Author: Sam

Story: Moral Judgements: 4 of ?

Series: Speed-Burn

Setting: AU: Speed-Burn: Evening; Wednesday, September 28, 2005: New York City

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

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

When he got the door open, Don immediately called, "victim down!" He glanced over the room, saw that there was only one person inside, and hurried in, followed by Stella. The pair knelt by the bloody, beaten figure there: a small woman, though nothing else of distinction could be made out through the blood and damage.

Stella called out, "Danny, get the EMT's!" She felt for a pulse, and was relieved when she felt the fluttering under her fingers. It wasn't strong, but it was there. "Still alive," she called. Stella surveyed the damage to the victim, the blood trail, and the surprisingly untouched bathroom. As far as she could tell, the woman was either drug in there and locked in or she dragged herself in, locked the door, and fell unconscious.

Fortunately it wasn’t even a couple of minutes before a pair of medics presented their selves inside the apartment. Stella and Don moved out of the way as the emergency personnel saw to the woman. One EMT looked up at the pair of officers and said, in a very grim voice, “she probably won’t make it. She’s lost a lot of blood and I’d swear she has a skull fracture.”

“I’m coming with you to the hospital, then,” Stella shot back. She quickly followed the men from the room, keeping a careful eye on the stretcher and its unconscious occupant. As she passed, she called out for Danny to process the scene.

He looked at Don with a frown. “Might want to go with Stella, Flack. If the attacker is looking to finish that woman off, he might not let a hospital get in his way. I’ve got Thacker.”

Don frowned, but didn’t argue the point. Three victims and no sign of the attacker… the night was threatening to be an extremely long one.

With a sigh, looking at the destruction around him, Danny gave a resolute nod. He’d worked worse, after all. Sitting his kit carefully in the kitchen area of the studio apartment, as that looked the least disturbed, he started taking pictures of the destruction.

He was careful to capture the broken door, the many blood smears and stains, and the splintered furniture and what looked like porcelain all around. The sparse furniture struck him as odd, as well as the very thick woven mat under his feet as he moved through what would normally pass as a living room, if there had been any actual place to sit and relax in there. Instead, it looked like the chairs were in the kitchenette, along with a table… the living room containing that thick mat, several overturned potted trees, and a rather damaged human-shaped mannequin. As he centered a shot on the mannequin he suddenly realized what this room was really for… it was a practice ring for fighting, like an Oriental dojo. He moved towards the bathroom, to photograph the blood trail, when the sound of the elevator drew his attention.

Quickly, the blond man made his way through the debris to head off whoever had arrived. This was an active crime scene that included the hallway and possibly the next apartment over; he wouldn’t let anyone compromise it. Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry; the opening doors revealed more back-up officers and a couple of night shift CSI’s. Danny nodded and gestured right back to the elevator.

“We have three more floors to check for that phone, and I need this place roped off. Include apartment 5C and the hallway from just before 5B to just before 5E,” he gestured as he instructed them. “As soon as you’ve finished checking the other floors, I need you back here to process the scene. We have three victims, two which are alive but might not stay that way.” He looked at the dead man on the floor and his frown deepened. “And still no idea who the attacker might be.”

Danny moved back towards apartment 5D, but was interrupted with Evan Zao’s arrival. He nodded to the medical examiner and gestured with one gloved hand. “There’s your patient, Doc.”

Evan nodded once and moved to the dead man’s side, starting to glance over the victim. As he pulled on his gloves, he gestured with his little finger towards a particularly nasty portion of the man’s head. “Blunt force trauma most likely with a heavy object, maybe a bat or large pipe.” He carefully started searching the man’s pockets coming out with a wallet from one and a cell phone from the other. “Danny, I think I found your caller.”

The investigator moved over quickly, frowning as Evan turned the phone towards him. Across the display were the numbers 9-1-1, and there was the sound of a woman calling, almost desperately, “hello! If you can hear me, hello!” Danny carefully took the phone from the coroner and brought it to his ear, but didn’t touch it to his skin. Carefully, he said, “Hello? This is Messer from the crime lab. Who is this?”

“Oh…” there was disappointment in the woman’s voice. “This is Francie Jenkins from emergency response dispatch.” She asked, with an attempt of hope, “Well, I guess our caller is being helped?”

“Yeah, by the coroner,” Danny responded almost coldly. He wasn’t trying to be mean, actually, just to get back to the investigation to figure out just what happened to this guy and his fellow victims. “Look, we’ll need copies of the 9-1-1 call from this phone sent to the lab ASAP. And we may need to talk to you later, Francie.”

