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.
*********
“What do you
mean, she wasn’t there?”
Actually, Sara knew exactly what Vartann meant, but her anger was too
hot for her to let his statement slide. The tall detective
shot
her a wary look and shrugged, holding both hands out in a placating
gesture.
“She was out. Her neighbor said Hannah’s
usually out this time of day.”
Grissom slid a hand over Sara’s, gripping it warmly, and
spoke
with the calmness Sara couldn’t find. “By
now
you’ll have to assume she’s in the wind.”
The two of them had returned to the police station for an informal
briefing, after spending their first morning reunited with a leisurely
breakfast and not a lot of conversation. Vartann was
obviously
trying to find the thin line between treating them both as ordinary
victims and as colleagues, and not having much success.
The detective nodded, weariness deepening the lines of his face, and
Sara guessed that he hadn’t been to bed at all.
“Between her financials and the videos from that research
group,
and a friendly judge, we managed to get the warrant, but she just
wasn’t there. I’m sorry.”
“What did her financials reveal?” Grissom asked
with what seemed to be academic interest.
Vartann’s mouth twisted, but he gave in after only a slight
hesitation. “Regular deposits into a Paypal
account.
She made purchases using that from a number of wholesale jewelry
companies online. Apparently she thought we
wouldn’t look
any further than her main accounts.”
Sara nodded slowly, her anger settling down to a slow burn with the
squeeze of Grissom’s fingers. “That
fits.
Hannah’s smart, but she’s not
experienced. She read
up on forensics, but...”
Grissom took up her statement. “Forensic accounting
is a
specialized area of study, and most practitioners start out as
accountants, not criminalists. It probably never even
occurred to
her that the police would look more closely.”
Vartann sighed, relaxing somewhat. “It looks that
way,” he agreed. “The preliminary pass at
her place
didn’t turn up anything immediately suspicious, but odds are
she
has some kind of secondary base of operations. Dayshift is
looking at her papers now.”
Good luck,
Ronnie,
Sara thought. However suspicious the Paypal statements were,
they
were still nowhere near enough to actually arrest Hannah; the police
were looking for her to question her, but without solid physical proof
they could do little more. But Vartann and the others were
also
breaking protocol and going on the assumption that she was
guilty.
“I guess we won’t know until we find
her.” Sara pursed her lips.
Vartann shrugged. “We’re doing what we
can.”
He had no further news for them, and Sara and Grissom said their
goodbyes, emerging into the usual busy corridor of the
station.
Grissom touched her arm to stop her.
“I’d like to stop by Brass’ office and
leave a message for him; do you mind?”
“Nope.” Brass’ den was on the
other side of the
building, and Sara’s knees still ached a little from her
digging
the day before. She pointed at a bench along the
wall.
“I’ll wait for you there.”
“Okay.” Grissom squeezed her hand and set
off, and
Sara took a seat on the bench and set her purse down beside her hip,
her mind returning to the knotty problem of Hannah.
If Dayshift
doesn’t turn something up we’re screwed.
The fact that Grissom could easily be returned to jail was never far
from the surface of her thoughts. The evidence against him
was
circumstantial, true--Sara was convinced that the fingerprints had been
faked--but so was the evidence against Hannah so far, and there was far
more of it piled up against Grissom.
She entertained a brief fantasy of the two of them fleeing the country,
to make a life on some sparsely-populated speck in the ocean on the
other side of the world--one with lots of sun, surf, and
bugs. It
was a vision worth savoring: herself with tanned skin and hair down to
her ass--Grissom loved her hair--and Gil in Hawaiian shirt and holey
shorts, his beard gone scruffy, both of them relaxing in the shade of
some palm fronds while he extolled the virtues of his latest six-legged
discovery. I
know he’s innocent, he knows he’s innocent,
what’s the problem?
But Grissom would never agree to it, she knew that. His faith
in
the system was not absolute, but he would not betray a
career’s
worth of justice by running away from it, however misguided.
The
man would rather sacrifice his life’s work--even his
freedom--to
demonstrate his belief.
Sara sighed, and shifted a little on the hard bench. If they convict him...I
don’t know what I’ll do.
