Deceptions (1/2) Stella Bonasera, Jessica Angell; PG-13
Title: Deceptions (1/2)
Author: Zelda Ophelia (zeldaophelia
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mild cursing, mention of violence
Prompt: 120.) The truth is too simple: one must always get there by a complicated route. -- George Sand (1804-1876), French novelist, playwright, critic, political writer and feminist.
Summary: A costume ball isn't supposed to end with murder.
Author's Notes: Long enough I had to break it into two to post. Huge thank you to eternal_sadist for betaing. <3
Annalee Crenshaw was almost tempted to pinch herself as she took a glass of champagne offered by a passing waiter. She still couldn't believe her luck. She had been living in New York City only three months, and already she of all people was at what was supposed to be the biggest charity event of the season, a masquerade ball hosted by Michael Braun. She was amazed she'd won the drawing with the one ticket she'd bought, especially considering Renee had purchased at least ten of them.
She had been even more surprised to find out that it hadn't just been for a ticket to the party, but to go as Michael Braun's date. He had been so nice to her so far, nothing like what she expected from everything she read about him. Michael - he had told her to call him Michael - had insisted on meeting with her several times before the party. They'd planned their costumes and he had even listened to her suggestions for the decorations - both instances where being an artist had come in handy for her.
Michael - she grinned to herself at that, still a little amazed - glanced over at her from where he was talking with the Master of Ceremonies for the night. It sounded like the orchestra was winding down, meaning it was almost time for his speech. She couldn't help blushing when he smiled at her, ducking her head shyly as she smiled back. She hoped he'd meant it when he had said they should go out for dinner tomorrow--just them, with no party to plan for and no one else to bother them.
Annalee was just glancing back up at him when one of the passing waiters grabbed Michael, brandishing a gun at them. She shrieked, the screams of other attendees joining hers.
"Nobody move!" someone to her left yelled as he and several other servers pulled out guns, too. They began to filter amongst the guests, herding people towards tables to sit as he continued, "Or else our generous host dies."
Several people around her gasped. Annalee grabbed a nearby chair, her legs shaking as she sat heavily. This wasn't how her night was supposed to go. It was a party, a costume party. She was supposed to dress up like a princess, act like and get treated like one. She was supposed to get a chance to experience this kind of life, with champagne, diamonds, and chauffeurs, not that of a newcomer who still got lost in the city.
Being dressed like a princess didn't mean she had as little sense as some of those tabloid fodder celebutants. Slipping her clutch under the table, she pulled out her new, tiny cell phone. Never had she been gladder it was so small, fitting it into the palm of her hand as she tried to dial 9-1-1. She took a deep breath as her hands shook and missed the unfamiliar keys. She needed to calm down and concentrate.
"Everyone should know the drill," one of the masked gunmen said. "Jewelry, money, everything - on the tables in front of you."
Annalee nodded automatically, setting her handbag on the table as she finally got the numbers right. She was just about to hit connect on her phone when a hand on her shoulder interrupted her.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Miss Crenshaw," a low voice murmured into her ear. Annalee gasped, turning to see one of the gunmen behind her. He held out his free hand, gun trained on her. "I'll take that. And the jewelry and tiara."
Her hands shook as she complied with his demands, taking off the dangly diamond earrings and matching necklace. He didn't bother to wait for her to remove the tiara, pulling it off so roughly that strands of hair were caught in the combs. At tables around them, other guests removed their valuables, the growing piles swept into bags the thieves carried.
Scared, Annalee looked away from the robber and back at the stage. Michael still stood there, the first of the thieves still holding a gun to his head. He looked scared, but almost resigned in a way. It was probably because of who he was: everyone wanted a piece of Michael Braun. This probably wasn't the first time he'd been held up.
"I'm sorry," he mouthed when she caught his eye. The movement didn't please his captor, who pushed the gun in his face. Something was said that she couldn't hear, but she could tell Michael didn't like it. He tried to pull away, throwing his elbow in the other man's face.
The gunman retaliated by striking him across the face with the gun. (Annalee flinched. If her Daddy had seen that, he would have given them all a lecture about gun safety and accidental misfires.) They grappled with each other, both falling to the floor. A gasp went up around the room, several people nearly standing as if to help, only to sit back down when guns were pointed in their directions.
Another of the thieves quickly joined them, getting hit in the face for his trouble as he pulled Michael to his feet. The first, who had originally restrained Michael, rubbed at his eye as he stood. Even though his back was to her, she could tell his mask had come off, watching as he adjusted it. She hadn't seen his face, but Michael had.
"Thank you for such a lovely evening, ladies and gentlemen," one of the masked men said. He held a bag in one hand, his gun in the other. But it was his smile that scared Annalee the most as he continued, "As well as your kind donations to our charity. Your lovely host will be accompanying us tonight, and I do believe that he'd prefer it if you didn't get any bright ideas. So please, for his sake. Don't."
She watched helplessly as they left, wishing there was something she could do, that there was something anyone could do. The gunman holding Michael was the last to leave, dragging Michael out the door with him. It made an ominous sound as it banged shut behind them. They were gone. Michael was gone.
Fidgeting in her chair, Annalee finally gave in and half stood, looking around the room. She was looking for someone, anyone, she recognized--someone who could take charge and knew what to do. Certainly there was a phone somewhere that they could use. Maybe someone still had their cell phone. Someone needed to call the police!
She had only met a few of Michael's people, a bodyguard, a driver, and his assistant, but she was finally able to find the assistant and caught his eye. Instead of taking initiative, he just shook his head. Well, fine. If he wasn't going to take charge, she would, she decided, trying to ignore that her hands were still shaking. Annalee started to stand, rolling her eyes when he frantically motioned for her to sit back down. If the robbers had already left the room, how could they know whether she was sitting or not? Besides, she wasn't the only one getting up.
