Author's Notes: I was recently request/challenge to write a CSI story that doesn't totally revolve around GSR; this is what I came up with, a Greg-centric story that's pretty heavy-handed with the Geek Love. 'Cause I loves the Geek Love. I got some nice feedback from the peeps on the geekfiction LJ community (thanks, ladies...and possibly gentlemen), so I hope you give it a chance, and that you enjoy it if you do! Thanks;)
Jewels
by Kristen Elizabeth
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave;
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind.
- Edna St. Vincent Millay
Greg knew three things about the body that had just been pulled from a dumpster on Fremont Street. One, it was female. Two, she had probably bled out after having her throat cut clean to the bone. And three…this was going to take hours.
"Hello, overtime," Sara said as she approached the scene, kit in hand. "Dumpster diving has never been my favorite sport."
"Female vic." David, the junior coroner started his preliminary examination. "Anywhere from her early twenties to her late thirties. Hard to tell with all the blood and makeup. She was most likely dumped here. Extent of rigor mortis gives us a TOD of approximately ten hours ago. No ID on her, but judging from her clothes alone…I'd say she's probably in the system for something."
"Yeah, I was gonna say hooker." Greg snapped a picture. "Dangerous profession."
"Let's not judge our books by their covers, boys," Sara reminded them. "A short skirt and too much eyeliner does not necessarily translate to streetwalker." She knelt down next to the body. After a moment, she smiled triumphantly and picked up the woman's left hand. "Have you ever seen a hooker with real carats?"
The diamonds and sapphires on her ring finger at least gave them one clue to start on. "So, we can rule out robbery," Greg said. "But she could just be a really good hooker. Who, um, happens to be engaged. They could be fakes."
Sara stood back up. "You know, Nick and Warrick would put money on this sort of thing. What do you say? Loser has to clean out the fridge in Grissom's office."
Greg was tempted to point out that she was the one sleeping with the man, and should rightfully have to deal with his stale blood and frozen beetles. But he held his tongue. Because Sara still needed to believe that it was a secret.
"You're on," he agreed.
They processed the scene in comfortable silence. While they dusted the dumpster for prints, David loaded the body into the coroner's van and took it back to the morgue for the preliminary autopsy.
It was only when he was faced with mounds of garbage that Greg regretted his choice to move out of the lab and into the field. There was no guarantee that the contents of the dumpster would contain even a single clue. But every item had to be examined and catalogued for future reference. Just in case.
"I've got about a dozen prints," Sara said an hour later.
Greg wiped sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his standard-issue jumpsuit. He was standing in the middle of the dumpster, shoveling junk into the bags to be taken back to the lab. "In this area of town, we could get hits on every single one of them."
"Thanks for jinxing us."
"Just being realistic." He tied off the last bag and sighed. "Be honest. Do I smell?"
She smirked as she began lifting the prints. "Let's just say, you've smelled better."
"I knew it." Greg climbed out of the dumpster with the bag and set it next to the others. "You've been sniffing me."
"There's nothing worse than coming in on the middle of a conversation." Grissom startled them both as he appeared in the alley, carrying his own kit.
Greg snuck a look at Sara. He had to hand it to her…to both of them, actually. Unless you were looking for it…the faint tinge in her cheeks or the natural ease between them…you couldn't even tell that their relationship had changed within the past six months or so.
"What are you doing here?" she asked their supervisor.
"I wrapped up my case, so I thought I'd swing by to see if you needed an extra set of hands." Grissom eyed the pile of evidence bags. "But it seems I came too late."
Sara handed him a tape lift. "We can always find a use for you."
Unlike the others who loved nothing more than subtly torturing the couple, Greg was more apt to cut them some slack by giving them alone time. Besides, he was eager to get back to the body and find out whether or not he'd be cleaning Grissom's fridge.
"I'm morgue-bound," he declared. "See you back at the lab."
When he glanced back at them as he walked away, laden down the fruits of the dumpster, they were standing shoulder to shoulder as they worked. Greg shook his head.
Did they really think that they were fooling anyone?
"All I can tell you is that if she is a hooker, she's the most diligently hygienic hooker ever to cross my table."
Greg frowned at Doc Robbins. "That's gonna require further explanation."
The older man half-smiled. "Most working girls display some…wear and tear for lack of a better phrase. Signs of disease, drug-use, malnutrition. This girl is clean. In more ways than one."
"You did a rape kit?"
"Mmm. No semen present, although she's probably been sexually active recently."
