A/N: To those who are still waiting for new parts to An Old Friend: I'm sorry it's taking so long but things have been building up and I haven't been able to concentrate on that particular piece. I'll be getting back to that story as soon as I get myself tuned to serial killers and f***ed-up minds. *g* Spooky, eh?
Well, what comes to this story here, I've got the basics scribbled down so the progress should be easier. Blah, blah, blah. On with the story, right? Here we go...
Farewell to Girls
Part Three: Discoveries
The air that hit Grissom in the face as he entered the morgue was cool compared to the temperature in the corridors. He could hear Dr. Robbins moving deeper in the room even before he saw him. His steps took him further into the sterile room.
The body of Debra Walker lay on the autopsy table, still, peaceful and pale even against the metallic table. The blood from her face had been cleared out. She had been a pretty girl. Her skin was smooth, even in her death, her eyes fairly big behind the closed eyelids, her nose straight with a couple of freckles on the bridge and her lips clearly lined out, now violet with the lack of blood. Grissom could picture her alive, laughing and joking around with her friends with the enthusiasm of a seventeen-year-old. Poor kid.
As he heard the steps approached, Dr. Robbins glanced over his shoulders. He was just processing the autopsy. "Talking about the devil. You came at the right time." His white-haired head swung around back at the corpse as he finished what ever it was that he had been doing.
A little weary, half-sided smile, not a very humored one, twitched at the side of Grissom's mouth. "What did you find?" he asked as he stopped next to the table on which the body lay.
The coroner grunted, obviously satisfied with his discoveries, and nodded towards a little sample bottle on the side table. "Traces of semen all around her genitals."
Grissom's brow shot up questioningly. "A rape?"
Robbins's head shook. "I didn't find any indications of forced intercourse. She'd had sex before her death, within the past twelve hours."
"What about the cause of death?"
"That is interesting," Robbins replied. Grissom leant closer as the doctor rolled the girl slightly over, exposing her back. It was bluer than the rest of the body, the capillaries were burst. His hand indicated at the blue areas. "The blood was first packed into her backside instead of her feet. The bluish on her feet is visibly lighter. That indicates that she had been lying on her back during and after death. The marks caused by the robe were post-mortal. Her neck hadn't broken, which would've indicated to a suicidal hanging rather than a murder. I'd guess that she was pulled into the tree. This happened several hours after her death. "
"Definitely not a suicide then," Grissom stated the obvious. "What was the cause of death if not the lack of oxygen?"
Robbins rolled the girl back on her back, then pointed to her temple, at fresh, red scar. "See this wound here? It cuts deep into the skull, through the soft tissue and scattering the bone. A sharp, square-like object, quite heavy, I'd say."
"A corner of something?"
The Doc shrugged. "A table, cupboard, a piece of furniture... Could be anything, really. The hit was directed from the left. It caused an internal bleeding in the brains which lead to death quite fast."
"What about the time of death?"
"A little after six o'clock tonight."
"And the scratches?"
"Ah." One finger rose up in the air as if stating the importance of the words yet to come. "The ones on her knees were probably caused by falling down. I found some dirt from them, small stones and similar, sent them to the lab. It was pretty rough, so I'd say either asphalt or concrete. There are small scratches all around, on her hands and arms, that indicate to struggling, trying to escape. These wounds are fairly shallow. She wasn't fighting back that hard. But..." He moved to the head part. As he got there, he traced his gloved finger in the air above two, parallel scratches on her cheek. "These are deeper than the others. And most interesting of all, I found chips from the other one. Red chips."
Grissom's eyes took a fascinated glint. "Red chips," he repeated, his voice full of interest.
"Yeah, I have them right here," Robinson nodded, grabbing a small plastic pack, sealed for the time-being, and handed it to him. "I haven't had time to send them to analysis yet."
Grissom turned the pack around in his hand, examining the chips against the light, then took one last glance at the gray-skinned body of the girl. "I'll take them. Let me know if you find something else."
The response was no more than a grunt as the doctor turned back to his work.
***
"So, how are we doing this?"
Grissom glanced around the CSIs gathered into his office. It had been Warrick speaking. Another way of saying, "Which one of us are you taking in?" The dark-skinned man looked at him quizzically from the doorway, his arms folded and his eye brow arched into a voiceless question.
Grissom took a deep breath as he sat back in his chair, placing his pencil on the table in front of him as he fixed the young man with a look. "We have a shop robbery downtown. You're taking it with Nick." The man's face fell a bit but he didn't say anything, just nodded, as Grissom handed him the case file. "Sara," he turned his attention to the woman sitting in his guest chair, "I need you to process the backpack from the crime scene. Catherine and I are going to the school with Brass."
