The Crazy Eighties
Author: LapsusStili (aka. Slip-of-thePen )
Rating: Teen – just a little cussing
Characters: Catherine / Warrick (a light dash of Yo!Bling – hardly a smidge really)
Spoilers: Not that I know of
Word Count: about 2475, give or take
Disclaimer: CSI is mine. No it's not. Yes it is. Is not. Is too. Not. Is. Nuh uhn. Ah, ya. IT IS NOT YOURS!!!! Ok, fine… it's not.
Summary: Belated entry for the Geekfiction "I Love the 80's" Ficathon over on LiveJournal - category:Fashion -- Oh the horrors, the horrors, the fashion flashback horrors as Catherine and Warrick investigate a 419.
Catherine arrived at the crime scene location, wincing at what she saw as she crossed the crowded hotel lobby. She hadn't seen that many huge, feathered and layered hairdo's in what… 25 years? A quick mental calculation of how old she was when she last saw (and wore) those styles left a scowl on her face.
She almost stumbled when she glanced to the right and thought, "Is that Michael Jackson???" It was an unexpected sight to say the least, particularly since it was the "black floods with a peek-a-boo of glaring white socks showing and the famous red leather jacket along with the wet-hair-look" Thriller version of the artist; not the bleached skin, collapsed nose, pseudo-pedophile freak we know today.
The CSI literally gave her head a shake and kept going. Just as she reached the taped off area, a large familiar hand slid around from just behind her and lifted the barrier.
"You caught up quick," she said, half turning to greet Warrick with a smile before ducking under the tape and reaching back to take both their evidence kits from him so he could follow suit.
"Ya, well I couldn't let you get too far ahead of me. Then you'd get dibs on all the choice stuff again – last time that happened I got stuck sifting through that manure heap out at the Sagebrush Ranch."
Catherine wisely stifled a chuckle as she handed him back his kit and they continued towards the officers across the lounge. She was momentarily distracted by the pink frilly ankle socks and white jelly shoes worn by one of the waitresses they passed, but quickly shook it off and resumed her end of the conversation.
"Hey, don't be such a baby. You found the metal punch he used to kill his father, didn't you?"
"It's called a 'pritchel', Smarty-pants. And yes I did eventually find it in that steaming pile of crap. I also had to burn the clothes I was wearing that day 'cus I couldn't get the stink outta them no matter how much Tide I used."
He was not surprised when she came back with a sarcastic response of "Awwww…"
"That was my favorite silk shirt," Warrick lamented under his breath.
This stopped her in her tracks, causing her coworker to quickly slam on the brakes to avoid running into her as she swung around. "Not that sweet silvery green number… the one that brings out your eyes?"
He gave a slight nod.
"Damn… that was one of my favorites too," she noted. Her eyes slid briefly over his chest before she turned, startled to find Officer Mitchell stepping up to brief her on the situation.
"Welcome to the crazy eighties," was the first thing out of his mouth.
Catherine replied with, "Ya, it almost looks that way, doesn't it. There's some really badly dressed people wandering around here today. Hell, when I first got here I saw a guy wearing high-tops with his jeans tucked into them and a suit jacket with the sleeves pushed up – I damn near spit my coffee all over him."
The cop looked at her like she was an idiot. Warrick probably would've too but he knew better than to risk facing the Wrath of Cath.
"No, I mean this really is the Crazy Eighties," he clarified, making those dorky quotation marks in the air with his fingers. "It's a new show running here on Wednesday nights with impressionists of celebrities in their 1980's glory days. They encourage guests to show up wearing stuff from that era too."
Catherine looked at the cop like he was an idiot.
"And they do? Who even has clothes that old anymore?" she asked with doubt.
Warrick started laughing. When she looked at him questioningly he just looked back at her grinning until it finally dawned on her. They both nodded and stated simply, "Ecklie."
Officer Mitchell, long since bored with this exchange, shook his head and sighed.
