A/N – This is dedicated to David, one of the biggest Boise State University (BSU) football fans I know. I'm sorry, dude. You had to die. And Guy? Shame on you.
Disclaimer – I'm only borrowing Gil and Sara for a small little comedy. I don't think they'd mind, since they're not real anyway.
Death by Pizza
He knew the risks. He'd contemplated them all night. Yet, waiting on hold, he decided it was worth it. Little did he know… he would be dead that night.
Meanwhile, the honeymoon had started in dedicated suite for a tired and grumpy Sara and Gil Grissom. They'd finally made it to Honolulu.
"I'm waiting for the third thing to happen," Sara muttered into her pillow, as she lay face down on the bed. "First, our plane was late, and second we had to make an emergency landing because we got struck by lightning on final approach."
They hadn't arrived until after midnight, and gotten checked into their hotel until one in the morning. Besides the fact that they were both maxed out on overtime for the month, they were tired from an exhausting week of doubles.
Realizing she hadn't gotten a response from her husband, Sara tilted her head, and smiled. Finally arrived, he had fallen asleep. Chuckling lightly, she woke her groggy husband enough to get him under the covers, where she joined him moments later in blissful sleep.
They didn't sleep long, though. Something permeated the fog of slumber, but swatting at it like a fly, Gil didn't allow it to register until he heard something slam into their door. They both sat up quickly.
"I'm going to check," he murmured, approaching the door. Looking through the peep hole, he saw something blurry in the bottom of the glass, but not enough for identification. Wearing her robe, Sara joined him at the door.
"I called security," Sara told him. "My gut is telling me something's wrong, so they're sending someone up."
Slowly opening the door, Grissom looked down and found him. Looking at his watch, he sighed. It was only six o'clock in the morning.
Sighing, Sara turned to her husband, "I told you everything happens in threes."
-- Cue to theme song "Who Are You"
-- Go to commercial
-- Come back from commercial
"So, any bets on cause of death?" Sara asked her husband.
"It could be anything, considering the pizza wrapped around the victim's head," Gil murmured, kneeling over the pizza itself. "Looks like pepperoni… maybe extra cheese."
Crouched down on the other end of the prone victim, Sara eyed his tennis shoes, wondering "Why on earth does he have blue and orange shoelaces on one shoe and purple and gold on the other?"
By the time the police arrived, both criminologists were wearing their LVPD CSI t-shirts, and had their badges affixed at the waist. Some people were milling about it the hall, but were kept away from the body by hotel security. It hadn't taken them long, when the couple had pulled out their badges, to convince the guards to leave them to the body.
Detective Mahoney approached the couple warily.
"Did you find the body?" he asked, yawning. Having just transferred to the graveyard shift, he was still adjusting to being up all night.
"Yes. That's our room," Gil pointed, indicating the open door.
Familiar with the hotel, because the young detective had brought his own wife here once, he raised his brow and asked, "Isn't that the honeymoon suite?" already knowing the answer.
Smiling, Sara held out her hand and said, "I'm Sara and this is Gil. We're from the Las Vegas crime lab." The smile going deeper, she added, "Yes, we're here on our honeymoon."
The detective nodded, and got down to business with, "Why don't you tell me what happened."
The couple relayed their story of waking to a loud bang on the door, and added, "Of course, we haven't touched the body, but we've done a preliminary examination."
"I don't think I've ever quite seen this scenario," Grissom said, trying to dig deep for some quote about death by pizza, and falling short.
Deciding to use his resources wisely, Mahoney asked, "Would you care to assist on the case?"
Smiling, Gil nodded, and Sara rolled her eyes.
Sara pulled out a pair of latex gloves (because she absolutely carries them everywhere she goes) and reached into the victim's pocket.
Holding up his driver's license, she said, "His name is David Anderson, and he's from Boise, Idaho."
Lost in thought for a moment, Gil contemplated, "Boise, Idaho…" and had an ah-ha moment, declaring, "I remember now. Orange and blue is for Boise State University – BSU."
