Sources

Chapter 35

Sara poked her head into Grissom's office, looking flushed. "Sorry, we just got back. Is he ready?"

Grissom looked up from his cell phone and nodded, whispering, "Just a sec. I'm leaving a message."

"Sure."

He turned back to the phone. "Hello, this is Gil Grissom with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I'd like to speak with you. Please call me on my cell at your earliest convenience." He read his phone number off slowly, then hung up.

"Who was that?" she asked, looking at him curiously.

He shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "I'm looking for a plumber."

Ecklie smelled a rat. Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle were sitting across from him wearing smug, satisfied expressions. This would not do at all.

"I have my suspicions why you're here," he said snidely, "but I'd like to hear it from you."

"We're engaged," Grissom said shortly. "Thought we should let you know."

Ecklie heaved a great sigh, shuffling papers. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Gil."

"There's no rule against it," Sara supplied. "I checked."

"No written rule," Ecklie conceded. Sara squinted slightly, imagining his slimy bald head in a vice.

Grissom's jaw clenched. "We're professionals, Conrad. It won't affect our work."

"I'm not sure I want to take the chance that it would," Ecklie said with a sneer. "You and Sidle have pulled ahead in the rankings in the past couple of months. Your solve rates are now in the top ten in the nation. I wouldn't be a good supervisor if I let you risk that."

"This happened in the past couple of months?" Sara asked.

Ecklie nodded.

She cocked her head. "That's interesting, since we've been together for three months. Meaning our solve rates went up when we started dating."

Ecklie's eyes shifted, and Grissom knew they had him. He moved in for the kill. "Conrad, if it really worries you that much, I'll resign. I don't want to compromise the lab."

"No!" Ecklie yelped, then swallowed hard. "I mean, there's no need for that. I'm willing to bend the rules for our two best CSI's. Got to keep those solve rates up, after all." He winked at Sara awkwardly. "Don't you worry. I'll work everything out."

Nick entered the townhouse warily. "Are you sure Griss doesn't have, like, secret cameras in here? If he finds out I've been snooping."

Sara laughed, slapping him lightly. "We're only staying long enough for me to find my phone. Besides, are you planning on snooping?"

He shrugged. "It's tempting. That man is a mystery."

Sara nodded, her face growing serious. "Even to me. He's trying, though. Opening up more." She rooted through the couch cushions. "Where on earth is my phone?"

Nick scanned the countertops, trying to avoid lingering his gaze too long on anything. "Grissom opening up. There's a weird idea."

"We had a long talk in Berkeley about honesty. I told him I could only be with him if he swore to always be honest with me. And I promised to do the same. Things have been perfect ever since." she paused, frowning.

"What?" Nick asked, catching her expression.

"Nothing. I just overheard him on the phone today at work. He said he was leaving a message for the plumber, only it didn't sound like a message to the plumber."

"Sara." His voice was low with warning. "If you're gonna trust him, trust him all the way."

She nodded, reaching for Grissom's home phone. "I'll call my cell, the ring will lead us to it."

"Now that's the investigator I know and love," he laughed.

As the seconds passed, she grew confused. "I don't hear it ringing-" She broke off, rolling her eyes as the person on the other end picked up. "Grissom, why do you have my cell phone?"

"Do I?" His voice sounded sheepish. "I must have grabbed the wrong one this morning. We'll switch back tonight."

"What am I supposed to do for a phone till then?" she whined.

"Use mine, it's probably in the bedroom. Sorry about that."

Hanging up with Grissom, Sara walked into the bedroom, catching sight of his cell phone on the charger next to the bed.

Nick followed her in. "Ooooh, the den of looooove!" he crooned, clutching his heart. She giggled in spite of herself.

Grissom's cell began to ring. "Should I get that?"

"See who it is," Nick suggested, studying a framed photo of Grissom and Sara at the art gallery. He'd never seen either of them look so happy.

Plucking the phone up, Sara read the caller ID and rolled her eyes. "Sidle, S.," she announced.

Nick sighed. "You two are way too codependent."

She flipped open the phone. "Missed me already?" she teased.

The voice on the other end hesitated. "Uh. I may have the wrong number. I'm calling for a Gil Grissom."

"You've got the right number," Sara replied, confused. "But he's not around. Did he give you my phone?"

"Your phone? Mr. Grissom said this was his cell phone number. I got a message this morning asking me to call him. Something about the Vegas Crime Lab. Are you his wife?"

Nick raised an eyebrow at Sara, and she gave him a bewildered look. "I'm. uh. a coworker of his. Is this in reference to a case?"

"I don't know." The voice was growing more frustrated. "I figured it must have to do with my mother, since I know I haven't broken any laws."

"Okay, well." Sara looked around and grabbed a pen and notepad. "I'll take down your information for him. What's your name?"

"Sander Sidle."

Time stood still as Sara stared at Nick. She closed her eyes tightly as her head began to swim and the memories of voices long forgotten forced their way into her consciousness. Her knees started to buckle.

Suddenly understanding that something was terribly wrong, Nick darted across the room and grabbed the phone out of her hand. "Who the hell is this?" he demanded.

"Nick." A shiver ran down his spine as he heard the coldness in Sara's voice.She extended her palm firmly, staring at him with dead eyes. Without a word, he handed the cell back.

"Sir?" she said into the phone. "I'm going to give you his home number. I'd suggest leaving a message for him there."

Grissom walked through the door, throwing his keys on the counter. "Honey?"

The house was silent.

Shrugging, he noticed his answering machine was blinking. He pushed play.

"Mr. Grissom, this is Sander Sidle. I, uh, called your cell phone earlier, but your coworker answered. She told me I could reach you at this number, but I guess you're not there."

No. Grissom's heart pounded as he ran into the bedroom. The blood drained from his face.

There, on Sara's nightstand, was his cell phone. Beside it was a newspaper clipping, advertising a plumbing service.

Sitting atop the clipping was her ring.