New York City - Present Day
"Hurry up." She stood over him, near his feet, staying away from the blood. "Damn it!" she growled, glancing at her watch. She looked down at his chest, trying to determine if he was still breathing. Her eyes traveled from his chest, down and along the handle of the knife, still imbedded in his stomach. She watched, fascinated, as one small drop of blood hung shakily off the handle, then fell into the pool that had formed on the floor next to him. He whimpered, and her eyes flew to his face, anger and loathing filled her as she realized he was still alive. "You're one tough son of a bitch, aren't you?" She took a step forward, then stopped her self, knowing she'd have to do it from the other side, from his back, so she wouldn't get any of his blood on her Pradas. She'd hate to have to throw them away. She took a step back, then over his legs. Crouching down next to the small of his back, she reached up with a gloved hand and pushed on the knife, driving it a little farther. He made a tiny gasping noise, exhaled roughly, and died.
She stood from her crouched position, smoothing out her skirt, double-checking her shoes for blood. Walking over to his file cabinet, she pulled the drawers open, grabbing handfuls of files and flinging them over her shoulder. Pieces of paper scattered and floated down to the floor. At his desk, she arbitrarily knocked items over. Picking up the desk lamp she hurled it across the room, smashing it into the glass of a framed map from the 1800's. She'd given him that map on their first anniversary.
Looking around at the scene she'd created, she nodded her head once to herself. This should do it. She stepped back over him, and headed toward the door. Stopping at the mirror, she slicked on some lipstick, ran her tongue over her teeth and smoothed her hair. Satisfied, she pulled off the gloves, dropping them into her purse, and snapped it shut. She shut the door behind her, never having looked back at him.
It was almost dawn when the cleaning crew found him. The first woman to see him, dropped her feather duster as she screamed, bringing the others running. She crossed herself, mumbling words of prayer as one of her co-workers ran to another office to call 911.
Detectives Goren and Eames made their way through the throng of police officers, technicians and citizens trying to ease their morbid curiosity. Eames stopped in the hall, talking to the officers, hearing what they'd already learned. Goren left her side, continuing on into the office. As he always did, Bobby looked around the room before examining the body. He saw the broken frame first, hanging cockeyed on the wall. Then the shards of glass and the lamp, lying on the floor. He took in the file cabinet; it's drawer's open, the ransacked desk, and the pieces of paper that had rained down on the floor. He took in the crime scene, and something was off. He didn't quite know what it was, but it felt staged to him, as if the killer had created the scene just for the purpose of creating a scene.
CSU was done with the body, and the coroner's office techs stood to the side, the black plastic body bag draped over one of their arms, waiting for Bobby's signal. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Goren stepped over the man's legs, crouching down behind his back, near his waist. Alex came into the office in time to see Bobby lifting up the dead mans right arm, leaning in, inches away, inspecting the lifeless hand, turning it over to check the palm. Setting the arm gently back down, letting it rest on its owner's thigh, Bobby glanced up at Alex. "No defensive wounds. He didn't see it coming." Alex approached him, and mindful of the blood, stood at the dead man's feet. She looked around the room.
"Robbery?"
"Maybe, but what's worth stealing in a lawyers office?" Bobby asked, raising from his crouched position, but not moving away from the body. "That map." He pointed to the map that hung half out of its broken frame. "That map is worth a few thousand, if this were robbery, they'd have taken it."
Alex glanced at the small notebook in her hands. "Victim is Martin Wharton. There was a security guard on duty all night, but no cameras. The guard didn't see anything, but the elevator does go straight to the underground parking garage. The perp probably used it coming and going."
Bobby opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a woman's voice coming from the hallway.
"Marty? Marty?" The name in her voice echoed down the suddenly quiet hall.
Each detective looked toward the door, as the woman's voice became closer and more worried with each call.
"Marty? Marty?" Bobby and Alex could tell she had been stopped by an officer when they heard her say: "That's my husbands office, where's my husband? Marty?"
