Chapter 1

"Nice digs," Warrick commentated as he steered the Tahoe up the long, narrow driveway. "Are you sure this guy was a Scientist?"

"Top genetics specialist in Vegas," Catherine replied, not even looking up from her notes. "Made a lot of very important breakthroughs in his field."

"Enough to be able to afford a house like this?" Warrick queried incredulously as he neatly parked the SUV.

Catherine glanced up at the house and raised her eyebrows slightly. The house was a large, two-story structure that sprawled in a colossal L-shape across magnificent grounds. "Maybe Grissom call fill us in," she said. "He seemed to know a lot about the victim when he called."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" Warrick muttered, climbing out of the Tahoe.

As they crossed under the yellow crime scene tape and made their way up to the house, Warrick tried to suppress a yawn. It was supposed to have been his night off when Grissom had called at six in the morning to tell him that he was needed at a crime scene. Warrick could now see why; the house and grounds were huge. It was going to take hours to process this scene.

They entered the house and found themselves in a large, marble hallway. Grissom stood at the foot of the stairs talking with Detective Brass. Catherine and Warrick joined them quickly.

"Hey guys," Warrick greeted them. "What's the deal on our vic?"

"I'm a little curious about that too," Catherine admitted. "Scientist in a house this size? Did he win the lottery or something?"

"Dr. John Abrahms, fifty-nine," Brass informed her. "His parents left him a substantial sum of money when they died. Then he married Marjorie Prescott whose father owns one of the largest private shipping companies in the country; made Abrahms one of the richest men in the state. His butler showed up for work this morning and found him stabbed in the gut, called the police straight away."

"His butler found him? Sounds like a bad Agatha Christie novel to me. What about his wife?" asked Warrick.

"Died two years ago," Brass told him. "He lived here alone."

"Explains why the butler found him," said Catherine. "Any sign of forced entry?"

Brass shook his head. "According to the butler, he locks up and sets the alarm every evening before he goes. When he showed up for work this morning, the alarm was still on and everything was undisturbed…no windows or doors left open."

"Great, so we're dealing with a locked room mystery!" Warrick groaned. "This is getting more Agatha Christie by the minute.

"Where's the body?" asked Catherine.

"Upstairs," Brass answered. "I'm just waiting for my guys to finish clearing the house."

"They're still clearing it?" said Catherine, surprised.

"Hey, it's a big house," Brass replied. "You should see the size of the wine cellar this guy has in his basement."

Just then, one of the senior officers joined them. "Detective?" he addressed Brass. "The house is clear."

"Thanks."

"Well," Grissom spoke up, "shall we go see what Dr. Abrahms has to tell us?"

They made their way upstairs and Brass led them to one end of the L-shaped corridor. "Butler found him in here," Brass told them. "Apparently Abrahms often stayed up all night working, so this is usually the first room he checks."

Entering the room, the CSI's found themselves in a rather impressive lab. "No wonder this guy made breakthroughs if he had a private lab like this," commented Warrick in a low voice.

"John Abrahms financed all of his own work," said Grissom. "Probably because it meant no outside interference in his research."

"Meaning he wouldn't have to share the credit with anyone whenever he made a breakthrough," said Catherine cynically.

"He may have been an egotist," Grissom admitted, "but his research has done a lot for genetics."

They made their way towards the centre of the room where the body of John Abrahms was propped in a chair.

"He's been tied to the chair," Warrick noted. "Maybe to keep the body in a seated position?"

Grissom shook his head. "I don't think so. Look at the position of the body and the direction of the blood flow."

"He was stabbed in the chair," Catherine guessed.

"Exactly," Grissom nodded. "And there's no sign of a struggle. So the question we must ask ourselves is how did the killer get him into the chair?"

"Hey, what did we miss?" a voice called from behind them and they turned to see Nick, Sara and Greg standing in the doorway.

"John Abrahms, tied to a chair and stabbed in the stomach," Grissom responded.

"Man," Greg shook his head as he, Nick and Sara joined the others by the body. "I never thought I'd see John Abrahms go like this. He's going to be a big loss to genetic research."

"You've heard of this guy?" asked Warrick in surprise.

Greg shrugged. "I read his paper on Marfan Syndrome and it's effects on the heart….Hey, I do read you know," he added, as the other CSI's looked at him in surprise.

