Author's note: Thank you so much to all my devoted readers. I really did try my best to get all of last season written before this season's premiere, but my job got in the way and it's unfortunate that I have to actually go out and make a living instead of sit at home all day and write fanfics. Oh, but a girl can dream. Anyways, then I was hit with major writer's block after that fabulous premiere. Thank god Sara survived and my fanfic can continue (for a few more episodes at least…if you've read spoilers). So I'm heading into the final 4 episodes of last season and I'm really trying to make them good for everyone. Thanks for sticking in there with me and please enjoy.
Behind The Scenes
By: supercsi4
Chapter 36 – Ending Happy
SARA:
So tonight our crime scene was out at a place called the Sugar Cane Ranch. Grissom paired me with him and I was a little scared approaching the location. Sheriff Ned Bastille was escorting us thru the dark, into the backyard and to a swimming pool where the dead body was.
"Yeah. One of the gals fished him out of the pool, and the owner called me. No one's touched the body since," the sheriff told us.
"Where's your coroner?" Grissom asked, just before I did.
"Oh, couldn't get him on the horn. Probably out in some barn, up to his elbows in a cow's vagina."
"Excuse me?" I asked, had I missed something?
"Oh. Yeah. Coroner's a part-time gig here in Brime County. He's a veterinarian. That's his money gig."
"Control, this is CSI Sidle. We're going to need a coroner for that 419 out at the Sugar Cane Ranch," I called for Doc Robbins.
I looked up as a crowd of women in lingerie gathered outside near the pool. The sheriff looked very happy and a bit nervous.
"Excuse me, ladies," he said to the whores, I mean women.
The women moved aside so the sheriff, Grissom and I could walk through.
"This is a strange crowd for a cathouse," Grissom said. Ranch, cathouse, whore house…what's the difference here?
"Hey, Sheriff!" some elderly man in his robe, yelled out to the sheriff, later identified as Milton. "Did you hear about my wife? Somebody shot my wife. Yeah, I'm telling ya, they shot my wife."
"Yeah. Okay. All right. Settle down, Milton. Settle down. Okay," I could tell the sheriff wasn't about to take this man seriously, and then he continued right past him.
"His wife died about ten years ago of a stroke," the sheriff explained to us.
"What is with all the old-timers out here tonight?" I asked
"Oh, they live here. Yeah, all over these hills. Cheap rents, abundant sunshine. Life is good here in Brime County," finally, on to the body please, "Guy's name is Lorenzo Morales."
"Happy Morales. I saw him fight LeRoi Steele at the Sands a couple of years ago. Took a vicious beating. Never touched the mat once." Must have been before me.
"Well, he's definitely down for the count," I know, that was bad, something Grissom would say.
"Listen. I want to tell you something. George and Doris Babinkian own this place. Run a real tight ship. Never had a problem in all the years they've been here," the sheriff was sounding more and more nervous. Then one of the whores walked up the steps toward him, carrying a gun belt, oh no he didn't. "Just good people. Pay their taxes, provide employment, pillars of the community. You know, last month actually, they had a…" Then the girl tapped on the sheriff shoulder and said, "Ned, you left this in my room again."
The sheriff was about to explain to us the situation and I'm sure make up some good excuse, but Grissom just smiled and turned around to catch me already laughing.
"Look at this," Grissom told me, finally getting our brains back onto the case.
"Gunshot wound?"
"Maybe."
"He's got a contusion over his right eye. Could be associated with the incident."
"Well, he was a boxer."
While Grissom was snapping photos of the scene, I began looking around and found a broken lawn chair near the edge of the pool and then I stuck my hand in to the pool.
"Feels like bathwater. It's got to be 90 degrees. There's no way we're going to get an accurate TOD," I told Grissom
"Places like this always keep their pools warm. Encourages the girls to swim topless. It's good for business…" How would he know that? "So they tell me," he quickly threw in there.
Doc Robbins came and took the body, Brass questioned the owners and various hookers, then Grissom questioned Doris, the owner's wife, a little more. I could tell he was getting tired of all these airheads, so we left the main house and headed to Happy's lodge.
"Twenty-five people here last night, and nobody sees anything," Grissom said.
Here comes two whores towards us and so help me good if they try hitting on Grissom, I'll kill them. And he's even got that stupid pimp hat on.
"Nice hat, honey." Oh great, now he'll never take it off.
"So you've been to a place like this before?" I was very curious.