Any further thoughts or plans she had, however, were interrupted by the sound of a gunshot. Jumping to her feet, Annalee ran out of the room, past the assistant and into the lobby. It was empty.
But outside, just beyond the doors, a body lay on the sidewalk surrounded by a pool of blood. It wore a horribly familiar costume.
"Oh my god, Michael!" His assistant rushed past her, kneeling near the body as if to administer first aid. Someone else ran past her as well, saying something about a doctor.
"He's dead," the second man said in shock as she made it out to the steps. His face was ashen as he looked up at the congregating crowd.
"D-dead?" Annalee asked, grabbing for the stair railing. Hands reached out and offered her support as she sat on the stairs. "He's dead?"
::
The last thing Stella wanted to be doing right now was processing a scene in a cocktail dress and heels, but the lab had been far too overextended even before this call, and she couldn't say no when Mac interrupted her evening with a cry for help. With everyone else already at other crime scenes, this one would have had to wait until someone else was freed up. Considering some of the faces she recognized as she pulled up, she had to agree with him. This crime scene couldn't wait.
Detective Jessica Angell looked up when she approached, seeming out of place in her no-nonsense khakis and jacket compared to the fancy-dress party goers. "Hey. How was the night out?"
"A lot more fun than this party was," Stella replied, ducking under the crime scene tape. A familiar-looking case sitting near Angell caught her eye. "Is that my kit?"
"Yeah, Mac sent it. I was helping out at the Conrad scene when this call came in. He said you guys keep extras in the truck for days like this - so you don't have to go and get yours."
"I probably would have sent a uniform for it," Stella admitted as she opened the metal case, checking to make certain it was fully stocked before pulling on gloves. "What happened here?"
"A masquerade ball for charity," Angell said, tipping her head toward the body before them. "I don't think things went the way Mr. Braun had planned."
"Braun?" Stella asked, voice tinged with disbelief as she examined the body. Looking closer, she was able to recognize him. "As in Michael Braun?"
"The one and only, who is caught up in three different lawsuits, is under a Treasury Department Investigation, rumored to being on the verge of bankruptcy, and was the host of a two-thousand-dollar-a-plate dinner benefiting a charity." Angell motioned to the costumed witnesses just inside the building's door as she spoke. She blushed when she caught Stella's surprised look. "I had a dentist appointment yesterday, and Page Six was the only thing that wasn't a hunting or parenting magazine to read."
"Uh-huh." Stella grinned, looking unconvinced. "Witnesses?"
"Just three hundred of them," Angell said, nodding at Stella's frustrated look. "Most are back in the ballroom. The uniforms speaking with them are all pretty much hearing the same thing: a group of masked men pulled weapons, took Braun hostage, demanded everyone's valuables, and left - taking Braun with them. A shot was heard from the ballroom, and when those who weren't scared to death came out, they found Mr. Braun here. A Dr. Humphries was attending the party; he said that Braun was already dead when he got to him."
"So we have a dead multimillionaire, a robbery by masked men in the middle of a masquerade ball, and a room full of witnesses. Great." If she had sleeves she'd have rolled them up. Instead, she settled for taking pictures of the crime scene and body. "Let's get started."
Angell nodded, giving the uniforms outside one last set of instructions before returning to the ballroom and the witnesses to the incident. She started with one woman in particular, a pink-costumed princess who had been introduced earlier as Braun's date. She was everything Angell had wanted to be as a little girl, in the days before discovering softball and mountain bikes: tall, with blond hair and blue eyes. With that costume, she looked like she'd stepped out of the pages of a fairytale.
The woman introduced herself as Annalee Crenshaw, originally from Missouri, when Angell approached. "But it's one word, not two," she quickly clarified, wringing her hands together. "And I'm from St. Louis, not from some farm. That's what everyone thinks when they hear I'm from the Midwest."
She paused, taking a drink from the coffee that had been brought out, gripping the cup tightly as her hands shook. "I- I'm an artist, illustrations for books mostly. There are more big publishing companies here than back home, more opportunities for work." Her eyes grew wide for a moment as a thought struck her, then she groaned. "If my dad finds out about this, he'll yank me back home so fast your head'll spin."
"Overprotective, much?" Angell asked with a commiserating look. She knew a few things about that.
"Try Lieutenant in the St. Louis Police Department." Annalee gave Angell a watery smile. "No offense. But yeah. He's just a bit overprotective and was against me moving out here in the first place. He kept pointing out how so much can be done electronically these days, so why did I have to move? Then again, he'd prefer it if I was still living back at home with him and Mom."
"Wouldn't they all?" Angell asked. "Mine's a Detective-Sergeant, so I understand." Seeing Annalee relax a bit, she turned the interview back to the robbery. "How did you and Mr. Braun meet?"
"A raffle run by one of the publishers I work with." Annalee looked up from her hands, but not at Angell, instead gazing over her shoulder at a spot on the wall. "Um, Michael was on the board of directors and suggested it. An all expenses paid 'date' to the party. He was-" She paused, taking a deep breath as she wiped away the tears welling up in her eyes. "God. It's so silly to be crying over someone I only met a few weeks ago, isn't it? But he was so nice to me. Nothing like the tabloids suggested. It wasn't just a photo op on his part - show up at a benefit with the lucky winner of a contest on his arm. When we met after the drawing, I just figured it'd be something quick - he'd tell me what to wear, when to meet, and what to say. Instead, he let me help plan things, for us and for the party - even with the decorating. He listed to me and my suggestions, he didn't brush me off. We even made plans to continue seeing each other after this."
