Me no own, you no sue. Capish?
When it all goes wrong
"There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be."
-Working Class Hero, Marilyn Manson
The shrill ringing of the telephone tore Flack out of one of the most comfortable, peaceful sleeps he'd enjoyed in as long as he could remember. Carmen had stayed until just a little after nine, when Speed, called into the lab to help the beleaguered trace lab, came to pick her up. It was a relaxing night of sitting around the table, sipping wine -water or pop for Sam, who had declared a boycott of anything that contained alcohol- and sharing tales of their respective years on the job. Flack had the most colorful stories out of the three of them, made even more colorful by his accent and his repetitive use of foul language that had the girls in complete stitches at times. One of the best had to be about an exploding public toilet and the connection to an on-line dating service for inmates, blood smuggled in ketchup packets and a plot to release an inmate by his girfriend staging the murder in said public toilet and making him appear innocent on his previous charges. Carmen was confused halfway through, but listening to Flack tell a story was the treat in itself. In the end, it hadn't mattered how it happened of who did, you enjoyed the details.
They had gone to bed shortly before eleven. Unusual for them. But they hadn't actually gotten asleep until closer to one even though they were both exhausted. One kiss from her and the feel of her body against his was enough to drive him absolutely insane, and he'd made love to her slowly and intently, until they were both utterly spent and covered head to toe in spent and gasping from their release. He couldn't get enough of her. She was like a powerful drug that had sucked him right in and he was hopelessly hooked on. He hoped he'd always feel that way. They were so worn afterwards, they'd almost immediately passed out and into deep, sound sleeps.
And now the phone. He wasn't sure what time it was or how long he'd been asleep for, but the weariness in his body and the fuzzy state of his brain told him he'd obviously hadn't gotten the share of sleep he needed or wanted. His eyes snapped open. The room was in total darknes and he could hear rain pattering against the window and the faint rumbling of thuder. He could feel the warm, supple body tucked tightly into his side and hear her soft, rythmic breathing. Her arm slung loosely over him. He needed to orientate himself. Get his mind cleared up. Shake out the cobwebs. The phone had stopped ringing and was now piercing his ears once again. Samantha stirred beside him.
"Don..." she murmured. "Phone."
"I know. Go back to sleep." he rolled over onto his side and fumbled in the dark for the offending phone on the nightstand.
"Phone." she repeated sleepily.
"I heard you. I'm getting it. Relax, keep your pants on and go back to sleep." He snatched his cell off the nightstand, checked the call display and sighed heavily. So much for a peaceful, full night's slumber. He pressed talk. "Flack." he answered.
Samantha yawned noisily and rolled onto her stomach and lifted her head from the pillow to watch and listen in the dark.
He listened quietly for a minute, offered little more than an exhausted "I'll be there as soon as I can." and hung up. He lay there for several minutes, an arm over his weary eyes.
"Let me guess," she said, pushing hair away from the side of her face. "You have to go.'
He sighed heavily. "I have to go." he conceded. "Multiple DBs on the upper west side."
"Multiple as in how many?" she asked. "Two? Three?"
"Initial report is five." he replied.
"Five? Guess I shouldn't get too comfortable again. Mac will probably call within the half. No later than an hour."
"I think you're safer staying up. I know how hard it is to get you awake." He yawned, rubbed at his eyes and threw the covers off and slipped out of the warm, cozy bed. "All right...gotta go. Gotta save the world one evil bastard at a time."
"Wake me up when you leave, in case I fall asleep." Sam said and buried her face in her pillow.
"You are such a lazy bitch." he teased and kissed the back of her head and journeyed off for a shower.
Within twenty minutes he was showered, shaved and dressed and Sam was sitting up in bed, on the phone with Mac. He was sending Carmen over to pick her up. And he strictly suggested to wear coveralls and boots due to the horrid and unbelievably messy nature of the crime.
"Mac says the place is a mess." Sam commented, pulling on a soft cotton robe over her tank top and shorts as she climbed out of bed.
"And you say our lives are boring." Flack said, clipping on his holster and badge and slipping into his suit jacket. "Okay... I'm off. I'll see you in a little bit. Try not to kill Carmen or get into any road rage problems with your crazy driving."
"Be safe." she said, as he leaned down to kiss her softly.
"Always." he promised.
Carmen had gratefully handed over the wheel to her best friend. In fact, she was all ready buckled into the passenger seat of the police SUV when Sam came rushing out the front door of the building, her hair still damp and dressed down in a pair of faded jeans and a simple t-shirt, hauling a back pack over her shoulder that was no doubt stuffed with better clothes for later in the day.
