Previous part of Remuneration.

***

All three children went back home together. He watched them go as the last of the neighborhood porch lights came on.

The ache in his groin spoke to him of his disappointment at not being able to fulfill his own need. She would do very nicely. He would wait. He would be patient. He was prepared. Everything would work out perfectly this time.

All he needed was a chance, an opening. Sooner or later, she would help him walk his dog. And then she would provide him with the pleasure and release he longed for.

"You actually told Ecklie that?" Sara asked, laughing at Catherine's account of her conversation with the day shift supervisor. Warrick grinned as well. Grissom was trying hard to ignore her.

"You bet," Catherine confirmed, taking another bite.

Jim Brass smiled as he listened. He had no particular love for the day shift CSI head cheese either. He sat in the conference room at CSI and chewed on his latest slice of pizza. Several pizzas, all with multiple slices missing and still in their respective boxes, occupied the center of the table along with paper plates, cans, utensils, and coffee mugs. Seated around the table with him were the regular suspects save one.

"Where's Nick?" Brass asked. "He's not going to get any of this pizza if he doesn't get his butt in here."

Gil Grissom looked up from the notes he was pretending to read. "He's in the AV Lab," he informed the detective. "He and Archie have been working on the anonymous 911 call."

"That's the call that led to the girl's body, right?" Catherine inquired.

"Yeah," Jim said. He made it a point not to mention Detective Paulson's name. The young cop wasn't exactly on the A-list of detectives with this particular group of criminalists.

Sara, Warrick, and Catherine all looked at Gil after Brass's reply. If Grissom was aware of the conspicuous absence of the mention of Detective Paulson, he didn't show it. Instead, he steered the conversation into much more productive territory.

"So where are we on the storage unit case?"

"Doc Robbins is working on a dental ID now, and we're waiting for the ballistics report on the fragment he retrieved from the victim," Catherine said. "The name Sara and Warrick got from the tailor shop manager turned up on the dental database. If the vic is Joseph Durant, we should know pretty soon."

Brass finished chewing his latest bite of pizza and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "A records check turned up a few moving violations, but that's about it. Seems our guy was a model citizen. Now his father," Jim added, "that's a different story."

Gil raised an eyebrow. "His father?"

"Joe 'Deke' Durant," Brass said. "Hit man for the mob. Worked for Old Man Murphy at the Monaco before Carlo Benedetti bought the resort."

"That's where I've heard the name before," Warrick exclaimed, recognizing the reference. Sara looked at him. "Deke Durant. He's a legend."

"A legend?" Sara said questioningly.

"Yeah," Warrick continued. "He worked for the casino pit bosses as a shill, caught the gamblers who'd try to cheat the house. Instead of just blacklisting the player, though, he'd make sure they wouldn't come back - ever."

"That's what the word 'deke' means," Gil offered, "to deceive or fake out an opposing team."

"And eliminate the competition," Catherine added.

"What's interesting," Sara said, "is that our vic frequented the same casino where his father worked but, according to casino records, he didn't work there himself."

Brass shrugged. "I'm surprised junior would go there at all, considering how his father died."

"Oh?" Grissom said, obviously interested in this little Las Vegas history lesson.

Warrick surprised the group by speaking up. "Story is that he was killed by Russell DiMarco, pit boss for Old Man Murphy. Durant caught DiMarco trying to cheat the house by running a scam of his own. Deke had orders not to kill him. Murphy wanted everyone in Vegas to know about DiMarco, so he had him blacklisted from all the casinos in town. There's nothing more humiliating for a pit boss than to get caught with your hand in the pot."

Warrick stopped and took a sip of his soft drink.

"So," Sara said impatiently when Warrick paused. "How did Durant die?"

"DiMarco shot him," Warrick informed them. "I guess he was angry at Durant for catching him and telling Old Man Murphy."

"And," Brass added, "DiMarco got the death penalty for it."

"Wow," said Catherine.

"So," Grissom interjected, gathering everyone's attention. "What do we do next?"

Sara thought for a brief moment before saying, "If our guy was a regular at the Monaco, maybe some of the pit bosses will know him well enough to give us some hints about whether he was seeing anyone - what his personal habits might have been."

Gil nodded, "At least it's a place to start."

"Wasn't Grissom at the store at the same time?" Archie asked Nick. They had been listening to the sound that they both believed to be the automatic door opening just before the anonymous caller began to speak.

Nick nodded. "Yeah, he was there, but there are two sets of doors in and out," he informed Archie. "He used the east entrance and the payphones are on the wall just beyond the entrance on the west side. He doesn't remember seeing anyone at the phones and at that distance he couldn't have heard anything."

Archie turned his attention back to the isolated sound again. He was sure that the sound was an automatic door. "Well, it sure sounds like someone was a witness," he insisted.

"Well, no one who works there saw anything. Trying to find whoever might have seen our guy is like trying to find a needle in a haystack." Nick was seated next to Archie and looking at the graphical display of the audio signatures for each track the AV tech had isolated. "Can you play just the voice again?"

"Sure," Archie told the CSI. He cued up the track and they listened as a male voice, now much clearer thanks to Archie's efforts, told the dispatcher that a body could be found behind a store in the city. The voice sounded almost sad.

"You were right about the tone," Nick commented after the track finished playing. "He does sound sympathetic. Almost like he knew … he knew …."

Looking at the CSI, Archie could practically see the wheels turning.

Nick stood up and walked to the large display at the end of the room. "I need a copy of that voice track," he told the AV tech.

"No problem," Archie said. Before he could ask Nick what he was going to do with the recording, the CSI was already headed out of the room.

***

Nick stuck his head into the conference room for a brief moment. "Grissom?"

Gil looked up at the young investigator expectantly. Nick caught the attention of everyone else in the room as well.

"Hey, man," Warrick said to his colleague, "you want some of this pizza you better claim some, 'cause its going fast and the natives here aren't letting anything out alive."

"Thanks, bro," Nick gave Warrick a slight nod, "but I'm knee deep."

"What do you need, Nicky?" Grissom asked.

Nick looked as his boss. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure," Gil said, rising.

Moving around the table, Grissom stepped through the door as Nick pulled back. The two men headed up the corridor toward Grissom's office. Catherine, Warrick, Sara, and Brass watched through the glass walls as the two men moved away. When they looked back at each other they all wore the same inquisitive expression.

