Sara
tried to block the sounds out of her
head, but it was difficult. Even though the police had cordoned off the
house,
and even though the faint noise was coming from down the street almost
fifty
yards away, the music carried on the still, morning air. Just a spry
refrain of
rinky tink piano, bringing to mind images of Paul Newman and Robert
Redford for
some reason. Sara let the camera rewind, wiped her forehead and glanced
over at
Warrick, who was industriously lifting prints off of a windowsill.
“Why
am I thinking of con men?” she asked him softly. Warrick flashed
her a
grin, cocking his head towards the open window
“Maple
Leaf Rag . . . One of the first pieces I ever learned to play on the
piano, much to my grandmother’s regret.” Seeing
Sara’s confusion, he
elaborated. “I didn’t have the hand span then that I do
now, and was forever
hittin’ the wrong notes at the end of the syncopated phrase.
Drove her crazy
for a while.”
“Just
like it’s doing to me NOW,” Sara sighed. Warrick shook his
head, and
folded the plastic cover over the last print he’d done, carefully
labeling it.
“It’s
from that yard sale down the street. I guess a burglary on the block
doesn’t make a difference if you’re trying to get rid of
your junk anyway.”
Sara
rose up from her squatting position near the door, looking thoughtful;
Warrick laughed.
“Man,
you’re as bad as Catherine. You’re thinking about checking
it out.”
“Maybe—“
Sara conceded with a twisted smile, “I mean, we’re mostly
done
here—got a few minutes. There’s nothing wrong with looking,
you know.”
“Yeah,
just try that line at a nudist colony—“ he snorted back,
waving her
away.
She
headed out, reaching the
It
was a big one, obviously the joint effort of several families, and Sara
could see they’d taken some time to organize things in broad
strokes. Most of
the books, hardback and paperback were neatly stacked along one side of
the
driveway. Grinning, she spotted a few girlhood favorites, and mentally
promised
herself to revisit Wonka’s chocolate factory if the price was
right. Various
people wandered in front of her, picking things up and examining them,
and Sara
glanced around trying to see the pattern of the place.
Baby
stuff and kid’s things on the far left side, by the station
wagon.
One-eyed stuffed animals and hard-looking Barbies were sitting there
along with
other well-loved toys. Beyond it was a table full of appliances, from
hot
rollers and electric knives to blenders and crock pots. And here was
the source
of the ragtime, emanating from a kitschy little plastic player piano
complete with
a scrolling backdrop inside it. Sara bent down to look at it more
closely,
nearly jumping when Catherine came up behind her and loudly
stage-whispered,
“I
wonder if it takes requests?”
“Like
the Sound of Silence?” Sara countered with a grin. Catherine
smirked and
reached one slender finger out, flicking a little red switch on the
side of the
music box. The song cut off mid-tinkle, and a few other customers
smiled in
relief. Sara managed a discreet high five with Catherine as they turned
to look
at the rest of the sale.
“Give
me your tired, your poor—“ the older woman sighed, casting
an experienced
gaze over the sale. Sara hid a smile and her gaze wandered back to the
books
just as Warrick wandered up, towering over most of the other shoppers.
“Find
any bargains?”
“Not
yet—how long have we got?” Catherine smiled at him. He
checked his watch.
“Well,
shift ends in about half an hour, and it will take up that long just to
get back—hey, is that a Beta machine?” Warrick demanded,
fascinated with the
obsolete recorder. Sara stepped out of his way and he knelt to examine
it,
fingers reverently stroking it. A pot-bellied man in khaki shorts and a
Hawaiian shirt came up, eyeing Warrick with a knowing smile.
“Sure
is, in almost new condition. It’s got a tape stuck in it, so
I’m willing
to sell it for five bucks. Gotta basket full of tapes to go with it,
some
blank, some used—interested?”
Warrick
fished out his wallet while Catherine laughed.
“Aren’t
going to bargain?”
“Come
on Cath--five bucks IS a bargain—“ he mumbled. Sara had
wandered over to
the books and was checking out the titles happily, pulling a volume
here and
there and tucking it into her arms. With a sigh, Catherine moved to the
jewelry, eyeing the display with a little smile of her own. One corner
of it
amused her immensely—a collection of cat pins, bracelets,
pendants and watches
had been neatly laid out on the card table.
“Looks
like SOMEone was a collector,” she commented softly. Across the
table, a
solemn girl about Lindsay’s age nodded back.
“Granny
Kitty. She died, but it’s okay because she’s probably in
cat heaven
where the angels change the litter boxes for you and every pet has a
name and a
soul.”
Catherine
blinked; the girl flashed a grin, adding, “Yeah, she was a pretty
cool Grandma even if she was a little kooky at times.”
Catherine
walked away with a sterling silver pin of a sleeping Siamese, pinning
it onto her black shirt as Warrick hefted a shopping bag and looked at
her.
“Niiice
. . . “
“I
see you gave in to full price there—“ came her soft retort,
even as she
blushed a little at his compliment. Warrick glanced down at the bag and
nodded.
“Underdog
technology is always a contest of wills.”
“So
why aren’t you driving a Yugo then?” Catherine pointed out
archly. Warrick
fought a grin unsuccessfully as they moved to round up Sara.
“Because
I thrive on challenges, not masochism. You ready to go, Sara?”
She
was still kneeling next to the rows of volumes, one arm full.
“Yeah,
hang on. Hey, do you think Grissom would like his own copy of Arachnomania:
a guide to keeping Scorpions and Tarantulas? It’s only fifty
cents.”
Sara
held up the slender paperback questioningly. Warrick gave a snort.
“You
sure you want to encourage him on keeping any MORE of them?”
