Title: Misdemeanors
Disclaimer: Language, violence, angst, and slash.
POV: Speed
Chapter Five: Assault on an Officer
The sun dawns on another bright Miami day. Why does the sun have to shine so often in a state with such violent crimes? A killer has been murdering woman in Daytona Beach. Florida is popular for retiring. Old people get robbed every single day. They're easy targets. I pull the Hummer up to a small condo. The lawn is immaculately kept and the house looks as though it could have been built yesterday. Everything is perfect, so perfect that I feel out of place. I'm always out of place. No one should have to have a CSI and a police car pull up in front of their house.
I grab my kit and head for the front door. A uniformed officer follows a few steps behind. Bad things have been happening to CSI's that we've worked with before. Nick Stokes, out at the Nevada crime lab, got abducted from a faked scene. Danny Messer of New York is currently being questioned about a murder that old acquaintances say he committed. I'd like to say that Horatio runs a tight ship- he does- but there's a mole in our lab who keeps leaking valuable information. Being a CSI is definitely not a glamorous job.
The door opens before I reach it. Another officer steps aside as I walk into the foyer. The white tile floor shines with a recent moping. Every little piece of furniture in sight is placed in just the right spot. I get the feeling that I've walked in on someone who has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The one thing that the owner didn't account for was the dead body, their dead body. The owner, a small frail old lady, lay stomach down on the beige carpet of the living room. A semi-dry pool of red-brown blood stains the carpet around here. I crouch down by the body and place an ungloved on her neck. She's ice cold to the touch.
I put on my gloves and start collecting evidence. After yesterday I've been removed from the John Doe case. Horatio says it's because of my attitude toward Ryan. I'm not allowed to have problems in my life? I know that I've changed since returning to work. I used to be a great friend who was always there for my friends, a hard worker, and a general all-around good guy. The type of guy you'd want your sister to marry. But I got shot. I came back to work to find everyone ready to replace me with a younger version of me. Doesn't that give me the right to be angry?
I continue to bag evidence when a voice from behind startles me. "Having any luck there buddy boy?"
I bite my tongue to chase away the rude words that are ready to explode from my mouth. "Why the hell are you here, Ryan? Don't you have a judge's son to take care of?"
"Not anymore," he replies setting his case on the floor within my range of view. "The guy's roommate confessed to the crime. He was pissed that his best friend stole his girlfriend. There's always a touch of love when a crime is committed. Anyway," he sighs, "Horatio sent me over to help you out."
"I don't need your help," I snap. "I have processed more scenes on my own then you can imagine."
Ryan crouches on the other side of the body. "I don't think he sent me over to supervise you, Speedle. From my point of view it sounds like he worries about you. He just wants us to get along. Get over it, I'm staying here. You can either get used to working with me or you can, well, you can grow up and take it like it is," he finishes.
"Make yourself useful and go check the other rooms," I grumble. "I can handle the body by myself."
He stands. "Was that so hard? See, we can work together."
He grabs his kit and disappears from the room. His sneakers cause squeaks on the tile floor. Shaking my head I grab a white paper-like square from the victim with a pair of tweezers and slip it into an evidence bag. With my small flashlight I inspect the hands. There's evidence of defense wounds so I tape bags over her hands to protect whatever is under her nails. I always feel a bit better about a victim when I know that they fought back. Who in their right mind would die a violent death willingly?
Leaving the body I begin to process the room. A side window is propped open with a chunk of wood; my possible point of entry. I dust the window and windowsill for fingerprints. There's nothing. I remove the wood and the window slides shut. The elderly lady probably wanted some fresh air and used the wood to keep the window open. That doesn't explain why the screen is missing. I photograph the window in detail. Maybe I'm missing something. I continue on in my hunt for any evidence I can find. A pen under the coffee table catches my eye. In this dust-free house the pen seems oddly out of place under the table. Eyeing the notepad by the phone sitting on a table to the left of the couch I suspect that that is where the pen belongs. I bend down to pick it up. Under the glow of my mini-flashlight I see spots of blood. There's no need to test it so I just bag it.
An hour has passed since I first got here and Alexx still hasn't shown up to transport the body to the lab. I also haven't heard much from Ryan since he left for the kitchen. A sickening feeling begins to grow in the pit of my stomach. Through the window I can see one cop keeping the spectators behind the yellow crime scene tape that dances in the cool breeze. The cop that had been inside in the same room as me is not at his post. Perhaps he's looking after Ryan, thinking that I'll be safe. I should feel happy that the cop is more concerned with the rookie than he is with me; as I've said, something feels wrong. It's like a storm cloud hangs over my head waiting to strike me down with its lightning.
I make my way to the kitchen entrance and stop when I hear the officer inside talking to Ryan.
"I heard they fired your from your job as a cop," the officer says.
"Wasn't fired," Ryan replies. "I wanted to change careers and Horatio helped me out."
"That's not what I heard," the cop continues. "I heard that you're a fag and that you got caught making out with a guy. An officer that you used to work with says that your captain was eager to get rid of you."
"Would you mind leaving me alone so that I can do my job?"
"I don't like working with gays. In my opinion they don't make good cops. The best thing you can do is quit your job," the officer presses.
"Please get out of my personal space," Ryan asks.
"Why should I fag?"
"Your hurting my arm, let me go," Ryan protests.
I step around the corner to find the officer holding Ryan by the upper left arm. Something in the young CSI's eyes makes me feel sorry for him. This is the guy that has been hired to replace me, to keep an eye on me and I feel sorry for him. Maybe it's because I don't agree with what the officer is saying. My closest friend in high school had been gay, most importantly he had been human. Now he's dead because of an "accident". I don't know why it happens the way it does but I do remember standing in the doorway. Then I hit the officer with my fist, forcing him to release Ryan. The officer stumbles back into the counter.
He sneers at me. "You got a nice punch. Why you sticking up for this guy? You his boyfriend?"
I hit him again. Ryan stands beside me yelling something in my direction. I don't hear the words. All I feel is the officer who I hold against the counters. I pull my arm back to hit him again when a pair of hands grabs me and spins me around. The officer from outside must have heard Ryan shouting and come to figure out what the problem was. He gives me a mixed look of surprise and anger.
He turns me around and pulls my hands behind my back. "I'm sorry about this but I have to do my job," he says. "Timothy Speedle, you're under arrest for assaulting an officer."
I close my eyes as the officer locks the handcuffs around my wrists. Horatio is not going to like hearing about this little incident.