"I worked a murder-suicide at the Naughty Kitty once."
"No, no, come on. You know what I mean."
"As a customer? No."
"You never paid for sex?" I mean it is Las Vegas.
"I have not. I find the whole idea very…bleak."
"Really? How come?"
"Sex should provide the opportunity for human connection, but paid sex does the opposite of that. To me, sex without love is pointless. It makes you sad."
"Well, I'm pretty sure I don't make you sad."
"No. You make me happy." Awww.
That man can be so sweet sometimes, and I'll definitely thank him later. So we opened the door to Happy's room and looked around. There were various drugs and boxing memories everywhere.
"Methaqualone…benziazepine; antidepressants," Grissom read off the pill bottles.
And I continued, "Anabolic steroids, beta blockers, high-blood-pressure meds, Prevalis."
"There's no prescription labels. It's all written in Spanish. Looks like a lot of this stuff came from south of the border."
"Blood drops on the floor. Smears on the furniture and the walls."
"This might be where they ran the opening bell."
So we got the autopsy results from Catherine and Warrick and I'd like to quote Doc Robbin's here: "Genitals are distended and patchy and covered with large red welts. Testicles are swollen, roughly three times the average size. Scrotum is filled with fluid. It's consistent with cardio edema or an STD. Maybe an infection of some kind." To which Catherine said, "Either that or this guy's got the world's ugliest Johnson."
I'm so glad I missed that autopsy. So, along with old boxing injuries, apparently Happy was also smashed in the head with a crowbar, had holes in his throat and needle marks on his thighs, arms and buttocks. We were still waiting on tox so Nick and I were back at the ranch and now at Milton's trailer, having followed a blood trail that ended there. We were no longer looking for a bullet to match the wounds on Happy and discovered it was an arrow.
The arrow landed right on a photo of Milton's wife, stuck right in her forehead. "I told you, somebody shot my wife," Milton confirmed.
Nick examined the arrow and said, "There is what appears to be blood on the shaft."
"I told 'em. I told 'em, but would they listen? No, no, just an old man running off at the mouth."
"Did you see this happen?" I asked Milton.
"No. Woke up this morning and found it like that.
I shot an arrow into the air,
and it fell to Earth I know not where.
Oh, so swiftly it flew, the sight
could not follow it in its flight.
Long, long…
That's Longfellow. What do you kids know 'bout poetry?"
"A long time afterward, in an oak…" I continued his poem, that Grissom once read to me,
"…found the arrow, still unbroke
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
Keep the faith, Milton."
Good things come to those who wait, trust me, I had to wait seven years for Grissom.
Anyways, so we found out that Connor, the bartender, shot Happy thru his neck with a crossbow, which helped him breathe and live a little longer after going into anaphylactic shock from an allergy to shellfish. Apparently Binky, Doris's husband, fed her shrimp, which remained on her lips when she later gave Happy a blowjob, where the "point of entry of the anaphylaxis…was through the urethra," Grissom told me, "Binky used Doris to induce Happy's allergic reaction to shrimp as a sort of test of her fidelity."
He had also been injected with snake venom in his calf by the same hooker who hit him in the head with the crowbar. Then he went to the pool side, sat in a broken chair and fell into the pool where he ultimately died. In conclusion, Doc Robbins had to name Happy's C.O.D. as "unknown/cardiac arrest." Only in Las Vegas.
GRISSOM:
Tonight our crime scene was at the Sugar Cane Ranch, I place I had heard of, so I made sure Sara came with me, not only to keep me in line, but maybe I'd flirt with a few ladies and make her a little jealous. Ned Bastille was the sheriff guiding us thru the dark and to our crime scene by a swimming pool where we found our dead body, Lorenzo "Happy" Morales. Warrick and Catherine had taken me out to see him fight LeRoi Steele at the Sands a couple of years ago. He had taken a vicious beating, but never once touched the mat…and now he was laying dead at my feet.
"Listen. I want to tell you something. George and Doris Babinkian own this place. Run a real tight ship. Never had a problem in all the years they've been here," the sheriff was still talking and sounding a bit nervous about something, when one of the hookers walked up to him and handed him his gun belt that he'd left in her room. Busted. I saw a ring on his finger, how could he so easily just cheat on his wife like that.
So the sheriff continued to explain to us the situation and I could tell he was headed for some stupid excuse for his actions, but I didn't want to hear it and just smiled, then I turned around to catch Sara already laughing.
