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