Bobby Dawson had seen this before. The bullet that Doc Robbins had sent over to Ballistics for analysis was almost complete. It was not all that damaged, either. The bullet's rifling marks weren't in the database, so that was new. But the way this bullet was prepared and fired struck him as old school.

According to Sara, the victim had been shot through the right eye. There wasn't an exit wound. Sara wanted to know how that was possible. How could a bullet fired at point blank range and entering the skull through the small facial bones behind the eye not tear through the victim's cranial vault and produce an exit wound? It was an old trick. Bobbie grinned as he realized what he was looking at.

He put in a page to the case investigators. This was just too good a story to tell only one person.

"Did you know that over two hundred thousand kids are abducted each year?" Nick asked Grissom as they entered the supervisor's office. Of course Gris knew this, but Nick wanted his boss to know that he knew it.

Grissom nodded as he moved around his desk and sat down in his chair. Nick sat in a chair on the other side of the desk. "And 92 of them are abducted by an estranged parent."

Nick grinned. Leave it to Grissom to know the statistics so well off the top of his head. "Less than one hundred children a year are abducted by strangers."

Grissom looked at the junior investigator. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Where does that get us?"

"What if this guy was someone your neighbor knew?" Nick offered. "What if Mrs. Danbridge could identify him?"

Gil sat forward, obviously thinking. "What? Did you and Archie find something on the 911 call?"

Shaking his head, Nick said, "Nothing specific, but Archie was able to clear the voice track almost completely. The guy didn't try to hide his voice very well," he informed Grissom. "I think the voice would be recognizable to someone who had heard it before."

Grissom thought about that for a moment. "And you want to play the recording for Mrs. Danbridge. See if she recognizes the voice."

Now Nicky was nodding. "Maybe she can give us something." Nick paused before adding. "It's only a matter of time before our guy takes another child and kills again."

Gil looked into the younger man's face. Nicky was learning fast. He was proving to be a very good investigator. Beyond that, Nick was absolutely right. It was only a matter of time. "That's a good idea, Nick," Grissom said. "You should take Detective Paulson with you."

Sensing the junior investigator's hesitation, Gil knew that this hadn't been his intent. "According to Brass," Gil continued, "Paulson is still the detective on the case."

"Yeah," Nick said, obviously not thrilled with the idea, "I know. But..."

Grissom sat back in his chair and gave Nick an expectant look.

"Wouldn't it be better if someone Mrs. Danbridge knows and trusts was there?" Nick offered.

Gil didn't say anything right away. Martha Danbridge may have trusted him at one time, but there was a good chance that might no longer be true, to say nothing of what other members of her family thought. As if to prove his point, Gil worked his lower jaw to the left just enough to cause himself a twinge of pain from his injury.

Nick noticed the movement and the wince of pain. Grissom's hesitation was a giveaway as well. "About that," Nick said. When his boss's expression changed to one of surprise, Nick knew he was on the right track. "I've got a message for you."

Carl Paulson had spent hours on the computer and had little to show for it except a ridiculously long list and a headache. Stokes had given him good information about the type of vehicle their perp might be driving. According to the crime scene investigator, the carpet fibers found on the victim had come from a recent model Ford produced since 1996 and not from a luxury line automobile. The P235/75R15 Wilderness AT tires were standard equipment on Ford Explorers, Ford Rangers, and Mercury Mountaineers produced between 1991 and 1998. That left a list of vehicles manufactured by Ford Motor Company between 1996 and 1998 that was either an Explorer, a Ranger, or a Mountaineer. The number of vehicles registered in the state of Nevada that matched that description topped 600. Over 450 of those were in Las Vegas alone.

Sitting back in his chair, Paulson closed his eyes and rolled his head from side to side in order to ease the stiffness in his neck. When he opened his eyes again, he caught sight of his notepad. On it was the name of Blaine McCallister. Paulson sat up straight again.

The lady had seen a man walking a dog with the same fur color as the animal hairs found on the victim. Carl thought about that for a second. He was walking a dog. In the city. Walking the dog … in the city.

"Vegas has licensing laws," he said out loud. "Dog licenses."

His fingers flew over the keyboard as he entered another search. What if their killer was a good pet owner and had registered his dog?

***

Gil Grissom had completed the preliminary entomological analysis of the We-Store-It homicide crime scene. According to his calculations, the victim found in unit 71 had been dead for eighteen to twenty days. He signed the report and dropped it into a file folder labeled with the case number. Grabbing his coat, Gil headed to meet Nick in the parking lot. He would drop the report off at the front desk with instructions to make sure that it got to Catherine, Warrick, or Sara as soon as possible.

"You're kidding," Sara told Bobby Dawson.

"Nope," Bobby said, smiling and chewing on his ever-present gum.

"No powder rounds?" Warrick said incredulously.

"Aguila .22 super Colibri - super quiet ammo that doesn't contain gun powder, fires from the force of the primer only," Bobby told the CSIs.

Catherine nodded her understanding. "Old school. Powerful and nearly silent," she said, "great for use in the city."

The assessment got the approval of the Ballistics tech. "And with a velocity of only 500 feet per second at the muzzle, the bullet wouldn't provide enough of a recoil to function in most semi-automatics. You're probably looking for a .22 caliber rimfire handgun with a long barrel."

With thanks given all around to Bobby, the CSIs moved to go. Bobby stopped Sara as she was walking out the door. "Great news about Grissom, isn't it?"

Sara looked back at the tech. "Yeah," she said, smiling wholeheartedly. "It is."

One of the good things about police work in Vegas was that the city never slept. There were always witnesses who where awake at four in the morning that a police officer and a few CSIs could talk to. This was the case at the Monaco Casino when Jim Brass, Catherine, Warrick, and Sara arrived to talk with the management.

Doc Robbins had called to report that their John Doe had finally been positively identified as Joseph Durant, Jr.. After coming up with next to nothing on the records check, Brass had requested a full background check on their victim. What they found was very interesting. Durant had reported his occupation to the IRS as a gambler. His reported earnings for the past two years topped seventy grand. That made him a good gambler. Since the victim had his suits tailored at the Monaco, Brass was betting that he did the lion's share of his gambling there as well. Catherine agreed.

Splitting up into two teams, the three CSIs and the one homicide detective set out to question the night shift pit bosses and dealers at the moderate to high stakes tables. This is where Durant would have seen most of his action, Warrick suggested.

