A/N: Thanks again everyone for reading and taking the time to leave a review. It may seem like I'm moving too fast, but believe me, I'm not. This story is like phases, and this is the end of phase one. Again, I truly appreciate the support, and I will get Grissom and Sara back together soon, promise, but the plot is getting in the way. I also like the idea of them doing two completely different things, but at the same time, it's the same investigation just at opposite ends of it.

Chapter 6

He heard Warrick's voice in his head. "Hey, Gris?"

Without taking his eyes off the spot where the latest victim, Brandi Powers, had died, he said, "Yes?"

His voice sounded like it was coming through a fog. The lights around him had faded until he was left in the dark void. Standing there, in the dark, he listened and smelt the air as he let himself drift. He felt himself falling into the dark. It was an easy release since he no longer feared what'd happen when he hit bottom.

"I found a jacket over by the pond. There's a name embroidered on the front. Nathan." Warrick's voice drifted into the fog like a voice inside a dream. It echoed in the air before it was gone.

His own voice followed, vibrating in his head. "I also found some shoes on the hill. I don't think our shoeless killer started out that way."

"I'm going to get all this back to the lab. Want me to take the shoes?"

Holding onto the dark, not letting it slip away, he said, "Get with Catherine, take everything back."

There was quiet. A moment of stillness in the air before the voice was back. "Are you staying here? The body's—"

Then he heard it. A drop of water into a bigger body of water. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply and smelt the salt in the air. He'd smelt that scent many times over the years. Mostly, when he was much younger. "Do you remember what 'benihana the maggots' means?"

"Yeah."

Coming up out of the dark void was water. It was rising like the flood tide, inching upwards. "Tell that to Greg when you get to the lab." His voice was so distant from his body that he wasn't sure it was his anymore.

On top of the water, floating, were all the victims. They were lined up one-by-one. Their brown pupils stared upwards. Three cuts in the exact same spot on their necks, shoulder, and chest. Their mouths opened, smiling, exposing their teeth. Tilting his head back, he looked up, trying to see what they saw. There was nothing. All he saw was an empty dark void. As the bodies inched closer with the rising water, it threatened to drown him. That's when he realized that the water wasn't flooding upwards.

He was sinking downwards.

Down into the salt water with the bodies of the victims. Water rushed past his head, and everything went silent. His mother had told him once that if he wanted to know what being deaf was like, to stick his head under water. Floating in the water, he tilted his head back and looked up.

Above him were the silhouette of the bodies floating on top of the water, and above them was a white light. It felt inevitable, disarming. He wanted to embrace it. Giving into the water, he felt his weightless body float up to the top of the water. Breaking through the surface, he gasped for air as he stared up into the white light; mesmerized.

Then the light slowly turned red as horns twisted out both sides. Floating on the air was a distorted voice: "Show me that beautiful smile."

He felt himself choking. Opening his eyes, he coughed out like he'd been drowning and needed to expel water from his lungs. His breath hitched, catching in his chest a few times before he came back to himself. He blinked a few times and realized that the light was the sun. It was breaking over trees in the park.

Kevin stepped in front of him, blocking the sun, and asked, "How's he choosing them?"

Lifting his eyes off the ground that had been soaked with Brandi Power's blood, he answered, "Their smile."

Kevin had been extremely quiet, letting him think, as he patiently waited. "You sure?"

As sure as he's ever been. "Occam's razor says that the simplest answer is often the correct one. Detectives have been using it for years. If you think the husband did it, most likely, he did. It's that easy."

"They all have a diastema. It's rare, so for it to be a key feature in all the victims then it has to be the reason he's choosing them."

"Exactly."

Kevin didn't take his eyes off him as he asked, "Breakfast?"

He shook his head. "I have to get evidence back to the lab."

"You sent it all away with Warrick." That's right, he had. "Processing takes time. C'mon, I'm buying."

He was hungry. It had taken hours to process the scene. It was only daybreak, but he already felt the heat. They'd gotten the white car towed back to the lab. David had taken the three victims hours ago. And the blood trail stopped before the I-15 overpass. He'd told Warrick once that if he was looking at the clock then he wasn't looking at the evidence, but he couldn't help but feel the presence of time ticking by as he walked to the SUV and got in.

