I walked nervously into the lobby of the Las Vegas Crime Lab and made my way to the front desk. The secretary looked up and smiled.
"Hi! How may I help you?" She asked.
"I'm here to see Gil Grissom?" I stuttered. She pulled out a piece of paper and looked over it.
"Name?"
"Primavera Morales." I said.
"Oh! His office is down that hall and to the left." She said.
"Thank you."
I found myself staring at a rack with jars of different types of specimens. Different types of disturbing specimens. One jar held something that looked like an animal lung or something.
"Hello." A voice came from behind me. I turned to face an older man with salt-and-pepper hair with a beard and glasses.
"Hello Mr. Grissom, I'm Primavera Morales." I said breathlessly. We shook hands.
"Of course. Welcome to the crime lab. First things first; we'll need to get your fingerprints and a blood sample."
Oh, great.
"Here, have a chocolate cricket."
"It…it's an actual cricket?"
"Of course!" Grissom popped in his mouth.
"No thanks." He led me from his office to the break room where a large group of people were congregated. They briefly stopped their conversations as they saw me.
"Everyone, this is Primavera Morales. She's currently a CSI Level 2 that will be joining our team." Grissom said. I gave a small wave and smile to everyone. The next few minutes consisted of everyone introducing themselves. In the midst of the hubbub, one grouchy-looking man threw out his coffee and made his way to the door.
"Hey, Hodges, you're not going to at least introduce yourself?" The woman called Catherine said. The man stopped in his tracks, sighed, and turned around.
"I'm Hodges, your friendly neighborhood lab rat. Now I gotta go. Backlog." He turned abruptly and left.
Sheesh. Talk about crabby pants.
"Alright. Catherine, Greg, and Nick have a 419 outside of the Tangiers. Warrick, you and me are taking over an old case from six months ago with that sausage guy. Sara, you take Primavera and go meet up with Sofia at the Three Aces motel. Looks like we've got another hooker roll." Everyone bustled about to their assignments as Grissom talked.
Dang, he's got everyone in check.
I followed Sara to the locker room and I refilled some supplies from my old field kit and then sat at a bench as she dug through her locker.
"I'm driving." She said, shutting her locker and leaving the room.
Whoopie.
-
"So…" I said, trying to start some conversation.
Silence.
"97 degrees outside. Back in Montana we'd probably be having a heat advisory."
"You came here from Montana…"
"Yeah, I was in Missoula since high school, but before then I was in California."
Silence.
"Yup. San Diego."
Silence.
"It was hot there. Not as hot as here, though. We had the ocean breeze—"
"Should I turn up the A/C?" Sara said, looking annoyed.
"No, it's alright." I said. "Anyways, like I was saying…We had the ocean breeze…"
I swear Sara rolled her eyes at me.
-
"The couple next door to the right said they didn't hear anything peculiar…but then again they were…caught up in their own matters…" Sofia said. I looked at her. Never before had I seen a woman cop make the standard uniforms look so fashionable. Who knew cop uniforms could even BE fashionable?
"Nobody heard anything?" Sara asked.
"Heard? No. Saw? The maid on this floor said she saw him come in with a red-haired woman." Sofia said.
"And as much as I know, this place doesn't have video surveillance in the hallways." Sara said. She turned to me. "Go in and print the place. I'll meet up with you."
"I'm on it." I said. I stepped under the crime scene tape that draped across the door and took a long look over the place. The man was lying on his stomach on the bed, blood from his wrist dripping onto the carpet. There was a bottle of champagne and two glasses on the table. I went there first.
Sara came in a few minutes later.
"What've you got?" She asked me.
"Prints on the champagne bottle, the glasses…and this high-heeled shoe…hadn't gotten to the rest yet." I said.
"Okay." We set to work in silence, occasionally proclaiming one of our findings.
"Semen all over the bed sheets…"
"Add white residue to the list…"
"Looks like lipstick…"
"Bloody Marilyn Manson T-shirt…" I looked up.