"Is this some sort of hint?" Sam asked, dropping the bag in the back seat and climbing behind the wheel.
"You know how much I despise night time driving. Especially night time driving in the rain."
"You're such a diva." Sam sighed and clipped on her seat belt.
"I come bearing gifts." Carmen said, holding a loft a take out cup of tea and a brown paper bag.
"You are a saint." Sam declared and peered into the bag. "Why am I not surprised." she commented with a grin and pulled out the sprinkle donut and Carmen sat the tea in the cup holder between the seats. "So where are we exactly heading?" she asked. "We need to use GPS or is it easy to find?"
Carmen checked a piece of paper on the dash. "11676 Glen Hampton Terrace." she read.
"Upper west side all right. Have you ever seen the places up in that area?"
"Nope." Carmen said and sipped her coffee.
"Mansion does not describe them. Okay, seat belts on, air bags are working..."
"Sam, that is so not funny. You know how nervous I get when you drive."
"How nervous is that?" she asked, and threw the trunk in drive and peeled so fast out of the stop Carmen went flying forward and then back again. "Thank God for seat belts, huh?" Sam laughed and flipped on the lights and sirens.
"You are a crazy, demented bitch." Carmen declared and tightened her grip on the side of her seat. "And I thought Flack was a crazy driver."
"He's more Jeff Gordon and I'm more monster truck challenge, crushing everything in sight. Come on, admit it, you like driving with me. You never know what to expect."
"I expect to get there alive." Carmen said through gritted teeth as Sam seemingly effortlessly weaved in and out of traffic as if the other cars weren't even there, rarely letting the speed drop below sixty.
"Tim loves driving with me." Sam said. "He says he learns swear words he never knew existed."
"Because you are a crazy, demented bitch." Carmen stressed, her heart pounding in her chest, knuckles turning white as her fingers gripped any available surface.
"I promise we will get there alive." Sam said, zooming through a red light and narrowly escaping being hit by a taxi cab that came cruising through the same intersection.
"Jesus fucking Christ." Carmen cursed and closed her eyes and made the sign of the cross over her chest.
"That was so not my fault." Sam pointed out.
Fifteen minutes later, she was taking a sharp left onto Glen Hampton Terrace at nearly forty miles an hour. Half a block down, they could see at least a dozen blue and whites with their lights flashing, three unmarked squads and vans and SUVs that belonged to various members of print and radio and television media. Two dozen residents of the street were out on various well manicured lawns, umbrellas and rain jackets over their bed clothes, attracted by all the commotion.
"Gawkers." Carmen said and shook her head in disdain. "And the press..."
"Vultures." Sam sighed and eased her foot off the gas. "Almost as bad as process servers."
A police barricade had been set up a hundred yards from the home. Beyond the barricade, three other Avalanches were parked half on the sidewalk. The entire team was there, hoods of their rain coats pulled over their heads as they talked to Flack, who had taken his suit jacket off in favor of a NYPD wind breaker and was gesturing at the commotion with his log book, and at the massive Tudor style home with with a walkie talkie.
Sam honked the horn to capture the attention of a young uniform standing next to the road block. He journeyed over to the driver's side window as Sam used the power button to lower it. She showed her badge and her ID.
"Detective Ross and Detective Devine." she said. "We're from the crime lab."
He checked her ID and shone a flashlight in her face. "You look different here." he commented, nodding at the ID.
"It's called a hair cut." Sam told him.
"What about you?" the uniform asked, shining the beam on Carmen. "Badge and ID."
"Excuse me?" Carmen asked.
"I just told you who she was." Sam said in disdain.
"And I'm just suppose to take your word for it?" he asked.
"Would we lie about being CSIs?" Sam exclaimed. "What? We have some sick obsession with the show that we sneak into crime scenes and pretend to be forensic investigators? Let us through."
"Not until I see her badge and ID." the officer remained steadfast.
"This is ridiculous." Carmen mumbled and lifted her ass to get her wallet from her jeans.
"Hey! Fisher!" Flack yelled from the lawn. "What's the fuckin' hold up with my CSIs?"
"Checking ID and badges, sir."
"Sir!" Sam burst out laughing. "He may kick your ass for that later. Sir."
"You moron." Flack said. "Let them through!"
"But..."
"I said let them through now!"
Fisher sighed, reluctantly and went to the end of the barricade, and with the help of another uniform, moved it out of the way so they could pass.
