Author's Note: *sigh* Dragged myself out of mourning long enough to polish off another chapter. Hope you like. I'm gonna go back to bed and cry now, with only copious amounts of chocolate to keep me company.
Chapter Three
Calleigh was checking in a box at the evidence locker when she heard her name called. She turned to see Tom hurrying toward her.
"Hey, Tom," she said cheerily. "What are you doing over here?"
His eyes were bright with excitement. "You're helping Natalia with the Marcelino case, right?"
"Yeah," she said. "You could've just called me, I would've come to you."
"I couldn't wait," he said, practically bouncing.
She grinned. "Okay, walk with me."
They set off across the lobby, stopping in the room where Natalia was processing the blood evidence from the jumper case. She looked up when they came in, her face surprised when she saw who was with Calleigh.
"So," Tom said, getting straight down to business. "I'm here because I think I may have found a big piece of our little puzzle. In Gabriel Marcelino's legs."
Calleigh and Natalia glanced at each other, amused.
"His legs?" Calleigh asked. "Didn't the blow to the head when he hit the concrete kill him?"
"That's what usually happens, yes," Tom explained. "Usually. But not this guy. He landed feet-first. When his feet landed on the pavement, his femurs snapped clean through, and, in the case of his left leg, skewered his femoral artery."
Natalia winced. "Ouch."
"But," Tom continued, talking faster as he got to the interesting part. "My findings around the break and the artery indicated that blood was not flowing at the time of impact."
Calleigh frowned. "How is that possible?"
"He was dead before he hit the ground."
"So wait a minute," Natalia piped up. "You're telling us that Gabriel Marcelino died somewhere between the roof and the ground?"
"Indeed."
"Do you know what killed him?" she pressed.
He tossed a small file on the table. "One nasty myocardial infarction. When I looked closer, I saw at least half of his heart muscle was shredded. Judging by the extent of the damage, he was probably having it for almost an hour before he jumped. His heart stopped mid-drop."
"A heart attack," Calleigh remarked quietly, flipping through the file. "Did he have a heart condition?"
Tom shook his head. "His last physical done by his doctor showed some of the strongest vitals I've ever seen. Blood pressure. Heart rate. Cholesterol level. All within a very healthy range."
"Ironically, at least that's good for Mr. Marcelino's widow," Calleigh pointed out sadly. "Horatio said she was having trouble with her husband's life insurance carrier because they don't cover deaths by suicide. At least now we can give her a definitive cause of death that they'll have to cover."
"So the question becomes what gives a healthy man a heart attack?" Natalia asked.
Tom pointed at her, grinning. "Exactly."
-|x|-
Ryan, Eric and Walter ducked under the yellow tape and walked toward the house together. They were in a suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. The lawn was richly green and well groomed. Bright pink flowers lined the walkway up to the front door. The house was quaint and well tended. They all had a hard time believing something horrible happened here.
They stepped into the air-conditioned dimness of the house, and immediately they could discern the familiar metallic smell of blood wafting down the hallway from the kitchen. A young detective strode forward to brief them.
"Hey, guys," she said quietly, sounding solemn.
"Detective Quinn, right?" Ryan asked.
She made a face at him. "Ugh, 'Detective Quinn' is my father. You can call me Mallory."
She cleared her throat and proceeded to read from her little notebook, leading the way back to the kitchen. "Our victim's name is Kelly Pickett, 38 years old, stay-at-home mom. 911 received a call from her seven-year-old son, Sammy. First responders found Mrs. Pickett in the kitchen with multiple stab wounds all over. She was pronounced dead on arrival."
The three CSIs surveyed the red-soaked corpse of the woman, riddled with gory stab wounds. She was seated on the floor, wedged in the corner created by two countertop units. Her head was flopped forward, one leg tucked in awkwardly. Her hands rested on her knees, palms up. It was a very odd position for someone who had been violently attacked.
Walter put down his kit and started photographing the scene. Eric looked at Mallory.
"Did the son see who did it?" he asked her.
"He won't talk to anybody," she said sadly. "He's in the backyard."
"I'll go talk to him," Ryan said, setting off for the back door.
"The husband should be here any minute, we called him out of work," Mallory said.
"Let me know when he gets here?" Eric asked.
"You bet," she said, leaving them to their work as she walked back toward the front door.
Eric pulled on a pair of gloves and squatted down to look at the body. Since the coroner wasn't there yet, they weren't allowed to touch her.