"How about tonight? What did you see?"
"It was time for Michael to give his speech, talking about the charity and its purpose - buying bicycles so kids in underdeveloped countries can get to school without walking several miles each way." She paused, closing her eyes before continuing, "I was walking back to our seats so I could watch his speech when one of the servers grabbed Michael. He- the waiter - was holding a gun."
"One of the waiters? I was told the robbers were masked. You were able to recognize him?"
"The costume," Annalee explained. "All of the service staff wore the same costume to blend in with the party better. If they had worn regular uniforms, they would have stood out too much. This gave them a uniform look that people here could recognize quickly to get help, without standing out as the only people not wearing costumes."
"Did you see how many robbers there were?"
"Four or five, I think. No wait. Maybe more?" She rubbed the silky material of her dress as she thought. "At one point Michael tried to get away." She motioned to the stage where Braun had been accosted. "It took two to stop him. But there were still several out here." She motioned to the tables. "That's why no one else tried anything, I think. I know that one was right behind me when it happened. They just continued filling their bags of loot while it happened; they didn't care. I-I can't be certain how many there were. They had the same costume as the other servers, so it was hard to tell who was who."
Which was probably the point, Angell thought to herself, masking a frown as she wrote the details in her memo book. The same costumes suggested someone had known enough about the party to get in unnoticed. She made a note to see if the caterer was missing any wait staff. "And after the men pulled out their weapons?"
"They took everything. If it was valuable or looked valuable, they took it. And then they left, taking Michael with them. They said not to do anything stupid, like he was their insurance. They said that he'd be fine, or at least they suggested it. After they left, we waited and waited for Michael to come back. I was getting up, to see if there was a phone or if I could hear anything outside. I don't really know what I was going to do, I just needed to do something. That was when we heard the gunshot. I-I should have known better than to believe them, shouldn't I? I didn't think they'd actually kill him, though. He's Michael Braun."
"Did you see how they left? What kind of vehicle they had?"
Annalee shook her head. "They were gone by the time I got out there. I couldn't see what they did after leaving the ballroom. I just heard the shot and ran." She paused, giving Angell a sad look. "Probably not the smartest thing to do, but with Michael out there-" She trailed off, wiping her eyes.
"Thank you, Ms. Crenshaw. I'll have an officer help you home." Angell handed her one of her cards as she stood. "If you remember anything else, don't hesitate to contact me."
She nodded, accepting the card and following a uniformed officer out the door. Angell moved to the next name on her long list. A Mr. Dustin Lucas, Braun's assistant, was standing near one of the doors, ignoring the glass of water in his hand as he tried to convince an officer to open the bar, "because after a night like this we all need a drink".
"And you can have one. Once you get home," Angell said as pleasantly as possible, interrupting his tirade. "But first I need to ask a few questions about what you saw."
"Of course I could. But I want one now," he retorted, frowning at her. "And why must you ask me anything? I saw exactly the same thing as the other three hundred and fourteen people in this room."
"Which was?"
"Men came in. They had on masks like everyone else. They also had guns and demanded money and jewelry. They left, taking Michael with them. Then there's gunfire and we find Michael dead. End of story. Good enough for you, detective?"
She refused to rise to his bait, having dealt with difficult witnesses more times than she could count. "Do you remember how many armed men there were?"
"Eight," he said in a definite tone. He frowned at her surprised look. "What?"
"I'm impressed. No one else could give me an exact number."
"Two to take out Michael, three spread between those tables on that side of the aisle--" He motioned with his glass of water. "--two between those on this side and one walking up and down the aisle." He shrugged, wiping his brow. "I counted. And paid attention. Those are the kind of details Michael expects us to keep track of, and I knew he'd want to, or would have wanted to, know."
"Thank you. This information will be very helpful."
"Then I can go?"
"Mr. Lucas, I have more questions for you."
He sighed, crossing his arms and giving her an expectant look. "Well?"
"What can you tell me about Mr. Braun?"
"I doubt there's anything I can tell you that you haven't already read on the internet."
"You don't seem too interested in helping find the people who did this."
"I would like my Timex and Blackberry back, but insurance should cover them, and the watch held no sentimental value. The Blackberry is a bit more important, as it contains names, addresses, and phone numbers that aren't meant to be public, but it is encrypted, and I feel my password is sufficiently esoteric and difficult for them to crack easily."
"And your employer's death doesn't matter?"
"Why should I care? He was miserable to work for." He slicked his hair back as he spoke.
"Is that so?" Angell asked, raising an eyebrow.
He shook his head, backpedaling as he waved his hands in front of him. "Not that I had anything to do with it. But the man was horrible to work for. Maybe he's been more pleasant than usual lately, but that doesn't mean a thing--just that he decided to shape up his act thanks to those lawsuits, put on a good show for the gossip grubbing public. Once he got past them, he'd be back to his usual pain-in-the-ass self. Trust me, we've been through it before."
"Mm-hmmm."
"Look. Michael knew exactly how I felt about him, me and everyone else who works for him. That was his rule. He didn't care what we thought or said about him as long as we told him. No gossiping behind his back. I've seen guys get fired for that. So he was a shitty employer and a pain in the ass to work for, but he knew it. And while he never apologized, he compensated for it. I'm paid twice as much as most people doing my job, because I'm good at it and he didn't want to have to deal with finding someone else. Anywhere else I go to work, I'll be taking a pay cut. Why would I want to do that?"
Angell nodded, glancing at her memo book. "Tell me about the lawsuits."
"You don't think they were the motive, do you? I mean, really. The people who did this weren't even in the same league as those guys."
"Tell me," she said in a quiet tone that brooked no refusal, "about the lawsuits." Just because it didn't look at first blush like it was related didn't mean it wasn't related. Motives were motives.
