Fandom: CSI Rating: PG-13 Pairing: GSR Summary: Another serial killer strikes Las Vegas--but this one has a twist.   Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. All others belong to me, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first.  Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. Spoilers: through "Bull"   Note: this story includes the non-graphic deaths of children.        ********* “The body dump was the same as all the others,” Ronnie said.  “It was out on the edge of town, which is why it took so long to be found.”  She swallowed.  “Something found her before we did; Dr. Nat said it was probably coyotes.”    Sara suppressed a shudder, remembering the snuffles and growls of the leggy predators during her entrapment in the desert.  “But there was a chaplet?”    Ronnie nodded, taking a sip from her soda can.  They were in Greg’s apartment, gathered around his dining room table, cartons of Thai food scattered across its surface.  Sara counted herself fortunate that Greg had not yet pulled his chopsticks-up-the-nose trick; but then, she reflected, maybe Ronnie had already seen it.    Sara hoped so.  Once was plenty.    “It wasn’t in her hand any longer, but it was close by.  And Dr. Nat said she’d be extra careful but not to expect much.”    Not after a week, no.  Technically any new chaplet cases went to Dayshift, but since Dr. Nat had handled most of them, she maintained lead on the bodies at both her insistence and Robbins’.    “All right.  Well, we’re no worse off than before,” Sara said, trying to think positive.  “Greg, did you get a chance to run the prints I gave you?”    “Yeah,” Greg said tiredly.  “I only got two hits.”  He shoved a printout across the table.    She picked up the paper, scanning quickly.  Thomas Riezen, possession in 2003, and...yes.    Hannah West.    “What have they got to do with anything?” he added complainingly.    “What prints?” Ronnie asked, her forehead wrinkling.    Greg snorted.  “I don’t know.  She wouldn’t tell me where she got them.”    Sara placed the paper on the table, smoothing it absently and smiling.  “I pulled them from several forensics books at the WLVU library.”    There was a little silence as Greg processed that, and then his mouth dropped open.  “Hannah West?  That evil little chick framed Grissom?”    “Yeah.  She killed Kira Dellinger but we could never prove it, and when her brother killed himself...”    “She blames you.”  Ronnie looked amazed.  “It was just a theory, Sara, I didn’t really think...!”    Greg snickered.  “Sara’s always been an overachiever.”    Sara ruffled his hair, making him squawk.  “Hey!  Leave the ‘do alone!”    “She fits,” Sara explained to Ronnie, smiling as she watched Greg try to smooth his hair back into place.  “She’s extremely smart, obsessive, and at this point she’s wealthy.”    “Yeah, but how the hell did she get the victims’ medical records?” Greg demanded.    Sara rolled her eyes.  “Greg, she tutors at a university.  I’ll bet there’s at least a dozen hackers right on campus.  They could break her into the lab database while they were at it.”    “And she’s what, thirteen or fourteen?  I’ll bet that’s how she managed to get half those kids,” Ronnie said.  “Nobody would suspect her.”    “Huh,” Greg said, his irritation fading.  “Neither would the kids.  Think about it--parents tell their children to never go with a strange adult, but she’s half kid herself.  It probably never even occurred to them that she might be a threat.”    “Scary,” Sara muttered.    “We still have to prove it,” Greg said.     “How?” Ronnie asked plaintively.  “We haven’t found anything that points to her on the bodies, and now that Dr. Grissom’s in custody she has no reason to kill any more kids.”    “If we could just get a look at her financial records...” Greg began.    “We’d need a warrant,” Sara said.    Ronnie sighed, leaning her elbow on the table and putting her chin in her palm.  “No evidence, no warrant; no warrant, no evidence.”    “The paradox of investigation,” Greg agreed, poking dispiritedly through a carton of noodles.    “We need...something,” Sara murmured, thinking.  “Some reason to justify investigating her.”    Greg put down the carton, turning to Sara with his brows drawing together.  “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of planting evidence!”    Sara blinked, then grinned.  “No, but that’s not a bad idea.”  At Greg’s gape, she snickered.  “I’m joking, relax.”    Ronnie was smiling tiredly.  “Frame the framer?”    “Too easy to get caught,” Sara said regretfully, still smirking a little.    “Not to mention what Grissom’d do to us if he found out,” Greg mumbled.    He was right, Sara thought with a faint touch of regret; ethics aside, Grissom would be furious if he found out they had planted false evidence.  It’s a moot point, though.    She cast her mind back over the murders, arrays of facts arranging and rearranging themselves in her brain like the molecular models she’d used in college.  Attach, detach, turn, attach again...as though, if she did it often enough, some permutation would be exactly the right one.    “The interviews,” she said abruptly.    “What?” Greg asked.  Sara forced her eyes to focus; the other two were staring at her with slightly puzzled hope.    “The interviews,” she repeated, and stood up.  “Greg, where are those printouts?”    Greg bounced to his feet and retrieved the stack.  It was a thick pile--in desperation, the detectives had interviewed anyone they could think of who might have had some connection, any connection, to the kidnappings.    Sara scrabbled hastily through the papers, wanting to confirm what she remembered.  So fragile a clue, and yet--   Joseph Sanchez, the boy whose body had been fumed for fingerprints, had disappeared from a backyard sleepover consisting of twelve small boys.  The yard was fenced, but adult supervision had been sporadic.  The guests had, of course, been gently questioned as to what had happened to Joseph, but none of them had remembered specifics; typical for a crowd of excited seven-year-olds.    Except, Sara had abruptly remembered, there had been one more child at the party--the four-year-old sister of the young host.  As Sara knew, younger sisters were often prone to hanging around the edges of their older brothers’ doings, wanting to be a part of things.  And little Oona Mallory had done just that.    And the interviewer, in obedient precision, had recorded Oona’s statement despite its absurdity.  A beautiful fairy came and took him away.  I saw her.  She said it was a big secret.    Greg stared down at the paper skeptically.  “You can’t be serious.”    Sara pointed at the relevant sentences.  “A beautiful fairy--all Hannah would have to do is tell the kid that she was a fairy, and the four-year-old mind would take care of the rest.”    “Yeah, but Sara, it’s ridiculous!  How do you know she wasn’t just making the whole thing up?”    Sara’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t back down.  “I don’t.  You got a better idea?”    “That’s probably what Hannah was counting on,” Ronnie interjected, then shrugged at Greg’s incredulous look.  “If the little girl is telling the truth, that is.”    Sara tapped the paper.  “It’s a start.”    Greg sighed.  Ronnie pulled the report towards herself, cocking her head to read it.  “Are there any similar interviews?” she asked.    They split the stack into thirds and went through it yet again, looking for hints of Hannah.  It was almost two hours before Greg tossed his share onto the table with an explosive sigh.    “Half a dozen sightings of people who turned out to have alibis.  Nothing that looks like Hannah West.”  He tilted his chair back onto two legs.  “Or Grissom either, for that matter.”    Ronnie was still frowning at her pages.  “I’ve got someone who reported seeing a teenager hanging out around the Yakima day care talking on a cellphone, but there’s no real description.”    “Would Hannah be strong enough to saw through that fence?” Greg asked dubiously.    “Given time, yeah,” Sara said.  She was still holding in reserve the idea that Hannah might have an accomplice, though the longer she thought about it the less likely it seemed.    “You got anything?” Greg asked Sara, faintly challenging.    Sara gave him a grin and held out another report.  “According to Officer Turlough of Moapa, Gavin George’s mother saw him giving directions to a, and I quote, ‘young girl’ just ten minutes before he disappeared.”    He dipped his head, conceding, but his expression was still skeptical.  “That’s not gonna get you a warrant.  It’s not even reasonable doubt.”    “Not by itself,” Sara said slowly.  “But...”    Ronnie regarded her curiously.  “What?”    Sara didn’t answer right away.  She was contemplating what she could add to the feather weight of the interviews that might tip the balance in their favor.  It was a serious, even risky, gamble.    But what the hell.  What else do people do in Vegas?    She blew out a breath.  “Here’s the thing, guys,” she said quietly.  “This--“  She gestured at the papers.  “--is all we’ve got.  There won’t be any more murders, so that means no new evidence.  If we’re going to catch her, it’ll be based on this, and time is not our friend.”  Time, in fact, brought Grissom closer every day to a trial that would not only irrevocably ruin his career, but threaten his very life.     “So what are we going to do?” Greg asked quietly, adding the barest stress to we.    Sara grinned, straight at Ronnie.  “You’re going to interview me.”    Ronnie frowned, and then started to smile, eyes crinkling.  “Nobody did interview you, did they?”     Sara shrugged, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, though not to Greg’s dangerous degree.  “Well, the brass did, but not the way you mean.”    Greg snorted with laughter.  “You mean, here you are the significant other of the main suspect, and no one remembered to bring you in for questioning?”    “We’ve been kind of busy,” Ronnie said defensively, and Sara intervened before Greg could reply.    “Well, you can remedy that this evening.  I’ll even come in voluntarily.”  The plan was firming rapidly in her head.    “We could go now if you’d rather,” Ronnie began, but Sara shook her head.    “It’s really up to the lead detective, and besides, I have something else to do beforehand.”    Greg stared at her, eyes narrow.  “You’re up to something.”    “Yeah.”  Sara bit her lip.  “Yeah, I am.”  She looked at them both, Greg’s amused curiosity, Ronnie’s alertness.  Fatigue was starting to dog the younger woman, Sara noticed; Ronnie was probably working overtime on this case, plus the secret meetings.  Sara resolved to wrap up the ongoing one quickly so Ronnie could at least catch a nap.    “What we’re going to do,” she explained, “is use Grissom’s reputation to create enough doubt that we can get some kind of fishing expedition for Hannah West.  The Natalie Davis case will actually help us there; if it happened once, it can happen again.”    She pushed away thoughts of the pathetic madwoman and waited for her companions’ reactions.    “How?” Greg demanded.  “Don’t you think everyone already considered it before they arrested him?”    “No.”  Sara shook her head.  “They were following the evidence, Greg, just like me.”  She took a deep breath.  “We’ll start with the interview.  And then, if we have to, we’ll go to Dr. Reyes.  If nothing else, she’ll hear us out.”    Ronnie flinched slightly; Sara guessed that she hadn’t expected the revelation of her double dealings to come so soon.  But she didn’t protest.    Greg looked doubtful.  “Is that gonna be enough?  Sara, they’re already convinced he did it.”    “It’ll have to be.”  Sara raised her chin, burying her doubts.  “There’s nothing else we can do.”          That wasn’t strictly true, Sara reflected later, after she’d bid her co-conspirators goodbye and changed her clothes.  She herself could go after Hannah West on her own, assuming she could find the girl, and see what she could find out.          But I want Grissom clear and free without any doubt.  Anything I find out on my own will be inadmissible in court.  She blessed the elimination of the rule that had stated that any LVPD member arrested--whether on charges proven or not--would lose their job automatically.    She drove to the jail thinking over their shaky plan, running scenarios and ramifications through her head.  She would ask Ronnie one more time if the girl was sure about going ahead with it.  When we started this, getting caught was only a maybe.  This’ll be a sure thing.    The big sergeant she had seen before escorted her in again, but his silence was uncomfortable, and Sara couldn’t figure out why.  This time, he guided her to a small and dingy room with two chairs, one on either side of a battered table that was bolted to the floor.  The visiting room.    “Have a seat, ma’am,” the sergeant rumbled.  “The prisoner’ll be in in a minute.”    Sara sat down, trying to compose herself.  She couldn’t tell Grissom what she and Greg and Ronnie were going to do, not when other ears were listening, but she wanted to give him some sense of hope--    The door opened, and Grissom came in, escorted by two officers.  His hands were cuffed in front of him, but Sara barely noticed the restraints.    Grissom’s face was scraped and battered, one eye swollen nearly shut and his lips split.  His posture was slightly hunched, as if it hurt to straighten, and peeking out from the sleeves of the orange jail jumpsuit were bruises that looked an awful lot like defensive wounds.    