Fic: Dig the Hole Wide and Deep (6/?)
Oct. 18th, 2007 03:13 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregTitle: Dig the Hole Wide and Deep
Rating: PG for language and adult content
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Warnings: None
Summary: Sorry no sex in this one.
Spoilers: None
A/N: This is a sequel to ‘Putting Down Roots’ which you can find
here
Previous parts of this story can be found here
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's Five Stages of Grief
denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
I think we’ve pretty well established by now that Greg is a smart guy. He has a capacity for learning new things that is pretty astonishing but he has never, ever, not ever learned as much as he has in the last 5 weeks; mostly about himself. He also isn’t psychic. If he were, he would know that he would be strongly influenced, literally influenced for life, by 3 special men. Bobby Dawson was just the first.
First, he learned what a rock Bobby Dawson was. If you put his partner Steve with him and they decided they liked you; man you had the Rocky Mountains for back-up. Bobby was like John Wayne toilet paper; rough and tough and didn’t take no shit off nobody.
When Greg got to work that night after his ‘breakfast’ with Bobby, he felt like he’d gone 9 rounds with the Spanish Inquisition and believe me, the score was Spain 9, Sanders zero. He was somewhat afraid to see Bobby again. He had made no bones about his feelings about the whole Stokes/Sanders soap opera so Greg was really taken by surprise when Dawson marched into the break room, grabbed Greg by the arm and drug him down the hall to ballistics. He shut the door, sat Greg down and handed him a business card.
“What or who is this?”
“That’s someone who specializes in couple’s therapy and I don’t just mean straight couples.”
“Well, in case you weren’t there this morning and it was your evil twin, there is no couple any more.”
“Do you ever want or expect to be a ‘couple’ again?”
“I would like that, yes.”
“Then you better get your shit together. You and Nick both made so many mistakes in this whole thing I don’t know where to start. But this guy does AND he will help you to change your wicked, wicked ways so you don’t make the same mistakes again. And maybe, just maybe if you really pay attention, you won’t make different mistakes the next time around.”
“What difference is it gonna make if it’s just me going to see him. Doesn’t Nick need to be there too?”
“Greg, I’m only goin’ to say this once. You can’t be responsible for anyone’s behavior in this whole wide world except your own. Are you telling me you won’t be a ‘couple’ with anyone but Nick ever again? Cause if that’s what you’re sayin’ then I’m not wasting any more time on you. You’re not only a dumb, noodle-headed wimp, you’re a cowardly one as well.”
Greg looked sadly at this man he was beginning to realize just might be his best friend in the whole world and said, “He’s all I’ve thought of or dreamed of for the last seven years Bobby. I can’t just say, ‘Oh well, too bad, I’ll just find someone new.’ There just isn’t anyone like Nick. He was everything I wanted and the worst thing of all was that when we did get together, he was better than any dream or fantasy I’d ever had.”
Greg looked down at Bobby’s desk and tried to keep himself from falling apart at work. He was so close to just going into a dark closet and crying like a baby. The only thing stopping him, was the memory of the way he had looked the day before when he had given in to the tears and misery. That and the promise he had made to himself that he would not break down like that again. Once was enough.
Greg hunched his shoulders waiting for Bobby to rip him a new one. He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a big, rough, warm hand wrap itself around his and a soft voice telling him it was going to be OK. No one expected him to just move on like nothing had happened.
Bobby’s other hand gripped Greg’s shoulder in what was almost a hug. “Greg, Steve and me will be there for you when ever you need us and probably quite a few times when you don’t. But for your own sake, you need to figure out what went so wrong when every thing was there for it to be so right. Yeah, I’ve cussed Nick pretty bad, but buddy, this wasn’t your finest hour either. And it’s pretty obvious that you don’t even realize what you did wrong let alone Nick.”
Greg looked up at Bobby and asked plaintively, “Can’t I talk to you and Steve? Why do I have to go to some stranger and spill my guts?”
Bobby rubbed his shoulder and shook him a little and laughed, “Because he’s a stranger and he’s not going to take sides. Now, are you going to call him?”
When Greg said, yes he would call him, Bobby pushed his phone over to Greg, grinned his sweet, charming grin and said, “OK cowboy, let’s take the bull by the horns and get you back up on this bad boy.”
Greg looked at him, shook his head, grabbed the card and started pushing buttons. “Sheesh, enough with the redneck platitudes already.”
=============================
Dr. Alan Perkins was the second man Greg met who was going to make a difference in his life even though Greg didn’t know it at the time.
