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.   Again, many thanks to Cincoflex and Laura27md!          ********* The media pack was still lying in wait around the lab’s front doors.  As Sara neared, she settled her jacket on her shoulders, lifted her chin, and picked up her pace.  Fortunately, their attention was focused on the doors themselves, and she was able to get quite close before any of them recognized her.    The instant clamor of questions was all but incomprehensible, and Sara’s momentum carried her right through and in the doors before they could move to hinder her.    The relative quiet of the lab was a relief, but Stephen rising from his seat behind the reception desk put Sara on alert.  “Ms. Sidle, the Under-Sheriff wants to see you.”    Well, she’d known that was coming.  “Right now?”    Stephen nodded.  “In Ecklie’s office.”    Sara sighed.  “Okay, thanks.”    The receptionist sank back into his chair, and as she changed course for the director’s office Sara could hear him speaking into his headset.  “Yes sir, she’s on her way now.”    Under-Sheriff McKeen was waiting for her with Ecklie and Reyes, the latter looking grim and sympathetic, and Ecklie just looking grim.  The under-sheriff’s expression was faintly sorrowful, but Sara knew that the man wore emotions like ties--whatever suited the occasion.  She closed the office door behind her and summoned professionalism, pushing down her turmoil about Grissom.  “Sir?”    McKeen nodded, and gestured at the free chair.  “Yes, CSI Sidle, thank you for stopping by.  Please sit.”  There was no censure in his voice, and Sara noted that the three visitors’ chairs were arranged to make a half-circle in front of Ecklie’s desk, which McKeen had taken over.  Apparently this wasn’t intended to be a tribunal.    At least on the surface.    Sara kept her thoughts to herself and took the proffered seat in the middle, nodding greetings to her superiors.  The under-sheriff folded his hands on the blotter.  “I’ll get straight to the point.  The lab is now under intense scrutiny due to the Pied Piper murders, and--“   On Sara’s right, Reyes stirred.  “Excuse me, the what?”    McKeen didn’t roll his eyes, but Sara got the feeling he wanted to.  “That’s what the press is calling them.  I’m sure you can see why.  We’re just fortunate that they haven’t gotten a hold of the rosary angle, or the name would be even worse.”    Sara forbore to correct his use of the term, and just sighed to herself.  She understood why the media chose names for crimes, but that didn’t make it any less irritating.    The under-sheriff continued.  “Solving this case has just become the lab’s first priority; credibility aside, the media attention is going to make it more difficult to do our jobs.”  He paused, and Sara gave him a few points for the second issue and wondered dryly if he was forgetting the children at risk or just taking his concern as read.    “First of all, I want us all on the same page.  CSI Sidle, can you please give us a rundown on the case so far?”    Sara sat forward a bit, and started with a brief synopsis of each murder, then adding their theories concerning the killer.  “We believe he or she is constructing their own chaplets, and is either manufacturing or commissioning the Saint Nicholas medals,” she concluded.    Ecklie grimaced.  “A partial print, five...chaplets, and a hair that may or may not be cross-contamination, and that’s all you’ve got?”    Sara took firm hold of her temper.  “The evidence points to a police force insider,” she reminded him calmly.    “We’re not suggesting that it has to be someone local,” Reyes added, equally calm.  “For all we know it’s someone retired who ‘forgot’ to turn in their passwords when they quit.  But this is clearly someone who knows a great deal about forensics.”    “Damn it,” the under-sheriff said softly.  “This is just what we don’t need.  CSI Sidle, do you have any suspects at this point in time?”    It was surprisingly easy to lie to him, Sara discovered; she merely looked across the desk and heard her voice reply “No.”    She trusted that the adrenaline surge that followed her answer was not betrayed by a flush.  I didn’t know I was planning to do that.    “All right.”  McKeen fiddled briefly with a pen.  “Here’s what we’re going to do.  Dr. Reyes, do you need any additional staff to help while this case is ongoing?”    Reyes glanced briefly at Sara, then back to the director.  “Unfortunately the murders have not presented enough evidence to take up that much personnel time, but if it becomes, as you say, priority one, I’d like to shift CSI Sidle to it full-time.”  A small smile touched her lips.  “Replacing her efforts really requires two CSIs, but I’ll settle for one.”    Sara bit back a grin at the backhanded compliment.  To her left, Ecklie stirred.    “Much as I’d like to volunteer one of my people, Dayshift is working at caseload limits right now,” he said, and Sara was a little surprised to hear genuine regret in his voice.  “With Choi out on medical leave, we’re one short as it is.”    “It’ll have to be Nightshift, then,” the under-sheriff said, looking resigned.  “I’ll talk to Supervisor Grissom.”    Reyes’ eyes crinkled with amusement.  “Why don’t you just leave him a message and let me do the talking, Jeff?” she suggested.  “I’ll see him before you will anyway.”    McKeen’s answering smile was wry.  “Thanks, Julia, I’d appreciate that.  He’ll take it better coming from you anyway.”  His eyes flicked towards Sara, as if wondering how she would take this implied criticism of her fiancé, but Sara wasn’t upset.    It’s true, after all.  He can be a pain in the ass to administration.    The under-sheriff nodded decisively and tapped the blotter.  “Good.  I’ll set up a press conference--if we hurry, we can get it done in time for the eleven o’clock news.  CSI Sidle, I want daily reports, but keep them brief; I’d rather you focus on catching this killer.”    “Yes, sir,” Sara acknowledged.  He’s actually being halfway reasonable about this.  I’m impressed.    “You have priority one on this case.  I’ll make sure the lab knows it.”  He rose, and the rest of them followed his lead, murmuring goodbyes as they left the office.  Ecklie peeled off with an anemic wave, heading for the exit.    “Conrad wants the credit of a solve,” Reyes said softly, humor lingering in her voice as they started down the hall.   Sara eyed her, surprised at the supervisor’s voicing a criticism of her peer.  “You’d think he’d want to stay clear, given how little we’ve got.”    “Oh, no, my dear, it’s a compliment.”  Reyes’ eyes twinkled as she looked up at Sara.  “He believes you’ll find the killer.”  She chuckled. “He must be pretty annoyed that he can’t offer an investigator to our shift.”    Sara had to smirk a little at that, despite her roiling emotions.  “It’s just as well, given their solve rate.”    Reyes pursed her lips in mock admonishment.  “Do you have any recommendations?” she asked.  “Stokes has worked one of these cases already...”    “Yeah...”  Sara felt a small bubble of panic rising in her chest.  All the guys were excellent investigators.  Even without the data about Grissom’s trips, how long would it take for them to connect the dots?  “Can I think about it?”    “Absolutely.  And keep in mind that Grissom may not be able to spare your first choice,” Reyes said.  It was one of the reasons Sara liked her so much--Reyes never implied that Grissom let his relationship with Sara influence any decision he made as a supervisor.    “I’ll get back to you.”  Sara looked over towards Fingerprints and saw Jacquie just walking into her domain.  “There’s Jacquie, I need to go talk to her.”    “Shoo,” Reyes said amiably.    Sara left her behind and went to rap on the open door to Fingerprints.  “Hey, Jacquie.”    Her quarry looked up.  “Don’t tell me you actually have a print.”    “Okay.”  Sara wrinkled her nose at Jacquie’s eye-roll.  “Actually, I need that list of matches for the partial I gave you the other day.”    “You’re kidding, right?  Two thousand-plus prints?”  Jacquie settled onto her stool, looking incredulous.    Sara spread both hands in a helpless gesture.  “Look, I have nothing with this case.  I’m grasping at straws.  With the list, maybe we can correlate something.”    Jacquie blew out a breath.  “Okay, but I’d hate to be the person signing off on your overtime.”  She reached for her mouse.  “It’ll take a while to print, can I just dump it in your office?”    “No, page me,” Sara instructed.  “Jacquie--thanks.”    “It’s your eyestrain,” the print tech replied, gaze already fixed on the screen.    Sara let her be and retreated to her office, trying to regroup.  She was grasping at straws, sure--but not the ones Jacquie thought.  That list will be almost as good as a solid alibi.  That print had to be left just around time of death.  If--when--Grissom’s prints don’t match, the rest of it won’t look nearly as strong.    She took a deep breath, then another, trying to relax and consider the potential difficulties of having a member of Graveyard on loan to Swing.    Odds are, whoever it is will mostly be working solo.  Reyes was far more likely to make Ronnie Sara’s assistant if necessary and let the more experienced CSI handle the new cases.   But if not...    Greg, she decided finally, reluctantly.  