Jacqui
Police Officer
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After leaving Cassie’s school, Nick went home and showered. He tried to get Mr. Jacobson’s uncomfortable look out of his mind, but it kept haunting him, as did Susan’s distrustful stare.
When he laid down on his bed he silently hoped that sleep would claim him quickly. He was tired and sore, and that usually did the trick. More often than not, if he slept heavily the likelihood that he’d wake in a cold sweat was fairly minimal. Also, he had figured out that when his legs became tangled in the sheets he woke every time to phantom pain crawling in his skin, as if the ghosts of the ants from the box had crept into his dreams to gnaw on him in his sleep. Because of this, he started sleeping on top of the covers.
Later that evening, it was actually his alarm that woke him. He didn’t dream anymore – he had given up on that – but he did have occasional bouts of good, solid sleep, which was probably one of the only things that held him together that night.
He and Greg had been assigned a burglary at a residence in Henderson. On the drive out there, Greg looked at him from the passenger seat.
“What’s eatin’ you, Nick?”
Distracted, Nick looked briefly at Greg. “Huh?”
“I’ve been talking to you for the last ten minutes about my vacation and you haven’t said a word, not even to make fun of me.”
“You were on vacation?”
“For the last four days, Nick.”
He let out a sigh and turned back to the road. “Sorry, Greggo.” He wondered briefly if talking to Greg about Cassie and his troubles with Emily would be a good idea. All Warrick ever seemed to want to talk about anymore was Tina and how she didn’t understand his job. Sara might make a big deal out of it – or she might not, one never knew with her – and Catherine . . . . Don’t even go there, he told himself. She’ll skewer you and eat you for breakfast.
“Hey Greg, do you remember the case we worked up in Pioche?” The words came involuntarily out of his mouth.
“The McBrides, right? Who could forget that?”
“Not me,” he said quietly.
“I noticed that one rattled your cage,” said Greg, turning in his seat and sipping his Blue Hawaiian. “You aren’t still thinkin’ about it, are you?”
He shook his head. “Nah . . . not about the case itself. Listen, Sanders . . . would you mind if I bounced somethin’ off ya?”
Curious, Greg urged him on. “No, not at all. What’s up?”
“Well . . . you remember the kid, right?”
“Yeah. What was her name – Casey, wasn’t it? Poor little girl.”
“It’s Cassie.” Nick was quiet a moment, trying to formulate what he’d say to Greg, who miraculously was waiting patiently. I’ve been seeing her was not the right thing to say, although it was the only succinct phrase he could think of. “You’re right when you say that case rattled my cage . . . when the one kid’s case was extradited to Clark County, I testified . . . Cassie was there.”
“How’s she holdin’ up?”
“She’s in a foster home,” he replied. “I don’t think she’s doing very well.”
“How do you know?”
Nick let out another sigh. “I started visiting her. The first time I saw her at the trial, she ran up to me and gave me this huge hug – I thought she’d never let go. She held onto my hand like she was afraid I’d forget she was there. And after the guy was sentenced, the DA wanted to talk to her so I introduced them. She was so angry.” Nick shook his head. “But then . . . she just got sad, y’know, like she didn’t have a friend in the world.”
Greg smirked from the passenger seat. “You gave her your phone number, didn’t you?”
Nick kept his eyes on the road, hating that he was so predictable. “Yeah.”
“Did she call?”
“I called,” he said. They had arrived at the house, and he pulled into the driveway next to the police cruiser.
“Ahh, I see,” declared Greg. “She’s Princess, of ‘Hey, princess. Feelin’ better?’ fame.”
Nick put the Denali in park and turned a sardonic expression toward Greg. “Your drawl needs work.”
“But it’s not bad,” replied Greg as he ambled out of the truck.
“Anyway,” said Nick as they grabbed their kits and headed up the front walk, “she’s got this look like she’s not sleeping well. Her foster mother . . . I think she’s all right, but she’s got this tough-love, don’t-trust-anyone thing goin’ on and I don’t like it.”
“Because she doesn’t trust you?”
“You wouldn’t like it either,” he countered. “I’m a perfectly respectable person.”
They entered the house then, and as they set to work processing the scene, which was nothing short of chaotic, they focused on their work and for that little while, all Nick needed to think about were fingerprints and a pool of urine he found in the kitchen.
“We got next to nothing,” complained Greg as he climbed back into the Denali.
“Yeah . . . I’m glad we’re not the cleanup brigade, though – I’ve always been glad about that.”
