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.   Oh, come on...don't you trust me?  *grin*         ********* The three-year-old girl was dirty and had an untreated cleft palate.  She was found behind a derelict house, on what remained of a patio--chaplet in hand.    Ronnie took photos in solemn silence, and Sara crouched by the body, waiting as Oguntayo examined it.  “Twenty-six hours, maybe,” he grunted.     Sara swayed, and had to brace herself with one hand against the gritty cement.  Twenty-six hours before, she had gone to work early, leaving Grissom asleep at home.    Alone.    Shit.    Sara reminded herself sternly that just because she couldn’t prove Grissom’s whereabouts at the time, she had no evidence that he was behind this murder.  Oguntayo gave her a long look, but when she glared back he sniffed and unfolded a body bag.  Don’t lose it now, Sidle, if you flip out in public someone’s going to wonder why...    They processed.  As ever, there was nothing definitive at the scene.  With the murders now in the news, Sara was a little surprised that this one had taken so long to be found, but its dump location behind the house was not exactly obvious.    “Sara?” Ronnie said as they were packing up.  “Can I ask you a question?”    “Sure.”  Sara made a mental note to pick up more bindles.    Ronnie bit her lip.  “Do you think there are other dead kids we haven’t found yet?”    Sara set her kit down in the back of the SUV, brows rising.  A very valid question; not one she’d expected from a rookie.  “That’s a good question, Ronnie, and yes, it’s possible.  Less likely at this point, but possible.  The killer has not made any real effort to hide the bodies, but he hasn’t tried to put them on display, either.”    Ronnie straightened, a slight flush of pride tingeing her cheeks.  Sara gave her a small smile.  “Unfortunately, we can’t go out looking for them, given that there’s no discernable pattern in the body dumps.”    “Yeah,” Ronnie sighed.  “Do people manage to, um, hide them a lot?”    Sara shut the SUV’s rear door with a slam.  “More often than you might think, but then there’s plenty of places in this town where one more smell won’t be noticeable.”  She waved a hand at the horizon.  “And many more out there where a body won’t be found before nature’s taken care of it.”    She didn’t shiver at the memory of her own near-death, but Ronnie looked sorry to have brought up the subject.  They climbed into the vehicle, and Sara went on, taking comfort in the lecture.  “The thing is, when people hide bodies they usually don’t have any idea how hard it is to do, long-term.  The smell alone often gives it away.”    Storage lockers, cement, tar, boxes--she felt her lips curving up at the memory of drywall.  “And even when someone gets away with it for a while, change--like construction--can bring a corpse to light.”    “Right.”  Ronnie grinned, and Sara knew she was remembering the Lee George case, a decades-old murder brought to light by the building of a new casino.  “Is there any way to get rid of a body completely?  Like, so it can’t be traced?”    “Sure.  Dissolve it in acid, sink it out in the ocean where it’ll get eaten...stuff like that.”  Sara started the engine and backed the SUV out of the driveway.  “But there’s nothing that’s absolutely foolproof.  And even with those methods, a killer runs the risk of being caught with the body before it’s disposed of.”  She shrugged.  “Lucky for us.”    “Did you ever work a case where you knew who did it but couldn’t prove it?”    Sara kept her eyes on the road, her momentarily light mood fading.  “Yeah.”    The sting of Grissom’s confession during the Lurie case had faded, but now his words seem to hold some darker meaning.  She closed her mouth, and Ronnie seemed to sense her change in mood, and asked nothing more.    Dr. Nat’s expression was grim when Sara walked into the morgue, and Sara merely waved hello.  The coroner frowned at her.  “Three years old and no one’s done a thing about her palate,” Nat said, anger tingeing her voice.    Sara looked down at the little malnourished body.  “No health insurance,” she guessed, weary.    “Probably.”  Nat sighed.  “Her clothes are over there.”  She waved at the paper bags sitting on one counter.  “I didn’t see anything probative this time.”    Sara gathered them up.  “Ronnie’s checking the missing children database, we might get lucky.”    “Yeah.”  Nat drew a gloved finger down the little girl’s cheek, a sad, gentle gesture.  “Let me know.”    Sara took the bags to Trace and started examining them without any hope of finding something.  But almost immediately she found fibers on the back of the child’s grubby shirt--short ones that didn’t show up until she used lifting tape.  Heartbeat quickening with excitement and worry, Sara put them under the microscope.    Black...trilobal.  These are from a vehicle.    She raised her head, staring across the room at nothing.  Was this finally the error they’d been waiting for?  Had the killer transported his victim in a car?    Moving with exquisite care, Sara took the fibers from under the microscope and carried them out of the room.    Mikhail Dorobovich wasn’t quite the expert that Hodges was, but he was good...and he was a lot easier to get along with.  