He could see immediately why Bobby was so high on this man. They had twin personalities. Neither one was afraid to speak their mind and they took no prisoners and they sure as hell didn’t give out any ‘get out of jail free’ cards. They both expected you to accept responsibility for your own actions. Although Dr. Perkins was willing to give you some time to realize how bad your actions were.
After the first visit Greg felt like he’d been put through a wood chipper. Somewhere around the 40 minute mark, he glared at Perkins and asked, “What ever happened to the scenario where the doc just sits there and waits for the patient to open up?”
Perkins glared right back and said, “Yeah we can do that. I wouldn’t mind taking the whole family to Europe for an extended vacation but do you have the money or the time for it? Bobby said you were hurting pretty bad. I thought you wanted help, I didn’t realize you wanted to wallow for a while.”
Greg was furious. “I do not want to wallow. But good Jesus Christ, I just got everything I wanted in the whole world handed to me on a silver platter and then 5 months later it was all taken back. I don’t know what I did, what I didn’t do, what I should have done and most of all, I don’t know how I can live the rest of my life knowing I had heaven in my hands and then it was gone.” Greg was yelling but he didn’t realize that tears were rolling down his cheeks too.
Perkins nodded. He was pleased with himself. He’d gotten Greg to express emotion which he had not been doing for the previous 40 minutes. He’d just been giving him one syllable answers and no hint of his feelings. The good doctor could tell the man was hurting much worse than any physical pain could cause. He needed to get down to that hurt and lance the boil so to speak.
“That’s a good start. You just told me what your problem was and is. Now we can start working on it. How often can you come in?’
Greg looked at him and tried to keep up with Dr. Perkins rapidly changing moods. “Huh, how much do you charge?”
“Normally, I charge $150.00 an hour. For members of law enforcement, it’s $120.00 but for Bobby, it will be $100.00 an hour. I would like to see you 3 times a week and yes I realize that’s $1200.00 a month BUT I will be willing to accept $125.00 a month until it’s paid off and I won’t charge you any interest. Can you do that?”
Greg was numb at that point and said yeah, he could do that. He reminded Perkins that he worked the graveyard shift and if they had a lot of crime, he worked double and triple shifts. Perkins told him he was used to working with people in the legal profession and he would be flexible. The only thing he wouldn’t be was willing to listen to any shit, or evasions or reason’s why Greg couldn’t see him that didn’t involve blood (his or someone else’s) mayhem (his or someone else’s) or serial killers and if he had a serial killer, the good doctor wanted all the gory details. Greg didn’t realize when he said yeah and later when he wrote the first check that he had just agreed to a process that made the debriding he’d gone through when he was burned, seem like a loving caress.
************************************************
Greg met the 3rd man in his life about 2 weeks into his de-construction at the loving hands of Dr. Perkins. He was called out to a simple B & E in one of the older, better neighborhoods in Las Vegas. The home owner, an elderly man named Roger Emerson, was sitting outside on the porch when he got there. He introduced himself and the officer at the scene told Greg, he’d had Mr. Emerson wait outside because there seemed to be a lot of broken glass and he knew they weren’t supposed to disturb the scene. Greg told him to just take it easy if he was comfortable and he’d do a preliminary walk through. Then he would need him to go through the house with him and tell him what was missing.
It’s a good thing Greg was being polite to a sweet, old gentlemen. His care kept Mr. Emerson from seeing his wife lying dead on the kitchen floor. Greg called the uniform in and told the husband it would be a few more minutes, he just needed to verify some protocol issues. He asked the officer when he’d gotten the call. Just 35 minutes before. Had the husband been home. No, he’d come home after a morning at the park playing speed chess, opened the door, found the mess and went to the neighbor’s house to call it in.
Dead people weren’t Greg’s area of expertise but it was pretty obvious that Mrs. Emerson had been dead for several hours. He called in a change from a simple B & E to a 419, requested a coroner and went to tell Mr. Emerson that he was now a widower.
*************************************************
As cases went, the Emerson robbery was pretty straight forward, Fifty two hours later, Greg had identified the killer, Brass and company had picked him up and he was whining his way through a confession in one of the interrogation rooms. It wasn’t even an interesting motive. Just a punk who heard some kids talking about this old guy who taught them chess in the park 3 times a week and what a nice house he and his wife had. The punk equated ‘nice house’ with money and stuff to rip off so he casually asked the kids when they had their lessons, he would like to watch. When they told him one was coming up the next morning, the punk went to rob the house while the old dude was playing chess in the park.
