CSI LV: Dinner and a Movie (Swarrick)
- Thread starter Zan1781
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saras_girlfriend
Coroner
are you going to post more?
(I hope that this chapter isn’t too confusing for you all to read; I realized that I never concluded Brass’s stay at Sara’s house, and I really wanted to do so (well, I wanted to at least continue it!). As well, once again, thank you to everyone who took the time to read and review the previous chapter. I hope that you enjoy this one, as well!)
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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.
Title: The Deal
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The Sidle Residence, present time
I don’t understand, girl, Warrick thought to himself, gazing down at Sara’s sleeping form, as he gently rested his arm across her stomach. When did everything become so difficult for you, and why didn’t I notice that you were having problems? Was I so wrapped up in myself, that I wasn’t paying enough attention to you? Even if that is the case, you should have known that you could come to me with anything; hell, you should have known that you could come to any of us with anything. We’re your family, Sara; your family.
“Uh-huh,” Sara mumbled, licking her lips, and trying to pull Warrick’s arm even more securely across her body. “Okay,” she added. “But I’m cold.”
‘Uh-huh? Okay?’ I didn’t even ask you anything! “You’re cold?” Warrick whispered, raising an eyebrow, before reaching down, and wrapping the blanket more firmly around her body. “How’s that?” he quietly asked, although he recognized the fact that she was still sleeping soundly.
Sara just gave a contented sigh, licking her lips again, and burrowing her head further into his lap.
Warrick chuckled, before frowning. Damn. My legs are starting to cramp. I need to move my feet off of the floor and onto the couch, or else I won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Sitting up, he very carefully tried to move Sara from his lap, sighing, as she simply clung to him even more tightly.
“Mmfg,” she mumbled under her breath.
“I’m not leaving, girl,” Warrick softly told her, as he gently scooped her up into his arms. “But I have to move,” he added, standing up with Sara in his arms, and briefly stretching his legs. Sitting back down on the couch so that he was laying lengthwise along the cushions, he set Sara down in between his legs, laying her on her back, with her head resting on his leg. Covering her up with the blanket, he sighed, closing his eyes.
Without warning, Sara slowly rolled over and crawled up the front of Warrick’s body, so that she was practically on top of him, with her head now resting on his chest.
“Comfortable?” Warrick chuckled, waiting for Sara to get situated in his lap. When her light breathing was the only response to his question, he sighed, wrapping his arms more securely around her body, and drifting off to sleep.
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The Sidle Residence, earlier that week
I really shouldn’t be here, Brass kept telling himself over and over again, his eyes on Sara, who was still asleep on the couch. This isn’t right; it isn’t proper, even... except for the fact that she’s my friend; she’s like a daughter to me, and I need to help her remain safe. If that means that I have to spend the night on an extremely uncomfortable, and very lumpy armchair, well, then that is what I’ll have to do.
On the couch, Sara rolled over, now facing away from Brass. “Sorry” she mumbled to herself in her sleep. “Really, I’m sorry.”
Brass stared at Sara for a moment in confusion, raising an eyebrow. What could you possibly have to be sorry for? He wanted to ask her. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.
“I tried,” she continued to talk in her sleep. “But I wasn’t able to do it.”
Weren’t able to do what? Brass wondered, filing the words away in his brain so that he could ask her about them later. Just sleep, Sara. Rest your mind, and get some sleep.
Almost as if hearing his thoughts, Sara groaned once more, before slipping into an even deeper, and fairly untroubled, sleep.
Early the next morning, Brass quietly got out of the armchair, walking into the kitchen in order to make a pot of coffee. You’re going to need this, he thought to himself, realizing that he had somehow managed to stay awake for the entire night. Actually, both of you are going to need this coffee. Quietly opening several cabinets in the kitchen, Brass grunted in success, when he located two coffee mugs. Pulling them down from the cupboard, and setting them down on the kitchen countertop in front of him, he stared at the coffee in the machine, waiting as it percolated.
“Hi,” Sara softly greeted him from the doorway.
“Mornin’,” Brass replied, turning around to look at her. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” Sara admitted, taking a seat at the kitchen table, glancing at the coffee maker. “Thanks for coming over, though, Jim; I really appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Brass gruffly replied, pouring both himself and Sara a cup of coffee. “Here you go,” he handed her the steaming mug, sitting down across from her. “I’m worried about you, though, you know that?”
“Well, don’t be,” Sara immediately replied, looking down at the table in slight embarrassment. “I’m fine.”
Brass slowly shook his head no, studying her expression. “No, you aren’t, Sara. This case is really getting to you. You need some help with it. In fact, you just need some help, period. I suggest that you talk with Gil about your… situation.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Sara’s eyes suddenly flashed in anger. “‘I need some help, period?’ ‘My… situation?’ What situation?”
“Look at yourself,” he simply replied.
Sara frowned, once again staring down at the table. “I don’t need any help,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Yes, you do, Sara. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. I will always be here for you, and so will the rest of the gang, but you need help; professional help. Get some, before it’s too late.”
Sara sighed, her dejected gaze slowly raising in order to meet Brass’s concerned one. “You’re right, Jim,” she finally conceded. “I’m sorry that I snapped at you, because you’re right; I need help… and with more than just this case, too.”
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The Sidle Residence, present time
For the next four hours, the only sound that could be heard throughout Sara’s tiny apartment was the steady breathing of both her and Warrick. Nestled securely and comfortably in his warm embrace, Sara slept through the night, until she eventually groaned, yawned, and slowly cracked an eye open, jumping, as her brain registered the fact that someone else’s warm flesh was touching her own skin. “Huh?” she asked, completely disoriented. Turning her head, and noticing Warrick’s sleeping form, she raised a nervous eyebrow. “What are you… what are you doing here? And why am I sleeping in your lap?” she whispered, her eyes wide, as she tried to scramble away from him.
“Sara?” Warrick frowned, his eyes immediately popping open. “What’s wrong?”
Sara took a deep breath, closing her eyes, as she tried to remember why she and Warrick were sleeping on her couch.
“Sara?” Warrick repeated her name, sitting up, as concern and worry filled his voice. “It’s okay, Sara; you asked me to stay for the entire night, so I did... remember?”
“I did...?” Sara cautiously asked him, swallowing.
“Yes, you did,” Warrick confirmed, his gaze searching for her own.
Sara’s eyes suddenly widened, as little bits and pieces of what occurred the night before started to flood her memory. “Oh, shit, Warrick,” she whispered, her face immediately flushing in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!” she told him, hastily trying to get further away from him on the couch, as more and more of what happened came back to her. “Shit!”