His brow furrowing, he mumbled, "I have no idea what the purple and gold are for, though."
"The BSU Broncos are playing the East Carolina Pirates tomorrow in the Hawaii Bowl," a spectator down the hall yelled. "The Pirates colors are purple and gold. That's why I'm here."
The coroner arrived shortly, and Gil was able to remove the pizza from the victim's face.
"Look at the eyes," he murmured.
"If I had to guess, I'd say he died of asphyxiation," the coroner said, and added, "However, I'll perform a full autopsy and verify."
As the coroner took the body out in a bag, the detective made a call, and hung up turning to the CSIs. "The victim was staying here in the room directly across from you," he said, "he's here with his wife and eighteen year old son."
All three stared at the door for a moment, before Mahoney knocked.
After several minutes, the door opened slightly, and a tired brunette poked her head out.
"Yes?" she asked. Seeing their badges, though, her senses sharpened, and she opened the door wider.
"Are you the wife of David Anderson?" the detective asked.
"Yes," she replied, "I'm Dorothy."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Anderson, but your husband died tonight."
When her eyes widened, and tears welled, Dorothy walked into the room, leaving the door open as an invitation.
"Mrs. Anderson, did you know your husband was missing?" asked Mahoney.
Shaking her head, she explained, "Sometimes he can't sleep, so he walks. Plus, I was so tired after arriving; I went to sleep in that room of our suite," she pointed to one of the bedrooms of the two bedroom suite. "My son is in the other room."
Her eyes widening, she rushed to her son's room, and heaved a sigh of relief when she found him asleep in bed. Closing the door quietly, she made her way over to the couch and sat.
"Are you here for the game?" Mahoney asked, and received a nod.
"Can I ask why your husband is wearing two different sets of shoe laces?" Sara asked, curiously.
Chuckling sadly, Dorothy explained, "He lost a bet with me. I told him he couldn't go two weeks without making a pun about the East Carolina Panthers. If he lost, he had to wear both colors while we were on the trip. He chose shoelaces."
Gil had a real hard time holding back the pun on the edge of his tongue, So… since when did one of the Carolinas chunk off a piece of their state to create East Carolina?
"How did he die?" the widow sobbed.
"Death by pizza," Gil replied.
At her shocked expression, Sara smacked her husband in the back of the head, and said, "We think perhaps he died from asphyxiation. We won't know until we get the coroner's report."
"Look, we need you and your son to come down to the station and answer more questions," the detective said.
"I'll wake him," she replied, rising.
-- Cue commercial
-- Make sure to insert promo here
-- Come back from commercial
It was nine o'clock that morning, as everyone made their way to the Honolulu police station.
Sitting in an interrogation room, Dorothy and David, Junior, known as Guy, waited alone for the detective to return.
Sara and Gil stood outside the glass, watching the mother and son. Guy wore a white football jersey with the name Johnson on the back in blue. He also wore jeans, and had managed to acquire blue shoes with orange logos.
"How long do you think we'll be here?" Guy asked.
"I don't know, honey. It'll take however long it takes," Dorothy responded.
Minutes ticked past, and Guy began to fidget. At nine o'clock, Mahoney, Gil, and Sara entered the room.
Staring as clocked ticked on, Guy noted the time – ten o'clock.
Taking a seat, he began with, "Mrs. Anderson, could you tell me what you are doing here in Hawaii?"
"I can!" Guy volunteered. Smiling, he ignored the exasperated look on his mothers face and said, "My dad won a HUGE contest prize off a local radio station. We got tickets for the Hawaii Bowl, a five night stay in the suite, and a couple grand."
"Can you tell me if you heard anything last night," the detective asked Dorothy.
Shaking her head, she said, "No. I was sound asleep. We got in this morning, walked around Waikiki, spent a little time at the beach, and by tonight I was exhausted. So, I went to bed, and David said he couldn't sleep and wanted to walk around a bit."