Horror swept through her.  Sara choked, and kept herself from jumping up, but only barely.  “Gil--“    Grissom’s good eye flashed a warning, and then one officer was pulling out the empty chair for him while the other took up a station near the door.  Grissom sat stiffly, and rested his hands on the tabletop.    Sara reached for them, but the guarding officer shook his head.  “No contact with the prisoner,” he said in a bored tone.  When Sara halted her reach, he stepped back and leaned against the wall behind Grissom, his implication clear.    Grissom’s eye rested on Sara hungrily, but his smile was small and pained.  “Sara.”    Fury and panic were both rising in her.  “Gil, what the hell happened?” she asked tightly, trying to keep her voice low.    His lips twitched, and he winced at the pull.  “I tripped,” he said, his voice so laden with irony that it could have been used as a cell bar.    Outraged, Sara sucked in a breath, but the minute shake of Grissom’s head forestalled her explosion.  She controlled herself with an effort; obviously not all the jail personnel were as sympathetic as the desk sergeant.    “Are you all right?” she managed after a moment, and saw his face relax slightly in relief.    “I’m fine.”  Clearly an exaggeration, but Sara trusted him enough to figure that his injuries were superficial.  “Are you?”    Sara nodded.  “Has Saxena seen you?” she asked, placing a slight emphasis on the third word and knowing that Grissom would understand what she meant.    “Yes,” and Grissom’s small smile returned, this time with an edge of dark humor.  His lawyer knew what had happened, and Sara guessed that Saxena was storing up the abuse as ammunition for later.  “How are things going?”    Sara cocked her head.  “Pretty well,” she allowed, letting a hint of a smile creep onto her own face.  “I’m...keeping busy.”    Grissom nodded.  “Are you back at work yet?”    “No.  I’ve got enough on my plate right now.”  His eyes softened.  “Don’t forget to take care of yourself.”    The surge of love and longing was so strong that Sara almost leaned over the table to kiss him, watchers be damned.  But she didn’t want Grissom to suffer for her insubordination later, or to be banned from visiting him.  “Don’t worry.  Greg’s keeping an eye on me.”    The brow above his good eye arched a fraction.  “I’m glad someone is.”    Normally she would have snorted, but Sara let it go this time.  “Have they set a trial date yet?”    Grissom nodded.  “Three weeks from tomorrow.”    Sara bit her lip against a flood of dismay.  “That’s...quick.”    He shrugged carefully.  “Media pressure, I imagine; this case is an embarrassment to the city.  The sooner they have it over with, the better it will look for them.”    “I know.”  Now was not the time for a rant about politics taking precedence over justice.  Sara wanted to pace, to yell, to grab Grissom and pull him out of the ugly little room and the jail and the whole tangled, stinking mess.    But the only thing she could do was what she was already doing.    “Is there anything I can bring you?  Anything you need?” she asked, at a loss.  The presence of the guards silenced all she wanted to say, but Sara didn’t want to leave him.  How long before he “trips” again?  And what if it’s worse?   “My spare glasses would be nice,” Grissom replied, looking as rueful as his bruised face would allow.  “Mine broke.”    Sara nodded impassively, knowing without his saying so just how they had been broken.  “I’ll get them to you as soon as I can.”    “How’s Harry?” Grissom asked.  Helpless, they chatted for a few minutes about Grissom’s buggy pets, stiffly conscious of the guards listening to every word.  It was impossible to say anything of consequence, let alone loving, but Grissom managed somehow to let her know what he was feeling all the same.  Expert at reading the subtleties of his expression, Sara saw love and worry there--worry for her, not himself.    She briefly considered fingerspelling him her theory concerning Hannah West, but the guard behind him was watching too closely for their hands to go unnoticed.    He would just have to trust that she was working on it.    It was far too soon when the guard at the door stirred, and the one behind Grissom straightened.  “Time’s up.”    He pulled Grissom to his feet, not ungently, and Sara stood too, unable to say all the things that she wanted to--Don’t worry, I miss you, please be all right, I love you.    Grissom cocked his head at her and lifted his bound hands, touching his forefinger to his lips in a quick gesture.  