Title: Baby Ripper
Author: Mingsmommy
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of its characters.
A/N: Thanks to dreams_of_him for the super speedy Beta and the amazing banner. She is the absolute best. And she thought of the creepy serial killer name. This is a casefile with a smattering of Grissom/Sara. General spoilers through Season 7.
This is a birthday fic for belismakr who wanted Grissom in a Lamaze class. This is probably not what she had in mind. HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANYWAY, KRISTEN!




She didn’t understand.

Mama was crying and calling Daddy horrible names.

But Daddy wasn’t paying any attention. He just kept putting clothes in the suitcase. Folding them tightly and tucking the items into the case with the precision that he did everything.

She worried that maybe Mama had found out their secret. Daddy said he would never tell and she couldn’t either. Of course she wouldn’t tell. He was her special Daddy and she was his girl and Mama wouldn’t like it if she knew the secret

She stood in the hall, watched and listened.

“You’re leaving us? Leaving us for that whore?” Mama was screaming at Daddy. “Knocked her up and you’re doing the honorable thing?” She snorted. “You think it’s honorable to leave your wife and child for some bimbo and her bastard? It’s probably not even yours.”

Daddy was leaving? For good? No, that couldn’t be right. Daddy might leave Mama but he would never leave her. She was his girl.

Mama reached across the bed for the suitcase and tilted it as if to dump the contents out on the floor. Daddy reached across and gripped her wrists so tight Mama cried out. He pushed her hard against the wall and Mama slid down crying. He closed the suitcase and latched it.

“Daddy?” Her lips were stiff and she tried telling herself she had nothing to be afraid of. But she was afraid. She was really, really scared. “Daddy?”

He heard her that time and turned to look at her pulling the case off the bed as he did so. “What is it, Princess?”

She swallowed hard. “Do I need to pack too?”

His face scrunched up for a moment and then cleared. “Oh, no, Sweetheart. You’re staying here with your Mama.” He pulled her into a tight hug. “You remember Anna from Church?”

She nodded dumbly. “Well, I’m going to be staying with her for awhile.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back. “You’re going to have a little brother or a little sister soon.” His hands rested against her bottom and he squeezed, pressing her tight, tight against him. “But you’ll always be my girl. My special, special girl.”

He looked over at his wife where she cowered against the wall weeping. “Let’s go to your room and I’ll say a proper goodbye.”

She tried to smile her special smile for him. Really, she did. But he was leaving no matter how special she was.

She nodded as she turned towards her room. “Yes, Daddy.”

---

Everyone in the meeting room had the same thought.

She was the sixth one.

The sixth in four years.

None of the babies had been found.

Holding his notebook but barely glancing at it, Brass reeled off the stats for victim number six. “Kristen Meyers. Twenty-seven years old, white female, five feet seven inches tall. Brown hair, brown eyes, approximately thirty-nine weeks pregnant.” He flipped the notebook closed with a flick of his wrist. “Missing just under five hours.”

He looked at the assembled group of deputies, detectives and investigators, his stare piercing and mournful. “Most of you know the Coroner’s assistant, David Phillips. Mrs. Meyers is his sister. This is one of our own, people.” His gaze moved around the room. “I hope I don’t have to tell you all how important every second is to this investigation. Every minute is critical in bringing Mrs. Meyers and her child home safe.”

The time of death for each of the bodies had been anywhere from four days to three weeks from the time of disappearance. Each woman had given birth either naturally or via primitive c-section before being murdered. In at least one instance, exsanguination from the amateur caesarian had been the cause of death.

He pointed to the white board where assignments had been written. “Report to your team leaders. Be thorough and be quick. Move out.”

He approached Doc Robbins at the back of the room as the various people gathered their belongings and left the meeting room.

They exchanged troubled glances before Brass spoke. “David specifically requested third shift CSIs for this case; Ecklie backed him on it. I think it’s a good call.” He tucked the notebook into his jacket pocket. “I’ve got the house roped off and some uniforms on scene. Grissom and the others are on their way over there now.”

Robbins nodded, almost absently. “They’re a very close knit family. I haven’t been able to reach David, understandably perhaps.”

“David is there with his folks and the husband. Probably left his phone at home or accidentally cut it off or something.”

The coroner hesitated a moment, then asked. “Is there any chance it’s a mistake? Could she be out running errands?” He didn’t really think so but he was hoping for David and his sister’s sake that it was simply a miscommunication coupled with the over protectiveness that accompanied all pregnant women in southern Nevada in the last few years.

Brass shook his head, sadly. “Car is in the garage, purse and keys on the counter, cell phone on the charger. House was unlocked.”

Robbins released a breath, “Damn.”

“Yeah.” The detective consulted his watch. “Look, I gotta get to the scene.”

“Of course,” the doctor began, but he was already talking to Brass’s back. “Jim, if you hear anything…”

“I’ll keep you posted.” And he was gone.

---

“Mr. Meyers, when was the last time you spoke with your wife?” Grissom studied David Phillips’s brother-in-law. He was obviously quite a bit older than his wife; maybe by as much as two decades; Grissom put him in his mid-to-late forties. He was a handsome man, with dark hair shot through with silver.

