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Quiet Desperation
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Chapter 3 The pounding eventually became too much for Grissom to ignore, echoing and merging with the throbbing in his head. Painfully, he sat up and got off his couch, swearing slightly under his breath as he made his way to the front door. The woman waiting there did little to help his mood. “What are you doing here?” he asked, in too much pain to mask his irritation. Waving her in, he headed back to his couch. “Well, good afternoon, to you, too,” Catherine said amiably, following him inside and letting the door close loudly. Seeing him wince at the noise, she nodded in understanding. “Migraine?” “Yes. So I’m not exactly in the mood for a social visit.” “When are you ever social?” she mused rhetorically, making a beeline to his kitchen. After grabbing drinks from his fridge, Catherine gave him a bottle of water and took a seat in his living room. “And this isn’t a social visit.” “What’s up?” “Your report,” she prompted, a smile forming at his lost expression. “The one Ecklie wants today. What did you do to get yourself in trouble this time?” Grissom lay back down, resting an arm over his eyes. Her light tone didn’t match his indignation. “It’s not like I blew up the lab or compromised a case,” he groused angrily. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” “I didn’t do anything.” Catherine took a sip of her soda, and cocked her head at him in disbelief. “So why am I here? Something had to happen.” He let out a long sigh, reviewing the events in his mind before explaining what had happened. “Sara and Greg were working a missing persons case. Vartan ruled the young woman a runaway. She has a history of it. Sara disagreed, and she was talking to the foster mother when I told her she had to drop the case. To help your shift. I went back in to tell Mrs. Kenyon that I was reassigning Sara. As soon as I walked in the door, she called me a prick.” “What prompted that?” “Nothing!” “Did Sara make a scene when you told her to drop it?” “No.” “Right,” Catherine muttered. Grissom lifted his arm from his eyes, and he turned his head towards her slowly. The venom in her voice easily cut through his mental fog. Sitting up, he stared at her, his expression demanding an explanation. “Come on, we both know she has a temper, and that she gets involved with certain cases. She didn’t hesitate to talk to the sheriff or Ecklie. Hell, I’m surprised she isn’t doing the investigation herself. She certainly has enough practice at it.” Blinking occasionally, Grissom stared across the room. He knew Sara and Catherine weren’t best friends, but he never suspected the depth of animosity that existed, at least on Catherine’s part. How long had this been simmering? “Sara investigated Warrick, both times, because I asked her to,” he pointed out. “That’s because you knew the rest of us would tell you where to stick your damn investigation!” Grissom closed his eyes. The others didn’t seem to hold any grudges against her because of the investigations into Warrick’s gambling problem. At least not now. For the first time, he considered that he’d put Sara in a very uncomfortable position. She’d never complained, but, as he was learning, she kept a lot to herself. With a resigned air, he added it to his mental checklist. It served double-duty, measuring all the things that he’d done to hurt Sara, and acting as a reminder of why he shouldn’t get involved with her. Eventually that list would get too long, and she’d leave him. Paradoxically, the longer the list became, the more he wanted to discard his caution, and try to make things up to her. While that was destined to remain a fantasy, he could stand up for her now. “No, I asked Sara to handle it because I trusted her objectivity. I knew she would be honest, no matter what the outcome. She wouldn’t let her emotions interfere with the assignment. And right now, I have to say I think I made the right decision.” Catherine didn’t respond immediately, instead looking away to stare at a butterfly display. After a second, she let out a sigh and rolled her shoulders. “I don’t like seeing my friends getting screwed over,” she explained. “Neither do I,” Grissom replied pointedly. His hands came up to rub his temples slowly. The changing relationship with Catherine continued to bother him. Their friendship was something that he used to rely on, but the strains were increasing. Part of him wondered when she had changed, while another part considered that he’d never noticed this part of her personality before. Neither option set well with him. To his surprise, Catherine grinned broadly at his response. “Call me crazy, but I don’t think that’s happening,” she