Title: The Final Frontier
See Chapter 1 for the shiny disclaimerChapter 2 Morgue
"What's up, Doc?" Greg quipped as he and Sara joined Grissom and Chief Medical Examiner Al Robbins. Sara rolled her eyes, while Grissom looked slightly puzzled.
"How original, Greg," Robbins replied dryly. Gesturing to the four drawers he had pulled out, he got back to the case. "Interesting bodies you guys sent me."
"How so?" Grissom asked.
"The stab wounds," Robbins replied. Limping around to the side of one of the bodies, he rolled it over with Grissom's help. "About all I can tell you is that they were made by some sort of knife. It appears to have had multiple serrated edges…there was an impressive amount of soft tissue damage."
"Was there any way to tell if it was the same knife used in each case?" Sara wanted to know.
"Funny you should ask that," Robbins replied. "Aside from the distinctive wound pattern, I found flakes of some kind of metal in all of the wound tracts. I sent them up to Trace for you."
Sara nodded. "Anything else?"
Robbins shook his head. "Just that the tongues were severed post-mortem…I suspect that the same weapon was used; I found the same metal flakes in the mouth."
"Thanks, Al," Grissom said. He looked at Greg and Sara. "Shall we go and see if Hodges has come up with anything?"
Greg nodded, but he got no response from Sara, who had moved over to the body to more closely examine the knife wound. "Sara?" Grissom called.
"Huh? Oh, sorry Griss. I'll meet you guys up there in a minute…I just want a closer look here, if that's okay?"
Grissom nodded, and he and Greg left.
Oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Trace had revealed that the silvery flakes found on the bodies were a metal commonly used to coat cheaply-made knives. Hodges was still in the middle of his brown-nosing when Sara slammed through the doors. Shooting him a glance that would melt steel, she pinned Greg and Grissom. "I need to talk to you both. Now." Without saying anything else, she spun and stalked off.
Slightly taken aback by her change of attitude, Grissom shot an uneasy glance at Greg, though both men followed her down the hall. When they caught up with her, she was in the layout room, pacing. And she was angry.
As a precaution, Grissom closed the door to contain the conversation.
"If what I'm about to tell you gets out to the rest of the lab, you have my word that I will personally kill you and hide your bodies," Sara said quietly. "And I'll get away with it. Are we clear?"
Grissom and Greg shared an uneasy look.
Sara planted her hands on the table in front of her and took a deep breath. "My childhood was not what you would call ideal," she began. Her gaze flicked to Grissom, then settled on Greg. "That's all I'm going to say about it right now, but understand that the circumstances of my youth would make anyone naturally lean towards fantasy as a mental escape route." She sighed. "At first, it was books…wizards, dragons, far away places…." she said, trailing off as she remembered the fantastical lands she had traveled in those years.
Shaking out of her reverie, she continued. "Anyhow, I eventually discovered Star Trek. That was the coolest thing of its day, and it was perfect. It's actually what got me interested in Physics. Anyhow, a few people I knew were a little crazy about it…going to conventions, collecting the paraphernalia, buying all of the episodes and picking them apart…that sort of thing. By the time I got to college, I had officially cemented my Geekhood by joining a KLAW."
"KLAW?" Greg asked when no other information seemed to be forthcoming. Grissom remained silent, but appeared to be slightly amused.
Sara blushed faintly. "Klingon Legion of Assault Warriors," she clarified. "I was the legion security officer. It was pretty much an excuse to hang out and show our appreciation for the show, but my security squad was a group of self-proclaimed bad-asses." She chuckled. "We thought we were cool, anyhow. My point is that all of this evidence is telling me that our killer is a Klingon, or more specifically, someone dressing up as one."
Grissom spoke for the first time. "What makes you say that?"
"Look at what we have, and put it in context. We've got a long, black synthetic hair, which is common in the wigs worn by both men and women who dress up as Klingons. At the big conventions, a lot of people will even go so far as to do the all-out costume makeup, which explains the face paint. And the boot print? You said it was leather, and not any tread that showed up in the database, right? I'd be willing to bet that it's the same leather that we found attached to that metal ring. Since you can't just go buy your clothes at Macy's, people in these circles make a lot of their own stuff. That ring is similar to the ones I used when I made my uniform back in the day."