When Grissom had first entered the kitchen of the large, elegantly appointed home, David Phillips had been sitting at the kitchen table with his brother-in-law and his parents. All three of the men wore expressions of various states of shock and the woman was weeping quietly. There was activity all around them, but the kitchen table was an island of stunned apprehension and dismay.

After offering his support and assurances that his team of CSIs would do everything possible to find his sister, David had introduced him to his mother and brother-in-law. Colonel Phillips stoically shook Grissom’s hand, but only nodded when David remarked, “Dad, you remember Dr. Grissom.”

The team was spread through the house gathering anything that might possibly be considered evidence. There was no sign of a struggle, nothing seemed out of place or disturbed. None of the other vics had been taken from their homes. All the others had disappeared from public places.

David had thoughtfully moved his parents to another part of the house while Grissom and Detective Vartann interviewed Eric Meyers.

The man in question looked devastated to Grissom. “It was…uh, I called to check on her about 10:00 this morning.” He idly twisted his wedding band around his finger. “I got an e-mail from her a little after 11:00 saying she was going to meet Lily…Lily Hagar, she’s our Lamaze instructor. They were supposed to meet at the bookstore this afternoon around 3:00. Lily called me around 3:30 asking if Kristen was all right because she hadn’t shown.”

Vartann made a note on his pad. “We’ll need her contact information.”

Meyers dug out his wallet and withdrew a business card. “Here.”

The detective placed the card on his pad and scribbled another note. “What did you do after,” he consulted the card, “Ms. Hagar called to say your wife didn’t meet her?”

Meyers swallowed visibly. “I started calling and rushed home.” His face bore a look of utter helplessness. “The door was unlocked and she was nowhere in the house. I started calling everybody, every place I could think of…I called her Mom and she called David and he called Detective Brass.”

He turned a tortured gaze to the men across from him. “You think it’s him, don’t you? You think it’s the Baby Ripper?” His eyes watered as he spoke the lurid name the press had given to the serial killer.

Grissom unexpectedly felt himself identifying with Eric Meyers. What if Sara were snatched away from him? How much worse was it for this man knowing not only his wife, but his child was in danger? He couldn’t imagine the kind of fear and pain this man was experiencing.

Gently, Grissom spoke, “I know this is difficult, Mr. Meyers. We don’t know anything for sure, but a lot of the signs are the same.” He looked at the notes he had made on the pad before him. “The good news is her disappearance was discovered much sooner than any of the others. That gives us a much better chance of locating your wife. Please don’t give up hope.”

The man nodded and swiped at his cheeks.

Vartann paused long enough for the distraught husband to collect himself and then began in a matter of fact voice, “In order for us to have the best chance at finding your wife we need to know about her routines and if anything has happened out of the ordinary in the last few weeks.”

“Anything,” Eric Meyers choked out. “Anything I can do. Whatever will help bring Kristen home.”

“Could you start by telling us about a typical day for your wife…”

---

The husband’s interview went on for some time and the team continued to photograph, catalogue and gather potential evidence.

Brass arrived during the interview and after silent nods from both Grissom and Vartann, joined Sara in the living room of the home.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

She looked up from where she was photographing the contents of the couple’s media center and gave him a distracted smile. “Hey.”

“What have we got?”

Sara shook her head, “Not a lot.” She pointed to the entry. “Mrs. Phillips says a small marble sculpture is missing from the shelf by the door. Mr. Meyers says he’s not sure but his wife may have moved it when she was doing some preliminary baby proofing.” She indicated the tile in the front hall. “Evidence of bleaching in the entry, but the cleaning lady was here yesterday.”

She shrugged. “Not much else. Right now I’m just cataloguing house contents to compare with the other vics, see if we can find a common denominator. Cath’s in the nursery and Warrick has the Master Bedroom. Nick’s in the kitchen and Greg’s got the perimeter.”

“Have you seen David?” Brass bent to take a glove from her kit and moved to the mantle to pick up a photograph carefully holding the latex between his fingers and the frame.

“Yeah. He’s devastated, of course.” She sighed. “He left awhile ago. His Mom was in pretty bad shape. I think they were trying to get her to see a doctor.” She shrugged again in a helpless gesture.

“This the first family?” Brass asked quietly inclining his head towards the photo.

She looked over his shoulder at the picture. “Yeah; two girls 18 and 20. They’re both at UCLA.”

“Fits the pattern,” he grunted as he set the frame back on the mantle. “What about the ex?”

“According to David, the first wife left Mr. Meyers. She remarried before he and Kristen even met.”

Grissom approached them from the kitchen. “Vartann is wrapping up with the husband.” He looked at Sara, “Find anything?”

“Nothing probative…it’s all just data.”

He nodded, then turned to Brass lightly waving the card Mr. Meyers had given them in front of the detective’s face. “If you’re ok here, Vartann and I are going to track a lead.”

“Sure; no problem. Where are you going?”

Grissom raised his eyebrows at the detective and said, “Though I have no expectations, I’m going to Lamaze class.”

To be continued…