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.   My deep apologies for the delay in posting this chapter.  It's been a long time since a story has kicked my tail this hard, and while that's not much of an excuse for missing my posting dates, the muse is just like that sometimes.  Argh.  Anyway, I am not setting a posting date for the next chapter either, but hopefully it won't be too long.  Thanks for your patience and encouragement, and for trusting me.        ********* The Sheriff sighed, displaying apology and brisk control with the ease of a born politician.  “Hannah West is under psychiatric observation,” he told Sara and Grissom, laying his hands flat on his desk.  He was trying to look both authoritative and genial, Sara thought, and wasn’t quite succeeding at either.    Burdick’s secretary had called the evening before, when they were still sitting on the couch, to request an interview the next morning.  Sara had agreed more readily than she otherwise might; she wanted answers.    Chief among them--but Grissom asked it first.  “Ben, just how on earth did she get a gun into the station?”    His tone was polite, but Burdick all but flinched, and Sara didn’t blame him.  She could hear the fury behind Grissom’s words and she knew the Sheriff could too.    Burdick grimaced.  “She went down through the employee garage and told the guard that she was meeting her mother inside.  She had a fake visitor’s badge she’d picked up somewhere and he never even bothered to search her bag.”    Sara could just picture it--wide-eyed Hannah projecting innocence, pretending to be younger than she actually was.  It wouldn’t have been difficult; Hannah might have grown but her body hadn’t done much developing yet.    Grissom inhaled, but the Sheriff held up one hand.  “He’s been busted back to Traffic, and it’s going on his permanent file.”    Sara snorted to herself.  I can’t blame him for getting fooled.  She did it to me twice.    ...Three times.    Burdick shook his head.  “I can’t figure out why she brought it with her, though.  There’s no way she could know you were here, Ms. Sidle.”    I wouldn’t be too sure about that.  But Sara was inclined to think that Hannah hadn’t known.  “I think she was probably already going over the edge.  Coming in here voluntarily--”    “It makes a certain twisted sense,” Grissom interjected thoughtfully.  “So far she’d managed to successfully bluff her way out of two separate murder investigations.  Into and out of, when it comes to the first one.  She probably figured she could bluff her way through a third.”    Burdick’s nod was rueful.  “She might have succeeded, if we hadn’t turned up her crucifixes.”    Sara sat up.  “You found her workshop?”    “Yeah.”  The Sheriff grinned a little.  “Seems that she’d been using her parents’ storage unit as a place to put them together--the rent was paid automatically and she just let it keep going after they died.  Ecklie’s team almost missed it, but CSI Lake finally turned up the supplies in an old tackle box.  Chains, beads, crosses...tools and some liquid diphenhydramine.”    Sara shuddered.  “No pillow?”    “Not that they could find.  She may have gotten rid of it.”    “With me under arrest, Hannah would have had no further need for it,” Grissom noted dryly, and Sara shuddered again, reaching out to take his hand.  His fingers closed warmly on hers, always reassuring.    Burdick shrugged.  “Well, she hasn’t been interrogated yet, but even if she doesn’t cooperate there’s enough evidence for a very strong case against her.”  He folded his hands together, pursing his lips judicially.  “Dr. Grissom, you can consider yourself on administrative leave--paid, that goes without saying--for the moment, until we get the charges straightened out.  I’m really not sure how this is going to play out, but I’m reasonably certain we can reinstate you quietly.”      His oily smoothness turned Sara’s stomach.  He was ready to just let Gil hang, and now he’s acting like it’s a favor to take him back.    Grissom’s face did not show his feelings, but she felt his pulse speed up slightly.  He’s pissed.  A touch of dark humor narrowed her eyes.  So’m I.    The Sheriff turned to her.  “Ms. Sidle, as for--“    She held up one hand.  “I’d like to continue my leave for a day or so.”    Burdick inhaled, startled, but immediately turned it into a smile.  “Of course.  I’m sure the two of you need a little time.”          “I almost reached over and smacked the smarm off his face,” Sara muttered as they left the police station.  Next to her, Grissom laughed, a sour note.    “I think it’s a little more than skin deep.  