Greg agreed, and then said, “You were saying you wanted to bounce something off me?”
“I what?” Buckling his seat belt, Nick squished his face up at his younger colleague.
“You asked me if you could bounce something off of me,” he repeated. “You complained about Cassie’s foster mother, but not much else.”
Nick made a sound from the back of his throat as he turned around to back out of the driveway. “I don’t know,” he said as soon as he’d straightened and put the truck in drive. “D’you think it’s asking too much to trust a single guy with an 11-year-old girl? Am I just bein’ a dummy here?”
Greg shrugged. “I don’t think so. But I know you.”
“I’m a law enforcement officer, for cryin’ out loud.”
“Yeah, but you and I both know that means nothing. How many supposedly stand-up citizens have we interrogated?” Nick sighed again from the driver’s seat. “I know I’m not helping you feel any better about not being trusted, but I’m gonna guess that this Emily lady’s been burned in the past and she’s not willing to put her foster kids at risk.”
Nick thought a moment before replying. “But if she’s so dead-set against me, how do I make her trust me?”
Greg shrugged. “I don’t know. But a good start would probably be to just keep being a friend to Princess and work with what Emily gives you. If you push, she’s gonna shove back.”
The older man was quiet again. “I hate it when you’re right. I mean, it only happens rarely, but still.”
Greg didn’t know whether to be pleased or dismayed at Nick’s return to his teasing ways. “Aaand he’s off!”
Nick chuckled, his eyes on the road. He didn’t really hate it that Greg was right; in fact, Greg had vocalized the teeny little thought in Nick’s head that, the first time he’d met Emily, tried to tell him that there was a reason she didn’t trust him.
Suddenly Greg sniggered from the passenger seat. “Something funny, Sanders?”
“Yeah – you playing with dollies,” he replied.
Nick scowled. “I don’t play with dollies.”
“What do you mean you don’t play with dollies?” laughed Greg. “You’re spending time with a ten year old and you don’t play dolls with her?”
“First of all, she’s eleven, and she doesn’t have . . . any . . . dolls. That I know of.”
“Well, what do you do, then? Play dress-up?”
Nick swatted his shoulder. “No,” he growled. “We play games. By the way, do you know how hard it is to find right-handed baseball gloves?”
“I’m not really into the Great American Pastime,” replied Greg, rubbing his arm.
“You should put down your iPod for a while and give it a shot. Anyway – she’s left-handed. I got her a pink one.”
“Pink, huh?” Greg shook his head. “You’ve gone soft, Stokes.”
“Shut up, Sanders.”
Gil Grissom stood at the receptionist’s desk gathering his messages. As he was trying to interpret one of them, the receptionist approached him and motioned to the waiting area of the lobby. “Dr. Grissom, this lady’s been waiting for you for about forty minutes.”
Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Did she say why?”
“No, but she didn’t ask for you by name. She asked for Nick Stokes’ supervisor. I’ve been trying to avoid calling Ecklie.”
“I’m sure Nick Stokes appreciates that,” replied Grissom. “What’s her name?”
“Emily Patterson.”
“Thanks Judy,” Grissom replied, and then turned to approach a scrawny woman with mousy brown hair and tired gray eyes. “Miss Patterson?”
“Are you Gil Grissom?”
Grissom noted a perpetually displeased air about Emily Patterson, but didn’t know what to think of it yet. “Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”
“I need to speak with you about a subordinate of yours – Nick Stokes.”
“Let’s take this into my office,” he replied. “We’ll have more privacy there.” He led Emily down the hall and opened the door for her, surprised when a little girl followed her into the room. They stood in front of his desk, waiting for him to take his seat, but although he shut the door he did not sit down. “Will you introduce me to your friend?”
“This is Cassie,” replied Emily, but offered no other explanation.
Grissom shook Cassie’s hand, smiling at her, and then walked around his desk to be seated. Once he had set his file and messages aside, he began. “You wanted to talk about Nick.”
Emily then plunged into her explanation of her presence there. “Yes. I understand Mr. Stokes investigated when Cassie’s family was murdered.”
“What’s your last name, Cassie?” asked Grissom gently, thinking that it was inappropriate for her to be there.
“McBride,” she replied. “I used to live in Pioche. Nick found me.”
Wires connecting missing links together, Grissom turned back to Emily. “That’s right.”
“I run a foster home, Mr. Grissom, and Cassie was placed with me when the sheriff that took her in decided he didn’t want her anymore. She cried herself to sleep every night for three months. I got her into school, I got her adjusted to living in foster care, and then when all of the court appearances and trials were finally over for her, your guy Stokes comes back into her life to blow it all to pieces. Isn’t this kind of contact inappropriate for you folks?”