Sara’s vision blurred, and she did the same.  A kiss deferred.    She was suddenly conscious that they might not get a chance to fulfill the silent promise, and anger cleared the mist of tears from her eyes.  Hell no.  That’s not going to happen.    The guard tugged on Grissom’s arm, and he turned away obediently.  Sara stood and watched him go, calm and undefeated despite the chain and the bruises, and felt her determination renewed.    I’m going to clear you, Gil.  That’s a promise too.          The expression on her face cleared the corridor in front of her despite its busyness.  Sara stalked away from the jail wing and towards the main offices of the police department, knowing that her glare was fit to frighten small children and feeling perversely pleased about it.  Fury could be used as a tool.    It was far too early for Brass to be in his office, so Sara stepped into one of the breakrooms--one fortuitously empty of people--and opened her cellphone, punching in the captain’s home number.  The fact that he was most likely sleeping deterred her not at all.    But his voice didn’t sound sleepy when he answered.  “Brass.”    “He’s hurt, Jim.”  She kept her tone low and vicious.  “Someone beat him up.  You said he’d be okay, what the hell happened?”    Brass’ growl was equally angry, but not at her.  “I don’t know for sure, but you can bet I’m in the process of finding out.”    Sara’s hand clenched on the phone.  “Someone slammed his head into a wall, it looks like--“    “I know.”  His voice was tight.  “But he won’t tell me who did it, and nobody else is talking either.  I can’t put ‘em all on report at once, but--“    Sara hissed, her anger expanding to include Grissom even though she knew why he was refusing to name who had attacked him.  She knew it was irrational, that the only way for him to escape retribution was to remain silent, but it didn’t make the situation any easier to deal with.  “Is there anything you can do, someplace you can put him?”    “No.”  The word was flat, and tired.  “Keeping him solo in a cell is a courtesy in and of itself, and hard to do when we’re this busy.  I’ve already read the jail team the riot act, but if he won’t give up his attacker there’s not a lot I can do.”    Only the fact that she knew Brass was as upset as she kept Sara from snapping at him.  “All right.”  She let out a breath.  “But, dammit--“    “It won’t happen again,” Brass promised darkly.  But Sara couldn’t quite believe him; he’d already promised once that nothing would happen.    “It had better not,” she answered, then caught sight of the clock on the breakroom wall and swore.  “Jim, I have to go.”    “Yeah.  I’ll see you soon.  Keep your chin up, huh?”    “I will.”  Sara closed the phone and hurried out into the hall.    Vartann was waiting when Sara reached the interview room, but he shook his head at Sara when she arrived.  “I’m still waiting on Lake, so take your time.”    Sara sat down at the table, watching Vartann fold his long limbs into a chair opposite.  “They’re letting you do the interview?”    He shrugged.  “You’re not a suspect, and I’ve been off the night shift for over a year.  Face it, Sidle, you’ve worked with just about every detective on the force at one time or another.  Impartial ain’t gonna happen.”    He hooked an elbow over the back of his chair, looking affable, and Sara relaxed a little, resting her hands on the table.  She was going to have to be careful; she was too used to being the questioner in such a situation.  The mirrored window was a bit distracting; it was usually more or less out of her line of sight.    Cocking her head the slightest bit, Sara let her eyes widen in inquiry, and Vartann tipped his own head down a fraction.  Yes, there were likely to be watchers behind the glass.  Ecklie, Sara guessed, and perhaps Reyes.    The door opened and Ronnie bustled through, clutching a file and a notepad and looking distinctly distracted, though she slowed and made a visible effort to settle her feathers.  Sara approved, conditionally; Ronnie should have calmed herself before entering, but at least she was trying.  This whole case had to be cruelly hard on the young CSI, and she was coping extremely well, all things concerned.    Ronnie took the chair next to Vartann, and the detective began the interview with the usual reassurances--Sara wasn’t under arrest, she didn’t need counsel unless she wanted it, she was free to leave at any time, and so forth.  