A/N: Thank you to those people who have reviewed and added me to their favourites! BIG APOLOGIES for the delay in this. I haven't made it home once this week before 8pm, and tiredness has taken its toll. I am hoping to have another chapter up tomorrow and next week the installments should be more frequent. This chapter was quite difficult to write for some reason; I hope it's easier to read!
Chapter Three – Night Moves
The naked bulb dangled from the ceiling, its bareness illuminating the scene below and highlighting the brutality left behind. The body lay on the floor, its head partially under a coffee table, limbs laying awkwardly, the darkness of clotted blood pooling down a white neck in rivulets. Angell had seen blood before, many times. She had become almost used to seeing dead bodies; her year or so in homicide had ridden her of any nausea she might have felt had she been new to the job. Her daily life meant dealing with death in whatever shape it presented itself. Yet she found herself fixated with this body, her gaze rigid on the place where the eyes had been.
The dim lights of night shone at the window, the calls of the earth's sleep filtering through the glass, reminding them that life, for some, continued. Inside, the room stood still. The starkness of the situation placed the now deceased occupant's furnishings in shadows, the shock of those in the room palpable.
"Mac's on his way," Flack said, having radioed in., the cell network still down "Do you have any idea who this is?" he looked at Reyes who was standing tentatively at the door, turning several shades of pale as he looked upon the lifeless being lay on the floor just a few metres away.
"Taylor Raimo," Reyes said. "He was a post-graduate student here, studying legal ethics – Brian's subject. You think he was alive when…when…"
"When his eyes were removed?" Flack ended for him, his tone lacking harshness even though the words were severe. "I hope for his sake it was after he was dead. The pathologist will know more. Were Raimo and Goddard friends, or was it purely a professional relationship?"
Reyes shook his head. "I have no idea beyond the fact that Brian was his tutor." His eyes were fixed onto the dead man's body and he seemed to be shaking. His mouth remained slightly agape, as if waiting to say something, but the words were lost in the scene in front of him. Reyes remained at the threshold of the room, although Angell knew that he should be escorted away, someone there to help him deal with the shock and note down any useful comments he might have made. On a normal evening, uniform would have been there by now, and she or Flack would have dealt with Reyes appropriately. As it was, they wouldn't leave the scene, not until Mac or Stella got there.
She surveyed the room and its destruction. Someone had clearly wanted to devastate it, without leaving a trail. There was no graffiti, no smearing on the walls, no writing, just mess. Purposely done, and, by the looks of it, done after Raimo had been murdered. Angell knew that Mac would have a fine time going through all of what had been scattered, searching for trace. She looked up at Flack. They hadn't conversed since opening the door to the office and she had worked with him enough to know the thoughts that were running through his mind. He was crouching down by Raimo's chest, looking at the book that had been placed their. "What's the title?" she said, hearing familiar footsteps approach the room.
"The Keeper of Sleep, by J.M. Fitzgerald," he said. "It looks old."
"It is," Mac said, his voice entering the doorway, a camera already in his hand. "Published about sixty years ago."
Flack stood up and gave Mac a curious look, then met Angell's eyes. "Is there anything you don't know?"
"I don't know who did this," Mac said, crouching by the body, leaving his kit to one side as he studied the book, picking it up with gloved hands after taking photographs. "J.M. Fitzgerald was a pseudonym for Mark Burchill, a man who was obsessed with sleep and its proximity to death. His ideas were so far off the wall that no publisher would touch him except one, Lionel Hamilton. Fitzgerald died forty years ago, in suspicious circumstances. His death made him more famous than his actual theories; and the price of his books soared. Very few of his works were published - the early editions like this one are worth thousands." Mac looked up at Flack and Angell. "This isn't a robbery gone wrong. Someone breaking into a college professor's study wouldn't be looking for money or valuables, they'd be looking for books like this one." He flicked through the pages which were pristine, other than the usual markings of time. "You got a name?"
"Taylor Raimo. He was one of Brian Goddard's students. Any idea how long he's been dead, Mac?" Flack said as an officer who had just arrived took Reyes to his own study.
"Rigour's present which means he could have been dead for between eight and thirty six hours. If it's the latter, it puts his death at the same time as Brian Goddard's. Sid will give us a more definite time." He sighed as he surveyed the scene. "This one's going to take a while."