Greg had never decided which was worse; deliberate, targeted killings or the ones where the victim was just collateral damage. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time and got between a piece of trash and some bling-bling the trash decided it wanted. That’s what Mrs. Emerson was; collateral damage. She was supposed to be at her quilting club but they would be celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary that week-end and she had decided on an open-house for all the kids they had taught over the years. She and Mr. Emerson were both retired teachers. She was home, cleaning the house and getting it ready. On any other Friday except this one she would have left the house at 8:45 am to get to the club meeting by 9.00am. The ladies, quilted, gossiped and then had lunch at 12.00 noon. She should not have been home until after her husband had completed his chess instruction that morning.
During the course of the investigation, Greg had spent a lot of time with Mr. Emerson. He had married his Jenny when he was 18 and she was 15. He said it was ironic, they had told her folks she was with child in order to get them to let them get married. Greg interrupted and said, “With Child?”
Mr. Emerson laughed and said, “Young man, back in those days you did not use the word ‘pregnant’ when addressing the parents of your young lady.” Greg asked what was ironic. The smile faded from the old man’s face. “Jenny couldn’t have children. She never even had a false alarm in 60 years and we both wanted kids so much. But I guess God always knows what he’s doing because in the long run, that’s what made us become teachers and foster parents. We had dozens and dozens of kids.”
Greg asked him which one of them was rich or was it both of them.
“What ever makes you think we’re rich?”
“Well, your house, your furniture. This is a really beautiful place and everything looks so expensive.”
The old man coughed and Greg could tell he was fighting not to cry. “You know the old saying about not having a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of? Well that was us. Her folks gave permission so there would be no scandal but they threw her out. My folks were just dirt poor but they let us stay in the hay loft out in the barn. We had some odds and ends of pots, dishes and a few eating utensils and Jenny’s folks did let her take her hope chest with her so we had some blankets and quilts but that was it. We used bales of hay for chairs and a table and even the bed we slept on. And we were happy. Lord we were so happy. We had each other and as far as we were concerned, that was riches beyond our wildest dreams.”
By this point, Greg was fighting not to cry. He thought briefly about his own situation and then ruthlessly shoved it all down. He was listening to someone else’s story.
“Jenny worked at the big, fancy hotel in town cleaning after the rich people who stayed there. They were redecorating one of the rooms and there was this old table that got damaged and they were going to throw it out. Jenny asked if she could have it and they gave it to her. I was good with my hands; still am in fact. Dad and I took the old pick-up down, got the table, my god it was heavy and brought it back. I fixed the broken top and cut the legs down a little to get rid of the rot in them and we used it in our loft to eat off, read and do our school work.”
“One day, I came in and threw something down on the table, I don’t even remember what now. Jenny was angry with me. The one and only time she ever got that mad at me. She swept my stuff off the table, it was dirty and oily and she told me we might be living in a hay loft but we weren’t animals. I said it was just an old table we’d picked up in an alley. She said it might have started out that way, but I’d spent 8 hours fixing it and she’d spent a lot longer than that cleaning it. I looked down at the bare place where she’d knocked my stuff off and that table was beautiful. Under the dirt and old paint and God only knows what else was on there, it was walnut; pure, solid walnut. Jenny had been working on it in every spare moment she had with some pumice and a mixture of mineral oil and turpentine. I learned my lesson right then and there. You never know where you are going to find a treasure and you may find it under layers of dirt and filth. You have to be willing to work for that treasure and if you get it, you treat it with love and respect for all the years you have it.”
Greg knew while listening the Mr. Emerson that there was a reason why he’d felt such sympathy and affection for this proud old man. He was meant to teach Greg a valuable lesson. “Do you still have the table” he asked.
“We sure do. It’s the one in the entry hall just beside the door. And the mirror above it; I made that from the leaf I took out of the table when we made it into a console.”
Greg remembered the table and the mirror. They were spectacular. They glowed with a light that only came from decades of polishing and they were carved with vines and leaves. He asked the old man if he’d done the carving. He said he sure had and it had taken him weeks to get the vines just the way Jenny wanted them.
Four weeks later, the table and mirror, along with a box and a letter were delivered to Greg’s apartment. Mr. Emerson had waited until Jenny’s killer had been found and he knew his love would get her justice then he carefully mixed a cocktail of pain-killers and nausea controlling agents. He wrote several letters and then took his pills with a good stiff Jack Daniels and coke and lay down in the bed he had shared with his beloved Jenny and quietly joined his love.
