Disclaimer: CSI not mine. Val is.
"Hey Val."
She nodded at him. "Hey, Warrick. Sorry I'm late."
"Don't sweat it." You only came in three minutes after me, anyway.
Valerie set down her kit and picked up her camera. "Should I take the happy-snaps?"
Warrick waved over his shoulder at her. "Go ahead." He examined the woman's body as Val took the pictures.
The girl, a brunette with hazel eyes, looked to be in her early twenties. She was pretty good looking, but the expression of panic and pain on her face destroyed that image. According to her neighbour, the girl, Julia Westwood, was still in college. She lived alone in outer suburbia. She was a member of an all-girl band - she multi-tasked, playing practically every instrument. She did everything but sing. At least, she used to.
Her body was frozen in rigor mortis. David had pronounced a few minutes ago, but there was no doubt that the girl was already dead.
"Throat slashed?" Warrick wondered aloud.
"Looks more like cut." Val said, taking pictures of the girl. "Or garrotted. Ninja style." She took extra shots of the girl's neck, and of bruises on her temple and left shoulder.
Warrick shone his flashlight around the room. This girl had a grand piano in her small home. There was an electronic keyboard along one wall, between two bookshelves filled with books, and there was a drum-kit in the corner. A collection of guitars leant against the wall. Warrick went over, seeing something interesting.
"Ninja style?"
Val looked up from her camera. Warrick was holding up one of the guitars. It was an acoustic, and would have had metal strings. But all the strings were missing.
"More like country and western." He commented darkly, his expression grave.
Val, wearing a matching expression, pointed to the body with a glove-covered hand. "A little bit of country…"
Red welts and fresh bruises were formed around the girl's legs. Her skirt was high, and her underwear was down at her knees.
Julia struggled, screaming through the hand clamped over her mouth, as he raped her. She struggled, trying to throw him off, but it didn't do any good. He just kept going. She tried biting his hand, clawing his face, punching him in the gut… nothing worked. He just kept hurting, hurting, hurting her… And then she felt the wires being tightened, cutting off her air. She screamed again, but just like before, he didn't stop. He didn't stop as she spasmed in her death-throes either.
"A little bit of rock'n'roll." Val finished. Her face was stony.
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"Did Grissom seem a little out of it, to you?" Nick asked Sara.
Sara hid a smile. "Well, you know Grissom. Whenever the sheriff's on his case, he gets riled up."
"Well…" Nick pondered that for a moment, "Didn't he seem almost… resigned to you?"
"Excuse me? Have you found anything yet?"
Sara and Nick turned to find themselves staring at one of the supermodels. Well, Nick was doing most of the staring.
"Who are you, Miss?" Sara asked. "And why are you here?"
"I'm just worried about Tina." The woman said, her porcelain face softened with concern. "It's not like her to run off like this."
Sara forced a smile. "Well, we're working on it. And technically, you shouldn't be here. This is a crime scene."
"Crime scene?" The girl's hands flew to her face, her eyes widening. "What happened to Tina?!"
"We don't know yet," Sara said patiently. "But we're trying to find out."
The girl blinked doe-brown eyes. "Is there anything I can do to help?" She shivered. "Tina was, like, my best friend. I'm really, really worried about her."
Sara fought to keep smiling. "Are you alright? You look cold."
The girl shivered again, and smiled sheepishly. "I'm freezing."
This time, Sara's smile was genuine. "You'd better go get some clothes on."
"I am wearing clothes," the model said, confused. But she tottered off, nonetheless.
Sara looked down at Nick. He'd been gaping the whole time. "Shut your mouth." Nick did so, but grinned as he pulled equipment from out of his kit.
Sara shook her head. Men. She shone her flashlight around. A large section of Caesar's had been transformed into the supermodels' natural habitat - catwalk, audience space, and, from what could be seen from down here, a large backstage area. Backstage would mean the makeup tables, bathrooms, waiting areas, wardrobes, and areas where backstage photos could be shot. A lot of places to search. Sara sighed… then something caught her eye. She shone her flashlight on the corner of the catwalk.
"Hey, Sara?" Nick interrupted her train of thought. "What would it take to get you wearing something like that?"
"Like what?" She looked up, distracted. Nick nodded in the direction the model had taken.
Sara raised an eyebrow… then smiled maliciously. "Wouldn't you rather see the new girl in them?"
Nick blanched. "First of all, she's a temp. Second of all… no comment."
Sara hid a smile, and turned her attention back to the catwalk. She took a swab of the dark substance, and added phenolphthalin. It turned bright pink.
"Hey, Nick? We got blood over here."
Nick looked up. "Spatter? Pool?"
