A/N: Emsta, this first scene is for you ;)
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The phone didn't ring. It didn't ring while they explored each other in her bed; it didn't ring when they finally dozed off, exhausted; and it didn't ring when Alex warily climbed into the shower the next morning, leaving Bobby with her phone.
In fact, by the time they stepped into the elevator at One PP, they were both feeling rather paranoid about the lack of interruptions. Had Deakins broken his phone? Did he suspect them of being together, and purposely give them a free night?
He rested his hand lightly on the back of her neck, simply maintaining contact between them, as they rode to the eleventh floor. When the doors began to slide open, she reached up and brushed it away, giving him a warning look. "Sorry," Bobby whispered as they walked into the squad room.
"Behave yourself today, ok?" she whispered back. "No touching."
He sighed. "I know. You think Deakins wants an update on the lab report now, or after we talk to Carver?"
She gave him a smile that told him she was pleased at his lack of argument. "I'm just going to stick my head in and tell him we're trying for a warrant. We can fill in the blanks later."
"Works for me." They parted ways at their desks, Bobby setting down his portfolio and the cardboard tray holding their coffees, Alex going to knock on the door of the captain's office.
"Eames, come in," Deakins said cheerfully when she appeared. "Good day off?"
She reminded herself that if she started snickering now, she'd be trapped in here for the next two hours, explaining herself to Deakins. "It was ok, yeah. Restful."
"Glad to hear it. You look a lot more relaxed today."
Don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh . . .
"So, what can I do for you?" he went on, oblivious to her silent struggle.
She offered him the folder she'd been holding. "Lab report came back on that coffee grinder. Traces of brodifacoum."
"That's your rat poison?"
"Yup. Between that, the witness statements, and the attack on Sara King, we think we can get a warrant to search Kim's apartment."
He nodded. "If I were the judge, you'd have it. Talking to Carver?"
"Goren should be on the phone with him right now."
"Good, good. Keep me in the loop, Eames."
She nodded as she pushed open the door. "Of course, sir."
As she walked back to her desk, she saw that Bobby was sitting quietly, reading something in his portfolio. "Hey," she said, approaching. "Carver?"
"He said to give him half an hour. He'll call back."
"Sounds promising," she said with a smile. "Deakins is on board, says to let him know what we find."
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A little over an hour later, Alex knocked on the door of Andrew Kim's apartment near the Empire State campus. There was silence from behind the door for a few seconds, and then the faint sound of footsteps. "Who is it?" a voice asked as they heard someone scrabbling at the door locks, although the door had a peephole and it was hard to mistake the sight of two detectives and two patrol officers, all holding up badges.
"NYPD, Drew. We need to take a look at your apartment," she replied.
The sound of the locks abruptly stopped. "Why?" he demanded through the closed door.
"We have a warrant, Mr. Kim," Goren said patiently. "Please open the door."
The unlocking noises started up again and the door was pulled open, revealing a rather pale Andrew Kim. "A warrant for what?" he demanded, not able to completely conceal his alarm.
"It's all in here," Eames said, handing him a folded copy of the warrant. "If you'll just remain here, one of the officer will stay with you while we search."
"But I -"
"Thanks," Goren said distractedly as the two detectives slipped past the apartment's owner and began their search.
Goren wandered into Kim's bedroom, an impersonal-looking rectangle that held a full-size bed, a chest of drawers, and a computer desk that supported a laptop and a printer. He did a quick search of the drawers, digging his hands down through the piles of clothes to feel for any buried objects, but came up empty.
Next came a top-to-bottom examination of the bed: check under the pillow, inside the pillow, under the blankets, under the mattress, under the bedskirt. He found a copy of Playboy under the mattress that might have been older than its owner, and a number of blonde hairs mixed in with the black ones on the pillows. The hair might have been interesting if he hadn't already known to expect physical evidence of Kim's ex-girlfriend in the bed - college students weren't known for their diligent sheet-changing, he reflected with a shudder.
The computer presented an interesting problem. It was probably the item most likely to reveal its owner's plans or research, but at the moment their warrant covered only "household or grocery substances, tools, and/or evidence of blood." He stared down at the machine for a moment, trying to weigh the odds of their finding something on the hard drive against the fury of a grad student deprived of his computer, then finally nodded slowly to himself and unfolded his cell phone.
"Carver," the ADA answered briskly.
"It's Goren. I'm in the suspect's apartment staring at a laptop. What can you do for me?"
"Hmm." The sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard came through the phone, followed by a grunt of satisfaction. "Shouldn't be a problem. I'll get on the horn to Judge Adams and have the computer included. If I haven't called you back by the time you're done there, you call me."
"Thanks."
"Not a problem. I'll give you a call soon."
Both men hung up and Goren looked around the room to see what he'd missed.
