[A/N Awww! Hello my faithful readers! All…. *Checks page* four of you! Well, reviews make me happy, and this is better then I've gotten on any other stories! : D Well, I promised I would actually do work, whether or not anyone cared, and keep bugging you all until you do! (Care, that is) Well, I'm sad to say… this plot is going nowhere, fast. I am out of ideas… I need a good story twist… I'm NOT writing a Fic where Cath throws a party and everyone admits their feelings. I really want this to be good, so I'm trying my best. I expect to get about a chapter a week, some weeks I'll do more, some less, it depends on two men Mr. Bal, and Mr. Nebor. Who are they? My crappy teachers for the two courses I take that give homework (and English, but I don't do it anyway) So if I'm late… send THEM the hate mail, not me!]
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Sara quickly flipped through the witness reports, scanning through paragraphs, flipping through phrases. [a/n okay, that was dumb, but yeah] Something caught her eye. In one witness' account, a name jumped out at her. A Mrs. Rebecca Pradine, wife of Daniel Pradine, the man who's prints she had found on the counter. As she looked through Rebecca's report, she noticed parts that didn't make sense.
"I remember it almost perfectly. I walked into the bank. I needed money, I was going shopping, and my husband didn't leave me any. I was waiting in line at the teller's for about… oh, 5 minutes, or so, when I stooped down to tie up my shoe. I heard a woman scream, I looked up, and there was… that man! He was waving a gun around, and the first thing I did was jump down flat, I was terrified of getting shot. It was early in the morning, I like to get to the malls before they get busy, and only a few people were there, and just two tellers. One, I think, was opening an account for another guy, so really there was only one person working…"
There was nothing wrong with this statement, it was a typical, panicked female response, and she told it as it was to her. The problem came up when she mentioned how she ran away.
"He had shot the man, and he was running out the door. I saw the coast was clear, so I got up and started running to the back exit as fast as I could, just like anyone would. I mean, if you were faced with a guy holding a gun, would you try to play hero?
"So yeah, I was running as fast as I could, but another man came up, and I guess he was trying to get out too, but he pushed me a little, and I tripped. It was stupid to have been wearing high-heels, but who could have known? Anyway, I tripped, landed on my arm, and that's where I got this cut. Witness shows a 2-inch gash on upper right forearm. Bruising is evident, witness claims it was just the fall that caused it"
Sara stopped reading. Rebecca had said that she had bent down to tie a shoelace on her runners, thus missing the perp's face. But then she had said she had tripped while running because of her high-heels and cut her arm.
In both cases, the shoes are a cause of something major. She didn't see anything, and tripping is a convenient excuse for her cut. Strange too, how no one really saw the man who was robbing them. Yeah, running and ducking might have been more important at the time, but they should have gotten at least one good look!
Sara sighed. Something wasn't right, and it was frustrating her. She needed a break. She glanced at her watch. She had been working for around two hours. She stood up, and stretched her arms out to the sun, willing her limbs to work properly. She grumbled a bit, sleeping on the breakroom couch and then sitting at her desk for hours on end was making her sore. She wandered into the breakroom, and saw everyone seated. She smiled a hello, and they greeted her back.
"Hey Sara! Come sit down."
Nick shoved Warrick into the side of the couch. Greg, sitting on the other side, moved over a bit farther. Sara sat down gratefully between them. After watching Warrick and Nick fight it out over who got the bigger share of the old brown couch for a minute, she turned and looked at the rest of the team. Catherine was drinking a diet coke, watching the mock-battle going on with an amused smile. Nick finally won, and Warrick relinquished his side of the couch. Nick spread out, taking up as much space as he could.
"Oh sure, rub it in." Warrick said.
"Hey, I earned the right, survival of the fittest, and all that. Right Sara?" He turned to Sara, how had been observing them both with a smile.
"Oh, of course." She said sarcastically.
"You're definitely in excellent condition if you can shove someone off a couch. Why it isn't an Olympic sport, I'll never know. " She grinned, and Catherine, Warrick and Greg all laughed. Warrick paced around, then finally said:
"Come on you guys, shove. There's enough room for more than three people on this couch, it's huge!"
Nick sat up, and Sara shoved over a little close to Greg, who didn't seem to mind at all. Warrick plopped down. Sara was sitting in the only other chair, the other couch and chair were being used by interns, lab techs and others who had been lucky enough to claim a good seat during their break.
!!! A loud bang issued forth from the kitchen, followed by frustrated swearing.
"Gah, you piece of shit!!"
Sara looked over to see Ralph wiping up a soggy dripping mess. The coffee machine had done it again. Poor Ralph. The new secretary was only into his second day at work, had already been subjected to the coffee-makers vengeful wrath. After cleaning up and stalking off to the pop machine resignedly Sara got up. The others watched her curiously, their conversation momentarily forgotten as they watched their co-worker unplug the machine, empty the jug, then pick up the coffee maker, and try to carry it over.
"Oof! Can one of you guys help me? This things pretty big" She was straining to hold onto the ancient machine. The others just watched, but Greg got up and walked over. He took hold of the machine and Sara pointed in the direction of the breakroom floor.
"Just put it over there please." She said and he placed it down roughly.
"Thanks Greg." She sat down next to it, got up again and walked down the hallway.
"So... what is she doing?" Warrick turned to Greg. He shrugged.
"It's Sara, she's always doing her own thing. How should I know?"
"Maybe she's finally going to put it out of its misery." Catherine joked. Sara walked back in, carrying a screwdriver and some other tools. She sat down, flipped the machine over, and started to wriggle the bolts free.
