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Quiet Desperation
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| Chapter 17
Entering the Interrogation Room, Brass kept his expression neutral as he approached the man nervously fidgeting in his chair. Victor Dvorak had some explaining to do. He looked up with a pained expression as the detective sat opposite of him. “Did you find the girl?” he asked hopefully. “Not yet. That’s why I want to talk to you.” “What can I do?” Brass folded his hands casually on the top of the examine table. “Don’t you want to wait for your attorney?” “I never called him,” the auto shop owner said. “I think that you may want to.” “It’s, it’s okay. I want to help. I’m so sorry about this. I never shoulda gutted that car.” “No, you shouldn’t.” Leaning back in his chair, he tried to figure out Dvorak. He employed a host of criminals, not an activity normally associated with the legitimate business community. But he had also taken full responsibility and was cooperating, letting them check his home and business without a warrant. Either he had nothing to hide, or he hid it well. The former seemed more likely, but Brass wanted to make sure. “Okay, let’s go over this again. Who let you know her car was in your lot?” Dvorak cocked his head in confusion. “No one. I told you. I found it there when I opened in the morning. I thought someone dumped it for the insurance. Some people do that.” “Yeah. And some people dump cars for other reasons. We call them criminals. Like,” Brass said, pausing dramatically as he opened a file. “Well, all of your employees.” “You can’t think one of my guys had something to do with this.” “What am I thinking? A criminal involved in a criminal act? Let’s cut the crap. You hire crooks. And only crooks. A criminal investigation led to your shop. The way I see it, there are two options. You’re involved and have a bunch of convenient scapegoats…” “You can’t think I did this!” Brass shrugged noncommittally, but Dvorak’s record was so clean it was squeaker than the mechanic’s voice. “Then there’s option two: one of your cons did it.” “I…I don’t believe they’d do it.” “Because working as a grease monkey is such a great career?” Dvorak leaned over the table. “Look, I ain’t saying they’re saints. I know what they are. But none of them did anything really bad. It’s all minor stuff, mostly when they were kids. Check their records.” “I did.” “Then you know what I mean.” “So, what, you’re some sort of self-appointed rehabilitation service?” he asked in honest curiosity. “I give them a chance to get their shit together. Don’t give me that look. I ain’t dumb. I don’t let them near the money. I lock up inventory. They know the rules. They show up late, they cop an attitude with me or a customer, they’re history. I don’t take no lip from them.” “Uh, huh.” “Hey, I was a punk when I was a kid. I lucked out. Someone took the time to give me a break. I ain’t got much, but what I got I owe him. I can’t pay much, so I don’t get people that know what they’re doing. I get employees who want to straighten themselves out. They get a reference if they want to get a job somewheres else.” Brass let out a sigh. The arrangement made sense, even if it wasn’t something he’d try personally. So far, there was no physical evidence to suggest that Dvorak was lying, or that any of his employees were involved. But someone knew to dump Rachel’s car in Dvorak’s back lot. “What about your guys, then?” Brass prodded. “Even if none of them would do this, maybe one of them knows someone who would. ‘Cause your lot isn’t visible from the road, and someone knew how to get back there.” Dvorak scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I guess that’s possible. Ducky’s uncle was a kidnapper, but I think he’s in prison. And Ducky was in the hospital getting his tonsils out. Have you talked to Jesse?” he asked after a long moment. “Jesse Patrick? Why him?” “His cousins are trouble. Rape, assault, carjacking. I almost had to fire him for letting them hang out in the bays. I don’t want that type of scum around my place.” “How did the scum take that?” “Not good. They were pretty pissed,” he said, pausing significantly. “But Jesse, he’s not like that. He wouldn’t help them. His mom musta been screwing around, ‘cause he’s smarter than the rest of the family put together.” Brass smirked, writing down notes quickly. “You know where I can find them?” “I think they live around Henderson.” Dvorak swallowed nervously. “Uh, you won’t tell them I sent you there, will you? I wanna help, I do, but those guys … if they find out, I’m history.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said before heading out the door.
