Chapter Text
It was a bright springtime afternoon in Las Vegas, Nevada but you could never tell in this place. The lab had few windows opened but even then, nobody paid attention to them anyways. Not today. Not while James Yoder was being walked into the interrogation room by a group of police officers with fingers hovering over their guns. He was a tall, dark haired man with piercing green eyes and an arrogant smile. His job at a law firm had many perks after all which warranted such confidence. They had found his DNA at the crime scene and they still couldn't arrest him. Not when it was illegally attained without the store owners permission. He had seen to that. He had only scared him though, once he was done with whatever dog and pony show this meeting would be about, he would make sure the store owner never had a chance to find his courage. That's what this whole escort was about. They knew it was him, had the evidence, but couldn't use it in court. Fruit from the poisonous tree, so to speak.
About two weeks ago, Sara and Greg had arrived at a crime scene in an ally, where two bodies, one male and one female, were found stabbed to death beside a dumpster. Their clothes were ripped, exposing their bodies to the desert heat and placed like lovers on the ground. They were the third couple to be found as such and the city as a whole was beginning to panic. No one felt safe. Store owners frequently told people to leave in groups, and some had even gone as far as providing security escorts to wherever they were parked. There was a nervousness that spread from residents, and stories that spread to tourists who didn't know better.
Sara joined Dave, who hovered over the bodies with a grim expression. He'd been there for all three of the Adam and Eve crime scenes and each had grown more grotesque than the one before. He knew after the first scene, that they were dealing with a serial killer and he would strike again. The presentation of the bodies was too specific to say otherwise. Neither of the previous couples had known each other as far as they could tell, in fact they couldn't find any evidence that they'd even walked the same street. The first two were a DJ and a receptionist, the second a dog walker and a trucker. Dave was sure this couple would be the same. Two people forced to embrace strangers in death.
Sara pulled her hair into a ponytail and started photographing. Greg slowly made his way down the alley looking for anything out of the ordinary, knowing he wouldn't find anything. Even the first crime scene seemed peculiarly clean, like he'd done it before. There'd been no DNA, no trace evidence, no trace to follow the victims. It was sporadic and chaotic, and still, perfectly executed.
He exited the alley and looked down both ways, squinting in the sunlight, his hand over his eyes blocking it out, and found a convenience store with security cameras not far away. The owner was more than happy to show him the tapes and answer his questions, though quite disturbed by how close a murderer had been to him that night. He'd heard nothing nor had he seen anything. As Greg was watching the tapes from the previous night, he noticed a man keeping his face down. Not entirely odd, but what made him watch him more carefully was his odd style. He wore a black suit, his tie loose around his neck, with white tennis shoes and a matching cap in the middle of the night. For Vegas, that was really quite tame, but he wondered what a man in a suit would be doing in that neighborhood and slowed the tape to watch in real time. The man walked to the back, grabbed a fountain drink and brought it to the register. While the storeowners back was to him getting his change, he brought his fingers to his mouth and casually and smoothly placed his hand under the counter. Greg immediately left the small back room with the 14 inch TV he'd been staring at, and examined that same counter. What he found was a plethora of pink, green, and white wads of gum. Some with very distinct fingerprints.
They were all brought back and analyzed. Fingerprints were taken where they could be found, and DNA extracted at the lab. Neither Greg or Sara thought they'd get anything useful. Indeed, nearly all the fingerprints didn't match anyone on file. The DNA too, offered little results.
Except, it would appear they'd finally caught a break. One of the fingerprints came back to a lawyer named James Yoder, as was required by Nevada state law for all lawyers. He was brought in for questioning, a smugness to his demeanor, and played the unwitting bystander. A man simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Brass however, liked to think he had a nose for bullshit, and this man was a heaping pile of it. There was something off with him. He was too charming, his tone too sympathetic to feel genuine. He made intense eye contact like he was trying to charm a snake.
"Well hey Jim," he'd said as he leaned forward, a slight grin that didn't reach his eyes, "I really do hope you catch this bastard. I for one, would feel a lot safer if he was behind bars."
Brass feigned a liking to him, pretending he'd won him over and said, "Wouldn't we all. I appreciate you giving us your time Mr. Yoder."
Brass stood and extended his hand to him. Yoder mimicked his behavior and shook it.