"Well, however famous Dr. Abrahms was," said Grissom, "we won't solve this case by standing here talking. Nick, I want you to process the basement and wine cellar. See if you can find any entrances to the house down there. The murderer had to get in somehow."

"Sure thing," Nick nodded and left the room.

"Sara, you take the ground floor. Start with the kitchen. This guy was stabbed, and I want you to see if there are any knives missing in the kitchen."

"Possible murder weapon," Sara replied. "Gotcha."

"Greg," Grissom addressed the young CSI as Sara left the room, "I want you to process this floor. Start with the library, it's at the other end of the corridor. If Dr. Abrahms was working then it's possible he went to the library at some point."

"Already gone," Greg grinned and left the room.

"Warrick, I need you to search the grounds. See if you can find any possible entrance or exit points from the house or garden. I'll have Catherine join you to give you a hand as soon as we're finished up here."

Warrick nodded and left, leaving just Brass, Catherine and Grissom in the room.

"Want me to start processing the lab?" Catherine asked Grissom. "Maybe I can find some trace of the killer." Grissom nodded and turned to study the body just as David Phillips entered.

"Sorry I'm late," he greeted them. "Traffic was pretty backed up getting in here. There's a lot of media vans around."

"Sounds like the vultures got wind of this pretty quick," Brass sighed. "I'll go question the butler about any visitors Abrahms might have had, and run a background check on him as well."

David knelt beside the body as Brass left the room. "John Abrahms, huh? Never thought I'd be seeing this guy so soon."

"You and everybody else," Grissom commented dryly. "What can you tell me about the body?"

"Cause of death is obvious," David answered. "Massive blood loss from a stab wound to the stomach. Positioning of the body tells me the victim was killed here."

"What about time of death?" asked Grissom.

"Liver temperature is 85.3. He's been dead between five and seven hours," David answered. "But I'll have a more exact time frame after autopsy."

"Thanks, David," said Grissom. "And can you page me as soon as you get the results of the Tox Screen, please? I want to know why this guy didn't fight back."

"No problem," David replied as he gathered his things.

"Grissom!" Catherine called suddenly. "You need to see this."

Grissom moved swiftly to where Catherine was crouched down examining the floor. "What is it?" he asked.

"A footprint," Catherine replied. "And there's blood in it so I'm guessing it belongs to our killer."

Grissom frowned as he studied the footprint then glanced back at the door on the far side of the room. "Catherine, what's the first thing most killers do after killing someone?"

"Leave," said Catherine with significant look at Grissom.

"And this killer didn't leave," Grissom mused. "After stabbing Dr. Abrahms, he walked over here and just stood here, possibly for quite some time."

"He watched him die," Catherine stated simply.

xxx

Once the body went with David, Grissom suggested that Catherine join Warrick outside while he finished processing the lab. Surprised, Catherine left him to it.

Grissom moved towards the surgical tools he had noticed on one of the counters when he had first entered the room. They were much too small to have been the murder weapon, but the fact that they were they only items in the room not put away triggered Grissom's suspicions. Swabbing them swiftly with phenolphthalein, Grissom was disturbed to see the swab turn purple.

Positive for blood, he mused.

Grissom stood for some time surveying the room and a small frown creased his forehead as he tried to make the pieces fit.

The killer had watched John Abrahms die, and that suggested something personal. He had left seemingly no trace of how he had entered or exited the house and that revealed that he knew the house. Why then had he opted not use the efficient but deadly tools within range?

Grissom's frown deepened. The stab wound had been neat and precise, almost surgical. The surgical tools would have made a convenient murder weapon. So why bother going to the trouble of finding another murder weapon?

Did he bring his own? Grissom wondered.

Deciding he needed to see if Sara had answered that question in the kitchen, Grissom went back downstairs. Glancing through the doorway of the kitchen, he could see no sign of Sara.

"Sara?" he called, but received only silence in response. "SARA!" he called a little more loudly.

Irked when he did not receive an answer, Grissom headed for the next room. It was the dinning room, and as he entered he saw Sara, bent over her kit. She bolted upright as Grissom entered the room.

"Sorry," she said as Grissom blinked in surprise. "You startled me."

"I just wanted to see if you had found anything," Grissom told her.

"Nothing probative," she replied. "The kitchen was pretty clean but I recovered some prints by the sink. We can compare them against the butler and our victim. And before you ask," she added, "there was no blood on any of the knives and no sign of any missing knives in the kitchen."

