title: My Soul to Take
author: Wren Arnold
disclaimer: me no own CSI. box? clowns? yes.
rating: PG-13
spoilers: season three
summary: A burglary keeps the CSI team working hard to decipher the bewildering clues left behind.
Am I my brother's keeper?
Genesis 4,9
chapter three: The Dutch State
*
1:49 PM
Las Vegas Crime Lab
Sunday, June 15, 2003
"You know, I didn't expect it to rain," Sara said around a mouthful of sandwich.
"That's attractive," Nick informed her. She blushed and cleared her mouth.
"I mean, I know the forecasters have been saying that we'll get precipitation and all that meteorology terminology that means it'll rain and be muggy and stuff, but I didn't believe them." Sara took another bite, masticated, swallowed, then continued with a smirk at Nick. "This is Vegas in June. Do you think rain when you think Vegas in June? You think unbearable heat."
"Oh, I dunno," Grissom said. "This is pretty unbearable heat."
"But it's a wet heat. That's different from the dry heat, I think," Sara argued.
"At the same time, Sara, people here are much more accustomed to a dry June heat coming up in waves off of the desert, not this sticky heat that clings to the skin," Nick pointed out. "That makes it pretty unbearable."
Sara grinned. "I was just trained in California for this stuff, boy," she teased. "I've got field experience. You'll pass out before the day is through."
"I may, from lack of sleep," Catherine said, entering the room. "Talking to that family is like having teeth pulled. The only one who seemed even the least bit willing to talk at all spent her time alternating between sobbing and giving me a vague account of what she found last night."
"Lovely," Sara remarked. "How long were you with them?"
"About four hours, most of it spent trying to coax the youngest girl to stop crying. You remember her, Nick?"
"The teen who made my day that much harder because of her hair and prints all over the scene?" Nick asked incredulously. "Of course I remember her."
"She's twelve," came solemnly from Catherine.
"No! She looked at least fifteen," Nick told her.
"She does have a fifteen-year-old sister who's as much in face and stature alike to her younger sister as to make me wonder if they were twins."
"So we have sisters that look alike," Grissom said. "Moving along?"
"Okay," Catherine started. "So, Mary says she came down around ten twenty to get a drink of water from the kitchen. It started to rain, so she went to the window on the north side of the house to watch the sky. That's when she heard thunder and got afraid, so she ran back up to her room."
Nick raised an eyebrow. "So far not seeing how she gets to our vic?"
"Oh, you'll see. Twenty minutes later, she realizes that she left her water in the kitchen." Catherine shook her head. "She goes back down to get it, hears the TV still on, and traipses into the living room to tell older brother to get to bed. She finds him and freaks, grabbing onto him and not doing anything until her mother comes, at which point she starts screaming."
"Does she tell you why she screams?" Nick asked.
"She said she felt like she had to cry or he wouldn't make it to heaven," Catherine said. She shrugged. "I didn't get the comment either."
"Right, so, anything else?" Grissom inquired of the room at large.
"Oh, um." Sara reached behind her. "I did a background on the family. You wouldn't believe what I came up with."
"Try me," Grissom replied.
"Right. So, we've got, between the years of 1980 and 1997, over fifteen police reports pointing towards domestic abuse in the McClanahan household were filed. It looks like, uh, before Mr. Judas McClanahan had an unfortunate accident with one of his guns, he hit his wife and maybe his kids.
"Accident?" Nick was intrigued.
"He ate it, apparently," Sara explained, "while cleaning his guns. He was home alone with the two middle children when it happened. Anyway, there's a remark here ..."
Sara dug around in the papers for a few minutes, searching. "Ah, here!" she called. "Um, I'll just ... I'll read from here. 'One of the three children appeared to be cradling her arm to her body and so I had a medical doctor check her. There appeared to be nothing wrong with the girl and so ...' blah, blah, blah, he goes on to explain why he used the doc. What I noticed here was 'three children.'"
"So?" Catherine asked.
"This is late '97, right before Jude McClanahan's death. Joey McClanahan was almost eighteen months -- in fact, he's mentioned here. Damien and Mary are mentioned also. The only one whose name is not in the report is --"
"Susej McClanahan, who could be Mary's twin," Catherine finished.
"I tried pulling medical files for all of the children," Sara started, "but I don't have a court order. My judge is on vacation."
"And you can't go and borrow one?" asked Nick.
"I like mine," replied Sara haughtily.
"Well," Catherine said, "my judge isn't on vacation and I'm going to get her to order that the McClanahan children be placed into protective custody until the investigation is over. They need to be separated and away from their mother. If they coincide their stories, we're dead."
"How are you gonna get your judge to do that?" Nick asked.
"It's Judge Roberts," Catherine said. "With the evidence we have right here, and the evidence the medical files would provide, we could prove that Shannon McClanahan left her children in a dangerous situation. This is suspicious. What sort of neighborhood are they in? Roberts is a strong child-advocate. She'll be easy to convince."