"Anything to help our boys in blue. I wouldn't have a job if it wasn't for you guys," James said coyly.
Brass laughed.
"I'll remember that the next time I need a lawyer for my divorce. Should get a hefty discount," Brass joked.
Yoder laughed and said, "Should've hired me. I could have got her to pay you alimony."
“Well, thank you again for your time. I’ll just need you to wait in my office while we finish up a few things. Shouldn’t be more than 10 minutes. I’d hate to have to call you back in just to sign a few papers.”
the corner of Yoders lip fell just slightly, just enough for Brass to see his mind whirling, trying to find an escape route, but soon enough the grin was back.
"Like I said. Anything you need."
Unbeknownst to Yoder, they'd already had his DNA on file. All thanks to the last victim, who had fought with such ferocity, that his saliva was found deep under her nails and escaped the cleaning he'd done to them.
There was no denying that Yoder was their man. However, the reason Brass could not outright arrest him was because the storeowner it seemed, never gave permission to Greg to, as he put it, "damage or harm his property," a line that felt to Brass straight from the lawyers mouth. He'd gotten to him, Brass was sure of it, and it took more than a little convincing to get the storeowner to come around. It wasn't until he was offered witness protection for everyone in his family, including a visiting cousin, that he agreed.
Yoder now strolled through the halls, prepared to combat whatever they thought they had on him. He could argue away the DNA, continue to feign ignorance, plead that he was an innocent man caught in the middle of the police's desperation to reclaim control of the situation, a victim even, as his name was dragged through the mud in national news. Maybe his DNA was mixed up, maybe he'd slept with her before. They couldn't prove anything without a doubt and they knew it. They had't explained to him what exactly they wanted to question him about this time. He suspected they just wanted to dance, go through his alibi once more, try to slip him up, and he planned for every possible avenue they could try. They would do their dance today, and tomorrow he'd be on his way to the next state.
Something felt off though. He suspected they'd had more on him than he'd believed. Looking around at the staring faces, he noticed they all seemed either fearful or triumphant. It didn't occur to him what was happening until he saw that fat, old, man sitting in the waiting room with a red headed woman. He knew what was happening now. The storeowner had found his courage sooner than he liked, and his confident smile turned quickly to anger. With no other option, he pushed the officers aside and grabbed the nearest onlooker, holding tightly to his torso as he pushed a thin blade into his shaking throat. The scene turned drastically to desperation as one of their own clawed at the hand pressing firmly into his neck, his eyes wide with panic. Immediately people began hiding, some shaking themselves, unable to look away at the horror in front of them. Hodges himself had ducked, his hand brought to his mouth in surprise as Greg Sanders was trapped, grasped onto like a life preserver by a serial killer.
"Nobody moves or there's going to be blood shed," shouted Yoder, as he slowly inched away from the officers he'd just pushed. Hearing the commotion, Brass appeared out of the interrogation room, but stopped short when he saw the reason why. James turned to his direction and shouted, "Stay away!"
The lab fell eerily silent. Even the whir of the machines seemed to dissipate into the background.
"You don't want to do this Mr. Yoder. Just let my colleague go and we can discuss your terms," said Brass calmly, keeping the panic at bay.
"Terms don't get listened to without leverage," Yoder said sternly, still backing away. Brass followed his steps, careful to maintain his distance.
"Okay, I'm listening," Brass continued, his voice steady, "Whatever you need. We don't want anything to happen to our friend here."
"That's good to know Brass. But I must say, my hands are not what they used to be and could slip at any time," he said snakily, pressing the small blade deep enough to break his skin. Greg hissed as a small treacle of blood oozed gently down and kissed his collar.
Catherine was talking to the storeowner when she heard a crash, a gasp, and a scream all at once. She pushed the man to the floor of the waiting room and out of sight. Then quickly stood and looked around. Her hands were brought to her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise, as she saw her friend, held tightly by Yoder. Word had spread around the lab quickly and soon Sara and Nick were standing beside her, both jaws dropped in surprise. Nick thought briefly of pulling his gun and sneaking up behind him, but when his hand lingered over his weapon, Catherine stopped him.
"The knife is too close," was all she whispered. Nick grimaced, yet pulled his hand away and balled them into fists. He couldn't see Greg's face, but he was sure by the uneven breathing of his chest, that he was panicking.
