AUTHOR: fanofkdc




The night air was cool, the sky around the suburban landscape punctuated by flashing police lights.

"Okay Brass, what have we got?" Gil Grissom, sporting sunglasses and CSI windbreaker, ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, holding it up for Sara to pass under, his kit in his other hand. Sara smiled her thanks, sauntering languidly over to the stocky detective.

Brass nodded in acknowledgement to Sara and Grissom, turning slightly to look over his shoulder. Several police officers stood on the neatly manicured lawn, sharing words and looks, disdainfully observing the 'nerd squad', but casting more appreciative glances in Sara's direction. As Brass turned to face them, they all parted, making way for him and the two CSIs.

Sara found it hard to ignore a couple of whistles thrown in her direction, but at a call of 'I wouldn't mind bein' autopsied by you,' she dropped her kit on the driveway and stalked up to the offending party, pushing her lanky body in front of him. "Look here, you piece of shit. I may be a woman, and I may have a nice ass, but I've got a brain, and hands that have cut dicks off of bigger jocks than you. Another sexually-loaded word out of you, and you'll be laying on the floor empathising with Lorena Bobbitt's husband. Got that?"

Taken aback by Sara's outburst, the cop stepped back, his face flushing. The other cops around stared at the floor bashfully, occassionally sneaking glances at one another.

Grissom approached Sara, taking her elbow and steering her towards the house, getting Brass to follow her. He turned to the cop. "Next time that happens, you'll get reported to your superior, and you'll be stuck pushing pens for two weeks. By the way," he added, as he turned towards the house, "Ms Sidle doesn't have a medical degree, thus she's not permitted to perform autopsies. Her degree is in Physics, top of her class at Harvard." There was no disguising the pride in his voice.

No-one bothered to say that even if Sara didn't have a medical degree, she could still wait in on autopsies.

"As I was going to say before Officer Dumbass interrupted, it looks like an open-and-shut suicide. Coroner's examined the body, we'll take her out in a few minutes." Brass respectfully stood over the body, looking like Charon accompanying the souls over the Styx. He, Grissom and Sara stood in the living room, inspecting the body of a brunette female positioned in the centre of the room, blood spreading out in a macarbe Roschach on the cream carpet.

"What appears to be open and shut seldom is," Grissom replied, donning a pair of latex gloves. "Who found her?"

The three were joined by David wheeling in a gurney. "We got liver temp. She's been dead roughly six hours," the scalpel-wielding, fluffy-haired coroner replied to a question that hadn't been asked.

"Will you wait for us a second?" Sara told him, flashing him a brief smile.

"House-keeper. Stays in the house with the woman ..." Brass replied eventually.

"What's her name?" Sara inquired, eyes flashing.

"Miranda Roberts," Brass replied. "So, the house-keeper stays with Mrs Roberts and her husband, came in from late-night grocery shopping and found the body. "Alerted cops straight away, and here we are."

Sara's eyes flashed again. "How long would she have been out? Two hours at the most? That's still four hours to kill her. What about the husband?"

Grissom raised an eyebrow but said nothing, looking to Brass for an answer.

"The house-keeper had been visiting her elderly mother beforehand. We've already checked it out, the home have got records and CCTV to back us up. I know, four hours visiting your mother, but that's what the records say and we've got no reason to doubt them." He paused. "Husband's outside now, we're taking him in for routine questioning." He returned Grissom's look, knowing that Sara was probably already applying the cases of previous abused wives to this one.

Grissom, in a low, quiet voice, took control. "Fine. Get Warrick to check the perimeters when he gets here, get Cath to pull the records and CCTV from the home, have it sent to QD and AV respectively."

Brass nodded in agreement, and left the house. Grissom turned to David. "Okay, let me just get a picture of this," he said, referring to the body. "Sara?"

Sara approached the two of them, napping off four photos, her mouth a thin, straight line. When she had finished, Grissom nodded to David, and helped him zip the body up, loading it on to the gurney, getting David to wheel it out.

"Hang on a sec," Sara said, pointing to the carpet underneath where the body had been. There on the floor lay a crushed brown object.

Grissom knelt with cracking joints, fishing his tweezers from his pocket. He picked up the ... thing ... with great care, turning it over between the tweezers. "Not definitive, but this looks like Omaloplia ruricola."

Sara grinned in disbelief, leaning over Grissom's shoulder. "Common cockchafer?" she questioned, unable to keep a note of glee from her voice.

Grissom became distracted by her breath brushing against his ear, but straightened up, turning to face her, inspecting her with a cocked eyebrow. "And?"

"Only species of its genus to be found in Britain. I'm guessing it didn't just hop on a flight to visit a casino."

"Hand me a bindle."

Sara did so, and returned to swinging her flashlight around the room.

"So, what was that about before?" Grissom asked casually, checking the opposite side of the room.

"What was what about? Or is this a clue in one of your cryptic crosswords?" she added, a hint of disdain settling in her voice.

"Come on," Grissom retorted slightly sharply. "Why'd you fly off the handle like that?"

"Don't act so surprised. You know I've got my defensive tendencies. He was treating me like sex object."

Grissom knew this, and felt highly jealous. "No he wasn't, he was simply trying to see if he could get a rise out of the geek squad."

Sara's eyes tightened in fury. "Why the fuck do you always have to be so naive?" she spat. Controlling her temper, she walked back to the centre of the room. "She's supposed to have shot herself, right?"

Grissom's eyes followed her. "Uh huh," he answered cautiously. "Why?"

"Where's the weapon?" From where the body had been, Sara took in a couch a foot away to the left, and nothing except a TV and another couch further away. "Help me move this," she commanded Grissom, motioning to the couch. They dragged it back, further away from the body would have bee, spotting a Colt .45 on the floor.

"If we're assuming she shot herself, which we're not," Grissom said quickly, "then for the gun to have slipped underneath here, she would have had to shoot herself with her right hand, which would flop to floor after she died. The gun would fall out and skitter under the couch."

"Something's not right about this," Sara muttered. Grissom looked at her. "I don't feel confident that this is a suicide."

Grissom closed his eyes. "Just because it doesn't feel right, doesn't mean it isn't. Don't assume that just because you have a feeling about it, this is a case of domestic abuse." The words came out faster than his ability to check them kicked in.

Sara's brow darkened. "When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Don't assume that just because I have a bad feeling, it automatically swings towards the husband. For all we know, it could be something set up by the house-keeper." Sara slammed her kit in anger, making Grissom wince. "You know what? Get Warrick to help you ine here, I'll go and do the perimeter," she said, fury still tinging her voice. She stormed out before Grissom even had a chance to open his mouth.