Chapter Three
The Suspects
Part One
"Hello Al," Grissom greeted the coroner, Al Robbins, as the doctor pulled himself up on his metal crutches and stretched his back.
"Gil, Jim" Robbins nodded to each man.
"What're you doing here?" Grissom asked, already knowing the answer.
"David's on the scene of a car accident, it'll be hours before he's free."
"There's not much blood," Brass noted, staring at the head wound, and the one small but smeared patch of blood on the victims shoulder.
"No, there's not." Doc agreed.
"TOD?" Grissom asked.
"Two, maybe three hours, there's no rigor yet." Doc consulted his watch. "Would have been not long after the start of the show."
Grissom narrowed his eyes a bit. "You know what time the show started? Have you been doing my job?"
Doc shook his head. "My wife had tickets for next weeks performance; she's a Dicky Burton fan; another reason I came to this one, she'd have killed me if I hadn't."
"Dicky Burton?" Brass asked and turned to see if he could decipher the once famous face from the crowd of actors.
"Yeah, he was a matinee idol in the 60's," Robbins clarified. "My wife watches his movies when they're on the Late Late Show."
"I've seen some of them," Grissom nodded and turned his attention to the body on the floor. "The wound on the back of his head COD?"
Doc packed his equipment back into his black satchel. "Possibly. I'll know more once I do the autopsy." He clicked his bag shut and pointed toward the mantel above the fireplace. "You might want to check that, think it might be what caused the wound."
Brass was closer to the fireplace; he stepped around the body, and immediately saw what the doc was talking about. There was a reddish stain on the base of one of the items sitting on the mantel. Brass pulled a latex glove out of his pocket and picked up the item, holding it out for Grissoms inspection.
Gil narrowed his eyes "You've got to be kidding me."
Brass tilted his head, a smirk on his lips as he looked again at the smooth silver candlestick in his hand.
--
"Hey," Catherine greeted from a few steps behind Grissom. "Let me guess; in the library with the candlestick?"
Gil finished sealing the evidence bag and glanced up to Catherine's grinning face, Greg stood next to her, shifting his kit from one hand to the other. "Actually, this is supposed to be the conservatory." Grissom corrected.
"I stand corrected." Catherine rebutted with a slight grin.
"What's the difference?" Greg asked.
"One is for books, one is for music," Grissom answered him.
"Ok," Greg sounded as if he was sorry he asked, and glanced to Catherine as she turned to offer him a sympathetic smile. Greg glanced down to the body, Grissom watched him inspecting the wound. "Head wound," Greg announced, and glanced up checking first one, then the second group of people. "How'd someone hit him without getting blood on themselves?"
"First hit's free," Catherine told him "and sometimes once is enough."
Greg crouched to get a closer look. After a moment, he opened up his kit and pulled out a long handled swab and swiped it against the back of the dead mans neck, a few inches away from the wound, through a wet mass.
Grissom arched an eyebrow at Catherine and the two more experienced CSI's kneeled down. "Whatcha got?" Catherine asked.
Greg shrugged. "Looks like a glob of spit," he said as he snapped closed the cap onto the plastic shield protecting his find.
"Good," Grissom said tiredly, "that means we get to collect DNA samples as well. Greg, I need you to help Nicky collect and photograph everyone in the audience." He pointed at the larger group of tourists; Nick was setting up a fingerprinting station on a side table. "Cath, you and I will take the actors."
--
"Dicky Burton," Col Mustard introduced himself, puffing out his chest. "Perhaps you remember me from The Wrong Girl or Beach Slumber Party?"
Brass nodded, "Of course." He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and held it over the open notebook in his hand. "What can you tell me about the victim?"
"Fred?" Dicky Burton asked. "Well," he gave it some thought as he pulled off the mustache. "This was his show…" he spread his arms wide "he came up with the idea, cast each and every one of us…even wrote the script himself."
"Who'd want him dead?" Brass asked, getting to the heart of the matter.
Dicky shrugged. "Wouldn't know. I didn't, I know that much..." He looked away, giving off a vibe Brass felt needed another question.
