Chapter Seven

Liberty did nothing to hide the grunt of frustration she let out when she almost dropped the handful of reports in her hand as she tried desperately to save a rack of test tubes she'd just knocked from falling to the floor.

"Wow, thanks for the help Mac." She muttered sarcastically under her breath as she managed to avert a mess of broken glass by catching them just in time and pushed the test tubs back to the middle of the countertop – far out of the way of being accidentally knocked again. "Where the hell is my freakin' help huh?"

Though she'd adverted shards of broken glass and spilt samples, the reports in her arms hadn't been as lucky.

Dropping to her knees she started to gather the multitude of reports she'd been trying to file away into some sort of order.

When the printer from across the other side of the room beeped, signalling her latest batch of results were through, she dropped the messy pile of papers atop of the counter and made he quick sprint across the lab. All the while thankful she'd traded her four-inch heels for the ballet pumps she kept at the back of her locker for such times like this.

As she pulled the results from the printer, her hope was deflated as her shoulders slumped. Her third batch was a bust – another no match to add to her pile. Adding it to her already growing pile she jumped up onto her stool, using the counter in front of her as leverage she managed to launch herself off and roll down to the large box of evidence Stella had left her over two hours ago to start on the next group.

Snapping on a new pair of gloves and grabbing the supplies from behind her she needed it was hardly how she envisioned things would be when she took over from Jane a little over a year ago. Originally, it'd been as head of DNA, as her once supervisor had been, that was despite her background in trace. But little did she know that would be the least of her worries.

As budgets tightened under a new mayor, politics and funding played a big part in how the labs were run and the start of a long struggle she was still fighting against. Not long after being named as head of DNA, she was soon migrated back to trace as head there. After a short spell of what she thought was a permanent move, it was announced that the budget was going over a huge overall, which could only spell trouble.

After much delegation between the head director of the labs Rhea Moore, who oversaw everything including the CSI's, it deemed the New York labs were drastically overspending. With a toss up between more staff, which were desperately needed or more resources the heads chose to go with the latter not wanting to compromise results. Regardless of Liberty's compassionate argument, that in spite of of more resources, without the staff to help carry the load they would be deemed worthless.

It fell of deaf ears; instead, the decision to make the CSI's more prominent in the lab was enforced.

The staff structure was scaled down to the bare minimum and Liberty against her best efforts found herself trying to hold both DNA and trace together as she was made head supervisor and technician for both departments when they were somewhat merged together.

As much as she admired Rhea, a supervisor herself once upon a time – holding both her position previously as well as Mac's, she couldn't help but feel disappointed in her once mentors lack of response to her cries for help. Especially as she knew what the current climate was.

Sighing again, something she was starting to tire with, she set up three vials and dropped equal amounts of the next solvent to be tested into each one. She knew damn well it'd be another negative hit. She'd already checked the label on the side of the bottle – it'd told her as much already that the components didn't match. Liberty knew she could have skipped it and just added a hand written a report to pile confirming as such. Nonetheless she was thorough, and set up the start of the next round of tests.

Flack scoured the library of students looking for the young woman from the day before, It took ten minutes of walking up and down the aisles of leather bound texts before he spotted her sat at the desk nestled at the larger double bay windows.

He had almost missed her, her blonde highlighted hair had been loose the day before, but now it was twisted into an intricate French braid, decorated by a single black bow.

"Carly Ramona."

The young woman looked up from the brightly coloured journal she was writing in to give the detective an apprehensive smile.

"Detective?" She asked, drawing a blank on his name despite only meeting him the day before.

"Flack. Is there somewhere we can talk?" He asked after he received another unwelcoming stare as he disturbed the peace once more.

She nodded as she motioned to the open books that were laid out in front of her, "Let me just put this away."

Flack waited patiently as Carly packed her belongings and followed her closely out to the lobby of the library foyer. Somewhere he could speak above a whisper without fear the librarian was going to come at him with a threat of expulsion after breaching the peace, like he had done on numerous occasions when at school.

