Getting Too Close
Chapter 4
(A/N): OK. This is a continuation of the previous chapter. If you've forgotten what happened, then I suggest you re-read it. It may help. Here's hoping my italics and bolds work this time! (Crosses fingers hopefully)
Back at Joshua Ford's home . . .
Hawkes wafted the scent on the dress shirt towards his nostrils, cringing slightly at the stench it emitted.
He sighed, and handed the shirt back to Stella. "It's chloroform, all right."
Stella took the top and carefully placed it inside a plastic bag. "If the blood wasn't proof enough, then this officially puts Joshua Ford at Jake Price's murder."
Both she and Hawkes were packing up their kits and heading towards her SUV, having just finished processing the house.
Hawkes smiled. "We still need the connection between them, though," he reminded Stella. "And I think my evidence is better than yours."
She eyed him; amused. "Really? What did you find?"
He grinned excitedly. "A burnt trash can," he said.
Stella arched an eyebrow. "A burnt trash can?" she repeated skeptically, as she placed her kit into their CSI SUV.
Hawkes took out a small, blue wastebasket placed deeply inside the trunk of the SUV. "A burnt trash can," he confirmed. "While you were sniffing for chloroform in the closet, I went looking through the rest of the place. Found it in the hallway closet. You'd think with such a big house, Ford would find a better hiding spot."
He pulled off the plastic that he'd wrapped securely around it, and tilted its mouth towards Stella. "It's completely black and burnt on the inside," he said, and then pointed at the base of the basket. "And there's an obvious imprint right here. My guess is it was the knife. If we go back to the lab, I'll bet this impression matches the knife Danny and Lindsay found."
Stella nodded, crossing her arms. "Well, I guess you did find the more interesting evidence."
Hawkes chuckled, placing the wrapped trashcan deftly back in its place.
He took off his gloves, and threw them in his kit. "Let's call it even," he said.
Stella laughed.
Back at Mr. And Mrs. Prices home . . .
Mac browsed through the databases with his laptop for the fifth time. Flack stood behind him, eyes also skimming over the facts and numbers.
Mac frowned. "Nothing," he sighed. "Looks like the family didn't cash in on their son's life insurance."
"Yeah, maybe," Flack said wistfully. "Or maybe they just didn't get a chance to."
He turned to look at his boss. "So what's our next step?"
Mac closed his laptop in defeat. "We work off that business card I found. And we have Mr. and Mrs. Price come back in for interrogation. They've got some explaining to do."
Back at Bryan Prices dorm . . .
"I think we're the ones that should be doing the questioning," Danny said. "Like, what's with this knife hiding in your toilet?"
Lindsay knew exactly what Danny was trying to do. He was diverting the kid's attention. Danny was turning the heat onto him. Thomas Hendricks looked flabbergasted. She stepped away from Danny to stand near the door, letting Danny do what he did best: getting himself out of trouble. She almost felt sorry for Thomas. Almost.
"Well, Thomas?" she goaded him. "Anything you want to tell us?"
He held up his hands and looked between the two detectives, frightened and confused. "Look, I have no idea how that got there," he tried to explain. "I don't even like knives. I'm not one for sharp objects."
When he'd said that, Lindsay couldn't help but stare at his piercings. "Right," she remarked disbelievingly.
At exactly that moment, Bryan Price came charging in with a load of books in his arms. "What are you doing just standing there with the door open, man?" he questioned his roommate.
Then he noticed Lindsay standing on his right, and he swiveled around to find Danny. "What's going on?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"
He gave Danny a fixed stare, and was about to make another remark when he noticed the plastic bag in Danny's hand – the plastic bag containing a knife. His eyes broadened, and his nostrils flared. He looked at Danny, looked at the knife again, and then back at Danny. Lindsay grew worried at Bryan's behavior. Something wasn't right. Danny noticed Bryan's reaction to the knife as well.
"You –" but that was a far as Danny was able to get before Bryan dropped all the books he was carrying and made a bolt for the door.