purred cryptically. Unable – or willing – to comprehend that statement, Grissom lay back down. “Have you ever had any dealings with Mrs. Kenyon before? Did you handle one of the kid’s other disappearances?” Catherine asked, resuming the interview. “I don’t think so.” “Well, something pissed her off.” “Besides Vartan calling her daughter names where the family could overhear him?” Catherine sat back in her chair, tapping her pen against her notepad. When Grissom slowly turned his head towards her and glared, she flashed him a quick smile before stopping. “Sounds like you got caught in the crossfire when the shit hit the fan.” “Your command of the English language notwithstanding, that’s what I said. I didn’t do anything.” She grinned at him, but it quickly became strained. Putting her notes away, she leaned forward. “Gil, something’s up. The sheriff is investigating this himself. They called me in to help write your report.” “It’s politics,” he said dismissively. “And you suck at it.” “I’m not running for office.” “So?” Catherine sighed in exasperation. Grissom let out an angry huff. “I’m a scientist. My job is to process the evidence. I do that, to the best of my abilities every day. For years. Now, some mother who’s friends with some big shot gets upset, and my record is meaningless.” “Maybe politics is the wrong word. Call it group dynamics. You aren’t a hermit, Gil. You can’t lock yourself in your office with your buggy friends. We deal with people every day. Everything we say or do – or don’t say or do – has an impact on others. You can hurt someone without realizing is. You have to learn how to deal with people.” Grissom leaned back in his sofa, stifling a groan. Her words struck him as uncomfortably accurate, but not in a professional sense. He was certain he’d done nothing wrong in the way he handled this particular case. “They aren’t going to fire me.” “Glad to see you have a healthy ego.” “Conrad likes to provoke me, but his main focus is the lab’s reputation. Forensic entomologists are rare. They aren’t going to fire me,” he repeated. Catherine gathered her things, tossing her empty soda can away. Watching him on the couch, she considered how to reach him. He truly was politically tone deaf, but even he had to realize this went beyond typical office stuff. “I’ll write this up, and e-mail you a copy. You can send that to Ecklie. He’s serious, Gil. I’ll call you to make sure you get it off in time.” “Your concern is touching, but unnecessary.” “I told you, I don’t like to see my friends getting screwed over,” she said, giving him a parting smile before leaving him alone. * * * * * * * “Hey.” At the sound of Sara’s voice, Grissom looked up from his paperwork. She leaned against his doorframe, her arms wrapped loosely around herself. Despite her brief smile, he could tell she was uncomfortable. It was a feeling he could relate to. “Sara.” “I, uh, just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. For what’s happening.” “It’s not your fault,” Grissom said, hoping he sounded convincing. The lingering effects of his migraine were dying off, but he knew it would be a long time before his ire at having his reputation questioned vanished. From the way she dropped her head briefly, he doubted he’d been successful. There was a hint of fire in her eyes when she looked back up, but she closed it down quickly. The fact she was hiding her emotional state from him bothered Grissom more than her residual anger. “What do you have for me tonight?” she asked, her voice professional but cool. He picked up the assignment slip from his desk, thumbing it cautiously. His initial response was to fall back on his standby tactics – distance himself from Sara. But he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t do that again, and despite his own unease, he met her gaze head on. “We have a robbery at a grocery store. I’ll be ready in a minute. Tell Greg to help with the lab work tonight.” When they walked to the parking lot, Grissom surprised Sara by tossing her the keys. Sitting in the passenger seat, he handed her the address and closed his eyes against the bright city lights. He had a feeling his headache would grow again before this evening was over, and he was taking any precautions he could. “I reviewed Rachel Mathers’ case,” he told her after a minute. He’d hoped that another case would focus Sara’s attention away from the missing girl, but Grissom doubted it would be that easy. “You did?” “Yes. Since entering foster care, she ran way thirteen times.” “Seventeen,” Sara corrected him, unfazed by his statement. “Four times, the Kenyons found her without needing to call the police.” Grissom raised an eyebrow before holding his cold bottle of water to his forehead. “She hadn’t received