“Not necessarily,” he replied evenly while internally shaking his head at Nick. “Cassie, why don’t you tell me about this?”
She cleared her throat nervously. “Well . . . I went to Luke’s trial, and I saw Nick there. He introduced me to the district attorney and she and Nick explained a lot of stuff to me that I didn’t understand – like stuff that went on in the trial – and then after that, me and Nick talked. He was nice to me and gave me his phone number, and he called me.”
“And what did you talk about?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing. I was sick and I had to do my homework, so he just called the next day instead.”
“Does he call you every day?”
She shook her head. “No,” she replied, starting to wonder if maybe she had gotten Nick in trouble.
“What do you talk about when he does call?” asked Grissom.
Cassie couldn’t tell if he was really interested, or if she was just being used as a pawn to punish someone. “Different stuff. He taught me about forensic science and gave me some ideas for my science project.”
“What was your project?” asked Grissom, his tone even and gentle.
She smiled, and as well as Grissom knew Nick, he could imagine how much that smile would light up Nick’s world. Grissom knew he missed his family sorely, particularly all those nieces and nephews. “I solved a crime using fingerprints and chromatography,” she replied proudly. “I got an A!”
Grissom smiled back, nodding his approval. “Nice work.”
“He comes to visit me, too. We just play catch or games or stuff. He’s my friend.”
Just then the door rattled, and Warrick stepped in, followed by the topic of their conversation. Neither of them noticed the inconspicuous foster mother and little girl sitting in his visitor’s chairs. “Grissom,” Warrick said, his tone dark, “we can’t take another four cases. We just pulled three consecutive doubles, we’re swamped as it is and I don’t know about Dallas over here, but I want to go home. It’s nine AM. Can’t we pass these off to days?”
“Dallas wants to go home, too,” said Nick, by his side stifling a yawn.
“Go ahead, Warrick,” replied Grissom. “Nick, we need to talk.”
Warrick looked over at his friend and colleague, too tired to be really concerned. “Good luck with that, Nicky. I’ll see you around.” He patted his shoulder and left the office as Nick turned to Grissom and walked closer to his desk.
“What’s up, Griss?”
Wordlessly, Grissom gestured to Emily. Rumpling his brow, he greeted her politely. “Hi, Emily,” he said. “Is something wrong? Is Cassie okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Cassie herself from the other chair. Surprised, Nick turned and smiled.
“Hey, princess,” he exclaimed, embracing her. “What are you doing here?”
“Miss Emily brought me,” she explained.
“Nick, why don’t you take your friend down to the water cooler for a few minutes. You and I can chat later on.”
Confused, he nodded, but hesitated to move so he could look over Grissom’s face for a clue to what was going on. “Okay,” he said finally, reaching for Cassie’s hand. “We’ll be in the lobby.”
The little girl rose up out of the chair and placed her hand in Nick’s. Before she followed him out of the office, which she was glad to leave, she turned back to the older man and said, “Mr. Grissom, you’re not angry with Nick, are you?”
“Should I be?”
She shook her head emphatically, ignoring Emily’s attempts to shush her. “No. Nick is my friend. He doesn’t make me upset, he’s the only person who makes me feel normal.”
Uncomfortable and starting to get angry, Nick urged Cassie out the door so that Emily could say whatever it was she had to say about him to Grissom. On his way out, he shot both of them filthy looks.
Confused, but not rattled by Nick’s expression, once the door was closed Grissom turned back to Emily. “You were saying?”
“Cassie paints a pretty picture, but she sees things through the eyes of an eleven year old who doesn’t understand life yet. That guy, he comes to the house and calls her princess and thinks he’s helping her, but when he leaves again she’s worse off – she has constant nightmares and she doesn’t sleep. She’s still having a tough time making friends. It’d really be better if he’d just stop coming to visit her.”
“Respectfully, Miss Patterson, I don’t see how that would help.”
“Cassie doesn’t need to have her head and her ego inflated only to be cheerfully sent back to a place where it’s not going to last. He’s just using her to make himself feel like a hero and she doesn’t need it.”
Grissom sighed. “I can speak to him about this, Miss Patterson, but I’m not sure I can help you. This is a personal matter for Nick and frankly, it doesn’t sound like anything that the department needs to be concerned about is going on.”
“One of your people is upsetting one of my kids and you don’t think you need to be concerned about that?”