Let’s go home.”    Grissom had parked out front, and they both squinted as they emerged from the station, fumbling for their sunglasses.  Sara, preoccupied with her irritation, missed what Grissom saw until his steps slowed and made her look up.    Catherine was leaning against his Mercedes, her eyes shielded by her own glasses and her face impassive.  Her arms were crossed and her posture tight, and Sara knew she was still angry.    But as they neared, Catherine pushed away from the car and stepped forward to wrap Grissom in a fierce hug.  After a second’s hesitation, Grissom returned the hug, and Sara edged away to give them space.    Cath may be a pain in the ass, but she does care about Gil.  She waited patiently, knowing that the two of them had a history that went back further than her own with Grissom, and that it mattered to him though he rarely even mentioned it.    Finally Catherine let Grissom go, asking him something in a voice so low that Sara couldn’t make out her words.  Grissom nodded; Catherine said something else, and he patted her arm awkwardly.  “It’s okay.”    Catherine glared up at him, then grimaced, conceding, and visibly drew herself up before turning to Sara.  “I understand why you did it, but I’m still pissed at you,” she said flatly.    Sara regarded her, and nodded.  “I would be too, under the circumstances.”    It was true; Catherine’s loyalty went beyond rationality, and Sara appreciated it for Grissom’s sake.  It didn’t make dealing with Catherine any easier, but it was good to know that Grissom still had the older woman’s friendship.    Catherine’s brows went up, and then she nodded back.  “Okay then,” she said, and turned back to Grissom.  “I’ll call you,” she said, in a tone that was almost threatening, then stalked away.    Grissom watched her climb into her car, and let out a sound that was half a quiet laugh.  “She never ceases to amaze me,” he said fondly.    Sara felt a grin stretching her face for what seemed like the first time in far too long.  “Me either,” she said dryly, smirking at his mock-admonishing look.  “Come on, let’s go home.”    Grissom spent the afternoon fielding phone calls from friends relieved to hear that he’d been released, and with the exquisite understanding he could display on occasion, he also handled the ones from friends calling to check up on Sara.  Hannah’s meltdown had made the news online if not yet on TV, and both facts and rumor were flying among the law enforcement community.  Sara knew the calls were something of a burden to him, but she took the coward’s way out and let him do it; she just couldn’t face dealing with even the honest concern of Nick, for instance, or Greg’s horrified questions.    Instead, she did little chores around the house, never going out of the range of Grissom’s patient replies to whoever was on the other end of the line.  Her heart, starved for his presence, kept her close by, and every so often he would look up from his conversations or the newspaper he was reading between calls, and smile at her.  Occasionally he would hold out a hand, and Sara would come over to take it for a moment, long enough to reassure them both.    This is going to be a long time healing.    “What was it like?” she asked him later, again in the dark as they lay close together in bed.  It seemed the thing to do, somehow, as though what had happened was too awful for daylight.    She felt Grissom shrug.  “Pretty boring, actually,” he said easily.  “They let me have a newspaper but no pen, so I couldn’t do the crossword.”  His lips ghosted across her hair for a moment.  “Your visits were the highlight of my day.”    Sara traced the line of his breastbone with one finger, a path she knew by heart.  “Who hurt you, Gil?”    He sighed.  “A guard.”  Her mind immediately began running over the faces of those she knew worked in the jail, and Grissom gave her a gentle shake.  “I’m not going to tell you who, Sara.  I’ll tell Jim when I see him next, but he’s the only one who needs to know.”    Sara thought about arguing--her rage at the unknown tormentor still burned hot--but she knew that firm tone, and she could see his unspoken point.  We both have to work with the police.  Bringing an accusation like that out in the open--  It would destroy a great deal of the trust that the law enforcement community depended upon.  Some would not believe Grissom, while others would be outraged at everyone even remotely involved.    “As long as he does something about it,” she said at last.  “Make him promise, Gil.”    He chuckled softly.  