Right on the ground next to her was a bloody knife. A big one. Eric picked it up gingerly and held it up for Walter to see.
"Probably our murder weapon," he remarked, dropping it carefully into a fresh evidence envelope, hilt-first.
"I wonder why the killer left it behind," Walter said.
Eric returned his attention back to the body, frowning. Something wasn't sitting quite right with him. Something was definitely weird about this whole thing.
He surveyed the woman's corpse in front of him, wracking his mind trying to figure out why this scene was bothering him so much.
The victim was soaked in her own blood. Deep, ugly gashes striped her forearms up and down. Eric could also see at least four deep stab wounds in her belly as well. She would have bled out in a matter of moments.
That's when it hit him. There was a lot of blood. But not in the right place…
He stood up, looking around the kitchen. His sharp eyes scanned every surface, every appliance and inch of flooring.
It was immaculate.
"I got a question for you, Walter," Eric said thoughtfully. "If someone was stabbing you, what would you do?"
Walter looked at him, utterly perplexed. "Get my gun and shoot 'em. Why?"
"Okay, if you didn't have a gun, what would you do?"
"I don't know," Walter said. "Run like hell, I guess. Where you going with this?"
"There's no blood anywhere else in this kitchen," Eric explained. "All of it's on her, contained to this one corner of the room. There's no spatter, there's no gravitational drops, no indication at all that she tried to get away from the killer."
Walter frowned. "Maybe he surprised her, killed before she knew what was going on?"
Eric squatted back down again, leaning in closer to the victim, staring at her bare arms. "These stab wounds on her arms are weird," he remarked. "The knife we got has a clean edge, but these wounds are way too messy, as if the knife was serrated or…someone went digging."
"Digging?"
"Yeah, like they stabbed her, then twisted the knife around a few times."
Walter cringed. "That's sadistic."
"And judging by all the blood, I'd say she was alive and bleeding for at least a few minutes before she actually died," Eric finished.
They stood quietly for a moment.
"That's weird," Walter said.
"…Yeah."
-|x|-
Ryan set his kit down outside the sliding glass door that led out to the backyard. A patrol officer standing guard nearby nodded to him in acknowledgement. Ryan nodded back, then slowly began walking toward the swing-set in the middle of the yard, his hands tucked into his pockets.
A little boy was sitting on one of the two swings, rocking himself slowly back and forth, his feet barely coming off the ground. He stared at the ground as he gripped the ropes of the swing, his face blank.
Ryan carefully made his way toward the kid, making sure not to move too fast. He gingerly sat down on the vacant swing next to the boy, who didn't move. Ryan leaned forward with his hands clasped, resting his elbows on his legs. Without thinking about it, he started matching the boy's gentle rhythm of swinging slightly back and forth, back and forth, barely going more than an inch or two either way.
They sat there for a few moments, a cool breeze playing across their faces, ruffling Sammy's hair.
"Sammy, my name's Ryan Wolfe," he said gently. "I'm a police officer."
The boy made no sign of even hearing him.
Ryan continued, keeping his voice as quiet and soothing as possible, knowing the boy must have been through one hell of a trauma. "I'm trying to figure out what happened… to your mom? The detective inside said you saw what happened but you wouldn't talk to anybody."
The boy sighed heavily, sounding far older than his years.
"Do you think maybe… you could talk to me?" he prodded carefully. One false move and this kid would shut him out even more than he already was.
Ryan waited there, sitting on the swing next to that little boy, hoping he would trust him.
Sammy looked up at Ryan with haunted blue eyes, as if sizing him up.
"Sammy, do you know who hurt your mom?" Ryan asked quietly.
The boy swallowed. "Mommy hurt herself," he whispered.
Ryan leaned in closer to him so as not to miss a single word. "Can you tell me what happened?"
Sammy sighed again, dropping his gaze back to the ground. He scuffed at a rock half-heartedly. "Mommy was sick," he said. "She stayed in bed today. Daddy told me to behave and take care of Mommy when he went to work."
He scuffed at the rock again. "I heard her crying. She was crying for a really long time, and she started crying louder. I tried to make her feel better, but she didn't even see I was there, so I went back downstairs."
Sammy sniffled wetly, starting to cry. Ryan got off the swing to kneel in front of him, offering him whatever support he could.
"She came downstairs," the boy continued through his tears. "She was yelling at someone. She went to the kitchen. She yelled louder. She picked up a knife… and…and..."