Grissom popped the top off his beer, savoring the cool liquid. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he nodded slightly as he surveyed his progress. Just the cleaning and priming had made a big difference. Once things settled down, he’d get Sara’s input on the color choices. It was more than her unexpected talent in decorating. Her opinion mattered to him, even in something as trivial as paint. He also wanted her to feel comfortable here, to want to spend free time with him. He was going to have plenty of it. Grissom swallowed another sip of beer quickly as his temper flared. His professional life was in turmoil, his reputation possibly ruined, but he could live with that – as long as Sara was by his side. Keeping her there was going to be the challenge. Starting this had been hard enough, but he suspected the worst had yet to pass. Sara seemed uncertain about his actions, possibly doubting his intentions. Not that he could blame her; he had to admit that his behavior probably looked like a reaction to the suspension or resembled a typical midlife crisis. It wasn’t; that was one thing about which he had no questions. She’d been the source of his hopes and dreams for a long time. While the current situation probably contributed to his decision to finally act on those feelings, it wasn’t the sole catalyst, and he had no regrets. When the knocking started, his head tilted curiously as he made his way to the door. Sara said she’d call when she got off work, but shift was barely over. She hadn’t sounded too thrilled with his suggestion that they meet somewhere for breakfast, and he doubted she’d take the time from work to drive out here twice in one day. “Catherine,” he said before completely opening the door. “Hey,” she answered airily, walking into his home. Her head swung around as she took in his handiwork. Running her hand over the plastic-covered leather sofa, she laughed softly. “Very retro.” “Feel free to come in. Don’t be shy.” “Never happen. You stuck with white. Big surprise.” “That’s just the primer. I haven’t picked the color yet.” “Uh, huh. Been too busy breeding?” Grissom relied on his self-control not to choke on his beer. “I beg your pardon,” he said coolly. “Bug breeding grounds. That’s why you bought these, isn’t it?” she said, indicating numerous potted plants around his kitchen. Her lips twitched as she watched him practically dive behind the refrigerator door. “Why else would you be buying so many plants?” “I like plants. I have them in my office.” “Right,” Catherine said, shaking her head when he held up a bottle of beer. “That coffee plant you bought for that investigation with the dead poker player.” “It’s a cacao plant.” “Same difference.” “Besides both being a source of caffeine, not really. And I have always had at least one in my office.” “Yeah, you have a real history with plants,” she said with an innocent expression. Grissom understood the source of her amusement, but surprisingly it didn’t perturb him too much. Sara liked plants; she even suggested adding some. The home improvement center where he’d bought the paint supplies carried a huge selection, so he returned after their lunch and bought a couple for each room. He hoped she’d enjoy the surprise. “You’re the one who said my home was a mausoleum,” he noted, placing a can of soda before her. Catherine’s teasing wasn’t bothering him, but he wasn’t going to confirm her suspicions. “I just hope they don’t all die on you. This many plants are going to take a lot of watering. With our schedule…” “Your schedule.” “Our schedule.” “You may want to start writing things down,” he said, his vexation clear. “I told you I was quitting.” “Gil, honey, you know you can’t lie to me. You’re pissed. Don’t blame you. But you aren’t going to leave the lab.” He drained his remaining beer in one gulp. “Why don’t you believe me when I say I’m quitting?” “Because you haven’t,” she said simply, resisting the urge to smile at his expression. “You haven’t turned in a letter of resignation. If you were serious, Ecklie would be having a heart attack by now.” “Or I’m waiting a few days to cool off before writing it. I’m still a professional, even if Burdick isn’t,” he said, not mentioning his promise to Sara to wait. Besides, Catherine would only point out that he could have quit before making that promise. Why hadn’t he quit earlier? “Professional. Right. You expect me to believe that?” Grissom turned to her incredulously. Besides the overwhelming irony of Catherine making that claim, it stunned him. In all the years they’d worked together, he’d never given her a reason to question his professionalism. Her statement hadn’t been cruel but almost annoyed. “That stunt you pulled in the diner,” she explained. “Nothing professional about that.” “I’m not hanging around, Catherine. There’s nothing wrong with me sharing a meal with an old friend. I don’t care if