It was a rather startling thought. Sara had often
contemplated
life without Grissom before they had become lovers, but none of those
bleak imaginings had included a relationship begun, let alone cut off
in such a fashion. Even when she had been on sabbatical in
San
Francisco, running her demons to ground, Sara had known she would go
back to Grissom eventually. The only thing separating them
had
been physical distance.
One
thing’s for sure, I wouldn’t be working for the lab
any more. For her, continuing to work for the
system that had failed Grissom would be intolerable.
There was no question of abandoning him, though. If Grissom
were
convicted, Sara knew she would be visiting him as often as possible,
helping him work towards an appeal, doing whatever she could even if
she only saw him through a pane of bulletproof glass.
A familiar voice made her look up, and then stare in
surprise.
Hannah West, dressed in a neatly tailored suit and carrying a large
shoulder bag, was walking down the hallway. I don’t believe
it. She came in on her own?
Sara considered the matter, and remained in her seat, observing as the
girl came closer.
Hannah had grown in the months since Sara had seen her last; she was at
least two inches taller, and her face was beginning to alter towards
maturity. The smug expression on it, however, held more of
the
malicious child. Her bright gaze lit on Sara, and
Hannah’s
eyes narrowed; then her smile widened.
It was weird how much power the thought of the teen had on her, Sara
mused as she watched the girl approach. Hannah had always
struck
her as a bit off, and Sara supposed that was one of the reasons that
she had been so convinced that Hannah had killed Stacy Vollmer.
“Sara! I must admit, I wasn’t expecting
to see you
again. I thought I was done with the police after my lawsuit
was
settled. That was part of the agreement, you know, that I
drop
all charges.”
Sara regarded her. Hannah had grown enough that her head was
slightly above Sara now, but Sara kept her posture relaxed.
“You’re here about the child murders, I take
it.”
Hannah blinked innocently. “Yes, I saw that on the
news. Dr. Grissom really went over the edge, poor crazy
man.” Hannah’s expression did not change,
but it felt
to Sara as though the temperature in the hallway had dropped several
degrees, and conviction gripped her. I’m right.
This is why she did it.
And inspiration sparked. If
I can get her to admit it, publically...
“I’m so sorry for you, Sara, finding out that your
fiancé smothers children,” Hannah added.
“Do
you think it was random, or do you just have a knack for attracting
crazy people?”
Here we go.
Sara
gazed at her and didn’t let her own expression
change.
“I don’t know. Are you crazy?”
Hannah’s eyes flickered, but she scarcely paused.
“Maybe you actually make
them crazy, did you ever think of that? Maybe it’s
your
aura or something. Spend too much time around Sara Sidle, and
you
go slowly nuts.”
As always, the girl’s barbs were diabolically
clever. Sara
knew quite well that her parents’ problems had been in place
long
before her birth, but to the self-doubt that still plagued her it was
almost a plausible theory.
She’s
half my size and
half my age. I survived growing up, I survived a rapist who
wanted to cut my throat, I survived Natalie and the rain and the
desert.
Sara made herself not react, hanging onto her self-control with iron
strength. She
won’t get me this time.
Hannah bubbled gaily on, her sympathy grating.
“That must
have some interesting ethical implications. I mean, to be
honest,
the best thing you could do for anyone you cared about would be leaving
them strictly alone--“
“Hannah,” Sara broke in firmly.
“Grissom’s not crazy. And he’s
not a
murderer. He’s innocent.”
The look Hannah gave her was dripping with pity. “I
suppose
you’d almost have to believe that, wouldn’t
you? Even
though you processed all the evidence yourself.
It’s so
pathetic when love makes a smart woman dumb, you know.”
Sara smiled at her. “What makes you think I
processed all the evidence?”
Hannah went still for an instant, then tossed her head.
“It
was all over the news. You were the lead CSI on the
cases.”
The statement was plausible, and Sara swore internally. No good. Try again.
“True enough,” she said pleasantly, her mind
running at top
speed as she tried to think of a way into Hannah’s mind.
Focus.
What does she want? “It’s
not easy, seeing all those children murdered.”
“So sad,” Hannah agreed. “They
never really got a chance to start their lives.”
Her very eagerness was repellant. Sara wanted to be out of
the PD
and far away from this frightening child, whose eyes shone with
pleasure as she bantered.
She’s
enjoying this.
