See Chapter One for Disclaimer and Other Notes
NOTES: Weekly CSIPrompts Challenge 2: Must start with the line: Grabbing a box, he tipped it over and dumped everything on the table. Well, this is what I get for waiting until April 15th, he thought, and heaved out a long sigh. Topic: Taxes Random Prompts (Use or don't use - up to you): birthday cake, lighter, ambulance, nervous breakdown.
A/N 2: The Sunrise Manor Skatepark is on Lake Mead Blvd in Las Vegas is real or it was when I googled it. I have a little first to second hand knowledge of skateboarding: My youngest son has been obsessed with skateboarding for about five years, so I have a pretty good grasp on the subject…lol.
A/N 3: The 'walking CSI encyclopedia', BeckyCSI, had no clue when I asked her about Hodges' birthday, so between us, we gave him one. Everyone in the US hates the tax deadline, so what better day for his birthday? (evil grin: muah, hahaha!)
A/N 4: Thanks to Angsty for helping me clarify tax information in this chapter.
Chapter Two
Grabbing a box, he tipped it over and dumped everything on the table. Well, this is what I get for waiting until April 15th, he thought, and heaved out a long sigh.
This is going to be a nightmare. I've always filed single. Now, my filing status is married. I have to factor in all of Sara's earnings and interest. Hmmmm, at least she only has one W-2 as compared to my five.
Grissom looked over his several W-2's: Las Vegas Metro Crime Lab, his normal job; Williams College, where he spent a month teaching the previous January and February; Scientific Publishing Company, residuals from his editing of several entomological textbooks; the Forensic Academy for several speaking engagements he'd performed over the course of this past year; and the last one from the FBI for his continued work at the body farm.
With the interest from our various savings accounts combined and then the sale of the other townhouse, plus the fees from cashing out several stocks in order to buy the new furniture. I do love that Eames lounge chair. We're going to owe Uncle Sam big time. Good thing most of our savings are in IRA's.
He heard Sara's cell phone ring and debated whether to answer it. She had taken Bruno for a walk only minutes before he'd begun this arduous task of preparing their tax forms. He picked up the phone and answered with his usual gruff:
"Grissom."
"Oh, hi Gil. It's Al. I was calling for Sara, but since I got you instead, you'll do."
"What's up?" Grissom questioned the nightshift coroner.
"The floater from Lake Mead. I have the autopsy results. Do you want me to tell you the results on the phone or would you rather hear them in person?"
"I'm off tonight. Sara is in charge of the investigation. She's not here right now, but she'll be at work when her shift starts. Anything interesting on young Mr. Green?" Although Grissom wasn't working tonight, he had still processed the scene and his curiosity was peaked.
"Massive blunt force head trauma," the sound of Dr. Robbins voice continued, "to the right parietal and right temporal lobes. Something like a baseball bat hit him."
"I'll relay that information to Sara when she returns. Anything else?" Grissom wondered.
"I'll see her tonight." Robbins paused for a moment and then added, "What are you doing with your night off?"
"Having a nervous breakdown," Gil replied dryly.
"What do you mean?" Al sounded worried.
Laughing slightly, Gil responded, "I'm doing our taxes tonight. Wish me luck."
He began to look at the pile of income tax statements after he mashed the 'end' button on Sara's phone: one pile for the federal return; one pile for the Nevada state income tax; a smaller pile for Massachusetts state income tax; and another three other smaller piles for the different states he'd had speaking engagements.
I wish I'd thought to hire an accountant, but it's too late now. I have until midnight to get all this in the mail. I have to allow for travel to the post office, so I need to be done by 11:00. It's 7:30, now, so that leaves me three and a half hours. I better get to work.
He took a deep breath and began prepare the easiest ones first.
Sara entered the morgue wearing a long blue lab coat over her street clothes. She saw that Doc Robbins was busy with another body, but he stopped when he saw her.
"Good evening, Sara."
"Hi Doc. Did you find anything other than what you told Gil on Duncan Green?" She walked over to his work station and began flipping through a file bearing the name of the victim.
"My findings are all in there," he pointed to the file she held in her hand. "But other than the two most important facts: the young man had been in the lake for three days and he had a severe head trauma, I can't tell you much more. Blood samples have gone to Tox, but with the infusion of the lake water, it might be hard to narrow anything down if there were drugs in his system."
