DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN
A/N: THIS IS A CONTINUATION OF THE CRIME IN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER
What lies beneath
"Attitude, you got some fucking attitude
I can't believe what you said to me
You got some attitude
Inside your feeble brain
there's probably a hole
If you don't shut your mouth you're gonna feel a blow
Attitude, the one you got, oh baby
Attitude, the one you got, oh baby
Attitude, attitude."
-Attitude, Guns n Roses
Angell was pacing like a caged tiger. The small heels on her black leather boots clicking on the antiseptic clean tiles in front of the third floor elevators at Angel Of Mercy Hospital. It was shortly before quarter to three in the morning and her nerves and patience were on short supply. The constant string of dead ends she and Carmen had faced during the canvassing had not only shattered the confidence, but had made them both question the integrity and consciences of the human race. Because there was no way in hell that a shooting on a busy street in the middle of the Bronx had gone down and no one say a damn thing. Angell had seen the number of people that had been subtly peering from behind their curtains, watching the cops and the CSIs to their jobs. She would bet a years pay that more than half the people she'd talked to, had seen everything that had happened.
But there was no court orders for making people talk. Just like there was no excuse for Angell herself to go door to door and smack some sense into each and everyone of those assholes. And God, she was tempted to. She couldn't understand why anyone in their right mind would let something so horrific and unforgivable go down without stepping up and helping out the authorities. How did people sleep at night knowing their lack of cooperation was letting monsters roam the streets?
Questions and worries like that often drove Angell to ponder why she ever went into law enforcement. So many times, when faced with the desire to quit and delve into something more mundane and peaceful, she came to the painful realization that the only reason she had ever decided to become a cop was to impress her detective father who had lived in shame and disappoint after each one of her brothers failed the academy and had been forced to take what their old man considered less than stellar jobs. That left the baby of the family. The only girl, to make it in the old boys club of the NYPD. And she'd succeeded and than some. Graduating at the top of her class, excelling as both a uniform and a detective. Slowly, yet steadily climbing the ladder.
Angell sighed and checked her watch. She'd left that message for Flack over forty-five minutes ago. She understood traffic was a bitch with all the snow, but this was getting a little ridiculous. Times like these made me wish I'd gone into dentistry, she thought, shoving her hands in her pockets as she commenced pacing once again. Or even something more simple like hairdressing or cosmetology. She was pretty sure she would have made a damn good stylist or makeup artist. Working on the rich and powerful and famous of New York City. Instead of dealing with death and violence and pain day in and day out.
I could see that, she thought with a nod. Making more a year in just tips than what I make now with the department. Steady days off, possible invites to the hot parties. A condo on Park Avenue. Brand new car to cruise around in. Designer clothes with labels still on them in an overflowing walk in closet. Now that's the life.
She could envision herself working on movie and television show sets. Maybe even as someone's personal stylist. A coveted possession to the likes of Cher or Madonna. Celebrities who couldn't and wouldn't go anywhere without her to fix them up. Someone who appreciated her hard work and sacrifice. Who thanked her during an Oscar acceptance speech. Who left her millions upon millions when they kicked the bucket. And she could live in the lap of luxury in their Bel-Air or Malibu estate and drives a Rolls or a Bentley. With no cares in the world. Just sit around all day by the pool eating caviar and sipping champagne.
A loud chime went off as the elevator arrived at the third floor. And she snapped out of her reverie just as the doors opened and Samantha and Flack stepped out. Trailing wet snow behind them and shaking flakes from the hair and dusting it from their jackets.
"Great timing," Angell told them dryly.
"We got here as soon as we could," Flack informed her. "The roads are a fucking bastard. We had to stop by the lab to pick up Sam's kit. And we just heard there's ten more centimetres of white shit to come. Within the next day and a half. Can you believe that?"
"Never mind the great flood," Angell quipped. "Snow will do us in first. And you two just interrupted the most wonderfully relaxing day dream."
"Keep your wet dreams with Dr Hawkes away from work," Flack told her. "Last thing I want to hear about."
"For your information, I was fantasizing about the fabulous life I could have had. Instead of putting up with sarcastic bullshit from the likes of you."
"You wound me, Angell," Flack said. "So? What's going on? Where's the girl?"
She motioned for the two to follow her and lead the way to the left. "They admitted her overnight for observation," she explained. "She has contusions and lacerations to her forehead, a busted nose and a split lip. Slight concussion. And some bruising on her upper arms. ER docs told me no injuries to any other parts of the body."
"A slight concussion isn't usually something that would cause amnesia," Flack commented.
"Here's the thing. Our amnesiac? Not so amnesiac anymore. I went in there to ask her a few questions once she regained steady consciousness, and suddenly she remembers things. Her name, where she was…."
"Bits and pieces?" Flack asked. "Nothing unusual about that. It's how things usually come back to people."
"We're talking descriptive detail," Angell told him. "To me, that's just a little weird. How she could walk in here not knowing what happened to her an hour ago, yet all of a sudden all this info just comes rolling out of her mouth? Ask me, something is not quite right."