“Cassie didn’t seem upset when she saw Nick – she gave him a hug.”
“Mr. Grissom-”
“Miss Patterson, Nick isn’t acting on behalf of the department and no inappropriate contact has been made. If the case is closed and the litigation is over, there isn’t any reason Nick can’t be a friend to Cassie.”
“Mr. Grissom, I got a kid in pain here and I’m askin’ for some help. Stokes ain’t helpin’.”
“I’ll talk to Nick, in the interest of trying to help Cassie, but that’s all I can offer.”
Emily sighed. “I guess if that’s all I can get, that’s all I can get,” she said, annoyed, “but if this doesn’t stop I’ll be back to talk to your supervisor.”
“His name is Ecklie,” replied Grissom helpfully as Emily rose up out of the chair. She exited his office, closing the door soundly behind herself without issuing a good-bye. Grissom simply sighed and mumbled, “Nicky . . . .”
Nick offered Cassie a soda on the way down the hall; she declined. When they reached the sunny visitor’s area, he chose a seat next to her and asked, “What’s goin’ on, Cass?”
She looked up at him, her eyes round. “You’ll be mad,” was all she said.
“But you promised to always be honest with me,” he reminded her, “and I’m not going to be mad at you.”
She heaved a sigh, and began her explanation. “Miss Emily doesn’t want you to come see me anymore. She thinks it’s bad for me.”
“Why would she think that?”
Cassie paused for a split second to consider how she could answer. She could never tell him that she had nightmares. After complaining so much about adults treating her like a baby, she didn’t want him to think that maybe she really was one. “She thinks it makes me feel lonely when you leave.”
“Does it?”
“Well . . . yeah. But I don’t want you to stop coming to visit.”
It was odd, but he was pleased by this admission. “I won’t,” he assured her with a smile, but didn’t know what else to say. Fortunately, she saved him with an observation.
“Mr. Grissom’s office reminds me of science class. It’s kind of creepy.”
He laughed. “Yeah, Grissom’s a little . . . quirky. It’s Dr. Grissom, actually. He’s an entomologist – studies bugs.”
“Bugs are gross,” she replied dismissively. Privately, Nick agreed with her. “Does subordinate mean that he’s in charge of you?”
“Yep. Dr. Grissom is my boss.”
“So when you have a boss do they get to tell you what you can do when you’re not at work?”
“For the most part, no,” he replied with a smile, impressed with her perception. “But there are some things I’m not allowed to do. I’m not allowed to get into trouble with the law, for example – I might get fired for that.”
“So what is it like having a boss?” she asked, turning towards him.
“Well . . . it’s a little like having an extra parent,” he replied, wanting to bring the explanation down to her level. “A boss – or a supervisor, a manager, a lead – is supposed to help you. They’re supposed to teach you new things about your job, help you work through things, help you get better, be an advocate for you . . . and keep you out of harm’s way. I mean, I guess that’s how I think of Dr. Grissom. He’s like another dad to me.”
“You don’t like my dad, do you?”
He was caught off guard a little by the tone of her voice and the sharpness of her observation. He chose his words carefully. “I think your dad put his family in danger by doing what he did,” he replied. “To be fair, Cassie, I didn’t know your dad so I can’t say that I like him or not. I’d say I was angry at him, more than anything.”
“Do you get angry at all the people you have to investigate?”
“No. Lots of people do dangerous things . . . if I got angry at everyone I’d always be angry.”
“Then why are you angry at my dad?”
He sighed softly and shook his head. “I’m not angry any more, Cassie, but when I was it was because he let you down. He hurt you, and that makes me sad.”
She put her hand on his. “Don’t be sad for me,” she said gently. “I’m okay. School is a lot better in Blue Diamond, and I’m getting used to Miss Emily.”
He forced a smile. “That’s good,” he said.
“Plus, I have you for a friend. Right?”
The hope in her icy blue eyes made him produce a more genuine smile. “Right.” He held out his pinkie, and she linked hers with it.
Emily’s sharp voice came from the hallway. “It’s time to go, Cassie.” Nick glared back at her in response.
She deflated a little and tightened her grip on his finger. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
He leaned over to hug her tight. “Soon, Cassie,” he said, and they parted. “Real soon.”
As Cassie left the building and they waved to each other, the loss that Nick felt hit him forcibly. A thought began to form in his mind that the loss might not be necessary, that maybe there was a way he could make sure she always had a good friend and understanding ear close by. It would prove to be a thought that he would be unable to shake.