The detective had no interest in getting comfortable and instead of moving to the table and chairs that were set up not far from them he insisted they stood. His height held quite an intimidating advantage; his six foot three frame certainly trumped her petite frame. He would have been lying if he'd said he hadn't given her a once over, there was no denying she was a pretty girl.

"Have you found who killed Lydia?" Came Carly's stuttered response when the pair had come to a stop.

Flack cocked his head to the side, he was sure the words 'suspected murder' had never once slipped from his mouth.

"What makes you think she was killed?"

"Uh, I – I mean, you're here again and I wouldn't have thought Lydia would have just dropped dead there on the spot." She said once she regained her composure.

Flack nodded, "You said you didn't see Lydia after the show."

"No," She shook her head, sending several strands of hair across her face, which she quickly brushed back. "Last time I saw her was when she stepped up to do her piece on the runway."

Again, Flack nodded, "I was wondering then, if you could explain this." From the inside pocket of his jacket he produced a glossy photo of a close up of the earring pulled from the victim's apartment.

Carly took the photo offered to her, inspecting it for a moment before looking back at Flack. "This is Lydia's earring. Her grandmother gave them to her for getting into FIT. What do you want to know?"

Flack nodded, accepting the photo back. "What I want to know is how this earring, which she was wearing when she left the stage, made it's way back to your apartment when you say she never came back."

"You searched my apartment!" She gawked.

"Don't worry, our warrant didn't reach as far as your room." He paused, looking her directly in the eye, "Unless you have something there we should know about."

"No." Came her firm response as she stared back at the blue-eyed detective.

"Then care to explain the earring?"

She tucked her hair back behind her ear, "Should I have a lawyer or something?"

"I thought we were just talking."

"I don't know how the earring got back to the apartment and Lydia didn't. Maybe I found it on the floor backstage and knew it was hers. I was wasted for most of it."

"So seems to be the general consensus." Suddenly what she said caught up with him. "Though, if you were participating in the show. Why would you risk it by getting wasted?"

The blonde scowled, "Because I wasn't involved."

"Bet that cut you up when Lydia was asked to model the main piece in the show."

"No, I was pleased for her. She was my best friend." She glanced at her watch, "Now is that all detective? I've got a lecture to attend in five minutes."

Flack debated keeping her around for a few more questions, but for now he had what he needed.

"No, that's it for now Miss. Ramona. But if we need you we'll be in touch."

"I don't doubt it."

Danny took off his glasses to rub his eyes. That afternoon security footage from the Fashion Institute and the surrounding campuses had turned up at the labs and Stella had promptly delivered it to him under strict orders he was not to move until they had something conclusive.

So far, he was coming up empty.

The fashion show had ended at some time after ten, the last time anyone had reported seeing Lydia Sanson was after she hit the backstage area once her trek down the catwalk was completed. She was supposed to have reported back to the main area to return the vintage dress she had been wearing back to storage.

The dress had never made its way back to storage and it was already evident that this was never noticed from Flack's report to Danny days before on his return from the Fashion Institute.

With a rough estimate of time, Danny had at least eliminated several hours of footage. Though the pile of tapes was still high, he had at least given himself a timeline to work from.

He pulled out the last tape he had, footage from the outside of Penn Station, not far from where their victim was found. Popping it into the tape machine he sat back ready for another hour of fuzzy surveillance footage.

Near enough at the point of exhaustion, a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye jolted him to sit upright and pull his chair in closer to the screen in front of him. A sudden surge of adrenaline hitting his system his hand darted for the control and he pressed rewind vigorously until it had wound back to the scene that had first caught his attention.

There on the edge of the screen was a clear shot of Lydia Sanson, dressed somewhat inappropriately for the cold front New York was currently experiencing. What was disturbing was that she was finding it incredibly hard to walk. As Danny played through the footage frame by frame it was evident between her stumbled falls down the brief flight of stairs, she was being helped by a second person.

Beginning a frantic search of his remaining tapes, he came a bust at every move. Each time he managed to catch the young woman on camera she was being supported or picked up by someone off side.