"Marilyn Manson?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Looks like Greg Sanders' sort of thing. Minus the blood." Sara said.
"Greg Sanders?"
"Spiky hair? Goofy grin?"
Oh. Right. I swear he was trying to look down my blouse when I shook his hand.
"Creepy."
"Alright, bag all this up and we can head back to the lab." Sara said.
Yes, Boss…
-
The morgue was just like all the others: cold, dark, and metallic. The coroner in Montana didn't have a coffeemaker, though. I received a warm coroner's welcome on my arrival.
"What have you got for us, Doc?" Sara said as we walked in. The Doc looked up and immediately noticed my unfamiliar face.
"New team member?" He asked. I nodded. "I'm Doc Robbins."
"Primavera Morales." I said. We reached out to shake hands—
Squish.
Um…yeah…that would be guts on my hand.
"Oops. I forgot. There's a sink over there if you wanna wash up." Doc Robbins said, trying to look concerned even though I bet he was holding his laughter in.
"Uh…thanks." I glanced at Sara before making my way to the sink.
She was smirking.
-
As I was taking my coffee break my beeper went off.
It read, "LOOK OVER HERE."
I looked up, puzzled. Then I saw the grouchy man from earlier waving a sheet of paper and looking pointedly at me from across the hall.
"What've you got?" I said when I got there.
"The white residue on the bed sheets was not biological so it was sent to me. Trace." He said.
"Hmmm…okay…" I said, wondering what the "Look over here" stuff was about…
"Hey, I'm not done yet. It's lubricant. Typical of a hooker roll." He thrust the paper at me.
"Uh…thanks." He just waved his hand at me as if to shoo me away.
Gosh…Las Vegas is so friendly.
-
It was after shift and I stopped by an old mom-and-pop café to have a bite to eat before I headed home for the night. It kind of reminded me of Missoula, except more dodgy. It was a pretty nice place except for the side of town it was in. I saw mostly truckers sitting around me.
I was about to leave when a man sitting in a corner booth caught my attention. At a glance, he looked like a trucker. He had on a plaid jacket, sweatpants, ball cap, and was all by his lonesome sipping a cup of tea. I recognized him as Hodges from Trace or Mr. Grouchyface as I referred to him in my mind…but let's not go there.
"Come here often?" I said quietly, as to not disturb his rather intent manner of nursing his coffee cup. He raised his head and looked at me from under the brim of his hat and scowled.
"What, is Vegas not big enough for you?" He asked. I stepped back a little. Yeesh, talk about sourpuss.
"Are you always this friendly with newcomers or do you just really like me?" I asked in a mock-flattered tone. He looked at me in an expression that was half-smirk, half-scowl.
"Yeah…that's it." He put a wad of bills on the table and then brushed past me roughly before I could respond.
-
"You look rough." Catherine said, squinting at me. "Hot date or something?" I snorted. She's funny.
"No…I had to wait for the movers to arrive with my bed… Still moving in slowly." I said, talking in between sips of coffee.
"Ah." Catherine said in a sympathetic tone. "Need some help? I could swing by after shift and give a hand."
"Thanks, Catherine, but I'm alright." I said. Actually, I needed some muscle to help me rearrange my cheap secondhand furniture. Catherine doesn't really classify in the "muscle" category.
"Are you sure? I don't mind helping." Catherine insisted. Sheesh, was she gonna hold me at gunpoint until I submit?
"No offense but…I need…er…help moving furniture." I said.
"Oooh right…guy job. Well…there's plenty of guys around here who'd be willing to lend out their 'macho-ness'. You'll find someone." Catherine said, and gave me a smile. It was a Mom smile.
The rest of the team arrived shortly, and started the daily routine which included me being teamed up with Greg for the day's case.
"I get dibs on the steering wheel." Greg said when we were in the locker room.
"No way!" I said. "I didn't get to drive yesterday!" I snatched the keys from his hand.
