The next morning dawned grey and cold, and Danny had just entered the crime lab when Lindsey came up to him, a sheaf of papers in her hand.
"Danny," she said, handing him the papers, "Our vic in the apartment yesterday," she began, and Danny nodded, scanning the files,
"I looked up the daughter, and found out she's got a record on file for animal neglect, and has been arrested once in New Jersey on suspicion of elder abuse." Danny gave a low whistle.
"Any idea where we can find this.." he read the name off the file, "Andrea Medford?" he asked, and Lindsey nodded.
"She's in a half-way house on Long Island. Apparently, she had a little bit of a drug problem, and that was part of the conditions of her probabtion for neglect," Lindsey explained.
"Maybe we should pay her a visit," Danny suggested, just as Sid walked up to them.
"You ready for cause of death on your cat-man?" he asked, and the CSI's turned to him.
"Sure," they said, almost in unison.
The ME beconed to them with a gloved hand, indicating for them to follow him to autopsy. Once there, they stood next to the steel gurney upon which the old man's body lay.
"His name is Robert Medford, according to his driver's liscense," Sid said, and picked up a plastic container from the tray beside him.
Inside was what looked to be a piece of greyish white brain matter.
"I took a biopsy of his brain," Sid began, turning the container back and forth as they looked on.
"Mr. Medford may very well be a victim of 'mad cat disease,' if you will," he said, and Lindsey and Danny exchanged looks.
"Don't you mean mad cow?" Danny asked, and Sid raised an eyebrow, placing the container back on the tray.
"Variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, or VCJ, affects the brain tissue and causes a Swiss cheese-like appearence. I'd just read up on a particular strain, Feline Spongiform Encephalopathy, that affects cats. There were dead cats in the apartment, right?" He asked, and Danny nodded.
"You didn't happen to notice any of the other cats acting strangely, did you? Unsteadiness, slobbering, signs of neurological problems?" He questioned again, and Lindsey gasped.
She thought back to the emaciated, nearly bald black kitten under the coffee table amidst the squalor of the apartment where Robert Medford died. The poor animal had stared back at her with fear, desperation and pleading in his eyes, and she'd felt a pang of pity at the sight of him. She thought hard, trying to remember if he had behaved strangely.
"The kitten I saw under the table, Danny," she turned to him, but he just shook his head.
"What kitten?" He asked, frowning.
Lindsey waved an impatient hand at him and turned to Sid.
"He was so thin and bald; I don't remember him acting odd, but I didn't sit and watch him, either." She said, and Sid nodded.
"I'm going to need that cat, if he's not already been euthanised," the ME said.