A Seemingly-Perfect Crime
Summary: Mac is puzzled by the lack of evidence and how well this crime was played.
A/N: Is Danny a blond or a brunette? I can't tell, cause in some light, he looks a brunette, and in other he looks like a blond. Well, I referenced him as a blond, so if I'm wrong, correct me. First CSI: NY fic.
The room was dark and still. Slowly a black figure entered from the kitchen with a pair of gloves on and a chef's knife in the palm of the person's right hand. The black figure was short, and walked slowly towards the target. A man was fanned out on the couch, snoring and holding the neck of a bourbon bottle in his fist. He was in his mid-thirties, stocky in build, and an alcoholic.
Now the black figure was at the head of the man, holding the chef's knife steady. It was brought down to his neck and was laid there. The figure dropped it and grabbed the drunk's hand, wrapping it around the handle of the knife. The man was still asleep. Slowly the figure guided the blade flush against his exposed neck, and with steady pressure, the knife was driven into his skin, slicing the flesh, bringing out the red liquid like a steady stream. The man was awake now, but it was too late to react. He grew limp, eyes wide and face paling.
When murderer was sure the deed was done, the knife slid out, resting now on the dead man's chest, and left. Swiftly, the figure retreated out of the house.
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"Victim's name was Chad Lewis, thirty-seven, six feet one inch."
Mac stood by the couch with a camera hanging around his neck as he pulled on his gloves. "The knife the murder weapon?" he asked, looking at the body.
"That's what we think. His wallet, keys, cigarettes, all possessions are accounted for."
"And the neighbors?"
"None were home at the time."
"Thank you. I'll handle it from here."
The officer left, leaving Mac with the body until his team arrived. Looking at the man, he saw nothing that led him to believe it was a murder. The front door opened revealing Danny, looking over at Mac. "Hey, Mac," he offered. Mac nodded, then waved him over. Danny did as was instructed. When he was beside the older man, Mac looked up at him.
"Tell me what you see."
Danny looked at the body, quiet for a moment. "Weapon on the body, eyes open, pale skin… Suicide?"
"All the evidence points to that. But we'll wait till we process the scene. Look around."
Danny did so. He looked at the windows and doors, through to the kitchen, and on the floor. "No sign of forced entry. If it was a murder, it would be someone who lived here, or someone with a key."
"Or the door could be unlocked."
"That too." He grew silent again. "Want me to process the scene?"
"I'll go interview our witness."
Mac made his exit, leaving Danny to process the scene alone. Danny looked at the body, saying, "I don't suppose you could tell me what happened." He got no answer. "I didn't think so."
Mac looked around, watching the crowd intently. He was looking for anyone with sympathy for the man. There was a man about the age of the victim looking paranoid with a wondering stare. He couldn't be the murderer; most likely a friend. Not many people were sorrowful; most of the faces he saw were relieved or glad about his death, which alluded to many enemies.
After a while, Mac walked off, weaving through the officers to get to the girl. As he got closer, he noticed a few round bruises lining her arms and shoulders, and there were probably more under her clothing. By that time, he was in front of her, telling the other officer that he could go. The girl, Jamie, looked up at Mac with a bored look. "When can I go, officer…" She stopped for his name, looking at him to find a nametag.
"Taylor. Mac Taylor. You can leave after we're done here."
He took a moment to look her over. The bruises were fresh. Her hair was wet, as if she took a shower, and she looked as if she held no remorse for the man's death. "Miss Martin, when did you find the body?" he asked.
"After I got home from a friend's house."
"At what time?" he pressed, scribbling on the piece of paper.
"Um, three maybe. I don't have a watch." Her gray eyes met Mac's green ones. "You've got pretty eyes, Mr. Taylor," she said softly.
Mac cracked a small smile. "Thank you, Miss Martin, but I need you to stick to the subject. Why do you have those bruises on your arms, Miss Martin?" he asked, pointing a finger at one of them. She looked down, blonde hair falling over her eyes, then she looked back up.
"Paintballing. I always go with my friend, Matt."
"You got hit pretty bad."
"This was what I was wearing. Well, not this shirt, but one like this."
Mac nodded. "And where are your clothes you paintballed in?"
"In Matt's washer. I can't leave my clothes like that."
"Where is Matt right now?"
Jamie looked irritated. "At his house. Should be here soon if you want to talk to him too."
"Yes, I would like that just fine." He paused. "You don't seem too sorry about his death," he commented. Jamie shrugged.
"I never liked the guy. He was an ass, an alcoholic, a drunk… I'm glad he's dead."
