Don't Be a Bad Boy
Chapter Two
2 - ANGER
"Three vics and we have nothing!"
Sara's voice was rising in crescendos from the breakroom. The rest
of the team was assembled, having just arrived from the crime scene.
"This guy is good," Nick said, leaning back in the chair,
arms folded over chest, his dark eyes darker with frustration.
"Too good," Warrick Brown added. He was leaning against the
wall, one leg vibrating in frustration as well as from an overdose of caffeine.
The entire crew had been at work for nearing 18 hours and there
wasn't one among them that didn't feel something akin to rage at the brutal
homicides that had plagued the city for the past three weeks.
Always on a Friday, the crew being called in that night to
find a bloody, disemboweled, corpse. No eyes to stare pointedly at them in silent
accusation, no hands raised in supplication from the assailant. And no feet. The cause of
death – besides the mutilation of the body – was strangulation. The victim would
watch horrified as the assailant pulled his intestines from his body and wrapped them
around and around the neck and then pulling taut. As the eyes bulged from their sockets,
they were summarily ripped out, to be found somewhere in the room, scattered like lost
marbles. The hands and the feet would have been amputated long before, to aid in keeping
resistance low.
The first vic had sent most of the police squad to the bushes to empty
their stomachs. The coppery smell of blood permeated nostrils and lodged itself into the
minds and memories of anyone who'd allowed one foot into the tiny apartment. Eating
was so far in the backs of minds, it threatened to steal from them their ability to think.
The first person to order spaghetti would be shot on the spot, one person commented.
Photos of the victim, surroundings, apartment and the crowds outside
were laid on the table as well as what little evidence could be found that carried any
remote significance to the killings. One thing did stand out: all the victims had been or
were suspected of being homosexual. That was the one telling evidence that the team had
that could lead them to their killer.
"Most likely a homophobe," Catherine commented.
Grissom's eyebrow rose in contemplation. "Maybe."
Sara's head spun around. "What do you mean
maybe'?! What other kind of sicko would choose homosexuals as their preferred
victim? Like he didn't know?"
There had been evidence of sexual activity just prior to the murders
therefore it had been conjectured that such a possibility existed.
Grissom met her glare. "It is a possibility, but we can't
discount others. We can't limit our scope by our opinions or our own biases."
Grissom had the knack of bringing things back to reality with a combination of a calm
monotone voice and his unnerving broad opinions.
Sara sighed and crossed her own arms. "We have nothing on this
guy. Absolutely nothing!" She stood and paced behind her chair, her hands clenched by
her side, nostrils flared as she attempted to contain her anger.
"Whoa, girl! We're gonna get him!" Warrick pushed
himself from the wall and stood in front of the huffing brunette. "It just takes
time."
"We don't have time. This guy works on a weekly basis. Three
weeks, three vics. Another six days and we'll have another. More evidence mind you,
but another damn victim!"
"We'll catch him," Warrick repeated, his voice lowering
to seriousness as he stared into her eyes, daring her to contradict him and lose more
confidence.
Sara swung her body into her chair, legs sprawled, arms still on chest.
She stared with a pout at the table.
~*~
Copyright © 2003 Anansay
