Author: Sam

Story: Ten Little Indians: 2 of ?

Series: Speed-Burn

Setting: Speed-Burn: Las Vegas, Nevada: at times in the CSI Crime Lab, at others out and about: Thursday, July 21, 2005, evening.

Note: none

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/samwise_baggins/index.html

The medium-sized box seemed rather innocuous. It was a plain, brown box, in fairly good condition. The only identifying features, in fact, were a small discolored mark in one lower corner and the neatly typed address label stuck directly in the middle of the top surface. It did not bear any stamps or post office identifiers; it merely read, in block style fonts:

CSI OFFICE
URGENT

There was no indication who it was from or for. Thus, the box, heavy and awkward upon lifting, but not too heavy to carry easily, had taken practically all morning and well into the afternoon to arrive at its intended destination. And there, it was being taken through the proper channels before being handed over to the shift supervisor.

Said supervisor had pooled select members of his team into one great meeting of the minds. From the core investigation group, having come in early for the meeting, were Sara Sidle, Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, and Nick Stokes, led by Gil Grissom, the swing shift supervisor. Intending to stay late to attend the meeting were members of the lab staff: Archie Johnson, Jacqui Franco, Bobbie Dawson, and David Hodges. Mia, the DNA technician, had the day off, and thus had not been included. Of those invited, one was missing: Greg Sanders, but as it was yet five minutes before the scheduled meeting time, no one was too upset.

Impatiently checking the clock, yet again, Sara frowned and moved restlessly in her seat. She had a clear view of the doorway, having positioned herself deliberately to be able to keep an eye on the happenings beyond their overflowing room. It was she who noticed the unlikely presence of Captain Jim Brass, Homicide detective and former CSI Supervisor, approaching with a plain looking box. Sara's frown deepened; plain boxes rarely held simple treasures. Glancing at her supervisor, she cleared her throat and said "Brass."

Grissom looked at her for a second or two, a puzzled look on his face. It was unclear just what thoughts had gone through the man's mind, however, as his face suddenly cleared and he turned to watch the entrance of his long standing, yet uninvited, friend. The others, as if on cue, also turned to watch the detective's progress.

Carefully, as if afraid to jar his plain but precious cargo, Brass moved to the central table and stopped, not relieving himself of his burden. He looked grim as he clearly stated, “This was dropped off at the post office about noon. The woman said she found it on her porch while walking her dog. It hasn't been opened yet, but it was x-rayed and they think it has a knife and some other metal object inside. We're detaining the lady for questioning at the department.”

Everyone turned expectant eyes on Grissom, waiting for the cue that they would begin an investigation instead of the dreaded meeting. He looked from Brass to the box and back to Brass. “And it’s not even my birthday.” Getting up, Grissom led the officer from the room and down to the Trace Lab. In curiosity, the others followed to wait outside of the Plexiglas-surrounded lab.

Except Dave Hodges, that is. As his duty lay mainly in Trace, he felt justified in following the two men into the room, quickly drawing on vinyl gloves in eager anticipation of helping out. Oh, what a feather in his cap to personally assist Supervisor Grissom as everyone else watched in envy from beyond the transparent barricade. At least, that was how Hodges saw it.

However, Grissom and Brass merely ignored the eager lab tech.

Carefully, once at the exam desk, Brass placed the box down. He took only one step back. Curiosity had warred with caution, and caution had not come out the winner. After all, the package had already been examined by the post office, and no explosives had been detected.

Grissom, for his part, moved methodically. Rushing destroyed evidence and sometimes risked even more. The supervisor was too well trained, too experienced, to rush the procedures for this particular package. There were no indicators that it might aid in the almost certain coming investigation.

After photographing the box from varying angles, he used a sterile swab to try to retain a sample from the stained corner, quickly determining that it was human blood. With a frown, he retained a second sample for DNA testing. Carefully, he removed the tape and the label, trying to handle the evidence as little as possible, Grissom wanted fingerprints from the package if they were available.