Sara clutched onto to Catherines arm, feeling the need to hold onto something solid in the wake of something so unbelievable. Her eyes fixated on the small dribble of blood that had reached his blue shirt and remembered another time in the lab when she'd seen him this vulnerable, this frightened, and sucked in a breath, unable to release it.
"Alright, alight," Brass said, the first hint of concern sliding out. "What do you want."
Whatever it is, just give it to him, she thought.
"I'm walking out of here. We're going to take the elevator down and I'm going to get in my truck and leave. You are not to follow, and I want the roads cleared," he replied, still stepping closer and closer to the elevator until his back was pressed against the door.
"I think we can do that for you James," said Brass. "Why don't we do this though. I'll walk you down myself, hell I'll give you my own car, and we can leave Mr. Sanders here. You don't need him."
Then suddenly the stairs to the exit blew open and an officer came barreling out gun in hand. In surprise, Yoder had turned too quickly and thrust the blade deep within Greg's neck. He yelled in pain, clutching around Yoders hands now slippery with blood.
Nick and Sara, and many of the others, gasped in surprise and horror. Catherine on the other hand had turned away, unable to watch. Yoder didn't waste any time as the elevator door dinged open, and the bloodied pair stepped on leaving a trail in their wake. Once the door closed, it was like the air had returned to the space. Lab personnel huddled around each other and fled. The machine noises grew louder, colors more intense.
Brass and a few officers wasted no time in taking the stairs down, only beat by Nick who'd somehow made it across the hall before they did.
He shouldn't have been there, Greg thought. He was supposed to have been in the trace lab, working on fibers for a different case. That's all he could think about. He shouldn't have been there at all and maybe he wouldn't be bleeding all over his new shirt with a knife jammed into an open wound. Yoder still clutched him so tightly he could feel his breath against his ear, could feel his chest moving as he breathed.
Blood continued to poor. Making its way down his pants and into his favorite converse. He could feel the warm liquid cool as it did until it felt like ice. He wondered how much he'd lost already, and how much time he had before he bled out. He thought his life would flash before his eyes, though maybe that didn't happen on your third brush with death. Yes, this would be his third, all of which came from this job, a job that only paid so-so. He didn't think that possible. How often can one person be in the wrong place at the wrong time?
The elevator doors dinged open and Yoder quickly pushed Greg out and towards a black truck.
They'd reached the side door when they heard a man shout "Hey! Stop!"
Yoder turned Greg around, once more using him as a body shield, then made another decision as Brass and a few officers fell in line behind Nick. He opened the passenger door and slid in with Greg, who struggled to climb his way in backwards and not get the blade dug in deeper. Yoder let him go as he pulled his keys out and turned the vehicle on. Greg still held one hand to his neck while he fumbled with the side door handle, finding it difficult not only from how slippery his hands were, but because he found himself becoming more and more light headed and weak. Once the vehicle was on though, the gear in place, Yoder quickly reached over and pulled Greg closer to him as he sped out.
He was sure he heard shouting, was sure he heard gun shots, yet all he could concentrate on was the slow drumming beat in his neck, and the taste of copper on his tongue.
Next thing he knew, Yoder was dragging him out of the vehicle and into another one.
"You madeitout of dabuilding, you don't need me n'more," said Greg drowsily. James ignored him as he reached into the backseat and pulled out a roll of duct tape. He taped a small rag tightly around his neck, making him wince in pain, then handed Greg a sweater.
"Put this on," he said gruffly. "Hood up."
Greg did as he said, slowly, painfully, careful not to disturb his wound, wondering where on earth the cops could be. How could he have eluded them so easily from their own backyard?
After the sweater was placed, Yoder reached over and duct taped his hands next to the door. Then he reached into the glove box and pulled out the keys and started the car. It occurred to Greg then, how strange it was that he knew where everything was in this vehicle he procured, and had to conclude that it must have been his car- his escape plan. Sure enough, while Yoder calmly drove the streets of Vegas and headed towards the sunset, Greg watched as police vehicles sped past, searching, he was sure, for the black truck they'd just left. Greg leaned his head against the window, too woozy to remain upright, and watched as the lights of the city passed, and eventually faded away behind them.