Greg did not work his suicide but Ronnie the new girl and Warrick did. When Ronnie found the letters Mr. Emerson had left, she handed them to Warrick. He took one look at the one addressed to Greg and said a silent ‘Oh Fuck’. That’s all they needed, more controversy right now. The whole lab was still reeling from the Grissom/Sidle fiasco and this just wasn’t the time for anything else.
As it turned out, it could have been much worse but one of the letters was to Mr. Emerson’s attorney who turned out to be one of his kids. He had talked at length about his wishes and how he wanted his estate settled and then he and his foster son had carefully drawn up the papers and filed them. When the attorney showed up in Conrad Ecklie’s office, accompanied by the Sheriff and one of the councilmen, (who was also one of the Emerson’s foster kids) it was all over and no shouting. The distinguished lawyer made it very clear that the small gift he’d bequeathed to Greg could not possibly be construed in any way, shape or form as a bribe. It was a gift from a grateful citizen to a member of the law enforcement community in thanks for the courtesy they had been shown. It was agreed that the table, mirror, box and letter (the latter two unopened) would be delivered to CSI Sanders apartment by an independent carrier and there would be no further involvement by any one present at that meeting.
************************************
When the movers left, Greg sat down and tried to get the sound of the theme from the Twilight Zone out of his head. This was just plain fuckin’ freaky. He and Alan, Dr. Perkins had been dropped around visit 5, had been working for almost 2 weeks on possessions and their meaning and their place in a relationship. Greg had almost died of shame when he realized that he was jealous of Nick’s house and its contents and the fact that Nick spent time on the house and contents that Greg wanted spent on him. He had deliberately treated Nick’s possessions with contempt and disdain. He’d made fun of Nick’s ‘Martha Stewart’ moments. He didn’t actually say ‘Fuck you and your new couch too’ out loud but eating in the living room and letting food get on the couch and the coffee table were just a physical demonstration of the words. Alan had asked him if there wasn’t anything of his that he felt a strong attachment to and Greg had insisted there was not. It was just furniture, he got attached to people not pieces of wood.
Now he was sitting there looking at a gorgeous table that glowed with the love lavished on it for sixty long years and he felt such pride that this beautiful thing was his that he just wanted to go over there and rub his hands over the smooth top and down the graceful curved legs and feel the vines and leaves that looked as though they were growing right out of the wood. He had read the letter as soon as the men left. Mr. Emerson told him how much he’d appreciated Greg’s treatment of him and his wife. He wished Greg had known his Jenny. He knew they would have loved each other. Every one loved his Jenny. He wanted Greg to have the table because he’d taken the time to listen to a sad, tired old man talk about times and places that were long gone everywhere but in his mind. He told Greg,his dying wish was that he would find a love as strong as he had with his wife. Greg cried. He hadn’t cried in weeks but he cried then.
He opened the box, Inside was a silver vase. Greg had seen enough silver in his Nana’s house to know this was the real stuff, He turned the vase over; sure enough there was the mark that said this was Galmer and it was .925 Solid Sterling Silver.
A delicate dragonfly hovered over a spray of flowers. Greg knew this little 8 inches of solid weight in his hands was easily worth over a thousand dollars. He remembered seeing the vase sitting on the table in the Emerson entry. There were other treasures in the box; Waterford candle sticks and an exquisitely carved wooden box inset with mother of pearl.
Greg found the letter from the lawyer and called the number on the letterhead. He was put through at once when he gave the secretary his name. He heard the low measured tones he heard before when the lawyer had called him to tell him his foster father had taken his own life.
“Mr. Sanders, I hope the table and other items were delivered safely.”
“Yes they were but I just opened the box that you sent with the table and mirror. Did you pack the box sir?”
“No, my dad told me he was packing a small box for you that was to be delivered along with the table. Please don’t tell me something was broken?” There was worry for the first time in the soft, cultured voice.
“No, Mr. Barton, everything is in perfect condition but you need to know that at least one of the items in the box is pretty valuable and it’s possible your dad might not have known what he was giving me.”
“Oh you must mean the Galmer vase. Yes, I’m sure it’s over $800.00 by now.”
“Well, actually sir, it’s more like over a thousand. My Nana loved silver and I got a good education growing up in her home. This vase is very expensive and I think he would have wanted his kids to have it.”
There was a long moment of silence and then Mr. Barton said, “You’re quite right Greg and as far as my father was concerned, one of his kids does have it. My foster brothers and sisters want you to have the things because our dad wanted you to have them. You were there for him in a way none of us could have been and we will always be grateful.” There was another moment of silence and then with a small chuckle, Mr. Barton added, “You know you’re part of the family now. Keep in touch Bro.”