He blanched, nodding, and proceeded to do just that, explaining that one involved a former partner, another was related to a business that Mr. Braun had taken over, and the third was related to a deal to buy out a company. His detailed explanations of the business transactions that had brought on the lawsuits were more than she could wrap her mind around, but she took detailed notes with a reminder to get copies of the lawsuits and have the forensic accounting techs go through them. If there was a possibility that the lawsuits had something to do with this, she'd find it. A uniformed officer approached, and after a few more questions, she let Lucas leave.
Angell's next interview was a young woman in an impressive-looking corset, who looked very relieved when she approached.
"Thank you," she said emphatically. "You have no idea how uncomfortable this is." She motioned to the costume as she spoke. "I have newfound respect for the women who had to wear these daily. But I can't go home and take it off until one of you asks me all these questions."
Angell nodded, glancing over at Stella, who had started collecting evidence in the ballroom, as she asked the woman her name and how she came to be there. This was going to be a long night; three hundred was not small number of people to interview.
::
There was a pair of coveralls at the bottom of the crime scene kit, much to Stella's relief. She pulled them on over her dress once she finished the photographs. Those weren't so bad to do in a short skirt, but she hadn't been looking forward to crawling around the body looking for trace while trying to not flash god and country.
The first thing she found was easily spotted, the long blond hair a stark contrast to the dark velvet costume he wore. Carefully bagging it, she continued her examination of the body. Finally, after working in a spiraling pattern out from the body that covered most of the sidewalk, she declared it a bust. There wasn't anything more to find. Nodding to Sid's assistant, she stood and collected her kit. She refused to get discouraged just because she hadn't found much there - from what she'd heard, most of the action took place in the ballroom.
At the ballroom doorway, a uniformed officer pointed out to her where the witnesses said Braun had been standing when everything started. He had been near the stage, in a small area cordoned off from the rest of the room. Stella started with more pictures, placing small numbered placards next to the few items of interest.
The small amount of soil, some still holding the shape of shoe treads, on the floor was swept into an evidence bag for further analysis after the pictures. If they were lucky, it would contain compounds specific to a certain area. If they weren't, it'd end up matching half the dirt in New York. The photograph of the shoe tread pattern would be compared to the tread patterns available on the market. There wasn't enough to estimate the size of the shoe, but just narrowing things down to a brand could help.
But the real find was about a foot away. Crouching down to take a picture, she waved one of the uniformed officers over.
"Detective?"
"Are any of Braun's people here?"
"Yes ma'am," he said, nodding and gesturing to a man Angell was talking with.
"Have her find out if Braun wore contact lenses."
She carefully bagged the contact in question, trying to remember what she knew of the victim. As Angell suggested, he was frequently highlighted on Page Six, his actions carefully tracked like those of most of the city's rich and famous. Stella couldn't remember there ever being any photographs of him wearing glasses, but that didn't necessarily mean that he hadn't needed corrective lenses. Possibly, he just never left the house without changing to contacts. If the contact wasn't his, however, it certainly opened some doors for them. Setting the bagged evidence aside, she continued to process the scene.
"Nope, no contacts," Angell said as she approached. "According to his assistant, Braun's vision was 25/20 - something he was very proud of and would brag about to any and all, especially to any of his employees who wore glasses."
"Of course he did," Stella muttered even as she felt a bit of relief at the news. Braun's murder was set to make headlines, and the extra media attention would mean extra scrutiny on the case. Having this kind of evidence would help when the Chief came calling for an update. "But that means the contact belonged to one of his attackers. I can work with that."
Angell shared her relieved look. "Good news for us. Better than what I've got."
"Nothing from the witnesses?"
"Oh, I got plenty, just not much that matches. There were four men, no there were six, or maybe five," she said, flicking her dark hair back as she read from her notes. "They wore the 'same uniforms as the servers'. But they also 'looked like they could be extras from The Tudors'. Oh, and my favorite," Angell glanced up, eyes dancing, as she continued, "'The short one had horrible teeth, but the tall one had a great package, if you know what I mean'."
Stella snorted in amusement. "Really. A great package? We'll have to keep on the lookout for that one."
"Oh, and there was one more interesting comment," Angell said, thinking back to the rather cynical older gentleman she had interviewed.
"Braun was behind this. There's no other explanation," he had said agitatedly, waving his hand at the entrance.
"Excuse me?" Angell asked in confusion, uncertain that she understood what he meant. "Braun was murdered here."
"Michael Braun is rich and powerful. He can do whatever he wants, however he wants. Including die."
"Hmm." Stella glanced back over at the crowd. "So, suicide instead of murder?"
"If his date hadn't told me so much about how they 'connected' and were making plans for this weekend, I might buy it." Angell shrugged, glancing at where Ms. Crenshaw had sat, and shook her head. "But who makes a date for Saturday only to kill himself on Friday?"
"The real question here is who benefits from his death," Stella said, nodding her head as she turned from watching the room to packing up the evidence. "And I don't see him benefiting in any way. Just the opposite."
"That's pretty much what I was thinking," Angell said. "And something tells me there are a lot more people in this room who would benefit than there are on their way to the morgue."
"Oh the joys of being rich and powerful. Half of the city is going to be rejoicing over his death."
"Including his assistant." Angell nodded at Stella's interested look. "He could be a possibility. He definitely wasn't happy with his job, but he gave a good argument for not killing Braun."
"Which was?"
"Money, what else?" Angell rolled her eyes. "The price he quoted as his salary--let's just say it was insanely higher than he'd make in the same position with anyone else. Trust me." She nodded to the crowd. "I asked what they paid. He's going to take a helluva pay cut with Braun gone."
