CSI: Crime Scene Investigators
A Fistful of Skeletons
By A. Rhea King

Chapter 1

Nick had been on the stand for almost an hour. Through the D.A.'s questions and Nick's carefully chosen answers, he felt confident he had proven to the jury how the DNA test, trace, and ligature marks linked the defendant to the rape of seven women and attempted murder of four. He believed the man's lawyer, Nicola Corbet (all the CSI had lovingly nicknamed her Satan's Daughter), would never be able to find a hole in his testimony.

The D.A., satisfied with his line of questioning, gave Nick a nod and returned to his chair.

"Your witness," he told Nicola.

Despite his confidence, Nick braced himself. The woman got more criminals out of trouble than anyone he knew. She was cold without much of a personality – or so he'd been told. Nick wasn't inclined to hate people, but Nicola Corbet had made it to that very short list, and he'd never had the desire to get to know her.

"Nick Stokes," she said, as if she'd never met him before. She picked up something from her table. "You said you processed the DNA samples?"

"Yes."

"And why is that? Don't you have a DNA technician in the lab?"

"We do. She was backed up, so I processed them myself. I have processed DNA samples before."

"How many DNA samples do you process in a month?"

"I don't know. Thirty or so."

"And of those thirty or so, how many have led to inadmissible evidence?"

"I don't know."

"I do." She sat the paper down in front of him. "Can you read the highlighted number?"

Nick wanted to snap at her, but instead picked up the paper. "Twelve."

"That's the number of results this month that were determined inadmissible." She took the paper and returned to her table, picking up another sheet and delivering it to him. "These are the number of cases that your DNA specialist, Wendy Simms, has processed DNA material. How many of her results were determined inadmissible this month?"

Nick glanced at the number. "Four."

"Four in one month? Compared to your twelve?"

"There were circumstances surrounding why the results were considered inadmissible."

She pulled the paper from his hand. "I'm sure there was." She strolled back to her table, asking. "When was the last time, Mister Stokes, that you had a full eight hours of sleep?"

Nick wanted to groan. She was pulling this card again. How many cases had she won with this cheap blow?

"I don't know."

She picked up another piece of paper. She turned to face him and then leaned against the table. She was so smug.

"You don't know when you've slept?"

"I've slept enough."

"In the last seven days, how much is enough?"

"How is this relevant?" the D.A. demanded, rising to his feet.

The judge thought about the situation. "I'll allow it, but only briefly, Ms. Corbet."

Nick resisted letting out his sigh of irritation. It would help turn the jury toward her if they began to suspect he might be hiding something.

"Answer the question," the judge told Nick.

"I guess… I don't know." He did some mental math and the number wasn't good. "Maybe sixteen hours."

"I'd bet more like twelve, judging from your time card. You have worked four doubles, and two days you never clocked out. So unless you're cheating these fine tax payers out of money by claiming to be working when you're not," she motioned to the jury, "you never went home to get any sleep."

Nick didn't agree or deny the remark. He knew exactly where she was going with this.

Nicola sat the paper down and walked toward the jury, telling them. "I bet a lot of you have driven when you're tired. Have you ever noticed how hard it is to stay focused on the road? Accidents occur because of things like that." She turned to Nick. "And DNA samples are destroyed due to that fatigue, meaning that no matter how they've been run, they are inconclusive." She walked up to the stand, holding Nick's glare. "You said yourself earlier, Mister Stokes, that you couldn't recall how long you had the samples in the centrifuge. It makes me wonder… What else can't you recall doing with the evidence of this case?" She walked back to her table and sat down.

Nick looked at the D.A. He could see it in his face – she'd just cooked them.

#

Nick considered taking the steps as he walked down the hall to the elevator and tapped the button. But it was just a consideration. Unfortunately, Nicola had been right. He'd hardly had any sleep. Greg was gone, and this week had been fight night everywhere in Las Vegas. With his civil duty behind him, Nick was dreaming of his bed.

The doors opened and he stepped into the car.

"Hold it. Hold it please," he heard a woman call.

His weary brain reacted and he caught the door. He almost groaned when Nicola appeared. He reacted by trying to block her from getting on.