"Look, the dead chick over there is Jane Bridges - aka: Mallory Keaton," he started, tipping his head towards the corpse lying on the floor in skin-tight tapered acid-wash jeans. "We've got Madonna… er, I mean Phoebe Nickerson in custody already. I'd say it's pretty cut and dry. Even got an eye-witness. The Cyndi Lauper impersonator, Lila McKay, saw the whole thing. Apparently the vic "borrowed" the suspect's tights and legwarmers without asking once too often. This time instead of a dressing room screaming match like they usually ended up in, Miss Bridges took a severe beating with that boot over there."
Warrick headed over and set an ID marker beside the low cut pixie boot before snapping several shots of it. Catherine thanked the cop and sent him on his way before heading over for a better look at the body.
"She looks pretty beat up Warr, but death by booty-beatdown? I dunno… something's not right here."
"I hear ya. Got some blood and hair on the heel but you're right. It would take some serious rage to actually kill someone this way."
The two fell into a comfortable work pattern, collecting evidence, talking to witnesses, and sketching the scene. Once David finally showed up to collect the body they helped him roll the battered young woman so she was face-up, then he launched into his usual clinical monologue.
"Looks like multiple blunt force blows. Severe bruising to the head, neck and from what I can see under the torn areas of her shirt, the torso's pretty banged up as well. Right maxillary central tooth is missing – we might find it in the throat or stomach during the autopsy. Um… defensive wounds on the hands and…" he paused while adjusting the sleeves, "…and the forearms, too."
With a sigh David lapsed into a personal observation. "With all those performers backstage while this was going on, you'd think someone would have helped her."
Warrick responded with what they all already knew. "Nobody wants to get involved."
Later while logging the evidence at the lab, Catherine got a phone call from David. He reported that upon further inspection of the body at the morgue he came across an interesting development. The vic's face was swollen, especially around the eyes, so it was no wonder that he initially missed the petechial hemorrhaging – beaten or not, the cause of death was asphyxiation. On top of that, some peri-mortem bruising had become more prominent over time, and ligature marks with a strange pattern could now be seen along the front and right side of her neck. No fibres were found in the region other than from the victim's own clothing.
Digital photographs of the neck area had been taken and were saved on their joint intranet. After printing out hardcopies of the pictures at the lab, Catherine studied them carefully but had no idea what could've made the marks. Warrick came by to give her a hand after going over the clothing that had been sent over from the morgue.
"How are things coming in here," he broached.
"Honestly? I'm at a loss here and if I stare at these shots any longer I might just slip into a coma. Take a look at these and tell me what you see."
He joined her on the far side of the layout table, his eyes scanning each photo before jumping to the next.
"That's bizarre. The bruises aren't smooth, continuous areas; definitely weren't made by fingers or a rope. It's more like a whole bunch of tiny pressure points, almost like little grains of rice but they're uniform. Look… it's like they're in parallel bands, but each section has a different pattern."
He pointed to the various areas as he went on. "Over here they're in longer lines, then there's a band of a criss-crossing pattern, then this part kind of looks like a checkerboard. Another few straight lines, and look at this – am I crazy or does this look like a herringbone design?"
Suddenly the answer hit her and she snapped her fingers. "Ooooh, that bitch lied to me!"
"Huh?" Without thinking Warrick looked at her like she was an idiot. Luckily she didn't notice so he quickly slid his cool-cat game face back on. "Who lied to you?"
"I'll 'she-bop' her alright…" she mumbled as she pulled out her cell to make a call.
"Hey Mitchell, it's Catherine Willows here. Look, I need you to pick up Lila McKay for questioning – and make sure she's still in costume or bring it along if she's already back in her street clothes, ok?"
["Sure I can, but why? What's up?"
"Seems our star witness is trying to pull a fast one on us. Call me back when you're en route with her and we'll meet you there."
["Will do."
It wasn't long before Catherine and Warrick were heading through the halls of the police station. They paused briefly at the observation window to interrogation room 4. The only person in the room was sitting at the table, her heavily made-up face all wrecked from crying. Her hands were shaking while she was fidgeting, picking at her fingerless lace gloves, then toying with a frayed spot on the loose mesh tank top she wore over a ridiculously long belted T-shirt.
"Wow, she really does look like an early Madonna," Warrick commented.