Warrick was due in court. Catherine was probably already home by now. Nick had the night off due to being in court yesterday and again today. Greg had called and told him that he had all the insect evidence from Amanda Henley's crime scene properly stored and ready for him to chart. He also had sent soil samples through to trace.

Everything was being taken care of by everyone else on the case. He was becoming obsolete. As he drove behind Kevin's car, he realized in more ways than one. Greg wasn't his only protégé, so was his son.

With the two of them working together, they'd reached the same conclusion very quickly about their killers. They hadn't been fooled by the inconsistencies. Noone who did this job would have been fooled by the inconsistencies. That could mean that it hadn't been planned that way, only that it ended up that way.

Had the man who killed the car victims been a partner? Or, did he just happen to be in the park at the time of Brandi Powers' murder? He could have very well been a witness who panicked and ended up committing murder due to his panic.

They arrived at the diner that he'd normally frequented with his team. His team wasn't there at the moment as it was only him and Kevin. Getting to the door first, he held it for a young couple who were exiting, then he waited for Kevin to walk in first.

The diner wasn't very busy that morning. There were only two tables occupied. One by a single man and the other a woman and a teenage girl. The single man wore clothes much like himself. Polo knit shirt and khaki pants; glasses pushed up on his nose. He reeked of complacency, sweat, and a school cafeteria. He worked in a school but wasn't a teacher. Guidance counselor, maybe, or administrative staff.

The mother and daughter were having a heated discussion. The mom didn't wear a wedding ring. Single mother. On the daughter's wrist was a blue stamp, her arms had bruises, and so did her legs. She'd been to a rave, did drugs, got knocked around and that was why she wasn't in school today.

Two men sat side-by-side at the counter and as he walked by them, he smelt one brand of aftershave along with diesel fuel. One had a knife clipped to his belt, a stud in his left ear while the other wore a ring on his left pinkie finger.

Out in the parking lot he spotted a minivan with a high school parking pass. The single man's car. The mother's vehicle, the Volkswagen beetle. And parked across four spots was an extended cab semi-truck without a trailer. One of the men at the counter was a truck driver. The man who sat beside him was his partner.

Sitting down in a booth, he let Kevin sit on the side that faced the door. He'd also been noticing that Kevin had been eyeing the exits. He sat across from him and waited for Jen to approach the table.

Jen wore no wedding ring and on her black pants was calico cat hair. She took one look at him and said, "Hey, Gil, welcome back. I've already put in your order, and give Harry a couple minutes with the coffee, okay? He's brewing a new pot."

Kevin laughed and said, "Wow. You got them trained, dontcha?"

"They're not trained. I'm just a creature of habit like everyone else."

"It's that habit that'll get ya killed. You gotta be a hard target, not a soft one."

As Kevin spoke those words, he saw an odd look cross Jen's face. She was amused. "This is my son. Kevin."

Kevin smiled up at Jen and he saw something spark behind his blue eyes. Glancing up at Jen, he noticed the same look as she blushed crimson red. "Coffee, orange juice, and uh, got any house specials?" he asked with a soft smile.

Gil nearly rolled his eyes. As Jen went over the specials, he closed his eyes and let out a breath then took a deep breath in. Under all the bacon grease and coffee, he smelt her. Peanut butter…A child. She was attracted to Kevin. Kevin was attracted to her. Pheromones. They wanted sex.

He heard a drop of water hit the floor. Opening his eyes, he watched as, out from under the booth, water started to spread across the black-and-white tile floor. A growl filled his chest as he saw the dog. It bent down on its front legs, staring at the water, as it growled.

Another drop of water splashed on the floor and then the ticking of a clock. There was a clock on the wall directly above where Jen was pouring orange juice into two glasses. It ticked and ticked as he felt time standing still. His head was anything but still. It swung like a pendulum, and he didn't try to stop it.

