A/N: For the purposes of this story, I've slightly altered the layout of the hotel mentioned, mainly because it fit the story line, my apologies to anyone who's offended by this. Disclaimers in full force and effect (legalese for I don't own anything except the plot and any original characters mentioned
Previously: A twenty-six year old Irish-American girl disappeared in 2001; a year and a half later, she's still unfound. Tim Speedle survived the disaster of Dispo Day as did Calleigh Duquesne. . . . this picks up shortly after Dispo Day, but before Double Cap.
Four
Twelve hours after the maid called it in; the last cop cleared the crime scene at the Marseilles. Hector was at the door, watching while the rest of the guards moved their belongings to the helipad.
Sorcha was in the bedroom, redressing herself and preparing Mairin for the helicopter ride. She winced as she pulled the loose sundress down over her torso. Enriques hadn't been gentle – he rarely was – and she frequently sported bruises on her inner thighs and belly, and sometimes on her breasts. Tonight, she was sure there was going to be bruising; Enriques had been particularly rough, agitation making him careless.
It was too soon for her anyway, not that he cared. She'd started bleeding again. Gingerly getting to her feet, Sorcha headed for the bathroom, intent on cleaning herself.
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"Hey, Calleigh, you up for a road trip?"
At the sound of his voice, Calleigh looked up from the microscope. "Why?"
"I've got a hunch and want to follow it up." Speedle hung by the door of the lab, looking quietly hopeful at her answer.
"Oh, hunches. I like those. Sure, I'll go." She pulled off her gloves and unbuttoned her lab coat. "I'm ready."
Less than twenty minutes later, they were back at the hotel, getting clearance from security to re-evaluate the scene. On route, they'd avoided talking abut the case, instead focusing on other things. Attempting to keep Calleigh diverted from talking about the case or getting on him about keeping his gun clean, Tim asked her how long it had taken for her to come down from the cocaine. That subject kept her going until they reached the elevator, where Calleigh abruptly turned to him, smiled very sweetly and said, "That was very slick, Speedle. Now you care to let me know why we're back here?"
He stared at her for a minute, brief amusement flashing in his eyes, but it was gone quickly. "Worked, didn't it?"
Calleigh gave him an exasperated sigh, but refused to budge. "Talk, Speedle, or I'm gonna pick the radio station on the way back to the lab."
Knowing this was more than an idle threat, since she'd subjected him to the worst country music on earth, Tim slightly relented. "We never checked the helipad for trace."
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Ten minutes after that, Tim's hunch paid off. Minute traces of blood were found on the door leading from the penthouses to the helipad. They got a partial thumbprint from the door jamb, and more blood residue along the wall, at a height Calleigh estimated to be at fingertip length. There were no drop marks or spatter patterns and even odder, at least to their thinking, the blood didn't originate at the murder scene.
Tim found residue on the door to the north-east penthouse suite, and calling out for his partner, he pushed open the door with his foot. She appeared at his side, weapon drawn and game face on. Nodding once at each other, Tim drew his own gun and quickly stepped inside the door, moving to the side to let Calleigh follow.
The penthouse was dark, the only illumination coming through the open windows, most of which faced east. The French doors were open, sheer beige curtains billowing in, snapping and fluttering from the ocean breeze. The pair quickly quartered the main living areas, making note of the evidence of recent habitation left behind.
Moving in tangent, they headed for the master bedroom, feet silent on the plush carpet. This time Calleigh took the lead and her eyes were drawn immediately to the unmade bed. Blood smears covered the sheets, and she holstered her gun while Tim checked the rest of the room and the bathroom.
"Speed, look at this." Calleigh unnecessarily pointed out the blood.
"Got it." He holstered his gun, looking around at the rest of the room. "Cal," he knelt down, pointing at, but not touching the bloody knife on the floor, half under the bed. Judging by the hilt, which was the only visible part, it was a fairly large hunting knife. "Could be one of our murder weapons."
"Could be. I'll go get the kits. You better call Horatio." Calleigh said all this as she peered over his shoulder, one hand resting unconsciously there for balance.
They stood up at the same time, Tim reaching for his cell phone while Calleigh suited action to words and exited the penthouse.
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Blood samples had been sent to DNA and Eric was working on the prints, while Tim was checking the sheets for trace elements. Horatio had praised him for following through on his hunch, which actually eased some of the anxiety he'd been feeling lately about his level of competence. Tim knew his science – in fact it was one of the few things he was certain of; it was his competence as a police officer that he had problems with. He'd never actively thought about being a cop or a crime scene investigator as a kid, nor while he was in college. It was only after he'd wandered down to Miami after Rob's death that he'd even thought about it. So praise from Horatio about his police work was something he took to heart.
He was lost in thought, earphones on while he ran tests, when he caught a glimpse of Calleigh heading his way out of the corner of his eye. Really hard to miss that head of hair. Tim moved his earphones down around his neck, knowing just by her smile she had interesting news.
"So I ran the specs on the knife, and against our John Doe torso." Her lips were twitching with the need to smile, so Tim put her out of her misery.
"And?"
"Tool marks match. But that's not the best part." She was practically bouncing with excitement, which amused him, though he chose not to show it. It would only encourage Calleigh to gush, because she only did it to annoy him. And she knew it. So he waited her out, a bland expression on his face.
"So what's the best part?" He finally asked, when it was clear she wasn't going to share until he did.
"This is an MK III Combat knife, military issue. Good news is that it's not standard military issue. This knife is preferred by Special Forces, specifically, Naval. Like the SEALS."
Well, that was interesting news. He hadn't expected that at all. "So our suspect is a Navy SEAL?"
"Looks like."
"Huh."
"I know! Not what I was expecting." Calleigh twirled the blade in question, both of them focusing on it.
His phone ringing saved him from having to reply and Speed flipped it open without checking the incoming number. "Speed. Okay, be right there."
Turning to face Calleigh, he said, "Valera wants to see us."
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"Got results on the blood samples you sent me." Valera paused, grabbing a printout from the table behind her. "Samples came back as menstrual blood mixed with semen."
Neither detective flinched, and Valera continued her verbal report. "There were fairly high concentrations of HCG in the blood."
"Wait. That's not possible. Menstrual blood with HCG?" Speed stopped her before she could continue, confusion clear in his voice.
"Actually it is possible, if the female has recently given birth. The hormone levels don't drop back to normal right away, they can remain elevated, sometimes up to six months later." She looked down at the report, adding. "Besides, I double checked after I found that and also found prolactin in her blood."
Calleigh shared a look with Tim that Valera couldn't interpret and didn't bother to try. "Okay, can you tell how long ago she'd given birth?"
Valera was shaking her head. "Sorry. Can't do that. But I can tell you who she is."
She handed the printout over, pointing out the name at the right side of the DNA information.
"Are you serious?" Calleigh stared at the report, then looked up to gauge the expression on Speedle's face. Speed was stunned and his expression actually reflected that.
"You're telling us . . . This report. . . " he stopped, then started again. "The menstrual blood is from a vic from a case almost two years old?"
"I checked the results twice. The girl in the penthouse was Sorcha Hannagan."