Grissom sighed. "In other words, nothing."

Sara smiled. "Maybe not. I discovered a second place-setting here in the dinning room; it looks like our vic was expecting company only they never got around to dinner. Think it could have been our killer?"

"Maybe." Grissom looked interested. "It supports what Catherine and I discovered upstairs. It looks like the killer stayed to watch the victim die, and that suggests something personal."

Sara shuddered. "What kind of person not only murders someone they know, but stands there and watches them take their last breath?"

"One without feelings," Grissom responded. "You continue processing this floor, I'm going to see how Nick is doing."

"I've only just started in here," Sara hinted. "And I still have the living room, utility room, the gym and two very large reception rooms left. It's going to take a while."

"Then you'd better keep going," Grissom told her and headed back up the corridor. Sara shook her head. Grissom just didn't get it sometimes.

Grissom, meanwhile, headed straight for the basement. There was no sign of Nick so he crossed the basement and into the wine cellar. Nick wasn't there either. Grissom frowned. Where was Nick?

"Nick?" he called. Receiving no response he shouted louder, "NICK!"

"Grissom?" a muffled reply reached his ears.

"Nick?" Grissom called. "Where are you?"

There was no response for several seconds and then Nick appeared very suddenly at the back of the wine cellar. "Grissom!" he said in excitement. "You have to see this!"

"Where were you?" Grissom asked as he moved over beside Nick.

"Down here," Nick replied, indicating a trap door in the floor with his flashlight. "I nearly didn't see it because that empty shelf was over it, but the light is so bad I tripped coming back here, and when I hit the floor my beam picked up the handle of the trap door."

"Where does it lead?" asked Grissom as he peered through the hole in the floor and into the darkness.

"That's the weird part," Nick said seriously. "There's an underground river that looks like it might lead somewhere…but there's no boat down there."

"What makes you think it might lead somewhere, Nick?" Grissom queried.

"There's a boat dock down there," Nick told him. "And lights. It looks like it gets used pretty regularly."

"Nice work, Nick. It looks like you've just found the escape route for our killer. Take Greg and an inflatable raft, you two are going on a boat trip."

Nick groaned to himself as Grissom headed back upstairs.

xxx

Catherine searched the grounds for Warrick, but could see no trace of him. She was just starting to get a little nervous when Warrick emerged from the trees bordering the back of the property. He was accompanied by a small child and a large dog.

Catherine hurried towards him. "Warrick? Not the smartest move in the world entering those woods before they were cleared, anything could have happened."

"Yeah, something did," Warrick replied, indicating the shaking child at his side.

Catherine felt her anger drain away when she glanced at the little girl at Warrick's side. She was a beautiful child with dark hair and large blue eyes, and looked no older than five or six.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" asked Catherine gently, as she crouched down in front of the little girl. The child didn't answer but looked at the ground, her lower lip trembling. The dog beside her barked and wagged its tail. Catherine looked at Warrick for an answer.

"I couldn't find anything around the house or grounds," Warrick explained as Catherine stood up. "So I headed into the trees just to see if there was anything there. I saw something out of the corner of my eye, drew my gun and was heading towards it when this dog came flying through the trees at me. Next thing I know, this kid is there screaming at me not to shoot her dog. Once I said I wouldn't hurt her dog, she stopped talking and I haven't been able to get anything out of her since."

"Maybe she lives around here," said Catherine thoughtfully. "I'll get Brass to enquire." Bending towards the little girl with her hands on her knees, Catherine smiled kindly. "My name is Catherine," she told her. "And I'll help you get home, okay? Now what's your name, sweetie?"

The little girl didn't answer, but now fat tears were rolling down here cheeks. "Oh, Sweetheart, don't worry," said Catherine soothingly. "No one's going to hurt you, we're going to take you over to one of the police officers there and make sure you get home safe." These words only made the little girl cry harder and Catherine shot Warrick a bewildered glance as she took the little girl by the hand and led her back towards the front of the house where Brass and the other officers were gathered. Catherine made a beeline for Brass who was questioning a man that Catherine assumed was the butler. She got a shock however, when the little girl let go of her hand and ran towards the butler crying, "Daddy!"

The man turned towards her, an expression of shock on his face. "Jenny!" he cried. "What are you doing here?"

xxx

Nick headed upstairs and walked down the long corridor away from the crime scene at the other end. Man, a house this big must be awfully lonely for one person, he mused thoughtfully. No wonder Abrahms spent so much time on his work.