Angell echoed his sigh. It was nearly eleven o'clock. She and Flack should have been in a bar somewhere now, or even back at her place or his, not dealing with a case that had produced two bodies already. "How's the staffing situation?" she said, looking at the older detective.
"Two more officers were going home sick as I left," Mac said, bagging the book. "Hawkes and Lindsay are on their way in. They weren't due in until seven tomorrow morning, but it looks like we'll need them. I imagine we'll be switching between sleep and work so a few days, with no time in between." Angell nodded, watching as he began the procedure of analysing the scene. "There are no signs of forced entry. The window's locked. How was the door when you got here?"
"Locked," she said. "Reyes' key opened it fine."
Mac looked thoughtful and remained silent for a few minutes while examining various objects. He began to look at the items which hadn't been disturbed; the few remaining essays on the desk, the shelf of books, the chair whose cushions remained in place. "I can't see any pattern as to what things have been left undisturbed."
"Mac, look at these," Flack said, holding a glove as he pulled out a stack of papers from a gap at the bottom of one of the bookcases.
Mac took hold of them, his eyes scanning the papers. "These are exam essays from two days ago, but they aren't Goddard's; they belong to a Professor Murphy."
"He was with Professor Reyes when we got here this evening," Angell said, briefly filling him in on the meeting they had interrupted. "He says saw Brian Goddard on Wednesday morning."
"That would fit with Sid's time of death. He places it between twenty-four and forty-eight hours ago. As it's now Friday evening he could well have been seen by Murphy then. But why are Murphy's papers in Goddard's office? The exam was sat on Wednesday – we need to find out what time." Mac went over to the desk where pens had been scattered and paperclips thrown, drawing pins lay upturned like little needles, waiting for the hand that would pick them up.
"I'll be on it first thing in the morning. I doubt the exams office opening hours stretch this late," Flack said. "Any sign of cause of death?"
"Nothing obvious. I can't see any blood which would signify a shooting, and there are no signs of ligature marks or bruising round the neck. The blood we can see is from the removal of the eyes. COD will be up to Sid in the morning," Mac said. He stood up, looking at the body of Taylor Raimo, the life dissolved from him. "Who ID'd the body?"
"Professor Reyes. He looked like he was going to be our third victim when he opened the door," Flack said, his hands in his pockets as if he was trying to stop them from touching things. Angell suspected that he had inclinations to doing a bit of forensics work.
Her brow furrowed as a realisation hit her. Something had been tugging at her thoughts since Reyes had given the body a name. "Why would Reyes know the name of one of Goddard's post-grad students? Goddard's speciality was legal ethics, Reyes' is International Law. I doubt Reyes has had reason to come across Raimo."
"He could have been an undergrad here," Mac said. "As an undergrad you don't specialise. Is there anything on the vic to back-up Reyes' identification?"
"We haven't touched anything, Mac," Flack said. "There's too much here that looks like it could be disturbed."
Mac bent down. Angell watched as he tried to step around the books and papers on the floor. He had been right when he said it was going to take awhile. Everything would have to be combed through and sorted, just in case the smallest shard of evidence lurked there. Generally, a scene such as this would have three CSIs working it; it was possible that this one would have Mac on his own. He took his camera out and began snapping shots of the body before moving some of the papers which encroached on the man's legs. The torso was completely bare except for the book. He found the pocket of Raimo's trousers and reached in it, pulling out a battered wallet, stuffed with receipts and credit cards. "Taylor Raimo," he read out from one of the cards. "Reyes identified him correctly unless this was planted." He looked at his watch. "Hawkes should have been here by now."
"I'll get an address for Raimo's next of kin," Angell said, needing to stretch her legs and wanting some time out of there to try and begin to fit the pieces of the jigsaw together. She left them silently continuing to inspect the room, wishing that the objects inside it could speak. The halls were deathly silent, most members of the faculty who were still present would, by now, have heard about the death of Brian Goddard. Students did not frequent the studies and offices of members of the faculty, only if they needed to seek someone, which was unlikely on a Friday night, although she imagined that was because the professors themselves put a stop to it, rather than the students given the number of them that seemed to be around still, studying, rather than enjoying the night attractions of Greenwich Village.