Warrick squinted at Sara in puzzlement, not entirely sure why she was acting so differently from how she was acting last night. What’s going on here? “Hey, girl, calm down,” he soothingly told her, holding his arms up in a defensive posture. “I’m not going to hurt you, so why are you so jumpy?”
Sara bolted off of the couch, her face bright red. “I, uh,” she hesitated. “I can’t believe that I admitted all of that to you last night. I must have been exhausted,” she tried to explain. “I ramble when I’m exhausted.”
“Well, then I’m glad that you were tired,” Warrick smiled, standing up, and swaggering toward her. “But you’re making me nervous. Can you please just calm down?” he asked, tentatively wrapping his arms around her in a hug.
“Right,” Sara sighed, burying her head against his chest. “Sure, I can calm down,” she mumbled, as she slowly wrapped her own arms around his waist, trying to breathe deeply. “So… you spent the entire night here, just because I asked you to?”
“I wanted to stay, but even if I hadn’t wanted to stay, you wouldn’t exactly let me leave,” Warrick again chuckled, releasing her, and pointing to her fists. “Let’s just say that you have a strong grip, girl.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sara whispered, her face once again turning crimson.
“Like I said, Sara, I really wanted to stay,” he smiled at her, as he took a seat at one end of the couch. Reaching up, and lightly pulling on her wrist so that she was forced to follow him, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him. “Now, why don’t you tell me about the rest of your case?” he suggested.
Sara slowly nodded, resting her head on Warrick’s shoulder.
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The Conte Residence, one week prior
The Conte home, set in an unusually quiet neighborhood in Henderson, was bustling with activity on the last Wednesday of July. Although it was the middle of the night, the street seemed to be alive with movement, as several news crews vied for the best position from which to report, and as several police units attempted to keep the news hounds at bay. “Back off,” Louis Deckerson, a beat cop, growled at reporters from News Channel 8, as he attempted to cordon off the Conte’s entire yard with yellow crime scene tape. “C’mon, there ain’t nothin’ to see here!”
“Nothing to see?” Susan Lockheart replied. “I see plenty!” she told the cop. “The blood is everywhere, and our viewers have a right to know what happened here. Who’s dead? Who did the murdering? Do you have a suspect, yet?” she persistently bombarded him with question after question, waving a microphone in the young cop’s face, while her cameraman attempted to get everything down on film.
“Ma’am, we won’t know anything for sure, until the CSIs come in and take a look around,” he told her, stepping back from the tape, and scanning the street with his eyes. And they better get here soon, too, he mused. Because these people are about to eat me alive.
Several minutes later, Sara Sidle, clad in her black CSI vest and hat, her kit confidently held in her right hand, took a brief moment to glance around the yard, as she strode up the Conte’s driveway. What the hell happened here? It looks like more than one person died, and not in a painless manner, either, she thought to herself, shivering as the slight nighttime desert breeze hit her hot and flushed skin. And why are all of these reporters here? People die every day, unfortunately, she mused, spotting Brass up ahead, standing beside the front doorway. Nodding at the detective in greeting the moment that she reached his side, she frowned. “What do we have?” she asked him in a businesslike manner, ignoring the stares from the reporters anxiously awaiting for someone to throw them a little tidbit of information.
“We have a doozey on our hands, that’s what we have,” Brass commented, glancing through the still open doorway. “Who are you working with tonight?”
“I’m solo, actually,” Sara flashed him a small smile.
“Oh?” Brass asked, raising an eyebrow. “I hope that Grissom knows what he’s gotten you into,” he sighed, waving at all of the news vans.
What is THAT supposed to mean? Sara wanted to ask, slightly confused. Clearing her throat, though, she bit her tongue, glancing at Brass. “So, what’s going on? And why are there so many reporters here?”
“Lindsey Conte,” Brass started to recite the specifics of the case, without the use of his notebook. “Thirty-five, mother of two, the wife of Jason Conte.”
Sara’s eyes widened in surprise, as she started to understand. “The realestate mogul?”
“The one and only,” Brass affirmed. “As I said, she is the mother of two: a girl, age ten, named Julie, and a boy, seven years old, named Rory. Both kids are out of town visiting their grandmother,” he continued.
“And the husband?” Sara prodded him.
“So far, the hubby’s whereabouts are unknown.”
Sara nodded, filing the information away for later use. “Where was she found?” she then asked, once again scanning the yard in confusion. There is quite a bit of blood out here; so, where’s the body?
Brass glanced at Sara, as if following her train of thought. “The body was found indoors, by the couch, but there is a lot of blood outside, as well.”
“And no one has touched a thing?” Sara continued, opening up her kit long enough to pull out a pair of gloves, immediately slapping them on.
“Of course not, Sara,” Brass frowned. “The scene is completely undisturbed.”
Sara again nodded, studying the ground just in front of the doorway. “Can we get everyone out of the house?” she asked after a moment. “They’re walking through possible evidence.”
Brass immediately waved to someone inside of the Conte’s home, ordering everyone to move on out. “The place has already been cleared, obviously,” he told her. “So you’ll be safe.”
“Okay,” she replied, lost in thought, as she very carefully walked into the spacious foyer. “Just watch your step, Jim,” she added, noticing that he was already following her inside. Scanning the hallway, she visually followed the trail of blood, frowning, when it ended right by the couch; and right at the bloodied body of Lindsey Conte. What the hell happened to you? Sara swallowed the bile forming in her throat, as she slowly made her way toward the victim. God, I feel so sick.
“The husband was supposed to be at a work meeting,” Brass continued, not wanting to intrude on Sara’s analytical train of thought, but wanting her to know the full details of the case.
“But he wasn’t?” Sara probed, thankful that Brass was saying something—anything—to keep her mind off of the young woman up ahead.
“No,” he replied. “We called his office, but there was no meeting scheduled for tonight.”
“So he could be anywhere,” Sara mused, as they finally reached the living room. Kneeling down beside Lindsey Conte, and without touching her, she scanned the body for any obvious pieces of evidence. “She struggled,” Sara quietly told Brass, glancing down at the woman’s hands. “Torn fingernails, blood under her nails, scratches on her palm,” she pointed to Lindsey’s right hand, which was facing upwards. “She fought back; and she fought back hard.”
Brass uncomfortably nodded, as he glanced around the rest of the room. “You’re going to have your work cut out for you tonight, Sara,” he commented. “Perhaps you should call Gil, and get some backup?”
Sara slowly shook her head from side to side. “We’re tapped out for tonight, although I’m sure that he will call in the dayshift, when he realizes how busy we’re all going to be.”
“Alright,” Brass simply replied. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay? I’m going to post someone just inside of the house, while I go and talk to the neighbors. David should be here soon, too,” he added, before walking out of the front door.