Mac looked at the young girl. She spoke again, "If you ever catch the guy who killed him, if someone did kill him, tell them I say thanks." She popped out a Kool and lit it, inhaling.
"And your mother?" he asked.
"Hospital."
"Why?"
"Ask the dead guy, he's the one who put her there."
On the paper, Mac wrote and underlined the word motive.
A motorcycle pulled up and a boy, straddling the cycle, shut it off and removed his helmet. Mac looked at him, then over at Jamie, who was finishing the cigarette. "Is that Matt?" he asked her, who smiled and nodded.
"That's him," she spoke through the smoke. Taking another hit, she leaned over to him and blew a smoke ring in his face. "Want a puff?" she asked, holding it out. Mac waved it off, saying a, "No thanks."
The boy was making his way to the crime tape with a confused look on his face. He looked over at Jamie, then hollered, "What's goin' on, Jamie?"
Mac walked over to him, taking a glance at him. He had short, black hair, spiked and wet. On his arms were the same bruises as Jamie wore. The boy looked to be no more than eighteen. "Matt?" Mac asked, flipping to a new page.
"Yeah?" the boy answered with an unsure look. "Who are you? What's going on here?"
"Detective Mac Taylor. You were the one paintballing with Miss Martin?" he asked. "I'll need your last name, sir."
"Matthew Rodriguez. Yeah, I went with her. So what?"
"And you're familiar with Chad Lewis?"
"The guy is an ass. What does he have to do with this? What is this?"
"Mr. Lewis has been found dead with his throat slashed. We're trying to figure out if it was suicide or murder."
Matt stopped for a moment, thinking. "You… are you accusing me? Or Jamie? We didn't do this, Detective. All day we were out at the paintball range."
Mac wrote down on the paper. "Do you have anyone to account for you two being at the range?"
"The leader, Leo Turner."
"Thank you."
Jamie walked over to Matt, who still looked confused. They shared a hug, Jamie giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. Mac turned, flipping the notebook shut, and made his way into the house. Danny snapped a picture of the body and Sheldon, who had slipped in while Mac was interviewing the witness, was examining the wound and the bloody knife. Mac was beside Danny before he spoke up.
"That knife our murder weapon?"
Sheldon looked up at Mac. "Yeah. Clean cut, straight through. No hesitation. Severed the cricoid and thyroid gland."
"Obviously it was our COD. Bag the knife. I'll go check the kitchen."
Mac turned, grabbing his case from the wall, and proceeded to the kitchen. He glanced around, grabbing his camera. Everything seemed to be in order, nothing unusual. He walked to the counter where a knife rack sat. There was a knife missing; the hole was about the size of the chef's knife found on the body, and the handles of the other knives corresponded with the murder weapon. Mac took a picture of the set.
In the sink was a rag, wet, but no dishes were in the drying rack on the counter. He reached out and touched it, feeling the heat through his latex glove. The rag was cool to the touch. After taking the rag from the sink, Mac turned on the water and let his hand sit under the flow. It grew hot almost immediately.
Danny walked in, looking at Mac curiously. "What are you doing, Mac?"
The older CSI turned his head, turning off the water as he did so. "There's a knife rack with knives similar with our murder weapon. The chef's knife is missing from the set."
Danny looked at the knives. "So the murderer, if there is one, walked in to the kitchen, grabbed a knife from the rack, and proceeded to murder our victim."
Mac held up the rag he found. "This rag was in the sink, wet and cool. When I turned the water on, it went hot as soon as I put my hand under."
"Our murderer grabbed a rag and held it as a barrier between his or her hand and the handle of the knife. Then rinsed it with hot water to get rid of the blood."
The blond walked to his superior, who had waved him over, and looked at the rag. Mac spread the rag over his fingers. "Even if the murderer washed it, wouldn't there be some blood on it?"
"Unless you work fast with it."
Mac opened his case, pulling out a swab. He ran the swab on the inside of the drain and proceeded with the test. Danny watched Mac go through the blood test silently, watching as the swab remained white. "No blood," he said.
"Any new theories?" Mac asked with a slight grin.
"Suicide?"
"New theories, Danny. Suicide was theory one."
"Well… I don't know."
Mac looked at Danny. "Murderer walks in, grabs the rag to wipe the knife of previous prints, wore gloves, maybe, kills Chad, and leaves the knife there."
"Plausible…"
Mac sighed and looked around. "If there is a killer, he or she didn't give us much of a lead to go on. Barely any evidence."
"A perfect crime?" Danny offered.
"Nothing is perfect."