He entered a large, impressive library. Several large bookcases that reached to the ceiling ran the length of the room while dark, oak panels covered the walls, giving the room a dark and gloomy look. A massive fireplace dominated the wall to the right.

"Greg!" Nick called. "Come on, you've got another job. Grissom's sending us on a boat trip."

There was no answer and Nick moved further into the large library. On a table towards the back he spied Greg's open kit, but no Greg.

Where is he? Nick wondered. "GREG!" he called again, but the library remained eerily quiet.

Nick frowned, pulled out his cell phone and dialled Greg's number. He had no sooner put the cell against his ear when a tinny sound erupted on the floor somewhere nearby. Quickly, Nick dropped to his feet and spotted a small black cell phone beneath the table that Greg's kit was on. Nick pulled out the phone and his heart started to beat a little faster when he saw his own name flashing up at him.

There's a reason for this, Nick reassured himself as he exited the library and checked the other upstairs rooms, calling Greg's name as he did so.

Greg wasn't in any of them.

He probably just stepped out to use the bathroom, Nick told himself, trying to ignore the bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach as he hurried downstairs. He addressed the officer at the front door. "Did Greg Sanders come down here in the last hour?"

The officer shook his head. "The only CSI's that have left this house since you guys entered are Warrick Brown and Catherine Willows," he informed him.

"Are you sure?" Nick asked him. "Maybe while you stepped away for a minute…"

"Nick, I haven't left this doorway for the last hour and a half," the officer retorted sniffily. "I assure you, I haven't seen Greg Sanders since he entered the house over an hour ago. Maybe he left by one of the other doors?"

Nick shook his head. "No. Greg knows not to leave a crime scene without letting someone in charge know where he's going."

"Nick, what's going on?" Grissom's voice sounded behind him.

Nick spun around. "Grissom, have you seen Greg?"

"He's upstairs processing the library and the upper rooms," Grissom replied.

"No he isn't. He's not in any of the upstairs rooms, and he hasn't come down here since he entered the house. His kit and cell phone were still upstairs."

"Well, he can't have just vanished. It's a big house, I'm sure he's around here somewhere."

"Grissom…"

"Nick, if he hasn't left and he's not upstairs, then he must be downstairs. Take a look around."

At that moment, Grissom's phone rang and he pulled it out. "Excuse me," he said to Nick and the officer as he turned away.

Nick returned his attention to the officer. "If Greg comes past, can you keep him here?"

"Sure thing," said the officer. "But, Nick, if he hasn't left the house then he must be around here somewhere."

"Yeah, I know, but I'm going to take a look anyway," said Nick as he moved down the corridor.

Nick knew he was being a little irrational but he couldn't help it. He had a niggling feeling in his gut that something was wrong, and the massive, empty house wasn't making him feel any better. Nick couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the house just felt…wrong.

He glanced into the dinning room and saw Sara on her hands and knees, peering beneath a large glass cabinet.

"Hey, Sara," he called. "Have you seen Greg?"

"Upstairs, I think," came the muffled reply.

"Yeah right," Nick muttered. Hastily, he checked the rest of the ground floor and the basement but found no sign of Greg. The feeling in his gut intensified and he returned to the front door where the officer had been joined by Brass and Grissom.

Grissom frowned as Nick approached. "Where's Greg?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Nick. "Grissom, I've searched everywhere. He's not here."

Grissom's frown deepened and he turned to the officer on the door. "Are you sure Greg hasn't left the house in the last hour or so?"

Nick could see the officer visibly swallow his irritation. "Sir, like I told Nick, I haven't left my post and the only CSI's I've seen leave the house are Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown. I haven't seen Sanders since he entered the house…and with hair like that, he's kind of hard to miss."

Grissom's expression became grim and he turned to Nick. "Are you sure you've searched the house thoroughly, Nick?"

"Positive. Grissom, he's not in the house. It's almost like he's…vanished."

A/N: Okay, this is driving me nuts! My story keeps getting deleted on the site but remains in my profile! Can anyone help me as to why this is?

Also, I'm Irish and Season 6 has only just started to air over here, so if you guys notice anything that seems out of place to events in season 6 or 7; well, that's why! Also, first chapter is a tad slow (setting the scene yada yada), it'll liven up a bit...promise!