“Fine,” Sara mumbled after he was gone, standing up, her mind already back on the task at hand. Setting her kit down on the floor beside her, she reached in, grabbing a swab. “I’m going to find out who did this to you, and we’re going to nail his or her ass to the wall,” she vehemently promised Lindsey Conte’s dead body.
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The Sidle Residence, present time
“I took swab after swab,” Sara sighed, twisting her head so that she could glance up at Warrick. “But everything pointed back to Lindsey.”
Warrick nodded, as he absentmindedly rubbed Sara’s shoulder with his thumb. “So essentially,” he mused. “We know nothing.”
Sara slowly nodded, her mind zeroing in on Warrick’s soft touch, rather than on the case itself. Sighing, and moving her body closer to his own, she frowned. “If I could just find the hammer, I know that I could crack this case wide open,” she finally told him.
“Where have you already looked for it?” he prompted her, staring straight ahead, deep in thought.
“Where haven’t I looked for it, is the better question,” Sara raised an eyebrow, as she slid down Warrick’s body, laying on her back, her head resting in his lap.
Warrick draped his arm across Sara’s stomach, his thumb slowly brushing against her stomach, rather than her arm.
“I’ve searched the bedrooms, the closets, the—” she trailed off, once again focusing on the movement of his fingers.
Oblivious to Sara’s discomfort, Warrick quietly listened to her tell him about the case, his thumb still moving against her body.
“Do you mind?” Sara whispered, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
“What?” Warrick furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.
“I can’t concentrate,” she admitted with a small smile. When the look of confusion on his face did not abate, she rested her hand on top of the hand that he had draped across her stomach, tapping his thumb with her forefinger. “Stop moving it.”
Warrick raised an eyebrow, but did as she asked. Damn, he thought to himself, wanting to laugh in giddiness, but somehow managing to refrain from doing so. I’m sitting with Sara, on her couch, with my hand resting on her stomach. “So… continue?” he asked, clearing his throat.
Sara nodded. “I checked every room in the house, including the basement, the bathrooms, the home office, and even the flower garden out back. I’m telling you, Warrick. The place is huge, but I searched it at length. I found one hammer in the garage, and bagged it. It came up clean, though, with absolutely nothing on it. I don’t know where else to look! There has to be something in that house that I’m missing; blood, semen, sweat, something!”
“Let’s go back to the house, then,” Warrick suddenly suggested. “Let me help you look. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, right?” he quietly asked her, his mind already made up. “Let’s go see if we can solve this case of yours.”
Sara carefully sat up, crawling out of Warrick’s lap, and standing up. “I would appreciate that,” she finally admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“Good,” Warrick grinned at her. “Because damn, girl; after we close this case, you’re going to owe me. You’re going to owe me big.”
“Oh, I am, am I?” Sara raised a teasing eyebrow.
“Yes, you are. Dinner and a movie, on me.”
“So, how does that equate to me repaying you?” Sara asked, a gleam in her eye.
“Because I get to hold your hand during the movie, and when I walk you back to your apartment for the night, I get to give you a goodnight kiss.”
“I see,” Sara smiled, pretending to mull over the proposition. “Well, then in that case, I do believe that you have a deal, Mr. Warrick Brown.”
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TO BE CONTINUED
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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.
Title: The Deal
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The Sidle Residence, present time
I don’t understand, girl, Warrick thought to himself, gazing down at Sara’s sleeping form, as he gently rested his arm across her stomach. When did everything become so difficult for you, and why didn’t I notice that you were having problems? Was I so wrapped up in myself, that I wasn’t paying enough attention to you? Even if that is the case, you should have known that you could come to me with anything; hell, you should have known that you could come to any of us with anything. We’re your family, Sara; your family.
“Uh-huh,” Sara mumbled, licking her lips, and trying to pull Warrick’s arm even more securely across her body. “Okay,” she added. “But I’m cold.”
‘Uh-huh? Okay?’ I didn’t even ask you anything! “You’re cold?” Warrick whispered, raising an eyebrow, before reaching down, and wrapping the blanket more firmly around her body. “How’s that?” he quietly asked, although he recognized the fact that she was still sleeping soundly.
Sara just gave a contented sigh, licking her lips again, and burrowing her head further into his lap.
Warrick chuckled, before frowning. Damn. My legs are starting to cramp. I need to move my feet off of the floor and onto the couch, or else I won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Sitting up, he very carefully tried to move Sara from his lap, sighing, as she simply clung to him even more tightly.
“Mmfg,” she mumbled under her breath.
“I’m not leaving, girl,” Warrick softly told her, as he gently scooped her up into his arms. “But I have to move,” he added, standing up with Sara in his arms, and briefly stretching his legs. Sitting back down on the couch so that he was laying lengthwise along the cushions, he set Sara down in between his legs, laying her on her back, with her head resting on his leg. Covering her up with the blanket, he sighed, closing his eyes.
Without warning, Sara slowly rolled over and crawled up the front of Warrick’s body, so that she was practically on top of him, with her head now resting on his chest.
“Comfortable?” Warrick chuckled, waiting for Sara to get situated in his lap. When her light breathing was the only response to his question, he sighed, wrapping his arms more securely around her body, and drifting off to sleep.
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The Sidle Residence, earlier that week
I really shouldn’t be here, Brass kept telling himself over and over again, his eyes on Sara, who was still asleep on the couch. This isn’t right; it isn’t proper, even... except for the fact that she’s my friend; she’s like a daughter to me, and I need to help her remain safe. If that means that I have to spend the night on an extremely uncomfortable, and very lumpy armchair, well, then that is what I’ll have to do.
On the couch, Sara rolled over, now facing away from Brass. “Sorry” she mumbled to herself in her sleep. “Really, I’m sorry.”
Brass stared at Sara for a moment in confusion, raising an eyebrow. What could you possibly have to be sorry for? He wanted to ask her. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.
“I tried,” she continued to talk in her sleep. “But I wasn’t able to do it.”
Weren’t able to do what? Brass wondered, filing the words away in his brain so that he could ask her about them later. Just sleep, Sara. Rest your mind, and get some sleep.
Almost as if hearing his thoughts, Sara groaned once more, before slipping into an even deeper, and fairly untroubled, sleep.
Early the next morning, Brass quietly got out of the armchair, walking into the kitchen in order to make a pot of coffee. You’re going to need this, he thought to himself, realizing that he had somehow managed to stay awake for the entire night. Actually, both of you are going to need this coffee. Quietly opening several cabinets in the kitchen, Brass grunted in success, when he located two coffee mugs. Pulling them down from the cupboard, and setting them down on the kitchen countertop in front of him, he stared at the coffee in the machine, waiting as it percolated.