Danny shook his head as he leant back in his chair when the next reel of tape revealed much of the same thing. He knew there was no way the avoidance of the surveillance cameras were planned – but unfortunately for the CSI's luck seemed to have been on their suspect's side that night.

Liberty yawned, she was slumped down on her stool, her feet propped up on the counter in front of her. Having spent the afternoon back and forth between samples and print outs and the only one now working trace, she deemed she was permitted a five minute break while waiting on the next round of results.

It didn't take long for the printer to signal that her break was over.

Scooting up in her seat she contemplated whether it was worth ordering in or making a run to the deli out on the corner for a sandwich as she rolled her chair to the printer two feet away.

Forcing herself to stand to grab the results from above her, she promptly dropped back down to start reading through the report. Curling a piece of her hair around her finger she was expecting to throw it to the negative pile, much like the others, beside her that was now over an inch thick.

"Negative for blah, blah," She said as she scoured the first page. "Toxic benzenes, hmm – maybe…" Seeing nothing of great interest she jumped to the second page, which was when she saw something that made her stand up and take notice. "No way!"

She flipped back a couple of pages to confirm what she was reading was correct.

Realising it was she jumped down from her stool and ran for the door, but not before retracing her steps and grabbing the reference folder that she had open on the adjacent countertop.

When she'd left the lab she'd had full intentions of tracking down Stella, but when it became apparent she was nowhere to be found she changed course and went for the next person down on her list, Danny.

She found him sat in the AV room, his eyes glued to the screen. Pushing the glass door open she found herself looking up at several flat screen images frozen on a close up of a young woman struggling for support.

"Is this your vic?" She asked, causing Danny to jump somewhat from his seat in front of her.

He turned around, surprised to find the prim lab tech stood behind him, folders in hand.

Danny nodded as he rubbed his eyes, "Only trouble is we can't see who it is that's with her."

"Think you can get anything?" She asked, the sudden importance in finding him temporarily leaving her as the heaviness of the case hit her.

He shrugged, "I don't know. I guess we'll keep looking until something gives up." The CSI nodded to the folders in her hands. "What can I do you for?"

Shaking herself from her daze, Liberty suddenly remembered what had caused her to track him down.

"The evidence you brought in from the workshop to my lab."

"Yeah."

"When you brought it in, you didn't change anything – maybe accidentally pick up anything off of my counters thinking that it belonged with your stuff?"

Danny looked confused, "No. They were all sealed up, you saw for yourself when I signed them over to you." His curiosity over the folders ever growing he sat up straight. "Why, what's wrong?"

Liberty chewed on her lip and instantly regretted it when she tasted lip-gloss on her teeth.

"I think you might want to see this." She passed the lab results to him.

Danny never took his eyes off Liberty as he accepted the folder and opened them. Finally looking down at the report, he began skimming through what he understood of it.

There was a moment's silence before he stood, a look of shock on his face.

"We got a match."

She nodded, "But that's not the best part." She pulled a small evidence bag from her lab coat pocket. "Here."

Danny took the see through bag, and peered at the branded small bottle of solvent dye. The label on the front stated that it was to be added to fabric dye in order to hold a brighter and more vibrant colour. Danny looked from the bottle to the report in his opposite hand.

"This–"

"Doesn't match." Liberty grinned, once the CSI had finally caught up. "The liquids were switched."

"Hidden in plain sight, no one would think to look at it." He concluded. "Were you wearing gloves when you handled this?"

"Do we really need to go there again Danny?" Liberty asked as she rolled her eyes.

"I could kiss you Liberty, you do know that don't you?"

She grimaced, "That's twice I've heard that from you this week. I'd like to see the end of the week minus any kind of kiss from you Danny Messer, unless it's in the shape of a Hershley's kiss."

"If this breaks the case Liberty, you can have all the kisses you want."

The glint in his eye didn't go amiss, "Get out of here Messer." She swatted his shoulder with her test results, "Don't think of coming back unless you've got chocolate."