"So, a reason to kill and a reason not to kill. Interesting."
"Yeah. I'm going to take a look at his finances; if he has a nest egg, his excuse doesn't hold much water."
"Sounds like a good place to start to me."
"In the morning. Need a ride back to the lab?"
"Thanks. I want to drop this off for the night shift to work on. They should have something for us when we get in tomorrow."
::
Jessica Angell got to the lab at just after eight, bag of bagels and two cups of coffee in hand. Stella looked up when she knocked on her office door.
"Breakfast?"
"Would be wonderful," Stella said as she relieved her of one of the cups of coffee and a bagel. "You're a mind reader."
"It's supposed to be my day off, so I figured it should at least start well." Angell took a drink of her coffee before continuing, "Night shift find anything for us?"
"Oh, yes they did." Stella grinned at Angell as she handed over a folder of photos.
On top were what looked like stills from a surveillance camera. From the view, it appeared to be outside of the building where the party had taken place. Angell flipped through the series of pictures: an SUV pulling up, a group of men in costumes coming out of the building, and one of the men collapsed on the ground as the SUV pulled away. "So we're looking for a dark SUV, either navy or black."
"With a license plate that ends with 75," Stella said as Angell flipped to the next picture, a still taken from a traffic camera that had a better view of the license plate. Most of the plate was obscured with something, but they could just make out the last two numbers. "I put out a BOLO. With luck something will come up."
Angell nodded. "I can't see them hanging onto it. They'd have to know that we'd be looking for it. Unless they have some place to hide it and hide it well."
"They'd have to take it out of the city for that," Stella said, taking a bite of her bagel.
"Which would include a whole host of other problems for them," Angell added. "If the press picks up the BOLO, no place is going to be far enough away to hide, even if they change the plates."
"Good point," Stella said, finishing her bagel. "The traffic camera footage didn't give us much else--the shot of the driver was pretty useless. White, short blond or light-colored hair, and glasses. Fits the descriptions given by the witnesses at the party. He could have been inside as well and left in the confusion to get the car. Or he may have never been inside at all, instead waiting down the street for his cue."
"I'll run what we have of the plates," Angell said, crumbling up her napkin and tossing it in the wastebasket. "We can narrow it down to a list of possibilities for the vehicle."
"I'll get started on the contact lens. I'm guessing the hair I found belongs to his date, since it's long and blond, so that can wait. But if the lens wasn't Braun's, it likely came from the thief he elbowed trying to get away. It's very likely that Jane can isolate the owner's DNA."
"Good." Angell stood, tipping her head to the side. "We've got some good places to start. I'll have Whitford let the Chief know."
"He's already breathing down your neck?" Stella asked, raising an eyebrow.
"He's already breathing down Whitford's neck. She's trying to keep him off my back. It's a bit difficult to do my job if I'm constantly in his office telling him what we've found."
Stella rolled her eyes, remembering all the times Mac had gone up against Sinclair. "That's the truth. Good luck with him."
"Don't worry, I've got Whitford in my corner. I'll get-" Angell broke off as both of their cell phones rang in unison. "Maybe I won't. Angell," she answered, stepping into the hallway as Stella answered her phone. She nodded a few times and made some notes before hanging up, when she turned to find Stella on her way out the door. "They found the SUV: black with a license plate DRL 2275. Wilson ran the full number for registration. It was reported as stolen last week."
"Let me grab my kit and get Kendall started on the contact lens," Stella replied, quirking her eyebrows at Angell. Things didn't look so bleak after all.
The SUV was abandoned in an alley with two blue-and-whites parked at the entrance, their lights blazing. It would have been sitting there with its doors open, if it had doors. From where they were parked, it looked like it didn't have much of anything besides a body and the license plate. Angell was pretty surprised it even had that. "Must have heard the report and known it was hot," she said as she tipped her chin at the plate. "Otherwise it would have been taken, too."
"Let's just hope our enterprising friends left us something," Stella said as she poked her head inside.
Walking around to the other side, Angell took a look into the vehicle as well. They'd also left the seats, it looked like, giving Stella more to work from. The hood was up, and a quick glance revealed that the most valuable parts were gone, as were the wheels. There wasn't much else left.
"Found something," Stella said from inside the SUV. She stood, holding something light-colored in her gloved hand. "It's a tissue. Looks like it was used, and that may be blood."
"More DNA?"
"Yeah. The question is who it belongs to. The thieves?" She shrugged, motioning to the stripped down vehicle. "Or the other thieves?"
"My money is on the murderous thieves. Most car-stripping gangs don't get bloody noses, and they're careful enough to avoid leaving something like that behind. But taking an elbow to your nose-" Angell left off there. She looked around the alley. "They had to know what would happen if they left it here. Our guys were planning on the SUV getting stripped down. They likely weren't expecting for anything to be left for us to find, especially not this quickly."
"Meaning they probably didn't think leaving behind a tissue could be a problem. Between the other thieves crawling around in the car and the removal of potential evidence, they had a good idea. Who knows how much of what they touched is gone?" Stella said as she sealed the evidence bag. "I'll have it towed back to the lab, but I don't think we're going to find much more than this without taking it apart. And even if we do get DNA, it's only good for us now if there's a match in CODIS."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed," Angell said, grabbing the bag as Stella climbed out of the vehicle.
A tow truck pulled up as they headed to the mouth of the alley. Stella waved it forward, stepping up to the driver's side window to give instructions. She rejoined Angell as it pulled up to the SUV, techs getting out to start the loading process.
"I'm going to head back in with the vehicle," she said, grabbing the crime scene kit and evidence. "I want to get them started on finishing what our parts ring started."