He was very good--I should know, I trained him--but he simply didn’t have the experience that Nick and Warrick shared.  He’s just less likely to make the connection.    Sara propped her arms on her desk and put her head in her hands, feeling vaguely sick again.  It was all wrong, this whole thing, from thinking what Greg might miss to the incredible, impossible idea that Grissom could be the killer.    There must be some explanation for that extra pillowcase.  I just don’t know it yet.    Her head felt like it weighed a ton.  Sara pawed through her desk drawers until she found a bottle of analgesics, dry-swallowed two, and went to see what Ronnie had turned up.        She had pulled out all the chaplets and was comparing them one more time when an intern stopped by to drop off the list from Jacquie.  Sara thanked him and took the printout, pulling up a stool next to the table and sitting even as she scanned the first page.    There were 1864 matches from the criminal database and 165 from non-criminal sources such as work cards and military databases.  Sara read through them all, finding nothing that fit what meager data they had, until she reached the last page.  It was only partially filled; the Compliance list was only ten entries long.    One of which was “Grissom, Gilbert.”    This time she really was sick, though Sara made it to a toilet before losing the scanty contents of her stomach.    Afterwards, she leaned her head back against the chilly steel of the stall divider, staring at the very boring ceiling and aware on some level that she was still clutching the wad of printout.  She swallowed again and again, trying to calm her stomach, her mind racing in chaotic circles.  It was crazy--the whole thing was crazy.  There was no way, absolutely no way that Grissom was capable of such a thing, and yet--    Eventually her insides settled enough, and Sara rose stiffly to her feet to rinse out her mouth at the sink and try to repair the damages.  She was greenly pale, Sara saw in the mirror, but there was no helping that; hopefully the lab’s lighting would help conceal it.    She went back to Layout Three and her evidence, and set the printout down at the end of the row of chaplets, smoothing its pages with absent precision.  There was one question paramount, now.    Do I make this official?    Not yet, she decided finally.  A partial that difficult is subject to error, and there’s a hell of a lot of other names on the list too.  I need to check for alibis, and then I can decide.    It was spurious reasoning, Sara knew, but it was all she could bring herself to do.    And she had absolutely no idea how she was going to face Grissom that night.        As it happened, she didn’t need to.  All of Swing was called out to handle a multiple shooting just off the Strip, and Sara didn’t make it back to the lab until after Graveyard had begun and Grissom had left on his own assignment.  Sara breathed a sigh of uneasy relief, and logged in the shooting evidence to be dealt with during the next shift.    She passed by Dr. Reyes’ office on the way out, and her supervisor looked up from her computer as Sara leaned in through the doorway.  “Mmm?”    “Greg Sanders,” Sara said succinctly.    Reyes peered at Sara over her glasses.  “All right, I’ll see if Grissom can spare him.  Go get some rest, Sara, you look peaky.”    “I’ll try.”  Sara threw her a vague wave and left the building, suddenly wanting the oblivion of sleep with a desperate intensity, and bitterly aware that she wasn’t likely to get it.    She took a long bath when she got home, trying to relax, but even the scent of her favorite bath salts couldn’t chase out the endless, wretched, circling doubt.  Her heart believed that Grissom was innocent; her experience said he was guilty.    And one of the well-learned lessons of Sara’s life had been that experience usually beat the heart’s hopes by an unbridgeable margin.    When the water was cool, Sara dried herself off and slipped into cotton pajamas, wanting both warmth and comfort.  The bed, which Grissom always made, confronted her with its tidy corners and navy spread, and Sara suddenly couldn’t bear to slide between those sheets.    So she pulled back the comforter and stripped them off, replacing them with fresh ones from the linen closet.  It took a major effort to keep from counting the pillowcases again, but she managed it.    The clean sheets were cool and crisp against her skin, smelling of nothing but cotton and a hint of fabric softener.  Sara stared up at the ceiling, arms at her sides, rubbing her toes against the fabric pulled tautly over them, and waited for sleep.        