Sources

Chapter 11

When Sara awoke, she blinked several times in confusion, then sat up. Where the hell -

Suddenly the previous night's events came rushing back to her, and she fought to keep from vomiting. Pull yourself together, Sidle, she told herself sternly. You've got to find a way out of here.

She forced herself to look around. She was sitting on an old cot in a tiny cinderblock room. The only light came from beneath the door.

No windows, Sara thought wildly, her claustrophobia spinning out of control. She reached for the door handle and turned it slowly. Locked.

A quiet rumble of laughter came from outside the room. She felt her blood run cold at the sound. Tears formed in her eyes as she backed away from the door.

Grissom, where are you?

"Peter Warren?"

The middle-aged man who stared back at them from his doorway was not what Catherine and Grissom had expected. He was short, maybe 5'3", with a tiny frame and a receding hairline. Most surprisingly, he didn't have a trace of hostility about him. "Hi there," Peter said, taking in their LVPD jackets. "Please, come in."

They entered his home cautiously. He sat down in an overstuffed chair and motioned for them to take the couch.

"Mr. Warren," Grissom began after he and Catherine were seated. "Where were you last night at around 2 a.m.?"

"Asleep, of course," answered Peter. Catherine watched him like a hawk, but didn't see any overt signs that he was lying.

"Do you have anyone who can corroborate your story?" she asked.

"It's not a story, it's the truth," said Peter. "And no, I was alone. What's going on?"

Grissom glared at him. "Does the name Sara Sidle ring any bells?" Peter shook his head, looking bewildered. "How about Amanda Warren?"

"Mandy's my daughter," Peter replied, growing pale. "Has something happened to her?"

Catherine and Grissom glanced at each other. This was not going at all like they'd expected.

"She's fine," said Catherine. "But the woman my colleague mentioned was abducted last night."

"I don't understand," Peter said slowly. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Mandy was staying at her apartment. They knew you were in Las Vegas, and they knew where you live. Don't you think that's a big coincidence?"

"But I didn't know Mandy was here. And why would I would abduct her friend, someone I didn't even know?" reasoned Peter. Grissom was growing angry.

"I don't know, Mr. Warren, why would you molest your six-year-old daughter?" he fumed. "You don't seem to have a good track record for rational behavior."

Peter leaned back in his chair and nodded, looking down. Finally, he spoke.

"I'm sorry that this woman is missing, I'm sure my daughter is very upset about it. But I had nothing to do with it. And while my past sins are what brought you here, they're also what will exonerate me."

He saw their confused faces, and continued. "I was in jail for sixteen years because of a terrible compulsion. I took advantage of my daughter in the worst way. But you have to understand- " He gave them a sad smile. "I never would have abducted a woman. Women hold no interest for me."

"Are you saying you're gay?" asked Catherine skeptically.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm saying that I'm attracted to little girls, not women. I find women threatening. I avoid them whenever possible."

Grissom studied the man's face angrily. "That's your excuse? That Sara's too old for you? What, were you out scouting for little girls last night?"

"I have maintained control over myself," Peter said evenly. "I see a counselor every week, and am an active member of the Catholic church."

"Catholic?" Grissom's eyes narrowed.

Peter stood and walked over by the window, pointing to a small altar. Grissom, rose, too, looking at the altar intently.

"I pray to St. Michael every time I have a compulsion," Peter said softly.

"St. Michael," repeated Grissom.

Peter pointed to a small sculpture. "That's him. The archangel Michael. The Bible calls him 'the great prince, who standeth for the children of thy people.' I figured he could best protect the girls from me."

Grissom picked up the statue, transfixed. "He's holding a sword."

"That's how you can tell it's Michael. The protector."

Catherine joined them by the altar, confused. Grissom reached into his pocket and pulled out the angel charm, showing her. She saw at once that the charm on the angel was carrying a sword.

Peter looked at the charm and nodded. "That's him."

"What would it mean for someone to carry around a charm like this?" Catherine asked. As much as she disliked this man for what he'd done to his daughter, she was sure that he'd had no part in Sara's disappearance. She'd questioned enough suspects to know when someone was lying.

"That they felt they needed protection, that they've needed it for a while," Peter said. "It's an old charm. Newer ones are done by machine, minted by the thousands." He peered at it closely. "This one was hand-carved."

They left Peter Warren's house quickly, jumping into Grissom's Denali and heading back to Sara's apartment.

"He wasn't involved," Grissom admitted reluctantly.

Catherine nodded. "Is there anyone else who posed a threat to Mandy?"

"Abusive ex-boyfriends, maybe." He started to add something, then stopped himself.

"What?" she asked, seeing the wheels turn in his head.

"We're assuming that when she told her abductor, 'Leave her alone,' that she was talking about Mandy."

"I think that's a safe assumption, considering Mandy was inside the building."

"But the charm," said Grissom. "The charm is old. It's carried for self-protection. When Greg and I showed it to Mandy, she didn't recognize it."

Catherine caught on. "If Sara was looking for St. Michael to watch over Mandy, she would have given her the charm."

Grissom nodded. "She must have been carrying it for herself. For protection from a threat that she'd feared for years."

"But I still don't understand why she had it. Sara isn't Catholic."

Heaving a sigh, Grissom wished Sara had just mouthed what she wanted to say into the security camera. They couldn't decipher her secret message, and she'd now been missing for eight hours. Time was running out.

Catherine's cell phone rang shrilly. She checked the caller ID. "Hey, Warrick. We just left Peter Warren's house. Dead end."

Grissom glanced over at her as she listened to Warrick. After several minutes went by, he grew impatient. "What's going on?" She motioned for him to be quiet.

"Thanks, 'Rick. I'll tell Grissom. We should be at Sara's apartment in about ten minutes. Meet you there." She hung up the phone and faced Grissom.

"Warrick checked Sara's internet activity at work. A few weeks ago, she did a Lexus/Nexus search on a case from 1984. The People versus Laura Sidle."

Grissom nodded slowly. "She told me her mother's in jail."

"Was in jail," Catherine corrected him. "She was paroled in November."

"Did it say what she was jailed for?"

She looked over at him sadly. "Gil. it's bad."

He pulled the Denali over to the side of the road, then turned to Catherine. "Cath, you have to tell me."

She sighed and looked away. "She killed Sara's father."

Grissom's face was taut when she looked back. Catherine willed herself to continue. "She'd been having an affair with a neighbor for several months. She didn't know - or at least claimed she didn't know - that the neighbor was also sexually assaulting her daughter at the time. Sara was thirteen."

Two tears ran down Grissom's face as he heard what he had feared for years. "Go on," he said hoarsely.

Catherine's eyes watered too. "Sara's father came home early one day to find the neighbor raping Sara. He pulled the neighbor off and came at him with a baseball bat. When Sara's mother heard the commotion she ran in with a knife and stabbed her husband to death. Sara saw the whole thing."

Grissom's fists were clenched so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles had turned white. He struggled to breathe regularly.

"Gil."

He couldn't look at her.

"Gil, her father's name was Michael."