CSI: Crime Scene Investigators
Hell's Bells
By A. Rhea King
In hindsight, Greg realized things could have been worse, although he wasn't sure how. He had a lot of time to think about that now. The rhythmic clop-clop made his mind wander. Each time he caught it wandering, it surprised him how quickly it kept happening.
But the turn of events all started with a coin-toss – that part he'd never forget and he was never going to let Nick forget, either…
#
Nick and Greg ate their lunches in silence, each engrossed in results and writing notes on their individual cases. The slow night (something no one would call it out loud for fear of jinxing it) had been a relief after months of non-stop exposure to humanities stupidity and brutality. The simple pleasure of sitting quietly and eating his lunch in peace was something Greg had looked forward to. Neither noticed Catherine come to the door with two call sheets swaying in her hand. She walked up to the table and sat down. Her smile grew the longer neither of them acknowledged her.
"Either that's really good reading you boys have, or I'm getting the silent treatment."
Nick smiled, but he didn't look up. "Silent treatment for some future indiscretion."
"Ah. Well, here's the future indiscretion. I have two calls and two CSI with free time." She handed them each a sheet. Catherine got up and left, adding, "Let's hope this streak we've got lasts!"
"DOB at the Bellagio," Greg read from his call sheet. "Called in by housekeeping. This should be straight forward."
"DOB at 14643 County Road 121. Anonymous caller. The two units on the scene reported remains." Nick grinned. "Want to flip for the call?"
"No."
"I'm your supe."
"That doesn't give you the right to force me to give you the easy call."
"I could arm wrestle it away. I'm bigger than you."
"I have things to do. I need an easy call."
"And I don't?"
"No."
Nick laughed. "For that, you are flipping."
"No!"
"You seriously don't want to flip?"
"I seriously don't want to flip."
Sara and Langston walked in.
"Who wants to go find body parts scattered across the desert in the dark?" Sara waived her call sheet.
"I have possible human remains at the city dump. Again. Is it normal for us to get so many calls?"
Sara, Greg, and Nick answered, "Yes."
Nick explained, "People can't tell the difference between human and animal internals, so yeah. All you do is test the blood for human or animal. Ninety-eight percent of the time its animal and you call it a night. You two have to help me here. Greg's refusing to flip."
She sat down with a grin. "Greg won't flip?"
"We should flip, Greg. You could get my easy call," Langston told him.
"I don't wanna flip!"
The three taunted and prodded until he finally bursting out with, "FINE!"
The calls were tossed print side down on the table. Nick produced a quarter.
"Alright," Nick said. "Greg calls it first. If you win, you get to draw first. If you lose, you wait."
Greg watched it with great dismay as Nick tossed it in the air…
#
Greg stormed across the parking garage to his Denali, jamming his finger against the unlock button. The vehicle, parked among the fleet of CSI vehicles, chirped and flicked its lights to greet him. He threw open the back door behind the driver's side and it door smacked the side of Nick's Denali. Nick appeared at the back, surprising Greg, but not enough to smooth his temper.
"Easy there, Greg."
"Go to hell," Greg snapped and got in.
"What the…"
Greg turned the engine on, threw it into reverse and backed up. The bumper barely cleared Sara's Explorer.
He threw it in drive, hearing Nick call, "GREG!"
Greg drove away, careful not to let his anger get any further into his driving. He glanced back, seeing Sara join Nick, both staring at his tail lights. Greg looked away.
#
"What happened? I heard you say his name," Sara asked.
Nick pulled his cell phone from the holster on his belt. "He hit my truck with his door, and then told me to go to hell when I said something about it."
Sara stopped Nick from calling. "He's really pissed he got stuck with that call in the middle of nowhere. Just let him cool off, Nick."
Nick holstered his phone. "He didn't have to cuss at me."
"Aww. Did our poor supervisor's feelings get hurt?"
"Am I supposed to like you?"
She flashed him a smile before she walked away.
#
Greg slowed as he came in sight of the road sign and turned onto the dirt road. He slowed at the first three mailboxes to make sure he'd turned the right direction, and then sped up. He rolled the windows down, letting in the tepid, fragrant air. Greg slowed at each mailbox until his lights showed him 14643.
