| Ghosts of Crimes Past - by kyrdwyn (page2) |
| Rated: R (language, adult themes) Spoilers: Pilot, Falling Fortunes Synopsis: The entire nightshift is assigned to investigate the murder of a politically connected victim. The one person who can help them solve the case won't - she has a hatred of Brass and Grissom going back five years. |
 |
| CSI, Gil Grissom and company, and places and etc are all property of Anthony Zuiker, Alliance Atlantis, CBS, and other companies. They did not condone this fic, and I am not getting paid for it. I write because I want to. All other characters not appearing on CSI in any way, shape, or form that appear in this story are my property. If you have any comments - good or bad, feel free to e-mail me at: toxicrev@yahoo.com |
|
| She hated to do it, she really did. But she had a bad feeling about her client's insistence on not letting the rest of the pictures out into the hands of the police; if Jana couldn't keep them hidden, the client would ensure it. No one knew that Jana also rented a second office across town. It was rented in the name of another company she had set up, used for those times when she didn't want her office staff to know what she was doing. As she drove over, she repeatedly glanced in her rearview mirror. She didn't want to be followed. The Edgecombe file lay in her briefcase. A heavy duty safe waited in the second office; Jana would keep the file in there. Unless the police found the second office, they wouldn't get the file. They could search her office with or without a warrant - though she doubted Grissom would stoop to such levels - and find nothing. * * * * * Even as Jana was stowing the files in her backup location, her client was contemplating breaking and entering. While Ms. Stevens was fanatical about protecting her clients and their secrets - the reason why she had been chosen for the job - the police were riled up about the Edgecombe murder. Egged on by the Governor and his friends, they wouldn't rest until the murderer was found. Perhaps the police could be thrown off track, the client mused. A few false leads here and there, nothing to implicate the real killer, but enough to find a useful scapegoat. The client toyed with the idea of using Jana Stevens as a diversion for the police; she was perfect - they knew she was near the crime scene at the time of the murder. But her loyalty to her client might be tested when faced with the death penalty - something she would not be blamed for. No, someone else must be found. Someone who knew Edgecombe and had reason to want him dead. It shouldn't be too hard. * * * * * "Hey Grissom!" Grissom stopped walking toward the coroner's office when he heard Nick call out to him and backtracked into the specimen lab. The younger CSI was in a lab coat, examining something. "What's up?" "Check this out." Nick pointed to a knife lying on the Formica countertop in an evidence bag. The blade was covered with a heavy layer of blood and dust, the florescent overhead lights glinting off the tiny bits of steel visible through the debris. Grissom picked up the bag and slipped on his glasses, turning the knife around to examine it. "The police found it in a park just outside of the city. It looks like the type of knife the coroner said was used on Walter Edgecombe - large, single edged blade. Sanders is running it for blood type and fingerprints now." Nick explained as Grissom peered intently at the knife. "You think the murderer left the knife in a park for anyone to find?" Grissom asked, a trace of amusement in his voice. "Well, the park was three miles from Edgecombe's apartment, and it's a popular park -- lots of footprints, lots of people. Good place to leave something you don't want traced back to you. The police are trying to find someone who remembers seeing anyone suspicious, but they're not holding out much hope." Greg Sanders slid into the doorway and stopped, a report in his hand. "We got two prints off the knife hilt. One belongs to Walter Edgecombe, your high profile victim," he said, a little out of breath. "And the other?" Grissom asked, looking over the rims of his glasses at the lab tech as he set the knife back on the counter. Sanders grinned, "A Jeffery Michaels. Sara's running him now." "Good work, Greg." Grissom turned to Nick. "I guess we found our murder weapon, and a suspect." "I ran the DNA on the blood - only one type - the victim's," Sanders pointed out. "Well, that's all we found at the scene. I guess our victim didn't get a chance to fight back." Sara spoke from the hallway behind Greg, "Jeffery Michaels, 42, former business associate of Walter Edgecombe. Booked for DWI in 92." She had a slight smile on her face. Grissom narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips. After a few seconds he shook his head. "It's too easy, too pat. Sara, check him out. Take Nick and talk to him." "What are you going to do?" Nick asked. "I think I'm going to have a talk with Jana Stevens." Sara objected to Grissom's plan. "Are you sure that's such a good idea? I mean, if she blames you for whatever happened…" "I know. But she's our best witness." "Or our best suspect," Nick said quietly. Grissom nodded, "That too." * * * * * "Walter