-1
Warrick Brown walked into the Lab to find Nick Stokes hunkered down over a table covered in labeled jars of water and plastic baggies of nondescript rocks. "The one day I'm in court and you pull a drowning in the desert?"
Nick nodded his head with a smile. "How'd court go?"
"It didn't. It was a bust. Judge recessed. Said something about conflicting dockets but my money's on him catching eighteen rounds over at Desert Pines."
"So that mean you're free to lend a buddy a hand?"
"You being that buddy I would guess?" he asked dryly. "What you got there? Water and rocks? Looks like too much fun for me, bro."
Nick stood from the table, rubbing out a kink in his lower back with an annoyed expression on his face.
"A'ight, a'ight," Warrick conceded. "Don't pout. Besides, you're making progress. The blood from the poolside matches the female victim, Stacy Warner."
"Yeah, the problem is the small amount of blood found in her own home isn't enough to prove anything, you know? People bump their heads and scrape their knees all the time."
Warrick nodded in agreement. Five years on the job, they all knew the amount of tiny blood traces found in the average home.
Nick continued. "That muscle-head boyfriend --he's a little shady. He's hiding something. I can feel it."
"Are you able to prove that he drowned her in their swimming pool?"
"Four samples: One from their swimming pool, one from their bathroom, one from Lake Mead and one from Clark County Reservoir but none are consistent with the water I recovered from her stomach."
"A'ight. So lessee what else you got to work with. What else did you collect from the scene?"
"Some rocks from under her body and a goose feather." He picked up the nearest baggie and handed it to his partner.
"This looks like basalt rock. Didn't it say somewhere in here that you found her at 1,500 feet?"
Nick looked sideways at Warrick's automatic sight analysis of a rock he hadn't had anywhere near trace yet. "Middle of the freakin' desert. Yeah. How'd you know what that was?"
"I went on this field trip up at Table Mountain in my senior year -- "Rocks for Jocks." Don't ask me why I remember any of this. But I do remember that you can only find this rock at high altitudes- like 4,000 feet."
"Hey, that helps. I think I'm going to head out there. You want to roll with me?"
"Why the hell not? Judge is gonna hit a little white ball around, may as well get in some hiking. Let's go grab some gear."
Diablo Canyon was an hour's drive outside the city. The two friends chatted over the muted sounds of an REM CD, one of the few they could agree upon. Warrick drove since it was only fair, being dragged along on Nick's rock hunt, he convinced the Texan with a sly smile.
REM ended and was replaced with some jazz CD Warrick wanted, and Nick only put up a desultory fight since he was in a good mood and contented himself with staring out at the landscape that rushed by his window. The flat desert surrounding them had been supplanted by increasingly jagged terrain, pocked with the sporadic Joshua tree and scrubby brush. The occasional saguaro still stuck out like men held up at gunpoint.
As they drew closer, Nick consulted the map he and Lockwood had used the night before. The desert at night is an endless stretch of lighter grey against the black night sky so rather than rely on memory he kept a close eye on the map. He gestured to a dirt road that pulled off the main highway and Warrick eased the Denali off road, the ride immediately becoming rougher and bumpier.
The road ended about twenty minutes in, no warning, no parking area. Just ended. The parched earth held no sign of anyone having recently parked there, but Stacy Warner could have been there an hour ago for all they'd be able to tell. The winds scoured the land flat of any sign of tire or footprint minutes after leaving them.
The two men got out of the truck, wiping hands across brows that beaded instantly with sweat. Skin left cool and dry by the air conditioning reacted immediately to the punishing sun. Sunglasses went on with automatic precision. Nick pulled on a navy forensics ball cap.
"You sure this is the place?" Warrick asked, sides of his eyes crinkling to show him still squinting even with the shades on.
Nick nodded slowly. "Yeah. Think I recognize that bush," he said with a laugh.
Warrick rolled his eyes behind darkened lenses. "Maybe we oughta leave breadcrumbs. This best not turn into a Hansel and Gretel thing. I got money on the game tonight, and I don't wanna miss it."
He caught the look Nick threw him, arms akimbo, hands perched sternly on his hips.
"What?" he asked with faked innocence. "It's the Bucs playing. Johnson has been having a hot season."
"You put money on Tampa Bay? Man, you do have a problem."