It didn't take long for Warrick and Catherine to discover that Durant liked to play blackjack and that he liked the single-deck moderate stakes tables. "Probably counted cards," Warrick offered. And since counting cards wasn't illegal if the math was done mentally, a gambler could do well if he played smart. This was something Warrick understood very well.

Brass and Sara spoke with the pit bosses. The lead pit boss on nights was Robert Gamez.

"So he was a regular here," Brass said.

Gamez nodded. "Sure, we knew Joe around here. He was a good player, smart. He made some bucks."

"Did he have any trouble here?" Sara wanted to know. "Have problems with any of the dealers, cocktail waitresses, security personnel?"

The pit boss hesitated for a moment. "Come to think of it," he said thoughtfully, "there was an incident about a month ago."

Sara and Brass exchanged looks.

"What kind of 'incident'?" Jim Brass asked.

Nick hit the stop button on the mini-recorder and the sound of the man's voice stopped. It was obvious that Martha Danbridge was too emotional to go on right at that moment. Cheryl Danbridge buried her face in her husband's shoulder as Ron held her. The voice of the man who may have killed Shelly seemed to hang in the air even after the recording was stopped. The only sounds for several moments were the muffled noises of the women weeping.

"I'm sorry to have to ask this," Gil said softly, looking at Martha Danbridge with compassion. "But it would really help us if you could remember if you've ever heard this voice before."

Martha looked up at her neighbor with tear-soaked eyes. The horror of hearing the recording was clearly evident in her face. "I don't know if I can," she told Grissom.

"I need you to try, Mrs. Danbridge," Gil said gently but firmly. "We wouldn't be asking if it weren't important."

As she did the night Shelly was lost, Mrs. Danbridge reached out to take hold of Grissom's hand. What they were asking for would be difficult to get even from someone who was a stranger to Shelly. Gil was beginning to understand how hard this whole thing had been on his neighbor. Suddenly, the prospect of possibly being fired from his job didn't seem like such a terrible loss. What the Danbridges had suffered was so much more horrible that it made Gil feel ashamed.

"Please try, Mrs. Danbridge," Carl Paulson encouraged. Nick gave Paulson a stern look. Grissom ignored the detective.

After another moment, Martha nodded her head very slightly. "For Shelly," she whispered heavily. "I'll try for her."

"Thank you," Gil told her. He nodded to Nick, who pushed the play button once more.

Ron Danbridge listened to the voice and hugged his wife as if he were holding on to a life preserver. He would find a way to kill the owner of that voice.

The sun was rising over the eastern hills of the Las Vegas valley. The colored glass of the Las Vegas strip resorts glinted in the sunlight. He drove the highway through the center of the valley quickly. The glimmer of the colors - red, green, purple, gold - went completely unnoticed. He had other things to think about. Promising things. Exciting things.

Today would be the day, and this time nothing would go wrong. Today he would have her.

***

"I'm sorry," Martha Danbridge said for the fourth time.

"You tried your best, mom," Ron told his mother gently. Both he and Cheryl gave her an encouraging hug.

"It's all right," Grissom reassured her again. "We just needed to ask."

Mrs. Danbridge nodded and then fell silent. She looked small to Grissom, as if her whole body had somehow shrunk in on itself from the weight of the horrors the world had brought into her life these past few days.

Rising from the couch, Gil thanked Shelly's parents for letting them try the voice recognition. The fact that Martha Danbridge couldn't remember ever hearing the voice didn't mean that she had never seen the man before, only that she may have never had a conversation with him.

Ron walked the investigators to the front door. He paused with his hand on the inside knob. "Dr. Grissom," he began.

Gil knew where this was going and tried to cut him off. "No," he told Shelly's father. "It's okay."

Ron Danbridge forged ahead through Grissom's attempt to interrupt his apology. "I really need to say this," he insisted. "I had no right to jump to conclusions like that. I'm not a violent man, Dr. Grissom. I know there's no reason for you to believe me. What I did to you was inexcusable. I'm very sorry."

Carl Paulson stared at the young father for a moment and then looked at Gil Grissom again. It was obvious to him now that the CSI supervisor had received the injuries to his face at the hands of Mr. Danbridge, who had believed Grissom was Shelly's killer almost solely because of Paulson's accusations.

"Please," Gil was still protesting. "Don't worry about it."

Cheryl moved to stand next to her husband and took his arm. "Please accept our sincerest apologies, Dr. Grissom," she said earnestly.

Looking into the eyes of the young Mrs. Danbridge, Grissom could see that his objections were doing more harm than good. He took a slow deep breath and let it out. Graciousness had never really been a strong suit for him. He was sure his own mother would be horrified. "Alright," he said softly. "Thank you."

Ron Danbridge held out his hand to Grissom. Without hesitation, Gil shook it.

"I'm sure there are many people who owe you an apology, Dr. Grissom," Ron said as he let go of Gil's hand. "I hope your life returns to normal soon."

Nick gave Paulson another hard look. Carl looked down at his shoes.

"Not until we find whoever did this to Shelly," Gil told her parents, determined resolve in his voice.

Jim Brass hit the end button on his cell phone. "I found us a judge," he informed the three waiting CSIs.

"Do we have an address?" Sara asked.

"Yeah," Brass said. "He lives in an apartment complex on Tenaya."

"West side," Warrick commented.

Catherine grinned. This was the part of the job she loved. "Let's go," she told the group.

Once the three men were in the corridor outside of the Danbridge home, Carl Paulson stopped the CSIs. "Wait."

Grissom gave the detective an expectant look. Nick's look wasn't as generous.

Paulson knew that he would have to tell Gil Grissom that he had made a mistake. He just didn't think that doing so in the middle of an important investigation was appropriate. He also didn't want to do it with an obviously hostile audience. He came to the point quickly. "There is a Blaine McCallister that lives on the first floor here. She says she's seen a man walking a large dark haired dog," Paulson told the CSIs. "Maybe she's talked to him as well? If this is our killer's voice, we might have better luck with her."

"You want to run this voice recording by her as well? You think she might recognize the voice?" Nick asked.

Paulson looked at Grissom with hopefulness that the investigator would live up to his reputation for putting the work first. Carl was not disappointed.

"I know Ms. McCallister," Gil told Nick and the detective. "Let's play the recording for her and see."