Edgecombe? Yeah, I heard it on the news. I'd say I'm sorry he's dead, but I'd be lying." Jeffery Michaels was making himself a drink at his bar as he said this, looking at Sara and Nick through the mirror above the sink. "So you didn't like him that much." "Bastard accused me of embezzlement two years ago when he knew I didn't touch the money. Had the district attorney and forensic accountants up my ass for six months before they finally figured out I was clean. Every cent in my professional and personal accounts documented and legit. Hell, I could have told them that, but when someone who's got the Governor's ear accuses you, you're screwed." Michaels sat down in a chair across from the two CSIs. "Why do you think he accused you of embezzlement?" asked Sara. "I can't back it up, but I suspect he was afraid I'd find out who was doing it. He knew I periodically checked the books myself. " "Any ideas who?" "I always suspected he did it and accused me to cover it up. I had no proof, though, so I had to let it drop." Nick sat forward on the couch, "Sir, where were you on April 29th?" "The day Walter got whacked? I was in Phoenix on a trip - my company sent me down there to a seminar. They've got the receipts if you want them. Look, he was a bastard and probably got what was coming to him, but I didn't do it. I was cleared, I got another job, I got on with my life." Sara took over, "Mr. Michaels, your fingerprint was found on a knife covered in the victim's blood." Michaels paled. "How the hell? Look, I was in Phoenix, call my company, call the hotel, call the airlines. They'll all tell you I was there. I didn't kill Walter." * * * * * The condo windows were dark when Grissom pulled up in his Tahoe. He contemplated the darkness. Jana was either asleep or not home. At three A.M., either was a possibility for the P.I. He sighed and got out, taking the folder with the pictures. He walked up the path and rang the doorbell. Sharp barks sounded from inside, and he winced, hoping the neighbors didn't wake up. A curtain flickered at an upstairs window, then footsteps sounded on the stairs leading down to the door. The bolt slid back and the door opened. Two tan and white dogs shot out. They jumped on Grissom, barking and wagging their tails. "Tilly, Evie, down. No jumping." The dogs darted back inside and up the stairs. Grissom looked up at the woman in the doorway, a little uncomfortable with what he saw. Jana had evidently been asleep. Her hair was disheveled and she was wearing a Detroit Red Wings hockey jersey as a nightshirt. She looked at Grissom with bleary eyes. "It's three A.M. and I'm tired. Either you've come to search my house with a warrant or you think that I'll listen to reason and turn over whatever evidence you think I'm holding back. Since I don't see short, squat, and sarcastic with you, I'll assume the latter. Forget it, Grissom, and let me get back to sleep." "I can't, Jana." "Damn it, I knew you were going to say that. More stubborn than my dogs at dinnertime. All right, come in." She stood back and opened the door wider. He stepped into her hallway and waited while she locked the door. She led him up the stairs to the living area of her condo. Grissom glanced around. "You've repainted," he commented. She shot him a look over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen. One that clearly said, "Drop dead." "Want a drink?" "Water, if you have any." She came back into the living room with a bottle of water and a bottle of apple juice. She handed him the water and caught his quizzical look at the juice. "I stay away from caffeine after midnight if I'm not working and I don't like water." She flopped down on her couch and waved her hand at him to sit. He sat on the opposite end of the couch from her. The two dogs ran up and jumped on the couch, one curling up in her lap and the other next to Grissom. "Cute dogs. Tilly and Evie?" "Scintilla's using you for a leaning post and this one is Evidence." "Scintilla of Evidence?" His eyebrow quirked. "And at 18 pounds they're more than a mere scintilla… but I don't think you came here to play word games with me, Grissom." "You used to call me Gil," he said softly, almost wistfully. "I used to respect you." He couldn't think of a response to that. "We found the murder weapon earlier, with prints." "Bully for you. So why the hell are you bothering me?" She took a swig of her juice. "Because I think we were meant to find the knife, that the killer planted it to throw us off the trail." "So?" Lord, this was not going well. She was still angry. He stopped talking and took a drink of his water, petting Tilly. It was awkward for him, being here with her. They'd played out another farce of a conversation five years ago in this very room, and he had a bad feeling of déjà vu. He was still frustrated with her, not understanding her anger. She was still not seeing what he wanted her to. "Two ships passing in the night." He wasn't aware he'd spoken that thought aloud until she looked at him with the same quizzical look he'd given her earlier. Grissom stood up. "Look, Jana, I need to know what you know. I've seen the pictures - Edgecombe was still alive in some of them. Jana you saw the