Title: Meeting Minds and Mounties (1/?)
Author: Laurieisme (aka revolution25 on LJ)
Rating: PG (will go up in later chapters)
Summary: The Bolt brothers start killing people in Las Vegas. What's a Mountie to do but go down and help a certain team of CSIs with the investigation?
WARNINGS: slightly slashly (for now, will probably go up later to full on slash)
b Disclaimer/b I don't own, blah blah blah
A/N: Detective Vartann, of CSI, is played by the same actor who plays Agent Ford in Due South, which made me think of this story. I think if you know CSI and don't know Due South, you'll be fine reading this. By the same token I think if you know Due South but don't know CSI you should be fine.
Detective Vartann was the second officer on the crime scene. The first was a pasty faced uniform that looked like he just shed the officer that trained him. Vartann hated having to deal with these guys, they were always told to tell detectives everything and leave nothing out, he guessed it was their way of getting back at anyone who passed the detective's exam.
"The body is right here Detective, I haven't moved anything. It was called in on an anonymous 911 call, subject was found in that position, his eyes open and not breathing."
Vartann turned towards the officer and asked, "If you haven't touched the body, how do you know he's not breathing?"
"He can't be alive with his eyes open like that." The officer almost seemed proud, as if this was a test.
"Have you ever heard of someone sleeping with their eyes open?"
Vartann didn't have to look behind him to know who said that, Dr. Gil Grissom. He and Catherine had gotten out of the Tahoe and walked forward towards them.
"What do you know Vartann?" Catherine asked looking around the perimeter of the body.
"Just as much as you. Dead kid in the middle of the street."
"How much traffic do you think this intersection gets?" Grissom pointed to where the kid was lying.
"Old abandoned factory down that end, and that way is a dead end to a deserted house, so I'd say none. Unless the kids party up there," Vartann pointed out.
They all walked to the body, minus the uniform, being very careful where they stepped. The road was old and in disrepair, it looked as if a car hadn't driven down there in months if not years. Vartann got out his notebook ready to write down anything then looked down at the body.
He dropped his notebook.
"What's the matter with you?" Catherine said in a sharp tone.
"One seven F-O-C seven six." Vartann read what was branded on the boy's chest aloud unable to explain further.
"You've seen worse," she said trying to push his notebook back in his hand.
"What does it mean?" Grissom asked in an urgent, but quiet, almost soothing tone.
"They're in jail... It can't..."
Vartann got out his cell phone and asked to get the Canadian Consulate in Chicago on the phone, more specifically, Constable Benton Fraser.
"Who are you talking to?" Catherine asked.
/Canadian Consula-/
"Constable where are the Bolt brothers?" Vartann asked.
Grissom looked to Catherine confused and mouthed 'Bolt brothers?' to which she shook her head.
/Ah, Special Agent Ford. Randall and Lester Bolt escaped from prison a month ago. May I enquire why you-/
"Constable, you ever been to Las Vegas?" Vartann asked.
/No. Never./
"Well you're going to. I'm looking at a body right now, with seventeen F-O-C seventy-six burned into his chest."
"So their cousin used it to try to get a nuclear submarine." Vartann had been explaining the Bolt brothers to Grissom and Catherine for the past half hour, but he knew he had barely explained anything.
"So this is some terrorist group?" Catherine looked shocked, "why didn't you call homeland security, or the FBI?"
"There has been one common factor in bringing the Bolts down, that's Benton Fraser. He knows more about them than I could ever tell you, when he comes he'll explain." Vartann paused. He didn't know whether to tell them about Fraser's peculiar way, or just let them find out on their own. He finally shut his mouth deciding that it would be best if they found out on their own.
They decided to go ahead and start processing the crime scene while waiting for Fraser to come by. Vartann knew the meeting would be awkward, especially when Fraser would start calling him 'Ford' but he had no choice. Years of therapy had shown him the errors of his ways and he decided to start fresh as a detective, but he had never actually told anyone. Vartann decided then that picking up the Constable at the airport himself was the best way to handle things.
"Look Constable it's simple, just call me Vartann."
"Constable," Welsh said, "think of it as Kowalski, when we had to call him Vecchio even though he wasn't Vecchio, that wasn't lying, and this isn't either. You've changed your name legally right?" Vartann nodded then and Welsh continued, "See, everything's on the up and up."
"Why did you come, Lieutenant?" Vartann asked the older man in his passenger seat.
"Kowalski couldn't get a babysitter, I had a few vacation days, and I haven't been to Vegas in years."
They slowed down to the crime scene where Catherine was writing down the perimeter and Grissom was taking photographs.
Vartann took a deep breath, it was now or never.
Grissom took another picture of a partial shoe print which would lead to nothing. The events of the evening had been a bit odd, even for Vegas. The body looked dumped if not for the fact that he was spread eagle, and nothing to him screamed that there were terrorists responsible.
He heard the car slow down but did not look, he had no idea who this man was so there was no use to reacting to him before he actually met the man. He finally stood up when the three men had approached him and seemed to be waiting for him to acknowledge them.
"This is Gil Grissom, he's the supervisor for the CSIs here. Grissom, this is Lieutenant Welsh of the Chicago Police Department, and Constable Benton Fraser of the RCMP."
He shook the hand of the older man then turned to the man in the brown uniform with a curious look on his face.
"You wouldn't happen to be Dr. Gil Grissom the entomologist, would you?" He spoke clearly, almost as if he were taught how to speak proper English.
Grissom was almost at a loss for words, "Yes, I am."
"Ah, I've read some of your work. Your paper on the Caribbean Fruit fly genome was quite fascinating."
"Constable," Vartann said almost snappish, "do you think you can get on with it."
He nodded politely and said, "As you wish," then went to work on the crime scene. He walked with purpose and determination, which had been clearly reflected in the way he spoke.
Catherine had somewhere in that time approached him, and when she got close enough to him whispered, "He knows your work, I don't even know your work."
"Sorry about the Constable," Vartann said bringing Grissom's attention back to him, "he's a bit odd."
"Aren't we all?" Grissom asked genuinely.
"Oh my god!" Catherine was looking at the Constable who was licking something off the ground.
"He does that," Welsh said calmly, "you get used to it. So other than this branding on the body do you have any evidence to connect the Bolts to this?"
"Not as of yet," Vartann said as he was watching Fraser, looking quite embarrassed.
"So other than an anagram that a number of different people could decide to use for a number of different reasons, you flew us out from Chicago for... bupkis?"
"It's not, as you would say, 'bupkis,' Sir." Fraser spoke from across the crime scene, "This bandana was worn by Randall Bolt during his trial, I remember it quite well. I think Sir, he left it here for us to find."
"As if the burn on the kid's chest isn't enough?" Welsh asked.
"As you said Sir, any number of people could have come up with that code, but more to the point I believe the burn is a message to the victim, and the bandana is a message to us."
"What message?" Catherine asked.
"Justice will be served."