Glancing at the coroners techs, and motioning for them to begin removing the body, Bobby stepped back over the stretched out legs, and followed Alex into the hall.
Looking toward the commotion, Bobby and Alex watched as a uniformed officer held the woman back, his hands on her shoulders. She was still shouting for her husband, "Would you let me go. Why can't I see my husband?" She struggled against the cop; stretching herself to look over his shoulder, "Marty . . ." she saw Goren and Alex watching from the office doorway "Are you in charge?" She shouted, meeting Bobby's eyes. Bobby glanced down at Alex, and they both started down the hallway toward the woman and the cop. The woman relaxed under the officers' hold, questioning Bobby as he was still walking up to her. "What's happened? Where's my husband? Marty Wharton, where is he?" The uniformed officer let go of her shoulders as Bobby and Alex walked up, and stepped aside for the detectives.
"Mrs. Wharton?" Bobby asked.
"Karen. Karen Wharton. What's happened to my husband?"
Alex placed a steadying hand on Karen's arm. "Mrs. Wharton, why don't we step over here?" Alex gestured to an area around a corner.
"No. Please, tell me . . ." Karen's voice broke away; her eyes stared down the hall. Bobby and Alex watched as a horrified, unbelieving look settled into her face. Turning his head back toward the office he had just left, Bobby saw the coroners' techs pushing the stretcher out of the office, the black plastic body bag laid out on it. He turned back toward Karen, in time to see her jerk her arm out of Alex's hand, and push past them, down the hall, toward the body on the stretcher. "No-No-No-" she began to wail. Bobby caught up with her in two steps, reaching out and grabbing her arm, pulling her back Karen yanked out of his grasp, but he was able to stretch out his arm, across her upper chest, holding her back. She fought him, struggling against his grip, trying to get to her husbands body. The technicians stopped in their tracks, watching, not knowing what to do. Karen stopped struggling, collapsing first against Bobby, and then sinking down onto the floor.
"Hurry up." She stood over him, near his feet, staying away from the blood. "Damn it!" she growled, glancing at her watch. She looked down at his chest, trying to determine if he was still breathing. Her eyes traveled from his chest, down and along the handle of the knife, still imbedded in his stomach. She watched, fascinated, as one small drop of blood hung shakily off the handle, then fell into the pool that had formed on the floor next to him. He whimpered, and her eyes flew to his face, anger and loathing filled her as she realized he was still alive. "You're one tough son of a bitch, aren't you?" She took a step forward, then stopped her self, knowing she'd have to do it from the other side, from his back, so she wouldn't get any of his blood on her Pradas. She'd hate to have to throw them away. She took a step back, then over his legs. Crouching down next to the small of his back, she reached up with a gloved hand and pushed on the knife, driving it a little farther. He made a tiny gasping noise, exhaled roughly, and died.
She stood from her crouched position, smoothing out her skirt, double-checking her shoes for blood. Walking over to his file cabinet, she pulled the drawers open, grabbing handfuls of files and flinging them over her shoulder. Pieces of paper scattered and floated down to the floor. At his desk, she arbitrarily knocked items over. Picking up the desk lamp she hurled it across the room, smashing it into the glass of a framed map from the 1800's. She'd given him that map on their first anniversary.
Looking around at the scene she'd created, she nodded her head once to herself. This should do it. She stepped back over him, and headed toward the door. Stopping at the mirror, she slicked on some lipstick, ran her tongue over her teeth and smoothed her hair. Satisfied, she pulled off the gloves, dropping them into her purse, and snapped it shut. She shut the door behind her, never having looked back at him.
It was almost dawn when the cleaning crew found him. The first woman to see him, dropped her feather duster as she screamed, bringing the others running. She crossed herself, mumbling words of prayer as one of her co-workers ran to another office to call 911.