Sara nodded. For a second there she moved her eyes at Nick, sending some wordless message across the room, making the Texan roll his eyes while he walked to the door with Warrick and left. Grissom decided that he didn't even want to know. As the door closed behind the two CSIs he turned his attention back to Catherine and Sara. "Her parents hadn't seen Debra since she'd left for school yesterday morning. We need to find out where she was during the hours that passed between the end of school and her death."
"You said she hadn't been struggling much. So either she was caught off guard or she knew the killer," Catherine pointed out, making Grissom nod with acceptance.
"At this moment our primary suspect is the person whom she had sex with."
"But why wait four hours to dump her at the park?" Sara cut in. "And why the park? Surely there would've been easier places? Not to say, easier ways?"
"Maybe the killer wanted to make it show. Proudly exposing his results," Catherine suggested, glancing between the others for some kind of a response.
"Or maybe he just wanted her to be found."
***
His fingers drummed the steering wheel nervously. The school was just around the corner and Jim could already see the groups of students heading towards it. He drove slowly, not quite sure he even wanted to get where he was going. He passed a group of girls, some of them he recognized. One of them was crying. Quickly he turned his glance back to the road. So the news was officially out in the open. With a deep breath he pulled into the parking lot. His hands shook, trembled, as he bent down to take his suitcase from where it had slid under the other seat.
He ran his trembling fingers through his brown, short hair, trying to smooth it from places where it stuck out as he glanced into the rear mirror. The dark shade of unshaved hair darkened his cheeks. His eyes widened as he noticed it. How had he forgotten to shave?
A loud bang from next to his car made him jerk up. As he glanced sideways he saw a red Sierra that had appeared into the next spot and the middle body of the driver who was just locking the door. The movements outside brought him back into the present, making him climb out of his car.
Crying people. He couldn't stand crying people. Their unsheltered grief. It made him feel like an intruder. He hid from it, their faces and their eyes that seemed to stare at him as he passed, and rushed his steps as the worn-out twin doors of the school building got closer and closer.
The picture of the candles on the sidewalk was burnt on his retinas. The white candles that he'd seen as he'd arrived. He had refused to think about them then, but now he couldn't help it. Right across the street. She hadn't gotten far. The thought screamed in his head. Not that far. Bloody hell... All the shreds of his previous courage, the thoughts of determination, were slowly starting to escape from his grasp. What if he couldn't make it? A day. Just one day. It's a long time, though.
The hallways were quieter than usually, he noticed as he pushed the door open, entering the gray building. They were all grieving. The walk to the teachers' room seemed liked miles under the sorrow than hung above the corridors as a heavy cloak. He gulped, fastening his pace even more so. More candles. By her locker.
And Emma, one of the girls that'd always been around Debra, one of her friends, weeping in the corner with the rest of the cheerleaders around her, comforting. This time, he couldn't help staring at the group. Her friends. Had she told them? A knot of fear formed in his stomach as he recalled the exchange of words the girls had had last night. Their expressions. Had she told them? Had they guessed? He rushed forward, leaving the girls behind. He rushed to the safety of the teachers' room, not looking around at the other's already there, just walking to his own locker and beginning the day. As usual. The jacket off, into the locker, walk to the table, take the class plans out, focus on them, only them. The coffee pot waited on the large table by which he sat, and he poured himself a cup. Not that he really needed to, he was already jumpy enough. It was just a habit, part of the routine.
Then he looked up.
They were already there. Strange men in the head teacher's office, obviously the police. Like vultures, picking when the meat was still warm. One brown-suited, a short bloke, in his forties, his notebook open in his hand, seated in the guest chair . He seemed to be the one in charge. Another man, him also in civilian clothes, the graying hair covering the top of his head, stood by the window with his back towards the other people in the room but obviously listening to every word. He could see them through the half-closed blinds on the windows of the head teacher's office.
Mrs. Olson's, the head teacher's, mouth moved as she spoke, her blonded curls bouncing about as she nodded to her own words. Jim squinted his eyes. If he looked closely enough maybe he could make out what she was saying. Maybe they were talking about him. Him and Debra.
Mrs. Olson's eyes moved, they glanced over the brown-suited man's shoulder and through the window. They landed on Jim. He darted his eyes away as quickly as possible, starting to fumble through his papers. But he couldn't help the red that burnt his neck, rising to his cheeks, and the stammer of his fingers that shook the papers he was holding. They knew, and he was certain of it.
