Body of Evidence

She looked down at the remnants of her sandwich. 'Should I finish my sandwich first?'

'Depends on whether you want these results on a full stomach or not. Would you round up Grissom and Warrick, and meet me in the morgue?'

Sara said, 'We'll be right there,' and stuffed the stub of the sandwich in her mouth. She was not by nature squeamish.

On the other hand, Robbins was well aware of that fact….

The coroner disappeared and Sara chugged the last of her drink. She sat, for a few moments, just taking that midshift moment to recharge, before bounding off to find the other two CSIs on the Lewis case.

And in less than ten minutes, the three criminalists and the Chief Coroner stood in a loose circle around Candace Lewis's sheet-draped body displayed on the cold metal surface of the table.

'Let's start with the cause of death,' Robbins said.

'Ligature strangulation,' Warrick said.

'Right.' Robbins looked at the CSI. 'Care to take a guess at the ligature?'

With a quick sideways look at Grissom, Warrick said, 'Uh, we don't do 'guesses,' Doc.'

Grissom twitched the tiniest smile as he exchanged a glance with the coroner, who said, 'Make an educated guess, Warrick, just for me-you're my guest, after all.'

Sara watched as Warrick pulled back the sheet revealing Candace's face and neck.

Warrick leaned closer to the body. The flesh of Candace's throat showed bloody gouges as well as massive bruising and something else…

…a pattern that wasn't quite discernible.

Sara wondered what Warrick-and for that matter, Grissom-would make of that.

'Some kind of chain, maybe?' Warrick offered.

Robbins turned to her. 'Sara?'

She glanced at Grissom, who nodded his permission; then she shrugged. 'Seems about right-don't know what else it might be.'

'Gil?'

Grissom bent over the body, his Mini-MagLite materializing to light the dead woman's throat. He studied the brutalized flesh for several long moments, touched a portion of the wound, looked at his finger, then rubbed it against his thumb.

'A chain,' the CSI supervisor said. 'An oiled bicycle chain.'

'And we have a winner,' Robbins said dryly.

Sara leaned in to study the woman's throat more closely. Her colleagues were right: the design bruised into Candace's neck did resemble the markings of a chain, and a bicycle chain at that.

'Weird choice for a weapon,' she said, with a quick facial shrug.

'Not a studied choice,' Grissom said. 'Probably a weapon of opportunity-her assailant kidnapped her, and probably meant to keep her alive…that's why there was never any ransom demand.'

Eyes narrow, nodding just a little, Warrick said, 'But something went wrong.'

Grissom nodded back, curtly. 'Something went wrong. She angered him…or tried to escape, or call for help…and the only thing he could do was kill her with the first thing he could lay his hands on.'

Gesturing, Robbins added, 'If you look at her hands, you can see evidence she fought back-tore her nails, lacerated two fingers.'

Glancing down, Sara could see the tattered nails and the dried blood around the gashes in her fingers.

Then she felt Grissom's eyes on her.

Gently, Grissom asked, 'Can you see it, Sara?'

'Yes…. Yes, I think I can….'

Candace is scared.

She's in a darkened room and all she can see is shadows. She starts to run, hoping to escape and crashes into something…

…and finds herself in the arms of her kidnapper!

Screaming, kicking out, she strikes him in the groin and he releases his grip on her. As she turns to run in the opposite direction, he fumbles around and picks up a bicycle chain, looping it over her head and pulling it tight around her throat.

Candace tries to get her fingers under the chain but her nails break off and the metal bites into the flesh of her fingers. She feels herself getting weaker, the pressure intense on her neck, the pain nearly blinding as her lungs scream for oxygen. Bursting stars appear at the corners of her vision and, as she closes her eyes, little colorful fireworks explode behind her lids.

Slowly, blessedly, the pain eases, the burning in her chest lessens, and her vision blurs, the colorful little explosions blinking, winking, on and off now. It's like trying to watch fireflies on a foggy night, but the tiny lights get lost in a mist that grows, turning ever darker until all she can see is peaceful blackness.

'That's how she might have experienced it,' Sara said.

'What about him?' Grissom asked. 'What about our kidnapper, our killer?'

'Well…' Sara began.

He has slipped up, his prize nearly escaping….

When she kicks him, the world seems to implode for a moment; but he can't let the pain consume him, he must prevail. She is his-he's worked so hard to obtain her, to possess her, he simply has to hold onto her now.

He gropes around on the nearby toolbench in the pitch-dark room; his fingers touch the cold steel of the bicycle chain. He knows what it is instantly-he'd been working on the bike when he finally nabbed his 'guest.' He snatches up the chain, manages to get it over her head and around her neck.

She struggles at first, struggles hard-gotta hand it to her, she's a fighter…that's part of what drew him to her in the first place. No ordinary girl for him….

Slowly his strength wins out, and her weight falls against him as she sags backward, taking him to the floor with her, the chain still taut around her neck. He realizes at once that something's wrong.

He didn't mean to kill her-merely to subdue her; but now she wasn't fighting, in fact…she didn't seem to be breathing.

He loosens the chain, puts a hand to her throat-no pulse.

He had hoped to keep her alive. Alive, she could come to finally feel the love for him that he felt for her. But even though she was dead, she would be his now, all his, compliant at last. Cooperative. Behaving herself.

Now, she's his forever.

'Good,' Grissom said to Sara. 'Good…. What else have you got, Doc?'

Robbins sighed, gathering his thoughts. 'Preliminary tox screen is negative, but we're still waiting for the final report. As we posited, there's evidence of necrophilia. The jaws were broken post-mortem, to allow for easier entry.'

'The tearing around her vagina?' Sara asked. 'Is that the same…?'

'Also post-mortem-though I'm sure he assaulted her before her death. There's bruising that could only have occurred when she was alive. SART exam had nothing.'

Warrick asked, 'Why'd he get rid of her now?'

'Take a whiff, Warrick,' Grissom said. 'That's not springtime.'

'Gil's right,' Robbins said. 'To put this as delicately as possible, Ms. Lewis was becoming a touch too… ripe.'

Sara frowned. 'Would a man obsessed in this fashion even be aware or concerned about that?'

'Within his obsession,' Robbins said, 'possibly not. But psychotics are exceptionally good at compartmentalizing, and often able to function and blend into normal society, with relative ease.'

Still frowning, Sara said, 'I don't get your point, Doc.'

But it was Grissom who provided the answer: 'The stench may not have bothered our man, but the neighbors, the postman, the meterman, most certainly might be expected to notice. He's cognizant enough of the