Title: Found
Chapter 7
Spoilers: This chapter takes place during "Hell Night."
Author's Notes: After rewatching "Wannabe" tonight, I came incredibly close to writing Wally Schmagin into this. Hee.
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When we arrive at the scene, Calleigh brings the Hummer to a stop and unbuckles her seatbelt. Turning to Wolfe, she says, "You go inside and see where Horatio wants you. Eric and I will handle things out here."
Wolfe makes a face that looks like he's just eaten four lemons. "Sure thing, Calleigh," he says.
Meanwhile, Eric drags himself out of the back seat. Pointing toward an angry-looking crowd, he says, "I'm gonna go start getting statements."
Both Calleigh and Wolfe look startled to hear the sound of Eric's voice. Eric hasn't said much to anyone all morning. Instead, he pretty much spent the earlier part of the day wandering around the lab looking incredibly busy (and sexy) doing nothing. And when Calleigh filled him in on the case, Eric just nodded a lot and climbed into the Hummer.
"Okay, Eric," Calleigh says, in a tone that falls somewhere between perky and exhausted. "I'll be over in a second."
While Eric and Calleigh get to work, I gaze at the Lopez house. I never thought I'd find myself back here again, and yet, here I am. What a case to come back on.
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It's been a pretty eventful few hours. Last night, I ran into Wolfe in the parking lot. Just as I was fantasizing about introducing myself to him…boom!…I was visible. Two weeks of trying to talk to Alexx and H get me nowhere. One half-hearted thought about freaking out the new guy and suddenly, I'm a real, live apparition. Weird.
Aside from the visibility thing, I discovered something else important last night. I still have my badge, which, as far as I'm concerned, means I'm still a criminalist. Bottom line—I have a purpose here, and I intend to work.
The one wrinkle in my plan, though, was Wolfe. I had to find out if he was some weird psychic who could see me all the time, or if I just accidentally discovered how to make myself visible like I accidentally discovered how to touch things. So, I hid in the locker room until I could get Wolfe alone. Then, concentrating hard on how much I wanted to be invisible, I stepped out from my hiding place and rattled off some of my best snarky comments.
I got no reaction from Wolfe. Nada. Nothing. And fortunately, I got no reaction from Eric, who came trudging past Wolfe just as the shift started. As much as I want Eric to see me, I just don't picture it happening first thing in the morning, in a dark locker room with Wolfe standing there.
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So, here I am. My first day back on the job, and it turns out I'm working one of my own cases—Donny Lopez, a smart-ass baseball player who allegedly killed his wife. He was standing trial for it, but on a court-supervised field trip, someone stuck a really big knife into his head.
Letting out a breath, I glance up and see Wolfe scurrying up the walk to the kitchen of the Lopez house. "Eager beaver," I mutter to myself and run to catch up to him.
I follow Wolfe into the kitchen and find Alexx there, kneeling beside Donny Lopez's body while H confers with my favorite medical examiner about the case. Almost as soon as we get there, though, H tells Wolfe to work the kitchen, and then hustles into another room. I get the distinct impression that H isn't too keen to work with our newest recruit.
After H leaves, Wolfe strolls up to Alexx and says, "Knife missing from this block could be our murder weapon."
Wow. Brilliant assessment, New Guy. I'm almost embarrassed for him.
Alexx glances up. "Nice work, Ryan," she says. "I think you may have cracked the case."
Ouch. That had to sting.
Wolfe shakes it off and replies, "Thanks. I have a keen grasp for the obvious."
Alexx offers only an icy glare in reply and returns to documenting her findings. I'm almost ashamed to say it, but I feel a swell of gratitude and validation toward Alexx right now. She's not charmed by this dork.
"Look," Wolfe says. "I know you and Tim Speedle were close."
My breath hitches at the sound of my own name coming from Wolfe's lips. I remember how many times I've talked about people—vics—I never knew…hashing out the secrets of their lives, questioning their integrity, making jokes about the way they died. Now, knowing what I know, I have to wonder how many of those people were standing right next to me while I chatted so casually about them.
"I know this is Speedle's case," Ryan continues. "I'm not trying to replace him."