***
Brass looked at the small woman who sat behind her heavy wooden desk with her hands casually folded on her lap. Her dyed hair was curled into a puffy shrub that outlined her head and filtered the light that poured through the window behind her. Her make-up was carefully done - not too much for a woman in her fifties but still visible - and she was dressed in a gray suit, the greenish chemise peeking from underneath. Altogether, a very well constructed entirety. But it wasn't her appearance but her posture that glowed the respectfulness she wore. Her face was serious, with a glint of delicate mournfulness. "This is really a tragedy," the head teacher mouthed carefully with her voice full of sympathy. Her lined face crumbled into a look of concern. "I can't even imagine how much losing a school fellow will affect the youngsters. Debra was a very popular and friendly girl. I must say I can't imagine how anyone would want to hurt her. It wasn't a suicide, you say?" The words came pouring from her delicately reddened lips, almost sounding like from a handbook.
"That is right," Brass nodded as he answered. "Currently we are investigating this as a homicide, and therefore any information of her whereabouts before her death is useful."
"This has been a shock, and I can assure you that the school will provide all aids necessary to help to solve this crime."
"I'm sure you will, Mrs. Olson."
He glanced at the other man standing by the window. Grissom seemed to be uninterested in the conversation they were sharing, gazing through the window at the school yard, but Brass knew better. He could see him glancing from the side of his eye at the pair of them from time to time.
"Did Debra have a boyfriend, Mrs. Olson?" a female voice was heard from the other side of the room. Catherine sat there in a leather chair next to Shelby who stood by the door. The elder woman's eyes fixed on the CSI. "I'm not sure," she started carefully, pounding every word as if tasting them before they got out, thinking as she spoke. "As I understood it, she was involved with a boy called Jeremy Garrett some time ago but I haven't seen them together for awhile."
"Has anything unusual happened with her recently? Troubles at home? At school? Anything at all?"
Mrs. Olson rushed to answer even before the final words had gotten out of Catherine's mouth. "No, absolutely not. She was a good kid." Her lips tightened. "A good kid," she repeated with an intensity that made Brass frown slightly. "Everybody loved her."
"We would like to interview her classmates. Can that be arranged as soon as possible?" Catherine continued.
From the side of his eye Brass saw Grissom turning around as the woman nodded. He focused his attention to Mrs. Olson. "We'd like to start with her friends."
The elder woman glanced at Grissom, surprised to see him participating in the conversation but didn't respond as she bent down closer to the intercom. "Claire, could you get Allison Danley here."
TBC...
Ps. Oh, I forgot to say 'thank you' with big hugs to those who sent me feedback. So, THANK YOU!
Well, what comes to this story here, I've got the basics scribbled down so the progress should be easier. Blah, blah, blah. On with the story, right? Here we go...
Part Three: Discoveries
The air that hit Grissom in the face as he entered the morgue was cool compared to the temperature in the corridors. He could hear Dr. Robbins moving deeper in the room even before he saw him. His steps took him further into the sterile room.
The body of Debra Walker lay on the autopsy table, still, peaceful and pale even against the metallic table. The blood from her face had been cleared out. She had been a pretty girl. Her skin was smooth, even in her death, her eyes fairly big behind the closed eyelids, her nose straight with a couple of freckles on the bridge and her lips clearly lined out, now violet with the lack of blood. Grissom could picture her alive, laughing and joking around with her friends with the enthusiasm of a seventeen-year-old. Poor kid.
As he heard the steps approached, Dr. Robbins glanced over his shoulders. He was just processing the autopsy. "Talking about the devil. You came at the right time." His white-haired head swung around back at the corpse as he finished what ever it was that he had been doing.
A little weary, half-sided smile, not a very humored one, twitched at the side of Grissom's mouth. "What did you find?" he asked as he stopped next to the table on which the body lay.
The coroner grunted, obviously satisfied with his discoveries, and nodded towards a little sample bottle on the side table. "Traces of semen all around her genitals."
Grissom's brow shot up questioningly. "A rape?"
Robbins's head shook. "I didn't find any indications of forced intercourse. She'd had sex before her death, within the past twelve hours."
"What about the cause of death?"
"That is interesting," Robbins replied. Grissom leant closer as the doctor rolled the girl slightly over, exposing her back. It was bluer than the rest of the body, the capillaries were burst. His hand indicated at the blue areas. "The blood was first packed into her backside instead of her feet. The bluish on her feet is visibly lighter. That indicates that she had been lying on her back during and after death. The marks caused by the robe were post-mortal. Her neck hadn't broken, which would've indicated to a suicidal hanging rather than a murder. I'd guess that she was pulled into the tree. This happened several hours after her death. "
"Definitely not a suicide then," Grissom stated the obvious. "What was the cause of death if not the lack of oxygen?"