From what they'd been told, the suspect had spent the past few hours pleading her innocence. She swore that although she had been in a fight with Jane, and she admitted to giving her a few good whacks with that pixie boot, the victim was alive and more-or-less well when she stormed out of the dressing area.
"Well, she'll be thrilled when we tell her the charges are being dropped down to assault. She hit her, but she didn't kill her," said Catherine. "C'mon... there's someone else we need to talk to."
They walked into the next room, identical to the previous one except instead of a Madonna look-a-like they were faced with a poor rendition of Cyndi Lauper à la 1983. Luckily their new suspect was still in her show garb. It wasn't the crazy pink and yellow hair that they were interested in, nor was it the slew of long strings of beads piled around her neck. The gaudy red chiffon skirt over an equally unattractive clashing bustier was impossible not to notice, though that still wasn't where the CSI's were focusing their attention.
Ms. McKay had been reaching up, adding a little extra teasing to her bangs when they came in. She recognized them from earlier when she gave them what they now know to be a false eye-witness report. As she dropped her arms to the table they followed the movement with their eyes.
"What do you want with me now? I already told you everything that Phoebe did. I gotta get to my other job over at Billy's Bistro in an hour, so… what? What are you staring at?" she barked rudely.
Warrick took the lead, sliding into the seat across from Lila then reaching across to gently take her left hand. At first she stiffened up and pulled back a bit, thinking he was pretty bold to be putting the moves on her with his co-worker standing right there. As he starting to pull her arm towards the middle of the table she looked at Catherine, then back at Warrick. It was then that she realized they weren't looking at her, per se, but at the dozen or so brightly coloured gimp bracelets decorating her wrist and forearm. There were all sorts of patterns to the woven plastic lacing – some had multiple strands that were criss-crossing, others were intricately formed in a checkerboard pattern, and not surprisingly there were a few rainbow coloured ones that would most certainly leave a herringbone design if pressed against something… like perhaps having the arm wearing it wrapped around someone's neck from behind might do, for example.
"I'll ask again," Lila spat, clearly getting annoyed, "WHAT?????"
"You're a southpaw, am I right?" Catherine piped up, then continued on when all she got in response was a glare. "It's been a long time since I've seen gimp bracelets. You make those yourself?"
"Ya. So what? I needed them for my outfit and it's not like you can buy them in stores or anything so I downloaded how to do it from the net. Some of them are my own designs that I came up with too – one of a kind, ya know?"
And with that the real killer just whacked the last nail into her coffin. Warrick pulled the photos of the ligature marks from the folder Cath was holding and set them out on the table. He then proceeded to position Lila's arm above one of the shots and it was clear to all three of them that the patterns lined up exactly.
Before the next logical question was asked, Lila offered up what she felt was a justifiable reason.
"That skank was sleeping around with my boyfriend."
"Jane was?"
"Ya. I saw them coming out of the prop room before the show and they both had that "just-been-fucked-up-against-a-wall" look about 'em. She was straightening her hair – he was straightening his zipper… I'm not stupid."
"Uh huh. Right. And what exactly does Phoebe have to do with all that?" asked Catherine.
"Huh? Oh… um, nothing," came her lame reply.
"Nothing," Catherine confirmed. "Then why on earth did you lie to us and try to pin the murder on her?"
"I dunno. It's not like we're friends or anything, and she was just in the right place at the right time I guess. I mean I really did see her beating the hell out of Jane, and everyone knows they're always at each other's throats over something…" she trailed off.
Catherine was both baffled and speechless, yet somehow not overly surprised. Some people are just whacked in the head – this lady was figuratively, which lead to the victim getting it quite literally before having the life choked out of her.
Having heard quite enough of this bass-ackwards thinking, Warrick stood up with a sigh and gathered their evidence, returning them to their manila folder. Catherine pulled open the door and called in the deputy that was waiting out in the hallway, letting him know that he could take Lila McKay into custody for the murder of Jane Bridges.
Just before the pair headed for the parking lot, Catherine poked her head back in the room and left their scowling suspect with some parting advice.
"Hey Lila, if I were you I'd tone down that hair and try to look a lot less noticeable before you're sentenced – your fellow inmates will all be girls, and we all know they just want to have fun."
Fin