"So someone probably knocked him over the head, killing him instantly and threw his body into the lake. They didn't rob him, so that wasn't the motive. He had about 47 dollars in his wallet and one ATM card for a bank out of Florida." Sara concluded as she watched Robbins skillfully cut through the breast plate of the deceased in his table. "I'm going to check out the skatepark."
"See you later, Sara and be careful out there."
No one was in the break room when Sara entered the room for a quick cup of coffee before heading out to question the owners and employees of Sunrise Manor Skatepark.
There were remnants of a birthday cake in the break room, candles in shapes of a '2' and a '4'. She was unsure who was celebrating their birthday. She couldn't think of more one person who may be '24', but thought of several who could be '42'.
She noticed a red bic lighter laying beside the cake's clear plastic cover. The safety officer of the lab would go crazy if he found this lighter abandoned such as it was.
After all, the lab had blown up once: she knew. She had been injured by the blast. Luckily for her and the others in the lab, Greg Sanders, when he'd been the DNA tech, was the only one who required an ambulance ride to the hospital. His injuries were bad: second and third degree burns to his neck and back. Jacqui Franco, the excellent fingerprint specialist, who now worked days, had a cut to her forehead and Sara had gashes on her forehead, cheek and left palm from the unintentional blast caused by a unattended heat source and unknown chemical left in close proximity to each other.
She wondered where the safety officer was so she could report this to him; when in he walked.
David Hodges practically bounded into the room. When he saw the pregnant CSI, his eyes lit up. She was the wife of his boss, so he knew whose butt to kiss.
"Sara, did you get some of my birthday cake?"
She looked at the few scrapings of frosting and crumbs. "No I didn't, but I'm sure it was good."
"My mother sent it to me. She loves her little 'Davy-boy'." Hodges slightly reddened under Sara's gaze.
"Hey, someone left that lighter on the table. That's a safety hazard." She said, straight to the point.
"Yeah, I borrowed it from one of the day shift lab techs so I could light my candles; then I guess I forgot to return to her." Hodges said as he quickly scooped up the bic lighter and shoved it into his pants pocket.
Sara was about to exit the room when something occurred to her, "Wait a minute," Sara said, "you mean to tell me your birthday is April 15th? Oh, what an awful day to be born on."
"Most everyone forgets it, because they are busy doing their taxes at the last minute." David replied.
"Well, happy birthday, Hodges." Sara said as an afterthought as she left the break room with her coffee.
David Hodges positively beamed for the rest of the night.
The skatepark was loud: the blaring music of Prodigy over the loud speaker, the unmistakable sounds of the skateboards grinding against concrete and the occasional grunt or scream of pain when someone wiped out .
Sara was unused to the clamor. She made her way into the enclosed air conditioned skateshop where a dark haired young man of about twenty was laying on a couch apparently sleeping as his eyes were closed when she cleared her throat to get his attention. The television in the corner of the shop was on showing skateboarding videos.
He sat up quickly and asked, "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm from the Crime Lab and I was wondering if you remembered seeing this guy," she held an autopsy photo of Duncan Green for his inspection. "He was reported here on Friday."
"I already talked to the cops about this. I told him that I didn't remember him, but I showed the old guy his waiver and he paid his fees with cash, so home-boy must've been here." The clerk had a name tag attached to his shirt which read: Employee of the Month.
"How do you know he paid with cash? And what exactly did he pay for?" Sara questioned.
The young man stood up, revealing his lanky 6'2" frame and went to the filing cabinet. He shuffled around inside for a few minutes before removing two sheets of paper. "This is Duncan Green's signed waiver form. We make everyone do it that skates here. It says essentially that we're not liable for injurie; they are. Blood and guts is what skating is all about. Now, this is second receipt that I didn't show to the cop, because he didn't ask for it." He handed the paper to Sara.
Sara read over the receipt: Duncan had paid in cash for his admittance to the park, rental fees for a helmet and pads, also he bought a new 8.94 x 32 Ali Boulala pink 'Flip' deck, 'Tensor' trucks, a set of four 'Ricta' wheels and neon pink grip tape. But the fact the stood out the most in Sara's mind was the innocuous date: April 9th, 2008.
Sara's mind was spinning: the father had said he had dropped Duncan off on the 11th.
"How does a kid on a skateboard get from here on Lake Mead Boulevard to being found dead in the water at Overton Beach, which is about 40 miles away?"
"Lady, I don't know."
TO BE CONTINUED
a sort of cliff hanger, from me? evilness abounds. LOL