In five minutes the three men were standing in Blaine McCallister's living room and she was listening to the recording of the 911 call. Ms. McCallister concentrated on the voice. When the recording ended with the caller hanging up, Blaine asked, "Can you play it again?"

"Sure thing," Nick said. He hit the play button once more and they all listened to the recording again.

By the time the recording ended the second time, Blaine was certain. "That's the guy," she told the investigators.

"What guy?" Grissom asked.

"The guy with the dog," she told them.

It was nearly 8:30 am when the three CSIs and Jim Brass arrived at the Sun Palms Apartment complex. The leasing office wasn't open yet. Brass was thankful that this wasn't a gated community. Pulling into the parking lot of the complex in two cars, Warrick and Sara in their Tahoe, and Catherine and Brass in his sedan, they pulled into the parking spaces next to the fourth building to the south of the main entrance.

Exiting the driver's side of his car, Brass called to Warrick and Sara as they got out of the SUV. "It's apartment 423. Looks like it might be around the side here."

Warrick nodded and grabbed his field kit before closing his door and following the detective. Sara did the same.

Before the Warrick and Sara could join Brass and Catherine, a squad car pulled into the parking lot and parked next to the Tahoe. Brass nodded to the uniformed officer that stepped out of the radio car. His name was Frank Nobilo.

Subsequent to introductions being made, the group moved up the pathway to apartment 423 and Jim Brass knocked on the door. After a few moments he raised his hand to knock again just as the front door was pulled open.

"Yes?" a man dressed only in pajama bottoms asked.

"Christopher DiMarco?" Jim Brass asked.

"I'm Chris," the man said sleepily.

Brass held out his detective's shield so that Mr. DiMarco could see it. "Captain Jim Brass, Las Vegas Police," he informed the suspect. "We have a warrant to search your apartment."

"A warrant? What's this about?" DiMarco said, the first hints of understanding in his voice.

"We're investigating the disappearance of Joseph Durant," Catherine told the man.

Brass handed DiMarco the search warrant paperwork and took a step into the doorway. "We're here to find out what you might know about it."

It was Saturday morning so there was no school. As he had expected, children were already at play in the park. He waited until he saw her.

He dropped the leash and pointed. His dog trotted over to the girl.

When she felt the cold touch of the dog's nose on her face, Robin looked up and smiled. "Hello," she said to the dog. Petting the dog made the dog's tail wag even faster.

When he stepped up to retrieve the dog's leash, he smiled down at the little girl. "I see you've found my dog again."

"He gets away a lot, huh?" Robin asked, still petting the pretty dog.

"You want to know what I think? I think he likes you."

That made Robin laugh. She liked the dog, too.

"Would you like to walk my dog?" he asked.

"Could I?" Robin asked excitedly, standing quickly.

"I think he'd like that very much." Handing the leash to the little girl, they set off across the grass of the park together.

***

He had thought about how it would feel. How it would make him feel. How excited he would be - emotionally, physically, sexually. The warmth of the body next to his, the tightness, the promised release all tumbled through his thoughts. Would it be like before? As welcomed? As freeing? The anticipation caused his mouth to literally water and his heart to beat faster. He tapped the steering wheel with his fingers in nervous repetition.

Thinking about it consumed him as he drove. The small whimpers from the back seat didn't bother him. The sound of his dog panting didn't bother him. The seemingly endless red lights along Industrial Road didn't bother him. His mind was simply somewhere else.

"Sure, I knew Durant," Christopher DiMarco told Jim Brass in response to the detective's question. While Brass and Catherine sat with the suspect at the dining table, Warrick, Sara, and Officer Nobilo searched the apartment.

"Knew?" Brass said suspiciously. Catherine noticed as well, and met the detective's gaze. "How, exactly, did you know Mr. Durant?" Jim continued.

DiMarco shrugged. "I'm a dealer. Joe was a regular."

Catherine was again struck by the use of the past tense. "A dealer," she said, "at the Monaco."

"Used to work there, yeah," DiMarco said.

Brass nodded. "That's right. You were fired a few months back. Cheating the house I think your boss told us."

Chris looked a bit startled by this last revelation. Catherine noticed and said, "We've already talked to the pit bosses at the Monaco, Mr. DiMarco. We know about the scam you and Mr. Durant were running."

In the living room, Warrick was searching through and under the furniture. DiMarco had placed a fitted cover over the sofa. The CSI laughed to himself. Why bother buying a new one when a cover would do? The charcoal fabric of the sofa cover went all the way to the floor. Pulling the fabric back, Warrick noticed the original patterned upholstery of the sofa. It was Golden Heartland, a perfect match to the recliner in which the victim was found.

As Sara looked through the clothing hanging in the bedroom closet, Officer Nobilo was busy looking through the drawers of a dresser. There was nothing of obvious importance noticeable about the garments in the closet, so Sara began to inspect the walls and floor. Working methodically, she swept her flashlight beam over the surfaces looking for irregularities. She found none. Looking up, Sara aimed the beam of her flashlight at the ceiling.

"Huh," Sara said to herself.

"There isn't an on-line searchable database," Carl Paulson explained to Grissom. "I have a uniform assigned to pick up the list once it's compiled by the city clerk from the records she keeps on file."

Gil looked at Paulson. "And you think that by cross-checking the list of matching vehicle owners with the list of dog licenses paid for this past year we might find our guy." The two men were seated at Gil's dining table with files opened on the surface. Nick had stepped away from the table a few paces and was checking in with Conrad Ecklie via cell phone and updating the day shift CSI supervisor about the new developments in the case since, technically, Ecklie was still in charge of the investigation.

"I do," the detective said. "I know it's a long shot," Carl contended, "but short of doing a door-to-door inquiry for a male that fits our criteria, I couldn't think of a better place to start."

Nodding his approval, Gil told Carl, "That's good thinking. He may be on the list. If he's not, though…."

"Right," Nick said into his cell phone as he moved back to the table. Both Grissom and Paulson looked up at the junior CSI. "I'll tell him." Shutting off his phone and sitting back down, Nick met Grissom's expectant gaze.

"So what wisdom did Conrad have to offer?" Gil asked.

"Nothing about our case," Nick informed Grissom. "He's a little pissed that we had Mrs. Danbridge and Ms. McCallister listen to the tape without him here."