"Sexual assault?" Sam inquired.
"Well she's claiming that's what happened," Angell replied, pausing outside of the closed door to room 302. "But if you want my opinion, my trained eye tells me that there's nothing wrong with the girl except for the fact she's trying hard to hide something or protect somebody. She has no defensive wounds whatsoever, and she puts on this phoney crying jag when she starts talking about what happened."
"And what did happen?" Flack asked.
"All I got from her was that she was out clubbing with her boyfriend and his best friend with they stopped at the Bodega to buy some chocolate bars…"
"Chocolate bars?" Sam arched her eyebrow.
"That's what she told me. Anyhow, they stopped at the bodega when two men, wearing all black with black wool masks on came up to the car, tossed open the driver's side door and started shooting. No words were exchanged, nothing. They just opened fire on the boyfriend and his friend."
"How the hell did she not get hit?" Flack wondered aloud.
"That's what I asked her," Angell said. "Apparently she didn't like my tone because she told me to get the hell out and that she's not saying anymore until I bring her a cop who is, and I quote, less arrogant, obnoxious and pessimistic."
"So you called me?" Flack chuckled. "I tend to fit in all three of those categories."
"I told her that my partner tonight was a male and maybe she'd be more comfortable sticking with me," Angell said.
"And what did she say?" Sam asked.
"She said that it didn't bother her at all and that she hoped he was hot."
Flack arched his eyebrows.
"I do not make this stuff up," Angell said. "This girl has the brains equivalent to half an Anna Nicole Smith, I swear."
Flack smirked. "Hot? Good thing Detective McDreamy is here than, huh?"
Sam rolled her eyes. "Carmen called you that once and you go on and on about it. Let it go."
"Come on," Flack said, using his knuckles to rap on the wooden door in front of them. "I'm hot and you know it. You wouldn't have married me otherwise."
"You know what…." Sam began, only to be interrupted by a soft, pained female voice inquiring who was at the door.
"NYPD," Flack called. "You asked to speak to another detective."
"Just a moment please. I just want to freshen my face a little."
"Are you kidding me?" Flack directed his question at Angell, who just shrugged her shoulders as if to say, See what I mean?
"Miss Cormier," Sam knocked again "We're not worried about your personal appearance. We're here to talk to you about the incident this evening. If you need to make yourself decent, we'll give you a minute and than we're coming in whether you're ready or not."
There was silence for several long seconds. Than the slight rustling of sheets and the squeaking of the bed frame and finally Natasha Cormier telling them she was ready to receive visitors.
Flack looked down at Sam and raised his eyebrows. "She can't honestly be serious," he said.
Sam shrugged. "I've heard stranger."
He snorted and shook his head and pushed open the door, motioning for his wife to go in ahead of him.
"Have fun," Angell said, as the door closed behind them.
The private room was dimly lit. The only source of light coming from the above the bed florescent lamp. Flack made short work of the that and flicked on the main lights via the switch to the left of the door. Natalie Cormier, sitting up in the bed, clad in a bland hospital gown and the standard issue wool blanket tucked securely around her, gave a pained cry as the lights came on and covered her eyes with a forearm. The first thing that Samantha noted was the scratch marks along the young woman's forearms.
Over her years on the job, Sam had seen many a rape and a domestic assault case. Countless images of defensive wounds were burned into her memory. And from that brief glance, for the first time that night, Sam was sure of one thing.
Those marks were made strategically and deliberately. A ruse to foul the cops. The only things she wasn't sure of was who had orchestrated the plan and who had carried it out. And why.
As they lingered in the doorway, she saw the way Flack's eyes took in the young woman's arms and battered face. A slight frown on his face giving away that he was having the same sceptical thoughts, questioning the story that Natalie Cormier had given the ER staff and Angell. He cocked his head to the side and glanced down at Sam. A knowing look passing between the two.
"Miss Cormier," Flack began, as he stepped towards the bed.
"Please," she sniffled, head down and her chin tucked to her chest. She lightly dabbed at her swollen, bruised eyes with a wrinkled Kleenex. "Call me Natalie."
"Natalie, I'm Detective Flack," he continued. "And this is Detective Flack from the Crime Lab."
She looked up at the mention of the identical names. Her gaze shifting between the petite woman with dark hair to her waist and clad in an ankle length charcoal grey wool jacket, and the tall, dark, broad shouldered detective with blue eyes she could see from across the room.
"There's two of you?" she asked curiously. "Brother and sister?"
Flack smirked. It wasn't the first time that someone had assumed that, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. He wondered just how many stupid people there were in the city that couldn't make out the startling differences in physical appearance between him and his wife.
"We're related," he vaguely confirmed. "You asked the other detective for someone new to talk to about what happened tonight?"
Natalie nodded and sniffled noisily and wiped her eyes once more.
Phony bitch, Flack thought, as he moved closer to the bed and pulled his log book and pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. "We're going to start by asking you a few questions about what went down," he said, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed and sitting down.
"Do you mind if we tape record you?" Samantha asked, holding up a small hand held recorder she'd stashed in her pocket.
