AN: Next chapter for you guys – time for Sara to be interviewed, and for an update on the case. Gsrobsessed – your comment was interesting, but I'm not quite that evil ;)
Thanks to WalkerTRngr for the beta help!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI
Warning: Again, touching on some heavy subjects
Chapter 10
To Sara's surprise, she falls asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow, and the next time she opens her eyes, light is seeping in around the edges of the blackout curtains, telling her it must be morning.
She kind of feels like she should panic, at least briefly, due to the unfamiliar room, but the first thing her eyes land on is three frames with mounted butterflies above the dresser, and it's so Grissom, her mind is instantly at ease.
She's not sure what time it is, but nature is calling, so she slips out of bed and goes next door to the bathroom. On her way back to the bedroom, she hears the faint sound of the television, so she assumes Grissom must be awake at least. She finds a sweatshirt to pull on over her sleepwear and then goes in search of coffee and breakfast, in that order.
Grissom's on the couch, Discovery Channel on the TV and a paper on the table in front of him along with a mug of coffee, when she rounds the corner.
"Morning," she greets him, lingering a little awkwardly in the area between the living room and kitchen.
"Morning," he replies, giving her a frown. "I didn't wake you, did I?"
Sara shakes her head. "No, I just woke up. What time is it?"
He turns his wrist to check his watch. "A little after eight."
"Seriously? Wow, I can't even remember the last time I slept almost ten hours."
"You obviously needed it." He takes a sip from the mug. "There's coffee in the kitchen. Are you hungry?"
"Starving," she confirms, finding a mug and pouring herself some coffee. She's about to offer to make breakfast for them, but Grissom comes into the kitchen and extracts a bowl from the fridge.
"I was in the mood for pancakes, so I made the batter earlier," he explains. "I was just waiting for you to wake up to get started on them."
"What can I do?" she asks, leaning against the counter.
"You can take that coffee with you to the couch and finish the crossword for me," he replies. "I'm stuck on a couple of clues."
Rolling her eyes at the lame attempt to get her to relax, Sara makes her way to the couch and picks up the discarded pen.
She's finished the crossword puzzle and is focused on a documentary about the Galapagos by the time he puts down a large stack of pancakes on the table in front of her, followed by plates and cutlery. He returns to the kitchen for a carton of orange juice, glasses, and syrup before joining her on the couch.
"Come on, dig in."
She obediently moves a pancake to her plate and douses it with syrup before cutting a piece. "Mmmm."
"Good?"
"Really good," she confirms, giving him a smirk. "I had no idea you were such a gourmet chef."
He actually winks at her before focusing on his own pancake. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me."
She's not completely sure what to make of that, so she just focuses on her breakfast.
-CSI-
After their breakfast is eaten and the kitchen cleaned up, they lounge on the couch watching documentaries on Discovery Channel. Grissom can't actually remember the last time he spent more than the odd hour or so not doing anything productive, but right now, keeping Sara company and making sure she's doing OK is his main priority.
The fact that it's the best morning he can remember in a long time is irrelevant.
Greg calls around eleven, and Sara agrees to let him take her to lunch tomorrow. Then Catherine calls to check in, and Grissom talks to her for a few minutes before she, to his surprise, asks to speak to Sara. He didn't know the two of them were very close – they seem to be at odds as much as they get along at work – but he's glad.
A few minutes before noon, there's a knock on the door, and he goes to let Jim in, remembering to turn the alarm system off at the last moment.
"Hey," the detective greets him, holding up a paper bag. "Veggies fried rice and chicken chow mein, as ordered."
Grissom steps aside to let him into the house and then leads the way into the kitchen.
"Hey, Brass," Sara says, getting up from the couch.
"Hey, kiddo." He meets her halfway between the kitchen and living room, pulling her into a hug. "How're you doing?"
She hugs him back tightly. "I'm OK, really."
He pulls back to scrutinize her. "You almost pulled that off. OK, let's get this over with, huh?"
She nods and lets him guide her to the kitchen table, where Grissom's gotten the food set up. He grabs a couple of beers from the fridge, raising an eyebrow at Jim. "You driving?"
"Yeah, I better stick with something non-alcoholic," he replies reluctantly.
Sara accepts her bottle with a grateful smile, and Grissom finds a soda for Jim instead before joining them at the table.
They eat in silence until Sara pushes her carton away. It's still more than half full, and he considers telling her she should eat more, but she's probably on edge, and it hasn't been that long since they had breakfast. They can always heat up the leftovers in a few hours.