Gil grinned slightly, "I don't doubt it."

"He'll get over it," Nick replied, only half as derisively as he felt. "He does think having Ms. McCallister look through the mug shots of known sex offenders is a good idea," he continued. "He's promised to go over and see how she's doing. O'Riley is helping with that at the station as well."

Again Gil nodded. "So, where does that leave us?"

Just as Grissom asked the question, Paulson's cell phone began to ring. "Excuse me," he told the other two men as he reached into his coat pocket to retrieve it.

"Paulson," he said into the phone. The two crime scene investigators waited. "When?" Carl asked, a grave tone in his voice and a facial expression that was pure business. Grissom knew the look and the tone all too well. The initial question was followed by "Where?" and "APB?" as Paulson scrawled notes on his pocket pad. "Fine," the detective said after another few moments. "We'll be right there."

Nick and Grissom exchanged brief looks as Paulson closed his phone. "That was O'Riley," Carl told the investigators. "We've got another missing child."

"What?" Nick said, shocked and alarmed by the news.

"A seven-year-old girl," Paulson repeated the facts. "She was last seen in the park across the street from her home. She was with a man who neighbors say was walking a large black dog."

***

It took a ladder, flashlight, screwdriver, and a little elbow grease, but in just under ten minutes Sara had managed to open a hole in the ceiling of the bedroom closet that housed a secret small chamber. She had noticed new drywall on the back portion of the closet ceiling - the seam tape had been visible through a coat of new paint. In the chamber Sara found a revolver. This she handed down to Officer Nobilo, who placed it in an evidence bag after making sure there were no bullets in the barrel. Sara also found some ammunition and a file folder with some papers in it.

Taking the evidence she had found, Sara entered the dining area where DiMarco sat across from Jim Brass. "Look what I found," she announced, holding up the evidence bag that held the gun. "It's a .22 caliber."

"Isn't that interesting," Brass said, looking from the CSI to his suspect. "Care to explain that, Mr. DiMarco?"

Chris gave the gun only the briefest of glances before returning his attention to the table top. He had done what was necessary. Let the cops prove what they could prove. He shrugged.

"No, huh," Jim continued. "You know what? That's okay. We'll all just go downtown and see what Ballistics has to tell us." Rising, Brass nodded to Officer Nobilo, indicating it was time to take the suspect into custody.

Gil Grissom entered the park with purposeful measured strides. Robin Freeman had been abducted by a man who had used a dog as a lure. Shelly Danbridge's body had been covered with dog hair. It was a good bet that the same man was responsible for both abductions. A good bet but by no means a sure bet. This was Vegas and everybody in this town knew there was no such thing as a sure bet.

There was evidence, though. There was always evidence. Grissom would find that evidence. There wasn't going to be another tragedy like the death of his neighbor's granddaughter. Not if it was within his power to prevent it. Gil would do anything to keep this little girl from suffering the same fate as Shelly Danbridge.

Along with several dozen Police Academy cadets, Nick Stokes, and seven of Las Vegas' finest, Grissom ordered the initial sweep of the park to commence. Everyone in the search line began to walk slowly forward, visually scanning the ground before them for any sign or clue that might have been left behind. The hunt for Robin Freeman had begun.

Bobby Dawson had long since gone home. Ballistics was currently run by Joel Edwards. "Hey Edwards," Warrick said as he and Sara entered. "What do you have for us?"

Joel looked up from the scope he was peering through and smiled. "Hey, Rick, Sara."

Sara smiled back. She had always liked Joel Edwards. He was as friendly as Bobby Dawson but, unlike the Texan, Joel was a Vegas native. He and Warrick had gone to the same high school and had played on the same baseball team. It was kind of cool to have a window into Warrick's childhood. Edwards never seemed to care if his stories embarrassed Warrick. More often than not, they painted Warrick as a normal kid growing up in a city that seemed to be populated with anything but normal people.

Now wasn't the time for school days stories. Joel came straight to it. "What we have here is a Smith and Wesson K-22 Masterpiece. A real nice one, too. Vintage 1947 model. That was the first full year of production of the K-22 series after World War II. This is one sweet item."

"K-22," Warrick said. ".22 caliber long barrel?"

Joel nodded. "Yep."

"Just what Bobby told us we'd be looking for," Sara added.

"What about the ammo?" Warrick asked.

"That's the most interesting thing here," Joel said looking at the cartridges scattered over his work area. "Take a look at the scope."

Warrick did. What he saw made him grin. "Hollow shell casing - no powder rounds."

Joel grinned. "Add a rimfire long barrel pistol and you have yourself a slow velocity projectile that is perfect for your case."

"So you did a test fire?" Sara asked, grinning as she caught the contagious enthusiasm of the Ballistics tech.

"And got a match," Joel informed the CSIs. "You have your murder weapon."

Blaine McCallister had not been able to identify anyone when she looked through mug shots of known sex offenders. That meant one of two things - their man had never been arrested in Nevada for sexual assault or Ms. McCallister could not clearly identify him. Since her identification of the voice had been so certain, Carl tended to lean toward the former.

Thanks to a call from Sheriff Mobley, who was as upset by the abduction of another Las Vegas child as any politician would be, the listing of all registered dog owners in Las Vegas was finally on Carl Paulson's desk. The list of registered dog owners was thousands of names long. Since he knew they were dealing with a large black lab, Paulson narrowed the list quickly to 2455 names - owners of dogs over 35 pounds. It would take time to search a list of that length and cross-reference it with the list of registered vehicle owners that he had. Enlisting the assistance of Sergeant O'Riley, Paulson set to work.

The search line had halted. Grissom trotted over to the spot that the cadet indicated. Lying in the grass just three feet away from the parking area was a small plastic purple barrette. The kind a young girl would use to pull back her hair.

After taking a picture of the barrette where it lay, Grissom picked it up with gloved hands and placed it in a clear plastic evidence bag.

Mrs. Freeman waited with Officer May at the other edge of the main grass area on this side of the park. Gil reached them quickly.

Holding the bag up so that the woman could look at it clearly, Grissom asked, "Do you recognize this, Mrs. Freeman?"

The anxious mother responded immediately. "Oh my god," she said, horrified. "That's Robin's. She always puts barrettes in her hair. Purple is her favorite color."

"Are you certain this belongs to your daughter?" Grissom wanted to know.