Natalie frowned. "What for?" she asked.
"In case either of us miss anything you say, we can always refer back to the tape," Sam explained, sitting her kit and camera back on the ground.
"I guess that's okay," Natalie said, pushing her long blond hair off of her neck. Giving both full view of a nasty looking bite mark on the side of her neck.
Neither Sam nor Flack jumped at the chance to question her about it. That would come later when Sam was photographing the young woman's injuries and performing the standard sexual assault kit.
Sam perched on the foot of the bed and laid the tape recorder on top of the bedside table and pressed record.
"Natalie, can you tell us what happened tonight?" Flack asked simply, pen poised and ready.
"We decided to go out and hit some bars, mostly in midtown Manhattan. Celebrating my twentieth birthday three days ago. We left my place in lower Manhattan shortly after nine."
"Whose we?" asked Flack.
"Me, my boyfriend and his best friend."
"Names?" inquired Flack.
"Lukas Tait and David Arruda," Natalie said, confirming the ID's of the two dead men.
"And which is which?" Flack asked.
She appeared confused.
"Which is your boyfriend?" he clarified.
"David," she replied, in a soft whisper, than hung her head once again and sobbed quietly.
Sam and Flack looked at each other across the bed. Their eyes silently communication their true feelings about the young woman in front of him. That she was seriously tricking herself into thinking she was a good actress, and that she had another thing coming if she thought they could put one over on them.
Flack sighed and reached for a handful of tissues in the box next to Natalie's arm. Might as well play along, he thought, tapping her shoulder lightly with the Kleenex.
"Thank you," she blubbered, and took the tissue and noisily blew her nose.
"We traced your final destination to Neon Green on Broadway and Sixteenth," Sam continued the questioning. "We found a bank statement in your boyfriend's wallet that indicated he withdrew a large sum of money approximately one hour before his death. When his belongings were searched at the Medical Examiner's office, there was only twenty dollars on his person. What happened to the money he withdrew?"
"He took it," Natalie responded in a hushed voice.
"He?" Flack asked.
"Whoever killed David and Lukas," she answered, the crying beginning once again.
Flack cleared his throat and glanced over at Sam, who was watching the battered woman before them with a somewhat bemused expression on her face.
"Let's talk about that," he said. "About what happened to David and Lukas. What took the three of you into the Bronx?"
"We were a little hungry and wanted to grab a snack," Natalie told him.
"Chocolate bars?" Sam asked.
She nodded.
"And this bodega in the Bronx is the only store in New York City that sells the certain brand of chocolate bar you want?" Flack inquired. "There were no stores in midtown or lower Manhattan that carry it? And what kind of candy is worth a half an hour drive?"
"You don't believe me, do you," Natalie stated sadly, her eyes flicking between the two detectives.
"No," Flack told her. "We don't. But I'll tell you what we do believe. We believe you're lying. The three of you didn't go into the Bronx looking to buy some hard to find chocolate bar. You went there to purchase drugs and that's what the five g's your dead boyfriend took out of his account was for."
"Tell us the truth, Natalie," Sam said gently.
The young woman sighed heavily and drew a shaky breath. "David and Lukas said they knew this guy from Chelsea that could score us some coke."
"Whose this guy?" Flack asked.
She shrugged. "They never said his name. We were suppose to meet him, in front of the bodega, and drive for a few blocks while the deal went down."
Flack nodded as he jotted down notes. "And what happened once the three of you got to this bodega?"
"We waited a few minutes and someone approached the car and knocked on the driver's side window. David rolled it down and that's when the guy started shooting."
"Describe this guy," Sam said.
"Tall, stocky build, wearing all black and a black ski mask."
"What about the second shooter?" Flack asked.
Natalie blinked. "Second shooter?"
"We know there was two shooters. Ballistics evidence and processing of the vehicle confirm it," Flack told her. "Where was the second guy?"
"I don't know," she said, shaking her head slowly. "Once the first guy started, I just screamed and put my hands over my face and ducked for cover in the backseat. Maybe he came to the passenger's side door and started shooting too. It was so loud and so scary…I guess I just freaked and blacked out."
"How'd you manage to get out of there in one piece?" asked Flack. "Hell of a lot of bullets flying around there. Such a cramped, small space, too. It's amazing you made it out of there alive."
"I guess I was just lucky," Natalie responded.
"Who got into the backseat with you?" Sam asked. "We know someone was back there and shot David and Lukas. Do you remember someone climbing in there and doing the deed?"
"Barely," replied Natalie.
"Well how about you tell us what you do remember," Flack said irritably. "Because we can't seem to wrap our heads around the notion that you managed to survive a complete and utter bloodbath. We have forensic evidence that suggests you were sitting up, in the back seat when the shootings occurred. And I bet you, when we grab that bag over there and Detective Flack and her buddies at the lab check the clothes you were wearing, blood spatter is going to prove our theory. Now you can't tell us that all of this went down and you don't remember a thing."
"How'd you get out of there, Natalie?" Sam pressed. "Did the shooters take you? Is that who beat you up? Raped you?"