"Thank you!" Sam said cheerfully as she drove past. "Should I run him over?" she asked Carmen.
"Maybe just his foot. What a jack ass."
Sam pulled up alongside one of the other SUVs and put it in park and killed the ignition. She and Carmen got out and dropped the rear door, gathering up their kits, jumpsuits and knee high rubber boots.
"Why is it every time I put these things on I get the urge to go fly fishing?" Carmen asked, as she finihed pulling on her coveralls and set to work on the awkward boots.
"I always get the urge to screw it and go home." Sam laughed, stomping one foot and then the other on the curb to force the boot onto her foot. "'Cause if something is that bad where we need to dress like this?" she zipped up her coveralls. "I really don't want to see it."
They grabbed their kits and headed towards the house, elbowing their way through the crowds of people to where Flack was waiting for them. One of the reporters apparently didn't like getting jostled around, because he turned and shoved Carmen so hard he nearly knocked her off her feet.
"You got a fucking problem?" Sam asked, shoving the guy back.
"You got one bitch?" he asked, getting in her face.
"No. But you'll have one in a second," she said and flashed her badge. "You gonna let us through or do I have to lock you up for obstruction. Say the word, Cronkite and I'll have you down on the ground before you know what hit you."
"Obstrucion?! That's a trump charge. Get out of my face. You can't do that."
"She can't but I can." Flack said, putting his hand on the guy's chest and pushing him back a couple feet. "And I will if you don't get the fuck outta the way. You okay, Devine?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. Good thing I had Tyson here with me."
He held up the tape so they could pass under it. "Check this place out." he said, nodding towards the home as he walked in between the two women. "Homes around here go for no less than half a mill. Neighbours were telling me that this place was just picked up on the market a couple of months ago for a cool three mill."
"Who bought it?" Sam asked. "Someone famous? Are we walking into an episode of Cribs?"
"You watch way too much t.v." Flack told her. "Bloomfield family bought it."
Sam looked up at him.
"Yeah, those Bloomfields." he concurred.
"Who?" Carmen asked. She wasn't up on the lifestyles of the disgustingly rich and pathetically famous.
"Richest family in all of New York." Flack told her. "Royalty almost. The husband, Jeffrey Bloomfield, is the top ad exec and CEO of Bloomfield-Kincaide advertising down on Wall Street. Mom, Darlene, is a former prima ballerina and debutante. But here's where things gets interesting. The DBs? Not the Bloomfields."
"No?" Sam asked.
"No. The Bloomfields are in Switzerland. Have been for a few months now. The vics are apparently Mrs Bloomfield's mother and father, sister and brother in law, and their two kids. I guess they've been taking care of the house or whatever while the others are on vacation." he looked down at his log book. "It was like writing a novel. Mom and dad are Lisa and Frank Collier. Their kids are Nicholas, 11 and Tessa, 6. Grandma and grandpa are Charles and Anne Marshall."
"Who called it in?" Carmen asked.
"The grandmother. When I got here, she still had the phone in her hand. Guess the attacker finished the job while she was making the call. How or why or what is for you guys to figure out."
"We've got quite a mess in there." Mac told everyone as they gathered around. "Six DBs. I wanted to wait for everyone to get here before going in. It's a massive crime scene. How big is the house, Flack?"
He glanced down at his notes. "Nearly twelve thousand square feet."
Danny whistled. "Bigger than a fucking Wal-Mart."
"Eight bedrooms, just as many baths." Flack said. "Private screening room, indoor and outdoor pools and tennis courts, nearly twenty rooms in all. That's not counting the basement. Wine cellar, pantry, laundry, all that crap."
"And where are the vics?" Stella asked.
"The mother and father are in the master bedroom." Flack told her. "Grandma's in the kitchen, grandpa is in the family room, Nicholas is in the games room and Tessa is in the basement."
"How bad is it?" Hawkes asked. "Blood and gore wise?"
"On a scale of one to ten?" Flack shrugged. "I'd give it a ninety five. The place is completely trashed from top to bottom, there's blood and brain matter all over the place, killer or killers wrote on the walls in blood. Swastikas, death to pigs, anarchy symbols. All the pleasant stuff. Let's put it this way. Ever see the Saw movies? Times those by a hundred and you almost come close."
"Glad we brought the suits and boots." Carmen said.
"You guys are going to need them." Flack assured her.
