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Quiet Desperation
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Chapter 9 When Sara pulled into the construction company’s parking lot, Brass pushed off his car and walked over to greet her. “Good morning, sunshine. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind waiting for you, but why are we here in the first place? I had a nice appointment planned with my bed.” “Brian Wilcox’s fingerprints match the ones we found in Rachel’s car.” He shrugged good-naturedly, smiling when she gladly took the cup of coffee he offered. “That works for me.” “And he has a record. Embezzlement,” Sara said, handing him a copy of Wilcox’s file before taking a long drink. “White-collar stuff. Not the typical path to violent crimes.” “I’m wondering if he tried a different type of embezzlement, and something went wrong.” “Kidnapping attempt? It’s possible. The Kenyons have the money. Let’s see what Mr. Wilcox has to say for himself. That’s him by the truck,” Brass said, nodding at a tall, thin man looking over invoices. Wilcox looked up when they were a few feet away, casting a nervous glance at the truck behind him. He climbed into it and was getting ready to leave when Brass called out to him to stop. “In a hurry to leave? But we just got here.” “Yeah. I have to deliver this stuff. Who are you?” “Well, we won’t take much of your time,” Brass said as he pulled out his badge. “And I’m sure the Kenyons won’t mind, seeing as it’s about Rachel.” Wilcox shrugged, but turned off the engine. “Sorry. I don’t know what I can tell you about that. I don’t know anything.” “You could start by telling us why your fingerprints were found in her car,” Sara said, taking out her flashlight and examining the front of the truck. “What?” “Does that surprise you?” Brass asked with an amused look. “And you thought you wiped down the entire interior. Wanna guess where you missed?” “Wha…no! I didn’t wipe anything down. Man, don’t pull that shit with me. You can’t trick me into admitting stuff that didn’t happen.” “Oh, my mistake. You’re not a common thug. You have a degree. Bet that made a big impression with your cellmate.” “Whatever,” Wilcox replied. “It’s no big deal that you found my prints in there. I had to take her car to the garage sometimes. Get her oil changed, take it to get detailed, crap like that.” “Sounds like you resented it,” Brass pushed. He scowled, but gave a non-committal grunt. “She isn’t the one that has to get all this work done. She had the time to do it herself, and it’s not what I was hired for.” “But you did it,” Sara said, looking in the passenger side window and scanning the interior of the truck. “And that’s why you said your prints were in her car.” “That is why there were there. And it’s not like I had a choice about doing it. She’s a supervisor,” Wilcox said mockingly. “That’s such a friendly attitude,” Brass quipped. “Spare me. She wasn’t anyone’s friend. She couldn’t be bothered talking to any of us that worked in the yard.” “Rachel’s shy,” Sara said. “Sure she is.” “So, if she was this terrible person, why did you take her car to the shop for her?” Brass asked. “It wasn’t your job, and she wasn’t your friend, so why bother? And I’m sure someone can verify that you actually did take her car in.” Wilcox glared at him angrily. “I have bills to pay, and I don’t want to lose this job. If Rachel said to do something, you did it. The Kenyons acted like she was really part of their family.” Sara narrowed her eyes, causing Brass to give her a concerned look. Noting his attention, she shrugged and focused on Wilcox. “And she helped with the paperwork, the books, payroll. She’s just a college student. You’re an accountant, and you’re stuck doing deliveries.” “I could do it better and faster than her. She always made mistakes, but no one listened to me. They found them the hard way.” “Yeah, imagine that. No one wanted to take accounting advice from an embezzler,” Brass said. “Even if you did know what you were doing. Well, maybe not. You did get caught, and you didn’t even steal that much money. You can’t be that good.” “I didn’t do anything. I’m the one that pointed out the mistakes in the company books,” Wilcox said angrily. “Right. After the bank sent a notice that something was wrong. And it was just a coincidence that you had all those extra deposits in your bank account. The jury didn’t buy it.” “The jury? Please. You have to be an idiot not to get out of jury duty.” “Or be civic-minded,” Sara noted, ignoring Wilcox’s obscene response. “Where were you the night Rachel went missing?” “At home. Watching TV, drinking beer.” “No one saw you?” Brass asked. “No alibi? That’s too bad. For you.” “Ohh, you’re so scary,” Wilcox sneered. “I didn’t do shit, and you don’t have nothing on me. If you did, I wouldn’t be here. Just ‘cause I have a record doesn’t make me guilty of anything. I don’t know what happened to Rachel. I don’t know if she had anyone that could stand to be around her, so don’t ask me if she has any friends.” “How about if I ask you about these?” He turned towards Sara, who held out a photocopy of one of the sheets of paper she’d been piecing together earlier. She noted his swallowing and his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “So, you know what those are,” Brass said, having also seen his reaction. Wilcox took a deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t know what it is. It’s something I threw away.” “Why?” Sara asked. “What do you mean why? It was trash.” “If you don’t know what it is, how did you know it was trash?” she asked, an eyebrow rising slowly. Wilcox remained quiet, but glared at her for a long moment. Sara returned his look with her own calm gaze. He finally broke contact and stared out of the front window. “It was torn up and on the ground.” “You’re sure about that? It’s not something you tore up yourself to get rid of?” Brass asked. “We can tell, you know. Those dumb juries really don’t like guys that change their stories.” “I don’t know. It was on the ground. Maybe I tore it up. Maybe I didn’t. Who cares? It’s just trash.” Sara watched him closely. His body language clearly showed he was agitated, but trying not to show it. He also had reason to be nervous. As the only ex-con employed by the Kenyons, he was the obvious first suspect. “So you have no idea what these letters represent?” “No. It’s nothing like we used around here. Are we done? I gotta get this stuff delivered to the site.” “Would you mind providing a DNA sample?” Sara asked, pulling out a swab. “Not at all. As soon as you get a warrant.” “Nice guy,” Brass said sarcastically after he drove away. “Real scumbag material. And he’s lying.” “About something,” Sara