, that I am referring to," Wilbur asserted. "I will not allow you to needlessly pressure my client, is that understood?"

"He's lucky we're doing this at his home instead of down town," Foster said. "Don't tell us about concessions we have to make."

Sara had been listening from inside the house and knew Foster wouldn't stop his pissing match, so came behind Jacobsen. "Grissom's ready in the other room. If someone wants coffee…"

Bowden understood the tactic Sara was taking and took a step toward the house. "Thanks, Sara. But I'm OK."

While Bowden followed Sara inside the house, Foster gave Jacobsen one more stare before entering. With a smile, Jacobsen moved to his left, waited for the detective to pass and closed and locked the front door.

When he reached the living room, Foster glanced in Grissom's direction as the prisoner stood a couple of feet away from the couch. A bubble of cynical anger rose in his chest as he noticed, rather ironically, that Grissom had worn a navy blue LVPD t-shirt. Prick, Foster thought. Like he has the right to wear that shirt.

But as Foster drew closer, he was shocked by Grissom's appearance. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His face was a stark white, which made the deep bruising on his face stand out in vivid detail. His lips were thinned with pain.

As Grissom limped closer to the couch to sit down, Foster noticed Grissom's eyes were downcast. He refused to hold eye contact with anyone in the room. When Foster had first met Grissom, the ex-CSI was a confidant man who looked people straight in the eye. It was a big contrast to the broken man he saw now.

With a grimace Grissom settled onto the couch. Sara made sure she sat to his right and helped him stretch out his left leg. She immediately grasped his hand in hers, and felt the slight tremble that resided there.

Jacobsen remained standing as the other two men took seats so they could monitor Grissom.

He kept his eyes downcast, the hand that Sara wasn't holding, rubbed nervously against the leg of his sweatpants.

"Grissom," Bowden started. "You OK to answer questions?"

Finally Grissom looked up, but only slightly. "Yes. Let's get this over with."

"Rory Dunbar is dead," Matty stated bluntly, capturing everyone's interest in an instant.

"What!" Sara gasped, shocked. "When?"

Although Sara spoke, Bowden was watching Grissom's reaction. Clearly, the information shocked him. But coupled with his anxiety seemed to be an undercurrent of relief. "He was found dead yesterday at a motel in Desert View," Bowden said. "The Happy Lodge. You ever heard of that place, Grissom?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You said you found him dead? How did it happen?"

"Stabbed in the thigh. Severed his femoral artery," Bowden said. "Tell me about Ellis Crossan."

"Who?"

"You don't know him?"

"I don't. No," Grissom said, he closed his eyes. With Dunbar dead, Sara and Daniel were safe. "He's dead. Rory's dead." He repeated the words to let them sink in. Could it be possible the nightmare was ending? "W-what does this mean, for me?" he asked, chancing a glance at both detectives.

Foster shrugged. "Nothing has changed, Grissom," he stated, and Grissom visibly slumped at his words. "Rory Dunbar's death changes nothing in regards to the charges you're facing. In fact, the more turns this investigation takes, the more dead bodies are turning up. You are still a suspect in Jake Sullivan's murder, not to mention the murder of David Fromansky."

"David Fromansky? What does he … I don't understand."

Again Bowden noticed the honest shock on Grissom's face. "When was the last time you spoke to Fromansky?"

The question clearly confused Grissom. "It's… it's been years. Four, five years ago. I don't even remember. Did you find him with Rory?"

"No. We found him with you… dead. Right next to you," Foster said.

"Where?"

"Come on, Grissom," Foster said, unable to disguise his disgust and frustration. "Cut the bullshit."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Grissom said, his eyes clearly focused on Foster and clearly filled with anger.

"Grissom," Tristan said, hoping to gain the man's attention. Grissom turned toward him. "The day you were found in the warehouse, you were on the floor unconscious in a room where David Fromansky's body was about four feet away from you. When you were in the warehouse, who did you see there with you?"