_____________________
(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson
*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
After leaving Cassie’s school, Nick went home and showered. He tried to get Mr. Jacobson’s uncomfortable look out of his mind, but it kept haunting him, as did Susan’s distrustful stare.
When he laid down on his bed he silently hoped that sleep would claim him quickly. He was tired and sore, and that usually did the trick. More often than not, if he slept heavily the likelihood that he’d wake in a cold sweat was fairly minimal. Also, he had figured out that when his legs became tangled in the sheets he woke every time to phantom pain crawling in his skin, as if the ghosts of the ants from the box had crept into his dreams to gnaw on him in his sleep. Because of this, he started sleeping on top of the covers.
Later that evening, it was actually his alarm that woke him. He didn’t dream anymore – he had given up on that – but he did have occasional bouts of good, solid sleep, which was probably one of the only things that held him together that night.
He and Greg had been assigned a burglary at a residence in Henderson. On the drive out there, Greg looked at him from the passenger seat.
“What’s eatin’ you, Nick?”
Distracted, Nick looked briefly at Greg. “Huh?”
“I’ve been talking to you for the last ten minutes about my vacation and you haven’t said a word, not even to make fun of me.”
“You were on vacation?”
“For the last four days, Nick.”
He let out a sigh and turned back to the road. “Sorry, Greggo.” He wondered briefly if talking to Greg about Cassie and his troubles with Emily would be a good idea. All Warrick ever seemed to want to talk about anymore was Tina and how she didn’t understand his job. Sara might make a big deal out of it – or she might not, one never knew with her – and Catherine . . . . Don’t even go there, he told himself. She’ll skewer you and eat you for breakfast.
“Hey Greg, do you remember the case we worked up in Pioche?” The words came involuntarily out of his mouth.
“The McBrides, right? Who could forget that?”
“Not me,” he said quietly.
“I noticed that one rattled your cage,” said Greg, turning in his seat and sipping his Blue Hawaiian. “You aren’t still thinkin’ about it, are you?”
He shook his head. “Nah . . . not about the case itself. Listen, Sanders . . . would you mind if I bounced somethin’ off ya?”
Curious, Greg urged him on. “No, not at all. What’s up?”
“Well . . . you remember the kid, right?”
“Yeah. What was her name – Casey, wasn’t it? Poor little girl.”
“It’s Cassie.” Nick was quiet a moment, trying to formulate what he’d say to Greg, who miraculously was waiting patiently. I’ve been seeing her was not the right thing to say, although it was the only succinct phrase he could think of. “You’re right when you say that case rattled my cage . . . when the one kid’s case was extradited to Clark County, I testified . . . Cassie was there.”
“How’s she holdin’ up?”
“She’s in a foster home,” he replied. “I don’t think she’s doing very well.”
“How do you know?”
Nick let out another sigh. “I started visiting her. The first time I saw her at the trial, she ran up to me and gave me this huge hug – I thought she’d never let go. She held onto my hand like she was afraid I’d forget she was there. And after the guy was sentenced, the DA wanted to talk to her so I introduced them. She was so angry.” Nick shook his head. “But then . . . she just got sad, y’know, like she didn’t have a friend in the world.”
Greg smirked from the passenger seat. “You gave her your phone number, didn’t you?”
Nick kept his eyes on the road, hating that he was so predictable. “Yeah.”
“Did she call?”
“I called,” he said. They had arrived at the house, and he pulled into the driveway next to the police cruiser.
“Ahh, I see,” declared Greg. “She’s Princess, of ‘Hey, princess. Feelin’ better?’ fame.”
Nick put the Denali in park and turned a sardonic expression toward Greg. “Your drawl needs work.”
“But it’s not bad,” replied Greg as he ambled out of the truck.
“Anyway,” said Nick as they grabbed their kits and headed up the front walk, “she’s got this look like she’s not sleeping well. Her foster mother . . . I think she’s all right, but she’s got this tough-love, don’t-trust-anyone thing goin’ on and I don’t like it.”
“Because she doesn’t trust you?”
“You wouldn’t like it either,” he countered. “I’m a perfectly respectable person.”
They entered the house then, and as they set to work processing the scene, which was nothing short of chaotic, they focused on their work and for that little while, all Nick needed to think about were fingerprints and a pool of urine he found in the kitchen.
“We got next to nothing,” complained Greg as he climbed back into the Denali.
“Yeah . . . I’m glad we’re not the cleanup brigade, though – I’ve always been glad about that.”
Greg agreed, and then said, “You were saying you wanted to bounce something off me?”