Did that cultured well-educated voice just call him BRO? Greg sat down on his couch and laughed ‘til his sides ached.
Rating: PG for language and adult content
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Warnings: None
Summary: Sorry no sex in this one.
Spoilers: None
A/N: This is a sequel to ‘Putting Down Roots’ which you can find
here
Previous parts of this story can be found here
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's Five Stages of Grief
denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
I think we’ve pretty well established by now that Greg is a smart guy. He has a capacity for learning new things that is pretty astonishing but he has never, ever, not ever learned as much as he has in the last 5 weeks; mostly about himself. He also isn’t psychic. If he were, he would know that he would be strongly influenced, literally influenced for life, by 3 special men. Bobby Dawson was just the first.
First, he learned what a rock Bobby Dawson was. If you put his partner Steve with him and they decided they liked you; man you had the Rocky Mountains for back-up. Bobby was like John Wayne toilet paper; rough and tough and didn’t take no shit off nobody.
When Greg got to work that night after his ‘breakfast’ with Bobby, he felt like he’d gone 9 rounds with the Spanish Inquisition and believe me, the score was Spain 9, Sanders zero. He was somewhat afraid to see Bobby again. He had made no bones about his feelings about the whole Stokes/Sanders soap opera so Greg was really taken by surprise when Dawson marched into the break room, grabbed Greg by the arm and drug him down the hall to ballistics. He shut the door, sat Greg down and handed him a business card.
“What or who is this?”
“That’s someone who specializes in couple’s therapy and I don’t just mean straight couples.”
“Well, in case you weren’t there this morning and it was your evil twin, there is no couple any more.”
“Do you ever want or expect to be a ‘couple’ again?”
“I would like that, yes.”
“Then you better get your shit together. You and Nick both made so many mistakes in this whole thing I don’t know where to start. But this guy does AND he will help you to change your wicked, wicked ways so you don’t make the same mistakes again. And maybe, just maybe if you really pay attention, you won’t make different mistakes the next time around.”
“What difference is it gonna make if it’s just me going to see him. Doesn’t Nick need to be there too?”
“Greg, I’m only goin’ to say this once. You can’t be responsible for anyone’s behavior in this whole wide world except your own. Are you telling me you won’t be a ‘couple’ with anyone but Nick ever again? Cause if that’s what you’re sayin’ then I’m not wasting any more time on you. You’re not only a dumb, noodle-headed wimp, you’re a cowardly one as well.”
Greg looked sadly at this man he was beginning to realize just might be his best friend in the whole world and said, “He’s all I’ve thought of or dreamed of for the last seven years Bobby. I can’t just say, ‘Oh well, too bad, I’ll just find someone new.’ There just isn’t anyone like Nick. He was everything I wanted and the worst thing of all was that when we did get together, he was better than any dream or fantasy I’d ever had.”
Greg looked down at Bobby’s desk and tried to keep himself from falling apart at work. He was so close to just going into a dark closet and crying like a baby. The only thing stopping him, was the memory of the way he had looked the day before when he had given in to the tears and misery. That and the promise he had made to himself that he would not break down like that again. Once was enough.
Greg hunched his shoulders waiting for Bobby to rip him a new one. He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a big, rough, warm hand wrap itself around his and a soft voice telling him it was going to be OK. No one expected him to just move on like nothing had happened.
Bobby’s other hand gripped Greg’s shoulder in what was almost a hug. “Greg, Steve and me will be there for you when ever you need us and probably quite a few times when you don’t. But for your own sake, you need to figure out what went so wrong when every thing was there for it to be so right. Yeah, I’ve cussed Nick pretty bad, but buddy, this wasn’t your finest hour either. And it’s pretty obvious that you don’t even realize what you did wrong let alone Nick.”
Greg looked up at Bobby and asked plaintively, “Can’t I talk to you and Steve? Why do I have to go to some stranger and spill my guts?”
Bobby rubbed his shoulder and shook him a little and laughed, “Because he’s a stranger and he’s not going to take sides. Now, are you going to call him?”
When Greg said, yes he would call him, Bobby pushed his phone over to Greg, grinned his sweet, charming grin and said, “OK cowboy, let’s take the bull by the horns and get you back up on this bad boy.”
Greg looked at him, shook his head, grabbed the card and started pushing buttons. “Sheesh, enough with the redneck platitudes already.”
=============================
Dr. Alan Perkins was the second man Greg met who was going to make a difference in his life even though Greg didn’t know it at the time.
