Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, twilight or The Pigman.
Chapter 2: And, Scene
Its interesting when people die-
Give us dirty laundry
-"Dirty Laundry", Don Henley
Jem Banks had first penned the title "Werewolf Killer".
It wasn't as catchy as some of the previous criminals his website had covered-The Blue Paint Killer, The Henderson Hacker, The Gatewood Slasher, The Marshmallow Bandit -but the bloody paw prints had given him the perfect angle.
By sheer skill and a lot of luck he'd been first Press member on the scene of the grizzly murder of a still unidentified hooker. He'd snapped a few pics and had them emailed to his editor before the wheels of the city's printing presses had even began to turn. His News Blog had had the first exclusive pictures posted. Jem had texted in the infamous tagline "Werewolf Killer" with a close up of large bloody paw-prints beside the body and once they went up the hits poured in.
Everyone knew there were no such things as werewolves or faeries or seas monsters, but still people couldn't get enough of the rumors, it had amazed Jem how gullible people could be sometimes. But Jem loved readers, and gullible was his favorite flavor. The public always had an appetite for a good believe-it-or-not story. This week, as with the last, Vegas was hungry for gore, especially with the blockbuster Dead End III (the number one Zombie movie in the country) having come out a few days before.
So now Jem had planted himself across the street from a murder reported to be linked to that of the hooker. Apparently, as sources had reported, the discoverer of this body had run out of the house yelling about werewolves.
Evidently, she was a reader.
For Jem, another scoop like those bloody paw prints and he'd be at the top of the food chain at his web site in no time. He'd love a chance to see his rival, Clara Simpson's, face when he blew this story wide open. This was, no doubt in his mind, a serial killer's work. All the interesting ones always did it more than once. The police could deny it all they wanted, but with Jem feeding the public these rumors the police would have no choice but to hold a press conference. And he, of course, would be there to cover it.
So there Jem sat behind a dried-out bush, waiting for the next break in the story.
Across the street, unbenounced to Jem's presence, a cop was guarding the back entrance to the corner property in which the body had been discovered. Jem dialed his lackey, Andy's, cell.
"Okay, see the guy by the door? With his arms folded."
"Roger, I see him."
"Be a professional," Jem snapped at Andy's immaturity.
"Yes, Sir."
Jem massaged his temples as he spoke. "I need you to get him out of there, I trust you brought our distraction?"
"Affirmative."
"Well? What are you waiting for. And I'm by number 274 so make sure I have a clear entry."
"Roger that, chief." Andy hung up.
A few seconds later the steady murmur of the crowd - that had gathered around the front of the crime scene and had occupied the quaint neighborhood since the news of a murder had spread - was fractured by a small boom. Jem could just make out a stream of white foam darting into the air emancipating itself from the same area that the boom had resonating from. The cop at the back door heard the sound to and rushed off towards the source. Jem, camera at the ready, bolted up the steep side-yard towards the unguarded doorway once the cop was far enough away.
He bolted up onto the back porch and threw open the door with his left hand, his right trigger-happy with his camera.
"Hey!"
Jem beat it through the yard and into the street. He could hear someone chasing him so he took a sharp turn and boldly plunged into someone's overgrown side yard.
"Hey you, stop!"
Jem detected an accent. He was being chased by a freakin' Texan track star.
Great…
o0o0o0o0o0o
Sara arrived the same time Greg did. He greeted her with a grim smile that she returned. They weaved their way through the crowd and ducked under the crime tape together. Brass seemed to appear out of nowhere and joined their journey up the yard, their feet crunching simultaneously on the dead yellow lawn.
"Victim: Juliana Leishman, age 37, found about an hour ago by her friend, Eleanor Foss, were taking her statement down at the station."
"We think it's the same guy as the others?" Sara asked him as they neared the door.
"See for yourself," Brass said, nodding his head towards the house but going no further.
Once through the entryway Greg and Sara found themselves in a wide Great Room. Greg's eyes scanned the scene - to eventually settle on the victim positioned on the sofa. The Great Room, serving as a living room and dining room, was decorated with earth tones and featured no less than ten white-trimmed windows. The furniture was a coordinating white and looked clean but uncomfortable. Well, Juliana Leishman undoubtedly found it uncomfortable.
Grissom instructed Greg to start dusting the perimeter of the great room and Sara to take the kitchen, which was presumably located through the unadorned white door at the back of the room.