Then he heard his voice through the ticking, in the fog of his mind, as he said, "You remember being out on the ocean in the middle of the night? How terrifying that was. You're at the mercy of its will. The deep, dark depths of the ocean, it, uh, has its own nature. It seems to be alive, like…you can have a conversation with it. And you're out there…alone. No one else was around for miles with no land in sight. You're completely vulnerable and if anything happens, no one can save you. It's just you and the water. Scoop it up in your hand and it flows through your fingers like sand through an hourglass."

"Hope, Will, is like water. You need it to survive just as your body needs water to survive." Molly's words entered his head as he saw her kneeling before him, beyond her eyes, her tears and smile, was the window that looked out at the tree where the shrike sat perched on the limb. "You can't lose your hope."

Kevin's voice entered his head as he asked, "Are you still with me?"

"I want to drown them from the inside out." The words were out of his mouth before he'd realized that he had spoken.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he saw Kevin watching him. In front of him was a cup of coffee, a glass of orange juice, and his plate of food. Picking up the cup, he took a drink of the now lukewarm coffee. Kevin hadn't interrupted him, even when it'd been painfully obvious that he'd drifted off into his head.

Deciding to question him, Kevin asked, "What does that mean? He's not drowning them—"

"Not literally," he said as he took a quick glance around. The mother and daughter were gone, but the two men at the counter remained. Their knees were touching. "Tell me, what'd you notice about those two men at the counter?"

Kevin leaned back in the seat as his eyes averted over his shoulder to observe the two men. "They were here when we arrived. One has a knife."

"What do they drive?"

Kevin took a look around the parking lot. "One of them drives that rig." He returned his attention back to them. "I don't know about the other. Minivan belongs to the guy sitting by the door, with his back to it. That," he said as he pointed to the man with his fork, "is a soft target. Easy pickin's."

"The men at the counter are together."

"How'd you know that? One of them could've walked in off the street."

"First off, no two strangers, especially men, sit that close. Their knees are touching. Secondly, the guy on the right has an earring in his left ear, and only his left. Guy to his left, has a ring on his pinkie. Back in the day, a ring on a man's pinkie was a coded sign for being gay." Kevin worked his jaw as he eyed the men again. It wasn't out of anger of who they were, but the fact that he'd missed the clues. "What did you smell when you walked by them?"

"Smell? I smell food and coffee, and you're not eatin' any of it."

"They smelt of the same aftershave, meaning they share it. Jen smelt of a child. She's a single parent. With a calico cat. The man by the door smelt of a school."

"What does a school smell like?"

He didn't answer, instead he said, "Even when I'm off the job, I'm on the job. If I was stalking Jen, and I lost her at her apartment complex, I'd know to look for the apartment with kid toys and a calico cat. She told me everything I needed to find her without ever having to open her mouth."

Kevin sat quiet for a long moment as he looked away. He downed the coffee then poured himself another. "I don't want to take the job home."

"As a profiler, your job is to take everything home with you. To quote Pink Floyd, 'All that you touch, and all that you see, all that you taste, all you feel…'" And all that you love. And all that you hate. "We can also add to that: all you've read and smelt. Everything is relevant until it isn't—"

"And the lunatic is in your head." Kevin shot those Pink Floyd lyrics at him in near anger. He had so much anger. "All that you dream?"

He didn't know why there was suddenly so much anger and resentment between them. It appeared out of thin air much like the dog. There was no reason for it, but there it was. Ignoring it, he continued on, saying, "I tell anyone who wants to be a CSI that, in order to be the best, they need to master everything else. The same can be said about profiling. You're good, son, but this killer is better. In order to catch him, you have to be smarter than he is."

"Let's get back to this drowning. Is that what you saw back there in the park? Is that what you're seeing now?"

~"All you distrust

All you save…"~

He didn't want to tell Kevin what he saw. He didn't want him to know his dreams. They were his and his alone, but they were working together. Kevin also needed to know that he could talk to him, that he could trust him, just as he knew that he could trust Kevin.

Pushing any hesitation aside, he told him, "Water. I drowned myself in water. And when I was there, under that water, I didn't hear anything. It wasn't until I was on top of it that I heard a voice. It was the only thing that existed. He was the only thing that existed. Him and the water. He wants them to know only one voice: his. He wants to be everywhere around these women. He is the water. Water is a life source. We all need it."