He sighed. It was looking more and more like Sara would get out of cleaning duty. "Okay, what about ID?"
"Prints are running. No tattoos, distinguishing piercings or birthmarks." The coroner glanced down at the body. "Beautiful girl."
For the first time, Greg took a good look at the victim. With all the blood and makeup washed away, she was more than a little attractive. Dark hair, delicate features. Sleeping Beauty. The deep gash across her pale throat marred her silent repose.
She was the sort of girl he would have pursued if he'd met her in a bar or a club. He probably would have made an idiot of himself, but he would have tried. She would have been worth it.
Greg stepped away from the table. "Let me know, Doc."
Sara and Grissom returned the lab several hours later. AFIS had yet to spit out a name for their Jane Doe and he was starting to lose confidence that they'd identify her by the end of the shift.
"We could start going through the missing persons reports," Sara offered.
"Can you handle that? I think I'm going to start on the trash," Greg said. "Might as well get it over with."
He sifted and sorted and recorded until his stomach growled for breakfast. Just after dawn, Sara popped her head into the layout room and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Nothing so far. You?"
Greg shook his head. "Bupkis. Are you taking off?"
"Yeah." She looked him up and down. "Listen…go home. Get some sleep. You look like hell."
"I feel like it," he admitted. "But breakfast comes first. What do you say?"
There it was again. The very palest of blushes that gave it all away. She already had plans. And they definitely didn't include pancakes.
"Never mind," Greg continued. "Rain check."
He tried not to laugh at Sara's look of relief. Go Grissom. Pushing fifty, but still gettin' lucky.
Three days passed. AFIS gave them nothing on their victim, and only dead-end leads on the prints from the dumpster. As for the contents of the dumpster, Greg had nothing but a literal pile of garbage.
The body still lay in the morgue, waiting on identification and release for burial. The first time Greg had gone to see her, he'd told himself it was just to search for any clues they might have overlooked. The second time, his excuse was that he was there on another case, and he was just checking on her.
The third time, he just wanted to see her. He had a few toes over the line into weird, and he accepted that.
It was just wrong that a woman like this could be blinked out of existence…and no one seemed to care. No family or friends to bury her, mourn her, remember her. It was as though her life hadn't mattered at all.
And it didn't matter that he'd seen this sort of thing before. Dozens of victims who went to the grave unnamed and unknown. Somehow this time it was different.
So…maybe he had more like a whole foot over that line.
Another two days passed and Greg's attention was demanded on other cases. But the Sleeping Beauty in the morgue was never far from his thoughts.
So when Sara entered the break room and announced that she'd matched a missing persons report, it was all Greg could do to keep from jumping up in way too much excitement.
"Who filed it?" he asked Sara.
"The victim's sister."
He frowned. "Have we confirmed that already?"
Sara's eyebrows lifted. "Oh yeah."
"DNA?" She shook her head. "Family photo?" Again, she shook her head. Greg was starting to get a bit frustrated. "Sara, give me a break."
"This one…you're just going to have to see for yourself." Sara paused. "She's waiting in the lobby."
There was some little part of his brain that told him to take his time as he walked the familiar hallways that led to the front of the lab. But curiosity won out in the end, and he found himself rushing to get there as quickly as possible. He barely even noticed Sara trailing behind him.
A woman stood at the reception desk, her back to him as he came around the corner. She was wearing a long, black coat, and her hair was tucked up into a hat. There was nothing distinctive about her from this angle.
Behind him, Sara cleared her throat. "Miss Mays?"
She turned. And Greg's stomach landed somewhere around his ankles.
He'd seen this face already, only slack and pale in death. Sleeping Beauty. Sleeping no more. Alive and in front of him.
"Miss Mays, this is Greg Sanders. He's also a part of the investigation. Greg, this is Regan Mays."
Sara could have told him, could have prepared him. But could he really have ever been truly prepared for meeting this victim's identical twin sister?
"Mr. Sanders." She held out her right hand. There was a ring on her middle finger that he'd also seen before. Sapphires and diamonds. When Greg didn't take her hand after a long minute, she withdrew it. "Miss Sidle has already told me about…" Her voice wavered until it gave it out.
All Greg could say was, "I'm sorry for your loss."
Regan nodded her head and a dark lock of hair worked its way out of her hat and snaked down her cheek. When she looked up, she'd regained control. "I want to see my sister." There was a moment's pause. "Can you take me to her?"
Sara answered for him. "Of course we can."
As she passed by, Greg smelled lilies. Death's flowers. It was oddly appropriate.
To Be Continued