"So we have an abusive husband who died almost seven years ago," Grissom said. He paused. "And it looks like Susej was abused, but Mummy Dearest managed to hide that fact because Mary looked so much like older sister. Right?"
"All three of the children could have been abused, not merely Susej," Nick pointed out.
"I concede there," Catherine let, "but something tells me that I should start focusing my attention on the oldest McClanahan girl."
"You play to shrink the head, she'll spill her life story," Grissom agreed. "I bet she's got it all up, ready to pop."
3:00 PM
Las Vegas Police Department, Interview Room B
Sunday, June 15, 2003
"So," Catherine said, handing a chocolate cookie to the sullen-faced teenager sitting across from her, "tell me about your father."
The question didn't seem the faze the young girl as she crumbled the cookie to pieces. "Why did you take us away from our mom?" she asked in a thick, rough voice that was not altogether unpleasant or overly masculine.
"Because we aren't sure if your mother is the best place for you right now," Catherine told her.
"That's happy. Super. Look, my mother doesn't do anything wrong with us," said she.
"We're investigating that."
"You mean Child Services. You're a different branch."
"You know your social services versus criminology," Catherine said. "Impressive."
"I watch a lot of television."
"So you know that by talking to me, you'll help me. The quicker you talk, the quicker we'll figure out that you were in a safe place, that you can go home."
"I doubt it," Susej muttered.
"Just talk," Catherine said. "Just for a while."
"What do you want to know?"
"Well, what did your dad like to do?" Catherine prodded.
(- A shot rang out, and a small child with large braids turned to the sound. Somewhere, a young, girlish voice is heard saying, "Gotta wash my hands. Gotta wash my hands." -)
"Clean his guns."
"You find that funny?" Catherine frowned at Susej.
"Hey, he's my dad. I'm allowed." Susej uncrossed her arms and let them fall to her either side.
"What are some of your earliest memories about your father?" pressed Catherine. She was leaning forward, her body language expressing a desire for information. "Christmas? Easter?"
"What about Passover and Chanukah?" indignant Susej asked. "I could be Jewish. An Irish Jew."
"Your name is Jesus backwards."
"There actually is a church which supports Jews for Jesus," informed Susej. "Or synagogue. I'm not sure. I only read about it once, and with the passing interest I'd give a road apple. I'm not much into religion."
"Well, that brings us to our next topic. Your names are all very interesting," Catherine told her. "Very Biblical. Mary and Joseph and the baby Susej. Except Damien's. Why is that?"
"My father named Damien," the teen said. "He thought it was a man's name. A strong name. After Damien, though, my father got bored with children. Or babies. We were never grown up enough. Damien was always a step ahead, you know?"
"He was older than you," Catherine pointed out. "Damien was always going to be ahead of you."
"Yeah, well, not anymore."
(- A body lay under sheets in the morgue. -)
Catherine allowed herself to chuckle. "You've got a twisted sense of humor for a girl your age."
"I'm older than I look," Susej said. "I'm fifteen."
"I know. You look fifteen," Catherine assured her.
Susej scowled. "It's just that Mary looks fifteen too," she told the investigator. "I'm always mistaken for her."
"Bet that annoyed you when you were little." Catherine cocked an eyebrow with a knowing smile.
"When we were little, it was easier. Half the time," and here she tried very hard to act casually as she spoke, "my father didn't even know which kid he was yelling at."
"So your father yelled?" Catherine did not disappoint; she grabbed hard for the line and kicked for shore.
"Maybe," Susej said with nonchalance that contrasted heavily with her previous actions and air. "I was just a kid, ya know? Only nine when he died. Only nine."
"But you remember how you felt around him," Catherine stated. She let her shoulders drop a little, trying to convey a less intimidating character to the girl. "How did you feel around your dad, Susej?"
"Afraid," whispered the teen. Her fists clenched. "Just a lot of afraid in me."
"And around your brother?"
(- A man stepped drunkenly forward, brandishing a glass soda bottle. "What the hell are you doing, Su?" he screamed, lunging. "God damnit! Damien, come deal with your sister." -)
"Just very angry." Susej turned her head away. "And I hated him."
3:20 PM
Las Vegas Crime Lab
Sunday, June 15, 2003
"Hey, Grissom," Warrick called as he entered the building. Grissom turned from Sara and Nick, waving them off. "My light vandalism got a little heavy, boss."
"How heavy?" Grissom asked.
Showing Grissom the clear evidence bag that encased the sweater from the dumpster, Warrick said, "Pretty heavy. There's human blood on this shirt. I'm taking it over to the lab to be processed."
Grissom stared at the bag. Tilting his head, he reached for it and brought it closer to his eyes. "Warrick," he said, "what color do you think this is?"
