Necessary Collections

At last, Warrick signaled Gil to proceed and the older man carefully made his way up the steps. Behind the supervisor, Cath was gathering swabs, trace, and anything else she could find amidst the bloody trail and debris left behind. Sara started placing markers where she found any hint of disturbance to the ground, any shred of possible evidence for Warrick to photograph. The recently arrived police backup silently began to assist with the perimeter and the wind-whipped tarp the CSI's had put up.

Finally reaching the doorway, Gil called in the door, "I'm coming in." He could see the destruction around the kitchen and dining areas. Manuevering around the blood, broken china, and food, he found his way to the far corner of the kitchen, where there was no sign of destruction or disturbance, and placed his kit on the floor in front of a built-in cupboard. Opening it, the investigator began pulling on his gloves, glancing up only as Nick entered the room to begin photographing in there. Brass was right on his heels, as careful as the CSI's about the bloody, debris-ridden trails.

"Grissom," Nick glanced up as he squatted down to place yet another numbered marker. "There looks to have been a struggle in the living room, too. The hall's got blood trails, spatter, and a couple of footprints. The attacker didn't seem to care about leaving evidence."

With a nod, Gill pulled out his swabs and evidence bags. "That's good news, Nick. It means he left a whole lot of himself for us to find. A sloppy criminal is easier to follow." He began to move behind Nick, making sure to collect only from places already photographed by Nick and logged by Brass, who was also sketching the scene as a way to cut Nick's investigation time; there was nothing in the procedures against a detective logging and sketching for the investigator, after all.

Glancing quickly behind himself, Brass gestured with his pencil to the hallway. "There's a bit of unusual evidence, too, Gil. There's a half-finished apple trampled into the carpet down there. Bathroom and bedroom are untouched, too." He started sketching the misplaced table.

Gil's eyes lit up. "If the perpetrator was eating that apple, we might have DNA evidence." He smiled grimly, adding, "Or at least some fingerprint evidence if it hasn't been too damaged."

"You can get a fingerprint off an apple?" Jim sounded suitably impressed.

Barking a small, sour laugh, Nick jumped in, "Fortunately. An apple's skin is able to be fingerprinted using magnetic powder. There's also the smashed laptop in the living room. I'd say the perp might have left prints on that, at least."

Jim's face registered how impressed he was as he turned the page in his notebook. "Huh, go figure. An apple a day can keep more than the doctor away."

Both Gil and Nick merely shot Jim Brass identical looks of surprise.

Warrick quickly turned to photograph the grass around the probable path the abductor took, as well as the gravel driveway. His face bore an intense frown, his green eyes locked firmly on his work. Happy-go-lucky Greg was definitely their victim, he had no doubt of that; what he couldn't figure out was who would want to hurt the former DNA technician. Always snapping doubles of each vital shot, the investigator made mental note of what looked like dried blood droplets on the gravel driveway. "Cath, I think we have blood here."

Not waiting for a second cue, Cath moved forward with swab and test kit. She squatted down, testing one of the larger drops. Lifting the swab with the purple-pink tip, she nodded grimly. "Blood." Looking back down, the Blood Spatter expert tried to determine just what was happening when the blood was left behind. It took only a few minutes to figure out what most likely occurred.

"It looks like Greg was moving along here and stopped in two different locations." Cath was taking measurements and doing quick mental calculations as she moved and talked. "He could have been walking or possibly been carried. Judging by the directionality, I'd say Greg moved this way first, stopped for a while, then moved over here," she indicated the two blood pools that had clued her to the junior investigator's possible movements. "Here there's more pooling. Then he moved back to this spot again and... the pooling is disturbed and is gone." She frowns, trying to imagine the events in her mind.

Greg was bleeding from a heavy head injury, lying limp over a large man's shoulder. He was carried to the back of the car, where the man stopped, fumbling with the trunk. The man finally gave up and carried the unconscious investigator back around to the driver's side of the car, opening the door to pop the trunk with the lever there. Turning once more, the man made his way back to the trunk and stuffed the tall man into the small space, uncaring that he was hurting his victim. Finally, he slammed the trunk, his feet scuffling the blood-soaked gravel as he moved back towards the driver's seat. Slipping into the car, the man quickly started the vehicle and drove off, his prize unconscious and helpless inside the trunk.