Apparently, the lady hadn’t wanted to hear that, because she tried to protest. Danny overrode her. “Look, we have three victims and the one on the phone is dead. You may be our best witness to what happened. Stay in town.” With that, he turned off the phone and turned back to Evan. “What’s his wallet say?”

“Randolph Williamson, lives next door in 5C.” Evan handed over the wallet, open to the man’s photo and driver’s license. Even through the blood and destruction, it was evident that the deceased man was the man pictured on the identification. Danny merely nodded, accepting the wallet and the information without word.

Turning back to the body, Evan gestured. “I want to get him back pretty quickly. There are a lot of injuries, and I can better figure this mess out with my equipment.” The Asian-descended man then stood and signaled his men to get the body on their stretcher for transport. “I’ll let you know when I have anything.”

Danny nodded. “Thanks.” He once more looked back at the mass destruction, the crime scene tape now cordoning off a large section of hallway and two apartments, and the stairwell. If the attacker used the stairs instead of the elevator to leave, his already big crime scene would once again get even bigger. With a sigh, Danny stifled a yawn and headed back into 5D, prepared for a very long shift.

In the ambulance, Stella stayed out of the way as much as possible, recording what she saw of the victim, her injuries, and what the EMT’s were doing for her. They cut off the remnants of her clothing, covering her with a sheet as Stella bagged the evidence. An oxygen mask and IV tubing were quickly utilized, but they did very little work on the woman, except to monitor her breathing, making sure she didn’t expire on the way there.

Upon arrival they quickly whisked the woman into a cubicle, leaving her on the stretcher while they moved around her, still monitoring. Stella managed to take a few shots of the woman’s bruises and lacerations, as well as the severe damage to her head and torso… her legs and arms had defensive wounds, but seemed less injured than her face, denoting a personal motive for the attack. No one actually stopped her from photographing, which was a rarity, and one nurse actually moved out of Stella’s way so she could get a clearer shot.

That was odd in itself; she was used to having to fight to get the documented evidence she needed. But the real oddity of the case came when the doctor walked in, took one look at the patient, and turned to Stella, saying, “You want to do the kit or should I?”

“What?” From the faint fluttering the investigator had felt when trying to find a pulse, Stella was sure there would be some major life-saving efforts going on; however, it seemed as if she’d skipped a page or two somehow. No monitors or respirator were hooked up, only the IV and oxygen, and that was at the moment actually being discontinued. Stella turned confused eyes on the doctor. “What’s going on?”

With a shrug, the doctor said in a neutral tone, “ID found in the clothes say she’s a DNR.”

Stella frowned, jumping on the statement. “What ID? I didn’t see them pull one out, and I bagged her clothes…”

The doctor turned and gestured towards one of the EMT’s, who held a small leather pouch and an identification card. “He removed it while you were climbing in the ambulance, most likely. Jaime, give the officer the ID and purse.”

He obediently trotted over and offered the objects to Stella, who gave him a disgruntled look. She glanced at the card and realized it wasn’t a picture ID. It was merely marked with the address, the name M. Katsu, and the words: Do Not Resuscitate.” She instantly glared at the doctor. “And what if that’s not M. Katsu? Put her on life saving equipment; she’s a possible witness to a murder.” Waving the card, she bit out, “The super of the building said a man lives in this apartment, not a woman.”

Surprise registered on the weary doctor’s face but she immediately barked orders to once again attempt to resuscitate the woman. After several minutes off the necessary oxygen, though, they found themselves rushing to perform CPR. Stella was shunted to the sidelines as she watched in rising anger as the emergency team tried their best to save their unidentified victim. If that woman dies, there’ll be hell to pay, Stella silently vowed.

Settling next to the man’s bed, Sheldon carefully started taking fingernail scrapings from the unconscious figure. He’d already gotten the requisite photographic evidence of the man’s wounds, noticing how the bruising and breaks, of which there were several, centered around the man’s groin, face, solar plexus, and extremities. His head had received a couple of sharp blows, as well, consistent with severe blunt force trauma.

Working quickly, yet carefully, the former medical examiner processed the man’s limp body, working around tubes and wires. As he’d been breathing on his own, life support hadn’t been needed, but the IV, catheter, and monitoring equipment were still numerous enough to prevent any rapid movement directly around the patient’s bedside.