"Someone grabbed me out of the backseat," she confirmed, crying quietly. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out. Forced me to get into a car."
"What kind of car?" Flack asked.
"I didn't get a good look at it."
"What happened next?" asked Sam. "Where'd they take you and do all of this to you?"
"I don't know…some alleyway."
"Some alleyway?" Flack tried to control his frustration and temper. "What alleyway? In the Bronx? In Manhattan? Where? How long did they drive for?"
"I don't know…a half hour maybe."
"Maybe?" Flack arched an eyebrow.
"I was scared. I thought they were going to kill me. I wasn't paying attention to the time. They stopped in an alley and they raped me and beat me."
"So you're confirming that there was two separate shooters," Flack said. "A minute ago you were acting all surprised when I mentioned a second shooter and now you're telling me that the second guy was there all along. So what is it? Was there one? Two? Three? Maybe more?"
"There was two," Natalie confirmed.
"And both of them raped you and beat on you?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Did you fight back?" inquired Sam, casting a glance down at the young woman's perfectly manicured nails.
"Of course I did! No one wants that to happen to them!"
"How'd you manage to get away?" Flack asked.
"They let me go."
"Just like that?"
Natalie nodded.
"One more question," Flack said, writing feverishly. "Where'd the five grand go? Did the shooters take it?"
She nodded once again.
"You physically saw them take the money?" Sam pressed.
"No…I just assumed that's where it went…I mean, if you guys didn't find it that's the most logical explanation right?"
"Right now," Flack said, snapping his log book closed and capping his pen. "Nothing is logical about any of this."
Sam reached over and pressed stop on the recorder as Flack stood and slipped his book and pen into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. She got to her feet as well and picked up the small machine and handed it to her husband.
"That's all the questions we have for now," the detective told Natalie. "Detective Flack will photograph your injuries and perform a sexual assault exam that you consented to earlier."
"You can't do the exam?" Natalie asked. Almost hopefully.
This girl can not be for real, he thought. "Not my area of expertise. She's the scientist. I'm just the guy that tags along and asks all the questions. I'm going to step outside and…"
"You don't have to leave," the young woman told him. "I mean, I've never been shy. I don't mind if you stay."
"Department policy," he informed her. "I'm just going to have a quick word with my…" he almost said wife and stopped himself. "With Detective Flack."
"I'll be right back," Sam told Natalie, then followed Flack to the door.
They slipped out of the room and were joined by Angell as Flack closed the door softly behind him.
"She's lying," Flack announced.
"That was my first thought," Angell concurred.
"That is not a beating you give to someone to seriously maim them," he continued. "That's a beating you give someone to make it look good. To make it appear like the one that got the boots put to them had nothing to do with the bigger picture."
"There were no defensive wounds whatsoever," Sam added. "And if a woman is raped, they aren't wanting some man in the room while they're getting a sex assault kit done on them."
"That was just plain creepy and weird," Flack said. "And the majority of female rape victims want another female to talk too. Not a guy."
"I can test for GSR after I do the exam," Sam suggested. "But something tells me she's going to refuse it."
"Can you trick her?" Angell asked. "Make her think you're doing some crazy thing on her looking for DNA or something like that?"
Sam considered it. "I can try. But I'm telling you right now, she's not as dumb as she's letting on. She knows exactly what she's doing. She think she's fooling us. All we can do now is play along and hope she fucks up somewhere along the line."
"I'm going to go call the lab and see if DNA results are in," Angell said, and headed off, cell phone out and already dialling.
"I'm gonna call Adam and see if any of those tapes from the bar, or my red light cameras arrived," Flack told Sam. "Meet back here?"
She nodded. "That is one fucked up broad in there, Don," she said.
"Guess it's up to you to unfuck her," he told his wife, than frowned and chuckled. "I don't even think that's a word. And it came out sounding really perverted."
"I got the drift," Sam assured him.
"Good luck," he said, and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.
"You could get fired for that," Sam told him with a grin, as she reached for the door handle.
"You gonna squeal on me?" he asked with a broad smile as he backed away.
"Maybe," she sing-songed, then slipped back into the hospital room.
His work in trace on hold for the night and a new batch of tasks ready and waiting under his nose, Adam had just settled down with a steaming cup of tea and a chocolate chip muffin in the AV room when his cell phone, resting on the work station behind him, rang noisily.
Mac had called him back in following a gruelling double shift that saw him pulling duty in both trace and AV. The lab tech had just dozed off on his couch, still fully clothed, with his iPod ear phones blaring music into his cranium when Gus shook him awake, a pissed off look on her face as she shoved the cordless phone at him.
She'd been in the middle of a dead sleep in the bedroom when the phone had startled her awake. She knew Adam was home. She'd heard him singing horrendously off key to Nickelback as he walked through the front door forty minutes earlier. And she could not understand, why, after eight rings, he wasn't answering the home telephone.
Falling asleep on the couch was nothing new from Adam. It annoyed Gus, because she'd become quite accustomed to having his warm, snugly body to cuddle up to in the middle of the night. And she'd gone out into the living room, in her slippers and house coat, the cordless from the bedroom in her hand and an agitated, impatient Mac Taylor on the other end of the call.