He turned onto the road next to it and was forced to slow down as he began to drive across the ruts. The road crossed a cattle crossing and the ruts smoothed out. Greg almost picked up the speed until a black cow appeared out of the dark, forcing him to swerve off the road to avoid it. He drove slow enough he could dodge the occasional bovine waiting in the dark on the road. The road dove into a valley and made a sudden left hand turn. He slid a little on the turn, but it made him smile.
According to his tripometer, the road led him fifteen miles before his headlights flashed on signs of civilization.
Greg slowed as he crossed a cattle guard and came to a halt. Right away he sensed something was wrong. There were no police cars, no lights on anywhere except for the two yard lights. The horses in the corral took an interest in him. He took his foot off the brake, letting the Denali roll slowly forward until the house came into sight. His headlights swung across the front, stopping on the front door. Greg put it in park and stepped out. He heard something solid clanking against metal. Animals moved in the corrals behind him. Somewhere to his left he heard grunts that he hoped were pigs.
"Hello?" Greg called.
No one answered him.
He pulled his cell phone out of his jeans and tapped it. The screen lit up and he pushed the quick dial for Catherine. He held it to his ear for a few moments before he realized it wasn't dialing. He looked at the face and sighed. No bars. He tossed it on the driver's seat and grabbed his radio.
Just as he keyed it he heard the click of a gun hammer, and a low, gravelly voice ordered, "Put that on the seat, boy."
Greg slowly put his radio on the seat.
"Gun too."
Greg obeyed.
"Back up and shut the door."
Greg slowly obeyed.
"I'm with the crime lab," Greg told the disembodied voice. "I was called to this address about human remains. People know where I am."
"Just a scared punk, aren't you?"
"No. I'm a CSI. If you'll let me reach in my truck, I can show you identification. And my vest is—"
"Walk to the house."
Greg didn't move. He closed his eyes instead. "Sir, I am with the Las Vegas police—"
"Move it, boy!"
Greg opened his eyes and started for the front door. The porch light came on. A woman stepped out onto the porch, followed by three large dogs: two German Sheppards and something that resembled a Great Dane. She was wearing a night coat over a full length floral nightgown. She crossed her arms over her ample breasts, glaring at Greg.
"Where is she?" the woman demanded.
"What?" Greg asked, stopping.
"Up on the porch, boy," the man ordered, pushing with his gun.
"You tell me where Theresa is. Tell me now," she commanded.
Greg climbed the steps and was confronted by the woman.
"I know she snuck out with you earlier tonight. You tell me now where my daughter is."
"Ma'am, I'm with the Las Vegas—"
"Tell us where Theresa is. Where'd she have you drop her off? You'll tell me where the party is, boy."
Greg realized he'd just stumbled into a big confusion.
"Look, folks, I don't know where Theresa, or your daughter, is. I'm not the fella she was with. I am from the Las Vegas police and I was told there was someone dead out here."
"Dead?" The woman's composure melted. "You killed her?"
"No. I—"
"He had a gun, Mary."
"Did you kill her?"
"No! I didn't kill anyone. I was called because someone said there was someone here that was killed. I didn't— If you would just let me get my identification or make a phone call, we could clear this whole thing up."
"You teenagers think you can just come here and run the place," the man began. "You think you know everything and can do anything you want. Uh-uh. This is my place, boy. You're gang doesn't mean shit our here, boy. You tell me where my daughter is right now!"
Greg took a long deep sigh and risked turning around to face him. The man he faced had just begun to turn grey. He was pale where his hat and glasses normally sat, but a dark brown tan everywhere else. His hands steadily held the double barrel shotgun aimed at Greg.
"Sir, I am not a teenager and haven't been for about seven years. I work with the crime lab in Las—"
The man thrust the barrel into Greg's face. "Where is my daughter?"
The three looked up when a car came around the barn and stopped next to Greg's Denali. There wasn't movement for several minutes and then the passenger door opened.
"Daddy! What the hell are you doing!" a young woman said as she came storming around the car.
"Theresa?"
"What are you doing?"
"He took you to that party after we told you no."
She stopped, thrusting her hand back at the car. "Justin, dad. My boyfriend Justin took me. Who the hell is this?"
The man looked at Greg, then his daughter. "This is Justin."
"No, dad, he's not! Justin is in the car!"
For a moment Greg thought the whole matter was settled, and then the father took a shot at the car and all hell broke loose.
Justin and six of his gang bangers came out of the car firing back. The woman disappeared inside and returned with pistols. Theresa fell to the ground. Greg hit the floor of the porch and rolled off, right into a cactus garden. With much pain, he crawled out of the path of firing to the end of the porch.