“Hi,” Sara softly greeted him from the doorway.
“Mornin’,” Brass replied, turning around to look at her. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” Sara admitted, taking a seat at the kitchen table, glancing at the coffee maker. “Thanks for coming over, though, Jim; I really appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Brass gruffly replied, pouring both himself and Sara a cup of coffee. “Here you go,” he handed her the steaming mug, sitting down across from her. “I’m worried about you, though, you know that?”
“Well, don’t be,” Sara immediately replied, looking down at the table in slight embarrassment. “I’m fine.”
Brass slowly shook his head no, studying her expression. “No, you aren’t, Sara. This case is really getting to you. You need some help with it. In fact, you just need some help, period. I suggest that you talk with Gil about your… situation.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Sara’s eyes suddenly flashed in anger. “‘I need some help, period?’ ‘My… situation?’ What situation?”
“Look at yourself,” he simply replied.
Sara frowned, once again staring down at the table. “I don’t need any help,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Yes, you do, Sara. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. I will always be here for you, and so will the rest of the gang, but you need help; professional help. Get some, before it’s too late.”
Sara sighed, her dejected gaze slowly raising in order to meet Brass’s concerned one. “You’re right, Jim,” she finally conceded. “I’m sorry that I snapped at you, because you’re right; I need help… and with more than just this case, too.”
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The Sidle Residence, present time
For the next four hours, the only sound that could be heard throughout Sara’s tiny apartment was the steady breathing of both her and Warrick. Nestled securely and comfortably in his warm embrace, Sara slept through the night, until she eventually groaned, yawned, and slowly cracked an eye open, jumping, as her brain registered the fact that someone else’s warm flesh was touching her own skin. “Huh?” she asked, completely disoriented. Turning her head, and noticing Warrick’s sleeping form, she raised a nervous eyebrow. “What are you… what are you doing here? And why am I sleeping in your lap?” she whispered, her eyes wide, as she tried to scramble away from him.
“Sara?” Warrick frowned, his eyes immediately popping open. “What’s wrong?”
Sara took a deep breath, closing her eyes, as she tried to remember why she and Warrick were sleeping on her couch.
“Sara?” Warrick repeated her name, sitting up, as concern and worry filled his voice. “It’s okay, Sara; you asked me to stay for the entire night, so I did... remember?”
“I did...?” Sara cautiously asked him, swallowing.
“Yes, you did,” Warrick confirmed, his gaze searching for her own.
Sara’s eyes suddenly widened, as little bits and pieces of what occurred the night before started to flood her memory. “Oh, shit, Warrick,” she whispered, her face immediately flushing in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!” she told him, hastily trying to get further away from him on the couch, as more and more of what happened came back to her. “Shit!”
Warrick squinted at Sara in puzzlement, not entirely sure why she was acting so differently from how she was acting last night. What’s going on here? “Hey, girl, calm down,” he soothingly told her, holding his arms up in a defensive posture. “I’m not going to hurt you, so why are you so jumpy?”
Sara bolted off of the couch, her face bright red. “I, uh,” she hesitated. “I can’t believe that I admitted all of that to you last night. I must have been exhausted,” she tried to explain. “I ramble when I’m exhausted.”
“Well, then I’m glad that you were tired,” Warrick smiled, standing up, and swaggering toward her. “But you’re making me nervous. Can you please just calm down?” he asked, tentatively wrapping his arms around her in a hug.
“Right,” Sara sighed, burying her head against his chest. “Sure, I can calm down,” she mumbled, as she slowly wrapped her own arms around his waist, trying to breathe deeply. “So… you spent the entire night here, just because I asked you to?”
“I wanted to stay, but even if I hadn’t wanted to stay, you wouldn’t exactly let me leave,” Warrick again chuckled, releasing her, and pointing to her fists. “Let’s just say that you have a strong grip, girl.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sara whispered, her face once again turning crimson.
“Like I said, Sara, I really wanted to stay,” he smiled at her, as he took a seat at one end of the couch. Reaching up, and lightly pulling on her wrist so that she was forced to follow him, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him. “Now, why don’t you tell me about the rest of your case?” he suggested.
Sara slowly nodded, resting her head on Warrick’s shoulder.
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The Conte Residence, one week prior
The Conte home, set in an unusually quiet neighborhood in Henderson, was bustling with activity on the last Wednesday of July. Although it was the middle of the night, the street seemed to be alive with movement, as several news crews vied for the best position from which to report, and as several police units attempted to keep the news hounds at bay. “Back off,” Louis Deckerson, a beat cop, growled at reporters from News Channel 8, as he attempted to cordon off the Conte’s entire yard with yellow crime scene tape. “C’mon, there ain’t nothin’ to see here!”
“Nothing to see?” Susan Lockheart replied. “I see plenty!” she told the cop. “The blood is everywhere, and our viewers have a right to know what happened here. Who’s dead? Who did the murdering? Do you have a suspect, yet?” she persistently bombarded him with question after question, waving a microphone in the young cop’s face, while her cameraman attempted to get everything down on film.
“Ma’am, we won’t know anything for sure, until the CSIs come in and take a look around,” he told her, stepping back from the tape, and scanning the street with his eyes. And they better get here soon, too, he mused. Because these people are about to eat me alive.
Several minutes later, Sara Sidle, clad in her black CSI vest and hat, her kit confidently held in her right hand, took a brief moment to glance around the yard, as she strode up the Conte’s driveway. What the hell happened here? It looks like more than one person died, and not in a painless manner, either, she thought to herself, shivering as the slight nighttime desert breeze hit her hot and flushed skin. And why are all of these reporters here? People die every day, unfortunately, she mused, spotting Brass up ahead, standing beside the front doorway. Nodding at the detective in greeting the moment that she reached his side, she frowned. “What do we have?” she asked him in a businesslike manner, ignoring the stares from the reporters anxiously awaiting for someone to throw them a little tidbit of information.
“We have a doozey on our hands, that’s what we have,” Brass commented, glancing through the still open doorway. “Who are you working with tonight?”
“I’m solo, actually,” Sara flashed him a small smile.
“Oh?” Brass asked, raising an eyebrow. “I hope that Grissom knows what he’s gotten you into,” he sighed, waving at all of the news vans.
What is THAT supposed to mean? Sara wanted to ask, slightly confused. Clearing her throat, though, she bit her tongue, glancing at Brass. “So, what’s going on? And why are there so many reporters here?”
“Lindsey Conte,” Brass started to recite the specifics of the case, without the use of his notebook. “Thirty-five, mother of two, the wife of Jason Conte.”
Sara’s eyes widened in surprise, as she started to understand. “The realestate mogul?”