"Sounds like you're losing something other than a cast member …"
"Well…" the older actor moved his head and looked Brass in the eye. "Parts are tough to come by and I've had difficulties over the years…" Brass nodded, he'd heard the gossip about the former movie idols drinking and woman troubles, and he sympathized. "Truth is Capitan, I need the work, and Fred was the only one giving me a chance. I thought if I could prove myself stable, I might start landing some parts again."
Brass nodded again, and felt Grissom and Catherine at his elbow. "Dicky Burton, Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows, from the crime lab. They'll need to take your fingerprints and photo."
"Well, if it's a photo you want, I've got some in my room…um, whom shall I make it out to?"
"No. We'll take one of our own, but thank you," Grissom said politely as he lifted the camera, and waited a moment while Dicky situated himself and gave the camera the perfect movie star smile.
Catherine chuckled as moved away toward an empty table to set up the finger printing station.
"You know," Dicky began "there's a part that my agent is trying to get me a reading for, a chap much like yourself, with all the fingerprints and such. New television show. Mind if I tag along? Might give me a leg up on the audition."
Grissom blinked. Brass held his hand to his mouth holding in a laugh. After a moment, Grissom regained himself. "Yes. Yes I do mind."
"Oh. Very well…" Dicky looked away, very hurt.
"Open wide please," Grissom smiled as he held up a swab.
--
"Mr. Green, I presume?" Catherine said to the balding man in the olive green suit.
"Kenneth Ashcraft," he corrected her, running his hand over his scalp.
"Ok, Mr. Ashcraft," Catherine took his hand in hers, feeling the dampness of his scalp sweat on his flesh. "Could you relax your hand for me please?" She rolled his fingers over the black ink then on the card she'd written his name on.
"So, Fred's really dead, huh?"
Catherine lifted her eyebrows as she worked. "'Fraid so."
"And he was dead during the whole show?" Ashcraft's watery eyes filled with what might have been the beginnings of tears.
She shook her head once, "We won't know when he was killed until our coroner does the autopsy." She set his card on the table and handed him a tissue. "When did you last see him alive?"
"Well, let me think," Kenneth wiped his hands, then used the tissue to dry his scalp, leaving a smudge of black ink. "He's supposed to lay down by the fireplace during an argument between Mrs. White and Miss Scarlet about twenty minutes into the play. The audience is distracted, you see, by the augment. Not long after, Mrs. Peacock 'discovers' the body and screams, thus beginning the mystery."
Catherine nodded. "And you never saw anyone approach the body after that?"
"Well, sure. Everyone goes near the body at one point or another. Even the audience."
Catherine licked her lips and smiled wanly. "Great."
--
"I don't know why we have to be fingerprinted," the wife with the pocketbook whined. "We didn't kill him."
"Ma'am, we just need to know who touched what." Nick answeredneutrally as he tried to rollher stiff fingers over the card.
"Well," she huffed, "we didn't kill him and I can prove it."
"How's that?"
She held up her camera. "I took video."
--
"Your name please?" Grissom asked brushing away the plums from Mrs. Peacock's hat.
"Patty Martinelli. Patricia. Oh, sorry." She reached up and pulled the hat off her head, holding it in her hand, the feathers sticking straight out brushing against Gils stomach. Grissom took a step to the side, away from the feathers.
"Look into the camera please." Grissom snapped her photo. "We've been told that in the play, your character discovers the body, is this true?"
"Yes…I didn't know he was really dead, I thought the blood was just something Fred had added without telling me…"
"Did you touch the body?"
"Ah…" she put her fingers to the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes tightly, "No, no I didn't. I'm supposed to walk toward the bar," she opened her eyes and used the pinching fingertips to point to the bar on the far side of the room "but I see the body before I get there, and scream. Much like Angela did."
"Angela?" Grissom cocked a questioning eyebrow.
"Scarlet," Patty explained as she pulled off her sapphire gloves. "We were taking our bow, and she left the group, probably going to the bar," she jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the liquor bottles. "A minute later, she screamed. I thought she was going for a second ovation, but when I saw her, I knew something was really wrong."
"Why's that?" Grissom asked
"Because she's not that good of an actress." Patty deadpanned.
Thank you, rojajiand AlwaysWrite05for the reviews, I'm glad you're enjoying the story.