Mrs. Freeman began to shake as tears poured down her face. "She wore those this morning. I helped her put them in."

The urgency of the situation forced Gil to put aside the emotions he felt. There was no room for that now. "She was wearing another barrette like this one?" Grissom pressed.

The woman nodded. "They come in pairs," she said through her tears. "We bought those at the mall just last week."

"And your daughter was wearing both of them this morning?"

Again Mrs. Freeman nodded.

"Thank you," Grissom said gently. "That's a big help."

As Grissom turned to go back to the search, Mrs. Freeman reached out and took hold of his jacket sleeve. "You're going to find her, aren't you?" the mother pleaded, desperation in her voice. "She's going to be all right?"

Déjà vu overtook Gil as he remembered vividly the face of Martha Danbridge and the promise he had made to her. The image of the dead body of Shelly Danbridge loomed in his mind. He felt his chest tighten. This time he looked into the face of a frantic and grieving woman and told the truth. "I hope so, Mrs. Freeman."

***

Christopher DiMarco sat in the interrogation room and stared at a different table top. Catherine held the Ballistics report that Warrick and Sara had brought to her as well as the file folder Sara had found along with the gun. The information in the folder was telling, and the Ballistics report was even more so. She was certain that DiMarco was their killer, but there were a few things Catherine still wanted to know. Grissom would have been satisfied just knowing the who and the how of the crime. Catherine was never satisfied until she understood the why. Jim Brass was game enough to give her the chance to find out.

"You loved your father, didn't you?" Catherine asked DiMarco.

Chris looked up at the CSI. "Sure," he said calmly. "Doesn't everybody?"

Catherine shrugged.

In the observation room, Sara and Warrick exchanged looks.

"Is that why you followed in your old man's footsteps?" Brass asked.

DiMarco looked at the detective without answering for a moment. These people didn't understand and he wasn't sure they ever would. Chris was sure that the evidence that lady had proved what he had done. Maybe now was the time to tell them why. "My father was a good man," Chris finally said.

"But not good enough to keep from getting caught?" Brass suggested.

Chris's expression became resentful. "Do you know how hard it was for me to get a job in this town being the son of Russell DiMarco?"

"You managed to work for the same casino that your dad worked at," Catherine told him.

"Only after I got a revisionist history lesson from Old Man Murphy," DiMarco said bitterly. "He hired me the year he sold out. I had to sit there and listen to him tell me lies about my father. I had to promise never to be like him."

"But you are just like him, right?" Jim asked.

"You don't know jack shit," Chris spat out.

"What did your father tell you about why he was fired, Chris?" Catherine asked softly. She opened the file folder taken from DiMarco's apartment. Inside there were some letters and numerous news clippings. All referred to the gaming commission's investigation of skimming at the Monaco, and were written in the months preceding the day Russell DiMarco had shot and killed Deke Durant. "Your father wasn't running a scam on the casino was he?"

DiMarco looked away from the detective. "No," he said more calmly. "He was working for the government."

"That's what these news clippings were about," Catherine said. "Your father was helping the gaming commission prove corruption in the casino."

Chris nodded slightly. "And look where it got him."

"Why didn't he just tell the casino owners who he was working for?" Catherine asked.

That brought a hollow laugh from the suspect. "In mob-run Vegas? How long do you think he would have lived if he had said something like that?"

"Not long," Warrick muttered. Watching, he and Sara were fascinated by the story being related in the room on the other side of the one-way glass.

Catherine knew Chris was right. In old Vegas, Russell DiMarco would have simply disappeared. Working for the government in an investigation didn't guarantee squat then and guaranteed little more now.

Jim Brass leaned back in his chair. "That gun we found in your apartment is a nice piece."

"It was my father's," DiMarco said almost off-handedly.

"You found out who Joe Durant was, didn't you?" Catherine asked. "You found out he was Deke Durant's son."

"It's not that simple," Chris said.

"Why don't you explain it us," Brass suggested.

"He told me who he was," DiMarco said. "Joe would sit at my table and talk about the crimes he said my father had committed. He told me that my father had murdered his father."

"You didn't know?" Catherine asked.

"Not the whole story," Chris said. "I was really little when my father went to prison. My mother didn't let me visit him. All I have are the letters he sent to her and the newspaper articles my mother cut out and saved."

"That's what's in this file," Catherine offered.

Again Chris nodded. "I didn't find that file until after my mother died last year."

"Then a man claiming to be Deke Durant's son starts showing up at the casino and sitting down at the tables that you were dealing at?" she asked.

"He would look for me. Sit down when the table was empty. Say things. Accuse my father of things," Chris stared at the table top as he spoke. "I made copies of the information I had and gave it to him. He just kept at me. I asked the pit boss to keep him away from my table. Durant complained."

"What finally happened, Chris?" Brass asked. "What made you kill him?"

Chris looked up at that. "Isn't it obvious?"

Catherine understood. Finally she had her why. "When he realized he wasn't getting to you with the words, that you didn't believe him, he accused you of cheating the casino. The management fired you based on Durant's account."

Chris didn't react. He continued to stare at the table top.

"Durant did to you what his father had done," Catherine continued. "So you figured the best way to deal with it was to do the same thing your father did. You shot him."

In the observation room, Sara looked at Warrick, slightly stunned. "The more things change," she said.

"I know," Warrick replied, equally surprised by the revelations they had heard. "The more they stay the same."

"Vendetta?" Brass asked

"Justice," Chris said evenly.

Whether it was skill, intervention from the gods, or just plain luck, Carl Paulson would never quite know. After just over an hour of searching, he and O'Riley had found a hit on their list. Running the name, they came up with an address just four blocks from Grissom's condominium complex.

Paulson dialed Grissom's cell phone and waited for an answer. After three rings he was rewarded with "Grissom."

"This is Paulson. I think we may have found him."

***

Nick Stokes pulled up his Tahoe in front of a very modest single-story house. Gil Grissom got out of the passenger side immediately. Carl Paulson and Ray O'Riley were already there. A police cruiser was parked around the corner and down a few doors.

Parked in the driveway of the home was a 1998 Ford Explorer. O'Riley was looking through the front window of the driver's side. Nick moved to the passenger side and turned his flashlight on to look through the window on that side. The interior was tan.

"Find anything yet?" Nick asked the sergeant.

"Just got here," O'Riley told him.