"Let's get to work." Mac said. "Danny and Carmen will take the mother and father. Speed, you take the son. Stella and I will take the grandmother, Hawkes, you the grandfather. Samantha will take the daughter, in the basement. Flack, when you're finished getting all your statements, I want you or one of your guys down there to help. It's dark and spooky down there and I don't want her down there too long alone. Everybody glove up. Triple glove. Like Flack said, the place is trashed and there's a lot of glass and a lot of blood. Work slowly and thoroughly. Don't miss a thing. Gerrard will be here in an hour to check on things."
Everybody groaned audibly and rolled their eyes. A couple even swore out loud.
"What does he want?" Stella asked.
"Apparently, the owner of this house is very good friends with the mayor." Mac said.
"So?" Danny asked. "Who cares?"
"Gerrard. And you know how he loves nothing more that to shit all over our lab." Mac replied. "Let's get to work. We've got a very long day ahead of us."
"Not the way you thought your night would end, huh Brooklyn?" Danny asked as he walked beside Sam as they headed to the front door of the mansion.
"No kidding. And I was having the best sleep of my life."
"Sleep. Ya, right." Danny grinned.
"That isn't all there is to life, Daniel." Sam said. "Regardless of what Don tells you. Oh well. What would a night in New York City be without a little excitement?"
"Or a little mass murder." Danny said.
The team split up. Each into their own piece of hell.
There was no major source of light in the basement. Which, in reality, was more best described as a root cellar. Cold and dark and damp with bare concrete floors and brick walls ad the distinct odour of must. And blood. There was no mistaking the smell of blood. Mac had hit the nail on the head. The basement was spooky. Incredibly spooky.
The only light was a bare light bulb dangling from the ceiling that Sam had to stand on her tip toes to turn on. She was surprised that for a house that was so immaculate and ritzy, it didn't have a finished basement. Even the run down tenement townhouse she and Adam had spent the majority of their early lives in had a finished basement. This place had little more than a wall to wall, ceiling to floor pantry for storing jarred preserves.
And one very dead body. Near the farthest wall lay six year old Tessa in a thin pink and yellow stripped night shirt and bare feet. On her back, eyes still open in a massive pool of blood. Sam sighed heavily, sat her kit on the ground and snapped it open. She'd brought a large lantern sized flashlight with her and she turned it on and set it a couple of feet away. Took out her camera and started with the overalls. Always the first step of an investigation. Photographing the body and the scene around it. She started with the scene first, laying out evidence markers along a trail of gravitational blood drops, drag marks and a medium velocity blood spatter on the wall. There was a small window at the top of the wall. Sam got out her handheld ALS light and stood on her tip toes to look at the ledge. Almost an inch of dust. In which were a set of pristine finger prints.
She smirked at the sight and doubled back to her kit and got some finger print tape to carefully lift the prints with. She sealed it and dropped it into her kit and snapped some pictures of the window.
Maybe I won't be down here as long as I thought, she mused wistfully in her head and headed for the body. She could hear foot steps above her as the others worked on the main floor. Muffled voices. She snapped on a pair of fresh gloves and crouched by the body.
"I'm sorry." she whispered to the little girl. "But I have to do this. I'm sorry."
Little kids always got to her. She couldn't help it. So innocent and pure. She set to work, conducting an initial exam of the wounds, taking more photos, checking the liver temperature to estimate time of death, and looking for signs of trace under the fingernails and on the clothing and even in the hair. Unfortunately there were obvious signs of sexual assault and a wave of nausea passed through Sam as she reached out and pulled the little girl's might gown down to give her some modesty. She used her walkie talkie to call up to Mac and ask permission to call the MEs office. She explained her findings and that she wanted the body out to look at the scene better. Mac said he'd put the call through.
"You okay down there?" he asked.
"I think so. It's creepy down here. I need some more light. A few flashlights would be nice. Big ones."
"Flack will be down in a couple minutes." Mac assured her. "I'll get him to bring some light."
"Okay... thanks. I'll be fine... for now."
She turned down the volume on the walkie talkie and sat back on her heels and stared at the little girl. Resisted the urge to close Tessa's eyes. It was a strict no no to alter the body in anyway. It was moved enough during the initial investigation. It would be up to Sid or whoever conducted the autopsy to close the eyes prior to, or shortly following the procedure. But it was unnerving to Samantha. It always was when a vic died with their eyes open. Like they were watching her. She turned away and grabbed her flashlight and decided to look around the rest of the basement while waiting for Flack.
It was damp and musty. The smell turned her stomach and she attempted to breath through her mouth. There was a loud, distinct scratching noise behind her. Like fingernails scraping on wood or another solid surface.