murder happen! How can you sleep at night knowing this killer is out there?" "You're assuming a lot there, Grissom, with little evidence to back it up." "I know what I saw in that photo, Jana." "Can you prove it?" "You know I can't." "But you came here anyway, hoping to appeal to my better nature. You of all people should know how that would turn out." Grissom stared at her. She was turned away from him, staring out the windows at the stars. Her hand was idly scratching behind Evie's ear. "Jana, what happened to you? You used to be so high on getting justice done, putting the bad guys away. You worked a case harder than anyone I knew." "As I recall, you and Brass objected to that." "Only because you tended to go overboard at times." "I got the results. They stood up in court. What more did you want?" "You could have followed protocol." She snorted. "This coming from you? Pull the other one, Grissom." "Fine, don't help. What makes you think this guy won't kill again? What will you do then? Just shrug it off? When you could have stopped him from taking another life? How will you live with yourself?" She turned to face him then, her blue eyes hard and flat, contempt visible in her expression. "Tell me, Gil, how did you answer that question after Marcus Jackson?" Grissom said nothing. Five years ago he didn't have an answer for her. He still didn't have one. Jana stood, Evie jumping down onto the floor. "You're wasting your time, Grissom. Why don't you go wake Brass up instead of bothering me?" * * * * * Catherine spotted Grissom as he stalked down the corridor to his office. She jogged down the hall to catch up with him just before he got to the door. "Struck out with Jana, huh?" "Yeah." "Shouldn't have gone over there, Gil." "Tell me something I don't know." "The coroner identified the drugs in Edgecombe's tox screen. Acetaminophen and codeine, a lot of it." Grissom turned to look at Catherine. "Tylenol 3?" "Yeah, prescription painkiller, usually for post surgical treatment and other massive pain inducing wounds." She held up a hand, "Before you ask, I checked with his doctors and insurance company. Edgecombe never had a prescription for Tylenol 3, just something for a cold he had at the time of his death." "So our killer must have had one." "Or easy access to a bottle. Which leaves us with most pharmacists, doctors, and families of post-surgical patients in the greater Las Vegas area." "So our killer doped up Edgecombe to make sure he wouldn't fight, then slit his throat." "Yeah. You know, I don't think this was a random killing, Gil. There's too much preparation and too little evidence. Warrick and I went back over that scene with the proverbial fine tooth comb. There was nothing there that shouldn't have been there. Nick and Sanders did the hair and fibers - all belonged to Edgecombe or his family, who you say was over there the day before for a family dinner." Grissom looked up. "What if it was one of them?" "Don't they have alibis?" "His brother and sister-in-law swear they were home in bed when the murder happened. Neighborhood watch didn't see either of them leave or come back when they made their rounds. Their two daughters were in their dorm rooms at UNLV, the roommates swear to it." "So much for that, then." "Yeah. Damn it, Catherine, why can't Jana see how much we need those pictures?" "I think she knows, but she's always been stubborn - as stubborn as you at times. She won't betray her client. You going over there to talk to her didn't help, you know." "I know." Catherine herself was having a hard time believing that Jana was acting this way -- not that she blamed her. Grissom and Brass had put her through hell five years ago. Having to deal with them on this case was probably akin to prying open a wound with a crowbar for the younger woman. Briefly, she debated going over to Jana's herself, maybe trying to get her to look beyond the past. Before Catherine could suggest to Grissom that she try to talk to Jana, Nick hurried toward them from direction of the labs, a huge grin on his face. "Hey guys, I think you need to come take a look at something." * * * * * Inside the specimen lab, Nick had the murder weapon under the microscope. "I was going back over the knife just to make sure we didn't miss anything and I found that we did. Take a look." Grissom took off his glasses and peered into the microscope. Caught in the space where the blade and the handle were joined was a hair, with follicle attached. He grinned up at Nick. "Good work. Get this over to Sanders and have him type it. Tell him to run it against the DNA we've gotten on this case." * * * * * Jana stood inside the doorway to her private office and gazed in dismay at the scene before her. Papers were strewn on the floor, desk drawers had been pulled out and dumped upside down on the carpet, pictures ripped off the walls and torn open. The other office where her investigators worked was practically a mirror image of destruction. The filing cabinets in the lab had been forced open and searched with the same air of desperation. According to her receptionist, someone had gotten in past the building guards and forced the lock on the suite. Timothy had called the cops as soon