Greg began his dusting escapade along the east wall of the house, printing the windows. The blinds were drawn on the windows, he started with the first one by dusting the blinds, this yielded nothing. He then carefully drew the blinds partially up and swirled his brush over the ledge, three prints appeared. They were probably from the three middle fingers and also properly useless but Greg carefully lifted and labeled them all the same – just incase. After dropping the tape-lift gently into his open kit, he moved on to next window, and then to the next, meticulously dusting each as the one before. Each yielded a print or two, but the fingers that made most of them looked small enough to only be that of a child's.
About five minutes in, Sara called Grissom into the kitchen, Greg looked up to watch him go, wondering if she'd found something probative, if she did, they'd all know soon enough.
Between the eighth and ninth window there was a door. It had remained slightly ajar by a half an inch as the other investigators moved in and out of the house. The doorknob had already been dusted before he arrived so as no one would destroy any possibly probative prints if the need to use the side door arose.
He contemplated dusting the small window near the top of the door but in that moment the door burst open with such a force that it rammed into Greg's face and sent him flying backwards.
o0o0o0o0o0o
Sara's camera flashed illuminating the array of artwork displayed on the Leishman's fridge as she took over-alls of the kitchen. He eyes drifted to an older painting, the paper browned with age, its curled edges held to the fridge by colorful magnets. The painting depicted a monochromatic stick-figured family, two adults and two children.
The Leishman's kitchen was immaculately clean for a home with children, Sara thought. The kitchen was spacious and seemed to be themed simply beige with matching tiles and cabinets. A single window gave light over the sink and at the end of the room was a patio door that opened onto the porch. Aside from some a bowl full of sugar and a few carefully arranged ingredients, the room was spotless.
Almost.
Sara caught sight of something dark against the beige floortiles, a few small drops of blood. She carefully placed an evidence maker beside it and snapped a few photos.
"Grissom!" She called, releasing her camera to let in hang around her neck and unzipping a vest pocket to retrieve a swab. She carefully pressed it into one of the blood drops before straitening up. Methodically, she applied a squirt of phenolphthalein followed shortly by one of hydrogen peroxide. Just as the swab turned a bright and familiar fuchsia, Grissom breezed into the room.
"I got blood," She declared, a morbid, crooked smile easing onto her face as she raised the swab for him to see then nodded to the droplets on the ground. "I think this is where it started."
"There's no blood trail." He said as he turned, his flashlight sweeping along the floor towards the door. Whereas Sara seemed to be in an okay mood, Grissom was as detached as usual. Sara attributed this to a lack of bugs and rollercoasters.
"Well they're round, gravitational, indicates that whomever blood it was was stationary when the injury occurred." Sara pointed out as she placed the swab away.
"And that injury must have occurred around the time of the murder."
"Who just leaves blood on the floor, especially in a place as clean as this." Sara finished his thought, as he knew she would.
"If the killer caused this, he must have interrupted her." Grissom turned toward the abandon ingredients on the counter.
"But what injury leaves just one perfect blood drop?"
There was a sudden barrage of thuds and a clatter from the living room.
"Hey! Stop!" It was Nick's voice.
Sara carefully, but swiftly, removed her camera from around her neck and placed a hand at her sidearm, Grissom did the same. He took the lead, moving to the doorway and sticking his head slowly around the doorframe to scan the living room.
"Nick?" He called stepping into the living area, Sara followed. "Greg?"
Nick was nowhere in sight and the side door was wide open. As Sara stepped farther into the room she saw a pair of legs sticking out from behind the sofa.
"Greg!"
She and Grissom rushed over to the other side of the sofa as Brass rushed in the front door with two uniforms.
"What happened?" Brass's eyes scanned the room
"Unfortunately," Grissom said, while Sara found Greg's pulse, "we know as much as you do at the moment."
As the two officers crossed behind the couch and headed out the open door, careful to avoid the body and the two CSIs, Brass reached for his radio.
"Control, this is 2-Zero-3, Charlie-Captain-Brass, I need an ETA on the ambulance responding to the 420 over on crescent drive in Henderson…"
"Greg, Greg…" Sara chanted nearby. Greg had landed partially in the blood pool under the victim's head. Doubting a spinal cord injury, Sara placed a hand under his head. She searched his immobile face for some kind of response.
TBC