It all felt a bit farcical, but Sara kept her spine straight and her attention sharp.  This was the beginning of her plan, and a lot depended on it.    Please be watching, Julia, she thought fervently.  Please.    Vartann went on to ask about Grissom--his habits, his recent behavior and moods, whether he had shown any hint of abnormality.  Sara gave a firm no to each question, hoping that her own reputation as an investigator would counterbalance her emotional involvement.    The detective shifted forward in his seat, a cue that the questioning was about to get more personal.  “Are you sure?  ‘Cause you’re the one who put him where he is now.”    Sara pressed her lips together, glaring; that shot had hurt.  There was no apology in Vartann’s eyes, though; he was doing his job, and doing it thoroughly.    “I followed the evidence,” she said calmly.  “But it’s mostly circumstantial.  If this case weren’t so high-profile, Grissom wouldn’t even have been arraigned yet.”    Vartann’s sneer consigned her argument to the reject pile.  “We have his fingerprints and his hair--that’s a lot more than circumstantial.”    Sara did not allow herself to be drawn into a debate about that hair; it was irrelevant in this context.  Vartann was trying to rattle her, to see if she was concealing anything in an effort to protect Grissom.  “I presented my findings to my superior,” she stated flatly, leaving out all the anguish and doubt.  “But I have seen no evidence in Grissom himself to support the charges.”    “No unexplained absences?  No odd purchases?” Vartann fired back.  “I find it real hard to believe that you didn’t see anything.”    “Believe it,” Sara said firmly.  “Run his financials, hell, run mine.  There’s nothing there.”    Ronnie was scribbling furiously on her notepad, and Vartann tipped his head in the CSI’s direction.  “We will.”    His threatening look didn’t abate, and Sara knew the technique quite well--it was supposed to make even the innocent worry about what might turn up.  But Sara had no fears.    Taking the lead, she sat forward a bit, resting her hands on the table but keeping her spine straight.  “Doctor Grissom has given this lab many years of sterling service,” she said, soft but clear, stressing the title.  “He’s shown no indications of homicidal behavior before.  And if he were to...snap, and...”  Her throat closed up, and Sara swallowed.  “He wouldn’t do it here.  He’s smarter than that.”    Vartann leaned back, bracing one fist on his hip and looking contemptuous.  “You got any better theories, then?”    He obviously didn’t expect any, but Sara lifted her chin and looked him in the eye.  “Yes.  He’s being framed.”    To his credit, the detective didn’t laugh, though his eyes widened.  Ronnie’s hand tightened nervously on her pen, but Sara kept her attention on Vartann, praying that the person or persons behind the glass was listening.    Her statement was ludicrous on the face of things, a theory straight out of classic mystery novels and thriller films, but the phantoms of Natalie Davis and Ernie Dell stood silent proof that such things could happen.  True, Dell had framed himself, but in Sara’s opinion that made her theory that much more credible by contrast.    “By whom?” Vartann finally said, more confused than incredulous, which surprised Sara a little.  She opened her mouth, but before she could answer, the door opened, revealing Dr. Reyes.    “Ms. Sidle, please come with me,” she said in a tone that brooked no protest.    Sara knew that Ronnie and Vartann were exchanging glances of surprise and speculation, but this was just what Sara had been hoping for.  She rose and followed Reyes out.    The swing shift supervisor said nothing as they started down the corridor, not even when Ecklie joined them.  Reyes just kept walking at a pace that reminded Sara of a steamroller in high gear, and people got out of their way in a hurry.    They went straight to Reyes’ office, not Ecklie’s, which Sara found telling, and Reyes didn’t even bother to take a seat, just leaning against her desk and folding her arms.  Ecklie, frowning curiously, braced one hand on a desk corner and set the other on his hip, obviously willing to let Reyes take the lead.    “Why do I get the feeling I’ve been set up?” Reyes asked grimly.    Sara turned her hands palm up.  “Would you have listened to me if I came in privately?”    Reyes hesitated for a long moment.  “I’m...not sure,” she finally said, which was more than Sara expected.    “There you go,” Sara answered, all but holding her breath and hoping, hoping...    