It made Sara feel sick to her stomach. Was this
Hannah’s version of toying with her victim? Crazy people do make me feel
crazy.
But she kept her attention on her tormenter. Keep talking, Hannah.
The girl leaned forward. “Are you going to go back
to work
at the lab once he’s convicted? I mean, all the
memories,
and will anyone ever trust you again?”
She wants my
destruction. What if she thinks she isn’t getting
it?
“I’m not sure I’d have any reason to stay
in Vegas if Grissom isn’t here,” Sara allowed.
“You mean you wouldn’t visit him?
You’d leave
him to just rot in jail alone?” Hannah sounded
positively
cheerful over the prospect.
Sara tried to remember fourteen, but she’d struggled so hard
to forget...
Think! Teenage girls...hormones...
“I might as well,” Sara said, pretending
carelessness and
surreptitiously sliding her left hand under her purse.
“We’re not engaged any more.”
Hannah’s face froze. “You broke up with
him?”
...Romance.
Even the cynics are romantics underneath.
Sara shrugged, carefully casual, and lied some more, her fingers
working under the purse to slide her engagement ring free.
“Well, I wasn’t about to marry someone
who’s most
likely going to prison for the rest of his life.”
She gave
Hannah a gently superior smile. “You’ll
find out when
you grow up that love doesn’t always make it
worthwhile.”
“But--you--“ Hannah sputtered, her hands fisting.
Gotcha.
“I’d like to prove him innocent, but if I
can’t,
well...I have my own life to live, you know?” The
lies were
easy, and Sara felt a small pang of anguish. She hid it, and
slowly rose to her feet, towering over her
opponent.
“No,” Hannah said lowly. “No, I
don’t believe it. You love
him. You’re lying.”
Sara caught her angry gaze. “Hannah, have I ever
lied to you?”
In the girl’s eyes Sara saw a flare of pain and grief, and
knew
she was remembering the last time they’d spoken, when Sara
had
told Hannah that her brother was dead. Hannah had accused her
of
lying then, but every word had been the truth.
“No. No!”
Hannah was vibrating with fury and anguish. “I did
it right. It was perfect!”
she raged. “I found the children, and I made the
chaplets,
and when nothing happened I put in the evidence to make sure. It was
supposed to destroy
you! You love him,
Sara, why are you still
okay?”
This last was almost a scream, and Sara felt a surge of
triumph.
But Hannah reached into her shoulder bag, and her hand came out with a
small revolver. Her aim on Sara’s midsection was
frighteningly unwavering.
“Gun!”
someone bellowed, starting off a flurry of activity around
them.
But everyone else was yards away, and there was less than two feet
between Sara and Hannah.
Sara held her hands out at her sides, fingers spread wide. She pulled a weapon in the police station--this
is not
good-- “Hannah, please put down the
gun.”
Hannah ignored the request. “You killed
Marlon,” she
said, her voice dropping to a lower volume, which alarmed Sara more
than her screaming. “You have to suffer for
that.”
“You want me to be alone, is that it?” Sara
hazarded,
stalling for time and wondering how long the officers gathering in the
corridor would hold off.
“I want you to lose everything,”
Hannah said viciously. “You don’t have
any family left, so I had to take him
away instead. They were supposed to fire
you!”
Hannah had, Sara decided, a somewhat vague grasp of how the Vegas lab
handled personnel. Though she had to admit that she still
might
lose her job over this.
“You need to put the gun down, Hannah,” Sara
repeated,
trying to sound soothing and wondering whether the girl had ever even
fired the weapon. The
trouble is, at this range, the odds aren’t exactly in my
favor.
“Shut up!” Hannah yelled. She was crying
now, tears
running down her face but her aim still true. “Shut
up!”
Sara looked down at the rigid little figure, wondering how on earth
Hannah had gone from a canny, amoral plotter to this desperate
insanity. It seemed almost absurd.
The last time someone had pulled a gun on Sara, she had been
terrified. Now, however, she felt a strange calm, though her
heartbeat was pounding in her ears. I’ve won,
she realized. No
matter what she does now, she’s confessed.
Grissom’s innocent and all the charges will be dropped.
Hannah’s sobs and the tense rattle of orders further down the
corridor didn’t fade, exactly, but they became
inessential.