He could see immediately why Bobby was so high on this man. They had twin personalities. Neither one was afraid to speak their mind and they took no prisoners and they sure as hell didn’t give out any ‘get out of jail free’ cards. They both expected you to accept responsibility for your own actions. Although Dr. Perkins was willing to give you some time to realize how bad your actions were.
After the first visit Greg felt like he’d been put through a wood chipper. Somewhere around the 40 minute mark, he glared at Perkins and asked, “What ever happened to the scenario where the doc just sits there and waits for the patient to open up?”
Perkins glared right back and said, “Yeah we can do that. I wouldn’t mind taking the whole family to Europe for an extended vacation but do you have the money or the time for it? Bobby said you were hurting pretty bad. I thought you wanted help, I didn’t realize you wanted to wallow for a while.”
Greg was furious. “I do not want to wallow. But good Jesus Christ, I just got everything I wanted in the whole world handed to me on a silver platter and then 5 months later it was all taken back. I don’t know what I did, what I didn’t do, what I should have done and most of all, I don’t know how I can live the rest of my life knowing I had heaven in my hands and then it was gone.” Greg was yelling but he didn’t realize that tears were rolling down his cheeks too.
Perkins nodded. He was pleased with himself. He’d gotten Greg to express emotion which he had not been doing for the previous 40 minutes. He’d just been giving him one syllable answers and no hint of his feelings. The good doctor could tell the man was hurting much worse than any physical pain could cause. He needed to get down to that hurt and lance the boil so to speak.
“That’s a good start. You just told me what your problem was and is. Now we can start working on it. How often can you come in?’
Greg looked at him and tried to keep up with Dr. Perkins rapidly changing moods. “Huh, how much do you charge?”
“Normally, I charge $150.00 an hour. For members of law enforcement, it’s $120.00 but for Bobby, it will be $100.00 an hour. I would like to see you 3 times a week and yes I realize that’s $1200.00 a month BUT I will be willing to accept $125.00 a month until it’s paid off and I won’t charge you any interest. Can you do that?”
Greg was numb at that point and said yeah, he could do that. He reminded Perkins that he worked the graveyard shift and if they had a lot of crime, he worked double and triple shifts. Perkins told him he was used to working with people in the legal profession and he would be flexible. The only thing he wouldn’t be was willing to listen to any shit, or evasions or reason’s why Greg couldn’t see him that didn’t involve blood (his or someone else’s) mayhem (his or someone else’s) or serial killers and if he had a serial killer, the good doctor wanted all the gory details. Greg didn’t realize when he said yeah and later when he wrote the first check that he had just agreed to a process that made the debriding he’d gone through when he was burned, seem like a loving caress.
************************************************
Greg met the 3rd man in his life about 2 weeks into his de-construction at the loving hands of Dr. Perkins. He was called out to a simple B & E in one of the older, better neighborhoods in Las Vegas. The home owner, an elderly man named Roger Emerson, was sitting outside on the porch when he got there. He introduced himself and the officer at the scene told Greg, he’d had Mr. Emerson wait outside because there seemed to be a lot of broken glass and he knew they weren’t supposed to disturb the scene. Greg told him to just take it easy if he was comfortable and he’d do a preliminary walk through. Then he would need him to go through the house with him and tell him what was missing.
It’s a good thing Greg was being polite to a sweet, old gentlemen. His care kept Mr. Emerson from seeing his wife lying dead on the kitchen floor. Greg called the uniform in and told the husband it would be a few more minutes, he just needed to verify some protocol issues. He asked the officer when he’d gotten the call. Just 35 minutes before. Had the husband been home. No, he’d come home after a morning at the park playing speed chess, opened the door, found the mess and went to the neighbor’s house to call it in.
Dead people weren’t Greg’s area of expertise but it was pretty obvious that Mrs. Emerson had been dead for several hours. He called in a change from a simple B & E to a 419, requested a coroner and went to tell Mr. Emerson that he was now a widower.
*************************************************
As cases went, the Emerson robbery was pretty straight forward, Fifty two hours later, Greg had identified the killer, Brass and company had picked him up and he was whining his way through a confession in one of the interrogation rooms. It wasn’t even an interesting motive. Just a punk who heard some kids talking about this old guy who taught them chess in the park 3 times a week and what a nice house he and his wife had. The punk equated ‘nice house’ with money and stuff to rip off so he casually asked the kids when they had their lessons, he would like to watch. When they told him one was coming up the next morning, the punk went to rob the house while the old dude was playing chess in the park.