Luckily, Lindsay's reflexes were fast, and she was able to block the doorway before Bryan could escape. But it wasn't enough. Bryan's electric blue eyes looked straight into Lindsay's brown ones, and she knew right then and there he was scared. Scared, but determined.
He grabbed Lindsay's right shoulder fiercely, aggressively placed his other hand on her abdomen, and threw her out of the way. Lindsay, taken completely by surprise, let out a small gasp before her head made contact with the wall on the opposite side. Her head hit the dry wall violently and painfully. She could hear Danny shouting, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. The impact against her head was unexpectedly more powerful than she'd thought.
An arm suddenly snaked itself around her waist as the other cupped her chin. She glanced at the arm, instantly recognizing the dark gray blazer. Looking up, she made out about four to five pairs of comforting, concerned blue eyes.
"Lindsay . . . okay . . .?" Danny asked, alarmed.
Lindsay blinked back the tears welling up in her eyes and rubbed the back of her head, endeavoring to make out what he'd said. He sounded like a broken record to her.
"I-I'm okay," her voice cracked. "Where's . . . where did – did he run off?"
Danny took out his cell phone. " . . . need back up . . . officer assaulted . . . possible suspect on the run . . . NYU . . ."
Once again, Lindsay was having difficulties comprehending what Danny was saying. But from what she could understand from the phone call, she knew Danny needed to go after Bryan.
"Danny," she winced at the throbbing pain. "Danny . . . go, you need to go after him. Y-you're the only one who saw where he was headed."
Danny looked at her incredulously. "I can't leave you here –"
"Danny," she pleaded. "Go. W-while there's still time to catch him. I'll be fine."
He licked his lips uncertainly, torn between running after the perpetrator and taking care of his injured partner. He glanced behind him and noticed Thomas Hendricks, who was still in shock. Danny made up his mind. Standing up from his crouching position next to Lindsay, he grabbed Thomas's forearm and hauled him over.
"Watch her," he ordered. "Make sure she stays awake."
Danny gave another quick look at Lindsay, and then took off in the same direction as Bryan. As soon as Danny was out of sight, she tried to stand, but ended up collapsing back on the carpeted floor when a nasty pain formed below her left ribcage. Lindsay wheezed, her hand clamping the sudden ache on her side. That was when she felt it. Some sort of fluid trickled through her fingers.
She brought up her right hand. It was covered in blood. Her blood.
"Oh god . . . " Thomas said, noticing the red coloring of her hands. "That's not good."
Stella and Hawkes (coming from Joshua Ford's home) . . .
They were stuck in a gridlock, as usual, and Hawkes was attempting some CSI jokes.
"Okay. So what do you call a murder suspect who's claustrophobic?"
Traffic wasn't moving at all, and Hawkes figured this was the best way to pass the time.
Stella thought for a moment, then shook her head, smiling at Hawkes's efforts with his corny jokes. "I don't know," she said. "What do you call a murder suspect who's claustrophobic?"
Hawkes opened his mouth to give her the punch line, but was cut off by Stella's phone. She looked at the caller ID. 911: Lindsay.
Worried, she swiftly flipped her phone opened and answered. "Lindsay? Why'd you 911 me?"
The breathing on the other end was somewhat haggard. "Sorry, Stella. I wasn't sure h-how important this would be. I wanted to tell you to turn on your radio t-transmission,"
Stella waved a hand at Hawkes and gestured him to flip on the radio. He complied, puzzled.
"There's a dispatch out for Bryan Price," Lindsay continued. "H-he's on the run. Danny went after him."
"All right Lindsay, radio's on," Stella said. "Now you need to tell me why you sound so exhausted."
Lindsay laughed uneasily. "Don't worry about me," she assured. "The perp got a little . . .rough."
Stella was about to demand what it was exactly Lindsay meant by 'rough' when the radio crackled.