“Good
point—“ Sara wavered, but Catherine shook her head
knowingly.
“Nah,
go on and get it—even Grissom needs a hobby, weird as it
is.”
They
paid for their purchases and strolled slowly back to the
*** *** ***
Warrick managed to unscrew the last corner of the beta machine, and
gingerly
lifted the back of it off, setting it aside on the light table. He
carefully
tipped the machine, then gently inserted an index finger and gave a
little
push; the jammed tape popped out of the bottom, clattering onto the
table top,
bits of brown filament shreds dangling from it. Warrick grinned to
himself.
“Ingenuity
triumphs over engineering yet again,” came his satisfied little
observation. Nick strode in and stared as Warrick began reassembling
the back
of the machine.
“Is
that the piece of junk you picked up at that sale yesterday?”
“It’s
not junk. It’s a classic, man.”
“Classic
loser—Betamax lost out on the recording industry like what?
Fifteen
years ago?” Nick insisted with a bit of a sneer.
“Whatever.
All I know is that I’ve got a quality VCR here for five bucks,
which
is just fine with me,” Warrick shot back. Nick picked up the tape
and examined
it, reading the faded label. Or trying to.
“Randi
and Roger . . . dunno, sounds sort of suspicious, Warrick—“
came the sly
innuendo. The other man rolled his eyes and glanced down at the paper
bag,
fishing out a tape at random.
“Skinsations—Great,
picked up somebody’s ancient porno. Ah what the hell, I can
always tape over it . . .“ he grumbled, tightening the screws. As
he set it
down, he looked over to see Nick still standing there, smirking.
“Going
to test it out? Archie’s on break, so we can hook it up to his
monitor .
. .”
“Oh
yeah, now that it’s working you’re willing to admit
it’s got potential—“
“It’s
a slow night,” Nick grinned, unrepentant.
They
carried the machine to Archie’s lab and within a few minutes
managed to
hook it up; Nick efficiently rigged the wires while Warrick guiltily
fished an
unlabeled tape out of the bag. He popped it in as Nick came to stand
next to
him, arms crossed.
“Hey
guys, where’s Archie and what are you doing here?” Grissom
had slipped in
so quietly that both men started. Nick tried to look innocent; on the
screen
the gray fuzz cut away to a large and opulent bed and the sound of
giggles.
“Uh
. . . “ Nick began, face reddening. Warrick shot his partner in
crime a
disgusted look and tried for dignity with Grissom.
“Checkin’
to see if the Betamax I got at the yard sale works or not.”
“I’d
. . . say SO—“ countered Grissom, who was staring with mild
curiosity at
the screen. A pair of bouncing female bodies filled the screen,
accompanied by
the definite squeaking of bedsprings, yet more giggles and a low voice
speaking
off-screen. Nick flushed a deeper shade of brick; Grissom’s brows
drew together
and he stared at the monitor. Warrick began to fumble for the
off-button, but
Grissom’s hand shot out waving impatiently.
“I’ve
heard that before—“ he muttered. Both men shot him
incredulous looks, but
he shook his head, adding, “The voice. And so have you
two—“
The
scene shifted as the camera panned left, catching the gleam of bare
skin as
a third body came into view.
The
giggles stretched out, and a low slightly hyper word rolled out in long
syllables. The woman had her naked profile to the camera, curved and
lightly
freckled, her long hair obscuring her face.
“Eddieee?
I don’t WANT to do this . . .”
“Come
on Cath, be a good girl. You know you’ve got what it takes, baby.
Now
just get on the bed—“
Dumbfounded,
the three of them stared at the tape a moment longer, then--
“--SHIT.”
Warrick yelped, jabbing the buttons frantically; the tape popped out
in a quick mechanical lurch, jutting out of the machine.
The
sudden, painful silence in the AV lab was deafening and no one moved
for a
long, long time. Finally Grissom drew in a breath and shifted his
glance from
Nick to Warrick and squared his shoulders.
“Warrick,
I think you’ve got a big decision to make.”
“Me?”
he shot back, stance tensing instantly, green eyes narrowing. Grissom
nodded slowly.
“It’s
YOUR property now. You bought it, and regardless of whatever anyone
else
in this room feels, any decision about it ultimately rests with
you.”
“Jesus
Grissom! I—“ he got no further as a pager went off; Nick
fished his out,
waved it and slunk off, leaving the Grissom and Warrick alone in the AV
lab.
The two men stared at each other.
Grissom
shrugged and spoke again, softly but urgently. “Think about it
and
don’t rush into anything, Warrick. Whatever you decide, let me
know.”
“No!
What else can I do but destroy the tape, man—“
“Are
you sure that’s the best thing to do?” Grissom asked with
slow care in his
voice. It was enough to make Warrick pause, and he shook his head in a
fresh
wave of confusion. He stepped closer to Grissom, crossing his arms.
“No
I’m not sure, but it’s better than letting Catherine know
anybody saw it!”
He shifted tones, his voice dropping low, “Look, what we saw is
part of her
past, and a damned ugly part, Gris—You really think anything good
will come of
telling her about it?”
“I
don’t know,” Grissom shot back quietly. “It’s
not my past, Warrick.”
“Yeah
but—“
Grissom
gave him a keen, soul-searching look and Warrick flinched a little
under that intense blue scrutiny. He rubbed his nose.
“Moral
dilemma, Warrick. They come up periodically in life, and you have to
deal with them. This isn’t evidence in a case. This is
personal.”
With
that, Grissom walked away, leaving Warrick swaying slightly,
conflicted.
(Dear reader—what should
Warrick do? Send me your views and reasoning behind
it to:
