A Seemingly-Perfect Crime
Summary: Mac is puzzled by the lack of evidence and how well this crime was played.
A/N: Slightly shorter chapter, but hopefully up to par. See if you can find the shout-out to CSI: Vegas hidden in here.
Autopsy. On the table laid Chad Lewis, chest cut open exposing the inner organs. Sid Hammerback stood over the corpse, looking down with gloved hands covered in rich, red blood. The man's lungs were black, his liver in horrible condition, everything abnormally colored. He was a drinker, a smoker, did a few drugs here and there. Sid couldn't help but think that he was in a better place then living in a body of this condition. There were no bullets or other fresh wounds; scars were present on his body, some a few days old, others a few years.
Sid looked at the face of the thirty-seven year old man. His skin sagged from the smoke, a light beard covered his face, gray hair was mixed with brown, making it look peppery, and his nose was broken a time or two from the look of it. If this man never drank or smoked, Sid thought to himself, he would have been a good looking man.
Mac walked in, pulling gloves on his hands as he did. Sid glanced up, then looked back. When the ex-marine was beside the body, he stated casually, "Tell me something I don't know."
Sid grinned. "Black lung. Many years of smoking, probably most of his life. Second hand smoke for some, first hand for the rest. Liver damage from excessive drinking. Been drinking for as long as he had smoked, first hand, at least."
Mac looked at the body with no expression. "Anything unusual on the body upon examination?" he asked.
"None. Slightly yellow tinted fingers support the smoking theory. Scars suggest a rough life, possibly enemies. One on his temple looks a few days old. No fresher ones. No bullet scars."
"So no matter how bad he pissed people off, no one pulled a gun."
"Might of pissed people off, but had the respect not to kill. No scars on the chest when I looked."
The black-haired man sighed, aggravated at the lack of evidence he was faced with. "If this was a murder, it was an in and out; no remorse."
"Sounds like the girl."
"We'll have to talk to the mother."
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Danny knocked his knuckles on the white hospital door three times and waited. Beside him stood Stella, pulling at her jacket slightly. After a moment or two of waiting, they heard an answer, sounding like it was giving them permission to enter. Stella opened the door and walked in before Danny, who followed close behind, closing the door as he walked in.
There was a woman laying on the white bed, a tray of food sitting on the table that swung over the bed, and a few vases of flowers lining the window sill. Stella gave a smile, which was returned full fold.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Martin. I'm Detective Stella Bonasera; this is Detective Danny Messer."
"Good afternoon, officers. I'm Julie Martin. What can I do for you?" She was probably about the same age as their victim, in the thirties. She had bright blonde hair, like her daughter, and deep brown eyes. Her face was soft, but bruised with a gauze pad on her left cheek. Julie's left arm was in a sling, and her hand was red and scratched.
"We're here on official business, Ms. Martin. Has anyone informed you of what happened this morning?" Danny asked softly. Julie shook her head no, saying a quiet, 'No.' Stella picked up from there.
"Your daughter found the body of Chad Lewis on your couch with his neck slashed open."
Julie had a skeptical look for a moment, unbelieving. Then, when the CSI's faces didn't falter, her brown eyes grew and she gasped, pulling her right hand to her mouth. Her body began to quiver. "He's…?" She trailed off. "Dead?"
Danny nodded, and the woman on the bed broke out in a hard sob, gasping and cringing, her body quivering. Stella and Danny exchanged looks while the woman broke down completely.
Soon Julie quieted, occasional sniffles escaping her mouth. She met a gaze with Danny. "He can't be…"
"I'm sorry ma'am. We were wondering if you would know anyone who would have a grudge or a death wish against him." Danny kept his voice soft as he spoke.
"I… Something like this happened earlier in the year and I lost a few friends because I took him back. But they wouldn't… want to kill him."
"Is there anyone…" Stella pushed.
"No… no one."
