Author: Sam

Story: Moral Judgements: 3 of ?

Series: Speed-Burn

Setting: AU: Speed-Burn: Wednesday, September 28, 2005 to Wednesday, October 5, 2005: New York City

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/samwise_baggins/index.html

Wednesday, September 28, 2005:

"Ma'am?" Mac Taylor's voice betrayed only the barest hint of surprise. "Are you telling me that you killed your daughter?"

Aiden stepped closer, silently displaying her support of her supervisor. It was a psychological ploy to put the suspect off-balance. Another psychological ploy, Aiden let her hand slip down to rest lightly on the butt of her service weapon. A frown added to the pouty look of her sensual mouth. With a confession this early in the investigation, one might think it'd be good news; after all, Mrs. Standish may have just made their job a whole lot easier. Aiden didn't believe it was going to be that smooth, though; things never were.

"Madam, tell them you want a lawyer," the woman named Abigail reached out to touch the young Mrs. Standish's arm.

Regrettably, Lindsay jumped too quickly on the statement, cutting off Mac before he could respond. "If you killed your daughter, why did you call the police four times?"

Abigail inserted herself in front of the dazed blonde. "She’s in shock. Her daughter’s missing. She doesn't know what she’s saying."

"Oh, but I do," came the soft reply, drawing all attention to the young mother.

Seizing control once more, Mac firmly asked, "Josephine Standish, you are aware you've just confessed to the murder of Celeste Standish?"

Detective Scagnetti moved forward, pulling his cuffs from the belt loop he normally hung them on. With one slightly raised hand, Mac signaled the detective to hold off; something didn't feel right about this situation. He normally didn't go on feelings, but nothing said he had to accept a confession at face value. The former Marine wanted evidence to back up the mother's claim. "You said you think you killed your baby. Aren't you sure?"

Josephine raised her green eyes to meet Mac's blue ones, a slightly surprised look on her face. "Oh, no... but I don't know how else I got the blood on my gown," she restlessly moved her bloody, bandaged hands to indicate the white nightgown she wore. It had looked pristine when the group had arrived, but now it was dotted with fresh blood from her injuries.

Firmly, Mac nodded, earning a soft moan of protest from the older woman. "It'll help things along if we're allowed to process the apartment, Ma'am." Mac had an idea where the mother could get blood on her clothes, and it wasn't proof of murder. "If we gather evidence, we can get justice for Celeste more quickly," 'or find her’ Mac added silently. He felt that it was quite possible the mother was in shock and thought she was guilty for something simply because she was the parent and her missing child was dependant on her.

"Then a confession isn't enough to arrest her?"

All eyes turned to the previously silent third woman near the far end of the room. She had been quiet until that moment, watching in a detached manner. Now, the blonde servant looked abashed that she had interrupted the investigation with her question.

Mac squatted down as he put down his case. Flipping open the latches which kept it closed in transport, he pulled out a mismatched pair of gloves and handed them up to Aiden, who came forward on his silent cue. As she slid first the larger one over his casted hand, then helped him into the more normal-sized one, the head of the crime lab raised his eyes to meet the dazed ones of their new primary suspect, rather than the servant.

"We prefer to let the evidence talk."

By the time Don and his fellow detectives got to the fourth floor, it was beginning to look pretty hopeless, and they still had four floors to cover. No one had heard any commotion, no one had called for help, and no one seemed to like a man named Randy on the fifth floor. In fact, Don was getting sick of hearing about the jerk in 5D, as it seemed he was this sleazy night stalker who housed a live-in prostitute and did nothing but have loud, obnoxious sex all day. A niggling suspicion that the emergency call might be related to this very unpopular tenant began to build in the officer’s mind.

When the small group got to the fifth floor, the feeling of uselessness evaporated in an instant, and the suspicion blossomed into certainty.

As the elevator door slid open, the team was greeted by the sight of a smashed door not far away. A pair of feet was visible in a pool of blood just inside the doorway. In the hallway, not too far from the smashed door of apartment 5D, was a second person, also in a pool of blood and apparently beaten beyond recognition. There was what looked like drag marks from the apartment to the body in the hall.

Instantly, the group went into action, with Stella pulling her phone out and calling for more emergency back up. She pulled her service weapon in a smooth motion and joined Flack and Thacker. Don called out, “Police,” before the three carefully stepped over the prostrate man in the doorway and entered the apartment. Sheldon, meanwhile, made his way to the body in the hallway as Danny headed for the guy in the doorway.

Letting the two police officers clear the studio apartment ahead of her, Stella took in as much of the destruction as she could without losing the focus needed to protect her self. The layout was in the style of one large room, with only two doors leading off, both of which were shut. It was hard to tell just where the destruction began and ended: furniture was smashed, blood was splattered on pretty much every surface, and broken china and splintered wood was strewn everywhere. One glaring fact was obvious, and provided an immediate motive for the double attack: there was no television, computer, or other electronic gadgetry. It was a definite possibility that this had been a robbery gone very badly. Spotting another obvious clue about the events which took place, Stella made note that the phone had been ripped from the wall and lay on the floor near the kitchenette area.