Angell nodded, glancing at her phone. "I'm going to track down the original owners of the SUV and see what they have to say about the theft. Sid'll have the autopsy report soon enough; I'll see you back at the lab then."
::
"Stella!"
She stopped when she heard her name, turning to find Mac following her down the hallway. "Hi, Mac," she said, waiting for him to catch up with her. "How's the Conrad case?"
"We have a suspect, we just need to connect him with Conrad's murder. How are things coming with the Braun murder?" he asked as he joined her.
Stella mentally grimaced; they weren't doing nearly as well. "We have the getaway car, some soil, a contact that doesn't belong to Braun, and a used tissue. Oh, and three hundred witnesses who don't agree on what they saw." She shook her head, glad she wasn't the one who had to interview them. "I have Kendall on the contact--with the potential DNA it was a higher priority. She's sent a swab to Jane and is working on the contact itself now. I'm on my way to DNA with the tissue." She held up the evidence bag she'd brought from the garage.
Mac nodded, her frustration briefly mirrored on his face. "Okay, keep Kendall for this. I won't put her on anything else. Do you need more help?"
She hesitated. Even if they were closing in on the Conrad killer, the lab was still stretched thin. But this case was big enough, and at the rate they were going, they could use all the help they could get. "If I could get someone on the SUV..." She stopped, interrupted by her phone and glanced at the caller ID. Sid had something for them.
"I'll send Lindsay to start on it," he said, nodding at her phone. "Getting the autopsy report will help."
"But not by much," she said darkly. "We already know how he died, Mac. That's the one thing we do know."
::
Angell was just at the doors to the morgue when Stella got off the elevator, pausing to wait for her to catch up.
"Stella, Detective Angell," Sid said when they entered the room.
Stella frowned as he waved them over to one of the tables. Sid had that look on his face, like he'd been given a puzzle. It didn't match what they knew about the murder: they had 300 witnesses and a surveillance camera telling them what happened.
"Ladies," he said as he folded back the sheet covering the body, "I'd like you to meet someone who is not Michael Braun."
"Not Michael Braun?" Angell asked incredulously from where she stood next to Stella. "From what I can tell, that looks just like him."
"That would be the wonders of plastic surgery for you," Sid said, brushing back the victim's hair to show them a tiny scar along the hairline. "While there was probably a considerable resemblance between them beforehand, I can say with some certainty that this isn't Mr. Braun here now. I've found evidence of rather extensive plastic surgery, altering most of his face to make it identical to Mr. Braun's."
"A body double," Stella mused as she looked down at the victim. "It's been done before. If you're rich enough and have had enough threats, you hire someone to go to events and do things in your place. It isn't that surprising that Braun would have a double, once you think about it. He had his share of enemies."
"Yeah, but why didn't he come forward to let us know it wasn't him?" Angell asked them, frowning at the body. "I don't suppose we have any way of knowing who he is?"
"Not yet, but I can try to reconstruct his original face like I did with Katie Mann, that victim of Suspect X."
"Do it," Stella answered immediately. "The sooner we know who he really is, the sooner we can get some more answers."
"And alert his family, if he has any," Angell added.
"There's something else," Sid said. "He had cancer. John Doe, that is. Stage IV osteosarcoma with metastases in his lungs and probably only a few months to live. It's spread enough that the success rate of treatment would be low. He was likely on steroids to diminish the pain and maintain the quality of what remained of his life."
Stella looked down at the body again, her brow furrowed in frustration. "Who hires a body double with only a few months to live?"
"Depending on how long he's been doing this, he may not have been ill when he was hired. And osteosarcoma can be difficult to diagnose," Sid reminded her. "I'd bet he had great insurance."
"And a private doctor," Angell added. "Otherwise his illness and treatment would have been all over the gossip columns, only with Braun identified as the person who was ill. You know, body doubling is supposed to have some really great perks - living large like the real thing, going to parties, having the best of everything. It's a real treat."
"If you're willing to give up your identity and possibly your life," Stella said quietly. "Think about it. This guy couldn't ever be himself. Either he was Braun or he was hidden away. That's not a way I'd want to live, even if it came with great insurance."
Angell nodded. "I wouldn't do it, but for some people it's a small price to pay for living well."
"So it becomes a question of who would do this for a living. And where is the real Michael Braun?"
"And why didn't he come forward with the truth?" Angell asked again. "That's what's bugging me. He should know we would figure out that this isn't him. He should have been here to tell us who this guy really is."
"Yeah, but for now," Stella said, considering the situation and what they knew, "I want us to play this like it really is Braun." She looked over at Angell as she explained, "These guys didn't have to kill him. He cooperated, the guests cooperated, they got to their getaway car and could have easily gotten out of there before Braun could call the police. He was the target. The theft was the just another disguise - this time to the motive. If they think the real Braun is dead, we have a better chance of finding him before they do. That could be the difference between life and death for him."
"I'll see what I can do with our John Doe," Sid said as he replaced the sheet.
"Thanks, Sid," Stella said as they turned to the door. She continued, to Angell, once they reached the hallway, "I'm going back up to the lab to see what we can get from DNA."
"I want to have another chat with Lucas again and track down Braun's head of security," Angell said. "Of all people, he should have known about the double."
Next
Author: Zelda Ophelia (zeldaophelia
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mild cursing, mention of violence
Prompt: 120.) The truth is too simple: one must always get there by a complicated route. -- George Sand (1804-1876), French novelist, playwright, critic, political writer and feminist.
Summary: A costume ball isn't supposed to end with murder.
