DISCLAIMER: I do not, nor have I, nor will I ever, have any ties to CSI or any of its spinoffs. This is purely my fan-fic.
Crime Scene
The congested New York City traffic was nearly at a stand-still, with the usual clog of morning commuters honking impatiently. Lindsey sighed as she waited patiently for the traffic jam to start moving. Jerked from a deep sleep by the ringing of her cell phone on her bedside table, Lindsey was on her way to the scene of a triple homicide. She would meet her partner, Danny Messer at the scene, and she guessed with the traffic jam that she was going to be late. Picking up her cell phone, she hit the speed dial, intending to inform him of the reason for her tardiness. Once again, she mentally compared the busy highway with the relatively empty roads in her rural Montana hometown. It had taken some getting used to the idea of having to leave a half hour earlier in the mornings in New York to get to her destination. She had grown up in a town where it took less than fifteen minutes to drive from one end of town to the other. New York was on the opposite end of the spectrum as far as driving was concerned.
Finally, the traffic began to move; slowly at first, but picking up speed as it moved past a rather large wreck in near the overpass. Police officers worked the scene and as she passed, Lindsey shook her head at the sight of four vehicles, three of them with crushed front ends, blocking the right hand lane. Someone had entered the freeway and slowed too much, causing a multiple chain reaction of rear-enders. Thankful that she wasn't one of the unlucky commuters involved, Lindsey picked up speed as she moved past and made her way toward the exit that would eventually lead to the upper-middle-class neighbourhood where the crime scene was located.
On the third ring, Danny picked up and she quickly rattled off her location, promising to be there as quickly as she could. Hanging up, she turned onto a quaint tree-lined street and spotted several police cars and Danny's vehicle parked near a modest two-story home. Parking, she grabbed her field kit and got out, hurrying up the sidewalk and flashing her CSI identification to the portly officer guarding the home's drive. Entering, she walked briskly down the hall toward the master bedroom and found her partner crouched over the bloodied male victim.
"Hey," Danny grinned up at her, his eyes warm.
"Glad you could make it, Montana. We've got a real ugly one here." He gestured to the bathroom, and Lindsey peered inside.
The bathroom walls were covered in blood spatter, and the body of a half-dressed female lay on the floor in front of the sink, blood pooling around her head from a shotgun wound.
"The female was apparently gunned down right where she stood," Danny called from the bedroom, "she probably didn't have a chance."
"What about your male vic," Lindsey asked, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
"Hard to say; looks like he might have met the intruder when he came in to see what the ruckus was," Danny responded.
Squatting, Lindsey looked over the female victim. The woman's head had been obliterated by the shotgun, and what was left of her brain stem was visible from the ragged wound in the neck.
"Looks like she was shot in the neck from behind," Lindsey commented, and pulled her digital camera out, snapping off a few shots before standing to take a closer picture of the blood-spatter that covered the mirror.
"Third victim's upstairs," Danny informed her conversationally, "he was apparently shot in his sleep."
Lindsey stepped out of the bathroom, watching her partner swab the blood that had pooled beneath the male victim. Glancing toward the door, Lindsey looked back at Danny.
"Have you gone up there yet?" she asked, and he shook his head.
"He ain't going anywhere," he commented, his brogue thick.
A second police officer, who Lindsey had seen outside, walked into the bedroom, and spoke in a low voice.
"The scene's secured. Are you two okay here?" he asked, and Danny nodded.
"Yeah; you can have your boys go home, Captain; we've got it," he said, and the captain nodded.
"I'll leave Stevens outside to deter any thrill seekers," the older man said, and walked out of the room.
Danny sighed, and stood up, rubbing the aching muscles in the back of his neck.
"Let's go up and check out that third victim," he said, and added, "we can come back here after we know what it looks like upstairs.
Grabbing her case, Lindsey followed Danny back through the tiled entry and up the beige-carpeted stairs.
The landing on the second floor was dark thanks to the lack of windows. Each bedroom door was shut, save one, which stood ajar. A pale shaft of light filtered through the opening, and Danny slowly pushed it open. The scene in this bedroom was almost peaceful; football posters were taped to the walls, and basketball trophies lined a small shelf above a computer desk. A framed photo of a blonde haired boy dressed in a tux and a dark-headed, petite girl in a sparkling prom dress sat on the bedside table. Blood was spattered across the picture's glass, evidence of the gun-shot that ended the boy's life.
In the bed, the teen lay still and cold, blood saturating his white pillow and bed sheets.
"What a waste," Danny muttered, and raised his camera for a picture.
The flash illuminated the dim room for half a second, and Danny took several more pictures before turning to Lindsey.
"Going to be a long day," he commented, and Lindsey silently agreed.