On the floorboard of the Explorer, Nick spotted a kid's meal box from a local fast food restaurant. "There's a happy meal box in there," he said. "Do we know if this guy has any kids?"

"According to his records, he's never been married," Paulson informed him. "No mention of dependents either."

"These are brand new tires," Grissom said. He had been inspecting the rear of the vehicle and was crouched down at the driver's side rear bumper. He stood and moved to look at the tires on the passenger side. "All the way 'round."

"Getting rid of evidence?" Nick offered.

"Maybe," Gil said as he moved to stand next to Nick and look through the passenger windows. There wasn't much more to be seen from outside the vehicle. "And maybe he'll be willing to let us have a look inside."

"Don't hold your breath," O'Riley said dryly.

After the uniform had joined them, the group of men split up with O'Riley and the uniform moving to the side of the house while Grissom, Paulson, and Nick headed for the front door. Nick carried his field kit. He noticed that Grissom was conspicuously without his.

Taking her had been exhilarating. His preparations had paid off and she now lay quiet but breathing. The softest of whimpers had been the only sound she made. He had climaxed and the thrill of the memory of that moment still filled him when he heard the doorbell.

At the sound of the bell his dog began to bark. Looking to make sure she had not regained consciousness, he rose quickly and closed the door to the room. He followed the dog to the front door.

The front door opened fully to reveal a man and a large black lab.

"Hello," the man said, looking down at his dog who barked once more and then simply stood at the man's side and wagged his tail enthusiastically.

"Ben Curtis?" Paulson asked.

"Yes," Curtis said. "That's my name."

"I'm Detective Paulson, Las Vegas Police and this is Dr. Grissom and Nick Stokes. They're with Criminalistics. Do you own the Ford Explorer in the driveway?"

Curtis hesitated for a moment. The arrival of the police had not been a part of his plan for the day. He was even more surprised to be face-to-face with the man reporters had been saying for days was guilty of the death. Resisting the urge to look over his shoulder and make sure the door to the back bedroom was shut, Ben bent down to pet his dog. "Yes, it's mine."

"Do you mind if we take a look inside it?" Nick asked.

Gil Grissom looked past the man in front of him to the portion of the house he could see from the front stoop. The interior of this particular house was as modest as the exterior. Simple furnishings sat in predictable places in the living room. The carpet was beige in color. In the middle of a hallway that led from the front living area to the back of the house, Gil spotted something.

"What's this about?" Curtis was asking.

"What's that?" Grissom asked.

Everyone looked at him. Grissom paid no attention to any of them. His eyes were fixed on the item he saw in the hallway. Without looking away, Gil pulled a plastic evidence bag out of his jacket pocket and held it up. He looked from the plastic barrette in the bag to what looked like an identical barrette lying on the floor.

Ben Curtis followed the criminalist's gaze and saw the barrette as well. He went pale.

"She's here," Grissom said.

Curtis moved to close the door on the men but Grissom was too fast. With a speed that surprised everyone, Gil reached forward and pulled Curtis out of the door and backed him into the wall on the side of the front porch.

"You have her here don't you!" Grissom nearly snarled.

Curtis stared at Grissom with stunned eyes.

"What have you done with her?" Gil demanded, slamming the man's shoulders against the wall again.

Carl Paulson spotted the barrette as soon as Grissom pulled Curtis out of the doorway. Curtis' dog began to bark again, excited by the sudden commotion. Stepping through the doorway into the house, Paulson began to call, "Robin? Are you in here? Robin!"

Nick followed Paulson into the house and moved to the barrette. It was an identical match to the plastic barrette that had been found in the park. Careful not to disturb it, he moved up the hall and looked through the opened door on the right-hand side. It was an empty bathroom.

Paulson moved into the kitchen. He was talking on his phone to O'Riley who was still outside with the uniform. "We're inside," Paulson informed the sergeant. "Grissom has the suspect at the front."

"Got it," O'Riley said. He headed back to the front of the house with the uniform in tow.

"She better be unharmed," Gil hissed dangerously, his anger taking almost complete control now. His grip on Curtis' shirt was so tight that the man had to push himself up on tiptoes to keep from be choked by his own clothing.

Nick reached the open door to the front bedroom and looked inside. The room appeared to be empty as well. Moving quickly, he stepped up to the closed door of the back bedroom. Setting his kit down on the floor, he turned the knob on the door and pushed the door open.

Paulson continued through the kitchen and opened the door to the attached garage. Just as he was about to step through he heard the shout.

"I'VE GOT HER!" Nick yelled.

"You son of a bitch," Gil told Curtis. Filled with rage, he pulled his arm back to hit him when Ray O'Riley grabbed it. The sergeant outweighed Grissom by at least fifty pounds and was able to keep the blow from landing. Nothing less would have spared Ben Curtis.

Robin Freeman lay nude and unconscious on the bed. She was gagged. Her hands were bound and she was bleeding vaginally as well as from a small cut on her left cheek. Checking for a pulse, Nick held his own breath until he felt the faint pounding of the little girl's pulse against the fingers he pressed to her neck. She was breathing.

"SHE'S ALIVE!" Nick shouted. "CALL E-M-S!"

Paulson was already talking with dispatch as he ran into the room. Nick pulled his jacket off and covered Robin with it. He began to work at loosening the gag that filled the little girl's mouth.

"She's breathing," Paulson was saying into his cell phone.

Ben Curtis was cuffed by the uniformed officer while O'Riley kept guard over the enraged CSI. Ray could never remember a time when he had seen Grissom lose control that way. He was fairly certain no one had.

***

Paulson sat across the table from Ben Curtis in the interrogation room. Sitting next to him was Nick Stokes. Nick carefully laid out the evidence he had gathered to prove the county's case against the suspect. The trash bags found under the man's kitchen sink were consistent with the bag that was used to dump Shelly Danbridge's body. The hairs collected from his dog were consistent with the dog hairs found on the body. The carpet fibers from his car and his home matched the fibers found on both victims' clothing. A receipt they found led them to the shop where he had purchased the new tires. A mechanic at the shop remembered that Curtis still had the old recalled tires on his Explorer and that Curtis had not wanted to put the paperwork through for the recall refund because it would take time. Blaine McCallister positively identified him as the man she saw walking his dog near the building in the days leading up to Shelly Danbridge's disappearance. The audio technician was able to make an 80 match of his voice with that of the 911 call.