Author's Notes: Long enough I had to break it into two to post. Huge thank you to eternal_sadist for betaing. <3
Annalee Crenshaw was almost tempted to pinch herself as she took a glass of champagne offered by a passing waiter. She still couldn't believe her luck. She had been living in New York City only three months, and already she of all people was at what was supposed to be the biggest charity event of the season, a masquerade ball hosted by Michael Braun. She was amazed she'd won the drawing with the one ticket she'd bought, especially considering Renee had purchased at least ten of them.
She had been even more surprised to find out that it hadn't just been for a ticket to the party, but to go as Michael Braun's date. He had been so nice to her so far, nothing like what she expected from everything she read about him. Michael - he had told her to call him Michael - had insisted on meeting with her several times before the party. They'd planned their costumes and he had even listened to her suggestions for the decorations - both instances where being an artist had come in handy for her.
Michael - she grinned to herself at that, still a little amazed - glanced over at her from where he was talking with the Master of Ceremonies for the night. It sounded like the orchestra was winding down, meaning it was almost time for his speech. She couldn't help blushing when he smiled at her, ducking her head shyly as she smiled back. She hoped he'd meant it when he had said they should go out for dinner tomorrow--just them, with no party to plan for and no one else to bother them.
Annalee was just glancing back up at him when one of the passing waiters grabbed Michael, brandishing a gun at them. She shrieked, the screams of other attendees joining hers.
"Nobody move!" someone to her left yelled as he and several other servers pulled out guns, too. They began to filter amongst the guests, herding people towards tables to sit as he continued, "Or else our generous host dies."
Several people around her gasped. Annalee grabbed a nearby chair, her legs shaking as she sat heavily. This wasn't how her night was supposed to go. It was a party, a costume party. She was supposed to dress up like a princess, act like and get treated like one. She was supposed to get a chance to experience this kind of life, with champagne, diamonds, and chauffeurs, not that of a newcomer who still got lost in the city.
Being dressed like a princess didn't mean she had as little sense as some of those tabloid fodder celebutants. Slipping her clutch under the table, she pulled out her new, tiny cell phone. Never had she been gladder it was so small, fitting it into the palm of her hand as she tried to dial 9-1-1. She took a deep breath as her hands shook and missed the unfamiliar keys. She needed to calm down and concentrate.
"Everyone should know the drill," one of the masked gunmen said. "Jewelry, money, everything - on the tables in front of you."
Annalee nodded automatically, setting her handbag on the table as she finally got the numbers right. She was just about to hit connect on her phone when a hand on her shoulder interrupted her.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Miss Crenshaw," a low voice murmured into her ear. Annalee gasped, turning to see one of the gunmen behind her. He held out his free hand, gun trained on her. "I'll take that. And the jewelry and tiara."
Her hands shook as she complied with his demands, taking off the dangly diamond earrings and matching necklace. He didn't bother to wait for her to remove the tiara, pulling it off so roughly that strands of hair were caught in the combs. At tables around them, other guests removed their valuables, the growing piles swept into bags the thieves carried.
Scared, Annalee looked away from the robber and back at the stage. Michael still stood there, the first of the thieves still holding a gun to his head. He looked scared, but almost resigned in a way. It was probably because of who he was: everyone wanted a piece of Michael Braun. This probably wasn't the first time he'd been held up.
"I'm sorry," he mouthed when she caught his eye. The movement didn't please his captor, who pushed the gun in his face. Something was said that she couldn't hear, but she could tell Michael didn't like it. He tried to pull away, throwing his elbow in the other man's face.
The gunman retaliated by striking him across the face with the gun. (Annalee flinched. If her Daddy had seen that, he would have given them all a lecture about gun safety and accidental misfires.) They grappled with each other, both falling to the floor. A gasp went up around the room, several people nearly standing as if to help, only to sit back down when guns were pointed in their directions.
Another of the thieves quickly joined them, getting hit in the face for his trouble as he pulled Michael to his feet. The first, who had originally restrained Michael, rubbed at his eye as he stood. Even though his back was to her, she could tell his mask had come off, watching as he adjusted it. She hadn't seen his face, but Michael had.
"Thank you for such a lovely evening, ladies and gentlemen," one of the masked men said. He held a bag in one hand, his gun in the other. But it was his smile that scared Annalee the most as he continued, "As well as your kind donations to our charity. Your lovely host will be accompanying us tonight, and I do believe that he'd prefer it if you didn't get any bright ideas. So please, for his sake. Don't."
She watched helplessly as they left, wishing there was something she could do, that there was something anyone could do. The gunman holding Michael was the last to leave, dragging Michael out the door with him. It made an ominous sound as it banged shut behind them. They were gone. Michael was gone.
Fidgeting in her chair, Annalee finally gave in and half stood, looking around the room. She was looking for someone, anyone, she recognized--someone who could take charge and knew what to do. Certainly there was a phone somewhere that they could use. Maybe someone still had their cell phone. Someone needed to call the police!
She had only met a few of Michael's people, a bodyguard, a driver, and his assistant, but she was finally able to find the assistant and caught his eye. Instead of taking initiative, he just shook his head. Well, fine. If he wasn't going to take charge, she would, she decided, trying to ignore that her hands were still shaking. Annalee started to stand, rolling her eyes when he frantically motioned for her to sit back down. If the robbers had already left the room, how could they know whether she was sitting or not? Besides, she wasn't the only one getting up.
Any further thoughts or plans she had, however, were interrupted by the sound of a gunshot. Jumping to her feet, Annalee ran out of the room, past the assistant and into the lobby. It was empty.
But outside, just beyond the doors, a body lay on the sidewalk surrounded by a pool of blood. It wore a horribly familiar costume.
"Oh my god, Michael!" His assistant rushed past her, kneeling near the body as if to administer first aid. Someone else ran past her as well, saying something about a doctor.