His movements remained methodical throughout the long, agonizing process of opening the box. A crumpled plastic trash bag with a scent reminiscent of two day old garbage was inside. The smell of blood was strong, as well. As carefully as he had gone thus far, Grissom opened the bag, not yet lifting it from the box.

“Well, there’s the metal.”

Gil Grissom’s voice actually made everyone jump, coming so unexpectedly in the long silence. Brass gingerly peeked over the rim, keeping his hands well away from the smelly package. Hodges slid closer, as well, trying to get a glimpse, but was thwarted when Grissom continued his processing.

Slipping his gloved hand cautiously inside, Grissom lifted out a bloodied tire-iron, bloodied knife, bloody and torn white and teal cloth, and a bloodied wallet. Each piece of evidence lent an air of greater doom to the room. This kind of unexpected delivery couldn’t mean anything good. Grissom lay each item down and started carefully untangling the cloth, revealing a white T-Shirt with a teal dragon and lettering on the front. The lettering read “Interfere not in the affaires of dragons, for ye are crunchy and good with catsup.”

A gasp from Catherine Willows let them know she recognized something. Stepping into the room, reaching for gloves to quickly pull on, she ignored the curious glances from Grissom, Brass, and Hodges, as well as the interested eyes following her from the rest of the group in the hall. With a shaking hand, Catherine picked up the wallet and opened it, revealing a blood stained driver’s license, too damaged to read. The rest of the contents were bloody as well, and no identifying credit cards or information was present.

Catherine carefully slid the driver’s license out of the wallet, letting her eyes meet Grissom’s. “Someone should call Greg… make sure he’s all right.” Her voice was faint, her eyes worried.

Hodges frowned and finally butted in. “Why wouldn’t Sanders be okay? It’s not like people don’t run late.” He was miffed that Catherine would be hinting that she wanted Greg to handle the DNA and trace from this case, instead of Hodges himself. He was fully capable. To emphasize, he added, “I can run that blood.” He reached for the swab Grissom had made.

Catherine turned suddenly steely eyes on Hodges. “No, you’ll need to run trace.” With that, she slid the swab away from Dave’s questing hand. Dismissively, she turned back away from Hodges and met Grissom’s eyes. “Someone needs to check on Greg, Gil. He has a T-Shirt just like this, and he’s late… Greg’s never late.”

Grissom nodded. “Let me know what you find out, Catherine.” With that, he took the wallet from her hands and carefully swabbed the blood on it, as well as the other objects. While working, he called out, “Nick, you’re with Brass. Check missing persons, hospitals, anything to try to locate someone that may have been hurt recently. This blood is pretty fresh. Warrick, Sara, there’s a couple of assignment sheets on the meeting table. They’re your’s. Catherine, you’ll work this case with Nick and me.”

And with those words, everyone had to be content to disburse upon their assigned duties, the lab technicians gathering their samples as Grissom provided them, properly logged by Hodges who still waited for the final word from Grissom on that blood sample, but was instantly overruled when someone superseded his claim, leaving Hodges to hang around the Trace lab, watching Grissom work. Not to be left out, Dave grabbed the Trace samples as they were logged, moving towards the microscopes and computer banks against one wall.

For his part, Grissom continued to process the contents of the box and the box itself. He had ignored the movement of people around him, leaving to go about their business. Grissom was vaguely aware that someone had taken the blood swabs and someone else the trace evidence, but he was too intent on what he was doing to pay much attention. The next step was fingerprints, and that was what he intended to work.

Avoiding the general exodus, Catherine took her right glove off and reached for her cell phone, dialing with one hand as she reached for the swabs with her still-gloved left hand. She dropped off the swabs with Jacqui, who’d stepped into the lab in Mia’s place, as she listened to the sound of a busy signal. Greg’s home phone was off the hook. She tried his cell phone.