“The one and only,” Brass affirmed. “As I said, she is the mother of two: a girl, age ten, named Julie, and a boy, seven years old, named Rory. Both kids are out of town visiting their grandmother,” he continued.
“And the husband?” Sara prodded him.
“So far, the hubby’s whereabouts are unknown.”
Sara nodded, filing the information away for later use. “Where was she found?” she then asked, once again scanning the yard in confusion. There is quite a bit of blood out here; so, where’s the body?
Brass glanced at Sara, as if following her train of thought. “The body was found indoors, by the couch, but there is a lot of blood outside, as well.”
“And no one has touched a thing?” Sara continued, opening up her kit long enough to pull out a pair of gloves, immediately slapping them on.
“Of course not, Sara,” Brass frowned. “The scene is completely undisturbed.”
Sara again nodded, studying the ground just in front of the doorway. “Can we get everyone out of the house?” she asked after a moment. “They’re walking through possible evidence.”
Brass immediately waved to someone inside of the Conte’s home, ordering everyone to move on out. “The place has already been cleared, obviously,” he told her. “So you’ll be safe.”
“Okay,” she replied, lost in thought, as she very carefully walked into the spacious foyer. “Just watch your step, Jim,” she added, noticing that he was already following her inside. Scanning the hallway, she visually followed the trail of blood, frowning, when it ended right by the couch; and right at the bloodied body of Lindsey Conte. What the hell happened to you? Sara swallowed the bile forming in her throat, as she slowly made her way toward the victim. God, I feel so sick.
“The husband was supposed to be at a work meeting,” Brass continued, not wanting to intrude on Sara’s analytical train of thought, but wanting her to know the full details of the case.
“But he wasn’t?” Sara probed, thankful that Brass was saying something—anything—to keep her mind off of the young woman up ahead.
“No,” he replied. “We called his office, but there was no meeting scheduled for tonight.”
“So he could be anywhere,” Sara mused, as they finally reached the living room. Kneeling down beside Lindsey Conte, and without touching her, she scanned the body for any obvious pieces of evidence. “She struggled,” Sara quietly told Brass, glancing down at the woman’s hands. “Torn fingernails, blood under her nails, scratches on her palm,” she pointed to Lindsey’s right hand, which was facing upwards. “She fought back; and she fought back hard.”
Brass uncomfortably nodded, as he glanced around the rest of the room. “You’re going to have your work cut out for you tonight, Sara,” he commented. “Perhaps you should call Gil, and get some backup?”
Sara slowly shook her head from side to side. “We’re tapped out for tonight, although I’m sure that he will call in the dayshift, when he realizes how busy we’re all going to be.”
“Alright,” Brass simply replied. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay? I’m going to post someone just inside of the house, while I go and talk to the neighbors. David should be here soon, too,” he added, before walking out of the front door.
“Fine,” Sara mumbled after he was gone, standing up, her mind already back on the task at hand. Setting her kit down on the floor beside her, she reached in, grabbing a swab. “I’m going to find out who did this to you, and we’re going to nail his or her ass to the wall,” she vehemently promised Lindsey Conte’s dead body.
---------------
The Sidle Residence, present time
“I took swab after swab,” Sara sighed, twisting her head so that she could glance up at Warrick. “But everything pointed back to Lindsey.”
Warrick nodded, as he absentmindedly rubbed Sara’s shoulder with his thumb. “So essentially,” he mused. “We know nothing.”
Sara slowly nodded, her mind zeroing in on Warrick’s soft touch, rather than on the case itself. Sighing, and moving her body closer to his own, she frowned. “If I could just find the hammer, I know that I could crack this case wide open,” she finally told him.
“Where have you already looked for it?” he prompted her, staring straight ahead, deep in thought.
“Where haven’t I looked for it, is the better question,” Sara raised an eyebrow, as she slid down Warrick’s body, laying on her back, her head resting in his lap.
Warrick draped his arm across Sara’s stomach, his thumb slowly brushing against her stomach, rather than her arm.
“I’ve searched the bedrooms, the closets, the—” she trailed off, once again focusing on the movement of his fingers.
Oblivious to Sara’s discomfort, Warrick quietly listened to her tell him about the case, his thumb still moving against her body.
“Do you mind?” Sara whispered, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
“What?” Warrick furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.
“I can’t concentrate,” she admitted with a small smile. When the look of confusion on his face did not abate, she rested her hand on top of the hand that he had draped across her stomach, tapping his thumb with her forefinger. “Stop moving it.”
Warrick raised an eyebrow, but did as she asked. Damn, he thought to himself, wanting to laugh in giddiness, but somehow managing to refrain from doing so. I’m sitting with Sara, on her couch, with my hand resting on her stomach. “So… continue?” he asked, clearing his throat.
Sara nodded. “I checked every room in the house, including the basement, the bathrooms, the home office, and even the flower garden out back. I’m telling you, Warrick. The place is huge, but I searched it at length. I found one hammer in the garage, and bagged it. It came up clean, though, with absolutely nothing on it. I don’t know where else to look! There has to be something in that house that I’m missing; blood, semen, sweat, something!”
“Let’s go back to the house, then,” Warrick suddenly suggested. “Let me help you look. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, right?” he quietly asked her, his mind already made up. “Let’s go see if we can solve this case of yours.”
Sara carefully sat up, crawling out of Warrick’s lap, and standing up. “I would appreciate that,” she finally admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“Good,” Warrick grinned at her. “Because damn, girl; after we close this case, you’re going to owe me. You’re going to owe me big.”
“Oh, I am, am I?” Sara raised a teasing eyebrow.
“Yes, you are. Dinner and a movie, on me.”
“So, how does that equate to me repaying you?” Sara asked, a gleam in her eye.
“Because I get to hold your hand during the movie, and when I walk you back to your apartment for the night, I get to give you a goodnight kiss.”
“I see,” Sara smiled, pretending to mull over the proposition. “Well, then in that case, I do believe that you have a deal, Mr. Warrick Brown.”
---------------
TO BE CONTINUED
saras_girlfriend
Coroner
awww how cute!
CathStokes
Head of the Day Shift
thats a really good ficcie you've got going on there.
Cordelia_GRS_Fan
CSI Level Two
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!! I wuv that last bit so much! He's such a sweetheart! But wait! Somehow (although I may be wrong - I can never tell with you, you're too good!) I have a feeling their date won't be obstacle-free....hmmmmm.
Xx Mia-Sara xX
Xx Mia-Sara xX
saras_girlfriend
Coroner
Zan1781 said:
Jenn12597, saras girlfriend, and iheartnickcath, I'm so glad that you all liked this chapter! I wasn't sure if it was too slow, but it had a bunch of awww moments in it!