Half an hour later, Adam was trudging back into the lab when all he really wanted to do was sleep. Desperately. He'd made the mistake of babysitting his nephew a couple days when he was sick so that his sister and Flack could still go to work. Normally, spending time with Kieran was Adam's most favourite thing to do with his spare time. They went to the zoo and the library and the children's section at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Once Adam had even taken his little buddy to a comic book convention. Only poor Kieran had been so sick he'd been house bound. And now, unfortunately, some of the germs had been passed on to his adoring uncle.
Adam felt miserable. A raspy voice and congested sinuses made him sound even worse. He was suffering and all the cups of ginseng or enchincea tea in the world would not cure him. So why, on one of the stormiest, coldest nights of the winter, did he find it so hard to say no to Mac?
Because you need to money, Adam told himself, as he settled down with a stack of surveillance tapes that had arrived shortly before he'd walked in the door. He took a sip of his ginseng tea. Revelling in the warmth that flooded his scratchy, aching throat. He pulled a package of Halls from his pocket and popped one of the cherry flavoured lozenges into his mouth. Mac had given him a briefing on what had gone down earlier in the Bronx, and now he was prepared for the long haul.
And now his phone was ringing. Adam put a foot on the bottom of the desk and launched his chair across the small work area, snatched his phone and slid back to his original point of origin. All in one seemingly fluid motion.
He checked the call display. Frowning when the last name FLACK came up. He pressed talk and held the phone to his ear.
"Male or female?" he asked.
"That joke is getting a little old, Adam," Flack responded.
"I don't know…I always slightly chuckle when I say it," the lab tech said. "I mean, do you two actually realize the major confusion you caused around here when you decided to get married? It's been a year and people still can't get things straight. In fact, I was just thinking that…"
"Adam," Flack cut him off. "You're giving me a splitting head ache already, buddy."
"My sister is to blame for that," Adam corrected his brother in law. "I lived with her for nearly nineteen years. I know what a migraine she is with her constant cleaning and her nagging and her penchant for spraying rose scented room freshener and her…"
"Adam…"
"I remember this one time involving seventy dollars worth of lilac scented candles. She came to visit me when I was in residence at Columbia and started complaining about the smell of dirty feet in my dorm room so she went out and…"
"Adam!" Flack repeated more forcibly.
"…she ended up filling my entire room with the smell of lilacs. I am telling you the scent was enough to choke a horse. I practically needed a gas mask for three days just to survive in there. And it wasn't like it was old tennis shoes or dirty socks causing the smell. I had just forgotten about this science experiment I had stashed under the bed. A potato with all these wires stuck in it and sitting in a cup of water . It was actually a really cool experiment about trying to create an alternate power source. Only Sam got grossed out by the sight of this moldy potato and tossed it. Thanks to her I got a D on that project and I've never quite forgiven her for it because it was the only mark I ever got in my life that wasn't an A. Still pisses me off to this day to think about it. So anyway she…."
"Adam!" Flack nearly bellowed into the phone.
"Sorry…." the lab tech said sheepishly.
"You've told me that story three times since I've married your sister."
"It's one of my favourites. But I guess you're not calling to hear me reminisce about old times."
"No. But you're seriously causing me to question why I ever married into the Ross family," Flack said.
"Because you're madly, desperately and passionately in love with my sister?" Adam offered.
"Don't fool yourself, Ross," Flack joked. "I'm callin' to see if you got all my surveillance and ATM tapes."
"Yes and yes. I have them right beside me and I am just getting ready to settle down with them for a long winter's night. Is there something in particular you want me to start on first?"
"I want you to look at the footage from the red light cameras first. See if you can catch sight of a car speeding through any of the intersections and if you can get me a plate number."
"Your wish is my command…"
"And then I want you to call over to the Lucky Day bodega in the Bronx and get the manager to cough up his security tapes. I saw a camera in there when I first talked to him. Hopefully it has enough range on it to catch the front of the store."
"Sounds good," Adam said. "I'll call you if I find anything that sticks out. What about the ATM tape?"
Flack was silent for a few seconds as he contemplated the question. "Do me a favour?" he asked.
"I will try my best."
"Did you dust the vic's wallet or bank card?"
"Danny did," Adam responded. "And he found two sets of prints. One belonging to the victim we were able to match from the prints Sid took down in autopsy, and a set belonging to an unknown."
"Hmmm…"
"What are you thinking?" Adam asked curiously, as he popped the tape from the first set of red light camera's into the computer.
"I'm going to get some elimination prints off of Natalie Cormier. If I get Sam to take a picture of them, she can send the image through her phone can't she?"
"Absolutely," Adam responded.
"If she sends the image, would you be able to compare them to the unknowns from the wallet?"
"I would. It's not a hundred percent accurate doing it that way, but if there's strong ridge detail I should be able to match them up. If there's something to be matched."
"I'll get back to you in a few," Flack told his brother in law and hung up.