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem, sweetheart.”    They were silent for a while, but Sara finally nerved herself up to ask the question whose answer she most feared.  “Gil...”    He hummed inquiringly, and Sara swallowed.  “Were you mad at me?”    Grissom moved slightly, and Sara pictured him looking down at her head where it lay on his shoulder.  “Sara...”    She laid her palm flat on his chest.  “I need to know.”    There was a rustle as he laid his head back down on the pillow, and his thumb stroked down her arm.  “Yeah, I was,” he said finally.  “For about thirty seconds.  And...hurt.”    Sara winced, regret a sick roil in her gut.  I couldn’t have done anything else, but--    Grissom’s arm tightened again.  “And then I realized how much it was killing you to go forward with the evidence, and all I wanted to do was comfort you.”  He let out a long breath.  “You did the right thing, Sara, you followed the evidence.  Being hurt--that was natural, but it didn’t last.”    Her throat ached.  Sara squeezed her eyes shut tightly.  “I wish I hadn’t hurt you at all.”    He hugged her tightly.  “I know.”         The e-mail from Greg contained only a URL link and the statement I thought you should hear this.  Sara stared at the one line, which seemed weighted with an ominous meaning.    It’s too early to deal with this.    But putting it off seemed cowardly, and she’d been cowardly enough the day before.  She sighed, and the sound apparently attracted Grissom’s attention, because he wandered over to the low table and set a cup of coffee down next to her laptop.  “What is it?”  Sara looked up at him affectionately, drinking in the sight of freshly-woken Grissom--hair rumpled, shirt unbuttoned, feet encased in thoroughly disreputable slippers.  It was so blessedly normal that Sara wanted to pull the entire moment into her arms and hold it forever, wrapped around them both.  “E-mail from Greg.  I think it’s probably not good news.”    Grissom peered down at the screen over his glasses, then shrugged.  “How about breakfast first?”    It felt like a weekend to be making the meal together, companionably bumping hips in the kitchen as Grissom dipped French toast and Sara cut up fruit.  There was nowhere to rush off to, no schedule to meet; they were free to spend the entire day together if they so desired.  And I do.  Such small slices of peace were rare enough, and she had learned new appreciation for them lately.    When breakfast was reduced to smears of syrup on plates in the dishwasher, Sara returned to her waiting laptop and clicked on the link.  Grissom sat down next to her on the couch, sliding his hand along her leg in casual habit as Sara downloaded the audio file to which the link pointed, and opened it.    A couple of clicks and crackles were followed by Vartann’s crisp voice reciting the date.  “This is an interview with Hannah West concerning the charges brought against her by the State of Las Vegas.  These include eight counts of murder and one count of assault with a deadly weapon.  Ms. Watson from Child Protective Services is present on behalf of Miss West.”  A sharper click, as of a recorder being set down.  “All right, Hannah, you have something to say?”    Sara spared a brief distracted thought to wonder how Greg had laid hands on the audio file, given that he wasn’t even involved in the case.  Next to her, Grissom shifted.  “We shouldn’t be listening to this,” he said softly.    Sara hit the pause button and looked over at him.  “Probably not.  But you know Greg.  He has to have sent this for a reason.”    Grissom’s mouth quirked.  “And at some risk,” he admitted.  “All right.”    She restarted the file.  The hiss of dead air was all they heard for a few seconds, and then Hannah laughed lightly, a sound that made Sara’s muscles tighten.    “I thought you already caught the murderer,” she said, as casual as if she were discussing the latest physics theory.  “One of your crime scene investigators snapped.  That’s what the news said, anyway.”    Her tone was assured, a confidence that Sara had heard before when she’d faced Hannah across an interrogation room table.  Sara hoped that Vartann would be able to keep control of the interview; the girl had an uncanny knack of twisting the thread of a conversation the way she wanted it to go.    “No, we kind of like you for these killings,” Vartann said shortly.  “The evidence is saying you murdered those kids.”    Hannah laughed again.  “Does it, Detective Vartann?  Are you sure?”  In her mind’s eye, Sara could picture Hannah mimicking whatever posture Vartann had assumed--probably leaning an elbow on the table.  