Twisted
Chapter Three
I stared at the door.
I couldn't do it, could I?
I had to go in there, though, I had to and there was no way around it. Or at least I told myself there wasn't. Though at least five minutes went by, then five more, and that was about the time when I felt a tap on my shoulder, and jumped a clear foot out of my skin.
"You ready?" Grissom asked, whom had been waiting for some other reason, I presume, or else I'd expect he'd already been in there.
"Yeah, just a little anxious." I mumbled, shaking my head. What would he think of me now, eh? A CSI who couldn't attend an autopsy? Sure, I'm very aware of it happening before, but I didn't exactly know these people to the fact that they'd overlook it, or at least pay it very little mind. Instead, I was forced into this situation, and I didn't like it at all.
"Butterflies?" He asked, I nodded. "The day you go onstage without butterflies is the day you quit." He remarked, and by the tone of his voice, I could tell he was quoting it from something, though what I wasn't quite sure. Instead I watched as David – I learned his name fairly quickly, besides, Grissom had told me about it earlier – carted the woman's body through the swinging doors and into the autopsy room. Sara was going to attend the autopsy as well, with Grissom and I, though I was really just watching the whole thing.
Which was where we got to my "suit," which was really not very much. I still had to scrub up and stuff, even though I didn't mind much reason for it. And I still wore a blue apron over my clothing, just in case. I watched the door patiently as Sara walked out, looking rather awkward in her own "suit" as well.
"You ready?" Second time I was asked this in the course of two minutes, "Yeah." I responded absentmindedly, my mind focused on what we'd find. I was taking mental notes already; walls were white – I think his was the only room, or one of them, that wasn't glass. I'm a good little note taker.
We walked into the room, where David had just finished up cleaning the body. She was now laid out on the autopsy table, a cloth resting from her toes to her bosom. There was an older man too, the coroner – Dr. Albert…something, I don't remember exactly what. Grissom and he were friends, though. Sara took up a place across the table from the coroner, by the woman's waist, while Grissom stood to her left, around the head and chest of the victim.
"There's clear stab sounds," Al (as Grissom called him informally), pointed to her chest, where just under her right collarbone, there was a thin stab, one directly under it, facing the opposite, vertical way, and one where the head of the wound was facing her neck in a strange, downward-sloping diagonal pattern. "However, the strange things about these wounds is that they go straight through."
"A longer knife, like a butcher knife?" Sara suggested, leaning forward to look closer at the wounds.
"Negative." He said, nodding toward Grissom, "If you would." And together they turned the body to it's right side, which showed the back to us. "Look at the exit wounds."
"They're not corresponding with the entry wounds." Sara pointed out again, looking carefully at the wounds.
"If you look closely," He placed his thumb and index finger close to the two sides of the first stab wound, pulling it apart gently so that the inside was visible. "That the object used to stab her was curved, like a machete of some sort. And the user had skill, too." Grissom nodded, watching closely. I, from my position between (and behind) them, peered over their shoulders to the wounds.
"It looks too curved to be a machete, more like a scythe." I offered up. I wasn't an expert on melee weapons, don't get me wrong, but there's a difference between the curving of a scythe and a machete, one's definitely much more dramatic.
We moved on quickly, moving down the body as we went. She had slight bruising on her hands, possibly from defending herself. "Though this was with a blunt weapon, not a sword." Al pointed out, turning her palm up. "Like a fist. See the style of the bruising? You can make out three distinct points of pressure – knuckles."
"So she was mugged?"
"Yes, but if you look at the distance of the knuckles," he pointed to the three severely bruised areas on her palm, "They're consistent to a female hand."
"She was attacked by two people." I concluded, after a moment. "I don't think a woman would be able to use a weapon for the stab wounds so cleanly, unless she had quite a bit of experience."
"Right," The coroner added, showing us a bruise on the back of her shoulder. "But this was the first blow." He pointed to the fist mark between her shoulder blade and her neck. "And it's big, male."
"So there were definitely two attackers."
The autopsy went well after that, and we let Albert off to go record his findings. Grissom went a separate way, while Sara and I remained, talking eagerly about the case. From the looks of it, she was very dedicated to her work, and I loved this job – call me dark, twisted, whatever – but I do. So this looked like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
"The husband looks like a good bet." I stated as I removed the gown-like garment. "But the female…?"
"Possibly infidelity. It wouldn't have been the first time. Hitmen, perhaps, judging by the skill of the swordsman…"
"But the punches look out of order." I finished her sentence, and she smiled.
"You're good at this."
"I try."
We went on conversing for a while, talking about different motives. Infidelity seemed the greatest, and that the husband probably wanted his wife out of the picture. People seem to think that divorce is very messy – considering a goodly amount of the husbands funds would end up going to his wife, as well, judging by any kids the couple may have had, and other such things. Why divorce, when you can murder and have it all? The minds of humans are complex, but in an equal fashion they are also very predictable.
We sat in the break room for a while, just rambling on about different things. Our shifts were going to end soon, and we didn't have much to do. Okay, scratch that, we did have stuff to do, but many of the techs weren't on a shift now, and the few who were weren't the kind we needed right now.
"What do you think about the blood on the wall? It wasn't splatter." I pondered, looking over my cup of coffee to her.
"I'm not sure. The wounds were through-and-through, so I'm thinking that she was pushed. They were consistent with the back, too." She pulled out a photo from a box we had near us of the scene, which we had taken with us for discussion. "See?" She pointed to one of the blood marks.
"I see two shoulder blades." I pointed to them.
"Exactly." She nodded, putting the photo in the box. "Excuse me." She said politely as she went to go return the box to it's proper place.
I waited patiently, looking around the halls of the lab through the glass windows in the walls. It seemed deserted, definitely not as active as it had been this afternoon. Empty, was perhaps the word – void of movement, life. It was sort of eerie, like being in a supermarket after hours, or going to the mall when nobody's there.
Sara came back soon enough and sat down, staring at the clock, which read 2:15AM. "Late, huh? Do you usually stay on shifts this long?"
"Sometimes. We get swing shifts a lot, depending on when the 911 call goes in. It would be wonderful if somebody planned a strict schedule for these murders." She sighed, shaking her head.
"It'd be perfect if there were no murders. But then again, we wouldn't get paid." She laughed a little, and I smiled, finishing my coffee. "Whose everybody on the team?"
"There's Grissom, Greg, and I – who you know already – and then there's Nick, he's pretty funny, and Warrick. Warrick's got a sense of humor, but he had a gambling problem, too."
"Oh."
"Yeah, there's Catherine, too. She's a single mom, and second in command, just below Grissom. Sofia's on the team, too, she's a detective and a CSI level three." I nodded, listening. "I can introduce you to them tomorrow – er, today – if you'd like."
"I wouldn't mind that."
A few more minutes went by before Sara decided to leave. I didn't want to stay at the lab by myself, not knowing anybody there. I didn't know if Grissom had stayed later than I had, but I felt sort of strange around him – he seemed like an empty shell, from what I gather. Feelingless, apathetic. I didn't want to be around him, or at least not alone in a lab that I was still rather unfamiliar with. So instead I walked out of the building, unclipping my ID and unlocking my car.
Seating myself, I ignited the engine and got ready for my long drive home.
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A/N: Woo, that's chapter three for you! Don't forget to review, it makes me happy inside.
