II - SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL
Under the harsh lights in autopsy, the bruises on the body of the victim were particularly vivid. Ranging in colors from black and purple to blue, green and yellow, they entirely covered his upper chest and back. Grissom watched with interest as Doctor Robbins gently but firmly ran his hands up the torso, and winced as he noticed the subtle shifting under the skin.
"Well, it appears that practically every bone in the upper body was shattered. The chest is very pulpy. X-Rays will confirm this, of course. Perhaps a broken rib punctured the heart." Robbins looked at Grissom and waived him closer. "Look at this." He very gently manipulated the collar- bone, showing Grissom how it rippled and rolled under the skin. "That had to have hurt."
He continued his study, inspecting the mouth and gently fingering the small ribbon of VHS tape hanging from it. "I assume you're going to want this as intact as possible?" Not waiting for a response, he gently started removing it, sliding his fingers into the cavity and trying to dislodge the lump of tape. He ran his free hand up the outside of the throat, manipulating from the outside, gently pulling and pushing as he slowly pulled the blockage free.
Grissom was amazed to see the amount of tape that had been shoved down the victim's throat, and wondered how it had been shoved in there to begin with. Had Mr. Rivers murderer placed it in their after he was dead, or before? He looked closer at the mass now sitting on the table, studying it.
"Is that vomit?" he questioned, pointing out pulpy particles of half digested food sticking to the lower mass of the tape.
Robbins looked at it, grunting in the affirmative. "Looks that way. Automatic gag reflex, I would assume. At least we know he was still alive when he was forced to eat this. Dead men don't gag."
"Any way we might be able to determine what - if anything - is on this tape? Or will it be too wrecked from saliva and stomach acids to do us any good?" Robbins shrugged.
"You're the CSI, not me. I'd suggest maybe sending Greg down here to check this out, if you think he can handle it. There's no knowing what chemical knowledge is floating around in that brain of his."
Grissom laughed, than sighed. "I'll send him down. You'll beep me when you have more info?"
* * * * *
Catherine Willows did not like waiting. She was standing in the main lobby of K-ROX, one of Las Vegas' most popular radio stations, toe tapping impatiently as she glanced at her watch for the tenth time. Above her, she could hear the annoying patter of the late night DJ, and than the stringent chords of a song she did recognize. She smiled grimly - Greg would know it.
The sharp staccato tapping of stiletto heels on marble caught her attention, and she turned as the woman she had spoken to earlier returned.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Willows." She said, in a voice that indicated she really wasn't sorry at all. "As you can imagine, we are all quite shocked here by the news. Randy was supposed to be at the same charity function the rest of us were at tonight. Quite frankly, when he didn't show up, I was a little pissed."
"Well, he had a good reason for missing it." Catherine responded dryly. "Listen, Ms. - Robards? Right? I don't have a lot of time. Did you get me the information I needed?"
The statuesque blonde rolled her eyes. "Well, no one seems to know what time he left today. It was sometime after 4:00, and definitely before 5:30, but no one knows for sure. I can't seem to reach Mr. Phillips - the station manager - on the phone or by beeper, but Mr. Waters is coming in to talk to you. He says you can wait in Mr. Phillips office for him. Follow me."
Catherine kept her thoughts to herself as she followed Ms. Robards across the lobby and down a narrow hallway. The heavy smell of the woman's perfume was cloying and sickly. She smelled of gardenia and roses, and a sudden coppery scent that made Catherine pause. Ms. Robards had stopped in front of an office door, and had turned to Catherine as she opened it up.
"Well - here we are!" she began, before Catherine motioned for silence, and gingerly stepped into the dark office, snapping on the light.
"Oh my God!" The sound of Ms. Robards vomiting in the hallway barely registered. Catherine looked in shock at the blood bath before her. A robust man, whom she assumed was the station manager Robards had spent ten minutes trying to phone, was sitting slumped in his leather chair behind his desk. What had once been a white Tuxedo shirt was crimson, and dripping with blood. The various splatters around the room were indicative of a violent struggle, as were the papers and broken glass that covered most of the floor. Stapled neatly into his forehead was a piece of printer paper. "Sympathy for the Devil" was printed on it in dark black letters.
Gingerly stepping backwards, Catherine pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. "Brass? It's me. I'm at the radio station. I've found Mr. Phillips, I think. He's been murdered. You might want to get out here right away, and send Grissom."