Adam pressed end and sat his phone on the desk top. He brought his hands together and cracked his fingers noisily and then hit enter on the keyboard in front of him to bring up the footage on the tapes. "I'll be waiting," he said in response to the detective's farewell, and then prepared himself for a long, sleepless night.
"It must be weird to work with your brother," Natalie commented, as she adjusted her hospital gown.
Sam had just finished with photographing the girl's various injuries. She jotted notes down in her memo book. Concentrating more on what she didn't see than what was actually there. The extent of bruising and damage did not match up to Natalie's tale of being kidnapped forcibly, beaten savagely and sexually assaulted. There were no abrasions of lacerations below the neck. Her doctor's report listed no broken bones or fractures. She had little more than a fractured nose and a slight contusion to her forehead and a split lip. There was no hair ripped from the scalp. That was the most common occurrence of being dragged forcibly by your hair.
She had doubted the story the young woman told from the second she'd opened her mouth. And now all of the pieces were starting to fall into place.
"He's not my brother," Sam said, setting her memo book down on the bedside table. "He's my husband."
"Really?" Natalie's eyes widened at the revelation. "You two don't act like husband and wife."
"Strictly professional while on the job," Sam told her. She went to her kit sitting on the chair Flack had vacated and snapped it open. "If you can lie on your back, pull your gown to your waist and lie with your legs wide and bent at the knee."
"I've been through this before," Natalie said, as she did as she was asked.
"You've had a sexual assault exam before?" Sam asked, slightly surprised, slipping a pair of gloves onto her hands.
"Not exactly. But I had an abortion once and this is how you are when they do it."
Sam didn't respond. She had her own personal views on abortion. As a Roman Catholic, she had been brought up to believe that ending any life was a mortal sin. As a grown woman who'd developed beliefs and morals of her own, she realized it was essentially every woman's choice what they wanted to do with their bodies. She'd never have an abortion, but she'd known other people who had. And while she understood having the procedure preformed if there was a life or death situation facing the mother or the child, the thought of careless women using abortion as form of birth control made her sick to her stomach.
"Have you?" Natalie asked, as the CSI gathered up the supplies she'd need to perform the exam.
"Have I what?" Sam responded with a question of her own.
"Ever had an abortion?"
"I've never gotten myself into the situation where I've needed one," Sam replied. "That's what they make condoms and the pill for. So you can avoid ever having to do something like that."
"Do you have children?" Natalie asked curiously.
"One," Sam replied, as she settled down on the second chair that she had placed at the foot of the bed.
"Boy or girl?"
"Boy," she said. "Now if any time you feel uncomfortable and want me to stop, just say the word. Okay?"
"How old is your little boy?" Natalie asked, ignoring the question.
"Eleven months on the twenty-eighth," Sam opened up the packages of swabs and set to work.
The first thing she noticed was that there was no bruising to the inner thighs, or severe vaginal tearing, two things that always accompanied a rape. She said nothing and continued on, the nagging doubt and the distaste for the woman before her growing stronger with each passing second.
"What's his name?" Natalie asked.
"Kieran."
"That's unusual."
"It's Irish. It means small and black or dark. It's fitting for him. Although he's proving the small part wrong with each passing day."
"You want other kids?"
"Some day," she said, dropping the used swabs into their packages and sealing them shut and labelling them with a Sharpie marker. "That's it," she announced. "You can put your gown down and sit up. There's just a couple more things that I need to do."
She got up and went to deposit the swabs in her kit and discard her gloves as the young woman straightened herself out. She grabbed a tiny evidence enveloped and a disposable sharp, wooden instrument used for collecting DNA and trace from under the fingernails. Although Sam highly doubted she'd find anything. Her eyes fell on the GSR testing solution and cotton pads and she thought of what Angell had suggested. Outfoxing the fox to get the answers and the proof they needed. She grabbed what she would need and returned to the bed.
"Hands out, palms up, please," she said politely.
"You're looking for skin and what not under my nails," Natalie commented, watching as the older woman carefully, and thoroughly scared under her impeccably manicured nails.
"You watch a lot of crime shows?" Sam inquired, trying to hide a smirk as she found exactly what she suspected she would. Absolutely nothing. Except for a small black fibre caught under the index finger on the left hand. However she pretended to scrap contents from the stick into the envelope and then sealed it securely.
Natalie shrugged. "Sometimes…but I don't really pay attention to the crimes. I just watch it for the eye candy."
Sam smiled. "That's solely the reason I watch them, too. There's some pretty hot looking guys on those shows. I wish I could say that police work is like that in real life, but the NYPD seems few and far between as far eye candy goes."
"You seemed to manage to scoop up a pretty hot guy," Natalie commented.
"I'm not complaining," Sam said, and dropped the swab cartons into her kit. "I just want to do one more test," she said. "Hands again?"
Natalie handed them out, then watched, a frown on her face, as the petite brunette cop ran a soft cotton pad over one hand, than a fresh pad along the other.
Sam picked up the small spray bottle sitting on the bed and squirted some solution onto one pad, and then the other.