The cell phone rang several times, but Catherine kept on the line, not hanging up. She would leave it ringing as long as it took to get Greg’s attention. If he was talking on his home phone, he’d be forced to answer the cell just to get rid of her. Her persistence paid off. She heard the phone click on and she sighed in relief. “Greg? It’s Cath. Where are you?”

From the other side came only the sound of someone listening, breathing controlled and light. Finally, the call disconnected. “He hung up!” But Catherine had a niggling of doubt. Greg wouldn’t have acted that way… he’d have at least talked to her. Something was very off. The memory of that ripped bloody T-Shirt sent a chill down her spine. The strawberry-blonde woman shook off the sensation of dread and turned back to the DNA lab. Jacqui should have something by then, if she’d put it in front like Catherine hoped she did.

Jacqui looked up at Catherine, reaching for the print out at the same time as the investigator. With a raised eyebrow, she pulled her hand back and let the older woman dominate. It wouldn’t tell her much, after all, without something to compare it to, but Catherine seemed too anxious to wait for the proper procedures to finish.

Catherine sighed as she glanced over the sheet. “Jacqui, compare it to Greg’s. He’d be in the system after all the testing Grissom ran on him when he first came to us.” She realized her tone was snappish, and she sighed again, shooting a rueful look at the younger woman. “I’m sorry, Jacqui. I… I just have a feeling about this one. Greg’s not answering his phone, he’s hanging up on his cell… it doesn’t feel right.”

“I hope we can laugh about this afterwards…” Jacqui privately felt Catherine might be on to something, but she presented a rather bored air for the anxious woman. Her implication was that Catherine was getting bent out of shape over nothing and after they were able to prove the odd delivery had nothing to do with Greg, they could all relax. Her attitude didn’t seem to ease any of Catherine’s tension however, and Jacqui merely ran the numbers through the database, programming the computer to check Greg Sanders first, just to please Catherine.

Brass and Nick were more conversational, at least. They left the Trace Lab and headed down the hall behind Catherine. When she hung up her phone and turned back towards the lab, Nick merely nodded towards her and called out, “I’ll check his house, Cath.” There was gratitude in the woman’s blue eyes as he passed by, then the pair were in the parking lot and headed towards separate vehicles.

“Look, we’ll check Greg’s first, then we’ll do the rounds, right Brass?” It was a rhetorical question, and Brass knew it for such. He called out his agreement and slid into his Ford, turning over the engine without waiting for Nick to reach his Tahoe. It was only a matter of minutes before the detective and the criminalist were on the road.

The DNA results came back just after the pair left, giving a definite name for the supposed victim, if they had only known.

Jim slowed the car as he approached Greg’s place. The house was lit up, indicating someone was home. From the street, nothing seemed amiss. The front door was closed, the car was… Jim parked and slid from his car with a frown. The car wasn’t in the driveway. No car, but the lights on? Those were inconsistent factors, and Jim Brass disliked inconsistencies. He turned at the sound of Nick’s approach, slowly drawing his gun. “Car’s gone, Nick.”

Nick took in the lit house with a frown. Until that particular moment, he’d dismissed Catherine’s fears. After all, Greg wasn’t the only one to wear T-shirts with weird sayings. It’s not like that dragon shirt was a made-to-order item, after all. He’d offered to check Greg’s merely to be able to ease Catherine’s fears, but now, he wasn’t so sure those fears were as unfounded as he’d assumed. Nick pulled out his gun, too.

Quickly, yet quietly, the pair made their way towards the house, keeping their eyes out for anything else suspicious, or dangerous. Brass signaled Nick to stay back and cover him, while the detective called out, “Greg, it’s Brass. You there?”

There was no answer, so Brass checked the door. It was locked. There were no signs of breaking and entering or even struggle out front, but Brass wasn’t going to take any chances. He signaled Nick to follow him around the back. Without word, Nick followed.

The door was wide open.