Disclaimer: CSI and it's characters are the property of CBS, which means I still don't own them. But it would totally kickass if I did, right:)
Chapter One: Inconsistencies
Another workday meant another glance into the mind of another broken human being. A psycho, a sicko, a loser; whatever the label, it was more than enough.
Because this case was different.
Nick stepped around the bodies, taking snapshots of anything and everything they could use as evidence. A shoeprint here, a food wrapper there. Fingerprints, fibers, blood spatter, it was all there and waiting to be cataloged. Hell, even the murder weapon was just lying on the coffee table when they reached the humble home of Mark and Jason Preston-Hughes.
The once bloody -and probably fingerprint riddled- knife wiped clean, of course.
It was obvious from the start that, in life these two men were deeply in love. There were numerous pictures of them together scattered throughout just the small living room alone; smiling, kissing, holding hands.
Greg's eyes scanned over a framed photograph of the couple in what appeared to be a Gay Pride parade, looking just as proud as they were happy. He sighed and sucked in a shaky breath as he turned back to the bodies lying in a pool of blood on the hard linoleum kitchen floor.
"Murdered in your own home. Isn't there anyplace safe anymore?" Greg pondered aloud, watching Nick collect a fiber from one of the victims pant legs.
Nick didn't answer.
"You suppose it was a hate crime?" The younger man asked his partner, looking at Nick with something akin to pity in his eyes.
The Texan finally sighed and looked up from his work. "Well, judging from the way the bodies are positioned and the total overkill use of the weapon… I'm gonna say yes. That, or a crime of passion."
"I was afraid of that." Greg whispered, sadly.
When they'd finished acquiring all the evidence they could and David had come to collect the bodies, Nick and Greg stepped out of the house, disturbingly placid from the outside; taking a sigh of relief as they moved out into the cool night air.
There was no crowd of nosy neighbors or passerby awaiting them like in most home invasion cases; only the coroners van, Nick's Tahoe, and a couple of police cars sat in front of the Preston-Hughes residence.
And something about that made Greg feel despondent. While it made their jobs infinitely easier not having to deal with a bunch of people trying to sneak a peek, Greg felt like this neighborhood didn't take too kindly to having a married gay couple around.
In that moment, his respect for humanity effectively dropped another rung.
Nick blew out a breathe he didn't realize he was holding and walked to the driver's side of his Tahoe, leaning against the door and looking up into the clear, velvety sky. They were far enough away from town to escape the too bright lights of Vegas to be able to see the millions of twinkling stars; but obviously not far enough away to escape the effects of ignorance.
Not that it matters, prejudice is everywhere. Nick thought wryly.
He heard a small noise and looked up in time to find Greg staring at him, the younger man's hand reaching out to stroke up and down Nick's arm at a slow, loving pace.
"Hey, you okay?" Greg asked, though he already knew the answer to his own question.
"I don't know. This is just… it's really shitty, ya know? The things people do to each other. I'm so sick of it." The dark haired CSI admitted weakly and grasped the hand that had been unconsciously wandering up and down his arm.
"I know, sweetie, I know." Greg whispered. "And that's exactly why we're here. To try and catch the bad guy."
It probably wasn't the best of places to be acting so familiar with each other, seeing how a couple of men were just murdered in their own home just for being themselves. Not to mention there were still one or two uniforms wandering around the perimeter of the house.
But Greg could see his boyfriend needed… something right then. Some kind of contact.
Greg raised two fingers to his lips and kissed them gently, then pressed them to Nick's lips, holding them there for mere seconds before pulling away. And even that small gesture was enough to quell Nick's shivers for the moment.
"C'mon, we've cleared the place, let's get back to the lab. I'll drive."
And Nick didn't even put up a fight.
-- -- --
"What can you tell us about the vics, Doc?"
Doc Robbins shifted his crutch and walked around the examination table, the strange smell of disinfectant and death in the air making the two CSIs in the room cringe inwardly. "Your one vic, Mark Preston, was-"
"Preston-Hughes." Nick corrected the coroner, his face set in a grim line as he looked upon the Y-marked body of the middle-aged man on the cold, hard slab before him. Greg glanced surreptitiously around at his partner; it was just like Nick to get defensive of a victim, especially with a case so close to home as this.
"Right. Preston-Hughes," Doc started again. "It's pretty obvious this guy was the focus of an irrepressible rage; judging from the multiple stab wounds on the chest and abdomen," he pointed to the noticeable gashes along the corpse's body. "But his COD was actually blunt force trauma. All these lacerations were made post-mortem."
The air in the morgue changed at the revelation, going from hesitant and uncomfortable, to almost brooding in a sense. Both CSIs looked at each other with confusion in their eyes. The situation of overkill wasn't unheard of by any means, but the context in which this crime was committed was especially bothersome to the two men.
And there were so many inconsistencies within the case already, it was hard to form a convincing outline that included all aspects.
"What about the other one? His partner?"
"Jason Preston-Hughes', on the other hand, was killed by multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen; about fifty-three to be exact." the rotund man sighed, moving around to stand beside victim number two, who was just as cold and lifeless as his partner, merely three feet away. "No blunt force trauma to the head, but there was some severe contusions on the left cheek. And I think you better take a look at this…"
Doc pulled back the sheet from the victim's carved body, exposing the dead man's lower half.
Nick let out a long breath as Greg shut his eyes to the sight. The tone in the room shifted once more, into a mood of pity and disgust. "Castrated." Nick murmured to the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the tension weighted itself upon his shoulders.
"Anti-mortem. He was still alive when the bastard did it." And even Doc winced at the thought, the usually stoic man shook his head and covered Jason Preston-Hughes' body once more before resuming his findings to his colleagues.
"I found this-" he handed Nick a clear, plastic evidence bag with a small, gold heart locket inside. "-around victim number one's neck. It's got something engraved on the back, but with all the caked on blood on it, I couldn't get a good look at what it says. Sorry."
Nick nodded, solemnly, and chanced a quick glance at Greg, who was still standing rigid, his head and eyes downcast, while his feet shuffled aimlessly against the hard tiled floor. The Texan knew what was going through his lover's mind, because it was the same thing that was going through his own mind.
Greg was angry, he was scared, but above all, he was confused. No matter how many times, or how many people told him not to get involved, not to show emotion for a case… he just would never be able to comprehend some of the things that went through a person's mind as they were murdering and mutilating another human being.
"Stomach contents showed nothing of real importance. Approximately, four ounces of red wine in both vics, some partially digested shellfish. Nothing to suggest they were drugged beforehand, but I've got a sample out to tox."
"They were celebrating something." Greg spoke up, seemingly snapped out of his haze for the moment; obvious only to Nick, his partner was thinking about their own upcoming four-year anniversary. And it broke his hear to see that look on his lover's handsome face.
Nick only nodded and thought back to the deceased couple's home. A bottle of Merlot and two wine glasses sat atop the kitchen table; he remembered bagging them.
"Other than all that, I don't really have any more information for you. But if I find anything, I'll let you know." Doc Robbins nodded and gave the warmest smile that he could muster in such a cold place; it made Greg wonder how the man could stand such an isolated profession.
"Thanks, Doc. Keep us posted."
TBC