As he worked, Sheldon made mental observations about the victim and his condition. He was still torn by what the weapon could have been, but thought it might have been a bat or pipe of some sort. The x-rays he’d viewed while standing behind the doctor supported his theory of a severe blunt-force attack, but some of the positioning if the resultant bruising didn’t mesh with the idea of a guy bashing him hell-for-nothing. They seemed angled oddly and very precise.

A sound from the man alerted Sheldon, and he quickly looked up, delighted to see the man’s eyes were open and focusing on him.

“Wha… where?”

Sheldon offered the man a gentle smile. “I’m Sheldon Hawkes from the crime lab. You’re in the hospital. Can you tell me your name?” He’d had a wallet with driver’s license on him, stating his name to be Robert Tyler, but Sheldon asked the classic question simply to verify.

Swallowing, the man’s eyes roved around the room before focusing once more on the investigator. “Uh… Bob. My name’s Bob… Tyler.”

With a nod of encouragement, Sheldon asked, “Can you tell me what happened, Mr. Tyler?”

His eyes snapped to Sheldon’s as if magnetically drawn. After a few minutes of awkward silence, and several more swallows, the man choked out, “Yeah… that broad tried to kill me. She… I think she killed him, too.”

“Who? Who tried to kill you?” A frown crossed the former doctor’s face.

“The bitch who attacked me!” Bob seemed to relax a bit because he painfully moved in his bed and looked around once more, eyes darting to the door, the window, and the obvious security camera above the television. He looked once more at Sheldon and clarified, “I was making a food delivery, like I do every week. When I knocked, she opened the door and suddenly went all ballistic on me! Then some guy comes up behind me and whales on me. I couldn’t fight them both off and I went down. I think she went after the other guy then. She’s nuts!”

Pulling out his notebook, Sheldon started rapidly writing down what the man was saying. “Do you know who she is?”

“Yeah,” Bob frowned, “I think… uh, I think she lives there. She’s the one who I drop the food off to every week, a short chink who’s too stuck up to even say thanks. She pays, but she don’t tip, neither.” The frown evaporated as he shifted his eyes around the room again.

His pen flew over the paper, and Sheldon barely stopped as he asked, “Does she live there alone? What about family or friends? A man named Randy?”

Bob shrugged and then whimpered in pain. “I don’t know her name, but I never seen a guy there yet. I been delivering there for about a year, and she’s the only one I seen.” He watched Sheldon writing for a long moment, then got a thoughtful look on his battered face. “Hey, can I press charges? She tried to kill me. I wanna sue... or whatever.”

Stopping, Sheldon raised his brown eyes to the man and frowned slightly. In a neutral voice, he said, “You’ll need to speak to an attorney about any legal actions you want to take.” He kept his eyes locked with the man’s, noticing when Bob started fidgeting. “What about the guy who attacked? Did you recognize him?”

With a sneer, Bob nodded, his voice dripping with satisfied contempt. “Yeah, next door neighbor. Nosey bastard who thinks he’s some sort of super hero or something. His name’s Billy… or at least, that’s what he told me.”

Sheldon nodded as he wrote the information down. It looked like this case was taking a very odd turn of events. “So, did you call for help?”

“What?” Bob looked confused then shook his head, looking a bit nervous. “No… come to think of it, must have been a neighbor called. I was too busy fighting two freaks to do much anything else.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tyler. I appreciate the information. I might need to clarify some things at a later date; would that be all right?” The investigator rose slowly, waiting for the man’s reply. When it came, it was surprising, to say the least.

“Sure. Stop by any time. And I’ll need a lawyer so I can hit her with attempted murder and stuff, right? Maybe you can recommend one?”

Turning to put his notebook and the evidence carefully together with his kit, Sheldon answered carefully, “I’m sure the hospital or the yellow pages would be a better help, Mr. Tyler. I’ll be in touch.” And with that, he quickly left the room, heading towards the parking lot and the lab. He wanted to consult with Danny and Stella, not liking how this case felt one bit.

Lindsay pulled on her own gloves, watching the three suspects carefully, for she was considering all three women suspects at this juncture. Mac was carefully questioning the eldest lady, Abigail, while the youngest, Mrs. Standish, slumped on the raised step between the entry and the living room. That left the third woman, the one who’d stayed mostly to herself, and that was the one Lindsay decided to approach first.

“Hold out your hands, please,” she instructed in a crisp voice.