"Well, I called dibs!" He snatched them back and gave me a little brat grin.
"I hate Vegas!" I yelled while giggling at the stupid grin on Greg's face.
-
"See, we're cool. No one else goes to old-fashioned hamburger joints for lunch." Greg said before taking a big bite of onion-grilled burger.
"I agree." I said. Greg was proving to be a really funny guy. He totally reminded me of my cousin Tully in Wisconsin. "So, gimme all the dirt on people. Jacqui in Prints says that even she can't keep up with all the gossip." Greg grinned at my question.
"Oooh…Primavera Morales…mistress of blackmail…" He said. I hit him lightly in the arm.
"I am NOT! I'm just curious!" I said.
"Alright, then…any particular person?" I thought for a minute.
"Hmm…well, Mia seems really serious. What's up with that?" I asked.
"Ah…Mia Dickerson…She's good with getting down to business, but I think she has a germ issue or something. Hodges accidentally sneezed on her last week and she totally went ballistic. Poor dude, he had a thing for her, too." Greg didn't look any bit sorry for Hodges, though. On the contrary he was snickering.
"About Hodges…is he always pissy or is he still miffed about Mia?" I asked. Greg shrugged.
"He has his grouchy days. I heard he moved here from LA for both the lab tech job and to get away from his wife." Greg said.
"Hodges? Married?" I asked, dropping a fry on the table.
"Yeah, it sounds weird in the same sentence. He got divorced I think. He's a whiz at the Dukes of Hazzard board game, man." Greg said. I snorted.
"Gosh that game's so childish. It's been ages since I last played that game."
"Hey! Don't diss Dukes of Hazzard!" Greg threw a fry at me.
"I can diss it if I want." I said, throwing a fry back at him.
"Not if you don't understand the beauty of the game!" He grabbed the ketchup bottle and aimed it at me.
"Fine," I said, warily eyeing the ketchup bottle "I won't diss Dukes of Hazzard if you help me move furniture in my apartment." He put down the ketchup.
"Anything to restore Hazzard pride." Greg saluted.
"…You're a nerd."
"Thanks!"
-
It was after shift and I was steadily going through boxes in my apartment while I waited for Greg to arrive. He was a little bit late, so I killed time by sorting through some junk. I opened one box and there sat an old CD. I broke out my boom box and played it. Soon I was dancing all over the place like all hell was about to freeze over.
"Ahem."
I froze, and then slowly turned around. Just my luck. There stood a grinning Greg Sanders and two of his lab rat buddies, Archie and Hodges.
"Having fun?" I blushed and punched the Stop button.
"Um…you're…y-you're early!" I stuttered.
"Actually, you didn't really specify a time." Hodges said, looking as if he'd rather not be there.
"Uh…right…well…let's get to work, then." I said. "I was thinking that after I get these boxes out of the way, we can put the armchair and the sofa in an angle to each other."
"That sounds cool." Archie said. "I'll help move boxes."
"Yeah…I'll just go and wait in the car…" Hodges said, making a move to leave. I grabbed his arm.
"Not so fast, I need all the help I can get." I said. He shrugged my hand off his arm and scowled.
"Hurry up so we can play Dukes of Hazzard!" Greg said, steadily moving boxes out of the way.
As soon as the boxes were out of the way, the guys moved the furniture under my direction. I actually made them rearrange it once or twice more than I needed to, but it was funny seeing them getting ticked off.
"Alright, move the sofa more to the right…more…OK, I think that'll be perfect!" I said. They glared at me.
"This is the way we put it in the first place." Archie growled.
"I know." I giggled.
"You just wasted valuable Dukes of Hazzard minutes!" Hodges said, looking at me like I was something evil…which I was to be honest. I rolled my eyes.
"Well, let's not waste anymore time and get started!" Greg said, whipping out the game board and setting it up. He put out four player pieces on the board.
"Wait," I started "I'm not gonna play. This game's boring!"
"Well…" Archie scratched his head, thinking. "Got any beer?"