someone sees us.” “She’s more than a friend! Don’t you get it?” “I get it. I don’t care.” “Hell of a way to treat a friend,” she said, waiting until he turned in confusion. “You don’t care what you do her?” As she suspected, his expression grew more perplexed. “You want to throw away your career? That’s your choice. But don’t ruin Sara’s – or mine – in the process.” “I … wasn’t,” Grissom answered slowly. Catherine let out an impatient sigh. How could someone be so smart in some areas and still be so dense in others? “You’re accused of harassing Sara. I don’t care if it’s not true. Think about this! What do you think is going to happen if they find you together after telling you to stay away? To her?” “Oh.” “You were told to stay away from this case. We’re the ones that pay the price if you get caught. Your career isn’t the only one in trouble.” He absentmindedly began to scratch his beard. No wonder Sara was upset when he showed up to take her out and when he called her at work. “I didn’t think of that,” he said. Catherine grabbed her pager when it began to beep. Getting up, she let herself out, calling over her shoulder as she went. “Look, just hold on, okay? I might have some info that can help you. Just be careful!” He stood silently, a small facial tic the only sign he was upset. He hadn’t meant to endanger Sara, but given the circumstances of his suspension, he now better understood his gaffes. Less than a day into their affair, and he’d already made a big mistake. His intention had been to convince Sara he’d been serious, that he wanted to be with her, but his execution came up short. He’d have to correct that when he saw her again. A small smile formed as various ideas on how to accomplish that came to mind. His nose wrinkled distastefully when he noticed his attire. Sara’s aversion to decomps was well known, and while he wasn’t quite that bad, showing up at her apartment in his current condition wouldn’t go over well. Tossing the bottle away, Grissom strode to the bedroom, pulling off his sweaty clothes as he went.
“I thought these things were screened,” he said, his drawl exaggerated by exhaustion. They’d been going over the latest leads brought in by the Kenyons’ million-dollar reward offer. Several people saw her at the university library the night she disappeared, enabling them to come up with a tentative timeline for her abduction. Most of the tips, though, were useless. A large number of them were simply bizarre. “Be glad we aren’t seeing the real nut cases,” Warrick said. “That much money attracts them from all over.” “If those weren’t nut cases, I don’t want to see who is. Remember that guy in Summerlin? He swore Elrond took Rachel to Rivendell. Even had a map. With runes.” “So that call was screened by the one operator who never read Tolkein or saw the movies.” “It’s bad enough the guy can’t tell reality from fantasy, but he thought the elves were the bad guys,” Nick said, yawning again. “Most of those calls were a waste of our time.” “It’s not like we have a lot of evidence to work with,” Warrick pointed out. His fingers drummed the steering wheel in a steady beat as he regarded his companion. “And we’re shorthanded.” “What is up with Grissom?” “All I heard was that Burdick suspended him.” Nick straightened up in his seat. “I know. But why? No one is saying a thing about it. Did Cath tell you anything?” “Nothing.” “Don’t you think that’s weird?” Warrick eventually nodded. Catherine usually was direct, but she’d been hesitant to even confirm Grissom’s suspension. Losing their top CSI was unnerving, but the lack of information only amplified the unease. “Which means whatever it is, they want to keep it under wraps,” Nick said. “And that can’t be good.” “It’s not the first time he’s been suspended,” he said. “Yeah, but when Mobley suspended him, he contradicted the sheriff at a press conference. Everyone knew what happened. I’ll tell ya one thing: don’t ask Sara. I thought she was going to blow.” “Well, she’s always had a soft spot for Grissom.” “It’s more than that,” Nick insisted. “She’s upset. I mean really upset. Something is going on.” “We’ll find out when we find out. I think that’s our road.” Warrick bent forward over the steering wheel to check a cross street, turning onto a small highway. This lead had potential – if the source was reliable. “What did you think about Tammy? She seemed like a nice ki… young lady,” he asked cautiously. “Yeah. She did. But she had trouble staying focused,” Nick added diplomatically. Tammy Frakes was twenty-two, but she had suffered brain damage shortly after birth. It left her with the mental, emotional and intellectual level of a young child. It had taken a long time to get her to answer their questions, but her story, although patchy, seemed promising. Her extended family often took her with them when they ran errands. On the night Rachel Mathers disappeared, they stopped