At the sight of Sara, he immediately set aside his current project and heaved his oversized frame off his stool.  “The boss said anything you bring in is top priority,” he explained, a hint of accent in his words though his syntax was completely American.  “What’ve you got?”    “Car fibers.”  Sara handed him the evidence.  “Mind if I hang around while you run them?”    “No problem.”  Dorobovich climbed back onto his stool and adjusted his microscope, instantly absorbed in the task.  Sara leaned against the table and set herself to wait.    It didn’t take long before Dorobovich was moving to his computer terminal to call up a search, and moments later he turned back to Sara, gaze mild behind his glasses.  “Mercedes, black interior, 2002 or later.”    This time it wasn’t even a shock, just another weight wrapping around her skull.  Sara nodded.  “Thank you.”    If Dorobovich sensed that there was something wrong, he didn’t mention it, merely handing her back the evidence.  “Y’welcome.”    Sara retreated to her tiny office.  She needed time to think, so she closed the door and left the lights off, preferring the dimness.    As if the dark could hide the evidence.    She leaned back in her chair and stared blindly upwards.  Lots of people have late-model black Mercedes, especially in this town.  There’s nothing to prove that it came from Gil’s car in particular.    Even after her ordeal under the overturned car, Sara had never been particularly claustrophobic, but she was beginning to feel trapped, as though the accumulating evidence was pressing on the walls of her office, threatening to break in.  What her heart knew and what her head knew clamored at each other inside her skull, leaving no room for any other thought.    But I’m not sure any more that it isn’t his car.    The bleak statement made her stomach hurt.  On impulse Sara picked up the phone, knowing that Grissom would be getting ready to leave the house.    “Hello, sweetheart.”  His cheerful voice had her swallowing.  “What’s up?”    “I’m just taking a break, and I thought of something that’s been bugging me but I keep forgetting to ask you about,” Sara answered, struggling to keep her voice light.  “Did you get another set of pillowcases?  I keep coming up with an extra.”    “Hm?  Oh,” Grissom answered, sounding slightly distracted, and Sara heard the snap of the latches on his briefcase.  “Yeah, I needed one for an experiment, so I bought a set and threw the extra in the linen closet.”    “Oh, okay.”  Her hands were sweating, Sara realized vaguely.  “What was the experiment?”    “Blood spatter.  Hey, I hate to cut you off, but I need to get going.  See you later?”    “Sure,” Sara said, and let him say goodbye before hanging up the phone and returning her gaze to the seam where the wall met the ceiling.    Blood spatter.    Horror rose slowly to swamp her as Sara realized that she wasn’t sure she believed him.        Sara found Ronnie waiting in Trace Three, lit with eagerness.  “What’s up?” Sara asked.    Ronnie grinned.  “I found something!”    She really did remind Sara of Greg at times; an earlier Greg, excited enough to temporarily forget his geekish cool.  “Yes?”    Ronnie held out another piece of lifting tape.  “You were gone when I got here, so I started to work on the other things, I hope that was all right, anyway, there was a print on the chaplet--“    Sara took the tape, blinking down at the clear partial.  An unpleasant tingle ran up her spine at the sight of it.  “Really?”    “Yeah, right on the back of the medal.”  Ronnie bounced lightly on her toes.  “I was going to call you, but it was a nice easy surface, so I did it myself--it’s okay, right?”    This is...unlikely.  Such a good print, after so many ultra-careful scenes?  Yet there it was.  Evidence.  For Grissom, or against him?    Or something else entirely?  Sara repressed the impulse to ask Ronnie if she might have inadvertently left the print herself; the rookie might still be relatively new to the work, but Sara had already noted that she was scrupulous about wearing gloves.  Unlike Greg, she never had to be reminded to don them.    This can’t be Gil’s.  He’d never make a mistake like this.  Not that he can do this kind of thing anyway--but--   “It’s very good,” Sara said slowly, pushing out of the frantic tangle of thought.  “This is good work, Ronnie.”    Ronnie blew out an exaggerated breath of relief.  “Whew, I was afraid you’d be mad.”    Sara tore her eyes from the print and looked up at her charge, marshalling her thoughts.  “You made the right decision.  You’re proficient at printing now, and this was well within your capabilities.”    Ronnie grinned again, a bright exalted look, and Sara smiled slightly despite her churning thoughts.  “There’s nothing wrong in asking for permission or help if you come up against something you don’t know how to do, remember--in fact, that’s protocol.  But in this case you were right.”    Ronnie nodded.  “Can we run it?”    Sara crushed the impulse to delay.  “Absolutely.”  The two of them left the room for Fingerprints, Ronnie halting halfway down the corridor.    “Um--can I catch up?”    “Sure,” Sara said, and Ronnie hurried off toward the ladies’ room.    Jacquie was in her domain, leaning back in her chair and working on a sudoku puzzle.  “Tell me you have something,” she said as Sara entered.  “If it gets any slower around here tonight I’m going to fall asleep.”    Sara marshaled a calm expression.  “Print from the latest chaplet murder--exciting enough?”  She handed over the tape, and Jacquie sat up straight, focus sharpening as she set her puzzle aside.    “Nice one,” she approved, immediately sliding her viewer over for examination.  “Very clear--probably a thumb print.  Did you do this?”    “No, it’s Ronnie Lake’s.”  Sara folded her arms and held her impatience in check.  The smart investigator did not hurry Jacquie.    “Thought so.  You don’t usually use this powder.”    “You can tell who did the printing?” Sara asked, surprised.    “A lot of the time, yeah.”  Jacquie looked up from the magnifier, smirking.  “I see enough of the things, you think I don’t catch differences in style?”    She lifted the scanner lid and laid the print on the glass, punching keys to start the scan.  “Nice one,” she repeated as the image slowly appeared on the screen.    With another rattle of keys, she began the search.  Sara knew it might take a while, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave--    --The machine beeped.    Jacquie leaned forward, peering at the screen, and then her forehead wrinkled as she frowned.  “Compliance match.  Sara, is Grissom working with you on this case?”    Sara felt herself become very still, as though every atom in her body had ceased to vibrate while the world went on around her.  From somewhere below her breastbone, an icy cold began to spread.    “No,” she heard herself say.  “He’s not.”    Jacquie turned her head to look at Sara, and Sara could see various emotions whipcracking across her face--puzzlement, disbelief, a horrified realization.  “Sh--“    Sara held up a hand, cutting off the print tech’s words.  “This case is now confidential.”  Her voice sounded as cold as her insides felt.  “I’m going straight to Dr. Reyes with this, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t discuss this with anyone else.”    Hurt flickered for an instant in Jacquie’s eyes at the request, but was replaced with comprehension.  “Right.”  She tapped out a quick sequence, and the printer next to her terminal spit out the search results.    Sara held out her hand, and Jacquie gave her the printout.  “CSI Lake will be by in a few minutes,” Sara said, taking refuge in absurd formality.  “Will you please go with her and observe as she returns the evidence to the locker?”  Ronnie had no connection to Grissom, but it never hurt to have another witness to the integrity of the evidence.  And Sara didn’t want Ronnie’s budding career to be hurt by this.    “Of course.”  Jacquie opened the scanner and retrieved the print, placing it carefully next to her keyboard.  “What should I tell her?”    “Tell her...tell her there was a compliance match--not her--and that Dr. Reyes will explain it.”    “All right.”  The tech’s eyes were full of sympathy, and Sara couldn’t bear to meet them.    “Thanks, Jacquie,” she said, her voice squeaking off the end of the last word, and left.    Dr. Reyes’ door was open, and Sara could see her through the opening, glasses sliding down her nose as she bent over a file.  Without knocking, Sara walked in and closed the door behind her.    There was curiosity on Reyes’ face when she looked up.  “Sara?  What is it?”    She would have preferred to stay standing, but all of a sudden Sara wasn’t sure her knees would carry her through the conversation.  She sat down.  “I need to recuse myself from this case.”    Very slowly, Reyes put down her pen, then removed her glasses and let them dangle, her eyes bright and sober.  “Please explain.”    Sara held out the paper that Jacquie had given her.  Reyes took it, her eyes flicking quickly over the data, a frown growing between her brows before she looked back up to Sara.    “This is...damning,” she said slowly.  “Is there any...other evidence?”    Sara swallowed.  “Yes.”    She listed the errant hair, the fibers, the partial print; she left out the pillowcases, since that data was based only on her sense of smell.  But she had to mention Grissom’s lack of alibis.    When she was through, Reyes let out a long, long breath, looking down at the printout Sara had handed her before setting it aside and turning her gaze back to Sara.  “Thank you for telling me.  I know this is difficult.”    Only the knowledge that Reyes was sincere kept Sara from saying something rude.  “Yeah.”    Reyes sighed and rubbed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as if to ward off an incipient headache.  “I assume...that you want to talk to Dr. Grissom?”    Before his arrest, was the unspoken addition.  Sara swallowed.  “Yes.”    Reyes nodded once, and glanced at her watch.  “It’s half an hour until shift change.  He’s probably in his office by now.”  She picked up her phone, punching in a few numbers. “Grissom?  It’s Julia.  Are you on your way out the door, or can you spare a few minutes?”    She paused, then “Thank you.  I’m sending someone over.”  Reyes hung up the phone.  “I have to brief Vartann; I can give you about twenty minutes, max.”    Sara jerked her head in a nod.  “Thank you.”    Reyes’ mouth crimped, a sorrowful look.  She didn’t say anything about trust, but Sara knew she didn’t have to.  “Go.”    