Warrick responded by throwing a bottle of water at his partner, Nick catching it with only the slightest of bobbles one-handed. The Texan uncapped it and guzzled through lips still curved in a broad grin.
"Hey, hey. No 7-11s out here, bro. Only brought a six-pack of the water. Take her easy."
Nick nodded but kept on gulping, wiping the remains of the last few drops from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Guess I'll hafta make due with only two bottles then."
They each packed up rucksacks, hauled them up over their shoulders, Warrick hitting the lock up button on the remote, laughing at the thought of someone stealing the truck out here in No Man's Land.
"So, lead on, bro. You know where the girl's body was found?"
"Yeah. Thinks it's just over that rise a bit. At the bottom of that ridge there. See the outcropping that looks like a face?"
Warrick raised an eyebrow in doubt, then smiled as he caught sight of it. "Yeah, it does. Dude's got a hell of a double chin though."
Ten minutes later they came upon the area where Stacy Warner's body had been found. Nick verified the location when he found grooves in the ground where he had placed some orange markers around her corpse.
"This is it. Found her here. Nothing but desert and rocky cliffs. If your Rocks for Jocks knowledge survived in some of the brain cells you didn't kill off in college, the basalt woulda come from up there," he said, raising a hand to point off into the distance, other hand held over his sunglasses to block the glare that breached even the expensive shades. "You ready to do this?"
"Quit jawin' and start climbin'. I'll be right behind you."
Nick was halfway into his second precious bottle of water, the grey jersey of his t-shirt soaked through and dark with sweat. The sunglasses had been packed away as they kept slipping down his nose and he didn't want to risk a hundred dollar pair of shades going crashing down 3,000 feet of jagged rock.
Both men were covered in yellowish dust and dirt, caked onto their skin where rivulets of perspiration ran down their faces, pits, and back.
Warrick finally relented and opened his first water, trying at first to conserve it by taking meager sips, then, realizing sips weren't cutting it, he began pulling it down in huge gulps. The whole bottle gone he looked at what he'd done regretfully, his thirst nowhere near slaked. He looked up to see Nick holding something out in his hand.
At the curious look Nick gestured again, urging his partner to take it. "LifeSavers. Suck 'em. They keep you thinkin' you're not thirsty for a while."
Warrick poked an eyebrow up in doubt, then grabbed the roll from Nick's hand. Top one was a red one. He unwrapped a bit of paper and tossed the candy into his mouth. Seconds later it was like he was sucking on a cherry Popsicle.
"Got dry out on the ranch," Nick offered as explanation. "Always kept a few rolls in my pocket. Keep that one."
"Lived my whole life in the damn desert," Warrick grumbled. "Always had free drinks in the casinos, though," he amended with a grin. "A'ight. Let's get moving. We got another 1,000 feet ahead of us."
"Hey, I was just letting you rest, bro. Looked like you needed it," Nick jabbed playfully.
"Yeah, yeah, shut up and start climbing."
The sky had darkened and the wind picked up, batting and pulling like phantom fingers at their skin and clothing. Nick had already almost lost his balance on the steep mountainside when he had reflexively grabbed at his cap when it threatened to blow off.
The heat had lessened somewhat but the terrain had become steeper and both men huffed and puffed, stopping frequently to wipe sweat from their eyes. After the first time Warrick wiped dusty grit into them he pulled the tails of his shirt free and began to use those. Nick faired slightly better with his wise decision to wear the cap.
The Texan stopped to swipe at his brow, pulling the cap back over his short damp hair. He was beginning to think the trip might have been a bust. No sign of anyone having passed along the trail they were on, trail being a kind word as it was barely a slightly more worn area traversing the rocks.
With a final tug on the brim he cast a look further up ahead. It had taken them as much time to get the first 3,000 feet as it had the last 500. At least the same amount more loomed above them, the way becoming damn near a straight vertical climb.
He shook his head in mild disgust, then caught something out of the corner of his eye.
About forty feet out, well off the path. Something dark blue stuck out against the dusty tan rock.
He tapped his partner on the shoulder, Warrick dropping the tail of his shirt from his most recent attempt at clearing his vision and stared along Nick's arm direction. With a small nod he confirmed that he saw it as well, and stepped back a bit to let Nick get a better foothold on a rocky outcropping.