Nothing.
"That's it," Sam told the young woman, and gathered all of her supplies and packed them back into her kit.
"Do you have any suspects?" Natalie asked curiously.
"We have some ideas," Sam told her, and gathered up the brown paper bag containing the young woman's clothing that sat on the window ledge.
A knock came to the door and Sam went to it and unlocked it and poked her head out.
"A word?" Flack inquired.
Sam packed up her kit and stepped out into the hall, closing the door softly behind her.
"Well?" Flack asked quietly.
"She wasn't raped," Sam replied a matter of factly, setting her kit on the ground.
"You sure?"
"I've done a lot of these exams, Donnie, and she was not raped. There's evidence of sexual intercourse. Maybe some rough sex involved, but she was not raped. And she's had sex very recently."
"How recently?"
"My best guess is between two to five hours. I took some DNA swabs. If there's any sperm to be found, testing can tell us how recent the deposit was made."
"But not rape?"
"I can say with a hundred percent certainty that she was not raped. What about Adam? Did he get anything off the tapes?"
"He's just starting them now. That girl is involved Sam. I don't know to what extent. I don't know if she had anything to do with the actual shootings, but she damn well knows who did. You manage to test for GSR?"
"It was negative. Both hands."
"Shit," Flack muttered and shook his head.
"That doesn't prove anything. I found a small black fibre that could have come from her wearing gloves. When I get it to trace, they'll be able to determine what kind of fibre it actually is. And if she was wearing gloves, that would explain no GSR."
He sighed and laid his hand on the frame of the door and closed his eyes briefly. He was tired and weary. His body ached from illness.
"Maybe you should just hand this case over to Angell," Sam suggested gently, laying her hand alongside one of her husband's flushed cheeks.
"I'm fine," he lied, opening his eyes.
"You're sick, Donnie. Really, really sick. You should go home and get some rest. I'll even make you some chicken noodle soup when I get in. Give you lots and lots of TLC."
He managed a smile. "She's involved, Sammie."
"I know that and you know that and Angell knows that. But we don't have proof. And we need that proof."
"What I need is her prints," Flack said. "Adam told me that Danny found two sets of prints on David Arruda's bank card. The vic's and an unknown. And I would bet my life that they belong to that lying, conniving little bitch."
"I doubt she's going to go along with just coughing up her prints," Sam told him. "She's smart. And she's especially smart at playing the dumb bimbo card."
"It doesn't hurt to ask," Flack said.
"And if she refuses?"
"We trick her. If she says no, offer her a glass of water. Or get her to sign her name on something. Take the prints off of her pen."
"You're asking me to fool a suspect in order to get evidence?"
"That's exactly what I am asking you," Flack said.
Sam smiled. "I love you," she told him.
He grinned, briefly touched his lips to her forehead and reached for the handle on the door. "Let's get to it," he said, and pushed his way into the room.
"You need what?" Natalie asked, her eyes narrowed as she looked between the two detectives.
"Elimination prints," Sam replied.
"Why?"
"So we can rule out that you had anything to do with what happened to your boyfriend and his buddy," Flack told her.
"I had nothing to do with it," Natalie declared, and crossed her arms over her chest.
"We know that," Sam said calmly. "But we need to prove it to our bosses and the court. And the only way we can do that is if we get your prints and compare them to ones pulled from the SUV. If they don't match up, then you'll be home free and never have to worry about taking heat for what went down."
"My fingerprints are probably all over that SUV," Natalie said. "Of course you're going to find them."
"You think you would want to prove to everyone that you had nothing to do with your boyfriend's untimely, gruesome demise," Flack told her.
"I already told you I had nothing to do with it," she snapped at him.
"Okay, we get that," Flack said, remaining calm. "But wouldn't you love to be scratched off the list as a potential suspect? We're not the only two working on this case, and just us saying you're innocent isn't going to fly with our co-workers or with the DA. So for your own good, let us take your prints so we run it against the others and let you off the hook."
"I'm not giving you anything!" Natalie spat at him. "I've given you two enough! I've answered all your questions and let you poke and prod at me! For my own good is for the two of you to get the hell out of my room and leave me alone!"
"Whoa…" Flack said, holding his hands out in self defence. "There's no need to get hostile with us, Natalie. We're just asking for your fingerprints. Not a limb or a kidney."
"I'm tired," she informed him, her eyes blazing. "I'm tired and I don't want to talk about what happened any more. I just want to get some rest. Please leave."
"Natalie," Sam tried, her voice soft as she laid her hand on the young woman's shoulder. "It really is for the best. Because the more you fight us on it, the less innocent you look. You realize that don't you?"
"Please just leave me alone," the young woman begged, tears welling in her eyes.
"We're sorry to have upset you," Flack said, as he backed towards the door.
"Is there anything you need, Natalie?" Sam asked, smoothing the young woman's hair away from her face. Like a mother comforting her child. "Some tissues? A glass of water?"
"Some water would be nice," she responded. "And could you get him," she glared over at Flack. "The hell out of my room."