Understanding filled Kevin's eyes as it filled his head. "He wants to own them."

~"And all that you give

And all that you deal…"~

He wanted to fill them, devour them, as they had filled and devoured him. "He's so obsessed. That obsession will kill them both. The killer, and the object of his obsession."

Kevin asked, "How'd you know she's not already dead?"

He shook his head. "She isn't. These women are substitutes for the real thing. That's why the killings are impersonal and there's no rape or violence. He is very controlled. He's saving himself for her. Once he gets her, all that anger will come out. She will be at his mercy. And he will destroy her."

He didn't say anything after that as he picked up his fork and finally started eating. There was a time to think and a time to let it go. Right then, he had to let it go.

Kevin hadn't said much either. He was still very much angry as they stood outside on the sidewalk. Pulling his keys out of his suit jacket pocket, he told him, "I'm going to their residences. Starting with Samantha Ivers and working my way to Brandi Powers."

Opening his car door, he told Kevin, "I'll be at the lab if you need me."

"I won't." That stubborn defiance was back; stronger than ever.

Detective Nowlins words entered his head as he watched Kevin get into his car and drive away. His son wasn't fine. He was nowhere close to it.

~"And all that you buy

Beg, borrow or steal…"~

Half an later, he was going through the process of following up on all the evidence in the lab. His body felt so heavy. He knew he was exhausted, but there was no time for sleep.

Catherine's office door was shut as he rounded the corner, but he saw Karson Hess, the Day Shift supervisor, whom Catherine shared the office with, sitting behind the desk on the phone. He kept walking as he crossed the hallway to his office and saw a package waiting for him on his desk. It was a copy of the 9-1-1 call. He would have to listen to it later.

~"And all you create

And all you destroy…"~

In the DNA lab, he saw Lee Collins working on DNA evidence. The man had been working at the lab for as long as he could remember. He'd worked Days, Swings, and Nights throughout the years. "Have you processed any of the swabs from my triple homicide?" he asked as he entered the room.

"You don't think Days have their own cases?" Lee asked without looking up from his work.

"As soon as you can, Lee. I don't want to hear Mia complaining—"

"I've been working on this genome sequencing for three days—"

"You have more than one PCR machine—"

"But only two hands."

As he left the lab room, he shot back, "Use your feet."

"Ha!" Lee called back, saying, "I may be ambidextrous, but I'm not prehensile!"

~"And all that you do

And all that you say…"~

Jacqui Franco was working on fingerprints. "Please tell me you got a hit on that hand print."

She didn't look too happy as she leaned back in the chair and said, "Good morning to you too, Gil. Got a cup of coffee for me?"

"No," he said as he leaned against the table next to her and eyed the computer screen. "I thought you retired."

"I'm working on it. Retirement takes time, especially when you want to sell your house first before putting in your walking papers."

"Tough market?"

She stared up at him like he'd lost his mind. "This is Vegas and my place isn't exactly prime real estate."

"Jacqui," he said, a little irritated. "Hand print."

She reached across his arms, grabbed a file folder, and nearly slapped it against his chest. "Next time, bring me coffee."

He took the folder and opened it to reveal a list. Pulling out his glasses, he slipped them on as the blurred names came into view. "There are twenty-five names here. You couldn't narrow it down?"

"I'm offended by that. The partial prints you got brought up twenty-five possible suspects. I painstakingly went through each and every one and couldn't make a positive match, but I couldn't rule them out either."

"Why not?"

She brought up a screen and showed him. Fingerprints were made by the papillary ridges on the ends of the fingers and thumbs and consisted of arches, loops, and whorls. What he saw was a distorted mixture of grooves, swirls, and smooth patches.

"That doesn't look like any fingerprint pattern I'm aware of."

"That's because it's not. In my expert opinion, those are burn marks."

"His fingers are scarred with burns?"

"Yep," she said. "Along with his palm. Possibly his whole hand. I know it's not a fingerprint match—"

He cut her off as he said, "It's a distinguishing feature. This is good. Thanks, Jacqui."

"Next time—"

"Coffee. I got it," he said as he left the fingerprint lab.