Under the harsh lights in autopsy, the bruises on the body of the victim were particularly vivid. Ranging in colors from black and purple to blue, green and yellow, they entirely covered his upper chest and back. Grissom watched with interest as Doctor Robbins gently but firmly ran his hands up the torso, and winced as he noticed the subtle shifting under the skin.
"Well, it appears that practically every bone in the upper body was shattered. The chest is very pulpy. X-Rays will confirm this, of course. Perhaps a broken rib punctured the heart." Robbins looked at Grissom and waived him closer. "Look at this." He very gently manipulated the collar- bone, showing Grissom how it rippled and rolled under the skin. "That had to have hurt."
He continued his study, inspecting the mouth and gently fingering the small ribbon of VHS tape hanging from it. "I assume you're going to want this as intact as possible?" Not waiting for a response, he gently started removing it, sliding his fingers into the cavity and trying to dislodge the lump of tape. He ran his free hand up the outside of the throat, manipulating from the outside, gently pulling and pushing as he slowly pulled the blockage free.
Grissom was amazed to see the amount of tape that had been shoved down the victim's throat, and wondered how it had been shoved in there to begin with. Had Mr. Rivers murderer placed it in their after he was dead, or before? He looked closer at the mass now sitting on the table, studying it.
"Is that vomit?" he questioned, pointing out pulpy particles of half digested food sticking to the lower mass of the tape.
Robbins looked at it, grunting in the affirmative. "Looks that way. Automatic gag reflex, I would assume. At least we know he was still alive when he was forced to eat this. Dead men don't gag."
"Any way we might be able to determine what - if anything - is on this tape? Or will it be too wrecked from saliva and stomach acids to do us any good?" Robbins shrugged.
"You're the CSI, not me. I'd suggest maybe sending Greg down here to check this out, if you think he can handle it. There's no knowing what chemical knowledge is floating around in that brain of his."
Grissom laughed, than sighed. "I'll send him down. You'll beep me when you have more info?"
* * * * *
Catherine Willows did not like waiting. She was standing in the main lobby of K-ROX, one of Las Vegas' most popular radio stations, toe tapping impatiently as she glanced at her watch for the tenth time. Above her, she could hear the annoying patter of the late night DJ, and than the stringent chords of a song she did recognize. She smiled grimly - Greg would know it.
The sharp staccato tapping of stiletto heels on marble caught her attention, and she turned as the woman she had spoken to earlier returned.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Willows." She said, in a voice that indicated she really wasn't sorry at all. "As you can imagine, we are all quite shocked here by the news. Randy was supposed to be at the same charity function the rest of us were at tonight. Quite frankly, when he didn't show up, I was a little pissed."
"Well, he had a good reason for missing it." Catherine responded dryly. "Listen, Ms. - Robards? Right? I don't have a lot of time. Did you get me the information I needed?"
The statuesque blonde rolled her eyes. "Well, no one seems to know what time he left today. It was sometime after 4:00, and definitely before 5:30, but no one knows for sure. I can't seem to reach Mr. Phillips - the station manager - on the phone or by beeper, but Mr. Waters is coming in to talk to you. He says you can wait in Mr. Phillips office for him. Follow me."
Catherine kept her thoughts to herself as she followed Ms. Robards across the lobby and down a narrow hallway. The heavy smell of the woman's perfume was cloying and sickly. She smelled of gardenia and roses, and a sudden coppery scent that made Catherine pause. Ms. Robards had stopped in front of an office door, and had turned to Catherine as she opened it up.
"Well - here we are!" she began, before Catherine motioned for silence, and gingerly stepped into the dark office, snapping on the light.
"Oh my God!" The sound of Ms. Robards vomiting in the hallway barely registered. Catherine looked in shock at the blood bath before her. A robust man, whom she assumed was the station manager Robards had spent ten minutes trying to phone, was sitting slumped in his leather chair behind his desk. What had once been a white Tuxedo shirt was crimson, and dripping with blood. The various splatters around the room were indicative of a violent struggle, as were the papers and broken glass that covered most of the floor. Stapled neatly into his forehead was a piece of printer paper. "Sympathy for the Devil" was printed on it in dark black letters.
Gingerly stepping backwards, Catherine pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. "Brass? It's me. I'm at the radio station. I've found Mr. Phillips, I think. He's been murdered. You might want to get out here right away, and send Grissom."