Looking Mahoney in the eye, Dorothy asked, "Can you give me more details on how my husband died?"
The detective replied, "According to the coroner, there were pieces of cooked pizza dough in his nostrils and mouth. He appears to have been suffocated with the pizza we found wrapped around his face."
For many minutes, the wife of the deceased absorbed the information.
"According to the pizza box we found next to the body, it was purchased with your husband's credit card," Sara interjected.
Not at all puzzled, Dorothy responded, "I'm not surprised. Sometimes if walking doesn't help, he gets a bit to eat."
"Well, we'd like to get DNA swabs from you if possible," Mahoney requested.
"Of course!" Dorothy responded, and Guy mumbled, "Okay," still staring at the clock.
As Gil, Sara, and Mahoney made their way out of interrogation, Mahoney made the call to collect the swabs.
-- Cue commercial.
-- Throw in another promo… probably for Ghost Whisperer
-- Throw in another commercial.
-- Come back from commercial.
Forty five minutes later, Sara and Gil stood outside interrogation, while Mahoney went in to speak with Dorothy and Guy.
"Guy said David won a couple thousand dollars from this contest, but your bank records are not showing this kind of transaction," he informed Dorothy.
Smiling, she said, "That's because we took it in cash."
"Where is it then?" the detective asked. "We didn't find it in your hotel room or on your husband's body."
Frowning, she said, "I don't have it on me. David was keeping it hidden in a pouch in the dresser."
Meanwhile, Sara and Gil watched Guy repeatedly look up at the clock, and start tapping his knee, until he received a glare from his mother.
"Sir, it's after eleven o'clock. Do you happen to have a radio or something available?" Guy asked, his voice tense.
"I'm sorry, but not here. Perhaps later, we can find something," Mahoney replied, and watched Guy's hands start thumping on the table… hard.
For another twenty minutes, Mahoney volleyed question after question to Dorothy, while Sara and Gil watched Guy become more and more agitated.
It was one minute before noon, local time, when the young man finally snapped.
"I need a television or a radio!" he yelled. "I need it." Then begging, "Please? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it, but we're supposed to be at the game. Please? A television? I HAVE TO SEE THE PRE-GAME SHOW!"
As everyone held motionless, stunned, Guy continued to rail, "He sold the tickets." A guttural howl emerged from his mouth.
"Good God, he's going through withdrawal," Sara stated, shocked. After all, what kind of person goes through withdrawal over a football game!
Meanwhile, Guy continued the confession mournfully, "He scalped the tickets. I heard him mumbling something, and found our perfect fifty yard line tickets were gone. The pizza was in his hand. I just wanted to make a point. I didn't mean to smother him."
He began to sob, "I'm supposed to be at the game."
"I NEED TO SEE THE PRE-GAME SHOW!" he yelled again, as Mahoney signaled for two officers to cuff the son of the victim.
After being read his rights and realizing he was a complete nut ball, Guy Anderson was transported to the local mental facility.
"Well…" was all Mahoney could say, shaking his head.
Nodding in agreement, Gil said, "This is one of the weirder ones."
Suddenly smirking, Sara interjected into the conversation, "Hey, I just remembered why BSU seemed familiar to me. Don't they have the smurf turf?"
-- Cut to commercial
-- Show a promo for CSI: NY
-- Come back from commercial
It wasn't until Dorothy got home that she received the call. Her son had been right. David had scalped the tickets. Adding to the cash they'd received, he'd gotten just enough to afford a season of the new skybox seats in the addition to the stadium.
It had been David's and Guy's dream to watch a season in high style.
Since Dorothy could care less about football, she ended up selling the tickets to her friends, and buying herself a nice cruise to the Bahamas.
A year later, anyone visiting him would be stunned. This once intelligent, kind young man sat sucking his thumb, singing the BSU fight song in a blue and orange padded room.
A/N – GO BRONCOS! Go win the Hawaii Bowl!