Chapter Seven - Jurisdiction
Cam was just shutting the cooler door when A.D. Davis strolled into the room. She couldn't remember the last time the Assistant Director had visited the Jeffersonian, but she was sure that visit had been prearranged, and that she had been required to meet him in her office – as far away as possible from the antiseptic and sometimes fetid odors of the autopsy rooms. This was a complete surprise, and not a good one.
With body FHIU-080259 safely tucked away, she began picking up tools for the autoclave. Her years as a cop had taught her that people were uncomfortable with silence and were often willing to end it by getting straight to the point. On the other hand, her years as an administrator in the forensics branch of the FBI's Homicide Investigation Unit had taught her that bureaucrats tended to be megalomaniacs, and that she had about five minutes before he would require her undivided attention. Five minutes was not long enough to put everything away. Though the dead did not require sterility, she found that even the smallest contaminations could sink a case – she hated admitting that she'd have to leave off her protocols to coddle a grown man with the self-important ego of a toddler.
"Forgive me, A.D. Davis," she said politely. "I must log the surgical instruments in and stop the tape. Attention to detail is often all that keeps high dollar mouthpieces from turning psychopaths loose on the world."
"Damn lawyers," he agreed, smiling humorlessly. "I understand," he added, though it was clear that he didn't. He folded his arms atop his overflowing gut, and began to tap his foot absentmindedly – unaware that it betrayed his impatience.
Cam shut off the recorder, then checked the appropriate boxes indicating which instruments were to be sterilized. Next she properly discarded the disposable sharps, notating each for the inventory list. Last she discarded the pads and sponges, sprayed down the stainless steel table, and marked the room for surface steam. When at last she was ready to remove her latex gloves, A.D. Davis' taps had become nearly frantic. She motioned for him to follow her out, halting at the door to flip the orange flag out, then she removed her scrubs and dropped them in the wash bin. "My office is much more comfortable than AR3, why don't we head up there."
A.D. Davis practically growled his answer, but Cam pretended not to notice. She pressed the button for the elevator, but A.D. Davis didn't even wait for the car to arrive in the basement before he demanded results. "The church victim – did you I.D. the body?"
"Yes, sir," she replied and told him who it was. He nodded, a frown settling on his already sour countenance.
"Have you got a finding for cause of death?"
"Blunt force trauma," and then because she loved talking down to arrogant assholes like Davis, she added, "He was beamed over the head with something heavy and silver plated. Chances are pretty good the item was on-hand – not pre-meditated."
His frown grew ever deeper. "Can you at least tell me what it was?"
"I asked Hodgins and Addy to have a look. Hodgins will pick particulates to tell us exactly what materials we're looking for. Addy was going to measure the point of impact to try to get you a shape, though something tells me it will be a candlestick – just so we can really feel like we're stuck in a perverse version of Clue." The elevator arrived and dinged. The doors opened and Cam didn't hesitate; she stepped in with the Assistant Director right on her heel.
"Any hairs or fibers on the body to tell us who we should be looking for?"
"No," she answered as she pressed the button for the administration floor. "As you might imagine, they were burned, along with most of the victim's clothing. Portions of one shoe and sock were still intact, though smoke damage makes anything we'd find there too iffy for a court of law. Either way, I didn't find anything there to give Booth a direction."
"Stomach contents?"
She nodded. "His dinner was mostly in process of digestion. There was a little scotch in his stomach. I'd say that it probably came from what Dr. Brennan logged as a "possible hip flask".
"Hmmm," Davis grunted. The elevator reached its destination and the doors slid open. Cam led the assistant director to the break room. It was only polite to offer him something to drink after all, though she was not inclined to show him her personal mini-fridge, especially since she tended to collect airplane-sized spirits and stored them there.
Cam stopped at the coffee machine and filled her favorite mug. She nodded toward a spare and Davis consented with a polite, "Please." She filled it, then opened the refrigerator, offering the cream to Davis first. He added a splash, then scooped up six sugar packets from the counter and proceeded to dump them in. Cam added cream to her own coffee, but taking another look at Davis' spare tire, decided to opt for Equal instead.
"That stuff will kill you," a voice said from the doorway. Hodgins. "You'd be better off with saccharin. While the FDA convinced the general public that saccharin was so bad, it wasn't true. The FDA was paid to find as they did by the makers of aspartame so that they could get their product on the market. It was a Capitalist shell game." He scooped up a pink packet and ripped the top open, then poured it in his mouth. "Mmm, mmmm." He then made a show of pretending to gag, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Cam had to struggle not to giggle. Eventually he stood up straight, his blue eyes twinkling. "See, no harm done."
Davis looked extremely offended and regarded Hodgins through narrowed eyes. Hodgins took no notice, only began to fill his mug, carefully turning it so the message on the ceramic surface was clearly visible: "The Definition of Bullshit – a Lone Gunman."
"You're usually too tenacious to emerge from your lab until you have a finding, Dr. Hodgins," Cam observed. "Does that mean you already analyzed those particles?
Hodgins grinned. "Yes, ma'am. Next time try giving me a challenge. Silver over bronze, and a slight hint of sodium bicarbonate and ammonia – that's beyond easy. I could have identified them by trial and error on the first guess. There were no other trace elements present."
"So--," Davis cued expectantly. Hodgins grinned more broadly but didn't answer.
"We're looking for a high quality silver-plated object that has been well cared for by someone who knows the value of baking soda paste," Cam finally explained.
"It's probably time to check the alibis of Colonel Mustard, Professor Plum, and Miss Scarlett," Hodgins remarked flippantly. Davis huffed, so Hodgins explained, "In other words, my money's with Cam – it's a candlestick, probably one that parishioners regularly see at mass, but Zack will be able to give you a shape within the hour; the thing left a good imprint on the skull."
Davis ripped open another packet of sugar and stirred it into his coffee. Cam wondered if he kept his dentist on call.
"Thank you Dr. Hodgins," Cam said, motioning to Davis to follow her. She led him to her office, shut the door and then closed the Venetian blinds. Davis took the leather chair in front of her desk, and she sat in the one behind her desk, depositing her cup on a coaster. She shoved a second coaster at Davis.
"Is anything you've found that which a regular CSI team couldn't have determined," Davis asked, leaning forward until she was sure his butt was no longer in the chair.
"No," she answered, wishing that her conscience would let her lie.
Davis sat back in his chair, running his finger along the edge of the coffee cup. He looked livid, and his nostrils flared with each intake of breath. "So why did Booth bring this to your department?" he growled.
"I could only speculate," Cam answered.
"TRY!" he roared so sharply that Cam jerked and slopped coffee in her lap.
"Because we've earned Booth's trust and he knew we'd provide quick and accurate answers." And when the chips are down, you turn to your family. She didn't say that last part out loud. She dropped her gaze to her lap and began attempting to rub the stain out of her skirt.
"I will be assigning a different agent to the case to liaise with the D.C. Police. I cannot continue to anger local officials for Booth's personal witch hunt. Your findings will certainly be adequate for the City Investigators, but be aware that you may need to transport all evidence to the crime storage. When the new investigator arrives, I assume I can count on you to cooperate fully?" Davis stood.
"Of course," she said, the whole time thinking jackass. There wasn't any point in calling him names anyway, she'd probably only get out the first half.