"Look at this," I said, let's please get back to the crime scene in front of us.
"Gunshot wound?"
"Maybe."
"He's got a contusion over his right eye. Could be associated with the incident."
"Well, he was a boxer."
While I began snapping photos of the scene, Sara wandered off behind me.
"Feels like bathwater. It's got to be 90 degrees. There's no way we're going to get an accurate TOD," she said, commenting on the pool water.
"Places like this always keep their pools warm. Encourages the girls to swim topless. It's good for business…" Whoops. "So they tell me." Why don't I ever think before opening my mouth?
Doc Robbins came and took the body, Brass questioned the owners and various hookers, then I questioned Doris, the owner's wife, a little more. But when the idiots began causing a growing headache in my skull I had to find Sara and get out of there, so we headed over to Happy's lodge.
"Twenty-five people here last night, and nobody sees anything," I said to Sara as two hookers came walking towards us. Oh yeah, here we go, please say something to me, I silently begged.
"Nice hat, honey." Perfect, make Sara jealous and compliment me on the hat that she hates.
"So you've been to a place like this before?" Uh oh, that's not where I wanted this conversation to go. I mean we talked only once about Lady Heather and her dominion and then I never wanted to speak of it again. Oh, but there was that murder-homicide at the Naughty Kitty.
"I worked a murder-suicide at the Naughty Kitty once."
"No, no, come on. You know what I mean."
"As a customer? No."
"You never paid for sex?" Sara should know me better then that by now.
"I have not. I find the whole idea very…bleak."
"Really? How come?"
"Sex should provide the opportunity for human connection, but paid sex does the opposite of that. To me, sex without love is pointless. It makes you sad."
"Well, I'm pretty sure I don't make you sad."
"No. You make me happy." Very, very happy.
Ok, enough with the mushy, mushy at a crime scene. We entered Happy's place and found a plethora of drugs and boxing memorabilia.
"Methaqualone…benziazepine; antidepressants," I read off just some of the pill bottles.
And Sara continued, "Anabolic steroids, beta blockers, high-blood-pressure meds, Prevalis."
"There's no prescription labels. It's all written in Spanish. Looks like a lot of this stuff came from south of the border."
"Blood drops on the floor. Smears on the furniture and the walls."
"This might be where they ran the opening bell."
So we got autopsy results from Catherine and Warrick and I'm glad I missed the autopsy because apparently Happy wasn't so happy down in the genital regions, along with old boxing injuries, a crowbar to the head, holes in his throat and needle marks on his thighs, arms and buttocks. So I sent Sara and Nick back to the ranch to find more evidence, since we couldn't pinpoint an exact cause of death.
Later I gathered Catherine and Nick into the layout room to review everything we had.
"Right now the DA's not sure who he's going to charge. What he needs from us is the most accurate timeline we can provide," I told them.
"Well, according to Tox, the hemolytic component of the venom had time to break down tissue, which means that it had to have been in his system at least a few hours," Catherine said.
"So the fake snake bite is around 1:00…" I began our timeline. "Happy's down…but not out."
"Well, that gets Dreama," one of the hookers, "and Connor," the bartender, "for attempted murder with conspiracy to commit."
"And earlier that night, Binky fed Doris some jumbo tiger shrimp…knowing that she'd eventually find Happy for round two."
"Doris administers some very special first aid…and Happy's little soldier swells to battalion size."
"Binky knew about that shellfish allergy…that's intent, right?" Nick asked.
"In any event, Binky and Doris lawyered up. They're sticking together."
"How romantic. So, now Happy is not so happy, because he'd heading into anaphylactic shock."
"According to Narco, Happy had epinephrine in his trailer, which is probably what he was trying to get to in round two."
"That's assault with a deadly weapon."
"But not necessarily murder."
"So the field tracheotomy buys un-Happy enough time to get the epi."
"At this point, you'd think he would've just called it a night. Watched a little TV, hit the sack, but no." He goes to confront Dreama.
"Which brings us to round four." Happy staggered over to the pool. He sat down in the broken lawn chair and fell into the pool. "The TKO."
"You do know what a good defense attorney is going to say to all this, don't you?"
"What?"
"The lawn chair did it."
So after all that, Doc Robbins' final report produced the C.O.D. to be "unknown/cardiac arrest." My brain hurt and I was ready to find Sara and go home.