“I what?” Buckling his seat belt, Nick squished his face up at his younger colleague.
“You asked me if you could bounce something off of me,” he repeated. “You complained about Cassie’s foster mother, but not much else.”
Nick made a sound from the back of his throat as he turned around to back out of the driveway. “I don’t know,” he said as soon as he’d straightened and put the truck in drive. “D’you think it’s asking too much to trust a single guy with an 11-year-old girl? Am I just bein’ a dummy here?”
Greg shrugged. “I don’t think so. But I know you.”
“I’m a law enforcement officer, for cryin’ out loud.”
“Yeah, but you and I both know that means nothing. How many supposedly stand-up citizens have we interrogated?” Nick sighed again from the driver’s seat. “I know I’m not helping you feel any better about not being trusted, but I’m gonna guess that this Emily lady’s been burned in the past and she’s not willing to put her foster kids at risk.”
Nick thought a moment before replying. “But if she’s so dead-set against me, how do I make her trust me?”
Greg shrugged. “I don’t know. But a good start would probably be to just keep being a friend to Princess and work with what Emily gives you. If you push, she’s gonna shove back.”
The older man was quiet again. “I hate it when you’re right. I mean, it only happens rarely, but still.”
Greg didn’t know whether to be pleased or dismayed at Nick’s return to his teasing ways. “Aaand he’s off!”
Nick chuckled, his eyes on the road. He didn’t really hate it that Greg was right; in fact, Greg had vocalized the teeny little thought in Nick’s head that, the first time he’d met Emily, tried to tell him that there was a reason she didn’t trust him.
Suddenly Greg sniggered from the passenger seat. “Something funny, Sanders?”
“Yeah – you playing with dollies,” he replied.
Nick scowled. “I don’t play with dollies.”
“What do you mean you don’t play with dollies?” laughed Greg. “You’re spending time with a ten year old and you don’t play dolls with her?”
“First of all, she’s eleven, and she doesn’t have . . . any . . . dolls. That I know of.”
“Well, what do you do, then? Play dress-up?”
Nick swatted his shoulder. “No,” he growled. “We play games. By the way, do you know how hard it is to find right-handed baseball gloves?”
“I’m not really into the Great American Pastime,” replied Greg, rubbing his arm.
“You should put down your iPod for a while and give it a shot. Anyway – she’s left-handed. I got her a pink one.”
“Pink, huh?” Greg shook his head. “You’ve gone soft, Stokes.”
“Shut up, Sanders.”
*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
Gil Grissom stood at the receptionist’s desk gathering his messages. As he was trying to interpret one of them, the receptionist approached him and motioned to the waiting area of the lobby. “Dr. Grissom, this lady’s been waiting for you for about forty minutes.”
Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Did she say why?”
“No, but she didn’t ask for you by name. She asked for Nick Stokes’ supervisor. I’ve been trying to avoid calling Ecklie.”
“I’m sure Nick Stokes appreciates that,” replied Grissom. “What’s her name?”
“Emily Patterson.”
“Thanks Judy,” Grissom replied, and then turned to approach a scrawny woman with mousy brown hair and tired gray eyes. “Miss Patterson?”
“Are you Gil Grissom?”
Grissom noted a perpetually displeased air about Emily Patterson, but didn’t know what to think of it yet. “Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”
“I need to speak with you about a subordinate of yours – Nick Stokes.”
“Let’s take this into my office,” he replied. “We’ll have more privacy there.” He led Emily down the hall and opened the door for her, surprised when a little girl followed her into the room. They stood in front of his desk, waiting for him to take his seat, but although he shut the door he did not sit down. “Will you introduce me to your friend?”
“This is Cassie,” replied Emily, but offered no other explanation.
Grissom shook Cassie’s hand, smiling at her, and then walked around his desk to be seated. Once he had set his file and messages aside, he began. “You wanted to talk about Nick.”
Emily then plunged into her explanation of her presence there. “Yes. I understand Mr. Stokes investigated when Cassie’s family was murdered.”
“What’s your last name, Cassie?” asked Grissom gently, thinking that it was inappropriate for her to be there.
“McBride,” she replied. “I used to live in Pioche. Nick found me.”
Wires connecting missing links together, Grissom turned back to Emily. “That’s right.”
“I run a foster home, Mr. Grissom, and Cassie was placed with me when the sheriff that took her in decided he didn’t want her anymore. She cried herself to sleep every night for three months. I got her into school, I got her adjusted to living in foster care, and then when all of the court appearances and trials were finally over for her, your guy Stokes comes back into her life to blow it all to pieces. Isn’t this kind of contact inappropriate for you folks?”