agreed. “Or he’s really bitter.” “Nah. You heard him talk about losing this job. He was nervous. To me, that says he’s been in trouble, and I bet Rachel was involved somehow. And you really freaked him with that paper. What is it?” “I have no idea. I found a bunch of these pages in the dumpster. I wasn’t sure if it meant anything or not. I was hoping someone here could tell me what it was.” “From his reaction, I’d say they are something.” Sara grinned. “Yeah, I think you’re right. All I need is to figure out what. Even Grissom didn’t know what they are.” “Oh, well, I guess that makes it a real mystery,” Brass said dramatically, giving her a hurt look. “I noticed you didn’t bother to ask me about them.” “You know what these are?” she asked excitedly. “Nope,” he replied, rocking back on his heels with a grin. “This is why people don’t ask you things,” she replied with her own grin. “Do you think he’s telling the truth about the car? He’s definitely taller than Rachel. It would explain why his prints were on the seat control.” “I’m going to talk to the foster parents. I’ll see if they can verify his story. You want to tag along?” “No, I need to get to the library, see if Rachel ever made it there the night she disappeared.” “Damn!” “What?” Sara asked, snapping her head up. “You’re yawning. You! And no one is here to see it besides me. No one is going to believe me.” “Why does everyone think I never sleep? I do,” she groused. “Maybe because you’re always at work.” “That’s because I have no social life.” Brass gave her a knowing smile. “I think you have that backwards. You don’t have time for a social life. Try spending some more time away from the lab. It’ll be good for you. Trust me; I found out the hard way.” Sara shook her head as she headed back to her car. Getting in, she finished off the last of the coffee Brass had supplied, and closed her eyes in exhaustion. The caffeine boost was welcomed, but it did little to help. As much as she wanted to sleep, she still had to stop by the library, and Wilcox needed checking out. She also hoped to avoid Grissom. She was just too tired to deal with his current confusing behavior. A long breakfast was the answer. Pulling out her cell phone, she pushed speed dial, grinning at the enthusiastic answer. “Easy, Greg. You’re still at the lab? Good. You still interested in going out?”
Swallowing the painkillers, Grissom closed his eyes and leaned against his refrigerator. He stood silently, letting the coolness from the metal sink in. His head ached, but it wasn’t a migraine. That didn’t bring him much comfort; his current mental distress rivaled his worst migraine. At least he could understand physical pain. Personal issues were never his strong suit, and the emotional whirlpool facing him now was incomprehensible. Work defined who he was. It was a constant in his life, a source of pride and satisfaction. His professional standing was unquestioned. There had been troubles before, and Mobley suspended him once, but even that was in the form of a forced vacation. There was no record of it, nothing permanent to tarnish his reputation. How had everything changed so quickly? Even when he was cleared, there would always be questions and those who doubted him. He refused to consider what would happen if he weren’t cleared, but his stomach knotted painfully. Groaning softly, he stood up straight to drain his bottle of water. After double-checking that the front door was unlocked, and his cell phone was on, he collapsed on the couch and waited. If he knew Catherine, she’d be in contact the moment she learned about his suspension. He didn’t like the idea of talking about personal matters at the best of times, and his friendship with her was on questionable standings, but he still wanted her to show up. He had doubts about her judgment, but he knew she was better at this sort of thing. If nothing else, she’d be able to steer clear of all the jetsam, and get to the heart of the matter. The dynamics of what just happened, and the implications of it eluded him. “Or I don’t want to admit it,” he said to the empty room, a lone eyebrow rising. Glancing at the door, he began rubbing his temples. Myer’s accusations stung, and the absurdity of the claims made it worse. Nick was perfectly qualified for the position of Lead CSI. He hadn’t handled things well, but Myers had an agenda. She twisted his actions. His decision to recommend Nick for the promotion wasn’t sexist. Even if he had recommended Sara, she’d have found a way to use that against him. Giving his head a shake, Grissom turned on the television, but the flashing images didn’t register as he flipped through the channels. He’d done nothing wrong. Certainly nothing that warranted his current situation. Political interference – that’s all it was. But how did it seem to Sara? He frowned as recalled the pained look in her eyes when he explained his reasons for recommending Nick. Even Grissom never really believed them; the promotion was another situation he didn’t want to handle, so he relied on avoidance. He’d taken the easy way out, refusing to deal with what threatened to be an emotionally unpleasant task. Now he had to deal with the consequences. “You just want someone to care.” The words from his earlier conversation with Sara came back unbidden, and Grissom closed his eyes painfully. “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.” “Dammit,” he swore loudly, walking to the kitchen to get another drink. He never meant to hurt her. Discourage her, yes, but never this. But there was no denying the outcome. Sara regretted ever opening up to him, and she didn’t think he trusted her. He’d pushed too hard, too far. The eventual growling of his stomach reminded him that he skipped breakfast. With an ironic sigh, he remembered that he’d intended to visit Sara to reassure her, but he’d gotten distracted by his own concerns. Grissom looked at his watch and dropped his head. She was exhausted; there was no chance that she’d still be awake. Besides, what could he say to her? Getting up, he moved to the kitchen to fix breakfast, making enough coffee for two. He glanced at the door a few times before finally eating his meal alone. Wandering back into his living room, he switched to the news, but the story about the lack of progress on the Mathers’s case fired his temper again. Grissom turned off the television, settling for Chopin on his stereo before turning to his bookcases. His eyes drifted over the titles randomly, but one narrow volume caught his attention. Smiling bitterly, he pulled it out and walked back to his couch. He waited for Catherine to show up, eventually falling asleep with his book. |
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