Sara shone her torch over the grey-carpeted runway. "Trail." She pulled herself up onto the catwalk and, head down, walked up and down the catwalk, tracing the blood-trail.
"How recently was all this put up?" Nick wondered aloud, "Two, three days ago?" He photographed the droplets Sara had first noticed. "Think it's the missing girl's blood?" He grinned, "If she is missing, that is?"
"Whoever was bleeding was probably a model," Sara said, ignoring Nick, "Given the way that the trail is spread." She shone her torch around again. "I'm guessing it started backstage."
"I'll go check it out," Nick rose to his feet, kit in hand. Sara waved over her shoulder, but kept her head down. Slowly she walked down the catwalk, torch shone at her feet. The dark stains of blood stood out starkly on the grey carpet. It'd take a few tests to confirm if all this came from one person… and then they'd have to get samples from anyone and everyone who had anything to do with this event… Well, one thing was clear. Whoever was bleeding had walked from backstage, up the catwalk, then back again. Just like a model would.
"Put your head up, stop slouchin', and you got yourself the job!"
Sara looked up, and shone her flashlight over to where she heard the voice. Just how many people were planning to come past the yellow crime tape today?!
"What did you say?"
The man grinned back at her, his arms folded, standing casually. "I said," He spoke like a New Yorker, "You'd get the job if you held your head up and stopped hunching your shoulders over. You've got potential, doll, and you know it."
Sara squinted at him. "This is a crime scene, sir. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Oh," The man came forward, a little disappointed, "You're one of those cop-chicks. Thought you were the replacement they were sending for Tina."
The sympathy here is overwhelming, Sara thought dryly. But she kept her voice level when she said, "The thing is, sir, we're trying to find Miss Evelyn, whether it was a kidnapping or," she barely hid the sarcasm, "If she just walked out."
The man snorted. "Like you're going to find that stuck-up cow before the show." The man scowled, looked at his Rolex - a real one, Sara noticed - then smiled patronisingly at Sara. "Listen, darling, I can see you've got what it takes, so how about if you and your nerd-squad buddies can't find her, you fill in?"
Sara shook her head wryly. But the man took it that she had been considering his offer. "Come on," he begged, "It's not that hard. You put on clothes, you let someone slap makeup on your face, and you walk up and back."
"Before or after I start bleeding?"
The man squinted, perplexed. "Before you what?"
"There's blood all over this runway, sir," she barely kept a straight face, "And seeing as you seem to be in charge, you should know some--…"
"Oh yeah." The man interrupted, and fumbled in the inside pocket of his coat. He pulled out a card. "Incredibly rude of me not to tell you who I am. Marcus Vincent. I manage these girls, get them their gigs and whatnot. Just gimme a call, and you too can be a part of this marvellous business." He held the card out for Sara.
But Sara didn't take it. "I'd rather not take part in any business that treats living human beings like cattle."
Marcus Vincent's smile faded a little, and he shrugged.
"Oh, and sir?" Sara called out, "Before you go, care to tell me how all this blood got up here?"
The man wrinkled his nose in amusement. "It's not blood, honey. It's red wine." He chuckled. "Sorta a celebratory drink between everyone here - we all got a glass when we first got everything set up. Someone musta spilt some." He vanished out the door, leaving Sara in darkness.
That was your second mistake, Sara thought coldly, Lying to a scientist. The first was calling me 'doll'.
Someone coughed politely, and Sara turned to find Nick grinning at her. "What?" She asked.
Nick kept grinning. "Well, I found where your blood trail started. Someone tried a cleanup backstage and it didn't work out. You know, hot water actually sets blood stains?"
"I do know that, actually."
"Why am I not surprised…"
Sara shook her head at him. "Wanna tell me what's so funny?"
Nick tried to stop grinning, but it didn't work. "Oh, nothing, really. I just thought you'd be flattered that a well-known agent would consider you as a candidate." He imitated Marcus' whine. "You got real potential." Nick chuckled.
"I've never even heard of him before."
"Exactly."
Sara scowled at him.
A/N: Yes, I know. Longer chapters. The reason the first chapter was pretty short was because that's the way it's done before the CSI intro. I'm making these into tv shows, ppl! AHAHAHAHA-hack cough-HAHAHAH… PS thanks for your review!
Nerwen… 'in your eyes'? Ok, that's just freaky. Don't do that, or I'll be forced to make Sophia go out with Grissom, and you wouldn't like that, would you now? -evilgrin- Hahaha just kidding.
I am so proud of my spell checker. It knew how to spell 'phenolphthalin' even after I bashed my head on the keyboard trying to get it right. oT-To -isproud- Bless you, Ichabod. Please review, adoring fans!