When she woke, Sara knew by the ache in her joints that she had only slept a couple of hours, but she was at least warm.  Grissom’s arm was over her waist, his form solid against her back, and Sara could hear him snuffling in his sleep.    For a long while she didn’t move; she just listened to his breathing, a noise that for some time had been the most comforting sound in the world to her.  In Grissom’s arms she had slept more, it seemed, than at any time previous; part of her thought it silly that the cure should be so simple, but the rest of her was just grateful.    Now she was awake again, her muscles relaxed but her mind in turmoil.  In the quiet bubble of time before her day began, Sara wondered why her suspicions didn’t make her want to push his sleeping body away.    Instead, all she wanted to do was roll over against his chest and have him wake, to feel his hands soothing her as though this nightmare were just a bad dream.  Except…    Sara bit her lip against the prickle of tears, and slid carefully out of bed.    A long, hard run would have been her distraction of choice, but it was too hot.  Sara went instead to the gym, burning a couple of hours in kickboxing and weights; letting her attention narrow to the next sequence of blows, the next set of reps.    Her entire body was trembly when she left the facility, and she was soaked with sweat, but Sara felt hardened, more ready to face Grissom without giving anything away.    He was eating breakfast when she got home, and looked up guiltily when she walked in; the smell of bacon met her nose and she almost laughed.  Grissom still felt bad about eating meat in front of her, even though she’d told him repeatedly that he could do whatever he liked as long as he didn’t ask her to cook it or eat it.    Shaking her head, Sara grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and headed for the stairs.  At the table, Grissom was hastily assembling a sandwich from his toast and egg and bacon--the better to conceal the meat, she supposed.     “I won’t ask for a kiss,” he said as she passed, waving the sandwich and smiling ruefully.    Sara shrugged.  “’M stinky,” she mumbled around a mouthful of apple.    Grissom’s eyes crinkled, and she was abruptly reminded of the day he’d gotten back from Massachusetts, and how her reek had not deterred him in the least; propriety had, but only by a very slight margin.    “I’m glad you’re back,” he called after her as she started up the stairs.  “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”    Sara flinched, and swallowed her bite.  That’s because I am.    She made a vague noise back down at him and headed for the master bath, grateful that this week he was not likely to come in and join her in it.  Her period always made her abdomen tender, and the rest of her less inclined for anything rambunctious.    She made the most of a long, hot shower; she could have stayed longer at the gym by using its bathing facilities, but she knew far too much about what germs were floating around such a place to feel comfortable even taking off her shoes.  The discomfort of driving home sweaty was outweighed by the private, high-pressure, clean shower waiting for her at the end of the trip.    Drying and styling her hair took up more time, and when Sara finally emerged she found Grissom dressed and on the point of leaving.  “Errands,” he explained cheerfully.  “When’s your next night off?  I’d like to coordinate us if I can.”    “Um...I need to check the schedule,” Sara lied.  “Things are getting kind of shifted around.”    Grissom nodded.  “So I heard, and yes, Swing can have Greg for a little while.  He’s delighted with the chance to  work with you again.”    She couldn’t help smiling at that.  Greg was, in his own inimitable way, a friend worth having.    Grissom leaned forward and kissed her briefly.  “I brushed my teeth,” he explained, eyes twinkling.  “I’ll see you tonight?”    Sara opened her mouth to agree, and then felt ice sliding up her spine.    What if there’s another murder tonight?    “I’ll go with you,” she said brightly.  “You could use some company, right?”    He blinked, looking taken aback.  “Well, sure...but honey, I’m just going to pick up a few things, nothing interesting...”    Sara strode across the room to grab her purse.  “We haven’t seen much of each other lately,” she reminded him.  Don’t argue, Gil, please don’t argue...    “Okay.”  He held the door for her, still appearing slightly baffled but not unwilling.  Sara settled in the passenger seat of his Mercedes and forced her face into an expression of relaxed pleasure, as though she were just coming along for the ride.    