Sara met the teary eyes, and knew with a calm certainty that Hannah was
going to shoot. The girl had killed before in cold blood, had
pressed a pillow down on eight small faces until the life had ebbed out
of the young bodies.
Pulling that trigger would be such a small thing.
But before she had even considered forensics as a career, Sara had been
a physicist. She widened her own eyes, checking her
peripheral
vision for targets, but the corridor had been cleared; there were
officers at either end with their guns drawn on Hannah, but all were at
least fifteen yards away.
Good.
Weaponless self-defense was good for many things, as was a certain
ability to take risks. Without breaking Hannah’s
gaze, Sara
reached out with one arm and swept Hannah’s hands upward,
hard. There was a blast of light and sound, and something
exploded behind Sara’s left shoulder, but the gun went
spinning
away, clattering to the floor. Sara grabbed
Hannah’s
wrists, wrapping her own long fingers around them. “Clear!”
Hannah shrieked and twisted, but Sara’s grip was firm, and
she
withstood several sharp kicks before Det. Vartann reached them, two
more officers right behind him. Hannah was pulled from
Sara’s hands and roughly forced to the floor; Sara winced
slightly, but her sympathy was scant. Anyone who pulled a gun
on
a law enforcement official was not going to be treated kindly, fourteen
years old or not.
Her left ear was ringing painfully, and Vartann had to touch her arm to
get her attention. She blinked and switched her gaze to
him. “What?”
“I said, are you okay, Sidle?” His squint
was
worried, and he took her shoulders and turned her to face him,
oblivious of the screeched epithets going on behind his
ankles.
One officer was reading Hannah her rights, which she was ignoring in
favor of hysterics.
Vartann put his fingers to Sara’s jaw to turn her head, then
let
out his breath in a quick sigh. “Missed.
That was a
hell of a chance, Sara.”
She shrugged, her eyes going back to the struggling figure now being
hauled upright. Hannah’s face was crimson, her eyes
still
leaking tears, but all her power was gone. She
was...pathetic,
Sara realized.
Arms went around her in a hard clutch, and Sara turned herself into
Grissom’s embrace. “Sara,
what...” His
voice choked off, and his hug tightened. “Are you
all
right?”
Sara nodded, feeling the adrenaline drain away into a sort of sick
relief. Shudders ran through her, and only his hand on the
back
of her head, pressing it close to his, kept her from embarrassing
herself with tears.
After a few long breaths, she managed to gather control and lift her
head, though Grissom didn’t let her go just yet.
Vartann
was still waiting with polite patience; beyond him, the two officers
holding Hannah began to escort her towards Booking. The girl
twisted her neck to watch Sara as she was forced along.
“I’m not done,” she spat.
“I’m
smarter than you, you’ll see!”
Sara merely watched over Grissom’s shoulder as Hannah was
taken
out of sight. The threat didn’t deserve an answer.
It’s
over, Hannah. You’re done.
The aftermath was tedious, as might be expected; there were statements
to give and assault charges to press. Since Sara
was on
leave, she didn’t have to file an actual report, but as she
grumbled to Grissom in a private moment, writing one out might have
been faster. He just snorted and held her hand tighter.
She might almost have taken him for calm, but for the wrist pulse
running high against her thumb.
When they were finally released, it was late afternoon.
Grissom
took charge and the keys and drove them home, and Sara didn't argue;
her head ached and rang with the aftermath of Hannah's wild shot, and
she felt weak with relief and adrenaline aftermath. She kept
her
eyes closed until they pulled into the garage, shutting out the hard
desert light and the bustle of the streets.
The house was cool and welcoming, and without asking Grissom went
around pulling the shades to dim the sunshine. Sara sat down
on
the couch and kicked off her shoes, a reversal of her usual order, and
tried to absorb the past couple of hours without much effect.
It
was hard to believe that everything had ended so abruptly, that the
threat against Grissom was gone.
His weight settled onto the cushion beside her, and his knuckles
brushed feather-light against her left cheek. "You've got a
bit
of a powder burn," he said quietly.
Even under so gentle a touch, the skin burned slightly. Sara
merely sighed, and leaned into him, feeling his arms go around her and
snug her in close in his familiar, indescribably comforting
habit. Her own hands snuck around his chest; it made such a
nice
pillow.
They sat, breathing together, being together.
They needed nothing more.
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