The boy couldn't finish. He launched himself off the swing, throwing his arms around Ryan's neck. Ryan caught him, holding the shaking boy close as he cried. Ryan stroked Sammy's hair and patted his back, trying to calm him down.
Ryan's heart was full of sorrow for this poor kid, who'd seen more horror than most people saw in a lifetime. As he tried to lend any strength he had to this boy, his mind raced with cold realization of what Sammy had told him.
Mommy hurt herself.
-|x|-
"Mr. Pickett, has your wife told you about anything strange lately?" Eric asked. "Phone calls, people hanging up, maybe someone following her?"
Mr. Pickett was shaking violently, his eyes darting back and forth. He had one hand on his forehead. Tears were spilling over from his eyes, his face one of utter shock. "No, nothing like that," he whispered. "Who would do this to Kelly?"
"I don't know, Mr. Pickett," Eric said. "But we're gonna find out, all right?"
The other man nodded vaguely, still shaking, looking as if he had no idea what was going on.
Eric's cell phone suddenly started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. He frowned when he saw it was Ryan. What, was he too lazy to just come inside?
Eric answered. "Yeah, Wolfe?"
"Eric, it's a 10-56."
Eric froze, sure he'd heard him wrong. "You serious?"
"That's what the kid said."
Eric sighed. As much as he didn't like it, it explained a whole lot more than it didn't. "Okay, thanks."
He hung up, his heart heavy. His job just got a whole lot worse.
"Mr. Pickett," he began delicately. "Has Kelly ever been diagnosed with depression?"
He looked at Eric as if he'd just asked him if his wife was from Mars. "Of course not, why?"
"She hadn't been acting strangely lately?" Eric pressed. "Emotional, maybe? Violent mood swings?"
Mr. Pickett looked at him closely. "Are you trying to tell me Kelly did this to herself?" he whispered.
Eric hesitated, then nodded. "Your son told my colleague she stabbed herself."
If possible, he looked even more shocked than before. "What? No, that's not possible... Kelly would never..."
"Would Sammy lie about something like that?"
Mr. Pickett started to hyperventilate. "No, he's a good kid! Kelly's been sick for a couple weeks, but... The doctors... they thought it was mono! She got her blood tested a few days ago... The results were supposed to come back today..."
He looked at Eric pleadingly. "She can't have done this. She would never hurt herself or Sammy. She just wouldn't!"
Eric swallowed. "We're gonna take her for an autopsy, see if we can't find out how this happened, okay?"
Mr. Pickett nodded, tears falling silently from his wide eyes.
Ryan approached them, standing at Eric's elbow. "Mr. Pickett?" he asked. "Sammy's out back, he's asking for you."
Mr. Pickett looked from Ryan to Eric. "Let me know if you find out anything about Kelly?"
Eric nodded. "Absolutely."
Mr. Pickett gulped, then slowly trudged toward the back of the house to face his son.
Ryan sighed. "This sucks," he muttered.
"Yeah, tell me about it," Eric mumbled in reply. "So the boy said his mom killed herself?"
"That's what he told me. Poor kid saw the whole thing."
Eric shook his head. "I don't understand how anyone could do something like that in front of their kid."
Ryan shrugged. "Depression makes people act in strange ways. If it's bad enough, they become a whole new person."
"Husband says she was never diagnosed with anything, though," Eric pointed out. "Said she was happy."
"So either he just didn't notice, or something happened to set her off like this."
"It's weird, it almost sounds like someone just flipped a switch in her head," Eric remarked.
They both thought for a moment.
"Hey, didn't the others have a strange suicide this morning, too?" Ryan said suddenly.
Eric frowned. "Yeah, actually. Calleigh said something about that... A guy jumped off a building, I think."
Ryan's face was darkly etched with thought.
"What? You don't think they're connected, do you?" Eric said.
Ryan looked at him, an odd look on his face.
"... I don't know yet."
Author's Note: I only changed one thing in the reload of this chapter. The police code I had, 11-45, was supposed to mean "suicide," but I was wrong ;P It happens! I don't know if police codes change from to state to state or not, but I figured I'd change it anyway. The code is now 10-56, which some more reliable-looking websites than the one I used before listed as the correct code for "suicide." The whole point of using the code is that Ryan is still with Sammy when he calls Eric, and he wouldn't say the words "suicide" or "killed herself" in front of the kid. Thanks to Mel for finding that! :D