Cath's stomach roiled at the thought of what might have happened to her young friend and colleague. She frowned, ruthlessly pushing back her own anxiety. Staying in control was key; Greg needed her concentration, not her worry. Cath moved to measure the distance between both blood pools, making notes on a sketch she was making of the blood patterns.

For her part, Sara was placing evidence markers, keeping an eye out for any signs of passage. So many questions swirled around in her mind as she processed the scene: did the perpetrator walk there or was he dropped off? Did he carrying anything with him, leave anything behind? Was there more than one offender? With each new question, a dozen more sub-questions tried to race to the fore. It looked to be a long, complicated case, but she was determined to answer every one of the questions that presented themselves.

Unfortunately, those questions were quickly driven from her mind as the storm began with a vengeance. As the wind whipped faster, it tugged a corner of the tarp from the stake it was bound to. Rain lashed in through the unexpected opening, starting to pound across the gravel. "No!" Cath surged to her feet, reaching for the flapping end, knowing that each second that passed, her blood evidence disappeared even more. Sara jumped to the older woman’s side, trying to help fasten the tarp. It took four of them to get things settled, and the women thanked the two officers as they turned to salvage their crime scene evidence.

Using great common sense, for which Warrick was known, the third investigator never stopped taking pictures, preserving as much of the scene as he could despite the wind and rain suddenly ravaging the area. He had to trust the others would do what they could to secure the tarp; Greg's recovery, his very life, could depend on the photographs Warrick was capturing. With a tilt of his dark head, the tall man suddenly had an epiphany. "Cath, Greg owns a Passat... look at where the pooling is: one at the end, most likely the trunk, right?"

Looking over, trying not to drip on her evidence, Cath frowned. "Yes..."

"And the other would be about halfway up. If that pool," Warrick came closer, gesturing one-handed, "is in front of the trunk, then this is the driver's side.. and this is the back door."

Frown deepening, Cath turned to look over the sight, following Warrick's gestures in her mind. "Okay, so either Greg, or the man carrying Greg stopped at the trunk then headed..." She trailed off, eyes widening. Hurriedly, Cath began to get as much swabbed blood from both pools as she could, taking numerous swabs.

"What?" Sara had missed part of the conversation and felt out of the loop, which she didn't like.

Cath explained as she worked. "Why would someone carry Greg to the trunk then to the back of the car then back to the trunk? That's a lot of weight to heft around. So," she lifted shining eyes, excitement running through her, "These blood pools might not be from Greg."

"Our perp was bleeding..." Sara added with a triumphant smirk. "Good job, Greg. Give us as much DNA as possible!"

With a little laugh, Cath added, "Well, DNA is Greg's specialty."

Heavy metallic pounding pulled Greg from an uncomfortable doze. He opened tired, aching eyes, only to notice that the daylight was gone. He was wet, cramped, and in pain from head to foot, most especially in his side and head. Thirst roused its ugly head, and Greg found himself trying to shuffle closer to the small broken area of his trunk. That pounding was rain, which meant water.

The investigator wriggled, gasped, groaned, and finally got his hands near the broken trunk seal. Cold rain water was running into the once water-tight vehicle, but Greg was merely thankful for the broken area. With sticky, cramped fingers, he wiped rain water from the rubber and metal before him, greedily licking and sucking the moisture into his dehydrating body.

It was uncertain how much later Greg finally started recalling just why he was stuck in the small trunk of his own car.

Stilling, fingers poked out to catch more of the refreshing drops of life-sustaining water, Greg listened carefully. The sounds of laughter and children had disappeared with the daylight, as had any sounds his kidnapper had made when they'd first arrived. After several minutes, Greg came to the dawning realization that his captor had actually deserted him. Why? Who breaks into a guy's house, kidnaps him, then abandons him near a playground?

With a frown, Greg pushed the not-so-random questions from his mind and pulled his fingers back into the trunk, sucking the water from the digits as he thought. With the absence of the children, and with the heavy storm, it was quite likely no one would hear him cry out if he did. He'd have to find another way out of the trunk. Greg whipped his fingers from his mouth with a last soft suck and started trying to feel his way for the emergency latch once more.

He knew that if his kidnapper came back, it would most likely be to finish him off; if the guy had wanted Greg alive, he wouldn't have abandoned him without food, water, or air. After all, it wasn't certain the perp even knew that trunk seal had broken. He might just think he'd suffocated his victim.

Greg intended to be long gong before the guy returned.