If that body gets up and moves, she thought, slowly turning around. I am so out of here.
Tessa was still in the same spot. Still. Unmoving. The noise was coming from what she assumed was a wine cellar. She contemplated calling upstairs for some help, but didn't want to seem foolish if it turned out there was nothing there and it was just her overactive imagination. However, to be on the safe side, she unzipped her jumpsuit and reached inside and slipped her gun from its holster. Flicking off the safety and loading the chamber. She held the gun in her right and the flashlight in her left as she walked quietly, approaching the door cautiously. Used her left hand to reach for the door handle.
The door suddenly flew open. The dead bolt caught her above the right eye, the force knocking her off of her feet and sending the flashlight and her gun tumbling to the ground. She was startled. Stunned from the blow. She could feel blood trickling in her eye and down her face from a wound to her forehead. She barely saw the shadowy figure standing above her. Clad all in black. Towering and menacing. The moonlight from the window catching the slice of the blade of a large knife tucked in the waist band.
Large black gloved hands reached for her throat and she skittered backwards, feeling blindly for the gun she knew was mere inches away from her right hand. One strong hand grabbed her by the hair, the other circled her throat, lifting her clear off of her feet and pinning her to the wall. The hand at her throat was like a steel vise, the fingers digging into her flesh, cutting off her airway. She brought up her knee, catching the attacker in the groin and sending him to his knees, moaning and writhing in pain on the ground in front of her. Gasping and sputtering as she tried to get air, she got onto her hands and knees and crawled towards her gun.
"Fucking bitch!" a deep, angry voice growled. He grabbed her around the waist and flipped her roughly onto her back, knocking the wind out of her. One hand went straight to her throat, the other went for the zipper on her jumpsuit.
"Get off of me!" she managed through the grip on her throat.
"Who are you?" the attacker asked.
"I'm just... a ... a crime scene investigator."
"A cop?"
"Yeah... but..."
"What kind of cop?"
"A CSI. Detective. You don't want to do this... there's like twenty people upstairs. They'll wonder why they haven't heard from me and come down here. Just let me go."
"I can't do that."
"Yes... you can." she pleaded.
"You married?" he asked. "Got kids?"
"No."
"Then no one will miss you, will they?'
"Please..." she begged. "Let me go. Don't do this. Please."
"I'll make you beg ever harder near the end. Trust me."
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
"What does every man want?" he retorted.
"You do not want to do this. Trust me. You do this and you will not get out of here alive."
He shrugged. "That'll be two of us." he said.
She screamed. Only to have the attacker abandon undoing her clothing in favor of clamping a hand over her mouth.
Mac looked up from the trace evidence he was collecting. Lips pursed, eyes narrowed, looking around the room.
Stella, who'd been snapping photos, noticed him stop working and saw the concerned, agitated look on his face.
"Mac?" she asked, alarmed.
"Did you hear that?" he asked her.
"Hear what?"
"Someone screaming. Did you hear it?"
"No. It was probably just the wind. It's nasty outside."
Mac shook his head. "It wasn't the wind. I distinctly heard someone screaming."
In the family room, Dr. Sheldon Hawkes had heard something too. So had Danny, who was just descending the back stairs. He'd left Carmen up in the master bedroom while he ran out to grab more foot plates.
Hawkes halted in the middle of examining the body and looked up at Danny.
"You guys hear that?" Speed asked, suddenly appearing at the end of the hall.
"Depends on what you heard." Danny replied.
"Sounded like someone screaming." Speed said.
"That's what I thought I heard." Danny agreed. "Doc?"
"I heard it too." Hawkes nodded.
"One scream." Speed said. "Real short. Outside maybe?"
"I'll go find Flack." Danny announced. "I was on my way out anyway. See if he heard anything."
"That wasn't very smart!" the attacker told Samantha. "You really want to speed up the process of your own death?"
She shook her head.
"I'll tell you what. I'll make it as painless as possible. You're too pretty to let suffer slowly and agonizingly."
He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a liguid filled syringe. "Don't worry, sweetheart..." he cooed. "You'll be out in no time... you won't feel a thing..."
Uncapping the syringe with his teeth, he jabbed the needle into the left side of her neck.
What he didn't know was that she had gotten a hold of her gun. She closed her eyes and prayed and fired.
Thanks to all of you still enjoying and reading and reviewing! You guys are the reason I enjoy this soooo much. And thanks to all you lurkers adding me to your fav. author and alerts. Much appreciated. Please review? I love getting mail!! And now that it's fixed, I can send mail back!!