Danny pointed to a couple of chairs, and Julie nodded. He led Stella to the first one, then took another for himself, sitting on the edge and leaning towards the woman. "Your daughter, Jamie, seemed unremorseful at his death."
Julie gave a short nod. "Yes… Jamie never liked him after his constant yelling and arguing, especially after the first time he had beaten me."
"Does Jamie have a history of anger issues or violent behavior?" asked Stella, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes and resting her arms on her knees.
Julie was quiet for a while before nodding. "She has been suspended for a few fights. She… My daughter worries me. She's too wild."
"Do you know of any… drugs Jamie might be taking, like cocaine? Anything to make her angry like you say?" Danny asked.
"She smokes cigarettes; that's about it. I don't know of any other drugs."
"So your daughter has always been this angry?"
"Ever since I let Chad move in with us."
Stella looked at Danny, who glanced back at her. The look on Stella's face tells him that they have enough information. She looked at Julie with a light smile. "Thank you, Ms. Martin. I think we have enough information."
The young woman returned the smile. "Sure." But it faded. "Thank you, Detectives, for telling me about…" She trailed off, looking down and closing her eyes. Stella stood, walking to the woman, and placed a hand on her back.
"Don't worry. We'll make sure his killer gets what they deserve."
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Danny walked down the hallway of the CSI section of the NYPD, a bag in his hand and whistling a light tune. It was a new song out, but he didn't know the name; he had just heard it on the radio and had it stuck in his head. As he turned the corner, his shoulder bumped into Mac's, who narrowed his eyes for a split second, then looked at the younger man. They stopped, facing each other.
"What did you and Stella get from the mother?" Mac asked.
"Some stuff about the daughter. What else?"
"Tell me some information, Danny."
Danny grinned. "Well the daughter has a history of violence that began after the mother's first beating by our dead guy."
Mac gave an angry sigh, shifting on his feet for a moment. "Every action, everything we're being told is pointing to the girl. But our evidence doesn't point where we want it to. Evidence points to suicide, words point to murder."
"That's why we do what we do, to get to the whole truth."
Mac cocked his brow at the younger man, in confusion, then he smiled and patted Danny on the shoulder.
"Where are you headed?" asked Mac.
"To the lab to collect prints from the knife."
"Okay, I'll take Flack to the paintball range and ask a few questions about the kids being there or not. The range is called Eye of the Tiger, in Manhattan. It's new."
"Have fun with the guns. Don't get shot."
Mac turned, then stopped when he remembered something. "Hey, the handle of the knife is black, right?"
Danny looked at him, then nodded, with a confused, "Yeah."
"In the cabinet, on the third shelf from the top, should be a small plastic tin labeled 'Gil'. Inside should be an orange powder. You can use some of that for your prints."
"'Gil?' Why is it labeled 'Gil'?"
"A friend down in Nevada gave it to me. It's some good stuff. Try not to use a lot of it." Mac winked before turning and walking off. Danny smiled and made his way towards the lab.
Danny pulled on a lab coat, after setting the bag on the table, and buttoned it. Then he walked to the cabinet and opened it. Inside was surely, on the third shelf, a tin of orange powder labeled 'Gil', just where Mac told him it was. He took it and closed the cabinet after him. Back at the table, Danny pulled on a pair of gloves from a box on the table and grabbed the bag. He pulled the knife from the brown bag, then pulled it from the plastic bag covering it with Evidence written on it.
He laid it on the table, then picked up the orange powder. It opened easily; Danny placed it carefully on the table and took a brush. After swirling the bristles in the powder, he knocked it off lightly, then brought it to the knife. He held the knife by the blade between three fingers and began brushing the black handle.
When the handle was coated in the orange powder, he noticed how easily he found the prints. Danny lifted the prints carefully from the blade, and when it was put against the black paper backing, he noticed it formed a palm print and fingers. He sighed, putting the lifted prints on the table in front of him. "Suicide," he whispered, and after he replaced the knife, he took the latex gloves from his hands and tossed them angrily at the trash can. They landed beside it on the floor.