"Aren't you?" I ask, pacing back and forth.
Alexx glances up. "Good," she says. "'Cause I don't need any new friends."
Licking my lips, I lean against the counter and stare at Alexx. It hurts like crazy to see her in pain because of me. Maybe making myself visible to her isn't even a good idea. Maybe seeing me again would only reopen the wound. Maybe…maybe I should just let her get on with her life.
"All I want is to do a good job," Wolfe says.
At that, Alexx gazes awkwardly at Wolfe. "Okay," she says after a moment. "Tell me what you see."
I bite my lip hard.
Wolfe and I both kneel down. I lean over Lopez's body and mutter, "Single blow to the head. No sign that he put up a fight."
"Single blow to the head," Wolfe says. "No defensive wounds on his hands or arms. Means no struggle."
Well, give the New Guy a sticker.
"Good," Alexx says. "What else?"
"We probably won't find the victim's blood on our killer," Wolfe says.
"And why is that?" Alexx asks.
"No liquid blood at time of impact. No second hit. No spatter."
Alexx looks as stunned as I am at Wolfe's assessment. "Well, look at you go," she says appreciatively.
Wolfe flashes a cocky grin.
Jerk.
Fearing that Alexx and Wolfe are about to have a moment, I stand up so quickly that almost lose my balance. Letting out a breath, I stalk out of the kitchen in search of Donny Lopez.
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I poke around the Casa de Lopez until I finally stumble across our vic. He's sitting on the bed in the room he and his wife, Miranda, shared, and he's sort of rocking back and forth. In his right hand, he's clutching a picture of himself and his wife so tightly I think he might break it by sheer physical force.
"Mr. Lopez?" I say, inching into the room.
Lopez flinches when I say his name. He glances around as if to see what other "Mr. Lopez" I might be talking to. Then he stands up and gazes at me for a few seconds.
"Wait," he says, pointing at my chest. "You're that CSI…the one who said I killed my wife."
"I never said you killed your wife, Mr. Lopez," I say, straightening my body. "I only collected the evidence."
Gazing at his wife's picture, he half-laughs. "I didn't do it, Detective. I mean, I might as well have."
I glance around the room. "Well, I'm not here to work your wife's murder, sir. I'm here to work your murder."
"My murder?" Lopez drops himself onto the bed, cradling his head in one hand and still clutching the picture in the other. "Then it's real?" He starts laughing so hard, his face begins to turn red.
"Mr. Lopez," I say, gesturing in his direction. "If someone were to walk into this room, they'd see that picture floating in mid- air."
Lopez glances at the photograph. Letting out a breath, he places it onto the side table with a loud clank, and then lies back on the bed.
Glancing over my shoulder, I say, "I know this is uncomfortable, Mr. Lopez, but I need to ask you some questions."
Still laughing, Lopez says, "I guess I'm not playing next season."
"Mr. Lopez," I say, "I need to ask you if you saw your attacker."
Lopez stops laughing and sits up. "You're taking my statement? What's the matter with you, idiot? I'm dead."
Rolling my eyes, I snap. "You think you got problems?" I take a step forward and point at the kitchen. "Some dork is trying to steal my life."
Whoa, Speed, I think, Rein it in. You're working.
Narrowing my eyes, I say, "Look, Mr. Lopez. I'm trying to solve your murder here. If you don't want my help, whatever."
After a long moment, Lopez turns to look at me. "I didn't see nothing," he says.
"Did you hear anything?"
"Not a sound."
Nodding, I ask, "Mr. Lopez, have you received any death threats?"
"No more than usual," he says, shrugging. Pacing back and forth, Lopez asks, "Can you, like, communicate with the living or something? Or were you planning to write my killer's name in blood somewhere?"
I stare acidly at Lopez. "I can talk to the life-stealing jerk."
Lopez grins. "You got some issues, or what?"
"Look," I say, "If you do find anything out—"
He smacks me on the shoulder. "A little jealous?"
"Okay, first of all," I snap, pointing at Lopez. "Don't touch me. And secondly, if you find anything out, drop by headquarters."
Lopez smirks. "Should I ask for you at the desk, Detective?"
"Try the locker room," I say, gritting my teeth.