Jim takes another few bites, then extracts a recorder from his chest pocket. "I just want to make sure I get everything, and we don't have to rehash anything, OK?"
Sara nods. "Yeah, that's fine."
He starts the recorder and puts it down on the table between them. "Captain Jim Brass, interviewing CSI Sara Sidle. Saturday, February 7, 2004, twelve twenty-nine PM. Also present is CSI Gil Grissom." Pausing for a moment, he gives Sara a supportive smile. "OK, let's just start from the beginning. You had Tuesday night off; can you walk me through what you did in the evening?"
Sara's not looking at either of them, eyes intent on the take-out carton with her food as she picks at a corner. "Like you said, I had the night off. I ran some errands in the afternoon and early evening – grocery shopping for myself and my neighbor, and then I went to Target to pick up some new headphones, mine broke a while ago. After that, I just watched some TV, caught up on some reading. I, uh… I wasn't really planning on going out, but I got bored, I guess, so I decided to go for a run. I had my mace, but I didn't even realize he was behind me until he put a rag with something over my face. It only took a moment and then everything went black."
"How long after leaving your building did this happen?"
"I had just gotten to the sidewalk, so not even a minute. There was a streetlight that had gone out, he grabbed me just after I passed it."
Grissom remembers the nonfunctioning streetlight from the surveillance footage and makes a mental note to mention it to Conrad – perhaps if they can determine that the bulb was broken intentionally, they can get a stronger premeditation case.
"Do you know how long you were unconscious after that?" Jim asks, and Grissom takes a calming breath.
"Not really," Sara replies. "It was starting to get light out when I woke up, so it must have been around six hours."
"And you were in the room where we found you?"
She nods. "Yeah. My right hand was handcuffed to the headboard of the bed but I still… I had my running clothes on, but he had taken my phone, keys, and mace. I examined the room as much as I could, but I couldn't reach very far with the handcuffs. I tried to get a bar loose from the bed, but it was pretty sturdy. I removed a pillowcase, thinking I might be able to use it to choke someone, but I never had a chance to try…"
"And you were alone?"
Another nod. "Yeah, when I woke up. After a while the door opened, and he brought me some food. He said I needed to eat something and that he was trying to be nice."
Jim snorts at that. "Yeah, I bet he was. Then what happened?"
A buzzing sound is rising in Grissom's ears – he knows he doesn't want to hear this. But he can't leave her now, she shouldn't have to go through this alone again. If she's strong enough to not only endure it, but relive it now, the least he can do is listen and give her support when she needs it.
"I snapped at him. Told him he had kidnapped me and drugged me and… accused him of… taking advantage of me when I was unconscious." She pauses, taking a couple of deep breaths. "He said he hadn't touched me, that he wouldn't do that. And then he said that he wanted me to be awake when we… when he… when that happened again."
Jim and Grissom exchange a look.
"Again?" the detective repeats.
"Yeah. I don't know if he had actually convinced himself I was Debbie or if it was just some, I don't know, powerplay. He, uh… he did it a few times, talked to me like I was her. Later that day, when he… when he was tying my legs to the footboard, he said something about his rope being rougher than silk restraints, I don't know what that meant, but I assume it was about Debbie."
"It was," Grissom confirms. "She had silk shawls tied to her bedframe for… I assume her bedfellows."
"That makes sense then," she says, nodding slightly. "He also… I tried to convince him to let me go, but he said, what was it? Something like… he already did, and look what happened."
"Referring to Debbie's murder," Jim concludes.
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking too," Sara agrees. "But then sometimes, it was like he knew exactly who I was. Was someone tailing him when he left work on… Thursday?"
Grissom frowns, wondering how she knows that. "Yeah, Jim put an officer on him, but Lurie gave him the slip by going into a parking garage and leaving by another exit. How did you know?"
She hesitates for a moment. "When he got back to the house that evening, he was furious. He started ranting about being followed by a cop in an unmarked car, asking if that was even legal. Then he told me that there was no way my friends would outsmart him or something like that, so he definitely knew I wasn't Debbie then."
Powerplay, perhaps, like she suggested. Or laying the groundwork for an insanity plea… Grissom hopes it won't come to that, the bastard belongs in prison, not a mental hospital.
"OK, let's go back to the first morning," Jim says, pulling him out of his musings. "After Lurie brought you the food, what happened?"
"He left the food and locked me in the room again," she replies. "I didn't really want to eat it, but I hadn't eaten anything in a long time, and I decided I needed to keep my strength up. So, I ate a little and took a sip of the juice, and when nothing happened, I ate all of it."
"When did Lurie come back?"
"Not until after dark, I figured he went to work, I didn't hear anything from upstairs all day," Sara says. "I told him I needed to go to the bathroom, so he unlocked the handcuffs from the bed and took me to the bathroom in the basement. He cuffed me to a grab bar above the bathtub while I was in there. I thought about trying to get away from him, but he had a gun…" She raises her hand to her swollen and bruised cheek.
"Is that when he hit you?" Jim asks gently. Grissom balls his hands into fists under the table, fighting to keep the fury down.
"Yeah. He showed me the gun, told me not to try anything. I… goaded him, I guess. Said I thought he liked knives, not guns."
God, he's proud of her courage. Even if the moment might not have been the best.
"He let me use the bathroom and then cuffed me to the bed again," she picks up the narrative. "He brought me some water, and then he left. I guess I fell asleep, because I woke up later when he was cuffing my other hand to the bedframe. He, uh… he had the rope. I tried to get away, tried to kick him, but he managed to tie my legs to the footboard. He had the gun that time too, and threatened to shoot me if I fought back…" She cuts herself off abruptly, squeezing her eyes closed. Grissom aches to reach for her, to offer some sort of comfort, but she's on the other side of the table and it would be awkward at best. "Can we take a break? I need to go to the bathroom."
Jim, who's closer, reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. "Of course, doll. Take as long as you need. Interview paused at… twelve forty-nine."
She nods and pushes her chair back, hurrying out of the room. As soon as he hears the bathroom door close, Grissom slumps forward, burying his face in his hands.
"You OK there?"
He sighs. "I can barely stand listening to this, how did she…"
"We're stronger than we think," Jim offers with a shrug.
"She shouldn't have to be." He gets up from the table to put the leftovers in the fridge. Sara's barely finished a third of her beer, but his is empty, so he pours himself a glass of water and then picks up her bottle. "Let's move to the living room, I think we'll all be more comfortable there."
Jim nods, grabbing his own soda and the recorder, and follows Grissom into the living room. He claims an armchair and puts the recorder down on the corner of the coffee table, and Grissom sits down on the couch, leaving the spot to his right, by the recorder, empty for Sara.
She's gone for a while, and when she returns, he can tell that she's been crying, but her eyes are dry now.
"Are you OK?" he still asks, and she offers a brief smile.
"Fine."
"We don't have to do this right now," Jim pipes in. "If you're not up for it, we can continue tomorrow, or Monday."
But she shakes her head. "No, we might as well get it over with, I doubt it'll get easier."
"If you're sure." He starts the recorder again. "Interview resumed at one oh-five. Before we took a break, you were telling us that Lurie came back into the room where you were kept, handcuffed your left hand to the headboard and tied your legs to the bed. What happened after that?"
Grissom fights back the urge to snap that they all know exactly what happened after that. He knows that they need it on the record, as much as he's dreading actually hearing it.
Sara hesitates for a moment, but then she starts. "He, uh… he had a knife. He… cut my clothes off. Then he… he tried to kiss my throat, I guess, but I wasn't prepared so I jerked and hit him. He got mad…" She pauses, one hand lifting to the bruises around her throat. "He choked me. Told me to stop fighting if I wanted to live. I started to black out, and all I could think was that I had to stay alive so you could find me. So I didn't fight. He kept his hand around my throat the whole time he…"
She trails off, squeezing her eyes closed and barely holding back a sob, and Grissom can't fight it anymore – he reaches for her hand, enveloping it in both of his own. For a second, he thinks she's about to start hyperventilating, but she gets her breathing under control after a moment, sucking in deep breaths.
He holds onto her hand until she lets out a long sigh and opens her eyes again. When he tries to pull back, though, she turns her hand in his to intertwine their fingers.
"He raped me. When he was done, he removed the rope and one of the handcuffs, and then he left," she continues, voice flat. "I wrapped myself in the comforter. I think I slept some, but probably no more than half an hour or so at a time. He came back in the morning, let me use the bathroom again and gave me some more food. I assume he put something in it that time, because I was knocked out for a few hours after, I don't know how long."
"And then he came back that afternoon mad because he caught the cop tailing him?"