The first stops on Grissom’s list were the dry cleaner’s and the post office, neither of which took long; the third was the Costa Mesa Mall for new shoes.    That gave Sara a little breathing space; Grissom knew what he wanted, so she was able to drift around the women’s section of the store pretending to examine running shoes while he tried on loafers.  Choice approved and purchased, they made their way out of the mall--with a detour past the popcorn vendor for Grissom--and went to the pet store for crickets.    Sara went immediately to see the big white cockatoo that seemed to like her--at least, it always flared its crest and started head-bobbing when it saw her.  She talked to it for a few minutes before finding Grissom bent over a tank of young iguanas.    “What do you think?” he asked, pursing his lips.    Sara shook her head.  “You know how big those things get, Gil.”    “It takes years,” he returned in mild protest, crouching to peer directly through the glass.  The three lizards returned unblinking, beady stares.    “Yes, but after the ball python you said to remind you, nothing larger than you can pick up with one hand.”  Sara crossed her arms over her chest, and for an instant it was almost normal.    Almost.    Grissom straightened with an exaggerated sigh.  “So I did.”    They managed to keep busy until it was almost time for Sara to go to work.  Grissom dropped her off at the lab and she went inside, running calculations in her head.  Four hours until his shift starts, and he’s almost always early.  That’s not enough time to...it’s not enough time.    Sara heard Ronnie laughing in the breakroom as she neared it, and sure enough, Greg was sitting opposite the rookie, grinning as he spoke.  “I’m totally serious, there was trash everywhere, and--“    “Telling stories, Greg?” Sara asked, and tried to look stern as he turned in his chair, but she knew she wasn’t succeeding.  Ronnie’s giggles trailed off.    “Sara!”  Greg sprang up and enveloped her in a hug, and Sara returned it, suddenly pathetically grateful for such a simple affection.  “I haven’t seen you in, like, weeks!”    Sara scoffed and let him go.  “More like three days.  Say you brought some of your coffee with you and I’ll forget that you were telling that story.”    Greg snickered, and with reason; Sara still remembered the shift when, thanks to the morning sun, a large bottle of homebrew had exploded in the trash can she’d just opened.  Greg and Warrick had nearly strangled on their own laughter at the sight, though to their credit they’d first made sure she wasn’t bleeding.    “Would I come to your shift without bearing gifts?” Greg asked with comic rhetoric.  “Only the best for you, most beauteous of CSIs.”    Sara poured herself a cup of the fresh java, whose scent did indeed indicate its origins, and inhaled the steam with pleasure.  “Don’t let Catherine hear you.”    Greg rolled his eyes.  “Catherine is still one of the hottest things in the lab, but she can’t--“    Sara held up a hand to halt his comment.  “Thank you, Greg, I get the point.”  She grinned at him, feeling her spirits lift slightly.    He smirked back and collapsed into his chair, sprawling as though someone had cut his strings.  Ronnie’s eyes were a trifle wide, and Sara knew the younger woman had taken in every word.    “Remind me to tell you about the Silly Putty incident,” Sara told her, doctoring the coffee, and Greg groaned.    “C’mon, Sara, you know that was a complete coincidence--“    The arrival of Dr. Reyes cut off his sentence, and Greg straightened, pulling together a professional attitude.  “Good evening, everyone,” the supervisor greeted them.  “Mr. Sanders, thank you for agreeing to help us out for a little while.”    “I’m glad to be here,” Greg answered, properly sober.  Reyes smiled.    “We’re going to put you to work right away.  Ronnie, as of tonight you are now secondary on Sara’s chaplet murders.”  Ronnie’s eyes got big again, but Reyes didn’t pause.  “By order of Under-Sheriff McKeen, that case is now our shift’s highest priority.  Which means--“ She glanced at Greg.  “--You’ll be catching most of the rest.”    The corners of Greg’s mouth curled up; he was silent, but Sara knew what he wasn’t saying--that he loved a challenge.    “Sara--“ Reyes began, but before she could go on Vartann stuck his head into the room.    “Sidle--got another one,” he said urgently.    All the humor fled.  Sara felt her stomach flip, and she glanced across the table at Ronnie; the two of them rose.  This could be his alibi, I was with him all afternoon.  Sara looked belatedly at Reyes, but the supervisor merely waved them out.  “Go,” she said grimly.    They went.  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