"Oh the hell you don't!" he heard and looked back, finding the man charging in his direction.
Greg took off running. The sound of the shootout faded as he ran through the dark into the scrub land around the farm.
He was still at a full tilt run when he found himself running on air, and then falling. He hit the ground so hard it sent his diaphragm into a spasm, knocking the wind out of him. Then his head hit and white sparks erupted behind his eyes. He felt immediately dizzy, but couldn't tell if it was from the hit on the head or being unable to grab for a breath of air like he desperately wanted.
The breath came in a sudden burst and he inhaled a deep, full lung breath. He started to move, but that made the dizziness worse and the sparks began to burst faster. He laid back, waiting for the dizziness and sparks to subside. In the distance he heard the shootout still going on.
The sound faded away as his mind began to drift…
#
Nick was trying to cut a piece of the hotel room rug when his phone began to ring. He sat his box knife down and on his knees, walked over to it. He pulled off a glove and tapped the ACCEPT and then hit the SPEAKER icon.
"Hey Catherine," Nick said. "I know you've been calling, but I've had my hands full with this scene. What's up?"
"What scene? Where the hell are you?" Catherine bellowed.
Nick stared at the phone. "I'm at the Bellagio crime scene. What's wrong?"
"What? Why are you there? Where's Greg?"
"He's at the crime scene at… at… I don't remember. Some place in the desert."
"I didn't give him that scene, I gave that to you."
"It's okay, Catherine. We just switched. "
"It is not okay, Nick! I've been trying to reach you for four hours because the police at 14643 County Road 112 are waiting for a CSI I that I keep telling them will be there any minute and was supposed to be you. And you haven't picked up that entire time?"
"I'm sorry, Catherine, but I've had my hands full here. The man's wife and daughter came back and it was a circus for a while." Nick sat down on his legs, staring at the phone. "But we do have a problem. Greg should have been there, or at least called you or I or dispatch by now. You know he would if he couldn't find the address."
"Right there is where this gets worse."
"How worse?"
"The officer that called in the human remains said he realized he gave the wrong road number, but he can't recall if he gave 121 or 211. So it's been four hours and now I find out I should have been calling Greg to tell him the address is wrong. Thanks, Nick!"
"Dispatch should have that, or a recording of the call. I'll just give them a call and—"
"He radioed it in, there is no recording, and the dispatcher can't be reached for the next eight hours. She left for France right after her shift three hours ago and won't be back for two weeks!"
Nick got up and grimaced. His legs tingled as blood flowed back into them.
"He's not answering his phone?"
"Well I don't know, Nick, because I thought you were out there, not him. Now I have to figure out where Greg is. You didn't give him any other calls tonight, did you?" "No. We four traded."
"You four never trade. You always bet or flip, which was it?"
Nick smiled from embarrassment; despite it was just him and the room to see it. "Does it matter now?"
"I'm going to try the radio. You try his phone. Check back with me in fifteen minutes regardless of the results."
"Okay."
The call ended. Nick picked up the phone and dialed Greg's number. It went straight to voicemail. Over the course of the next few hours, all he ever got was Greg's cheerful voicemail recording, and a deeper sense of dread.
#
Greg opened his eyes and for what felt like hours – and could have been for all he knew – stared at the tree that was shading him from the sun. He didn't have to move to know he was sore everywhere, especially his head. He slowly sat up and carefully felt his head. He found a bloody patch on the back of his head but it didn't feel life threatening. Judging from the small spot on the rock behind him, he didn't feel he had much to worry about. He looked up the side of the gulch he'd fallen in. The side was about thirteen or fourteen feet. It went both directions a long way. Greg climbed to his feet and waited until a wave of dizziness passed.
He started to move when he felt pain and realized he still had thousands of cacti thorns stuck in him. He pulled as many as out as he could, and then walked up to the gulch wall. Preceding a long breath, Greg started up the side. He didn't know exactly how long it took him, but he reached the top winded, dirty, and with sweat dripping off his face. Greg stood up at the top, staring at the house and outer buildings. They were much further away than he remembered running. He found it strange that the darkness had masked so much. Behind the buildings black smoke billowed up into the blue sky. With his breath caught, and his legs feeling a little less rubbery from the climb, Greg started walking.
