HIGH STAKES
A/N: My friend is feeling a little miffed about my under-use of the very charming Detective Flack. So I thought I'd make it up to her...
Since the finale of Season 8, I've also been very intrigued (and delighted) by the idea of Adam as a CSI, and I've been trying to work out when that ambition might have started, as he seems to pop in and out of fieldwork quite randomly, with large patches of time where he is only in the lab. This story fits in with my theory - I hope that it doesn't clash with yours.
Disclaimer: Dreaming aside, the boys aren't mine. What a pity.
Chapter One
"Feelin' lucky today, honey?"
Don Flack shrugged his shoulders and gave the grey-haired woman a crooked smile. "Hey - you never know, Marisa." Throwing his money onto the counter, he took the ticket and slipped it into his pocket. "Seems like a good day. Sun's out, people're smiling. Why not take a chance?"
"You and the rest of this city," Marisa grinned. "That's the seventh ticket I've sold in the last half hour."
"Then maybe our instincts are good." Don laughed as he turned to go. "Somebody's got to win it, right?"
"I'll cross my fingers for you." She blew him a kiss and giggled like a schoolgirl. The detective's early morning visit was always the highlight of her day.
Leaving the bodega, Don balanced his coffee cup on top of the car and unlocked the door. Now if this really is a lucky day, he thought, all the bad guys'll stay in bed and I can finally take a crack at that mountain of paperwork on my desk.
Needless to say, the radio chose that exact moment to burst into life.
The detective sighed. So much for wishful thinking.
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Adam Ross had already been at the crime lab for several hours. A stack of finished reports and test results lay neatly beside him and now he was staring at the elevator doors like a man obsessed. Mac had promised him even more time in the field if he cleared his workload. Little did his boss suspect that Adam had been coming in at five o' clock every morning for a whole week since the offer had been made. High on caffeine and fizzing with nervous energy, the lab tech was ready to call Mac's bluff.
He couldn't really remember the exact moment when he had decided that his dream in life was to be a CSI. For a long time, he had loved his job in the lab. Field work was fun - a different kind of puzzle. But experience had already shown him that the wider realms of detection could be fraught with danger and distress. Each time that happened, he had retreated gratefully back into his glass cocoon. And then, unexpectedly, everything had changed. Maybe it was the whole Haylen fiasco. Or perhaps the sudden loss of Stella, which had hit him harder than anybody knew. All he knew was that the crime lab began to feel smaller - claustrophobic, even - and the city beckoned to him. At first, he had kept his feelings to himself - or so he thought. Jo was the one who finally wormed them out of him. Who else? he thought, with a wry grin. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in the boss's office, trying to justify his grand ambition. Mac had been supportive, but wary.
"You're a hard worker, Adam; I know that. And if you really want this, I'll back you all the way..."
"But?" suggested Adam, sensing the unspoken word.
"But...," Mac continued, wanting to frame his next thought as kindly as he could. "Do you understand all the things you'll have to do as a proper CSI?"
"Of course I do." Adam tried to hide how hurt he felt. "I'm not a coward, Mac. I can handle guns as well as any cop - you've seen that for yourself. And I'm tougher than I look. Plus I've been to dozens of crime scenes already, helping you guys out. You gave me a chance to learn and I'm grateful. I've watched you work. I can do this."
"I'm aware of your abilities," said Mac quietly. "That wasn't what I meant." He sighed. "Forget it. Your request is noted, Adam. Prove to me that you're serious."
Now, as the elevator doors pinged open, Adam rose to his feet. Just wait and see how serious I am, he thought, running one hand through his wayward hair in a futile attempt to tame it. Mac stepped out and - almost as though he could sense him - turned his face towards the eager lab tech. Without a word, he nodded once. Adam's face lit up.
"Really, boss?" he gasped, rushing out into the corridor.
"Really. For this whole day, you're a CSI in training, Adam Ross. Don't let me down."
Which, in retrospect, was probably not the best thing he could have said. Mac winced, but Adam was too excited to notice. "Thanks, boss. Don't worry, I won't. Today'll be great... just wait and see!"