Robbins rolled the girl back on her back, then pointed to her temple, at fresh, red scar. "See this wound here? It cuts deep into the skull, through the soft tissue and scattering the bone. A sharp, square-like object, quite heavy, I'd say."
"A corner of something?"
The Doc shrugged. "A table, cupboard, a piece of furniture... Could be anything, really. The hit was directed from the left. It caused an internal bleeding in the brains which lead to death quite fast."
"What about the time of death?"
"A little after six o'clock tonight."
"And the scratches?"
"Ah." One finger rose up in the air as if stating the importance of the words yet to come. "The ones on her knees were probably caused by falling down. I found some dirt from them, small stones and similar, sent them to the lab. It was pretty rough, so I'd say either asphalt or concrete. There are small scratches all around, on her hands and arms, that indicate to struggling, trying to escape. These wounds are fairly shallow. She wasn't fighting back that hard. But..." He moved to the head part. As he got there, he traced his gloved finger in the air above two, parallel scratches on her cheek. "These are deeper than the others. And most interesting of all, I found chips from the other one. Red chips."
Grissom's eyes took a fascinated glint. "Red chips," he repeated, his voice full of interest.
"Yeah, I have them right here," Robinson nodded, grabbing a small plastic pack, sealed for the time-being, and handed it to him. "I haven't had time to send them to analysis yet."
Grissom turned the pack around in his hand, examining the chips against the light, then took one last glance at the gray-skinned body of the girl. "I'll take them. Let me know if you find something else."
The response was no more than a grunt as the doctor turned back to his work.
***
"So, how are we doing this?"
Grissom glanced around the CSIs gathered into his office. It had been Warrick speaking. Another way of saying, "Which one of us are you taking in?" The dark-skinned man looked at him quizzically from the doorway, his arms folded and his eye brow arched into a voiceless question.
Grissom took a deep breath as he sat back in his chair, placing his pencil on the table in front of him as he fixed the young man with a look. "We have a shop robbery downtown. You're taking it with Nick." The man's face fell a bit but he didn't say anything, just nodded, as Grissom handed him the case file. "Sara," he turned his attention to the woman sitting in his guest chair, "I need you to process the backpack from the crime scene. Catherine and I are going to the school with Brass."
Sara nodded. For a second there she moved her eyes at Nick, sending some wordless message across the room, making the Texan roll his eyes while he walked to the door with Warrick and left. Grissom decided that he didn't even want to know. As the door closed behind the two CSIs he turned his attention back to Catherine and Sara. "Her parents hadn't seen Debra since she'd left for school yesterday morning. We need to find out where she was during the hours that passed between the end of school and her death."
"You said she hadn't been struggling much. So either she was caught off guard or she knew the killer," Catherine pointed out, making Grissom nod with acceptance.
"At this moment our primary suspect is the person whom she had sex with."
"But why wait four hours to dump her at the park?" Sara cut in. "And why the park? Surely there would've been easier places? Not to say, easier ways?"
"Maybe the killer wanted to make it show. Proudly exposing his results," Catherine suggested, glancing between the others for some kind of a response.
"Or maybe he just wanted her to be found."
***
His fingers drummed the steering wheel nervously. The school was just around the corner and Jim could already see the groups of students heading towards it. He drove slowly, not quite sure he even wanted to get where he was going. He passed a group of girls, some of them he recognized. One of them was crying. Quickly he turned his glance back to the road. So the news was officially out in the open. With a deep breath he pulled into the parking lot. His hands shook, trembled, as he bent down to take his suitcase from where it had slid under the other seat.
He ran his trembling fingers through his brown, short hair, trying to smooth it from places where it stuck out as he glanced into the rear mirror. The dark shade of unshaved hair darkened his cheeks. His eyes widened as he noticed it. How had he forgotten to shave?
A loud bang from next to his car made him jerk up. As he glanced sideways he saw a red Sierra that had appeared into the next spot and the middle body of the driver who was just locking the door. The movements outside brought him back into the present, making him climb out of his car.
Crying people. He couldn't stand crying people. Their unsheltered grief. It made him feel like an intruder. He hid from it, their faces and their eyes that seemed to stare at him as he passed, and rushed his steps as the worn-out twin doors of the school building got closer and closer.
The picture of the candles on the sidewalk was burnt on his retinas. The white candles that he'd seen as he'd arrived. He had refused to think about them then, but now he couldn't help it. Right across the street. She hadn't gotten far. The thought screamed in his head. Not that far. Bloody hell... All the shreds of his previous courage, the thoughts of determination, were slowly starting to escape from his grasp. What if he couldn't make it? A day. Just one day. It's a long time, though.