He reached the first outer building – a lean-to – and stopped. Holes had punched through the walls of the building and halfway down blood had run under the boards across the ground. Greg hugged the wall and paused before looking around the end. Greg slowly stepped out into the yard. The couple on the porch was dead. Their daughter Theresa was dead. There were three dead teenagers in the yard that he could see. His Denali and the car were the source of the black smoke, both engulfed by flames. He wondered which vehicle had started the fire. Greg looked back when he heard a snort. Two pigs were rummaging through the trough; the other eight were dead from various bullet wounds. Judging from the two pig's wounds, it wasn't going to be long before they joined the other dead pigs.
"I wasn't just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Greg muttered under his breath. "I somehow ended up in hell's half acre of the wrong place at the wrong time. Jesus!"
He walked around the burning cars, looking for any signs of life – and a vehicle. In the corral he'd passed coming in there was only one animal left alive – a Palomino. There was a bleeding wound down its leg, but it looked more like a scrape than anything deadly. The horse watched Greg with intense interest.
Greg walked into the barn nearby and found two sheep alive, along with a plethora of tack and a tractor. There were no keys in the tractor, not that he'd know how to drive it if there had been. He walked out of the barn to a garage near the house. He found a car in it with all the windows shot out and full of holes, but that didn't matter because the keys were in the ignition. He pulled the door opened and sat down, trying to start it. The car wouldn't even turn over. He got out and opened the hood. The battery was in pieces and the acid had already begun to work through the metal around it.
Greg left the building and searched the other five buildings. He found most of the chickens were alive, one dog hiding under the porch, but no vehicle. He tried the back door and found it unlocked. He went in and searched for a phone, only to discover there was no phone. He couldn't even find cell phones.
"Who in the hell lives in the middle of nowhere without a phone?" Greg asked the empty house.
He walked back outside and sat on the back steps in the shade, within sight of the corral. He looked up when the horse whinnied. It pawed the ground and pranced in place.
"Do you have a phone?" Greg asked it.
It whinnied back.
"I bet you're hungry, huh?"
It pawed the ground.
Greg walked back to the barn and found a grain sack with a coffee can. He fed the sheep and took another can out to the corral. He spotted a trough that he dumped it in. The horse went to work on the grain. Greg went back to the stairs and sat down with a long sigh.
He looked across the valley with a forlorn sigh. He wasn't about to hike out into the desert. His last trek across the desert nearly killed him.
Greg looked back at the horse. Course… He did have a horse this time. But he'd never ridden a horse, and he wasn't even sure how to get the saddle or bridle on. Greg sighed again, looking across the desert. He got up and walked inside. If he was going to attempt riding to somewhere for help, he had to find sunscreen and a hat.
#
The horse had surprising patience. Greg lost count how of how many times he'd tried to saddle it and every time it just didn't look right. The saddle slid off at his slightest touch, the blanket didn't lie right, the straps looked dangerously wrong. He'd grabbed the saddle closest to the door and it was decorated with a lot of silver and turquoise on light colored leather. Maybe he should have grabbed one of the less fancy ones. Greg shook his head. That wouldn't have mattered. They were all saddles and none of them made any sense to him.
"I wish you could tell me what I'm doing wrong," Greg told the horse.
Greg looked back at the house. He really shouldn't touch the crime scene, but hunger was starting to get to him. The sun was low enough in the west that he guessed it was almost four or five. He had convinced himself not touch the crime scene all day, but necessity was starting to get the better of him. On top of that, the bodies couldn't be left out. While he was asleep scavengers would start on them. Greg patted the horses shoulder, looking up at its head. He'd found what looked like a bridle and a piece of rope, and somewhere in his memory it told him this was a halter and lead rope. It didn't look right though. He was pretty sure he'd put it on wrong too.
Greg took the saddle off and carried it back into the barn. He returned the horse to the corral with the other dead horses. They were starting to bloat and he felt bad making the horse stay with them, but what else could he do? He looked across the yard. The pigs had finally died of their injuries.
Greg went in search of tarps and started moving bodies into the barn. He finished with the last body and shut the door, securing it with a chain. He headed back to the house. The last dog was lying on the porch and jumped up when he approached, following him around to the back door. Greg opened the door and the dog dashed inside. It went straight to where three dog bowls sat. Greg hunted down the dog food and gave it some food. Then he opened the refrigerator. There was left over fried chicken and mashed potatoes. He sat them out and made a plate before he realized there was no microwave.