“Not necessarily,” he replied evenly while internally shaking his head at Nick. “Cassie, why don’t you tell me about this?”
She cleared her throat nervously. “Well . . . I went to Luke’s trial, and I saw Nick there. He introduced me to the district attorney and she and Nick explained a lot of stuff to me that I didn’t understand – like stuff that went on in the trial – and then after that, me and Nick talked. He was nice to me and gave me his phone number, and he called me.”
“And what did you talk about?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing. I was sick and I had to do my homework, so he just called the next day instead.”
“Does he call you every day?”
She shook her head. “No,” she replied, starting to wonder if maybe she had gotten Nick in trouble.
“What do you talk about when he does call?” asked Grissom.
Cassie couldn’t tell if he was really interested, or if she was just being used as a pawn to punish someone. “Different stuff. He taught me about forensic science and gave me some ideas for my science project.”
“What was your project?” asked Grissom, his tone even and gentle.
She smiled, and as well as Grissom knew Nick, he could imagine how much that smile would light up Nick’s world. Grissom knew he missed his family sorely, particularly all those nieces and nephews. “I solved a crime using fingerprints and chromatography,” she replied proudly. “I got an A!”
Grissom smiled back, nodding his approval. “Nice work.”
“He comes to visit me, too. We just play catch or games or stuff. He’s my friend.”
Just then the door rattled, and Warrick stepped in, followed by the topic of their conversation. Neither of them noticed the inconspicuous foster mother and little girl sitting in his visitor’s chairs. “Grissom,” Warrick said, his tone dark, “we can’t take another four cases. We just pulled three consecutive doubles, we’re swamped as it is and I don’t know about Dallas over here, but I want to go home. It’s nine AM. Can’t we pass these off to days?”
“Dallas wants to go home, too,” said Nick, by his side stifling a yawn.
“Go ahead, Warrick,” replied Grissom. “Nick, we need to talk.”
Warrick looked over at his friend and colleague, too tired to be really concerned. “Good luck with that, Nicky. I’ll see you around.” He patted his shoulder and left the office as Nick turned to Grissom and walked closer to his desk.
“What’s up, Griss?”
Wordlessly, Grissom gestured to Emily. Rumpling his brow, he greeted her politely. “Hi, Emily,” he said. “Is something wrong? Is Cassie okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Cassie herself from the other chair. Surprised, Nick turned and smiled.
“Hey, princess,” he exclaimed, embracing her. “What are you doing here?”
“Miss Emily brought me,” she explained.
“Nick, why don’t you take your friend down to the water cooler for a few minutes. You and I can chat later on.”
Confused, he nodded, but hesitated to move so he could look over Grissom’s face for a clue to what was going on. “Okay,” he said finally, reaching for Cassie’s hand. “We’ll be in the lobby.”
The little girl rose up out of the chair and placed her hand in Nick’s. Before she followed him out of the office, which she was glad to leave, she turned back to the older man and said, “Mr. Grissom, you’re not angry with Nick, are you?”
“Should I be?”
She shook her head emphatically, ignoring Emily’s attempts to shush her. “No. Nick is my friend. He doesn’t make me upset, he’s the only person who makes me feel normal.”
Uncomfortable and starting to get angry, Nick urged Cassie out the door so that Emily could say whatever it was she had to say about him to Grissom. On his way out, he shot both of them filthy looks.
Confused, but not rattled by Nick’s expression, once the door was closed Grissom turned back to Emily. “You were saying?”
“Cassie paints a pretty picture, but she sees things through the eyes of an eleven year old who doesn’t understand life yet. That guy, he comes to the house and calls her princess and thinks he’s helping her, but when he leaves again she’s worse off – she has constant nightmares and she doesn’t sleep. She’s still having a tough time making friends. It’d really be better if he’d just stop coming to visit her.”
“Respectfully, Miss Patterson, I don’t see how that would help.”
“Cassie doesn’t need to have her head and her ego inflated only to be cheerfully sent back to a place where it’s not going to last. He’s just using her to make himself feel like a hero and she doesn’t need it.”
Grissom sighed. “I can speak to him about this, Miss Patterson, but I’m not sure I can help you. This is a personal matter for Nick and frankly, it doesn’t sound like anything that the department needs to be concerned about is going on.”
“One of your people is upsetting one of my kids and you don’t think you need to be concerned about that?”