Greg had never decided which was worse; deliberate, targeted killings or the ones where the victim was just collateral damage. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time and got between a piece of trash and some bling-bling the trash decided it wanted. That’s what Mrs. Emerson was; collateral damage. She was supposed to be at her quilting club but they would be celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary that week-end and she had decided on an open-house for all the kids they had taught over the years. She and Mr. Emerson were both retired teachers. She was home, cleaning the house and getting it ready. On any other Friday except this one she would have left the house at 8:45 am to get to the club meeting by 9.00am. The ladies, quilted, gossiped and then had lunch at 12.00 noon. She should not have been home until after her husband had completed his chess instruction that morning.
During the course of the investigation, Greg had spent a lot of time with Mr. Emerson. He had married his Jenny when he was 18 and she was 15. He said it was ironic, they had told her folks she was with child in order to get them to let them get married. Greg interrupted and said, “With Child?”
Mr. Emerson laughed and said, “Young man, back in those days you did not use the word ‘pregnant’ when addressing the parents of your young lady.” Greg asked what was ironic. The smile faded from the old man’s face. “Jenny couldn’t have children. She never even had a false alarm in 60 years and we both wanted kids so much. But I guess God always knows what he’s doing because in the long run, that’s what made us become teachers and foster parents. We had dozens and dozens of kids.”
Greg asked him which one of them was rich or was it both of them.
“What ever makes you think we’re rich?”
“Well, your house, your furniture. This is a really beautiful place and everything looks so expensive.”
The old man coughed and Greg could tell he was fighting not to cry. “You know the old saying about not having a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of? Well that was us. Her folks gave permission so there would be no scandal but they threw her out. My folks were just dirt poor but they let us stay in the hay loft out in the barn. We had some odds and ends of pots, dishes and a few eating utensils and Jenny’s folks did let her take her hope chest with her so we had some blankets and quilts but that was it. We used bales of hay for chairs and a table and even the bed we slept on. And we were happy. Lord we were so happy. We had each other and as far as we were concerned, that was riches beyond our wildest dreams.”
By this point, Greg was fighting not to cry. He thought briefly about his own situation and then ruthlessly shoved it all down. He was listening to someone else’s story.
“Jenny worked at the big, fancy hotel in town cleaning after the rich people who stayed there. They were redecorating one of the rooms and there was this old table that got damaged and they were going to throw it out. Jenny asked if she could have it and they gave it to her. I was good with my hands; still am in fact. Dad and I took the old pick-up down, got the table, my god it was heavy and brought it back. I fixed the broken top and cut the legs down a little to get rid of the rot in them and we used it in our loft to eat off, read and do our school work.”
“One day, I came in and threw something down on the table, I don’t even remember what now. Jenny was angry with me. The one and only time she ever got that mad at me. She swept my stuff off the table, it was dirty and oily and she told me we might be living in a hay loft but we weren’t animals. I said it was just an old table we’d picked up in an alley. She said it might have started out that way, but I’d spent 8 hours fixing it and she’d spent a lot longer than that cleaning it. I looked down at the bare place where she’d knocked my stuff off and that table was beautiful. Under the dirt and old paint and God only knows what else was on there, it was walnut; pure, solid walnut. Jenny had been working on it in every spare moment she had with some pumice and a mixture of mineral oil and turpentine. I learned my lesson right then and there. You never know where you are going to find a treasure and you may find it under layers of dirt and filth. You have to be willing to work for that treasure and if you get it, you treat it with love and respect for all the years you have it.”
Greg knew while listening the Mr. Emerson that there was a reason why he’d felt such sympathy and affection for this proud old man. He was meant to teach Greg a valuable lesson. “Do you still have the table” he asked.
“We sure do. It’s the one in the entry hall just beside the door. And the mirror above it; I made that from the leaf I took out of the table when we made it into a console.”
Greg remembered the table and the mirror. They were spectacular. They glowed with a light that only came from decades of polishing and they were carved with vines and leaves. He asked the old man if he’d done the carving. He said he sure had and it had taken him weeks to get the vines just the way Jenny wanted them.
Four weeks later, the table and mirror, along with a box and a letter were delivered to Greg’s apartment. Mr. Emerson had waited until Jenny’s killer had been found and he knew his love would get her justice then he carefully mixed a cocktail of pain-killers and nausea controlling agents. He wrote several letters and then took his pills with a good stiff Jack Daniels and coke and lay down in the bed he had shared with his beloved Jenny and quietly joined his love.
Greg did not work his suicide but Ronnie the new girl and Warrick did. When Ronnie found the letters Mr. Emerson had left, she handed them to Warrick. He took one look at the one addressed to Greg and said a silent ‘Oh Fuck’. That’s all they needed, more controversy right now. The whole lab was still reeling from the Grissom/Sidle fiasco and this just wasn’t the time for anything else.
