Stolen

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“I ran the name but I didn’t get anyone matching Mr. Hollis’s description and none of the hits have any prior record.”
Nick rubbed his chin absently as he watched the lab technician work. At his right, Warrick frowned and stated, “That doesn’t make any sense, no one usually starts a criminal lifestyle with kidnapping.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything.”
The Texan shook his head, something dawning on him. “Run the name as an alias. Maybe this guy was already thinking like a criminal when he bought the van. Maybe he was trying to hide his tracks.”
The technician gave him a surprised look. It wasn’t the idea that was so outrageous, but Nick hadn’t spoken since he’d entered the room. Warrick also shot him a glance for it.
“Run it.”
He turned back to the screen and changed the search perimeters. With more data to run through, it took the program precious time to process their request. After an excruciating ten minutes, it found something.
“Hey, we’ve got a hit. Garret Manning, also known as Joseph Williams and Casey Andrews. This guy’s got a whole list of aliases, as well as a record as long as my arm. Assault, assault and battery, abuse, robbery, this guy’s had his hand in everything.”
“He’s also been charged with murder, but he wasn’t convicted,” Warrick noted. When he glanced up at the mug shot, his mouth dropped open. “Wait! I remember this guy. We were trying to pin him the mutilation and murder of a college kid and a bartender, but we didn’t have enough evidence to convince the jury and he walked.”
“What do you mean mutilation?” Nick asked in a low voice.
“I’m sure I can pull up the case file. You can see for yourself.”
He leaned around the lab tech that was assisting them and accessed the autopsy photographs. The images that appeared on the screen made Nick ill. The figures were both disfigured terribly. Someone had taken a knife to almost every inch of their skin and the way their ribs stood out from their flesh suggested that they’d been starved.
“How were the victims related?” Nick croaked out and turned away from the screen. He couldn’t look at those faces. For a brief second, he could see Greg on that slab, tortured and pale. His chest ached terribly.
“There wasn’t any connection that we could find.”
“Random victims? So that’s how Greg fits into this, the guy just kidnaps whoever he likes and then does that to them?”
“That’s what we gathered. When we questioned him, we couldn’t quite figure out his motive. The guy was nuts. The thing that really sticks with me, though, was this grin he gave me when he asked what I thought of beautiful things.”
“Beautiful things?” Nick felt sick all over again, but he didn’t have anything else in his stomach to toss.
Warrick put a comforting hand on the Texan’s shoulder and said, “We’ll get him.” He gave his shoulder a squeeze before going to report their findings.
Once Warrick was gone, the lab technician that Nick shared the room with cleared his throat, “You’ve really got to have more faith. He’s a strong kid, he’ll be okay.”
Nick gave him a weak smile and muttered his thanks as he followed his friend’s steps out the door. He wanted to believe that, but he couldn’t help but worry. He was, however, well beyond the healthy point of concern. His stress level was probably high enough to make his hair turn white. Nick suspected that, once all of this was over, he would have a hard time returning to normalcy. When they found the boy, he was going to kiss him senseless. That is, if they found him.
Nick caught up to Warrick in Grissom’s office. The other CSI had grabbed the case file somewhere along the way and was explaining the gruesome findings. Gil took off his glasses and rubbed his temples as he listened.
“You have his last known residence?”
“Yeah, it’s in the file.”
“Call Brass,” the head CSI ordered and got to his feet.
In the doorway, Nick gathered his courage to speak, “I’d like to go.”
Grissom sighed and left the office, both men on his heels. He’d wanted to avoid this. He didn’t want Nick to think that he had no faith in him but the Texan didn’t need to be questioning anyone in his state. “I think you need to stay here, Nick,” he said, a little exasperated.
“Why not, I’m part of this investigation! I know how to be a professional, Gris! I’m not going to screw things up.”
“Nicky, don’t argue with me. I know you’re capable, but I want you to stay at the lab. Do more research on our suspect. If he’s not home, I want to know where we can find him.”