"Freakin' hicks," Greg grumbled.
He decided cold food was better than none. He found ice trays in the freezer and large ice tea glasses for ice water. Greg sat down at the kitchen table and started eating. The dog trotted over and laid down at Greg's feet, licking its paws and chops loudly.
"So tell me, Tex, other than being overbearing parents, were they good people?"
Tex looked up at him. Greg patted his head and was rewarded with a tail wag.
"Don't go getting attached. I can't have dogs and I prefer fish."
Tex wagged his tail again.
Greg finished eating, washed his dishes, and put them in the drying rack. He started walking through the house. There was a television but he could only get two channels clearly, and on both were shows he didn't care for. An old radio sat at the back of the living room. He turned it on and tuned to a station he liked. He wandered into one bedroom, then the next.
It was the third that he found a treasure. The decorations told him this was the daughter's room, and sitting on her bookshelf were five books on horsemanship. Greg pulled them out and settled into a chair with a reading light next to it. He started studying a subject he'd gotten wrong all day.
#
Nick and Sara met a state patrolman on the highway. Nick flagged him down with his Denali's lights and the two slowed to a stop across from one another. They weren't too worried about stopping in the middle of the road, since this highway was lucky to see a rush hour of two cars every hour.
"We haven't heard anything but the radio signal is bad out here," Nick told him.
"No one has seen him," the state patrolman said.
Nick looked down the road. "Where are you coming from?"
The officer picked up a map and pointed at a road. "I covered 121 between County Road 45 up to the highway. No sign of him, but there's a lot of houses in that stretch I can't get to in my car. You might try with your truck."
Nick heard paper rustling. Sara was already plotting their search.
"Okay. Thanks."
"You'll be seeing two others out here. I have to go back north to a call. Good luck finding him, guys."
The two drove away from each other.
"Let's check some of the places he couldn't get to," she suggested. "It looks like there should be twelve houses in that twenty-two mile stretch."
"Fine," Nick answered.
Sara looked at him. "Are you beating yourself up about this again?"
"He really didn't want to flip, Sara. I shouldn't have made him."
"I'm sure he's fine. He probably just got a flat or something."
"It has been three days, Sara. Nothing good comes out of people missing for three days."
"Be optimistic, Nick."
"The last time he disappeared in the desert Sara, he barely made it back alive. My optimism is M.I.A. right now."
"But he did, and that's what we have to focus on. Greg is smart and he gets out of trouble as easy as he gets in it. We'll find him, okay? We will find him."
Nick didn't respond.
#
Greg led the horse through the gate to get around the cattle guard that protected the house and buildings from the cows. He turned to the horse, smiling. He was proud he'd managed to saddle the horse correctly – according to the book. And the bridle looked right. He'd found a canteen in a box in the closet and filled it with ice and water. He'd shortened it as much as he could and swung it over the saddle horn. He'd wrapped up some chicken in a plastic bag and tied it onto the back.
Greg gathered the reins at the saddle horn and put his foot into the stirrup. The horse started prancing, dancing away from him.
"Whoa. Whoa. Easy." Greg stepped down.
Truth be told, he was really nervous about this. This quarter ton animal had it in its power to kill him, so he wasn't exactly comfortable with this decision.
Greg tried again, with the same result.
"Look, horse, I have to ride you. You can cover a lot more ground than I can and faster. So just… Chill. Chill."
He tried again and the dancing started again. Greg took a deep breath and swung himself into the saddle. The horse did a little bucking dance before shooting off like a bullet across the desert. Greg wanted to scream, but he forgot how. The books had contradictions about what to do in a moment like this, but one thing they all agreed on, he had to get the horse under control or he could end up with a broken neck. Or worse. Greg bounced around until he got the reins gathered up and using both hands, yanked back as hard as he could.
The horse nearly flipped over as it turned and stopped at the same time. Greg grabbed the saddle horn. The inertia of the stop threw him hard against the saddle horn, ramming it into his stomach and against his diaphragm. He didn't have time to worry about air he couldn't get. The horse started bucking and running.
Greg closed his eyes and held on. This was worse than the books even came close to describing. The horse bolted at a dead run again. Greg clenched the reins in one hand, the saddle horn in the other, and held on for dear life!
#
The horse's race against nothing didn't come to an abrupt halt. It ground to a halt. At first Greg didn't notice. He was too busy leaning over the saddle horn and holding on for his life. He opened his eyes slowly, staring at the ground that had stopped moving under him. His breath came out as shaky as his body. Very slowly and cautiously Greg sat up mostly straight, but never took his hand off the saddle horn.
Then he noticed the horse was shaking and stood with its legs spread eagle. Greg hurried to get off; afraid it was going to fall over on him. He dropped one rein and held the other at the far end, staring at the horse. The horse was frothy with sweat and it snorted as it drew in gasps of air. It turned its head to look at Greg but did nothing else.
"Are you going to die?" Greg asked it.
The horse let out a heavy breath and very slowly got its legs under it. The gasping breaths began to subside until it was breathing normal. Greg took a step just as it shook. He stepped back, watching it shake and shake and shake. It stopped and put a leg out, then rubbed the side of its face against its leg. Then it was time for the other side. Another shake came and finally it stood still again.
"Call me strange, horse, but… I don't think horses are supposed to run like that for so long. In the desert… And… Such."
The horse just looked at him.
Greg cautiously approached it and took the canteen off the saddle horn. The chicken had been lost somewhere in the run through the desert. Greg took several deep swallows and then put it back on the saddle horn. He really didn't want to get back on and be taken for another run, but the books said it was best to get back on and show dominance or the horse would never obey. He sure as hell hoped those writers had actually ridden a horse and knew what they were talking about.
Greg tossed the opposite rein up over the horse's neck, joined it with the one in his hand, and put his foot in the stirrup. He waited for the dance like before, but it didn't come this time. He swung himself into the saddle and grabbed the saddle horn, expecting another sprint. The horse didn't even move. Greg put his foot in the other stirrup and gathered the reins, then immediately put his hand back on the saddle horn. He looked around him, trying to get his bearings. He knew the fence for the place was somewhere to the west. The best bet was to ride to it, and then head back south where the cattle guard and gate was.
"Okay, horse, let's try this my way this time. It's less work for you."
Greg pulled the reins to turn the horse but the animal didn't budge. He pulled a little harder. Nothing. Greg gave it a slight yank. Nothing. Then he remembered a slight nudge or kick of his heels in the horse's side with the pull, and the horse obeyed. Greg remembered how to encourage the horse to go faster, but he was in no mood to go faster. He'd gone fast enough for the first day he'd ever ridden one of these beasts.
#
Nick slowed to a stop, staring at the mailbox by the road. Sara watched it.
"What is it?"
Nick stared hard at the mailbox. "What was the other address? The right one?"
"14643 County Road 112. Oh. Hey. That's the same number."
Nick turned onto the rutted road, crossed the cattle guard and started across the desert. He swerved around the occasional cow lying in, standing on, or strolling down the road. They came down into a valley and spotted buildings.
Before they even reached the second cattle guard Nick sensed something was wrong. He could see horses lying in the corral, and as bloated as they were, they couldn't be alive. He slowed as he came around the barn and found two burnt vehicles in the yard – one that looked a lot like Greg's Denali. Nick parked it, killed the engine, and the two got out. For a moment there was silence.
A dog came out from under the porch barking at them.
"Hey there. Hey there buddy. Hey there," Nick called out.
The dog stopped barking a few feet from Nick and started wagging his tail. Nick petted him, smiling.
"Good boy. Good old boy."
"Nick… Take a look at this place, the wall on the house and… are those dead pigs?"
Nick looked where she pointed. He walked over but stopped when he was able to catch a whiff of death. He backed up.
"Yeah." He looked up at the holes in the walls of the pig's shed. "Someone was shooting a lot."
"There's a couple of 9 millimeters over here and one .45. I think this is blood."
Nick circled around the vehicles to the driver's side of the larger vehicle. He leaned in to see if he could see the VIN, but it was covered in soot. A charred gun sat on the seat springs.
"Got another gun inside here, sitting on the passenger seat."
Nick opened the back door and stared at a very black box that looked very much like a field kit. He didn't look at Sara when she stopped beside him. She pulled on a pair of gloves and opened the kit. The aluminum box had protected enough of the contents to reveal it was a field kit.
"Maybe it wasn't Greg's."
"You know it was, Sara. Stop trying to paint a rosy picture out of this."
"Then where are the bodies?"
"I'll take the house if you want the outer buildings."
"Sure." She walked away.