Blinking in surprise, the woman drew herself up to her not-quite-considerable size, being on a par with the rather petite lady of the manor. “I beg your pardon!”

With a sigh, the blond investigator looked at the smaller woman. “It’s standard procedure to take samples to rule out those closest. Therefore, we need to take swabs of your hands.”

The woman turned to look at her dejected employer. “Mrs. Standish, this is outrageous! They think I hurt Celeste!”

Looking up, the dazed look left the mother’s eyes to be replaced by abject interest. “Well, Sophie, I’m willing to say they probably think any one of us could have hurt her. After all, she’s gone, there’s blood in the nursery, and I’ve admitted to murder. You’d do best to cooperate or ask for a lawyer if you feel you need one.”

Mac and Abigail were turned towards the woman in interest, while Aiden immediately signaled Scagnetti to follow her towards the nursery. Lindsay frowned, but not in disagreement; the young woman’s affect was totally different from the dazed, confused manner she’d presented a few minutes ago. However, before she could try to puzzle it out further, Sophie thrust her hands under Lindsay’s nose with a sneer, startling the woman.

“Well, I didn’t confess to anything; I don’t see why I should be a suspect. More like it was the maid, Bettina, or you, yourself, Mrs. Standish, what with your odd starts.” The blonde servant seemed disgruntled and barely tolerated the fingernail scrapings Lindsay performed on her. When she was asked to open her mouth for DNA evidence, it seemed she might refuse only to reluctantly cooperate with a menacing glare for the investigator.

For his part, Mac turned towards the young mother and asked, “What does she mean by odd starts?” He was a bit surprised the woman hadn’t gotten defensive when the servant threw the accusation at her. However, as Mrs. Standish had already confessed to the murder of the missing child, it might easily explain why she didn’t get offended by her employee’s words.

Josephine looked at the investigator and slowly stood from her step. “I’ve been told I sleep walk.” At Abigail’s nod of agreement, the petite woman strode over to Lindsay and Sophie. “Perhaps you should sample my hands, too, Officer. I’m the one who was bloody this morning.”

“And bloody again, Mrs. Standish,” Sophie spat out waspishly. It was readily apparent that the servant was in a very bad mood, though if she normally was that rude to her employer it wasn’t certain. Josephine merely ignored the woman’s words, holding out her bloody, bandaged hands.

With a quick glance for approval from Mac, Lindsay began carefully unwrapping the bandages from the young woman’s hands, revealing slices along the fingers and palms. They were deep, and some looked to need stitches. Shocked, Lindsay looked at the woman. “You need to go to the hospital.”

Shaking her head, but not removing the injured limbs, Josephine said, “No. I can’t. Charles wouldn’t approve.”

Mac frowned. “Your husband won’t approve you getting medical treatment?” He kept his voice neutral, but her answer interested him. This case was getting weirder by the minute.

She turned her head and nodded, seemingly unaware when Lindsay pulled one hand closer to her face, shining a light on it. As the investigator produced a pair of tweezers and started to carefully pull something from inside the wounds, the lady of the house merely watched Mac with a thoughtful expression. Finally, she spoke. “It’s in the contract. I cannot leave this building without him unless I want to lose everything.”

Lindsay looked at her supervisor. “Mac, look at this.” She held up a small cliver of something in the tweezers.

He moved to stand next to her, carefully shining the light on the object in varying angles. Finally, he looked at Lindsay. “That might be glass, might be crystal. It’s certainly not plastic.” Turning back to Josephine, who still stood with her hands outstretched, he asked almost gently, “Mrs. Standish, did you cut yourself on something?”

Josephine looked at her hands as if seeing them for the first time then lifted her eyes to meet Mac’s. “I don’t remember. I went to sleep in my room then woke up in Celeste’s nursery with my hands cut and bleeding. I didn’t see Celeste anywhere. Bettina was trying to bandage my hands when I woke up.”

“Where’s Bettina now,” queried Mac. They needed this other person; at the very least, she could be a witness. It was also quite possible the woman was the murderer or kidnapper, or an accomplice.

Abigail jumped in. “She’s still out looking for Mr. Standish, Sir. As soon as I got here, I sent her for him, but she hasn’t come back.”

Damn! The woman could be two states away with the baby by now! Mac pulled out his cell phone and dialed dispatch, quickly asking for an APB concerning the missing Bettina, filling in descriptors as Abigail frowningly provided them.