"This one's full," Nick snarled.

She pushed through the narrow gap he'd left, snapping, "Grow up!"

Nick pulled back. She leaned in front of him and tapped the button for the first floor.

"You always take these so personally," she commented. "It's just a job."

"No, Nicola, it isn't just a job. I work hard to prove these criminals you defend are criminals, and then you pull stunts like that and let them walk. What if that guy had raped you? You'd probably have defended him anyway, wouldn't you?"

She glanced at him. "Geeze, Stokes. Let it go."

The door opened and she walked off. Nick followed her.

"Let it go? You are cold-hearted woman! It's no wonder you can't stay married. You divorced what, husband number four, last week?"

She stopped so fast he ran into her and turned, snapping a finger in his face. "That is none of your business. And for you information, I take these cases because I don't think CSI do as thorough of a job as they claim. You collect your evidence, do your tests, and then you claim you know they did it. If it weren't for me, people like my clients and brother would be sitting behind bars when they did nothing wrong!"

That only goaded Nick into taunting her. "Oh, I can't dig around in your marital life, but you can rip to shreds my career? I work hard to make sure I don't put innocent people in jail. But at least we know one things now: you're doing this job as a vendetta for you supposedly wrongfully accused brother – who probably did everything the police say he did!"

Her face flushed. Nick resisted his smile of satisfaction – after ten years, he'd finally gotten under Satan's Daughter's skin.

And then she promptly disappointed him. "This is why you lose, Stokes. You take everything personal. You need to be objective. Take some time off and get a grip. And next time you try to win an argument with me, leave out things you know nothing about."

She spun around and walked off.

"One day you're going to help the wrong criminal, Nicola," Nick warned her under his breath.

#

It was a pleasant evening in Las Vegas. A cold front had pushed down between the mountains and cooled the desert off for a mild evening. Nick was enjoying having the windows down for a change. Beside him, Sara was finishing off a Subway sandwich. She balled up the paper and then threw it his head.

"What's this I hear you and Nicola got into it in the middle of the courthouse?" Sara asked.

Nick groaned. "No, no. No. That made it to the lab? No wonder Catherine was so cool tonight."

She smiled. "Everyone is talking about it. Some even wish you'd slugged her."

"That would have landed me in jail."

"It would have been funny."

"Funny in what respect? Me in jail? Or her slugged?"

She sipped her soda. "That's a draw."

"You do know you have to go up against her tomorrow, don't you?" Nick asked.

"Yeah. A marathon match too. Three trials in one day. She must be desperate for work. Before you know it, she'll be chasing ambulances."

Nick smirked. "At least she'd be leaving us alone."

"We can only hope," Sara replied.

They turned a corner and saw the rotating lights a block down. The neighborhood they were in acted as a buffer between the higher end neighborhoods and the derelict poverty stricken ones.

Police cars and an ambulance were in front of was a single story, square whitewashed house with narrow steps leading up to the door. Nick parked the Denali; they collected their kits, and headed toward the front door. The officer at the door spotted them and quickly jogged to the bottom step. He held out his arms, stopping them.

"We were called here, Lance," Nick told him.

"I know. But you have to wait out here."

"Is it a drug house?" Sara asked.

"No."

"Is there a bomb?" Nick glanced back, looking for the bomb squad van.

"No. It's… Just wait out here. Brass will be out in a second."

"Lance, what's going on?

Lance made a wistful face. "Trust me, Nick, this is too weird. I can't even begin to describe to you how weird this is. I mean, seeing her and the guy… And then I was told you were coming, so I knew you weren't him, this is all weird. I just—"

"Man! You are making no sense. What the hell is going on in there?" Nick demanded.

Brass walked out and joined them.

"This is a weird one, Nick. Really weird," Brass said.

"For just Nick?" Sara asked.

Brass glanced at her. "No. It's going to be a really weird case for everybody. Nick, tell me about your brothers."

"My brothers?"

"Yeah. Tell me about them. Are they younger, older, twins?"

"Older. Why?"

"No one younger than you? You're the youngest, huh? No twins?"

"No twins and I'm the youngest. Why are you and Lance acting so strange?