Greg watched her.
What is she doing? Trying to bash it open? He thought as she gave up trying to unscrew the bolts. It was so old they were practically fused into the machine.
"Okay, Sara. Are you trying to break it? Because you're practically hammering that thing to pieces." Nick finally spoke what the others had been wondering. Sara looked up.
"There's something wrong with the machine, I just want to know what." They stared.
"So you're going to do it yourself? Do you even know anything about coffee machines?? Because it would be easier to just take it to a repairman." Warrick said. Sara shrugged.
"I just want to know what's wrong with it..." She fiddled with the bolts again and finally the two popped off. She mumbled something then pried off the faceplate. Everyone leaned over.
"Ewwww! That's disgusting!" Sara scooted farther back from the machine.
"Ughh. No wonder." Greg said and looked at the inside with disgust. The entire thing was a giant mess of dust, coffee grindings, and mold. Alot of mold. Catherine grimaced.
"I've been drinking out of that thing for years. And I never noticed the smell... I always thought it was just crappy coffee."
Greg chuckled. Nick looked a little sick.
"You and me both. Think we can salvage it?" Greg stared at Nick.
"You think we'd want to if we got the choice? This things probably illegal, its so old and well... Disgusting. Its already half-way to the scrap-heap Nick." He grinned at his own cleverness. Sara giggled in spite of herself. Then the giggles almost turned to gags when she looked back at the coffee-make.
I used to have two or three cups a day... Ughhh. She made a face.
"Who wants to take it out?" People glanced at each other. No one in their right mind would want to touch it, it stunk to high heaven now it was opened. A veritable Pandora's Box, fine at first, but now releasing unspeakable evils.
Nick stood up and said,
"I vote for Greg to. Me and Sara have a case... and Greg did bring it over." Greg sighed and got up.
"Fine, I'll do the dirty work, but you better watch out, Stokes, I might just save some of thing wonderful mold here to put in your desk." He grinned, sucked in a breath, then made a grab for the machine and started to walk out to the dumpster.
Sara smiled. Greg was a good sport, even if it was her idea… she almost would have said she would take it but… well, it just smelled too bad. She started to laugh then stopped herself. She was walking down a quiet hallway. The coffee incident would make people question over her mental health. Laughing for no reason would not help it much.
She walked back to her office and sat down at her desk. She didn't start work right though. She looked around saw her radio and smiled. She hadn't had time to listen to it for a long time. She flicked the switch and heard the announcer's enthusiastic voice introducing the next song.
"And up next is some Madonna for you, sent out to Nicole from Steph. Send in your requests at 1-800-9597! And remember: what radio station plays only the hits?" A high-pitched female voice came on. "KELL, 98.4 - All the hits! All the time!" she boasted in an obnoxious voice, pretending to be all that youth represents, when in reality she was probably nothing more than a washed up 30-something who lived in a trailer park outside of Colorado with her three kids and alcoholic hubby.
Or maybe I'm a little bit of a pessimist...
She listened to the radio. It was Beautiful Stranger. As Sara listened she thought it was strangely ironic somehow. Something about the song just didn't feel quite right. But she didn't know what.
Oh well, it's a catchy song... for Madonna. Sara, like many people, was rather anti-Madonna.
She's just too much of a diva for my taste… but this song isn't too bad. Neither is that other one, the country one… Ack! Oh, great job Sara, you're gonna get this crime solved quickly. Like the Material Girl will help you.
She rolled her eyes at her own laziness. She would probably have to interview that Pradine woman again. She didn't like her.
She's just so... materialistic. She glanced at her radio. Just like Madonna. Sara smiled at the thought. No wait, she really IS like her- blond, controversial, worrying over what her "audience" thought, and she seemed like she was just acting out the part of the hysterical woman, now that I think of it. She seemed to want to talk more to Nick, but maybe she's just flirty... A teen drama queen who never grew up.
In high school Sara had disliked those people… The 'in' crowd, the popular set, those who were in school seemingly only for the chance to flirt with the opposite sex. Sara had been more quiet and reserved. She had lived in a small town, everyone there cared about education a lot. Then a sudden move to the city during high school had changed her perspectives on people. She had been pretty shy for her first couple of years, people avoided her, she was known as being the 'scary smart girl' Eventually she was accepted, was invited to parties, had the required blind-dates and breakups to get her through high school socially.
But you learn to watch people when they aren't your friends... It kinda stuck with her, so when she trusted someone, they'd better not let her down.
She stopped daydreaming, and started rooting around her crowded desk for the paper with Mrs. Pradine's phone number. She found it buried under an old autopsy report from about a month ago… she had started cleaning, then just left it there.
She picked up the phone, dialed the number. No one picked up. She pressed down the receiver then redialed, this time more carefully. This time she heard a click.
So she thinks she can avoid me by just hanging up, huh. Well, I've got her address. She really didn't like this woman, and now she had to drive out to her apartment… Well, she didn't have to, she could just keep phoning, but today was already seeming very long, the case was hard, and besides, she had nothing better to do.
[A/N Yay! Done! Oh man, I'm sorry for taking so long. That took me about a week to write, just on and off. I had a wedding to go to, two major projects due (in socials and science, it figures...) Well, I'll try to keep working, but it will prolly be writing a b few paragraphs every couple of days till I'm satisfied with it's length. I promise a more Greg filled chapter coming up, but I'm a girl, Its easier to writer girl perspectives…. Tell me what ya thought, thanks!!]
~ razberry_moon@hotmail.com