The hallways were quieter than usually, he noticed as he pushed the door open, entering the gray building. They were all grieving. The walk to the teachers' room seemed liked miles under the sorrow than hung above the corridors as a heavy cloak. He gulped, fastening his pace even more so. More candles. By her locker.
And Emma, one of the girls that'd always been around Debra, one of her friends, weeping in the corner with the rest of the cheerleaders around her, comforting. This time, he couldn't help staring at the group. Her friends. Had she told them? A knot of fear formed in his stomach as he recalled the exchange of words the girls had had last night. Their expressions. Had she told them? Had they guessed? He rushed forward, leaving the girls behind. He rushed to the safety of the teachers' room, not looking around at the other's already there, just walking to his own locker and beginning the day. As usual. The jacket off, into the locker, walk to the table, take the class plans out, focus on them, only them. The coffee pot waited on the large table by which he sat, and he poured himself a cup. Not that he really needed to, he was already jumpy enough. It was just a habit, part of the routine.
Then he looked up.
They were already there. Strange men in the head teacher's office, obviously the police. Like vultures, picking when the meat was still warm. One brown-suited, a short bloke, in his forties, his notebook open in his hand, seated in the guest chair . He seemed to be the one in charge. Another man, him also in civilian clothes, the graying hair covering the top of his head, stood by the window with his back towards the other people in the room but obviously listening to every word. He could see them through the half-closed blinds on the windows of the head teacher's office.
Mrs. Olson's, the head teacher's, mouth moved as she spoke, her blonded curls bouncing about as she nodded to her own words. Jim squinted his eyes. If he looked closely enough maybe he could make out what she was saying. Maybe they were talking about him. Him and Debra.
Mrs. Olson's eyes moved, they glanced over the brown-suited man's shoulder and through the window. They landed on Jim. He darted his eyes away as quickly as possible, starting to fumble through his papers. But he couldn't help the red that burnt his neck, rising to his cheeks, and the stammer of his fingers that shook the papers he was holding. They knew, and he was certain of it.
***
Brass looked at the small woman who sat behind her heavy wooden desk with her hands casually folded on her lap. Her dyed hair was curled into a puffy shrub that outlined her head and filtered the light that poured through the window behind her. Her make-up was carefully done - not too much for a woman in her fifties but still visible - and she was dressed in a gray suit, the greenish chemise peeking from underneath. Altogether, a very well constructed entirety. But it wasn't her appearance but her posture that glowed the respectfulness she wore. Her face was serious, with a glint of delicate mournfulness. "This is really a tragedy," the head teacher mouthed carefully with her voice full of sympathy. Her lined face crumbled into a look of concern. "I can't even imagine how much losing a school fellow will affect the youngsters. Debra was a very popular and friendly girl. I must say I can't imagine how anyone would want to hurt her. It wasn't a suicide, you say?" The words came pouring from her delicately reddened lips, almost sounding like from a handbook.
"That is right," Brass nodded as he answered. "Currently we are investigating this as a homicide, and therefore any information of her whereabouts before her death is useful."
"This has been a shock, and I can assure you that the school will provide all aids necessary to help to solve this crime."
"I'm sure you will, Mrs. Olson."
He glanced at the other man standing by the window. Grissom seemed to be uninterested in the conversation they were sharing, gazing through the window at the school yard, but Brass knew better. He could see him glancing from the side of his eye at the pair of them from time to time.
"Did Debra have a boyfriend, Mrs. Olson?" a female voice was heard from the other side of the room. Catherine sat there in a leather chair next to Shelby who stood by the door. The elder woman's eyes fixed on the CSI. "I'm not sure," she started carefully, pounding every word as if tasting them before they got out, thinking as she spoke. "As I understood it, she was involved with a boy called Jeremy Garrett some time ago but I haven't seen them together for awhile."
"Has anything unusual happened with her recently? Troubles at home? At school? Anything at all?"
Mrs. Olson rushed to answer even before the final words had gotten out of Catherine's mouth. "No, absolutely not. She was a good kid." Her lips tightened. "A good kid," she repeated with an intensity that made Brass frown slightly. "Everybody loved her."
"We would like to interview her classmates. Can that be arranged as soon as possible?" Catherine continued.
From the side of his eye Brass saw Grissom turning around as the woman nodded. He focused his attention to Mrs. Olson. "We'd like to start with her friends."
The elder woman glanced at Grissom, surprised to see him participating in the conversation but didn't respond as she bent down closer to the intercom. "Claire, could you get Allison Danley here."
TBC...
Ps. Oh, I forgot to say 'thank you' with big hugs to those who sent me feedback. So, THANK YOU!