Miss Lebowitz had been replaced on the desk by another student, clearly trying to earn some extra cash doing the dead shift. The boy behind her was probably around nineteen or twenty, but he looked much younger. He put his book down on seeing Angell approach and gave her a smile. She immediately warmed to him, although his expression waned a little when she flashed her badge.
"I need next of kin details for a student. Where can I get them from?" she said, seeing his nerves grow. She wondered what he had to hide.
"I can get them for you," he said. "It'll only take a moment."
"You have authority to access other students' records?" Angell said, surprised. The students who covered the reception desk out of office hours would be there purely so it was staffed, to take messages and answer general enquiries, they would not have access to records or details.
The boy nodded. "I cover this shift every week, plus Saturdays and Sundays. It's when most accidents occur, so the powers that be thought it wise to allow me to clearance to such information. I only pass it on to people with the relevant authority though; obviously, this being a law college and all, we're careful about such things" he gave her another nervous look. "I'm Peter Andrews, by the way."
"Thank you, Peter," she said without smiling, realising the reason for his nerves. "I need the next of kin details for Taylor Raimo. Can you write them down for me?" He gave her a smile, showing white straight teeth that she imagined had been subjected to braces. The look wouldn't have done much for his credibility. Within a few seconds he had passed her a printed piece of paper containing Raimo's personal details, a photograph and an address and contact information for his mother, who was living in New Jersey, close enough for an officer to be sent to visit her. "You know," Peter said. "If you need any more help, just let me know."
Angell smiled reservedly, not wishing to encourage anything. She just wished Flack had been there to witness the encounter.
-&-
It was past two AM by the time Flack and Angell managed to return back to the precinct to reheat the Chinese food. The city was still not asleep, and in areas was far more awake than what it usually was in the daytime; music blared, lights flashed in glaring neon and people surged in the hunt for a good time like warriors chasing their prey. But Angell only saw the dark spots, the places where shadows lay in wait for their next victim, the areas where tomorrow flesh would lie, spilt by city's bad blood.
"Back on shift in eight hours," Flack said as the microwave in the small staff kitchen went ping. "Our on-call should've ended at midnight." It would have done, had there been someone else to take over from them. As it was, they had spent another hour or so in Raimo's small one roomed apartment, looking through cupboards and taking his computer for Adam to search through in the morning, in the hope that something would emerge to give them a hint of why he had been killed. They had also been present when two uniforms had brought his mother over from New Jersey; Sam having bandaged over Taylor Raimo's eyes in Hammerback's absence. Professor Reyes' identification had been correct; the dead man was indeed her son and she had wept silently while Angell had sat next to her, unable to offer any words of consolation, or explanation, because there were none.
Flack looked at her, his eyes soft and knowing. He sat next to her, passing her a tub of food with a fork. "We wouldn't be human if it didn't get to us, Jess," he said and she wondered how he could read her thoughts. "All we can do is find who did it. You can't let them haunt you."
She smiled at him tiredly, knowing that every detective had gone through this point, including her father and the two brothers who had become detectives before her. "It seems senseless," she said, twisting noodles round her folk, the smell mouth-watering.
"They always do. But somewhere there's a reason, and that reason leads to the person who did it," he gave her a concerned look, letting his fork rest in the tray. "Telling parents or partners is always the hardest thing. The look on their face and their cries turn up in your dreams. But it's also what you see when you arrest the bastard that did it and then you remember why you do the job."
His eyes told stories and she remembered Aiden Burns, the CSI who had been killed by the man she was desperate to convict. Perspective and the ability to draw a line between work and home were needed, that she knew. Was taking Flack home with her crossing that line? She wasn't sure.
Flack passed her another tray and she realised she had finished the first. "Maybe next time we'll get to eat these actually in a restaurant," she said, needing to change the subject.
"They'll be a next time?" he said, his blue eyes dancing.
She smiled, knowing she looked goofy, a small laugh escaping. This sea of darkness wasn't so bad to swim in with Flack for a life-raft. She smiled at the analogy and he looked puzzled. "Let's make it an evening when neither of us are on call."
He nodded; his mouth too full to reply.