Hopefully they'll be able to solve the case!
It was slow, you're torturing me
But I'll wait patiently on the next chaper (not that I really have a choice )Lol. I meant slow in plot, but sorry about the torture! I can only write the chapters when they come to me, because I don't want them to sound crummy!
ETA (because I'm a dork!): Cordelia, I didn't see your post! Sorry 'bout that, but thank you so much for commenting! Will the date go well...? I just don't know! I guess only time wil tell. Mwahaha! And thank you SO much for your compliment, really... you have no idea how much I appreciate it!
ETA (because I'm a dork!): Cordelia, I didn't see your post! Sorry 'bout that, but thank you so much for commenting! Will the date go well...? I just don't know! I guess only time wil tell. Mwahaha! And thank you SO much for your compliment, really... you have no idea how much I appreciate it!
saras_girlfriend
Coroner
Maybe we can do something to speed you up
(I would like to take a moment to thank everyone who read and/or reviewed the last chapter. I really (really) appreciate! As well, I think that there will only be one or more chapters to go, and I am hoping to finish this fic before I leave for vacation on the 19th. So keep your fingers crossed that I can do it, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter!)
---------------
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.
Title: The Crime Scene
---------------
The Sidle Residence
“What about the husband?” Warrick suddenly asked, as he grabbed his keys, wallet, badge, and firearm, from the table beside the door. “When did he re-enter the picture?”
Sara closed her eyes in thought for a moment, thinking through her answer. “He eventually returned to his home around two in the morning,” she began, grabbing her own badge and firearm. “And he seemed pretty shocked, I have to admit; like he wasn’t expecting to see so many flashing cars around his home.”
“Why, what did he do?” Warrick questioned her, raising an eyebrow, as his fist closed around the doorknob. Twisting the knob, he yanked the door open, stepping slightly to the side so that Sara could walk past him.
“He ran to his wife’s body, and immediately started crying,” she informed him. “His face got pale, and he seemed genuinely upset. Then again, he could very well have just be acting,” she shrugged, as she walked past Warrick, her elbow slightly grazing his chest.
“True,” Warrick raised an eyebrow. “So how did he try to explain the lack of a meeting?”
“Actually,” Sara frowned, locking the door behind them both. “He didn’t try to hide it; he said that there never was a meeting, but that he just needed a night away from his wife. He claims,” she mused. “That he spent the night at a bar downtown, just clearing his head.”
“I see,” Warrick slowly replied, as he tried to process that particular fact. “So his marriage is—or was—on the rocks?” he continued, swaggering toward his car, and opening the passenger-side door for Sara.
“He claims that their marriage was fine,” she admitted, sliding into the Denali, and immediately buckling herself in. “But that he just needed one night to himself. Then again,” she continued. “If he feels the need to take a night off, well, I don’t know how good his marriage could have been in the first place.”
Warrick simply nodded, as he drove toward the crime scene. “Why don’t you go ahead and call Brass, and tell him where we’re headed?” he calmly suggested, his eyes on the road.
“Sure,” Sara replied. Pulling out her cell phone, and flipping it open, she hit the speed dial number assigned to Brass. “Hi, Jim,” she quietly said into the receiver, after he picked up. “Warrick and I are on our way over to the Conte home now, to look for more evidence,” she informed him. “You’ll have back-up there for us within ten minutes? Excellent, thank you! You, too!” She added, before hanging up the phone.
“All set, girl?” Warrick grinned, chancing a quick look at her.
“All set,” Sara confirmed. “And again, thank you for coming along with me.”
“Don’t thank me,” Warrick chuckled. “Trust me, it’s my pleasure.” And things will only get better, once this case is solved.
Sara just smiled, as they continued to drive in silence.
---------------
The Conte Residence
“Good,” Warrick mused, as they pulled up on front of the Conte’s home, parking along the side of the road. “The officer is already here, which means that we can go ahead and get started.”
“Right,” Sara nodded, reaching over and putting her hand on Warrick’s arm, in order to stop him from getting out of the car for a moment. “But what, exactly, are we going to do?” she softly asked him. “I mean, I’ve looked everywhere inside and outside of this house; I don’t know where else that hammer could possibly be, Rick,” she frowned, her feeling of despair starting to return.
Turning to look at Sara, Warrick put his hand over her own, gently squeezing it. “Hey, girl, give yourself a break, okay?” he hesitantly advised her. “You need to breathe, and you need to focus. You and I will retrace your steps, and we’ll see what we can find. But in order to find anything, you’re going to need to calm down,” he quietly told her.
“I know,” Sara sighed. “I know, and you’re right.” Removing her hand from his arm, she glanced out of her window, before opening the door, and climbing out. “And I am calm,” she mumbled. “I just want to find Lindsey’s killer, and it’s bothering me that I am missing something so key. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, girl, I know what you mean,” Warrick admitted, climbing out of the Denali, and locking the door behind him. “But that is why we’re going to work together to solve this case, right here and now, okay?”
“Okay,” Sara smiled, before glancing up the driveway, and heading toward the door. “So do you want to start inside or outside, first?”
Warrick shrugged. “I guess we might as well take a cursory look around inside of the house first,” he mused, following her up the driveway. “Just so that you can show me what you’ve already done.”
Sara again nodded, as they approached the officer standing in front of the house. “Officer Pierce,” she greeted him. “Any changes?”
“No, Ma’am,” he replied. “Mr. Conte stopped by earlier tonight, though, just to pick up some clothing. He’s been staying at his mother’s house, while his house is under investigation.”
“And someone followed him while he was inside?” she asked the young officer, glancing at the closed front door.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied with a small smile. “The man wasn’t alone for a moment.”
“Good,” Sara nodded, as she slipped on a pair of gloves, and opening the front door. “Ready, Rick?” she quietly asked.
“Of course,” Warrick assured her, as he followed her inside. “So walk me through what you did?” he suggested.
“Well,” Sara cleared her throat. “When Jim and I first entered the house, I noticed the trail of blood leading from the doorway to the couch,” she pointed along the tiled floor. “The trail was made by a combination of footprints, and of something being dragged.”
“So someone obviously stepped in some blood at some point,” Warrick stated the obvious.
“Exactly,” Sara confirmed, as the two criminalists stood in the foyer of the large home, just glancing around. “I measured the footprints, and they matched a size seven shoe; Lindsey wore a size five,” Sara continued, so it couldn’t have been made by her.”
“And the husband?” Warrick prompted Sara, his eyes studying the foyer.
“Size nine,” she replied.