“Cassie didn’t seem upset when she saw Nick – she gave him a hug.”
“Mr. Grissom-”
“Miss Patterson, Nick isn’t acting on behalf of the department and no inappropriate contact has been made. If the case is closed and the litigation is over, there isn’t any reason Nick can’t be a friend to Cassie.”
“Mr. Grissom, I got a kid in pain here and I’m askin’ for some help. Stokes ain’t helpin’.”
“I’ll talk to Nick, in the interest of trying to help Cassie, but that’s all I can offer.”
Emily sighed. “I guess if that’s all I can get, that’s all I can get,” she said, annoyed, “but if this doesn’t stop I’ll be back to talk to your supervisor.”
“His name is Ecklie,” replied Grissom helpfully as Emily rose up out of the chair. She exited his office, closing the door soundly behind herself without issuing a good-bye. Grissom simply sighed and mumbled, “Nicky . . . .”
*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
Nick offered Cassie a soda on the way down the hall; she declined. When they reached the sunny visitor’s area, he chose a seat next to her and asked, “What’s goin’ on, Cass?”
She looked up at him, her eyes round. “You’ll be mad,” was all she said.
“But you promised to always be honest with me,” he reminded her, “and I’m not going to be mad at you.”
She heaved a sigh, and began her explanation. “Miss Emily doesn’t want you to come see me anymore. She thinks it’s bad for me.”
“Why would she think that?”
Cassie paused for a split second to consider how she could answer. She could never tell him that she had nightmares. After complaining so much about adults treating her like a baby, she didn’t want him to think that maybe she really was one. “She thinks it makes me feel lonely when you leave.”
“Does it?”
“Well . . . yeah. But I don’t want you to stop coming to visit.”
It was odd, but he was pleased by this admission. “I won’t,” he assured her with a smile, but didn’t know what else to say. Fortunately, she saved him with an observation.
“Mr. Grissom’s office reminds me of science class. It’s kind of creepy.”
He laughed. “Yeah, Grissom’s a little . . . quirky. It’s Dr. Grissom, actually. He’s an entomologist – studies bugs.”
“Bugs are gross,” she replied dismissively. Privately, Nick agreed with her. “Does subordinate mean that he’s in charge of you?”
“Yep. Dr. Grissom is my boss.”
“So when you have a boss do they get to tell you what you can do when you’re not at work?”
“For the most part, no,” he replied with a smile, impressed with her perception. “But there are some things I’m not allowed to do. I’m not allowed to get into trouble with the law, for example – I might get fired for that.”
“So what is it like having a boss?” she asked, turning towards him.
“Well . . . it’s a little like having an extra parent,” he replied, wanting to bring the explanation down to her level. “A boss – or a supervisor, a manager, a lead – is supposed to help you. They’re supposed to teach you new things about your job, help you work through things, help you get better, be an advocate for you . . . and keep you out of harm’s way. I mean, I guess that’s how I think of Dr. Grissom. He’s like another dad to me.”
“You don’t like my dad, do you?”
He was caught off guard a little by the tone of her voice and the sharpness of her observation. He chose his words carefully. “I think your dad put his family in danger by doing what he did,” he replied. “To be fair, Cassie, I didn’t know your dad so I can’t say that I like him or not. I’d say I was angry at him, more than anything.”
“Do you get angry at all the people you have to investigate?”
“No. Lots of people do dangerous things . . . if I got angry at everyone I’d always be angry.”
“Then why are you angry at my dad?”
He sighed softly and shook his head. “I’m not angry any more, Cassie, but when I was it was because he let you down. He hurt you, and that makes me sad.”
She put her hand on his. “Don’t be sad for me,” she said gently. “I’m okay. School is a lot better in Blue Diamond, and I’m getting used to Miss Emily.”
He forced a smile. “That’s good,” he said.
“Plus, I have you for a friend. Right?”
The hope in her icy blue eyes made him produce a more genuine smile. “Right.” He held out his pinkie, and she linked hers with it.
Emily’s sharp voice came from the hallway. “It’s time to go, Cassie.” Nick glared back at her in response.
She deflated a little and tightened her grip on his finger. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
He leaned over to hug her tight. “Soon, Cassie,” he said, and they parted. “Real soon.”
As Cassie left the building and they waved to each other, the loss that Nick felt hit him forcibly. A thought began to form in his mind that the loss might not be necessary, that maybe there was a way he could make sure she always had a good friend and understanding ear close by. It would prove to be a thought that he would be unable to shake.
_____________________
(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson
