CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

Assent

By A. Rhea King

Chapter 1

Normally Russell couldn't keep Morgan and Nick quiet on a drive to a crime scene. The two would jabber non-stop on ever-changing topics. It wasn't as bad as having Greg and Morgan in the vehicle – Russell rarely kept up with how fast those two changed subjects. Tonight, however, the opposite was true.

He knew why Morgan was quiet; she was sulking about a fight she'd had with her father. He'd walked into Ecklie's office, and into Morgan and her dad fighting about her new boyfriend. Ecklie was being protective; Morgan wasn't having anything to do with it. Russell left before he was drug into the middle of a family dispute.

Nick's silence was what concerned Russell. He was the reason Russell chose to take a crime scene on the Moapa Reservation. Russell wasn't sure why, but cases from the Reservation took weeks just to get initial labs and reports in, and involved several trips to the scene. Half the time, the body never even came to the morgue. He asked Ecklie once why that was; the Under Sheriff told him that the laws that applied outside of the fence that ran circumference the Reservation were not the same laws that applied within. Within months of starting in Las Vegas, Russell discovered that of all the CSI, Nick could get on the Reservation the fastest, move the cases the quickest, and close cases the soonest. It was an added bonus that Nick was always very happy to get the cases, although Russell wasn't really sure why.

The reason Russell found himself on one of these cases tonight was a problem with Nick that began showing up right after Catherine left. One that was getting progressively worse, and appeared when he was on scene of two very particular types of cases: fire deaths and possible suicides. It began with Nick talking his co-workers into playing a game every time he got one – something Russell put a stop to. That's when Nick's problem became more evident. At first he was edgy, jumpy, nervous, and excused himself a lot at these types of crime scenes. That phased into him being short-tempered, confrontational, talking to himself when he thought no one could hear, and grinding his teeth. But when sent to any other type of call, Nick was his old, easy-going self that everyone knew and loved – including Russell.

The strange behavior came to a head when Nick allegedly had a break down at a fire crime scene four nights ago, but there was no proof and Greg, Super Dave, and the two offers on the scene wouldn't give any details in writing or verbally. Russell first tried to talk to Nick in his office, but to his frustration the entire lab seemed to be running interference and wouldn't let them even start a conversation. Next he tried to get Nick some professional help. To his surprise it was Ecklie who interfered. He called Russell into his office and began quoting their tight budget, shortage of personnel, and a handful of other reasons as to why now wasn't a good time to be asking Nick to take time off for a psychiatric evaluation. He also mentioned that this had been done months before Russell began and the psychiatrist found nothing wrong with Nick, so they should be done with this business.

It became clear that he was never going to get Nick alone to speak to him by conventional methods, so he decided to try an unconventional one instead. As soon as this call came in, he pulled Greg off the call and assigned himself, Nick, and Morgan. His had hoped Morgan and Nick usual chatter would help him segue into discussing the issue with Nick. But even that plan backfired, leaving him stuck on a Reservation case he knew was going to take weeks to resolve. It was enough to make him irritable.

"Take this road here," Nick quietly directed Russell, pointing the way to go.

Russell slowed so his headlights showed the side of the road. All he saw was dry packed desert and nothing that looked like a road.

So he argued, "This isn't a road."

"It is a road. You need to turn here."

"We should go to the main road and—"

"Why didn't you just leave Greg on this call? He's been training to be my backup on these calls since… Since Langston quit."

"We're going to the Tribal Police office." Russell started driving again.

"Okay. But we'll sit there for hours, on some really uncomfortable benches, and then get sent back to this road here. We'll go to Ansel Little Foot's house and wait until Grams makes the council decide to okay us to going to the crime scene. Or we can speed things up b going straight to Ansel's house and getting the decision quite a bit faster."

Russell slammed on the brakes. Nick, prepared for the stop, braced himself with a foot against the dash. Morgan wasn't. She tumbled forward with equipment, landing with her head between the seats and staring up at the two. She quickly scrambled back out of sight.

"And why would they send us back here? And who is Grams? Why would she – I assume Grams is a she – make them speed up their decision? And why do we have to wait to go to the crime scene? They called us."

Nick sat his foot down. "It doesn't work that way, D.B. When you get called out to the Moapa Reservation, it's an invitation. And no one is allowed close to the body until the elders and the Tribal Police have discussed it. Meanwhile, we sit at Ansel Little Foot's house – he's the Tribal Police sheriff – have some coffee, get glared at by Grams, and wait. Once they decide we can go to the crime scene, they come and get us, and we go do our thing. As for Grams, she doesn't like having company. When she gets tired of our company, she starts calling the council every half hour – you can see how that might speed their decision up, can't you?"