"NYPD dispatch," came a woman's voice. "We have a possible murder suspect on the run. Assault of an officer was involved. Perpetrator's name is Bryan Price. Age: 19. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Six feet. He was last seen wearing an NYU sweatshirt and jeans. He's believed to be heading north, on Broadway."
Stella and Hawkes froze, staring at the radio. They looked at each other.
"We're on Broadway," Hawkes unnecessarily acknowledged.
"Lindsay, I'll see you back at the lab," Stella said, as she and Hawkes got out of the car.
Stella snapped her phone shut, flashed on the emergency lights of her car, and unfastened her gun from her hip. She and Hawkes headed down Broadway in a dash.
Mac and Flack (coming from Mr. and Mrs. Price's home) . . .
Flack was heading out the door when he'd heard the dispatch from his radio.
"NYPD dispatch," the transmission crackled. "We have a possible murder suspect on the run. Assault of an officer was involved. Perpetrator's name is Bryan Price. Age: 19. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Six feet. He was last seen wearing an NYU sweatshirt and jeans. He's believed to be heading north, on Broadway."
He stared at his radio in shock. That was Danny and Lindsay's post. He looked up, searching for Mac.
Mac was placing his kit back into his car when Flack came running up to him.
"Mac!" he called. "We've got a situation."
The head detective grimaced. "Why do I have a feeling that's not a good thing?" he wondered.
Flack stopped short of running into Mac's car. "NYPD dispatch," he clarified. "Bryan Price made a run for it. Assault of an officer was involved, too. I'm thinking it was either Danny or Lindsay. The guy's headed north on Broadway."
Mac shut his car door promptly. "That's not far from here," he said, drawing out his gun. "Let's go."
Flack nodded, getting out his own handgun.
Danny in pursuit of Bryan Price . . .
Danny was getting too old for this; he knew he was. About four men in blue were helping him as he ran up Broadway. He'd seen a flash of a purple hoodie and a tuff of blonde hair the minute he ran out of NYU's dorms. He knew instantly it was Bryan.
Broadway was crowded with people, and it was making it very hard for Danny to keep track of Bryan. But if he declared himself, it entailed the risk of telling Bryan of his location. Danny growled, frustrated. If it meant a chance to catch that kid, it was a risk he was willing to take.
Extracting his gun from his side, he made himself loud and lucid. "NYPD!" he yelled, getting a lot of people's attention. "Everybody out of the way!"
The officers following him did the same. Anxious and confused, people effectively ran out of the way, clearing the road for him.
Bryan Price turned around when he heard Danny's assertion. He saw the cleared street and knew immediately that the cops would be able to get to him fast. He manically looked for a way to escape and figured it was best if he kept running forward.
The cleared street gave Danny the perfect view of Bryan, who was about 40 yards ahead of him. He also detected a sense of hesitation on the kid's part when he paused to look around. Danny knew that look. Bryan was going to stop at nothing to escape.
He turned a corner, and Danny muttered a curse under his breath. He hated it when suspects ran and then turned corners. It made it more difficult to catch them. He was already about 45 seconds behind him.
Taking the same left Bryan Price did, Danny ran smack into Mac and Flack.
"Damn it!" Danny barked, stumbling a little from the collision. "Did you see him?"
Mac regained himself. "Must have ran right pass us," he said.
Flack checked his gun, making sure it was still in one piece. "We still have time. We can still catch him."
Danny led the way. "NYPD!" he roared. "C'mon, people. Get out of the way!"
The three made their way down 13th Street until they reached University Place. Crowds of people were everywhere. Danny's, Mac's and Flack's eyes searched frantically for anyone in purple with blonde hair. Masses among swards of brunettes, redheads, blondes, and everything in between horded them. No one was wearing an NYU sweatshirt.
Danny's hand balled into fists as he searched the area with his eyes for a second time, holding out on hope that Bryan Price would just materialize out of nowhere.
"He's gone," Flack said the one thing on all three's minds.
Danny shook his head in disbelief, his breathing hard and labored. "Damn it!" he lashed out angrily. "Son of a bitch!"