~"And all that you eat

And everyone you meet…"~

Henry in toxicology was already gone, seeing how it was well into Day Shift, and instead it was a woman whom he'd never met before. She was a tall Asian lady with blond highlights in her otherwise black hair. Her nails were manicured with purple polish. When she reached out to grab a beaker, a crane tattoo on her left wrist.

"Cranes are one of the most widely known birds that are often associated with Japanese culture. They symbolize longevity, and they mate for life and are also known as chitose dori, or 'thousand year birds'. That's why they're considered lucky and represent good fortune." The woman eyed him as he walked into the toxic lab. "Your tattoo. Did you choose the crane because it was lucky?"

She was smiling as she told him, "I am from Vegas. I need all the luck I can get. But, no, that's not why I got the tattoo." She didn't say anything else about it and he wasn't expecting her to. It sounded personal, and she didn't know him.

"You're the new Day Shift tox expert?"

"Chelsea Young."

"Gil Grissom. Night Shift Supervisor."

She went back to work as she said, "Greg told me you'd be stopping by. He also instructed me to 'benihana the maggots'?" He wanted to explain when she said, "The actual style of food is called teppanyaki, or simply—"

"Hibachi," he finished.

Grabbing a printout off the desk with a post-it note with his name stuck to it, she handed it to him, saying, "Do you want a side of yum-yum sauce to go with that?"

He knew she was only joking, but as he took the printout, couldn't help but say, "I prefer my own, but thanks." She didn't know how to take that as he saw her confusion. "Mayonnaise, ketchup, vinegar, garlic, sugar, paprika and water to thin out the sauce."

Chelsea looked impressed as she said, "You make it yourself?"

"Of course. Do you know how hard it is to find a good bottle of that stuff in Vegas? That's like trying to find an authentic bottle of tzatziki sauce outside of Greece. The best I ever had was in Jacksonville, Florida. The restaurant was owned by a Greek family that imported it. Why import it when I can make it myself? Saves me money. I make all my sauces; even some teas."

~"And all that you slight

And everyone you fight…"~

She watched him leave, passing the "drying room" where their victims' clothes were drying out from all the blood on them. Once the clothes were dry, then they could further analyze them.

Neil Jansen was in the trace lab. "Are there any results from the jacket or shoes that Warrick brought in this morning?"

"I sent swabs to DNA. There was sweat around the collar. Got a few hairs, and sand. There were some stains on it—" He grabbed a sheet and handed it to him. "I think it's hot sauce. Shoes are a worn mess. This guy walked a lot. I'm working on them now."

He read over the analysis sheet as he said, "Greg said he sent soil samples over. Got anything on those yet?"

"Lithium"

"Lithium?"

Neil pulled another printout sheet from a file folder off the top of a filing cabinet. As he handed it over, he said, "High concentrations of it along with mercury."

Reading over the lithium and mercury levels found in the soil under the body of Amanda Henley, he said, "Both mercury and lithium retards plant growth. Lithium increases the alkalinity and salinity of soil. It hardens the ground. We're already in a drought by being in the desert. Mercury destroys the ecosystem. I don't see them being put into the soil naturally, especially along nature trails. Was there anything else?"

Neil shrugged, saying, "Other heavy metals. Some that are found naturally in the body, some that aren't. I sent the samples over to tox to do a more thorough analysis." He turned and looked back down the hallway to Chelsea who was hunched over a microscope. "They, um, they say that when mercury is in retrograde, we become vulnerable to communication breakdowns." That piqued his interest as he lifted his head to stare at the trace tech. "Relationships turn to turmoil and misunderstandings become frequent, as if cosmic static can interfere with our normal communication patterns. You think that's true?"

He thought about that for a moment before gesturing over his shoulder to Chelsea and said, "Today it is." Turning around, he headed back down the hall to toxicology. He interrupted Chelsea as he said, "Neil sent over soil samples from my case?"

"A few hours ago. Why?"

"You didn't tell me that."

"That's because I haven't processed the samples yet," she told him as she never looked up from the microscope. "I have a theory. If you care to hear it."

"Based on what?" he asked a little skeptically.