Nick stopped and let them walk away without him. Grissom said something else to him over his shoulder before they disappeared, but the Texan didn’t hear it. He would do what he was told, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t be furious with his superior. If he was such a liability, then why didn’t they fire him? He obviously couldn’t be trusted around suspects.
Even though he mentally railed at Grissom for not trusting him, he knew that wasn’t it. Nick had shown an overwhelming amount of protectiveness for Greg since all of this had started and Grissom was trying to prevent him from doing something he would regret. He was right to do so. The first chance Nick got with the suspect; he was going to wring his neck. Realizing this calmed the level three CSI slightly.
Defeated, he found the nearest computer and set to work. He had a lot of material to go through before he could find something Grissom and the others could use in the investigation.
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“You know, I’d only been in bed an hour when I got your call. I work days, Gil,” Brass complained lightly as he climbed from his car. Grissom’s stony face said that the topic was not open for discussion and the detective quickly closed his mouth. Questioning typically occurred during the day and Brass couldn’t see them being warmly welcomed at midnight, but he really didn’t feel like confronting the head CSI’s current mood. The house they’d stopped in front of was pitch black inside, the occupants either asleep, or out of town.
They stayed on the lawn until Warrick rounded the house at a jog and came back, shaking his head.
“No van, but the garage is closed.”
“Maybe he decided to park it inside. A closed door would block any nearby eyes from seeing his kidnap victims,” Catherine theorized.
Warrick countered her, “Maybe, or maybe this is a dead end.”
Grissom motioned for both of them to cease the banter and follow as he mounted the front steps. He rang the bell and stepped back to wait. He didn’t expect anyone to answer on the first ring, but he gave it at least a minute before he pushed the bell again. A few anxious moments later, the representatives of the crime lab saw movement inside and the porch light snapped on. A very irritated, bed rumpled young woman in a robe pulled open the door and groaned out, “What is it? It’s very late.”
Grissom took a breath and gave his speech on who they were and where they were from. Her expression got more guarded as he explained, but she opened the door the rest of the way.
“Did something happen to my mother?” the brunette asked tentatively.
“No, ma’am, we’re looking for Garret Manning, you may know him by a different name,” Grissom said and held out a printout of Manning’s mug shot.
The woman squinted at the picture and gave him a weak smile, “I’m sorry, let me get my glasses.”
She disappeared into the dark house, leaving the team standing awkwardly in the doorway. When she returned, she had a pair of thin frames balanced on her nose.
“Yes, I know him. He sold us this house about a year ago. He didn’t call himself Garret, but it’s definitely him,” she confirmed and handed back the photo.
There was a general sinking feeling all around. It was possible that she was lying, but this vein was quickly looking like the dead end Warrick had claimed it to be.
“Do you have documentation of this transaction?”
“Of course.”
“Did he happen to leave a forwarding address?”
“No.”
They all went quiet. The documentation would be proof. Their investigation was at a standstill.
“Could we see the paperwork?” Catherine asked; just to tie up loose ends. The young woman disappeared inside again, leaving them on the doorstep to brood.
Grissom broke the stressed silence, “Let’s just hope that Nick has found a lead.” The optimism wasn’t shared. A heavy thought passed through the group, but no one was willing to say it. Greg would be dead by the time they found him. He would be one of the corpses they dug up and brought to autopsy, a piece of evidence instead of the bleach-blonde goofball everyone knew him as. They were racing against the clock and they’d run out of track to run on.
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Nick leaned back and rubbed his strained eyes. He’d gone through every paper and read every report. If there was useable information, it wasn’t in the file. A heavy sigh escaped him and he ran a hand through his short, brown hair. If there wasn’t something obvious to be found, he would have to dig deeper. Nick pulled up the man’s record, trying to see what he was looking at without bias.
He skimmed the information, not quite sure what he was looking for. Something on the third page caught his eye. Mr. Manning had filed for unemployment, but was no longer receiving checks.
Nick picked up the phone and dialed out. There was always someone at the unemployment offices of Las Vegas; Nick truly hadn’t appreciated that until now. He was transferred twice before he was on the line with a human being.
The voice at the other end sounded bored to tears, “This is Maria. How may I help you?”