any threats from people at her school or at work,” he continued, hoping logic would prevail. “Nope, everything was going well there. That’s why it’s odd she would leave home now. Troubles always prompted her to run away the other times.” “Some people are very good at hiding secrets,” he noted pointedly. “Even from people they’ve known for years.” “Not the same. Rachel had people that loved her, that she could trust.” Grissom closed his eyes painfully. “Maybe it was something she didn’t want to share with them,” he ventured. “You don’t get it.” “Apparently not.” “You have no idea what it’s like,” Sara said softly after being quiet for a moment. “There’s no one that gives a damn what happens to you. To the state, you’re a number, some problem kid they have to deal with. Most of the families view you as a paycheck, something they have to put up with to get paid.” Grissom opened his eyes, and turned to stare at her while he sat up straight. Sara was tapping the steering wheel crossly, but he didn’t ask her to stop. Her facial muscles twitched as she fought for control, but the fire had returned to her eyes. “Sara, I thought you weren’t personally involved with this case,” he said kindly. “I’m not. God! I know what she’s going through, okay? That doesn’t mean I’m not objective. If we ever get a case with a missing, anti-social entomologist, I’d listen to what you had to say.” Closing his eyes against the renewed hammering inside his skull, he sank back against the seat. “I am listening.” “Right.” Grissom was thinking of ways to reroute the conversation when she let out an angry sigh. “You just want someone to care,” Sara said in a harsh voice. “Just to pay attention to you, to acknowledge you. To make you feel like you’re really a human being. And you don’t care what you have to go through to get that. It’s stupid, and deep down, you know it and you hate yourself for it, but you still put up with all kinds of shit just to get that one word of praise or that one caring touch.” Pinching his nose, Grissom dropped his head guiltily as his mental checklist grew. She never mentioned names, but he suspected who she meant. And he couldn’t ignore the pain evident in her voice, no matter how tightly she tried to rein it in. “And if you find someone that actually cares? God, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for that person. Rachel had that,” Sara stated firmly, her attention focused on the road. She turned sharply into the store’s parking lot. “There’s no way in hell that she just left.” She got out of the Denali before he had a chance to respond. Silently, Grissom followed her, his mind swirling as it tried to comprehend all that she’d revealed. It hurt to think what she went through as a child, but not nearly as much as the thought that she was speaking of recent events. “You have got to be shitting me!” Sara muttered. Grissom moved beside her, and his eyebrow rose slowly. Plans of distracting Sara with a detailed case faded as he looked at the rear bumper at their feet. A twisted metal cable looped around it near the license plate. “Do you think they were too dumb to steal that car?” she added. “Probably,” Grissom admitted, moving with her as she followed the cable into the store. It led them directly to an ATM machine at the front of the building.
“Witnesses say a kid dropped the cable over the ATM,” said the officer who joined them. “They didn’t realize it was bolted to the floor. It pulled off the bumper when they tried to drive away. We already have a patrol car headed to the owner’s house.” Grissom went to work photographing the evidence while Sara started fingerprinting. Every few minutes, he paused to flash her a concerned look, but he never caught her eye. After forty-five minutes, he suspected she was deliberately avoiding him. Telling himself that he was respecting her privacy, Grissom continued to work in silence. When the officer returned to tell them that a deputy had pulled over the would-be-robbers for driving without a license plate, Grissom noted Sara’s embarrassed expression before she walked away from him. Clearly, she regretted her outburst. As much as her words hurt, it bothered him more that she kept so much from him. They had gathered and bagged most of the evidence, and they were waiting for auto detail to show up to take away the bumper, when Sara’s cell phone rang. Grissom picked up the last of the evidence bags to take to the Denali when her voice caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t let anyone handle it. I’m on my way. I’ll call dispatch to send a detective.” Sara hung up, and she turned to Grissom, anger rolling off her body. “That was Elisa Kenyon. A ransom note just came.” |
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