Chelsea was new, and he didn't know her history working toxicology. However, he did know that she wouldn't be here, at the Las Vegas Crime Lab, if she wasn't any good. They had let many people go over the years for poor performance. Those who were hired on and who stayed, were, in his opinion, the best of the best.

"Experience." She finally looked up from the microscope as she told him, "Heavy metals can be perspired from the body."

"As in detoxing? Diaphoresis—"

"An unusually high level of perspiration—"

"I know that, and given the fact that the body was in the process of decomposing—"

"She hiked, which means she most likely also exercised and dieted. It's not uncommon for people to also detox their bodies using sulfur rich foods, like whey protein and cruciferous foods. If you make your own yum-yum sauce, you should know what they are."

"Broccoli, cauliflower, kale, and cabbage."

She smirked. "Algae superfoods can also help rid the body of heavy metals."

"Can a person have enough heavy metals in their body to poison the soil?" he asked as the idea came to mind. That sounded like an experiment he would have to conduct.

"There is a side effect," she said. "A detox like that can cause headaches, loss of coordination, muscle cramps, and confusion."

"Cite your source?"

She almost looked ashamed before telling him, "I told you, I know from experience. There are limits to obtaining a healthy body. I found that out the hard way."

"Okay. I give you that, but…we only have a trace amount of lithium in the body. There's enough here to harden the ground."

"Lithium?" she said in surprise. "Neil didn't say anything about lithium."

"It's in the report."

"Medication?" she asked.

As he backed away to finally leave the toxicology lab, he said, "You still have to do the toxicology for Amanda Henley, so, you tell me," before he headed down the hallway to Toolmarks and Firearms.

~"And all that is now

And all that is gone…"~

Rich was test firing an AK-47 as he entered the Ballistics section of the lab. "Whoo!" he said as the firing stopped.

He waited as Rich did a safety check on the weapon before placing it down on the workbench. "Gang related?"

"A couple members of the Las Sombras got into a war with the 13th Street Mafia." Pulling off the ear protection, he said, "What can I do for you, bug guy?"

"Did Warrick bring you a box cutter?"

"Yeah. He said he'll analyze the knife wounds himself—"

"He has court today. I want to know before Night Shift starts if it's a match. This case takes priority—"

"Tell that to A.D. Ecklie. I'm to process all evidence as received. No more riddles to choose which gets priority. Your box cutter is at the end of the line."

He turned and left Ballistics as he headed towards the break room. On the opposite side of it was Conrad Ecklies office. It was empty. Checking the calendar on Ecklie's desk, he saw that the A.D. was in a meeting with both the Lab Director and Sheriff. He hadn't been invited, per usual.

Going back to the break room, he poured himself a cup of coffee, didn't say a word to the Day Shift CSI's, and headed to layout room 5 where Catherine had the photographs of the blood trail pinned up around the room.

~"And all that's to come…"~

There was a post-it note on the door: Gil, if you're reading this and it's past noon but before 7 p.m., do yourself a favor—GO HOME!

He balled up the note and tossed it into the trash as he entered the room and shut the door. He didn't have time to go home. Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock on this was still going. Their disorganized killer was on the run. Before he could even start mapping a geographical location, finding possible places the killer could have lived or worked, there was a knock on the door.

Sighing heavily, he called out, "I'm busy."

The door opened and Undersheriff Jeffrey McKeen walked in. Number One reason why he didn't like working days; too many politicians were awake and hovering. "Grissom—"

Without taking his eyes off the photographs, he said, "If you want an update on the case, talk to FBI Agent Collins—"

"You're the supervisor—"

"But the FBI's running point. I'm running evidence." McKeen leaned on the door, crossed his arms, and waited. Pushing off the table, he realized he had no choice. "What does the press want to know?" That was the only reason for McKeen being there. The press was hounding them for a statement.

McKeen glanced around at the photo evidence as he said, "The last time I remember anything like this happening was 1977. Son of Sam. Once we put it out there that this killer is targeting women with a specific hair and eye color—"

"You think you'll start a panic for cosmetologist?" he asked in confusion. McKeen wasn't amused. "In 1977, hundreds of young women cut their hair short and dyed it blond because they believed that David Berkowitz was targeting women with long, brown hair. A belief perpetuated by the media coverage. Berkowitz later stated that he was only following orders from Harvey, a demon dog that belonged to his neighbor Sam. We don't know why this guy is targeting these women. Yes, first blush is saying it could be their looks. But women have been dying their hair for years. Color contacts exist. Either way, I don't think it'd do any good. The only distinguishing feature that can't be altered are their teeth. So, unless they can all afford dental surgery to correct their diastema, but given the state of our country's dental insurance premiums and out of pocket costs—"

"Grissom—"

"We don't release that information to the press."

McKeen was eying him as he pushed off the door. He didn't like that. "We have to inform the public of the immediate danger—"

"I agree, but we don't need to put his signature all over the news. All you have to tell them is that we're working on it and we're following leads."

McKeen leaned on the table and eyed him, asking, "What's this I hear about two suspects? How can you be certain it's not one guy?"

"I don't know if it is two or not, but I do know that there are two different personalities at play here. One organized, controlled, and a cold-blooded killer, and the other disorganized, panicked, and possibly paranoid. Right now, if you really need to put out a statement, then ask for help. Say we have a person of interest, or a witness, who might have seen something. A homeless man near City View Park. Suspects, or family members of suspects, are more willing to come forward if they think they're helping to solve a crime and not being accused of committing one."

"And you think this killer is hiding out in his parents' basement?"

"He could be. J.R.R. Tolkien wrote 'A hunted man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship.' That's why fugitives on the run often get caught. They seek out help, in any way they can. They'll eventually turn to someone they know, or to a complete stranger, out of the weariness of being hunted and alone."

"So, if we find a relative or a friend of the killer—"

"We might find him," he said, cutting him off. "Serial killers also like to involve themselves in the investigation. He'll be watching the news," he said as he returned his attention back to the photographs spread out over the table. "Now, if you'd excuse me, I have to find a possible location where this guy either worked or lived, or both."

McKeen glanced at the photos as he asked, "You can do that just by looking at pictures?"

~"And everything under the sun is in tune…"~

He almost laughed, saying, "You'd be surprised what I can learn by simply looking at pictures."

As McKeen left the room, he laid out a map of the city over the table, grabbed a compass and pencil, and drew a circle of a mile radius around the crime scene. Somewhere in that circle was the killer of Ashley Lang and Daniel Vetrini.

~"But the sun is eclipsed by the moon."~

Detective Robert Kane was waiting for him as he exited the detective's car. It was one in the afternoon, and he'd been called out to an apartment on Sun Avenue.

"Hey, Nowlins. Where ya at?"

He used the side mirror of the car to see himself as he tied his tie while answering, "Oh, you know, here and there." Once done with the tie, he walked over to shake the man's hand. "Thanks for calling me."

"I almost didn't. I know you're pulling a triple."

"Don't worry about it," Nowlins said as they started across the parking lot. He could've let Kane or Evans do the grunt work while he slept, but he wouldn't be able to sleep until this case was over.

And that was the thing about being a detective; you didn't work shifts, you worked cases. It didn't matter whether it was day or night, once you caught one, you had it until it was either solved or kicked to the back of the line. The worst that could happen was that it'd go unsolved for so long that it went into the cold case files, and while it sat, the killer escaped justice.

The sun was beating down on the beige and brown building that housed four separate apartments. Two on each floor. "Why'd you think this is connected?" he asked as he saw a man standing out of the walkway on the second floor.

Kane gestured towards the I-15 overpass in the distance. "Proximity to the crime scene. City View Park's about a thirty minute walk from here. Gas station about twenty. Also, the property manager seems to think so. He's the one who called us. Says his tenant is missing and he might be our witness. Name's Luther. Malcolm Luther."

Walking up the steps, he saw the freeway a little better. He stood on the second-floor walkway and heard the rush of the cars going by. Extending his hand out to the property manager, he said, "Mr. Luther, I'm Detective Nowlins with Homicide. You called about your tenant?"

Luther shook his hand as he said, "That's right. I seen on the news about that murder down by the park and that you're lookin' for a witness. I thought it strange that my tenant left his front door wide open last night, and he kinda looks like the guy."