“So then obviously,” he continued. “It wasn’t his shoe that stepped through the blood. He would have been able to wear a larger shoe, but not a smaller one. And as for the size seven itself—” he started to point.
“I know,” Sara flashed him a small smile. “It could belong to a woman with larger feet, or a smaller male.”
“Exactly,” Warrick grinned at her. “Just what I was thinking.”
“And just what I was thinking earlier this week,” Sara sighed.
“Hey, Girl,” Warrick frowned, turning to look at her. “Don’t look so despondent, okay? We just got here, so keep walking me through the scene,” he tried to prod her, reaching a hand out, and lightly placing it on her arm for a moment.
“Okay,” Sara nodded, trying to smile for Warrick’s sake. “So, Jim and I walked into the living room, where we found Lindsey’s body.” Starting to walk down the hallway, Sara pulled out a flashlight, shining it along the floor. “We found her right about here,” she informed him, shining the light just next to the couch. “Although nothing was overturned in this room.”
“So, do you think she was killed in here? Or somewhere else?” Warrick asked, his gaze sweeping the contents of the living room. Aside from the blood stains just next to the couch, the rest of the room was in pristine condition; nothing was out of place, and everything seemed normal.
“There was a lot of blood out on the front lawn,” Sara replied. “And nothing out back, actually.”
“So the crime could have been committed out front,” Warrick mused.
“Correct. Except wouldn’t you, as a neighbor, notice a crime being committed in your neighbor’s front yard? It just doesn’t add up!” Sara frowned, her hands on her hips.
Warrick shrugged. “Not necessarily, Girl. The neighbors might have been gone for the night, or watching television, or just—” he trailed off.
“But she was bludgeoned to death, Warrick,” Sara pointed out. “She probably made a lot of noise. Are these people so into themselves, that they just ignore everyone else?” she sadly asked.
“I don’t know, Sara,” he stated. “I really don’t. But let’s take a look outside, okay?” Putting one of his hands on the small of her back, Warrick carefully guided her back out of the front door, removing his hand, in order to walk side by side with her toward the backyard. “Can you take me through what you did next?” he hesitantly asked, turning to look at her.
“Of course,” Sara mumbled, scanning the backyard. “There isn’t much to tell, though. I came out back, and found absolutely nothing; no footprints, no trace, no evidence. I even climbed up those trees over there, and looked inside of the tree house,” she added, pointing to an enclosed wooden tree house sitting in a stand of trees around one hundred yards away.
Warrick turned to glance at the tree house, whistling. “Damn, Girl. I always wanted one of those, you know that?” he chuckled, slowly walking over to the fort of sorts, and looking up at it in awe. “My Dad refused to build one for me, though,” he softly explained.
“And you couldn’t build it by yourself?” she teased him.
“Nah, not the kind of fort that I was envisioning,” he grinned, before his smile suddenly faded, only to be replaced by a look of utter confusion. “But hey, wait a minute.”
“What? What is it?” Sara quietly asked, walking over to stand beside him. Looking up at the tree house, she noticed a jacket covered with definite red-splotches, haphazardly slung out of one of the windows. “That wasn’t there before, Warrick,” she nervously whispered to him. “Really; it wasn’t there before,” she repeated. And is that blood? Is there blood on that jacket? Is there someone inside of that tree house right now, watching our every move? Someone with a weapon?
Warrick nodded his understanding, pulling out his gun, and cocking it. This could get ugly pretty fast, if there is someone in there with a weapon of some sort.
Before either of the two criminalists could react any further, however, a red-haired boy of around nineteen poked his head out of the tree house window closest to their present location. “Wh-who’s out there? Who are you?” he boldly asked them.
Immediately stepping in front of Sara as if attempting to protect her from the potential threat, Warrick aimed his gun up at the young man. “LVMPD, although I think the real question,” he hissed. “Is who the hell are you?”
---------------
TO BE CONTINUED
---------------
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.
Title: The Crime Scene
---------------
The Sidle Residence
“What about the husband?” Warrick suddenly asked, as he grabbed his keys, wallet, badge, and firearm, from the table beside the door. “When did he re-enter the picture?”
Sara closed her eyes in thought for a moment, thinking through her answer. “He eventually returned to his home around two in the morning,” she began, grabbing her own badge and firearm. “And he seemed pretty shocked, I have to admit; like he wasn’t expecting to see so many flashing cars around his home.”
“Why, what did he do?” Warrick questioned her, raising an eyebrow, as his fist closed around the doorknob. Twisting the knob, he yanked the door open, stepping slightly to the side so that Sara could walk past him.
“He ran to his wife’s body, and immediately started crying,” she informed him. “His face got pale, and he seemed genuinely upset. Then again, he could very well have just be acting,” she shrugged, as she walked past Warrick, her elbow slightly grazing his chest.
“True,” Warrick raised an eyebrow. “So how did he try to explain the lack of a meeting?”
“Actually,” Sara frowned, locking the door behind them both. “He didn’t try to hide it; he said that there never was a meeting, but that he just needed a night away from his wife. He claims,” she mused. “That he spent the night at a bar downtown, just clearing his head.”
“I see,” Warrick slowly replied, as he tried to process that particular fact. “So his marriage is—or was—on the rocks?” he continued, swaggering toward his car, and opening the passenger-side door for Sara.
“He claims that their marriage was fine,” she admitted, sliding into the Denali, and immediately buckling herself in. “But that he just needed one night to himself. Then again,” she continued. “If he feels the need to take a night off, well, I don’t know how good his marriage could have been in the first place.”
Warrick simply nodded, as he drove toward the crime scene. “Why don’t you go ahead and call Brass, and tell him where we’re headed?” he calmly suggested, his eyes on the road.
“Sure,” Sara replied. Pulling out her cell phone, and flipping it open, she hit the speed dial number assigned to Brass. “Hi, Jim,” she quietly said into the receiver, after he picked up. “Warrick and I are on our way over to the Conte home now, to look for more evidence,” she informed him. “You’ll have back-up there for us within ten minutes? Excellent, thank you! You, too!” She added, before hanging up the phone.
“All set, girl?” Warrick grinned, chancing a quick look at her.
“All set,” Sara confirmed. “And again, thank you for coming along with me.”
“Don’t thank me,” Warrick chuckled. “Trust me, it’s my pleasure.” And things will only get better, once this case is solved.
Sara just smiled, as they continued to drive in silence.
---------------
The Conte Residence
“Good,” Warrick mused, as they pulled up on front of the Conte’s home, parking along the side of the road. “The officer is already here, which means that we can go ahead and get started.”
“Right,” Sara nodded, reaching over and putting her hand on Warrick’s arm, in order to stop him from getting out of the car for a moment. “But what, exactly, are we going to do?” she softly asked him. “I mean, I’ve looked everywhere inside and outside of this house; I don’t know where else that hammer could possibly be, Rick,” she frowned, her feeling of despair starting to return.