"Oh, man, hard to tell." Warrick went along good-naturedly with the line of questioning. "I'd say black, but it's still wet from last night, so it could be navy blue."
Feeling along the plastic, Grissom turned and rearrange the lumpy fabric inside for several minutes. "I have a hunch," he said, "and if it's right you may be tied to my case."
He stopped, then smoothed the plastic. Delicately feeling with his fingers as if to double-check his findings, Grissom smiled. Under his hand, the cloth had a small tear in it.
"I think we just found out what size the perp wears," said he.
"Our perp," reminded Warrick.
4:40 PM
Las Vegas Crime Lab
Sunday, June 15, 2003
"So, Cat, what'd you get out of Susej McClanahan?" asked Sara as Catherine passed the room where she and Nick were processing the more evidence that had been taken from the crime scene. Spread over the table were almost four dozen photographs that had been in a wooden chest in the living room where the victim's finger prints had been found, bloody. Nick had suggested trying to piece together a picture of their life through the photographs. It was monotonous work: currently they were in a stack labeled with the year 1995 -- there were about a dozen large manila envelopes altogether, with at least one per year since 1995.
Catherine stuck her head in the door. "Well, not much, but a helluva lot more than Mary's vague 'He's dead, I should have called someone,' answers. There was always this look about her, like she was swallowing more than she was telling us. I just don't know what."
Sara cocked her head to the side. "So, what'd she say?"
"Well, to begin with, our hunch was right. From very leading statements the girl gave, I was able to tell that yes, her father was domestically abusive," Catherine told her. "She didn't say so outright that he was hurting the children, but she did say that he yelled at them a lot. Susej said that they were very afraid of their father. Or, at least, that she and Mary were."
"What about Damien?" Nick inquired.
"That's where it gets a little more tricky," Catherine explained. "I think Damien was abusing them. From what I could tell, Damien was the favorite: the oldest child, the oldest son. And the boy hero-worshipped his dad, as far as Susej said. I think, and this is a hunch, that if Jude needed something done to the girls, he used Damien."
"It fits the profile," Sara said. "If a son sees his father being abusive, he'll mimic the actions in later relationships."
"So the question is really this: was Damien still abusive after his father passed away?" Nick stated.
Catherine frowned. "I think he was. Susej stated that she was afraid of her father, but when asked about her brother she said she was angry and hated him. She clamed up for a while after that, probably because she thought she said too much."
"If he had stopped six years ago, when Jude died, then she would probably have forgiven him," Sara added. "She was only about nine; it might have even faded into just her brother being a brat in her mind. Little kids forgive easily."
"But he didn't," Catherine stated. She opened up her purse and removed a slip of paper. "I got the medical reports on the children. Susej and Mary McClanahan were frequent visitors to the ER until 1997, with broken toes, a few ankles, and, in one case, a femur. It was blamed on soccer, and that excuse was accepted."
"Why?" Sara asked, outraged.
"Because," Catherine explained sadly, "they were taken to different ERs, their visits spaced." She frowned. "But that's not the worst of it. Only three years ago, Susej McClanahan is rushed to emergency with a broken collarbone."
"Ow." Sara winced.
"Yeah," Catherine agreed. "Apparently, she fell out of a tree. But if we follow the idea of domestic abuse ..." her voice trailed off
"So I take it your judge came through?" Nick asked.
"About two hours ago, actually," Catherine explained. "When I spoke to Susej, the kids were already in separate homes, away from their mother. Thank God these medical reports came through -- I had them sent over to Judge Roberts first, didn't get a chance to glance at them."
"You gambled on something you hadn't seen before?" Sara cried.
"I figured it was a pretty good bet. It looks like Susej got the worst of it," Catherine commented from the papers. "She was in the emergency room about seven times, while I can only see three for Mary McClanahan."
"Which is why the most important character here isn't Susej," Nick told them, "but Mary. She probably still loves her brother, still has little memories and fondnesses for him. She's twelve: she'll not have such strong values as older sister Susej, or prejudices towards hate. She'll give us the other side of it all."
"No," Catherine said. "Who else is in the family? Little Joey. Another boy, barely mentioned by Susej. Never been to emergency. Probably has a case of hero-worship for his older brother. He could be a source of resentment for her, if he starts out abusing, too."
Nick scoffed at the idea. "A seven-year-old boy abusing his fifteen-year-old sister? Cath, c'mon, that's a little far to reach."
Catherine cocked her head. "Well," she said, "how old do you think Damien was when he started?"
"We don't even know if Damien really was abusing his sisters or if Susej was lying," Nick pointed out. "You've gotta talk to all the children, alone. I'll work on the mother."
Grissom, passing the open door with Warrick at his side, called to the group: "Sara, I need you to go to DNA and offer your services to Greg."
"Why?" Sara asked, cleaning up.
"Because I said so," the CSI stated simply. "Take this shirt with you.
*
chapter four: The DNA-Zapper