Detectives Goren and Eames made their way through the throng of police officers, technicians and citizens trying to ease their morbid curiosity. Eames stopped in the hall, talking to the officers, hearing what they'd already learned. Goren left her side, continuing on into the office. As he always did, Bobby looked around the room before examining the body. He saw the broken frame first, hanging cockeyed on the wall. Then the shards of glass and the lamp, lying on the floor. He took in the file cabinet; it's drawer's open, the ransacked desk, and the pieces of paper that had rained down on the floor. He took in the crime scene, and something was off. He didn't quite know what it was, but it felt staged to him, as if the killer had created the scene just for the purpose of creating a scene.
CSU was done with the body, and the coroner's office techs stood to the side, the black plastic body bag draped over one of their arms, waiting for Bobby's signal. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Goren stepped over the man's legs, crouching down behind his back, near his waist. Alex came into the office in time to see Bobby lifting up the dead mans right arm, leaning in, inches away, inspecting the lifeless hand, turning it over to check the palm. Setting the arm gently back down, letting it rest on its owner's thigh, Bobby glanced up at Alex. "No defensive wounds. He didn't see it coming." Alex approached him, and mindful of the blood, stood at the dead man's feet. She looked around the room.
"Robbery?"
"Maybe, but what's worth stealing in a lawyers office?" Bobby asked, raising from his crouched position, but not moving away from the body. "That map." He pointed to the map that hung half out of its broken frame. "That map is worth a few thousand, if this were robbery, they'd have taken it."
Alex glanced at the small notebook in her hands. "Victim is Martin Wharton. There was a security guard on duty all night, but no cameras. The guard didn't see anything, but the elevator does go straight to the underground parking garage. The perp probably used it coming and going."
Bobby opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a woman's voice coming from the hallway.
"Marty? Marty?" The name in her voice echoed down the suddenly quiet hall.
Each detective looked toward the door, as the woman's voice became closer and more worried with each call.
"Marty? Marty?" Bobby and Alex could tell she had been stopped by an officer when they heard her say: "That's my husbands office, where's my husband? Marty?"
Glancing at the coroners techs, and motioning for them to begin removing the body, Bobby stepped back over the stretched out legs, and followed Alex into the hall.
Looking toward the commotion, Bobby and Alex watched as a uniformed officer held the woman back, his hands on her shoulders. She was still shouting for her husband, "Would you let me go. Why can't I see my husband?" She struggled against the cop; stretching herself to look over his shoulder, "Marty . . ." she saw Goren and Alex watching from the office doorway "Are you in charge?" She shouted, meeting Bobby's eyes. Bobby glanced down at Alex, and they both started down the hallway toward the woman and the cop. The woman relaxed under the officers' hold, questioning Bobby as he was still walking up to her. "What's happened? Where's my husband? Marty Wharton, where is he?" The uniformed officer let go of her shoulders as Bobby and Alex walked up, and stepped aside for the detectives.
"Mrs. Wharton?" Bobby asked.
"Karen. Karen Wharton. What's happened to my husband?"
Alex placed a steadying hand on Karen's arm. "Mrs. Wharton, why don't we step over here?" Alex gestured to an area around a corner.
"No. Please, tell me . . ." Karen's voice broke away; her eyes stared down the hall. Bobby and Alex watched as a horrified, unbelieving look settled into her face. Turning his head back toward the office he had just left, Bobby saw the coroners' techs pushing the stretcher out of the office, the black plastic body bag laid out on it. He turned back toward Karen, in time to see her jerk her arm out of Alex's hand, and push past them, down the hall, toward the body on the stretcher. "No-No-No-" she began to wail. Bobby caught up with her in two steps, reaching out and grabbing her arm, pulling her back Karen yanked out of his grasp, but he was able to stretch out his arm, across her upper chest, holding her back. She fought him, struggling against his grip, trying to get to her husbands body. The technicians stopped in their tracks, watching, not knowing what to do. Karen stopped struggling, collapsing first against Bobby, and then sinking down onto the floor.