Sara nods. "Yeah. I was working on the handcuffs for a while, but I couldn't get them off. That's when the skin on my wrist got all raw… then I tried sort of lifting the foot of the bed, hoping it would wiggle the bolts holding the bed to the wall loose, but nothing happened. I don't know what I was planning on doing if it did work, to be honest, the door was locked so I still wouldn't have been able to get out. I just… had to do something."
"Of course. So, what happened when he got back?"
Her hand twitches in Grissom's and he squeezes, trying to transfer some of his own strength to her. He has no idea if it works, but after a moment, she takes a breath and continues.
"He was yelling about the cop following him and how you guys would never find me. He cuffed my left hand to the bed again, and when I tried to pull my legs away, he hit me again. That's when he split my lip. He made my head spin, too, and by the time it stopped, he had already tied my legs." She pauses to take a couple of deep breaths. "Then he raped me again. After he left, I didn't sleep. I kept working on the cuffs and the bed all night, but nothing happened. In the morning, he brought me food again, but I refused to eat, so he gave me an injection instead."
"Propofol," Grissom supplies, remembering the name the doctor gave him.
"The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital."
Jim reaches for the recorder. "Interview finished at one thirty-two." He puts it in his pocket and takes Sara's free hand in his. "You did good, kiddo. Now, you know as well as I do that you're going to have to testify in court, but I promise you will not have to talk about this again until then, OK?"
She smiles a little. "Thanks, Brass. Do you have any news about… the case?"
He glances at Grissom, and he nods imperceptibly. Sara knows that she can't work her own case, but there's no point in trying to keep her out of the loop. She needs to know what's going on.
"Did Gil tell you that the story ran on the news last night?" Jim asks, and she nods to indicate that she knows. "Well, we got a few tips, nothing that's led anywhere yet, but we're running the story again tonight. We've got warrants for everything, so Lurie's house was searched yesterday. The dayshift computer wiz cracked his laptop, she found order confirmations for the handcuffs – he ordered them on Tuesday morning, paid extra for same day delivery. They also found receipts from a hardware store from Tuesday – screws and bolts, some tools, brackets."
"For fixing the bed to the wall," Sara assumes. "So, he hadn't been planning this for weeks, at least. I didn't think so because I'm pretty sure the first time he saw me was when Nick and I were there investigating the break-in, you can't fake that kind of surprise, but it's still kind of nice to know I didn't completely miss having a stalker."
"No, definitely not," Jim assures her. "We've looked at Lurie's phone records and financials as well. He got a call from someone at Desert Palm at seven fifteen yesterday morning – we don't know who made the call, it was a landline at one of the nurses' stations and nobody can remember seeing anyone in particular using the phone at the time in question. The officers that were sent to the hospital arrived at ten past seven, so we assume the call was to let him know not to go there. For that call, the phone pinged the first tower on Highway 93, which matches the time frame of him driving back to the city from the property out near Coyote Springs."
"We must have met him on our way out there," Grissom says as he realizes it. They arrived at the house a little before seven.
"Yeah, it looks that way," Jim agrees with a grimace. "A few minutes after the call from Desert Palm, Lurie's phone was turned off, and it hasn't been turned on again since. Archie's set up some sort of alert system, so the moment it is turned on, he'll get a message and triangulation will start immediately, but for now, that's a waiting game. At seven thirty-one, Lurie withdrew the max amount allowed from an ATM on the corner of Nellis and Las Vegas Boulevard – two thousand bucks. No activity on the account since, but if he's holed up in some low-end motel, he can get by on that for weeks."
"Have we started reaching out to hotels and motels?" Grissom asks, and Jim frowns.
"I went out to the Holiday Inn across from the ATM myself, nothing there or at the Wyndham a block over, but I mean, from there, he'd have hundreds of hotels to choose from within a few minutes. We've sent out a general enquiry asking if anyone's had someone by the name or with the description check in, but nothing yet. You know how much the seedier establishments like cooperating with us, though, and I doubt he's checked himself into the Bellagio, so I wouldn't really hold my breath."
"You think our best bet is whoever made that call from the hospital?" Sara asks, and the detective nods.
"Yeah. I'm hoping they missed the news last night, or maybe are having some sort of moral debate about whether to give him up as we speak… we'll see."
"Another round of interviews at the hospital maybe?" Grissom suggests.
"Yeah, we were talking about that. If nothing's happened by Monday, we'll put it in motion."
"Sounds like a good plan," he agrees.
"But for now…" Jim gives Sara an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid there's not a lot we can do."
Sara returns the smile, squeezing his hand. "I know you're doing everything you can, Brass."