Turning to look at Sara, Warrick put his hand over her own, gently squeezing it. “Hey, girl, give yourself a break, okay?” he hesitantly advised her. “You need to breathe, and you need to focus. You and I will retrace your steps, and we’ll see what we can find. But in order to find anything, you’re going to need to calm down,” he quietly told her.
“I know,” Sara sighed. “I know, and you’re right.” Removing her hand from his arm, she glanced out of her window, before opening the door, and climbing out. “And I am calm,” she mumbled. “I just want to find Lindsey’s killer, and it’s bothering me that I am missing something so key. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, girl, I know what you mean,” Warrick admitted, climbing out of the Denali, and locking the door behind him. “But that is why we’re going to work together to solve this case, right here and now, okay?”
“Okay,” Sara smiled, before glancing up the driveway, and heading toward the door. “So do you want to start inside or outside, first?”
Warrick shrugged. “I guess we might as well take a cursory look around inside of the house first,” he mused, following her up the driveway. “Just so that you can show me what you’ve already done.”
Sara again nodded, as they approached the officer standing in front of the house. “Officer Pierce,” she greeted him. “Any changes?”
“No, Ma’am,” he replied. “Mr. Conte stopped by earlier tonight, though, just to pick up some clothing. He’s been staying at his mother’s house, while his house is under investigation.”
“And someone followed him while he was inside?” she asked the young officer, glancing at the closed front door.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied with a small smile. “The man wasn’t alone for a moment.”
“Good,” Sara nodded, as she slipped on a pair of gloves, and opening the front door. “Ready, Rick?” she quietly asked.
“Of course,” Warrick assured her, as he followed her inside. “So walk me through what you did?” he suggested.
“Well,” Sara cleared her throat. “When Jim and I first entered the house, I noticed the trail of blood leading from the doorway to the couch,” she pointed along the tiled floor. “The trail was made by a combination of footprints, and of something being dragged.”
“So someone obviously stepped in some blood at some point,” Warrick stated the obvious.
“Exactly,” Sara confirmed, as the two criminalists stood in the foyer of the large home, just glancing around. “I measured the footprints, and they matched a size seven shoe; Lindsey wore a size five,” Sara continued, so it couldn’t have been made by her.”
“And the husband?” Warrick prompted Sara, his eyes studying the foyer.
“Size nine,” she replied.
“So then obviously,” he continued. “It wasn’t his shoe that stepped through the blood. He would have been able to wear a larger shoe, but not a smaller one. And as for the size seven itself—” he started to point.
“I know,” Sara flashed him a small smile. “It could belong to a woman with larger feet, or a smaller male.”
“Exactly,” Warrick grinned at her. “Just what I was thinking.”
“And just what I was thinking earlier this week,” Sara sighed.
“Hey, Girl,” Warrick frowned, turning to look at her. “Don’t look so despondent, okay? We just got here, so keep walking me through the scene,” he tried to prod her, reaching a hand out, and lightly placing it on her arm for a moment.
“Okay,” Sara nodded, trying to smile for Warrick’s sake. “So, Jim and I walked into the living room, where we found Lindsey’s body.” Starting to walk down the hallway, Sara pulled out a flashlight, shining it along the floor. “We found her right about here,” she informed him, shining the light just next to the couch. “Although nothing was overturned in this room.”
“So, do you think she was killed in here? Or somewhere else?” Warrick asked, his gaze sweeping the contents of the living room. Aside from the blood stains just next to the couch, the rest of the room was in pristine condition; nothing was out of place, and everything seemed normal.
“There was a lot of blood out on the front lawn,” Sara replied. “And nothing out back, actually.”
“So the crime could have been committed out front,” Warrick mused.
“Correct. Except wouldn’t you, as a neighbor, notice a crime being committed in your neighbor’s front yard? It just doesn’t add up!” Sara frowned, her hands on her hips.
Warrick shrugged. “Not necessarily, Girl. The neighbors might have been gone for the night, or watching television, or just—” he trailed off.
“But she was bludgeoned to death, Warrick,” Sara pointed out. “She probably made a lot of noise. Are these people so into themselves, that they just ignore everyone else?” she sadly asked.
“I don’t know, Sara,” he stated. “I really don’t. But let’s take a look outside, okay?” Putting one of his hands on the small of her back, Warrick carefully guided her back out of the front door, removing his hand, in order to walk side by side with her toward the backyard. “Can you take me through what you did next?” he hesitantly asked, turning to look at her.
“Of course,” Sara mumbled, scanning the backyard. “There isn’t much to tell, though. I came out back, and found absolutely nothing; no footprints, no trace, no evidence. I even climbed up those trees over there, and looked inside of the tree house,” she added, pointing to an enclosed wooden tree house sitting in a stand of trees around one hundred yards away.
Warrick turned to glance at the tree house, whistling. “Damn, Girl. I always wanted one of those, you know that?” he chuckled, slowly walking over to the fort of sorts, and looking up at it in awe. “My Dad refused to build one for me, though,” he softly explained.
“And you couldn’t build it by yourself?” she teased him.
“Nah, not the kind of fort that I was envisioning,” he grinned, before his smile suddenly faded, only to be replaced by a look of utter confusion. “But hey, wait a minute.”
“What? What is it?” Sara quietly asked, walking over to stand beside him. Looking up at the tree house, she noticed a jacket covered with definite red-splotches, haphazardly slung out of one of the windows. “That wasn’t there before, Warrick,” she nervously whispered to him. “Really; it wasn’t there before,” she repeated. And is that blood? Is there blood on that jacket? Is there someone inside of that tree house right now, watching our every move? Someone with a weapon?
Warrick nodded his understanding, pulling out his gun, and cocking it. This could get ugly pretty fast, if there is someone in there with a weapon of some sort.
Before either of the two criminalists could react any further, however, a red-haired boy of around nineteen poked his head out of the tree house window closest to their present location. “Wh-who’s out there? Who are you?” he boldly asked them.
Immediately stepping in front of Sara as if attempting to protect her from the potential threat, Warrick aimed his gun up at the young man. “LVMPD, although I think the real question,” he hissed. “Is who the hell are you?”
---------------
TO BE CONTINUED
Cordelia_GRS_Fan
CSI Level Two
OMG Jan ya can't leave it there!!! More, more, more!!! I'll find my pitchfork!! *calls for back-up* Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease give us the rest before ya go on vacation!!! *flutters lashereyes*
lovelove
Xx Mia-Sara xX
lovelove
Xx Mia-Sara xX