He paced back and forth meticulously for a moment, and then jerkily kicked a metal trash bin out on the sidewalk.
Flack took out his cell phone and made the call into the station, informing them that the suspect had escaped the pursuit and warning all units to be on high alert.
Mac placed a firm, consoling hand on Danny's shoulder. "We lost him for now, but we'll catch him," he promised. "You need to calm down. You're no help to the case if you let this get to you."
Danny took of his glasses and wiped his eyebrows, aggravated. Mac was right; he knew he was. Danny almost laughed. It was rather ironic. He'd said the same thing to Lindsay before, when she blew up at Bryan in the interrogating room; only he used different words.
He glimpsed at the now dented trashcan he'd just kicked, and noticed something violet sticking out. Quickly putting his glasses back on, he reached a hand inside to pull out the mysterious article. Danny's eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was a sweatshirt – an NYU sweatshirt.
"Mac," he beckoned.
Mac turned around from talking to a couple of police officers and glanced at Danny expectedly.
Danny held up the purple sweatshirt. "I think I know how we lost him."
Mac took the hoodie and examined it with a frown. "It smells like cologne," he said.
A light bulb went off in Danny's head. "I smelled some aftershave when Lindsay and I ran into him at his dorm."
"Hey, guys," Flack motioned. "I just got a call from Stella. She's on her way. She said Bryan Price was last spotted in Union Square Park. I'm guessing he blended into the crowd, then ran for it."
"Yeah," Danny agreed. "I mean, it should be easier for him without his trademark sweatshirt."
Mac returned his attention to the men in blue waiting on him. "All right," he said. "I want all units on high alert. If he's caught, don't take him to any other place by mine's. He's not just a murder suspect, he will be charged with fleeing the scene and assaulting a fellow NYPD. The kid escaped questioning and attacked one of my own CSIs. I want him caught."
The four police officers nodded and radioed in the charges to other units.
Lindsay's assault charge caught Danny's attention. "Did you talk to her?" he asked eagerly. "How's she doing?"
"She'll be fine," came a feminine voice.
Danny, Mac, and Flack looked up at the voice. Stella and Hawkes walked up to them, both looking beaten and tired.
"I talked to her right before I called Flack," she persisted. "No concussion or any form of head trauma. Paramedics got to her in time – before the cut and bleeding could do any serious damage."
"Cut?" Danny inquired fearfully. "What cut? She wasn't bleeding when I left her."
Hawkes flinched, looking at Danny sympathetically. "She got a stab wound below her right ribcage. It was pretty deep, but not deep enough to worry about. She lost a good amount of blood, though."
Stella nodded grimly. "She didn't realize she had the cut until she saw the bleeding. Called for help a little later than she should have."
Danny's eyes flashed treacherously. "How'd she get the wound?" he demanded. "It was Bryan's roommate, wasn't it? The kid's an accomplice."
"Actually, Thomas Hendricks was the one who called the paramedics," Stella said. "Lindsay thinks Bryan may have stabbed her when he was shoving her out of the way."
Mac's frown deepened. "So he not only attacked Lindsay, he stabbed her," he stated almost questioningly.
An eerie silence ensued.
Stella looked her partner curiously. "What are you thinking, Mac?'
Mac gave Danny a significant glance, and then turned to Flack, a stern look encompassing his features. "I want you to send out a dispatch for all units," he told him. "Bryan Price will not only be charged with fleeing the scene and assaulting an officer . . . we're going to nail him with attempted murder."
Danny's hands wringed Bryan's NYU sweatshirt as he watched Flack make the call. Stella put an arm around Danny's shoulders and squeezed them in reassurance.
"Bryan Price is not going to get away," she vowed.
Danny nodded. "No, he's not," he agreed.
(A/N)
I super sized this chapter, as you can tell. I kind of owe it to those of you waiting on this fic, so this is my sorry. Hope you like it so far. Review and let me know!