-&-
There were some points during her work when Stella would have no idea whether it was day or night. For her, work was all-encompassing, and unless a natural break occurred in what she was doing she was likely to continue through meals, breaks and sleep. She checked her watch. Two forty-five. Six and a half hours had passed since the body of Brian Goddard had been found. She stood up from the crouch she had been in and stretched. The lab was silent; those who usually worked the night shifts had been called in at other times to cover for those who were sick. They were operating on a skeleton staff, and if the virus continued to spread, that skeleton could end up being short of a few bones.
She switched off the microscope she had been using to no avail and prepared to leave to grab some sleep, and something to eat. Six hours and she would be back, helping Mac go through Goddard's study. She looked to Mac's office and noticed a dim light glowing from there. He was still in work, a fact she didn't find surprising.
Her footsteps didn't disturb him as she approached his hideaway. Through the glass she could see his eyes focused on papers, reading intently. She pushed open the door and he looked up, a cold cup of coffee next to him, still full.
"You intending to go home tonight?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugged, a wry smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "There's so much to go through. If we have another big case in the next few days we're going to have to draft in officers from other areas. I can't go home when there's this to go through." He held up a wedge of papers, all filled with neat writing, clearly photocopied.
"You have to sleep at some point," she said. "Which is where I'm off to now. I'll be back in another six hours." She paused, the intrigue of the case and love of the job too much. "Found anything interesting?"
"Flack found papers from one of Professor Murphy's examinations on Wednesday. I've dusted them, and found prints on the first and last ones which match Taylor Raimo. I'm assuming Raimo was bringing them to Goddard to read through. Raimo acted as an invigilator in undergrad exams to earn some extra cash," Mac said. "We found an uncashed check in his apartment from NYU along with a letter confirming more dates for him to work. He also worked nights on the reception desk during the week."
"Was Raimo taking Murphy's papers to Goddard to be second graded? Teachers and professors often moderate results by marking the same papers separately," Stella said. It was the obvious reason, but from Mac's intense curiosity she doubted it would be the answer.
"It was a freshman year paper. They are usually marked by the course convenor, in this case Murphy, and aren't second marked. I think that Goddard suspected the papers wouldn't be fairly assessed so asked his student to copy them before they were delivered to Murphy. From all accounts, Taylor Raimo was well thought of and reliable. One of his responsibilities was to pass on papers to the relevant tutor," Mac said. "Flack and Angell managed to speak to a couple of students before Raimo's mother arrived; the reports were that there was no love lost between Murphy and Goddard."
"This could be cut and dried then," Stella said. "We have a motive for both murders; Murphy, so far, is the last one to have seen Goddard alive. It sounds as if we're getting closer."
Mac nodded. "It does in principal. But we have no evidence to support any of that. So far I have found no weapon or anything that I can say suggests it was Paul Murphy. Plus two people would have been needed to carry Goddard any more than a couple of metres," Mac sighed. "I have a bad feeling about this, Stella."
She looked at him with concern. Mac looked tired and agitated. "We need to keep looking at this logically. Keep with the evidence," Stella said, knowing that her words would be futile given what she was about to tell him. She sighed. "I've found nothing in or around the elevator. It's as if Goddard was put there by a ghost."
"Have you had time to go over Goddard's clothing?" Mac said, his eyes looked worried.
Stella nodded. "I think it's been brushed down to remove hairs and any trace. That, along with the bullet removal, makes me suspect that this was done by someone with good forensic knowledge. The only marks on the clothing were from the blood. Was there any sign in Goddard's office of it being the primary crime scene?"
"No. Even under the UV lamp the only blood that came up was consistent with the splatter from the removal of Raimo's eyes, which haven't been located," Mac said. "That's another reason I can't think that this is solely to do with unfair marking. Why remove his eyes? Why leave a book by J.M. Fitzgerald on Raimo's bare chest? It doesn't fit," he said, looking again at the papers before placing them down on his desk, she knew that he wanted silence, to be alone with his thoughts and she understood that, although sometimes she wished he would allow her in more. But the line created by work separated them and it was one that neither would breach first. "You should get home, Stella. Tomorrow's promising to be a long day."
She nodded, knowing that his advice was pertinent to him also, but there was no point reiterating it. The questions they had would remain until at least the morning and probably longer. "I'll see you in a few hours," she said, leaving him to pick up the next lot of papers recovered from the floor of a dead man's room.
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