as he had gotten in and seen the damage. Two uniformed officers stood beside Timothy, taking his statement. Jana could only think of one reason why someone would want to break into the office - the Edgecombe case. None of her other clients had cases that would cause someone to take this risk. No common burglar would have picked just her office - not with the security in the building. Fortunately for Jana and her business, the important client files were locked in a hidden safe in the lab every night. Only billing records were kept in individual desks. Her clients' secrets were still protected, despite the break-in. "Hell of a mess here, girl." A familiar voice made Jana turn around and smile at the dark man behind her. "Warrick Brown. I'd've thought you CSIs would be too busy with murder to deal with a little breaking and entering. And when did you start working day shift?" "Brass noted the call was to your office and had Grissom send me over. He told me to treat this as if it were part of the Edgecombe murder." Her former colleague wouldn't meet her eyes, shifting his weight from on foot to the other. Clearly, he wasn't comfortable at having to treat Jana like a suspect instead of the friend she had been. Jana stepped out of the doorway to allow Warrick into the office. "I'm not surprised at that. Brass must have the sheriff up his ass about this case. Before you ask, I don't know if anything's missing." Warrick opened his crime scene kit, pulled out a camera, and began snapping pictures. "So how's the P.I. business treating you?" "Pretty good. It's not like being a CSI, but then again I do get to pick and chose my cases." "Yeah, there are times when I wish I could do that." "Like right now, I bet." He didn't respond. She watched as he finished with the pictures and began dusting the office for prints. Jana would bet her next rent payment that the vandal wore gloves. Neither the killer nor her client would want to be traced, and no self-respecting cop or CSI would have been that stupid. "So what do you think about this Edgecombe case, Jana?" Jana raised her eyebrow. Brass probably put him up to it, so there was no sense in getting angry. "I think I'm getting tired of people trying to question me about what I know," she replied mildly. Warrick looked up. "I guess that wasn't very subtle, was it?" She shook her head, a one sided grin on her face. "Not really." "I had to try, you know." "I know. I'd do the same if I were still a CSI." Warrick stayed silent, trying to determine how to respond to that statement without destroying the fragile rapport they'd established. He didn't want to bring up the reason why she'd left CSI, and he wasn't sure if discussing any case they'd worked on together wouldn't inevitably lead to Marcus Jackson. He drew in a breath to speak when Brass' voice sounded from the doorway. "What the hell happened here?" Brass was standing in the doorway to the office, Grissom behind him, Bob Schaeffer next to Grissom. "I believe it's called breaking and entering, Captain." Contempt dripped from Jana's voice. "Well, I have a warrant here allowing me to take any and all files pertaining to the Edgecombe case that we can find in this office." "It's limited as to where you can search, Captain," Bob Schaeffer interjected, trying to let Jana know that he'd done his best to protect her. Jana held out her hand, and Brass handed her the warrant. She read it over. It was a valid warrant, signed by the judge, allowing him to search all accessible areas in her office suite. That left the client files in the safe alone. "Since you have a warrant, I don't see how I can stop you." "You're right, you can't, but I promise we'll do all we can to find out who did this." Jana heard the insincerity in Brass' tone. She met his eyes, coldly. So he thinks I staged this, she thought. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind about leaping to conclusions. Before she could, however, one of the street cops approached Brass hesitantly, a videotape in his right hand. The hall camera had caught the intruder breaking into the office at 3:10 am, he told Brass. Absently, Brass thanked him, turning to Jana. "And where you at 3:10 am last night, Ms. Stevens?" It sounded like he expected her to come up with a flimsy story, already planning on taking her back to the station for questioning. She was pleased to be able to shoot that idea down with the truth, and one Brass wouldn't like. "I was talking with Gil Grissom in my living room." She smiled inwardly to see Brass taken aback, and watched as he turned to Grissom. Grissom nodded in solemn confirmation as his eyes scanned the room in manner Jana recognized. He was mentally processing the scene, picking out areas where he was most likely to find evidence. Whether he was processing her office for the warrant or the breaking and entering, she didn't know. She wasn't even sure she cared anymore. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I'm going to wait over there with the nice officers while you dust for prints and execute your warrant." Jana swept by Brass and Grissom, outwardly composed, inwardly seething. Warrick stared after her, dismayed. Grissom looked resigned. Brass looked positively gleeful. * * * * * An hour later, the gleeful expression on Brass' face had been replaced by one of frustrated anger. The fruits of the warrant amounted to one newspaper article from the Las Vegas Tribune, found in Jana's desk, and a page of field notes documenting Jana and Gil's conversation of the night before, found in a legal pad in Jana's briefcase. Neither a photograph nor an incriminating billing record was to be found. "She hid the evidence," Brass practically growled. "We do have to consider the possibility that the burglar took it," Grissom commented. "Oh yeah, right." "Think about it. The client gets nervous, starts thinking that maybe Jana can't keep secret whatever this is, so he hires someone to break in and steal the files, or he does it himself." "Or Jana hid the evidence, hired someone to stage the break in, and you conveniently gave her an alibi for last night." "That's another possibility." Brass walked over to where Jana and Timothy sat on one of the waiting room couches. Grissom followed. The two were looking at something in the Forensic Journal. Grissom leaned in closer. It was an article on the use of DNA to exonerate persons falsely convicted. "Thinking of branching out?" Brass asked snidely. Jana didn't bother to look at him. "Timothy is a criminal justice major at UNLV. He's doing a paper on the topic, wanted the point of view of a former CSI for it." Grissom turned his attention to the younger man, "If you want another point of view, give me a call sometime." The young man looked surprised, then stammered out a thank you. Brass rolled his eyes. Timothy excused himself to go answer the phone. Jana glared at Grissom. "Think you can get more information by charming my office staff?" "I'm always willing to help out a possible future colleague." "Uh-huh." Jana turned to Brass, "I can see you're dying to interrogate me on what you found, Captain. Ask away." "Where are the Edgecombe files, Jana?" Jana looked blankly at Brass. "They weren't in my office?" "Oh that's cute." Jana got up and pushed past Brass into her office, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket. She used it to turn upright a file drawer Brass and Grissom had been in earlier. The thief had been in there: the false bottom was torn open. Jana had hidden the billing records in there. "Son of a bitch." "I take it you're saying the thief took them." "Yes." Brass threw up his hands and walked away. Grissom moved closer to Jana. He suspected she wasn't telling the whole truth. There had been something in that hiding place relating to the Edgecombe murders, but not everything. Grissom spoke quietly, "Jana, have you considered the possibility that you could be a suspect?" She dropped the drawer and turned to lean against the desk, crossing her arms over her chest. "In the break in or the murder of Edgecombe? No wait," she held up a hand as he started to speak, "let me answer. Yes, I am aware that it could look like I hired someone to break in to hide the evidence that you were seeking. I am also aware that the fact that I took pictures of Edgecombe after he was killed puts me at the location of the murder near the time of the murder." "It doesn't look good for you, Jana." "Let me give you a piece of advice, Grissom. Follow the evidence." Grissom raised an eyebrow at hearing his own words thrown back at him. Jana smiled, "What would my motive be? Or do you think I've gone from maverick CSI to hit woman for hire?" "You do appear to be more prosperous that most private detectives. We've been through this office, Jana. You've got equipment in here that small town crime labs would envy." Jana tilted her head to the side, "I'm disappointed in you, Grissom. Brass commented on my background enough to know where most of this comes from." Understanding dawned in his face, "Your parents." "The Trust Fund CSI, I believe Brass called me. 'Little rich girl playing at being a cop'." Her voice mimicked Brass' sarcastic tones. "I used my inheritance to set this up. Private investigators have a sleazy reputation. Clients feel bad enough about hiring a P.I. without having to deal with the stereotype. I make them feel comfortable; I make them feel like there's nothing wrong with hiring a private investigator by looking like any other respectable business. In return, I get better clients, better cases. You can check my bank records if you don't believe me. Hell, I'll bet you Brass is over there on his cell phone calling for a forensic accountant to go over my books - personal and business." She was defensive, a tone he had often heard when Brass called her into his office to chew her out over the way she handled a case. Grissom reached out to lightly grasp Jana's shoulder. "Look," he said softly, "is there anything you can tell me about this case without breaking your word to your client?" Two sets of blue eyes regarded each other, his pleading, hers considering. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I can't." He dropped his hand and turned away. "How about another piece of advice?" He looked back at her. "Stop asking 'who' for a while. Try asking 'why'." It was the closest she'd come to admitting that she'd seen the murder of Walter Edgecombe. |
|