He walked on to the front porch. The windows and side of the house showed more signs of a gun fight. He spotted a rifle at the end of the porch. Near the door were two revolvers and a box of bullets. Near each of the weapons was a pool of dried blood. Nick pulled on gloves and then walked inside. Near the front where bullets had come through the house was damaged, but that was the only damage. He walked through the bedrooms. A collection of horse care and riding books were lying on the bed. In the living room nothing looked disturbed. He walked into the kitchen, noticing dishes in the drying rack.
He was about to walk out the back door when he froze. He'd seen something in his peripheral vision that was out of the ordinary.
He turned back around, staring at a folded paper on the refrigerator. TO: LVPD CSI was scrawled across the front in a very familiar handwriting. Nick pulled the note off and unfolded it. As he read it he felt such a wash of relief he smiled.
"Nick."
He turned, smiling at Sara. She hesitated.
"What?"
"He's okay. He said he was sent to the wrong address, the couple here mistook him for their daughter's gangster boyfriend, the daughter and her boyfriend and some of his friends showed up. There was a shootout and he ran. He fell in a gulch and thinks he was knocked out. When he got back, the vehicles were on fire. He waited a day, couldn't find a working vehicle, so he took the last horse and is heading back to Las Vegas. And he said he had to eat something and drink some water, but he was careful to leave the crime scene outside untouched. He moved the bodies to the barn so scavengers couldn't easily get to them."
"That explains the bodies with tarps over them. Should… Greg took a horse? Greg hates horses."
"That's what he wrote."
"So he's somewhere in the desert on a horse with no name?"
The two hesitated, realizing at the same time the joke in the question, and then burst out laughing.
"Let me go radio this in," Sara said, "And then you can take the Denali and keep looking for him."
"We checked all the houses from the highway to here."
"He's on a horse, Nick. That means he could be coming out anywhere along the fence line. Just head back toward the highway and stop at all the houses again. Greg would head back to Las Vegas or try to find a way to call us."
Nick nodded. Sara went back outside, but Nick stayed behind, re-reading the note. He smiled. He knew Greg was ingenious, but there were times he still managed to surprise Nick.
"Horse with no name," Nick chuckled as he walked out of the house.
#
The ride up to the highway had been a long, arduous one. Greg and the horse reached the fence and he found a gate before getting to the cattle card. When Greg got on again, the horse decided it had some of its spunk back and tried taking off again. Greg wasn't having it a second time and hauled back on the reins so hard it hurt his shoulder. But it seemed to express Greg's intent to keep the ride at a walk. There were several roads between the gate and the highway, but all of them had cattle gaurds. He didn't feel like getting off and fighting with the horse to get back on, so he kept riding.
He'd intended on reaching the highway and flagging a car down. That came with two new sets of issues: the lack of cars and the horse's wild reaction to cars. Every time a car approached and Greg started to reach out to flag it down, the horse had a meltdown. It would rear, prance, try to bolt, and forced Greg to focus on staying on instead. Greg gave up on that idea and decided he would just going to ride to the first house he could get down the drive without getting off.
"I really hate you," Greg muttered when the horse started prancing and tossing its head.
The horse snorted, as if replying, 'Feeling's the same, jerk.'
He heard a vehicle approaching and got a grip with his legs and hand on the saddle horn, readying for the fight about to take place. The horse reared as the car passed and lunged forward. Greg pulled back, getting the horse under control a little quicker than the last time. He tried to see the plus side to this; the horse appeared to be adjusting to traffic.
Greg looked up when the vehicle suddenly came to a screeching halt. That set the horse off again. By the time Greg got the animal back under control, the vehicle had backed up to them. He looked up, staring at Nick through the open passenger window. Nick stared back.
"I hate you," Greg told him.
"I'm sorry?" Nick snapped back.
"Don't play stupid on me. You know exactly what I'm talking about. This whole thing is your fault! I hate you!"
The horse tried to buck but Greg gave the reins a hard enough tug it couldn't. He turned its head and planted his heels in its side. The horse started walking and Nick followed beside them. The horse watched the vehicle, as if it was going to leap from the road and attack them. It snorted at it and gnawed nervously on the bit.