"I'll wait outside," Flack told his wife, as she passed by him on her way to the small private bathroom to fill a small plastic cup with cold tap water.
He paused in the doorway. Looking into the bathroom.
Sam glanced up and their eyes met in the mirror. She held the cup up and gave him a thumbs up sign.
He smiled and slipped from the room.
Sam shut off the tap and journeyed back into the room. Natalie was already sitting up in bed, waiting. And while the young woman sipped slowly, Sam took the opportunity to dim the lights for her once again and fix the mound of pillows behind her.
"Thank you," Natalie said, settling back in bed and holding out the cup.
"Take care," Sam told her, sticking two fingers in the cup, trying to avoid getting her prints on it as much as possible.
"Will you let me know when you catch whoever did this to me and David and Lukas?" Natalie asked, as she turned over in bed, so her back was facing the CSI.
"You'll be one of the first to find out," Sam assured her and left the room.
Flack was waiting, an open evidence bag in his hands.
Sam held up the cup, a victorious smile on her face.
"Very nice," Flack said in appreciation. "I called Adam. I was going to get you to send over an image of the prints to him for comparison, but seeing as you managed to score the whole cup, we'll just take it in and have it dusted."
"And the tapes?" Sam asked, buttoning her winter coat.
"He said the only images he got of a car speeding away from the scene, is blurred and distorted, mostly from snow on the camera lens. Most he could tell me was that it was a black four door."
Sam sighed and took the evidence bag from him. "Not much to go on," she said, crouching down to set the bagged cup into her kit before snapping it closed and standing up once again.
"Nature of the beast," Flack said.
"The beast is a pain in the ass," she declared. "I hate it. All the pain and suffering and bullshit is so not worth it."
Smiling, he reached out and tapped a finger against the tip of her tiny nose. "Come on, you know you love your job. And it loves you. It's the one thing that keeps you sane. Isn't it, Freckles?"
She frowned. "Watch it, Flack. Or I'll break your finger next."
"Thought you liked it when I came up with cute little nicknames for you," he said, picking up her kit in one hand, and escorting her down the hall with his other hand on her shoulder. "I mean, Thumbelina, Rapunzel, Freckles…"
"You're pushing it, Don." she said. "Sometimes you're a total pain in my ass."
"You'd miss me if I was gone," he told her confidently, as she reached out to press the button for the elevator.
"That was my line if I do remember correctly," Sam said. "I used that on you once."
"Couple times actually," he informed her. "Once while we were dating and another time just after we got married. And you know what? I would miss you if you weren't around anymore. I mean, who would do my laundry and pick up after me and cook my meals?"
"You're an ass," Sam told him.
He grinned and pulled her into him, sneaking a kiss to her temple. "Would you miss me?" he asked. "If one morning you suddenly woke up and I was gone?"
"You really have to ask me that?"
"Sometimes," he admitted.
She frowned.
"And maybe I just like hearing the words coming out of your mouth."
"You like having your ego stroked is what you really mean."
"Among other things," he laughed, and jumped to avoid an elbow to his stomach.
"I seriously hope I don't ever make you feel like I'd be happy if you were gone," Sam said, offended by the suggestion.
"Sometimes I get the impression you're life would be a lot less stressful," he told her.
"It would be," she agreed. "But it would also be lonely and empty. And I don't ever want to feel that way."
"You know," he said, as the elevator arrived and he motioned for her to go ahead of him. "I'm pretty good at giving people things so their less bored and not so lonely."
"Really?" Sam asked, pressing the button for the underground parking. "And what things are those?"
Flack thought about it. Then looked at her with a huge smirk on his face. "You know how every time we seem to step into an elevator together you seem to get a litte…what's the word…fiesty?"
"What exactly are you hinting at?" Sam asked.
"Nothing. I was just merely saying how when we get into elevators together somehow the stop button gets pushed."
Sam grinned. "God I hate when that happens."
They both started straight ahead.
Flack coughed to break the silence and nudged her with his elbow.
"What?" Sam asked.
He nodded in the direction of the stop button and made as if to press it.
"Don't even think about it," Sam said, and grabbed his hand and yanked it away from the control panel. She went to drop his hand but he held on tight and smiled at her.
"What now?" she asked.
"I can't smile at you or hold your hand?"
"We're an old married couple, remember? We don't smile at each other or hold hands."
"My mistake," he said with a chuckle. But didn't let go of her hand.
"You're on way too much cold medication," Sam said. "You're going all lovey dovey and sappy on me at work."
"Can I help it if I am in love with my wife?"
"I am so getting you off of that Tylenol Cold and Flu," Sam declared.
The elevator arrived at the underground lot and Sam went to step off. Only to have her husband catch her by the arm and pull her back inside for a long, steamy, toe curling kiss.
"That is exactly why Mac doesn't like us working together," Sam told him, as he hit the open door button and they stepped off.
"I love you, Freckles," he said.
She glared at him and stomped off towards the waiting unmarked squad car.
He chuckled and do the only thing he could.
Follow dutifully behind.
Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! And even the lurkers! Although dropping a small line would be appreciated!!
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