Binding Ties

Grissom shrugged. 'Everybody's a critic.'

Brass had his cell phone in hand before he realized he'd even reached for it. He brought it up to his ear, his fingers somehow having figured out to hit the speed dial. 'This is Captain Jim Brass-who's this?'

The voice on the other end was cool and female. 'Laurel Thompson, Captain.'

That sent a quick spike of relief through him. Nothing rattled Laurel-she was one of the best dispatchers in the city.

'Laurel, I need you to send a patrol car to the Banner. The officers're to take David Paquette into custody on the CASt case. If he's not there, send a car to his house.'

'Yes, sir. Murder charge?'

Meeting and holding Grissom's eyes, Brass struggled with the urge to say yes.

The trouble was, he had no real proof, though logic seemed to say that if Bell wasn't the copycat, then Paquette had to be. Silently he willed Grissom to find some evidence to bust the editor; to speak that sentiment aloud, however, would only invite Grissom's disfavor.

To the dispatcher, Brass said, 'Have them take him into protective custody.'

'Pardon?'

'Laurel, tell the officers Paquette's a material witness, and that I'm concerned for his safety…. In the meantime, I'll call David and tell him what's going on myself.'

'Car'll be dispatched immediately. Ten-four, Captain.'

'Thanks, Laurel.'

He clicked off.

'Material witness?' Grissom asked.

'Do we have enough to collar him?'

'No.'

'Point is, get him off the streets until we know one way or the other. If Bell's not the copycat, Paquette is the next best guess.'

'Here's a small suggestion,' Grissom said. 'Let's not guess.'

'Then find me some goddamn evidence!' Brass snapped.

'Actually,' Grissom said, 'that shouldn't be hard….'

Grissom moved in for a closer look.

The differences between this crime scene and those generated by the copycat were subtle but plentiful.

Grissom, kneeling near the mutilated hand, said, 'The finger was severed while the victim was still alive.'

To Brass, this was obvious. Bell's heart had definitely been pumping when his finger got cut off.

'Tell me about it,' Brass said. 'More blood here than the other two scenes combined.'

'The lipstick appears to be a darker shade than the one applied to Sandred and Diaz,' Grissom said. 'But I can't be sure without lab comparison if it is truly darker, or if the limited light, and this preponderance of blood, is playing tricks on my perception.'

'I'd say darker,' Brass said.

Grissom continued, gesturing to the corpse: 'The broken nose was likely sustained when Bell opened the door for his killer. Doc Robbins will provide the details, but this beating is clearly more vicious than anything either CASt or the copycat has done before. For reasons unknown-despite what we might speculate about his feelings for the author of CASt Fear-CASt felt compelled to torture Bell more than the others.'

Brass just chewed his lower lip.

Grissom turned toward Brass. 'Can you see it, Jim? In your mind?'

Bell is home alone. He's in his study, going over his old files on CASt, excited that the ancient case has given his career a new lease on life. The doorbell rings and he comes downstairs. By the second ring he's gotten to the door to open it.

The front door is recessed, in a shady area, and it's hard for the neighbors to see what's happening. It's similarly difficult for Bell to see who's on his doorstep. Either the killer strikes immediately, or Bell knows the killer and invites him in, and then the killer strikes as soon as he's inside.

Capture.

Either way, Bell catches a blow in the face-a heavy blow, breaking the reporter's nose and causing blood flow that will eventually lead the police to the basement.

Blood dripping from his nose, Bell is dragged by the killer down to the basement. Bell is stripped.

Affliction.

The noose is slipped around his neck and pressure is slowly applied. As the noose is tightened, Bell starts to slip away. He's brought abruptly back by the first punch to his face, immediately followed by another and another, the blows raining down. He tries to roll into a fetal position, to avoid the savage attack, but the killer jerks on the rope, the noose tightens again and Bell is forced to comply.

The killer lifting Bell's head by the rope, turning the face to just the right angle, then delivering another powerful punch to the reporter's face. Eventually, he passes out, the pain simply too much. He awakens after he doesn't know how much time to the sensation of something closing around his index finger.

The killer has Bell's finger between the blades of a metal clipper. The steel feels cold against his skin until the killer tightens and the pain begins. The cold is replaced first by the warm rush of blood, then the blinding heat of pain as the killer snips off the finger. Bell watches what had once been his finger bounce on the floor before he closes his eyes, nerves screaming, but it does no good. The pain is like nothing he's ever felt before and he momentarily forgets the rope around his neck, but a quick jerk by the killer reminds him and again the noose tightens around his neck.

Strangulation.

He fights, but it's no use. There's no air. His chest burns, aches as his lungs battle for every last molecule of oxygen.

Then there is none, every fiber of his being on fire. Slowly, surprisingly, the pain begins to subside, the burning eases and a warm thick liquid blackness covers him. Bell is floating now in this thick black sea, the warmth calming him as it ebbs and flows each second, becoming elongated, enjoyable as he relents. The blackness is not just outside him now, it has entered him and Bell floats away, trouble and pain gone forever.

Everything gone forever.

Sara joined them. Her eyes tensed as she took it all in. 'This…looks the same but different.'

Still kneeling near the body, Grissom looked up, pleased with her, and said, 'Yes.'

'We'll need to pull his phone records,' Brass said, a stray thought coming to him.

Grissom nodded. 'We may be able to figure out whether the killer forced him to make the call to his daughter, cancelling his trip, or if he really did cancel to work on the story.'

'Maybe the story was working on him.'

Standing, Grissom said, 'The killer spent a considerable time with Bell, to do this kind of damage. Once Al gives us time of death, we can cross-check it to the phone records and see how close the call to his daughter came to the attack.'

'That was my thought.'

Grissom said to Sara, 'Check his bedroom-see if he was packing.'

'Okay. Then…fingerprints?'

Nodding, Grissom said, 'Anything on the first floor the killer might have touched-banister coming down these stairs, for example.'

'I'll try the front door, too.'

'Tell Carrack and Damon to stay put,' he said, 'and not to touch anything else. Let's not contaminate the crime scene any more than we already have.'

Brass was on his cell phone again, making the call to David Paquette.

The editor picked up on the second ring.