"I'm just making sure we aren't going to have a conflict of interest." Brass flicked open his notebook, starting to talk before Nick could. "Neighbors called in about three hours ago after hearing gunshots. First unit arrived on scene. He said the front door was locked, but the back door was wide open. Went in and found the couple in the bedroom." Brass dug from a pocket a plastic bag with a clutch handbag to that he handed Sara. "Found this in the hall. Judging from the happy couple photographs in there, the guy lives here, and the woman is not his significant other. Judging from the content of that purse, she's probably a prostitute." Brass flicked the notebook shut. "Brace yourselves, guys. This is a very bizarre."

"Did they die some strange way?" Nick asked.

Brass was already walking back inside. "How they died is not what's freaking everyone out, Nicholas."

Nick looked at Sara. "Why'd he use my full name?"

She shrugged, walking inside. "Maybe he doesn't like you yelling at lawyers."

Nick followed, groaning, "Aw come on!" He told them, "The woman is a menace to society! And in my defense I was exhausted and couldn't control myself. Jim!"

He trailed behind them into a hall lined with pictures. Nick glanced at a couple until he realized something was off about them and stopped dead in his tracks. He pulled his flashlight from a pocket and shined it on the pictures. These were the wedding photographs Brass had mentioned. A man with his face posed next to a brunette that was almost a foot shorter than him. They were smiling at the photographer, standing in the arch of one of the wedding chapels on the strip. The only differences between him and the man in the photographs were a crew cut and a scar that ran down his temple to his jaw.

"Oh— Oh my God," Nick stammered.

From the bedroom he heard Sara cry out. "Oh… My God!"

Nick jogged down the hall and into the room. He stopped right behind her, staring.

Lying on the bed, naked and wearing only a condom, was the man from the photograph. Time had passed from the photographs till today, and his hair was cut in the same style as Nick's. Now the only distinguishing mark was the scar. He'd been shot in the chest to the heart and the neck through the jugular, injuries that would have bled him out in minutes.

On the floor at the end of the bed, staring at their shoes with glazed and empty eyes, was a naked woman. Her nude body was fit. Her skin was still creamy white. Her dark hair had matted in the blood that ran from the gunshot between her brown eyes. Had it not been for the fact they had both seen Wendy Simms several times before leaving for this call, the CSI would have been frantically trying to determine if the identical looking woman before them was Wendy.

David the coroner came trotting down the hall with a bag on one shoulder. "Sorry I'm late, guys." He pushed in and stopped in front of Nick and Sara. "Oh my God!"

"Oh my God," Brass unemotionally stated. "If I had a quarter for every time I've heard that tonight…"

#

Robbins turned when the morgue doors opened. Wendy had been running and stopped just inside the door, panting lightly.

"The guards told Henry who told Mandy who told me, that…" She shook her head a little. "Can I see her?"

Robbins knew whom she was referring to, but he thought about the question a moment before answering. "Are you a twin?"

Wendy shook her head.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

Robbins motioned her to follow, grabbed his cane, and walked toward the alcove. David was preparing the body for the autopsy.

"Take five, David."

He looked at him, then Wendy, and obeyed. Wendy stared at the body as she walked along the table toward the head. She had a few scars and a dimple on her hip. Freckles peppered her shoulders that had once been milky white but had taken on the ashen blue-gray of a corpse. Wendy stopped when she reached the head. The stranger's eyes were closed. Her hair was still wet from the bath David had given her. Wendy reached down, laying her hand on the woman's head. It was cold, but she'd expected that.

"Did she have any I.D.?"

"No. We don't know who she is. Sara told David the contents of her purse suggested she was a prostitute."

Wendy choked back a sob. "A prostitute? I'm not a prostitute!"

Robbins had been staring at the woman's face. He looked up at Wendy.

"You're not?"

Wendy started crying. "I want to stay for the autopsy."

"No."

She looked up at him. "I've stayed before. I can—"

"This is different. I think it's a bad idea in this case."

"Please, Doc. Let me stay."

Robbins frowned, even when she looked up at him. He shook his head.

"I could bribe you. I'm sure I can find something."

He smiled. "Get back upstairs and help find who killed her."