"I'm sorry, Greg. I am. But if you'd just answered your phone or turned up your radio—"
"Maybe you didn't notice, but there is no cell service out here. And you damned well when we get twenty miles out of city limits, the radios are a crap shoot. So don't go blaming me for any of this! I took you stinking call because you're the supervisor and that's what you wanted. And what did I get out of it? I fall in cactus, get shot at, get knocked out, and lose my Denali, my phone, and my radio. I hate horses, and this ride has not changed that opinion, but I had to go for help somehow, so here I am, riding a horse, hating every minute of it. All because you just had to make me flip for a call, didn't you? That was just great fun, wasn't it? Still laughing at me over it, aren't you?"
"Aw come on, Greg. You're not hurt that bad and you weren't shot. And you look good on that fine looking animal. You even got the right saddle and bridle for it. Can't we just let bygones be bygones?"
"Go to hell!"
"Does it count that I'm proud of you?"
Greg stopped the horse and looked at Nick with open suspicion. "Why?"
"For one, the crime scene, we found it. You did a good job for having nothing. And that horse can't be more than a year. Probably never had a person on its back. You green broke your first horse, Greg."
"It let me saddle and bridle it. It's just spooky." Greg spurred the horse back into a walk.
"I know a spooky horse from an inexperienced horse. That filly has never had a person on her back before you, but you're doing a great job with her."
"Her? How do you know it's a her?"
"It's a horse, Greg. That's a little obvious."
"You know what? I don't care. Go away! I'm going to find a phone and call in the crime scene."
"I just told you we found it. Sara already radioed it in and I came looking for you."
"Fine. I'm going home then."
"You're going to ride all the way home? Where are you putting the horse? In your living room?"
Greg stopped the horse and glared at Nick.
"Do you really think now is the best time to make fun of me, Nick?"
Nick started to answer. Greg cut him off.
"I'm not taking him back to that place, Nick. Not with all those dead horses."
"Her, and I didn't say that. I'll call animal control and—"
"They don't take horses."
"They take everything."
"He's not going to the pound. He's a good horse."
"She and I thought you hated the horse."
"I hate you."
Nick laughed. "Fair enough. I'll call a guy I know in the mounted police and see if one of them would be willing to put her up until we clear her from the crime scene. Then you can find your pony a nice home."
"It's not a pony. He's almost fifteen hands."
"I didn't mean pony, literally. Look, are we going to sit here arguing about stupid shit or are you going to let me help you? And for the record, I am sorry Greg. I didn't make you flip for the call to be mean."
"Yes you did."
"Maybe a little. But I didn't intend on the last three days being this rough on you. Come on. Let me help you."
"Three days? It's only been two."
"Uh-uh, Greg-o. You've been missing for three days."
"Really?" Greg turned the horse back to the Denali. "I must have been out longer than I thought."
"You're always out."
"Screw you!" Greg spurred the horse harder than he planned. She tried to break into a run but he settled her back into a walk.
Nick hurried to keep up. "I'm sorry. Greg, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said that."
Greg didn't stop the horse.
"Come on, Greg. Quit acting like this."
Greg didn't stop the horse.
"Greg, remember when you asked me to tell you when started acting like a diva? Remember that?"
"Yes."
"Greg, you're acting like a diva."
Greg slowed the horse to a stop. He looked at Nick.
"I want three days off."
"What?"
"Three days or I'm just going to keep riding and tell lies about you."
Nick laughed. "You wouldn't dare."
"I broke a horse. I can do anything."
Greg couldn't stop his smile. Nick laughed. "Two days, work two days, keep your two days off. Will that work?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"So am I calling the mounted police?"
Greg reached down and patted the horse's neck. "Okay."
The horse started prancing.
"Car's coming. Better get off the road."
Nick looked in the mirrors. "I don't see anything."
"She hears it."
Nick laughed and drove a head to a road to pull off in. Greg let the horse trot to catch up. Nick got out with his phone pressed to his ear. He joined them, petting the horse's neck.
"Hey Chris. I've got a favor to ask you or one of your guys there. Seems we have a homeless horse from a crime scene and one of my CSI is attached to the little girl. I was wondering if you'd be willing to put her up until we can clear her."
The car came over the hill and she started prancing and fighting to run. Greg held her back until it passed and she calmed down again. He looked down at Nick. He was smiling up at him.
"Good job, Greg," Nick told him. To the phone he said, "You can? How soon can you leave? Let me tell you where we're at."
Nick disappeared around the Denali. Greg slid out of the saddle and stood next to the horse. He stroked her face, watching her.
"I have a name for your, if we can't find your original one," Greg told her. "Hell's Belle. I think it fits you."
She was indifferent.