"Dunbar. He was the one… torturing me."

"And where was Fromansky?"

"I don't know," Grissom said agitated.

"Did you know he was working as a prison warden?"

"Fromansky? No." Bowden's information shocked Grissom into silence. Dunbar's words from the warehouse came into vivid life: Grissom, you've pissed off people on both sides the law. Fromansky had to be Dunbar's inside track to achieving the jailbreak. All Grissom could think about was who else on the side of law was involved.

"Gil, are you OK?"

Jacobsen's words broke Grissom's spell. He shook his head. This situation was spilling out of control. "I had no idea Fromansky was there," Grissom stated quietly, his fist clenching and unclenching nervously. "I haven't seen him for years. If you think I killed him, I didn't. And I didn't kill Jake. Everything that's been happening… it's all been Dunbar."

"It's funny how convenient it is you blame everything on a dead man," Foster said.

"It's not convenient, it's the truth," Grissom said, his breathing hitched as his panic increased. Although Dunbar's death meant his family was safe, it did nothing to help his case.

Bowden mentally chronicled Grissom's every reaction. "OK, Grissom, let's back up. What can you remember about the bus accident?"

"Yeah, tell us how you made that happen," Foster added, much to the annoyance of his partner.

The dig was not lost on Grissom. "I remember being jostled around a tin can, then pushed and thrown out of the wreckage. I remember hearing gunshots and seeing the transport put on a huge flatbed. Then I remember being in a lot of pain and thrown into a sedan."

"You said gunshots," Tristan repeated. "From where? From whom?"

"I didn't know what was happening, but Dunbar told me in the warehouse," Grissom said.

"While you two were sharing a cup of tea?" Foster said sarcastically.

"No," Grissom said. "While my hands were shackled over my head and he was punching me in the face and stomach."

"What did Dunbar tell you, Grissom?" Bowden asked.

Grissom looked at Bowden momentarily before putting a tired hand over his face and looking down at his lap. "That no one would find the bodies of the other prisoners and guards. And that the bus was scrapped for parts at a chop shop."

"And when he was talking to you… when you were shackled like that," Bowden started, "it was just you and Dunbar?"

"No. Hobson heard it too," Grissom said, his voice just above a whisper. "He was there. Watching. Apparently Dunbar summoned him to the warehouse."

"You know Grissom, it's curious how people that you have a problem with, or have a problem with you, have a nasty habit of turning up missing or dead," Foster observed, ignoring Grissom's quiet statement. "Take Tyler Darrow, for instance."

The change in Grissom was immediate. His throat constricted as he fought to breathe, as full panic seized him. Sweat peppered his sallow face, as tried to take a breath. Alarmed, Sara rubbed his arm and the thigh of his good leg. "Gil, just breathe, sweetheart. It's going to be okay."

Grissom's body continued to shake under her soothing hand as he shook his head. His breath whistled almost asthmatically through the pinhole his throat had become.

Despite Grissom's obvious discomfort, Foster pressed. "Darrow was Dunbar's brother, right? That's the brother you testified against at trial. He was sent to prison."

"T-Tyler D-Arrow was-was corrupt..." Grissom managed to gasp.

"Rory maintained that you'd set his set his brother up," Foster said. "We found video footage in Rory's room. You admitted on the tape you set Darrow up."

Although Sara had her attention on Grissom, she shot a queried glance up at Jacobsen. He saw it and shook his head, as they silently confirmed that neither one of them knew about any tape or any confession.

But Grissom knew exactly what Foster was talking about. He shook his head with his eyes screwed shut. His whole body shook and his face was covered in sweat. While his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, tears managed to leak from his eyes.

"It's time you owned up to the truth, Grissom."

"I… I never… Darrow… deserved prison."

"The tape tells a different story," Foster said.

Grissom wished Sara and Jacobsen weren't in the room. While they knew that Grissom had believed Daniel had been hurt, they weren't aware of the circumstances. If it had been left to Grissom, they would never have known.