"How so? We didn't release a physical description."

"He's untamed-like. Scruffy beard, hair all a mess, long, not like a woman, but it's not a crew cut, either. It's uh…untamed. He needs a haircut. And he's unusual."

"Can you be more specific? Does he mess with people—"

"No, he's a quiet guy, keeps mostly to himself. Just…unusual. He likes to take walks. Always out all night."

He glanced at Kane before asking, "Do you always keep tabs on your tenants' whereabouts?"

"No, it's not like that," Luther said, annoyed. "I've noticed him walking around. I have insomnia. Up all night. I also smoke. My ol' lady doesn't like it when I smoke in the house, so I stand outside, and people watch."

"Does he ever smoke with you?" he asked as he pulled out his notepad and started to take notes. "And what's his name?"

"We've shared a few. His name's, uh, Nathan. Nathan Cole."

He gave a nod as he asked, "Any specific brand he smokes?"

Luther pulled out his own pack of cigarettes as he tapped one out and thought about it. "Newports." He stuck one in his mouth and lit it up.

"And you said that he went missing last night?"

"Yeah," he said as he blew out a lungful of smoke. "I saw him. He took off running out of the place, like it was on fire. Left the door wide open. I ran up to see what was going on. There was nothin'. He just left."

"About what time was that?"

Luther thought about it with a puff of smoke and said, "I don't know, it was late."

"If you could take a guess…Ballpark it. Doesn't have to be exact."

"I'd say, uh, ten, eleven o'clock. The nightly news was on the TV."

"The TV was on in his apartment?"

"Yeah, that's what I said."

As he wrote all that down, he asked, "He got a girlfriend?"

"None that I know of."

"Never seen him with any girls, going in or out?"

Luther shook his head. "Nope. He was a quiet guy, like I said. Most of these guys around here got ladies that come around. He'd look but didn't touch. Kept on going, minding his own."

"Ladies? Hookers, that sorta thing?"

"Some, yeah—This about those dead girls, right? I never seen any of them around here, if that's what you're askin'."

"Alright, but I am going to show their picture around to be certain. Someone might have known one of them, seeing how they weren't too far from here."

"You won't get any complaints from me, Detective—"

"I'm also going to need everything you have on Nathan Cole. All the paperwork he submitted to rent this place. If he just up and left, he might not be back. We need to find him. I'm assuming he had references?"

Luther shrugged. "I don't know. I'll, uh…I can't remember. Not everyone who rents has a family. He never talked like he had one."

"Did you go inside the apartment? Touch anything?"

"Yeah. I checked around, uh…Once I saw everything was okay, I left."

"Shut the door behind you? Turn off the lights?"

"I didn't want anyone to rob the place."

"Alright." He pulled his card from his pocket and handed it to him. "In case you remember something else later on. Right now, I just need that paperwork. Thanks," Nowlins said before entering the apartment.

Pulling his cell phone, he dialed a number as he glanced around the living room. The television and all the lights were off, but there was food, wrappers, and empty beer bottles on the counter in the kitchen that he could see from the entryway. A towel had been thrown over the single couch in the middle of the living room. Luther had touched the TV, light switches, and doorknobs. He hoped he hadn't helped himself to some food and a shower as well.

After several rings, Grissom answered, "Detective?"

"We found a viable suspect. Nathan Cole. You want to take it or should I call someone else—"

"I'll take it. Is it a residence or where he works?"

"Residence. The address is—"

"Don't tell me, let me guess, you're at an apartment complex east of I-15, a little over a mile from the park where Brandi Powers was killed."

"That's a neat little magic trick. How'd you figure that one out?"

"Our killer told me. I'll be there as soon as I can," he said before hanging up.

Nowlins stepped back out and called down to Kane who was standing down on the sidewalk, under an African Sumac tree, trying to get some shade from the sun. "CSI's on the way. I'll take it from here."

Kane threw up a peace sign before walking towards his car. "I'm out."

He watched as the detective left and then waited, while he waited Luther brought him all the paperwork he had on Nathan Cole.

TBC…

Disclaimer song mentioned/used: "Brain Damage/Eclipse" by Pink Floyd