Wendy took one last look at her reflection on the autopsy table, and then turned and headed for the door.

"Wendy," Robbins called.

She turned. He was standing right behind her.

"This woman here, this isn't you. Don't confuse that, okay? This isn't your life you're looking at here. This is someone else's."

"It could be. One day."

"Wendy, no. She—"

"Good night, Doc." Wendy left the morgue.

#

Nick heard Sara make a sound and then choke and cough a little. He was on the opposite side of the bedroom searching for evidence, or identification – whichever came first. He turned, catching her grin vanishing.

"What?"

"Nothing," she answered.

He smiled. "You were laughing about something. What?"

"Are you sure you want to know? Are you positive?"

Nick looked at their faces and smiled. "Probably not, but hit me anyway."

"You heard David say the guy looked the same height as you. So then he measured the thigh and it turns out the guy is the same height as you."

"What's the punch line?"

Her grin turned ornery. "I was wondering what else on him the same length as you."

Nick almost didn't get it. And then he grinned and chuckled. "You are sick! Sick!"

"He was measuring things. It just happened!"

"Have you found anything that pertains to the case?"

"I have this." Sara pointed at a purse sitting in a chair in the corner.

"Is that the woman's?"

"No. I checked the I.D." She reached in and pulled out a wallet. "It belongs to an Alice Nolan." She showed him the driver's license.

Nick looked closer. "This is the same woman in the photographs in the hall. I'm assuming his wife from those photos out there. Hey, I haven't been able to find Jane Doe's clothes. Have you?"

"They aren't in here."

"I'm going to go look in the other rooms. Try to stay out of the gutter while I'm gone."

She laughed, telling him as he walked out, "I make no promises."

Nick started through the house in search of clothes. Instead he discovered a door to the basement in the kitchen pantry. He opened it and flicked the nearby light switch before slowly descending. The basement was unfinished and half the size of the house above it. On one side were the washer and dryer. On the other side was a desk covered with papers. But it was the photographs pinned to the wood beams that caught his attention. Nick walked up to them, holding his flashlight on them.

"Nick," Sara called out.

"Down here."

He heard her clamor down the steps.

"I couldn't find any identification on the man. No marriage license or even mail to him. Everything I found was addressed to Alice Nolan," Sara told him.

She joined Nick, looking over the photographs. "These must be him in high school and college."

"No. They're not." Nick pointed at the letter jacket on one. "That's my high school letter jacket. I was on the basketball and football junior and varsity teams and received these pins when we won regionals. These pictures are my college pictures: that's me with my fraternity brothers, and these are all homecoming pictures, all my dates… These child photographs are from newspapers. I won that soap box trophy, this is me in my boy scout troupe, this one with the fish has my dad in it, but he cut him out… Sara, these are all me."

Sara looked down at the papers work. She sifted through a few pieces and picked up one. "He has your birth certificate, Nick."

Nick took it. "This isn't mine."

"It has your name. Your middle name is Parker, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but that's not my last name, there's no father listed, and that's not my mom's name. Maybe he forged it. Could have been trying to steal my identity, I guess."

She looked up at him. "That is a really stupid thought."

"No it's not."

"Do you see any recent photographs of you here?"

"No."

"So he went to a plastic surgeon and said he wanted to look like you, and the surgeon randomly got it right."

"If we have software to age people, I'm sure a plastic surgeon does too."

"But why? Do you even know someone with the last name Nolan?"

"If I knew why, this case would be solved, wouldn't it?"

She laughed a little, and their momentary argument melted away. "I bet he's your twin."

Nick pretended to glower at her. "A twin I haven't known about for thirty-seven years? I doubt that's something my parents wouldn't have told me about."

"It's a lot more logical than he was trying stealing your identity and went so far as making himself look like you."

He grinned suddenly. "Wait. Did I just hear bet come out of your mouth?"

A crooked smile crept onto her lips. "Yes."

He couldn't resist. Not when he was positive he had the upper hand. "Name your wager, sly."

She grinned. "You buy me breakfast the rest of the month."

"And if I win you come every Saturday to wash my truck."

"Deal."

Nick headed back upstairs, wearing a confident grin. This was the easiest bet he'd ever made.