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Don Flack was a little surprised when Danny turned up with Adam by his side, but he knew enough to hide it. After all, he had heard the rumours. And who was he to throw cold water on anyone's ambition? He hadn't spent a lot of time with the man but, secretly, he rather liked him. He was funny, and smart in a way that was far beyond Don's comprehension, yet he didn't shove it in your face. In fact, he didn't really seem to notice it at all. And that whole thing with Sam's car - Don still owed him one for that. Adam as a CSI, though - somehow, that just didn't sit right. The detective frowned doubtfully behind their backs as they entered the room.
"Hey, Messer. Who's your friend?"
"Ha ha." Danny put down his case. "Adam's with me today, okay? CSI school."
"And Mac thought you were the best one to teach him? I find that hard to believe." Don's eyes twinkled as he pulled a sympathetic face at the lab rat.
"On a roll today, aren't you, detective?" Clapping Adam on the back, Danny looked around the room. "So. What you got for us?"
"I'm thinking homicide." With a few economical gestures, Flack took them on a tour of the crime scene. "Busted lock. Broken coffee cup - just one, so our victim was probably on his own. Signs of a struggle here in the kitchen. Ransacked drawers but not much taken, suggests the killer was looking for something in particular. And finally, let me introduce you to John Street - apartment owner, recently deceased, on account of this strange red hole that seems to have appeared in his chest."
Sarcasm, thought Adam nervously. Okay. I can handle that. Skip to the facts. "Any sign of the bullet?" he asked. "Only, it looks like the guy was shot at pretty close quarters. See the powder burns on his shirt? And the blood pool underneath him suggests that it was probably a through and through, okay, 'cos it hasn't dripped round from this side. There's not much blood on his front, so it must have come from an exit wound in his back..." The lab tech trailed off, as he realised that the other two men were staring at him. "What? Did I say something wrong?"
"No, buddy," Danny told him quietly. "That's good observation."
Clearing his throat and trying to look nonchalant, Don checked his notebook. "First officer on the scene didn't see any sign of a bullet. Guess that means it's up to you."
Glancing at Danny, Adam was relieved to see him nodding. He was so used to someone giving him jobs to do. It was good to know that his own instincts weren't totally useless. "Go for it," said his colleague. "You know the drill. I'll be right here if you need me."
"Okay," breathed Adam. He moved away from them slowly, his eyes still lingering on the body, and the bloody mess that surrounded it. John Street was not an old man, and his final expression was one of dismay, not fear. His dark eyes stared at the ceiling, devoid of life, and his fingers were splayed in shock. The gunshot wound had caught him directly in the heart. Adam sighed. He had seen dead bodies before, of course, but mostly down in Sid's domain, where they were cold, and clean, and impersonal. The crime scene ones were always worse. So immediate, and so sad...
"Hey," said Flack, catching sight of his face. "You can do this."
"Oh, Yeah, sure, I know." Adam gave the detective an unexpected smile, forcing Flack to rethink his assumption. Turning away with a grin of his own, he began to talk with Danny, allowing Adam time and space to settle into his work. That was thoughtful, and now it was Adam's turn to be surprised. Don Flack was a familiar face around the lab, but the two men didn't really know each other well. Mostly, in Adam's experience, the lab tech blurted out whatever information he had gathered and the detective listened with an expression that was either grateful, amused or exasperated, depending upon the urgency of the case. Beyond that, Adam generally kept to the edges when Flack was around. He couldn't say why the man made him nervous. He only knew that he did.
Planning to take a more scientific approach to his bullet-hunt later, once the body had been removed, Adam began by searching the walls. He estimated John Street's height to be about five foot nine, and, at first glance, the entry wound did not look like an angled shot, so he concentrated on an area that was level with his own head and below, all the way down to the floor, in case the bullet had lost momentum after leaving the victim's back. The lab rat worked his way round from the window to the door, but he didn't find a bullet hole.
He did find something else.
On the dark wooden doorframe, almost impossible to make out from a distance, was a faint, bloody handprint.
Adam's eyes widened in excitement. He looked across to where Danny and Flack were still deep in conversation. Clearly, something about the body had intrigued them. Wary of interrupting, he flagged the print and considered his alternatives.
Stand around and wait for them to finish.
Or follow the print and maybe even find a trail that would tell them how the murderer left the building.
What would Mac do?
In Adam's mind, that was obvious. Desperate to prove himself and show his independence, he slipped out of the apartment and began to look for another print.
Neither detective noticed that he had left.