Nick took a hesitant step forward, eyeing up the lay of the land, that didn't lay so much as lurch and buckle, between them and the spot of dark blue. He stopped, reaching behind him to open his backpack. Warrick watched curiously as Nick pulled out two pieces of black cloth, their purpose becoming clear as he watched Nick pull on short leather and fabric fingerless gloves.
"Well, aren't you the resourceful one, Nicky," he commented with a chuckle.
"Always prepared, my friend. Always prepared. Boy Scout, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah. So, you really think you can get out there to that?"
"Only one way to find out, Rick. Here, hold this," he said as he finished dropping the backpack off his shoulders and handed it over. "Don't wanna mess up my balance," he explained. Warrick took it and slung it over one of his arms as he continued to eye the cliff face doubtfully.
Grasping a chunk of protruding rock, Nick sidled a foot out to the left, gaining purchase with the tread of his boot, pumping a few times on his foothold to make sure it could take his weight. With an abrupt intake of air he took the step, clinging to the side of the cliff, right foot still hanging in midair until he found a place to dig his toe in. The next forty feet continued in the same manner, body hugging the canyon face, feet and hands skillfully finding cracks and crevices to rest in.
Still three feet from the dark blue object which he now saw was a down jacket. Wispy feathers leaked from a tear in the fabric to be whisked away on the steadily quickening winds.
No further footholds to be found, Nick grabbed hold with his gloved right hand, digging fingers into the rocky cliff, hissing as a fingernail caught and bent back. He then leaned to his left, stretching his arm towards the trapped jacket. Fingertips brushed on soft cotton fabric and he steeled himself to reach further, ignoring the throbbing in his right hand to burrow his fingers in deeper.
Muscles and tendons stretched to their limit he eased his foot further left, toe of his boot now extended in midair over the canyon floor some 4,000 feet below him. He gained tentative purchase on the jacket, flinching as he pulled it free from where it had caught on a spike of rock and it started to fall. He pulled it in quickly, collapsing his body to embrace the cliff face like a long lost lover. Panting and gasping with adrenaline, sweat now filling his vision so his surroundings were nothing but a beige blur, he tucked the coat in front of his legs between him and the canyon wall.
"You all right out there, bud?" he heard Warrick shout. It was meant to sound like a taunt, but Nick recognized the edge of concern.
Yeah, he breathed to himself and the rock wall, then lifted his head to turn it back towards his partner. "Yeah!" he shouted louder. "Yeah. 'S all good!"
Now he was faced with the difficulty of returning back to the trail while carrying a heavy down jacket. Grimacing with the thought of what he had to do, and recognizing he might be messing with any trace, he tucked his arms into the coat and put it on. He immediately became hotter as the insulated fabric trapped in his body heat and blocked the wind from cooling his perspiration-covered skin.
Picking his way gingerly back the way he came was actually a bit easier since he was right handed and he felt a bit more in control. Of course, the bent nail was on his right hand and he found himself wincing each time he had to shove his hand back into another pocket of rock.
By the time his foot landed back on the path where Warrick waited he was drenched in sweat, the dark splotches at the neck and pits of his tee joined to turn the whole jersey into a sodden mess. He had barely gotten the left foot on solid ground before he was ripping the down coat off and flinging it disgustedly on the ground.
Warrick stood there, leaned back, arms folded across his chest, his head shaking back and forth closely. "Man, Nick. I had no idea you could climb like that. You do this a lot?"
Nick laughed as he pulled the t-shirt off, wiping down his heaving chest, then wringing the garment and shaking it out into the wind. "Nope. First time. Saw it done on TV. Bought the gloves on a whim one night at Bass Pro thinking I might actually try it someday."
"Are you shittin' me? Man, that was some crazy shit. You looked like Spiderman out there."
"I was thinking Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible II. You know, at the beginning …the helicopter comes down and picks him up? Cool frickin' opening scene."
"Man, that movie sucked. Every other scene someone's pulling a mask off. Could never tell who was who. Then again, I spent all my time staring at Thandie Newton. That girl is Hot! Tsss!" he said, shaking his hand as if burned. "Hey, you ruined your manicure."