"Wait, wait," Greg said wickedly. "You had a uniform?"
"Greg…" Sara said warningly. He put his hands up in surrender, though he was still grinning.
"Sorry…just…" Greg trailed off as Grissom shot him a dark look. Sara smiled faintly.
"It was the knife wounds that made the rest of the pieces fall into place," she said. "Klingon weapons tend to be a little…excessive. See, Klingons have a lot of redundant organ systems, so their weapons are designed to do a lot of damage…" She trailed off as she noticed that both men were now looking at her with nearly identical expressions of amusement. "What now?" she said crossly.
"Sara, you know I love you, but your Dork-O-Meter is going off the charts right about now." Greg said with a grin.
Sara rolled her eyes. "If it solves the case, I think my ego will survive."
"True," Grissom agreed. His face once again gave away nothing, but Sara could see that his eyes still twinkled. "So what kind of hand weapon would the modern Klingon carry these days?"
Sara eyed him for a long minute, sure he was teasing her, but he merely looked at her expectantly. Temporarily placated, she picked up the pictures of the stab wounds as she thought out loud.
"Well, most of us carried a daqtagh, but I don't think that matches up with what we're seeing here. It has two retractable blades at the base near the handle, which would have left two smaller punctures on either side of the primary wound site. Plus, the blade isn't serrated enough to cause that much tearing." She was silent for another moment, eyes narrowing, then nodded decisively. "Our murderer is carrying a qutluch," she said firmly. "It's a blade traditionally used by Klingon Assassins, and is designed to produce maximum destruction of internal organs. The razor tip creates quick access and the saw-teeth sever arteries on the knife's path in and out. It produces a very characteristic wound," she continued. "I should have seen it sooner." Sara looked pissed. "God damned coward," she muttered darkly.
"Who?" Greg asked.
"This guy," Sara said as she waved her hand over the crime scene photos spread in front of them, indicating she spoke of the killer. "He's using an assassin's blade, but all of these wounds are from behind. Among Klingons, assassination is considered an honorable death as well as an honorable profession if it is carried out according to ancient guidelines. The primary aspect of assassination is that the two parties must fight face to face. Stabbing in the back or from the shadows is strictly against the code of honor. Very bad form."
"So how do we find him?" Grissom asked.
"I'd start by seeing if anyone familiar shows up on any of the Klingon club rosters," Sara suggested. "Most of them will have their membership information available online."
"Hey Sara," Greg said suddenly, remembering something. He grabbed a piece of paper and sketched out something quickly. "Does this mean anything to you?"
Sara looked at it. "Aside from confirming your lack of artistic talent? Sure." She handed the page over to Grissom. "It's the symbol of the Klingon Empire. Why?"
"It was on a wall hanging in Francis Langley's house," he replied.
Grissom turned to Greg. "You and Archie get on those rosters," he instructed. "See if he's a member of one of the local chapters, and then see if you can find out where he might be spending his free time these days."
"I'm on it," Greg promised, gathering his papers and heading off to find Archie.
Grissom sat back and appraised Sara, who was rubbing her forehead tiredly. "Good work," he said softly.
She graced him with a smile. "Thanks," she said, and then chuckled ruefully. At his questioning glance, she explained. "That was a part of my life that was long buried, Griss. I had almost forgotten how much fun we had back then."
He smiled. "Legion Security Officer, huh?"
"Yeah," she said, grinning. "So how long before everyone finds out, do you think?"
"Well," said Grissom, appearing to give the matter serious thought, "I don't think you have to worry about Greg. He's probably so blown away that he won't say a thing. And besides…who would believe him?"
Sara nodded, agreeing with him, but then eyed him suspiciously. "And you?"
"Me?" Grissom said innocently. "I'm terrified of you. Won't say a word."
Sara laughed out loud. "Terrified?" she said scoffing. "You?"
"Absolutely petrified," he said. "You might do something violent to me."
She shook her head at him as she stood up and left, but she still couldn't be sure if he was serious or not.