Reyes wrinkled up her face into a horrible scowl, then blew out her breath.  “All right then.  Explain.”    Sara did, hoping that Reyes knew enough about the West cases for her theory to make sense.  She managed to leave Ronnie out of it, apologizing silently for stealing credit for the revenge idea, though she did mention that she and Greg had discussed the case.  He might receive a slight reprimand for it, but it wasn’t his case and Sara wasn’t a suspect, so technically it wasn’t against the rules.    Neither Reyes nor Ecklie interrupted as Sara talked; the latter squinted at her as though he didn’t quite believe her, but Sara didn’t let that slow her down.  She mentioned the cobweb connections of Oona Mallory’s account and Mrs. George’s interview, building a gossamer case out of suspicions and possibilities, then added the fingerprints she’d pulled from the books, leaving it delicately unsaid how exactly she’d compared them.    Eventually Sara had to stop herself before she began repeating.  She was used to giving case summaries, but she’d never broken her habit of overtalking when nervous, and it was vital that she remain calm and professional just now.    The silence that fell when she finished could only be described as “pregnant”, and it seemed an eternity to Sara before Ecklie sighed and broke it.  “You know, Sidle, coming from anyone else I would say this is a paranoid fantasy.  You realize of course that as Grissom’s fiancée you have no credibility at all?”    Sara folded her arms, ignoring the compliment hidden in his words.  “That’s why I’m here.”    His nod was grudging, but real.  Next to him, Reyes sighed in turn.  “The phrase ‘can of worms’ barely begins to cover this situation.  We’d be accused of favoritism, and the accusers would be quite correct.”    Sara’s heart sank.  “Then you’re not going to follow it up?”    Reyes turned to look at Ecklie.  “Well?”    He straightened away from the desk, his expression sour.  “I don’t see how we can’t.”    Sara blinked, and her pulse leapt.  Reyes’ smile was rueful.  “The evidence you’ve presented is circumstantial, but so is most of the present case against Grissom.  I don’t think we have a choice either.”    “But we’ll have to be careful,” Ecklie broke in.  “If it gets out that you did the investigation on this--“    He didn’t have to finish.  Such a revelation would seriously damage the reputation of the lab, opening it to accusations of partiality and tampering with evidence.  Sara shook her head.  “You can give credit to anybody you like, as long as you follow up.”    She almost laughed at the expressions flickering across Ecklie’s face--desire bordering on greed, calculation, resignation.    “You or me?” he asked Reyes.    Reyes’ mouth twitched with a hint of humor.  “It had better be you,” she said.  “It’s your shift’s case now.”    Ecklie’s eyes brightened, but he had the grace to keep his pleasure to himself.  “All right.”    Reyes nodded.  “That’s settled.  Sara, thank you for bringing this to our attention.”    Sara knew a dismissal when she heard one.  “Wait a minute, I--“    Reyes shook her head.  “You know you can’t be involved in this any further,” she said firmly.    She was right, but the knowledge galled.  Sara closed her mouth on angry words.  “Yeah.”    Reyes’ face softened.  “I promise, we’ll do all we can.”    Sara shut her eyes, nodded, and wondered if there was any way to let Grissom know.    Or any point.  If this doesn’t work...    “Go home and get some sleep, Sidle,” Ecklie said, his voice only a little dry, and Sara opened her eyes to see him looking at her with sardonic compassion.  “I admit that it’ll be great to have Grissom owe me a favor, but getting him out of jail and back in the lab is more important.”    It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Ecklie could be human.  Sara nodded again.    “If he is innocent,” Ecklie added, then held up a hand at Sara’s glare.  “I know, I know.  But until we get a firm answer one way or the other...”    “Go home, Sara,” Reyes repeated.  “Let us do our jobs.”    Sara let out a breath.  “If you guys need anything--“    “We’ll call,” Reyes assured her, still gentle.    There was nothing else to do but go.  Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3    Chapter 4    Chapter 5    Chapter 6     Chapter 7     Chapter 8     Chapter 9     Chapter 10   Chapter 11     Chapter 12     Chapter 13     Chapter 14     Chapter 15     Chapter 16     Chapter 17     Chapter 18     Epilogue  CSI Home Feedback