"We have to get approval to go to the crime scene? You didn't think to mention that before now?"

"You pulled Greg at the last minute and acted like you were mad, so I kept my mouth shut until now."

"You pulled Greg out of the Denali. There was no last minute to it." Morgan said, almost under her breath.

Russell turned to see if she was pouting, but couldn't see her in the dark.

"When I started, Warrick and Grissom were the only ones that handled these cases, "Nick explained. "Then Grissom and I took them. When Langston came on, Grissom asked me to train him, but he left, so I picked up Greg as the new trainee. When he left, I got handed them. So, if you want to handle a case on the Res, you need to do it like I tell you or you'll make things take a whole hell of a lot longer. And besides, Jeremiah – Ansel's grandson – is waiting at the gate for us. I called ahead and told him we were coming."

"You couldn't have lead with that?" Russell asked. With almost a growl, he tromped the gas to turn onto the imaginary road and speed off down it.

"Slow down!" Nick said, but it was too late. They hit a pothole that bounced everyone.

Recovering from the pothole, Russell slowed down and now could see the road Nick pointed out.

"We have a road. This is better," Russell commented.

Nick chuckled. It was warm and kind, and softened the mood inside the Denali. He glanced at Nick, finding he was smiling. He really was looking forward to this case and Russell was beginning to understand why he loved these cases so much. It wasn't because of someone who died. It was because he had cultivated relationships with the people they would be dealing with, taken the time to understand them – something Russell was sure his mentor had taught him to do, and from that he had a deep respect for them.

Coming over a small hill, they saw a gate in the middle of the road. Hanging in the middle of it, and riddled with bullet holes, was a warning sign that the land behind this gate belonged to the Paiutes tribe and it was not governed by the United States. They were to enter at their own risk.

The gate began to swing open and from the dark a man stepped into the headlights to push it the rest of the way open. He wasn't dressed much different than Nick. The only thing that distinguished him was his long black hair and dark skin. He motioned Russell to drive forward. He did, intending to continue.

"Stop," Nick said.

"Why?"

"That's Ansel's grandson, Jeremiah. He'll want a ride back."

"Nick, we are not—"

"If you don't want to make this a waste of time, stop."

Russell glared at Nick, but stopped.

After a moment, the side door opened and what Russell had thought was a man, turned out to be a boy in his mid-twenties. He smiled at Morgan as he got in. She timidly returned it and scooted over. He plopped down beside her, flicking his hair back over his shoulders. Nick turned and the two slapped their hands into each other's followed by a solid shake.

Russell started driving again.

"How's Vegas?" Jeremiah asked.

"It's Vegas. How's your grandpa?"

"Dying."

"Sorry to hear that."

"So is he." Jeremiah grinned, his white teeth bright in the dim dash light. "And tomorrow he'll be a day closer to it. Hey, where's Greg?"

"He got another case tonight. How is Yale?"

Jeremiah grinned. "Love it. Great to get away from this heat."

"I was surprised to hear your voice when you answered," Nick told him. "Why are you back? Isn't it the middle of a semester?"

"Gramps told me I had to come back."

"Why?"

"I don't know. You know how he is. He gets all mystical and stuff and the world ends."

Nick grinned. Morgan laughed.

"And what was mystical about this time?" she asked.

In a false baritone but feeble voice, Jeremiah told her, "You need to come home and stay until the new moon wanes. The Great Spirit has work for you to do here."

Morgan smiled. "And what does that mean?"

"Hell if I know. Maybe I get the winning ticket for Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory."

They laughed.

"And what if you hadn't come back?" Russell asked.

"Oh I'd never hear the end of it and when some great disaster happened, the whole tribe would blame me. Besides, it gave me a good reason to take a semester off. You'd be surprised how easy it is to get a semester off from Law School when you tell them it's for religious purposes."

"I bet," Morgan commented.

"It's that one there. With all the lights on. They're expecting you guys. They'll be surprised to see Morgan."

"Why? Because I'm a girl?"

"Naw. Cuz you're the Under Sheriff's daughter. They don't much care for your dad."

"Shocker."

Jeremiah smiled. "Hey. I like her. Can she hang out?"

"After work, Jeremiah," Nick told him.

"Yeah?" Jeremiah looked at Morgan. "After work then?"

"We'll see," she said with a grin."