The girl’s slightly protuberant eyes would be wide with amused interest, fixed on his face to watch for the slightest change in expression.  “What proof do you really have?”    “Enough,” Vartann replied without humor.  “There’s also the matter of your confession yesterday.  Lots of witnesses to that.”    In Sara’s imagination, Hannah shrugged delicately.  “Eyewitnesses are the least reliable, they say.  Who knows what I said under pressure?  I’m not sure I remember myself.”    Grissom snorted, an irritated sound.  Sara slid her hand over his where it lay against her leg, and laced her fingers with his.    “At least five people heard you state that you killed the children to get back at CSI Sidle,” Vartann said.  “That’s a lot of reliable testimony.”    “Law enforcement testimony,” Hannah shot back.  “Sara is a criminalist, one of you.  Can you honestly believe any of you would be impartial?”    The question was, unfortunately, somewhat valid.  “She should have gone into law instead of chemistry,” Sara murmured.  She didn’t like Hannah’s use of her first name, but there was nothing she could do about that.    “You want to bet your freedom on that?” Vartann was saying.  “We have you on video pulling a gun on CSI Sidle.”    “I was in fear for my life,” Hannah said coldly.  “She was threatening me.”    “What?”  Sara sat up straight.  Grissom frowned.    “Really.”  Vartann’s tone was the epitome of bored disbelief.    “Yes.  I only got the gun because I wanted to protect myself,” Hannah said virtuously.  “Sara’s been stalking me for weeks now.”    Sara thumped her finger down on the mousepad to pause the recording.  “Bullshit!”    “Clever,” Grissom observed, his eyes gone cold as he stared at the laptop.  “As an accusation it’s unprovable, but it does lay groundwork for an insanity plea.”  His fingers were squeezing hers harder.    Sara snarled.  “She’s trying to turn this on me?”    Grissom hissed out a breath.  “It’s always been about you, Sara.  Is there any way she could guess that you were investigating her ahead of the official team?”    Fuming, Sara thought for a moment.  “I don’t see how,” she replied.  “I did go to the university library, but unless she happened to see me there...and she’s not even taking classes this semester.”    “Then she has no basis for her accusation.”  Grissom’s eyes were angry, but his criminalist’s professional calm was returning.  “Vartann won’t accept that at face value.”    “He’d better not,” Sara muttered, and tapped the mousepad again.    Vartann’s voice was still dry as dust.  “You don’t say.”    “I do.”  In contrast, Hannah’s was back to honey-sweetness.  “Honestly, Detective, CSIs aren’t perfect.  She still thinks I’m responsible for Kira Dellinger’s suicide somehow, and she thinks that if she follows me around long enough she’ll be able to prove it.”    Either Hannah had come up with her story ahead of time, or she was really good at spinning a tale on the fly, Sara thought, her outrage deepening.  It almost sounded plausible even to her ears.    “Got any proof?” Vartann asked.    Another little laugh.  “Not on me, obviously.  And before you ask why I didn’t inform the police, well, that should be obvious too, shouldn’t it?”     “So why didn’t you leave?” Vartann asked, his voice growing sharper.  “Your family’s gone, there’s nothing to keep you in Vegas.”      “Don’t talk about my family,” Hannah snapped back.  “That Sidle bitch is the reason Marlon’s dead!”  There was a scraping thump, as though she had flung herself back down into her chair.  “I want my lawyer.”    “All right,” Vartann said, and the sound cut off with a rattling click.  The sound file was finished.    Sara met Grissom’s gaze.  “Why the hell couldn’t she just have sued me?” she asked, surprising Grissom into a snort of laughter.    “Not clever enough,” he opined.  “She doesn’t just want revenge on you, she wants to feel superior.”    Sara winced.  “Like screwing with me on the first case wasn’t enough?”    Grissom let her hand go so he could put her laptop on the coffee table and pull her into his arms.  “That was incidental.  You weren’t even the primary on that case, you were just the one person who realized her potential.”    “I guess,” Sara muttered, not entirely convinced, and let herself relax against him.  “Do you think this is going to be a problem?”    “I don’t see how.”  Grissom paused for a moment, thinking.  “If it is, Sara, we’ll manage.”    She sighed.  “I hope so.”    Grissom’s embrace was comforting, but Sara had the uneasy feeling that he wasn’t certain either.  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