to get gas. She went to get a soda from a vending machine. As a car drove by, she saw a man in the front passenger seat knock down a young woman in the backseat. The car made a sharp turn off the road and went over a hill and out of sight. She didn’t come forward until she told her story to a family friend, who insisted she tell the police. Her memory was sketchy, and she grew bored with the questioning, but eventually they pieced together what she saw. The car she described matched the make and color of Rachel’s, and the involvement of Malco and Wilcox wasn’t public knowledge. “That must be the gas station,” Nick said, nodding to the right. “And there is a dirt road up ahead.” Warrick pulled onto the shoulder of the road and getting out to examine the turnoff. “There aren’t any tire tracks. Not surprising with the wind out here. Let’s keep going.” They exchanged a quick look as they approached a low rise. Once over the top, Nick called out Warrick’s name. “I see it,” he said, pulling over near an old sign. It was bent, as if hit by a vehicle. Getting out, he snapped some photos of paint transfer on the metal pole. “That’s consistent with the color of Rachel’s car.” Nick said. “So’s the damage.” “There’s a cabin over there,” Warrick said, pulling out his cell phone and calling dispatch for backup.
After his shower, Grissom quickly dressed and packed a small overnight bag. Despite his assorted concerns, a broad grin broke out whenever he passed his bed. For several years, he’d fantasized about making love with Sara, the way she’d feel, the things he’d make her feel. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he had built up unrealistic expectations, but the reality, while more hurried than he wanted, exceeded his hopes. Sara had accepted him as her … companion? Lover? Both words sounded insufficient, and his vast vocabulary failed to find something adequate. It was far more than physical, touching him in ways that left him elated. He hoped it was the same for her. Setting his bag by the front door, he tried to wait patiently for her phone call. He’d taken that irreversible step. For him, there was no going back; he committed fully to the relationship. But years of doubts didn’t vanish overnight, and the lingering thoughts plucked at his nerves. He tried to wait patiently, but it wasn’t easy. Logically, she was busy, not ignoring him. That wasn’t her style, even if she had changed her mind. Nothing she said or did suggested that she wanted to back out. He smiled contentedly as he recalled the look in her eyes as they rested together, both sated for the moment. The deep emotional satisfaction her smile gave him. The simple pleasure of her fingers tracing his jaw. How soft her lips were, the way she tasted, the soft mewing sounds of pleasure and how warm she’d been when he moved inside of her. Grissom chuckled softly when he began to stir from the memories. He hadn’t felt this alive in years, but there was no sense indulging when he’d be seeing Sara soon. Heading into the living room, he only hoped that she wasn’t too tired when she finally came home from work. He sat down at his computer, his lips pursed as he began his research. Earlier, he’d suggested Sara take a vacation. This case was taking a toll on her, and the time off would do her good. It would also give them some time to work on their relationship away from the stress of work, and he spent over an hour compiling an extensive list of possible locales. Glancing at his watch, he finally accepted that they weren’t going to share breakfast. He ate slowly, frowning occasionally as he fought the urge to recheck the time. She promised to call when she was ready to go home. She’d invited him to her home; she wouldn’t have done that if she had any regrets. There was no reason to be on edge. Better than anyone, he understood the demands of their … her … job. He picked up his cell phone, but set it down after a minute. Just because he was bored didn’t mean Sara was. If she was busy, a phone call was the last distraction she needed. Especially since he said he would wait for her to contact him. Besides, he made a blunder contacting her during work. If nothing else, he learned from his mistakes. Pulling back a sheet of plastic off the couch, he sat down and turned on the television. With any luck, he’d find a poker match on. Grissom started to flip through the channels rapidly, but he backtracked when one of the flashing images registered in his mind. The screen displayed a picture of Rachel Mathers prominently, but it was the newscaster’s voice that grabbed his attention. “… at the scene where Rachel Mathers was found earlier today by Las Vegas criminalists. We have been unable to confirm whether she was alive …” All thoughts of patience faded from his mind as Grissom grabbed his cell phone and rushed to the door. |
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