Most importantly, Robin Freeman had been found in his home. She had been assaulted in the same way that Shelly Danbridge had been. The barrette lying in plain sight had given them all the probable cause they needed to search for and find Robin.

Gil Grissom watched the interview from the confines of the observation room. He had been ordered to keep his distance from this particular suspect. Seeing Ben Curtis sitting in a chair, healthy and with a remorseless look on his face made Gil glad there was a wall between them. His anger still burned red hot.

"Are there other missing girls that you can tell us about?" Carl Paulson asked Curtis.

Ben Curtis looked placidly back at the detective. "None that I'm willing to discuss."

"There's not a jury in Nevada that won't give you the death penalty for what you did to these girls," Nick said. "Man, the only hope you have of saving your life is to cooperate."

"Nick's right."

Gil looked up to find Sheriff Mobley standing beside him in the observation room. It was the Sheriff who had spoken to him.

"He'll get the death penalty," Mobley continued.

"'These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder.'" Gil quoted.

"Shakespeare?"

Grissom nodded. "Killing him won't bring Shelly Danbridge back," he observed bitterly.

"But a justice will be served," Mobley offered.

Gil didn't say anything right away.

In the interrogation room, Ben Curtis was smug. "If you kill me, you'll never know about the others," he told his interrogators.

"I'm not sure there is justice enough for him," Gil said.

It was nearly a week later before Grissom was allowed back on duty. The Sheriff had forced him to take a few days off to cool down. It wasn't a formal suspension, but it felt the same to Gil.

Robin Freeman had been released from the hospital that morning. The news media in Las Vegas had kept close tabs on the girl's status and reported several times each day on her progress.

Martha, Ron and Cheryl Danbridge had left to take Shelly's body back to Ohio for burial. Before leaving they had made a point to apologize to Grissom again. They also thanked him for helping to find her killer.

Carl Paulson had stopped by to apologize to him as well. Grissom was certain that he had Jim Brass to thank for that. Still, Paulson had the makings of a good detective. Paulson had found several small clues and quickly pieced together a workable theory as to what may have happened to Shelly Danbridge. Grissom gave him points for his deductive abilities even if the detective was way off base. Being wrong was often how one eventually got to being right. Paulson did help the investigation, and it was his hunch that had led to the discovery of Robin Freeman. That little girl had Paulson to thank for her life, and Gil told the detective that.

The incident with Curtis was the closest Gil had ever come to taking his rage out on a suspect. The fact that he could get that angry surprised him a little. He had always had a temper but had always been able to control it. Grissom was discovering that there were depths of emotion inside of him that he hadn't been aware of. So, for that matter, was everyone else. That was perhaps the most awkward aspect of the whole situation.

As with everything else about this case, Grissom's near assault on Curtis had passed into legend more quickly than the facts could be distributed. Employees at the lab spent a great deal of time whispering to each other as soon as they spotted him. The more timid among them went to great lengths to not be caught in the same corridor with him. It would be some time before things returned to normal.

At least that wasn't true for the wounds to his face. By the time he returned to the lab, most of the visible marks had disappeared.

As the shift wore on, Grissom became aware that the discomfort evident in most of the lab staff was completely absent in his CSI team. Catherine, Warrick, Nick, and Sara all seemed perfectly comfortable around him. Greg Saunders and Bobby Dawson were their usual selves, pleasantly goofy and pleasantly amiable respectively.

By the end of the shift, Grissom was feeling pretty good about being back in full swing again. He entered the Break Room looking for Nick and found him. He also found his other three CSIs.

"You ready, Nick?" Gil asked.

"Yeah, boss," Nick said rising. "Just one thing before we go."

"Where are you two going?" Catherine asked, her curiosity bringing her to the question just seconds before Sara or Warrick could ask the same thing.

"I'm taking Nick out for breakfast," Gil told her matter-of-factly.

"Without asking any of us?" Sara asked, half-hurt.

Warrick grinned at her. "We're not special enough today."

"It's just my way of saying thank you," Grissom said. Turning to Nick he asked, "What's the one thing?"

Nick smiled. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind my inviting someone to join us."

Gil gave Nick a lopsided grin. "Who'd you have in mind?"

"A jealous bunch of petty-minded CSIs," Nick said, spreading his arms to indicate the present company.

"Hey!" Catherine protested. "Be careful there."

"Yeah," Sara said smiling. "We resemble that remark."

Warrick stood up and headed for the doorway where Grissom stood, "And you're buying for all of us, right Gris?"

"If you all promise to order from the kid's menu," Gil said.

Catherine stepped up next him and tapped him on the shoulder with the back of her hand before heading out the door. "In your dreams."

"There's a steak with my name on it," Nick said as he walked out and down the hallway.

"Got that right," Warrick said, moving past Grissom to follow Nick.

Sara wasn't far behind. "Vegetable lasagna!"

Grissom was laughing to himself as he scanned the now-empty room.

"Coming?" Catherine said as she poked her head back into the room.

"Yeah," Gil said as he moved to follow her. He really was finding out things about himself and, he now understood, not all of it was bad.

***

Epiloge

Most of the flowers had withered and died. The stuffed animals had been scattered and some were already fading from the exposure to the desert sun. A simple wooden cross, now tilted to one side, had become the center of the makeshift shrine behind the Albertson's where Shelly's body had been discovered.

Looking around, he found that he was completely alone. Crouching down, he set the cross upright again. Carefully, he gathered the scattered gifts, candles, and cards and rearranged them neatly around the cross. After this was done, he carefully laid the bunch of freshly picked wildflowers he had brought with him in front of the cross.

Gil Grissom stayed there for several moments and stared at the cross. "Flowers are a best thing for a sad heart," she had told him.

No, he told the cross silently. Kindness is a best thing for a sad heart. Shelly's small act of kindness had touched him in a place so deep that he had been startled by the effect. He had carefully walked through his life making sure as few people as possible saw that deep into his soul.

Shelly had been one of the rare few who had seen right through him. With the joyful caring of innocence, she had tried to help. In her way, she had. Maybe more than anyone ever had.

Standing, he put his hands in his pockets.

"Thank you, Shelly," Gil said softly. "I'm going to try not to be sad anymore. I promise."

After another moment, he turned and walked away. This time, he was making a promise he intended to keep.

Fin

***