"He… he forced me… to say those things."

"How?"

"I-I-I only … only said… that because …he-he-he … was threatening Daniel!" Grissom wheezed. "He had… the walkie talkie. …. There was-was… a sn-sniper. … Rory had a-a sn-sniper, ready to-to shoot Daniel!

"I … I said …what he wanted… but it wasn't… true. And then…" Grissom broke down, the memory too painful. "And… then he-he-he said… Take the shot. I-I-I… Daniel was dead."

Bowden looked at his partner who rolled his eyes at Grissom's teary reaction. While he knew Foster thought it was an act, Bowden wasn't so sure. He glanced at Jacobsen and feared the lawyer was ready to pounce on the moment and end the interview. "OK, Grissom. Take a moment. You need something? Maybe your lawyer and get you some water?"

Jacobsen warred whether to stop the interview now, but before the detectives arrived he talked to Grissom, who said he wanted to be the one who ended it. He saw Grissom seemed to calm slightly, so he abided his client's wishes. "I'll get a water bottle from the kitchen," Jacobsen said.

"Daniel's doing OK, right Sara?" Bowden asked sympathetically.

"Yeah, he is," she answered, glad to be invited to voice that. "He's doing really well. Crawling all over the place. Probably has my mother-in-law chasing him around."

Bowden smiled. "That's what they do."

Jacobsen returned with the water, and Grissom took a couple of swigs then gave it back to his lawyer.

"You better?" Bowden asked, receiving a nod. "You mentioned that walkie talkie. Did you hear someone on the other end of it?"

"Yes. The guy who was supposed to be the … the sn-sniper."

Bowden nodded as he wrote notes. "Grissom, we need some help here. What happened between you and Tyler, for Rory to be so convinced that you set his brother up?"

"He isn't the first to holler 'set-up' where your name is concerned, Grissom," Foster interjected, not appreciating the respite his partner offered. "How many more have there been?"

"N-none!" Grissom gasped. "Ty-Tyler was-was a dangerous lunatic. He… his evidence tampering was the reason a dangerous suspect went free, and it wasn't the first time that had happened."

"You'll have to do better than that, Grissom. Tyler is one in a string of men connected to you who are dead."

Foster's words and tone triggered a memory Grissom had long buried. Sitting on the living room sofa, Tyler Darrow's voice screamed in his subconscious: "You're too cocky for your own good, Gilbert. One day, it's going to bite you on the ass. And the precious evidence you have so much faith in is going to let you down."

That day and much more had arrived. Foster wasn't going to concede anything.

It was an attitude Jacobsen realized and could no longer ignore. "I don't like your tone, Detective Foster," Jacobsen said, as he joined Sara and Grissom on the sofa, taking extra care of Grissom's bad knee. "I'm ending this -"

"No," Grissom gasped. "While it's true, that I set the-the ball in motion, that sent Tyler to prison, he did enough damage to himself to seal his fate. But I-I never expected him to die in prison. I … never even considered that."

Grissom paused, focusing on calming his breathing. He recognized for this nightmare to truly be over, he had to expose the truth of what happened. If, like Tyler Darrow predicted, evidence would fail Grissom, perhaps the truth could somehow lead to a "safer" prison life than the one he'd already faced. It was the most he could hope for.

"I was twenty-three when I first met Tyler," Grissom began slowly. "I'd been a rookie CSI for seven months. Tyler and I had worked a number of cases in that time. Cops don't usually consider the evidence when they stomp through a crime scene. Tyler was different.

"We'd worked a triple shift on a serial case. A suspect had killed three members of the same family. I covered the scene, and the evidence wasn't collaborating with the what the crime scene was saying, so I took my concerns to Philip Gerard. He put it down to fatigue and sent me home."

"Whose Philip Gerard?" Bowden asked.

"My supervisor in Minnesota."

"He still around?"

"He does consulting work now," Grissom said. "But yes, he still works."

"OK, continue."