“I need to know if you have a Garret Manning in your database.”
“We’re not permitted to release that kind of information to the public,” sighed the female voice. Her weariness suggested that she said it a thousand times a day.
“I’m a crime scene investigator for the Las Vegas Police Department, Mr. Manning is a suspect in a kidnapping and I noticed that he stopped receiving checks several months ago. I need to know where he’s working now.”
The other end was quiet for several moments and Nick could almost see her chewing her lip thoughtfully. She must have been new. “I’m going to need to see a badge or ID or something…” she said uncertainly.
“Can I come by now?”
“The offices are closed right now…”
“It’s urgent.”
“…but, maybe if you called me when arrived, I could come let you in.”
Relief flooded Nick and he showered profuse gratitude into the phone before running out the door. He should have stopped to call Grissom, but they couldn’t risk wasting any more time. Gil would want him to wait for the team to return, he would make him stay behind. Nick wasn’t going to sit this one out, he’d be damned if he was going to let them stop him. The worst thing they could do was fire him and that was just fine with him. He had other places he could work.
It took him ten minutes to reach the offices, going an average of twenty miles over the speed limit. He pulled into one of the many empty slots and whipped out his phone. True to her word, the receptionist let him in. The woman matched her voice, tired and rundown. She gave him an inquisitive look through the glass and he held up his ID.
Maria unlocked the door. “I found the information we discussed over the phone. I’m not really sure how to approach this, but you only need to know where he’s employed, right?”
“And the number, if you have it,” Nick asked hopefully.
She nodded and handed him a slip of paper, curiosity getting the best of her, “Who did he kidnap, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“A friend of mine. A dear friend…” Nick whispered as he examined his find. He’d never heard of the company that was scribbled on the loose-leaf paper, but the number underneath it was all he really needed.
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Greg snapped to attention with short, panicky breaths. He wasn’t quite sure when he’d gone unconscious, but, returning to the harsh reality of his situation, he quickly tried to map out his tormentor’s location. The room around him was silent, save for the muffled sounds of a television that he mentally placed a floor above him. His racing heart began to slow as he strained his ears to catch any sign of the psychopath. Nothing came to his immediate attention, but his absence gave Greg no amount of relief.
Rather than take his moments alone to relax, the lab technician began to work at his bonds. Adrenaline kept him from feeling the white-hot pain that was spreading from the wounds on his stomach, but the fight-or-flight fuel didn’t give him enough strength to break out of his restraints. The material digging into his wrists felt like some kind of hard plastic and it refused to give under his ministrations. Greg sucked in a lung-full of air and gave it one last good pull before he slumped, defeated, against the wall at his back.
A quiet, pessimistic whispering began in the depths of his mind. The dark version of his inner workings had taken more cases to heart than Greg had ever thought possible, bringing up many images of the dead he’d helped process. The little, evil whisper began to chip away his mental state, growing stronger with ever victory. Greg let himself be convinced that he was going to die. No one would ever come in time and this man would slowly steal his life with every stroke of his knife.
A choked sob escaped the blonde man’s throat. His fragmented thoughts embraced death the way a beaten child would embrace his abuser, regretfully. He wondered vaguely if Nick felt the same way when he was trapped in that box, buried under three feet of earth. The Texan’s cheerful face appeared to him almost instantly, banishing the dark voice back to the depths from which it came. What he wouldn’t give to hear Nick’s slight drawl yelling down the stairs, telling him to hang on, that they were coming down to get him. Greg had always been fond of the level three CSI, but he’d truly admired how quickly Nick had recovered from his terrible ordeal. A bitter smirk crossed his face when he realized that he didn’t have that kind of strength. If, no, when he got out of this, it was going to take him a long time to recover.
A sharp squeal permeated the deafening silence, the door’s hinges needed some WD-40, but instead of that Texas drawl, there were only heavy footsteps. Greg shrank against the wall. The fear that gripped his guts in an iron vice made him wish he was dead, but he wished even more that he was in the DNA lab with Nick Stokes leaning over his shoulder while he worked. He wished with all his heart and soul that he was safe.