Grissom was in much the same position as Reyes had been, except for the piles of papers and files on his desk.  He looked up as Sara came in, a smile growing.  “Julia sent you?  What’s up?”    Sara locked the door behind her and busied herself closing the blinds.  When she made herself look back, Grissom’s smile had disappeared, replaced with concern.  “Sara?”    She steeled herself.  “Can you come out here?”    Grissom cocked his head in his thinking pose, then rose and did as she asked, pulling out the extra chair he kept for guests and putting it opposite the one already waiting in front of his desk.  “Sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”    Sara made her knees bend and perched on the edge of her seat, her fists clenched and resting on her thighs.  Grissom took the other chair and waited for her to speak.    She had to swallow twice before she could begin.  “My case...you haven’t asked me about it recently.”     “It was pretty clear that you didn’t want to talk about it,” Grissom said, brows rising encouragingly.  “Has something happened?”    Sara knew from his tightening posture that if she gave him the least sign he would lean forward and take her hand, so she held every muscle in rigid check.  “Yeah.  We have a suspect.”    Iron control kept her voice steady as she laid out all the evidence, from the most circumstantial up to the damning fingerprints, knowing that his nimble mind would make the connections.  His face gradually lost its expression as Sara outlined the picture of their killer, the pattern they’d found behind the murders.    Eventually she ran out of words, and for a moment they both sat silent, Sara staring at the linoleum of the floor and feeling his gaze burn against her skin.    “Have you reported your conclusions?” Grissom asked at last, his voice quiet and cool.    Sara looked up, but no further than his chest.  “Yes.  Vartann will be here any minute.”    Grissom stood, stiffly, and walked over to her, dropping into a crouch and taking her hands in his.  His fingers were warm on hers.  “Do you believe I did this, Sara?”    Her eyes jerked up to his, and there was sorrow in his gaze.  Sara opened her mouth, and nothing came out.    Someone knocked on the door, rattling it in its frame.  “Grissom?” Vartann called.  “Open the door.”    Grissom let her hands go and straightened.  “Open it,” he said calmly.    Her vision was blurring, and it was making her angry.  Sara rose and went to unlock the door, swinging it wide to reveal Vartann and an officer in uniform, both of them exceedingly grim.  They stepped inside, keeping their voices low, though Sara knew it would all be useless the minute Grissom left his office in cuffs.  “Gil Grissom, you are under arrest for murder.  You have the right to remain silent--”    Vartann spoke the Miranda rights carefully.  Grissom never looked away from Sara, even as he acknowledged the recital and put his hands behind his back for the handcuffs.  Sara folded her arms tightly, each hand gripping the opposite elbow, and couldn’t force herself to meet his eyes.    But as Vartann led him past, the sound of her name made her look up.  It hurt to see his face, hurt her worse than anything ever had, but he gave her a small twitch of a smile.  “Follow the evidence,” he told her softly.    And then they were through the door, Grissom unresisting.  Sara watched them go, the cops on either side of the man with the bowlegged gait, his hands relaxed behind his back.  Faces were appearing at all the windows, heads popping out of doorways, murmurs of surprise and disbelief and speculation spreading at the sight of the Nightshift supervisor being led away in custody.    Sara’s phone chimed.  She almost didn’t answer it, but finally pulled it from her belt with a sense of weary duty, and read Reyes’ name in the window.  She flipped it open.  “Sidle.”    “Is it done?” Reyes asked, her voice tinny in Sara’s ear.    “Yeah.”  The three figures were gone now, around the corner and away towards the front door.    “Go home,” Reyes ordered.  “If you need a day or two, take it.  This will all need sorting out anyway, and when we need you we’ll call.”    “Yeah.”  Sara closed her phone without waiting for an acknowledgement, and headed for her office almost on automatic pilot.  Fortunately, no one spoke to her...or if they did, she didn’t hear them.    She gathered her things and drove home without thinking about either, and it wasn’t until she dropped her keys on the counter that the silence of the house hit her like a slap.    I did this.    Guilty or not, she had just destroyed Grissom’s life with one blow.  And now that the evidence was out of her hands, Sara found that there was nothing to fill the hole inside her.    She kicked off her shoes and went upstairs to their bedroom, lying down on the tidy comforter and hugging her pillow against her chest.  In the cool air of the bedroom there were no answers and no absolution.    Her lover was under arrest as a murderer.    She was his accuser.    All their life together seemed a bright and lovely dream, fading fast now that she was awake.  Nothing left but ashes, bitter on her tongue.    Sara clutched the pillow and stared into the night, waiting for dawn.    But she did not cry.  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