"I went home, but something was off and I just couldn't settle, so I went back to the lab. I spent hours going through the evidence and test results. I called Tyler. He brushed off my concerns, but the certainty that something was wrong, just wouldn't go away," Grissom continued. "After more digging, I eventually realized the evidence led to Tyler. He wasn't interested in preserving evidence like I thought; he was interested in manipulating it."

"So you went back to your supervisor?" Bowden asked.

"Yes, and was immediately removed from the case since I was a rookie," Grissom said. "Philip called in IA to run their own investigation. Tyler was arrested, and everything came out. He'd been meddling with evidence for years, long before I was ever in Minnesota. What I'd discovered on my own was just the tip of the iceberg. He'd been recruiting criminals and offering them protection for years."

"You were called to testify?"

"Yes at his trial," Grissom said. "That was the first time his family approached me. They begged me….begged me to stop my persecution to think of his pregnant wife and his two sons."

"They wanted you to lie?"

Grissom shook his head. "I'm not sure they could ever believe what I was saying was the truth. They thought Tyler was an upstanding cop and a great person who was simply trying to provide for his family, but he wasn't. He was a thieving, dangerous man with a badge. God knows the damage he would have done if he continued," Grissom rubbed his face again. "They … they accused me of being arrogant and pompous, that I was misjudging Tyler. But the evidence against him was solid, and there was no way that he could escape a prison sentence, with or without my testimony."

"He got 15 years," Foster said.

"Yeah, the family blamed me for that."

"When did he kill himself?" Bowden asked.

"Maybe a year into his stay. I had heard he was arguing with his attorneys about an appeal, and he killed himself," Grissom said, his voice trailing off. "I know what I did was the right thing, but I wish I had been more empathetic to his family. I was their scapegoat, and, I don't know, maybe a kind word would have helped. … Or maybe not… My investigation might have helped send him to prison, but I neither expected nor wanted him to die."

Tiredness consumed Grissom. His head was pounding and his knee had become increasingly uncomfortable. His body ached, and he wanted nothing more than to lay down.

"I need to stop. I'm tried," he said, struggling to his feet.

"You're still a prisoner, Grissom," Matty replied. "This is over when I say it's over."

Tense, Grissom closed his eyes, his hand on the cane shaking, as the thought I'll never stop being a prisoner ran amok in his head.

"I've...I've answered...all your questions...Detective..."

Foster rose to his feet, and the others followed his lead.

"You know, maybe you should continue to revisit how pompous you can be, Grissom," Foster said.

Grissom stopped and turned around. "What?"

"I find it a little ironic and quite insulting that you'd have the audacity of ever wearing an LVPD shirt, considering what you've done in the past couple of months. "

A sudden bravado swept over Grissom. His fury colored his normally blue eyes to almost black. Tapping into a rage that gave him a modicum of strength, Grissom somehow took off the t-shirt and threw it at Foster.

"Take it!" Grissom hissed weakly.

Foster's eyes widened on seeing the deep bruising and burn marks that covered Grissom's torso. Bowden took a step toward Grissom as he watched the man turn pale and sway. While he was ready to help steady him, Jacobsen and Sara were at his side.

The strength he had seconds before had dissipated leaving Grissom in utter pain in its wake. He bit back a groan of agony as he slumped against Jacobsen.

"Can I help?" Bowden asked.

"We got him," Jacobsen declared with authority. "My client is a great deal of pain, and needs to rest."

Before Foster could say another word, Bowden grabbed his partner's arm. "We'll see ourselves out."

Sara nodded, not wanting to waste any more time in getting Grissom upstairs in bed.

The detectives watched the trio retreat up the stairs. Foster's face twisted with uncertainty. He cracked his neck from side to side trying to garner his own bravado. "Quite a show he put on, don't you think?"

Bowden looked at his partner with disdain. He reached down and grabbed the LVPD shirt at his partner's feet. "I think you got that wrong, Matty." Bowden folded the shirt and put it back upon the couch. "Let's go. We have work to do."