By the time he left the bedroom, he'd also searched through a tiny closet stacked almost floor-to-ceiling with old textbooks - nothing even remotely medicine-related, and didn't this kid know about bookstore buybacks? - as well as the pile of printed pages lying in the printer tray and the inside of a floor lamp. Nothing bore fruit, and he exited the room, empty-handed, to find his partner.
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Eames had headed for the kitchen while Goren searched the bedroom. It seemed to her that, considering where they'd found the brodifacoum residue in Li's apartment, the kitchen was the most likely place for Kim to have stashed any leftovers. Eyeing all the drawers, cabinets, and appliances, she decided to just start at one end of the room and work straight across in layers.
A quick scan of the fridge and freezer turned up nothing except a stack of processed cheese slices that looked like they were getting ready to colonize the refrigerator and an unopened, presumably forgotten, bag of tater-tots frozen solid enough to kill someone with.
She checked the oven, found it empty, and opened the microwave with the same result. A breadbox that sat on the counter contained a bag of fossilized marshmallows and a loaf of bread that was at about the same level of sentience as the cheese in the fridge.
Beginning to get frustrated, she moved on to the floor-level cabinets. Pots and pans, all of which looked like battered refugees from a garage sale, tumbled out onto her feet when she opened the cabinet nearest to the oven. She jumped back and cursed, embarrassed at the loud clatter the cookware had made, then hastily began putting it back where it came from. She closed the cabinet with a satisfying, though loud, slam and shifted to her left to the next one.
This cabinet, which lay under the sink, contained cleaning products. She brightened up considerably, recognizing this as one of the likely storage places for excess rat poison, and began sifting through the bottles, cans, and brushes.
Apparently Andrew Kim hadn't been warned about bleach and ammonia, either, because the two bottles stood next to each other - although she did give him credit for having neither bottle be leaky, as they had been in Li's apartment. A bottle of Soft-Scrub was shoved in the back corner, half covered by a tired-looking sponge. The rest of the sponge hung over the edge of a mop-sized bucket which contained a large bottle of Lysol and a new, still-wrapped mop head. The inside corners of the cleaning cabinet held an ironic, and alarming, amount of unidentifiable grunge that ranged from blue-black to a fascinating shade of green.
"Shit," she muttered as she realized she'd emptied the cabinet and still found nothing. She shoved the array of bottles back into their places and stood up with a groan to move to the last floor cabinet, which turned out to be a larger incarnation of the prototypical junk drawer. It held half-full six packs of beer, a few pots that were too battered to be useable, a rusty bundt pan, and a frighteningly large spider that made her propel herself away from the cabinet faster than she thought she could move.
The spider could definitely be a murderer, she decided, but it hadn't committed the crime she was interested in. Brushing compulsively at her hair and clothes to remove any remnants of spider web, she turned her attention to the cabinets that sat above the counter.
The first cabinet, a narrow affair that made her wonder who the hell had designed this kitchen, contained spices and condiments, as well as what looked like the accumulation of years of crumbs. Ugh, she said to herself, I don't understand how anyone can live like this, even if you are subsisting on only $10,000 a year. Elbow grease still doesn't cost a cent!
The next cabinet held a toaster, a blender, and a food processor. She checked the blender and food processor for any kind of residue, but found none and set them aside to be considered later as she checked the third cabinet. This one held bowls and plates, which were chipped and scarred but at least in better shape than the pots had been.
Two more cabinets, she saw with disappointment. This search wasn't working out the way they'd hoped.
With a sigh, she opened the next cabinet. Mugs and glasses on one shelf, cups and measuring cups on the next . . . she had to haul herself up onto the counter to get a good look at the top shelf, but her exertion turned out to be worth it: she found a box of teabags and two open bags of coffee, one ground and one unground. Remembering the coffee grinder from Li's, she snatched the coffee bags with eager hands and jumped off the counter, wishing she could just tear them open.
Reminding herself that she was a professional and professionals didn't rip anything open because just they were impatient, she set the two bags on the counter, double-checked her gloves, and carefully eased open the one that felt like it held pre-ground beans. She dipped her hand into it, picked up a handful of the grounds, and sifted them through her fingers. They were a depressingly uniform brown. She tentatively sniffed the mouth of the bag, detected nothing unusual, and set it aside, reminding herself that Goren was the one with the nose, not her.
The second bag seemed to hold whole beans, judging by the sound it made when she shook it. Repeating the actions she'd just taken with the first bag, she opened it and grabbed a handful of its contents to examine. The beans looked normal, she thought with disappointme-
Her thoughts were cut off as she realized that there was something else, much larger than the rest of the beans, at the bottom of the pile in her hand. She used one finger of her free hand to push the coffee from side to side, sifting down to the anomalous object.
It was green.
It was pellet-shaped.
There was no way in hell she was going to sniff it.