Thacker swung open one door as Don kept his service weapon trained on the doorway, but it was quickly evident there was no threat, or even destruction, in the surprisingly serene, Oriental-style decorated bedroom. The other door, which presumably led to the bathroom, was locked and presented a viable threat; no one knew if the attacker was beyond that bit of wood.

Kneeling, Sheldon placed two fingers on the first victim’s throat. His eyes opened wide in surprised relief. “Alive!” He fumbled his phone out to notify the two EMT’s on their way up.

Danny nodded as he carefully knelt next to the second man, his drawn weapon in one hand. Feeling for a pulse, or even just air movement, the blond frowned and shook his head. “I want a second opinion, Hawkes.”

“Right,” Sheldon quickly moved to replace Danny by the second victim and Danny stepped carefully out to the hall, holstering his weapon to start photographing the two beaten men and their bloody surroundings. The former medical examiner tried to find any signs of life on the second man, but was disappointed time and again. Finally, he had to concede what Danny had suspected. In a tight voice, the young African-American doctor looked up and called out, “Dead.”

“Yeah, thought so,” came Danny’s sigh. He continued snapping pictures of the hallway, entryway, and both bodies until suddenly he noted something a bit unusual: the door next to the trashed apartment was cracked open. “Hawkes, cover me,” he called, letting his camera hang from its neck strap and drawing his service weapon. Sheldon frowned, as he carried no weapon, but didn’t argue with the more experienced investigator. Rather, he fell in behind the Italian-American and watched cautiously as Danny approached the door to apartment 5C.

The blond reached out to lightly tap the open door. “Police,” he called out and waited for a reply. When nothing happened for a long moment, the CSI pushed the door open and looked inside. Both investigators were poised for action, ready to take on a possible suspect in the beating next door.

What they got was anticlimactic to say the least.

Displayed before them was a neat, if somewhat cluttered, apartment. There was sports paraphernalia decorating enough surfaces to indicate a junkie of sorts, and the mix-matched furniture leant to the air of a college dorm. Danny was willing to bet a single male lived here. However, no one responded to their calls and no one seemed to be present in the entire apartment.

“Why do I get the feeling that our crime scene just got a whole lot bigger?” Sheldon was looking around the empty room in obvious consternation.

With a nonchalant shrug, Danny called back, “Until we find out who called 9-1-1, this entire building is a potential crime scene. Let’s go report to Stella and see how she wants to handle this.”

“Right.” Sheldon turned and made his way from the room, followed closely by Danny.

It was at that moment the two EMT’s arrived, coming out of the elevator. Danny called out “Stop there. Move in a straight line, but be careful!” Emergency Rescuers had life saving in mind and were notorious for destroying evidence if it got in the way of the pursuit of their primary goal. Danny wasn’t going to let that happen. “The man in the hall is alive, the other one appears to be dead.” Without a medical examiner, the CSI’s had no right to pronounce time of death. That would have to wait on the arrival of Sid Hammerback or one of his underlings.

Nodding, the pair moved to the live victim, determining that the man was unconscious and had lost a lot of blood, but he was still very much alive; his pulse was surprisingly strong, and had been what had startled Sheldon when he’d checked on the man a few minutes earlier. Apparently, if they were lucky, the man’s injuries looked worse than they really were. Sheldon moved forward to join the EMT’s.

“I’m going with him,” he looked over his shoulder and Danny nodded in acknowledgment. Sheldon would be able to process the man, keep track of his clothing, and interview him if he woke up. That victim was their best lead, and it would be foolish to let him out of their sight. Sticking to the EMT’s like glue, the former doctor followed their victim’s stretcher from the hallway.

"Police," Don called at the closed door. He stood poised, listening for some noise, some response. When nothing happened, he nodded to Thacker and Stella, and watched as the CSI started photographing the door and quickly processing for fiber and fingerprints. They had to get as much as they could, despite the fact that somebody might be in there; if it was a victim, and the perpetrator's fingerprints were on the door, it could be valuable for prosecution, after all. The sound of someone entering the apartment froze the trio and they looked over, but went back to work when it was revealed that it was Danny joining them. Stella carefully pulled the tape from the doorknob, folding the sticky surface over to preserve the fingerprints she'd found. With a nod, the Greek-American pulled back to allow the detectives free access to the door.

Signalling Thacker to keep his weapon trained on the doorway, Don moved to try opening the door. He couldn't get it unlocked and turned to Stella. "Anything in your kit to get inside?"

"Yeah," the voice was Danny's and he stepped forward, placing his kit on the floor. Opening the case, Danny pulled out a screwdriver and started quickly working on the lock of the door, getting the entire knob and lock fixture apart in only a minute or two. He bagged the entire contraption, in case they could get more evidence off of it. With a step back, Danny drew his service weapon to help cover the detectives.

With a nod of acknowledgment for the assist, Don steadied his weapon in one hand and carefully pushed open the door.