Nick looked down at his hand, blood coating the last three fingers, still oozing from the ruined middle fingernail. "Yeah. Hurts like a mother, too. Hand me my bag, would ya?"
His partner hefted the backpack over and Nick commenced rummaging through it, pulling out a beat up old metal box with a red cross on it.
Rick laughed. "Man, I know you said you were a Boy Scout, but damn! What else you got in that bag, oh Prepared One?"
"Laugh all you want, Rick, but nothin' wrong with a little forethought. And nothin' sucks worse than not having a Band-Aid around when you want one," he said as he unwrapped a fabric strip and wound it around the bloodied finger.
Warrick reached over and grabbed the metal box from where Nick had stashed it under his armpit. "What else you got in here?" he mumbled as he started pawing through the box. "X Men Band-Aids, Nicky? You like Cyclops or Wolverine better?" he snarked.
Nick grabbed at the box, his hand whiffling air as his friend dodged and weaved. "They were on the clearance shelf at Target. Band-Aid's a Band-Aid," he grumbled. "Just give the box back."
'Nope. Lessee what else ol' Ranger Nick has in his box. What are these?"
"Waterproof matches," came the reply, muffled by cotton as Nick pulled his baseball tee back on.
"They look ancient."
"I made 'em in Scouts when I was a kid. Dipped the match tips in wax. Never had a reason to use 'em, just keep 'em around. Now gimme back the box, Rick."
Warrick continued as if he never heard him. "We got water treatment pills, in case we come on tainted water…in the desert. What's this?" he asked, holding aloft a plastic yellow capsule about three inches long.
Nick mumbled something under his breath, his face already red from his exertions turning duskier.
"What's that, Nicky?"
"It's a snake bite kit. Suction cups, scalpel, antiseptic pad. Hope a buzz worm bites you in the ass so I can hear you pleading with me to use it."
"Picture that. I'd rather die than have you suckin' poison outa my ass." Fun over he packed the stuff back into the box and handed it over, Nick snatching it away and shoving it peevishly back into his bag.
"Yeah, well what did you bring, Warrick? Deck of cards and some Chapstick? Your little black book in case you catch some digits out here?"
"Whoa, bro. Aren't we being just a wee bit testy? What, is it your time of the month?"
"I just don't like it when people fuck with my stuff. Let's just drop it, okay? Wind's pickin' up and I don't like the way the sky is darkening."
Warrick gave him a sidelong look, lips pushed out like he was going to say something, then dropped it and hefted his backpack into better position on his shoulders.
"Okay, Ranger Nick. You got the Scouting mojo. I'll trust your meteorological instincts. Don't think there's anything else much for us to find up here."
Nick nodded, his previous outburst thankfully ignored. "Hey, before we go, hand me the coat would ya? I risked life and limb for the damn thing, might as well see if it was worth it."
"Yeah, you think that was Stacy Warner's?" Warrick asked, his mouth screwed up in doubt. "You said she was wearing light layers of clothing, right?"
"Yeah, several layers, tempered cotton. This is a men's extra large. This is too big for her. Goose down like I found on her body. What's this?" he mused as he pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket. He unfolded it at the edges, revealing a map of Diablo Canyon and the surrounding Highlands. The email address at the top showed it had been requested by the their vic's fiancé, Matt Hudson.
"Ah. Property of Mr. Muscles."
"You wanna run it? You have more of the pieces than I do."
"Well, maybe he left a day later than he said for his little marathon, you know? Followed her out here, started arguing with her, no neighbors around to call the cops. She manages to fight her way free, finds higher ground, he follows her, takes her down?"
"So then what? He drowns her with canteen water? Desert, remember, Nick? You gonna try and run that by the D.A?"
"You should try describing a scuba diver up in a tree, man. This is nothing. No, the evidence tells a story. I'll just be hanged if I can figure out what the hell that story is right now."
"Yeah, well, while you were working on your scuba diver, Sara, Grissom, and I had a guy who blew ten quarts of blood outa his own nose onto the walls of his apartment. What the hell kinda story does that tell you? So, back on this case… why would a cagey guy like our suspect leave his jacket up here?"
"You know the drill, Rick. Everybody thinks they have a plan 'til things start to go wrong."
An ominous rumble rolled through the darkening sky above them, reverberations echoing off the canyon wall as the first raindrops began pelting them.