As it turned out, it could have been much worse but one of the letters was to Mr. Emerson’s attorney who turned out to be one of his kids. He had talked at length about his wishes and how he wanted his estate settled and then he and his foster son had carefully drawn up the papers and filed them. When the attorney showed up in Conrad Ecklie’s office, accompanied by the Sheriff and one of the councilmen, (who was also one of the Emerson’s foster kids) it was all over and no shouting. The distinguished lawyer made it very clear that the small gift he’d bequeathed to Greg could not possibly be construed in any way, shape or form as a bribe. It was a gift from a grateful citizen to a member of the law enforcement community in thanks for the courtesy they had been shown. It was agreed that the table, mirror, box and letter (the latter two unopened) would be delivered to CSI Sanders apartment by an independent carrier and there would be no further involvement by any one present at that meeting.
************************************
When the movers left, Greg sat down and tried to get the sound of the theme from the Twilight Zone out of his head. This was just plain fuckin’ freaky. He and Alan, Dr. Perkins had been dropped around visit 5, had been working for almost 2 weeks on possessions and their meaning and their place in a relationship. Greg had almost died of shame when he realized that he was jealous of Nick’s house and its contents and the fact that Nick spent time on the house and contents that Greg wanted spent on him. He had deliberately treated Nick’s possessions with contempt and disdain. He’d made fun of Nick’s ‘Martha Stewart’ moments. He didn’t actually say ‘Fuck you and your new couch too’ out loud but eating in the living room and letting food get on the couch and the coffee table were just a physical demonstration of the words. Alan had asked him if there wasn’t anything of his that he felt a strong attachment to and Greg had insisted there was not. It was just furniture, he got attached to people not pieces of wood.
Now he was sitting there looking at a gorgeous table that glowed with the love lavished on it for sixty long years and he felt such pride that this beautiful thing was his that he just wanted to go over there and rub his hands over the smooth top and down the graceful curved legs and feel the vines and leaves that looked as though they were growing right out of the wood. He had read the letter as soon as the men left. Mr. Emerson told him how much he’d appreciated Greg’s treatment of him and his wife. He wished Greg had known his Jenny. He knew they would have loved each other. Every one loved his Jenny. He wanted Greg to have the table because he’d taken the time to listen to a sad, tired old man talk about times and places that were long gone everywhere but in his mind. He told Greg,his dying wish was that he would find a love as strong as he had with his wife. Greg cried. He hadn’t cried in weeks but he cried then.
He opened the box, Inside was a silver vase. Greg had seen enough silver in his Nana’s house to know this was the real stuff, He turned the vase over; sure enough there was the mark that said this was Galmer and it was .925 Solid Sterling Silver.
A delicate dragonfly hovered over a spray of flowers. Greg knew this little 8 inches of solid weight in his hands was easily worth over a thousand dollars. He remembered seeing the vase sitting on the table in the Emerson entry. There were other treasures in the box; Waterford candle sticks and an exquisitely carved wooden box inset with mother of pearl.
Greg found the letter from the lawyer and called the number on the letterhead. He was put through at once when he gave the secretary his name. He heard the low measured tones he heard before when the lawyer had called him to tell him his foster father had taken his own life.
“Mr. Sanders, I hope the table and other items were delivered safely.”
“Yes they were but I just opened the box that you sent with the table and mirror. Did you pack the box sir?”
“No, my dad told me he was packing a small box for you that was to be delivered along with the table. Please don’t tell me something was broken?” There was worry for the first time in the soft, cultured voice.
“No, Mr. Barton, everything is in perfect condition but you need to know that at least one of the items in the box is pretty valuable and it’s possible your dad might not have known what he was giving me.”
“Oh you must mean the Galmer vase. Yes, I’m sure it’s over $800.00 by now.”
“Well, actually sir, it’s more like over a thousand. My Nana loved silver and I got a good education growing up in her home. This vase is very expensive and I think he would have wanted his kids to have it.”
There was a long moment of silence and then Mr. Barton said, “You’re quite right Greg and as far as my father was concerned, one of his kids does have it. My foster brothers and sisters want you to have the things because our dad wanted you to have them. You were there for him in a way none of us could have been and we will always be grateful.” There was another moment of silence and then with a small chuckle, Mr. Barton added, “You know you’re part of the family now. Keep in touch Bro.”
Did that cultured well-educated voice just call him BRO? Greg sat down on his couch and laughed ‘til his sides ached.
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