"He's dead," the second man said in shock as she made it out to the steps. His face was ashen as he looked up at the congregating crowd.
"D-dead?" Annalee asked, grabbing for the stair railing. Hands reached out and offered her support as she sat on the stairs. "He's dead?"
::
The last thing Stella wanted to be doing right now was processing a scene in a cocktail dress and heels, but the lab had been far too overextended even before this call, and she couldn't say no when Mac interrupted her evening with a cry for help. With everyone else already at other crime scenes, this one would have had to wait until someone else was freed up. Considering some of the faces she recognized as she pulled up, she had to agree with him. This crime scene couldn't wait.
Detective Jessica Angell looked up when she approached, seeming out of place in her no-nonsense khakis and jacket compared to the fancy-dress party goers. "Hey. How was the night out?"
"A lot more fun than this party was," Stella replied, ducking under the crime scene tape. A familiar-looking case sitting near Angell caught her eye. "Is that my kit?"
"Yeah, Mac sent it. I was helping out at the Conrad scene when this call came in. He said you guys keep extras in the truck for days like this - so you don't have to go and get yours."
"I probably would have sent a uniform for it," Stella admitted as she opened the metal case, checking to make certain it was fully stocked before pulling on gloves. "What happened here?"
"A masquerade ball for charity," Angell said, tipping her head toward the body before them. "I don't think things went the way Mr. Braun had planned."
"Braun?" Stella asked, voice tinged with disbelief as she examined the body. Looking closer, she was able to recognize him. "As in Michael Braun?"
"The one and only, who is caught up in three different lawsuits, is under a Treasury Department Investigation, rumored to being on the verge of bankruptcy, and was the host of a two-thousand-dollar-a-plate dinner benefiting a charity." Angell motioned to the costumed witnesses just inside the building's door as she spoke. She blushed when she caught Stella's surprised look. "I had a dentist appointment yesterday, and Page Six was the only thing that wasn't a hunting or parenting magazine to read."
"Uh-huh." Stella grinned, looking unconvinced. "Witnesses?"
"Just three hundred of them," Angell said, nodding at Stella's frustrated look. "Most are back in the ballroom. The uniforms speaking with them are all pretty much hearing the same thing: a group of masked men pulled weapons, took Braun hostage, demanded everyone's valuables, and left - taking Braun with them. A shot was heard from the ballroom, and when those who weren't scared to death came out, they found Mr. Braun here. A Dr. Humphries was attending the party; he said that Braun was already dead when he got to him."
"So we have a dead multimillionaire, a robbery by masked men in the middle of a masquerade ball, and a room full of witnesses. Great." If she had sleeves she'd have rolled them up. Instead, she settled for taking pictures of the crime scene and body. "Let's get started."
Angell nodded, giving the uniforms outside one last set of instructions before returning to the ballroom and the witnesses to the incident. She started with one woman in particular, a pink-costumed princess who had been introduced earlier as Braun's date. She was everything Angell had wanted to be as a little girl, in the days before discovering softball and mountain bikes: tall, with blond hair and blue eyes. With that costume, she looked like she'd stepped out of the pages of a fairytale.
The woman introduced herself as Annalee Crenshaw, originally from Missouri, when Angell approached. "But it's one word, not two," she quickly clarified, wringing her hands together. "And I'm from St. Louis, not from some farm. That's what everyone thinks when they hear I'm from the Midwest."
She paused, taking a drink from the coffee that had been brought out, gripping the cup tightly as her hands shook. "I- I'm an artist, illustrations for books mostly. There are more big publishing companies here than back home, more opportunities for work." Her eyes grew wide for a moment as a thought struck her, then she groaned. "If my dad finds out about this, he'll yank me back home so fast your head'll spin."
"Overprotective, much?" Angell asked with a commiserating look. She knew a few things about that.
"Try Lieutenant in the St. Louis Police Department." Annalee gave Angell a watery smile. "No offense. But yeah. He's just a bit overprotective and was against me moving out here in the first place. He kept pointing out how so much can be done electronically these days, so why did I have to move? Then again, he'd prefer it if I was still living back at home with him and Mom."
"Wouldn't they all?" Angell asked. "Mine's a Detective-Sergeant, so I understand." Seeing Annalee relax a bit, she turned the interview back to the robbery. "How did you and Mr. Braun meet?"
"A raffle run by one of the publishers I work with." Annalee looked up from her hands, but not at Angell, instead gazing over her shoulder at a spot on the wall. "Um, Michael was on the board of directors and suggested it. An all expenses paid 'date' to the party. He was-" She paused, taking a deep breath as she wiped away the tears welling up in her eyes. "God. It's so silly to be crying over someone I only met a few weeks ago, isn't it? But he was so nice to me. Nothing like the tabloids suggested. It wasn't just a photo op on his part - show up at a benefit with the lucky winner of a contest on his arm. When we met after the drawing, I just figured it'd be something quick - he'd tell me what to wear, when to meet, and what to say. Instead, he let me help plan things, for us and for the party - even with the decorating. He listed to me and my suggestions, he didn't brush me off. We even made plans to continue seeing each other after this."
"How about tonight? What did you see?"
"It was time for Michael to give his speech, talking about the charity and its purpose - buying bicycles so kids in underdeveloped countries can get to school without walking several miles each way." She paused, closing her eyes before continuing, "I was walking back to our seats so I could watch his speech when one of the servers grabbed Michael. He- the waiter - was holding a gun."
"One of the waiters? I was told the robbers were masked. You were able to recognize him?"
"The costume," Annalee explained. "All of the service staff wore the same costume to blend in with the party better. If they had worn regular uniforms, they would have stood out too much. This gave them a uniform look that people here could recognize quickly to get help, without standing out as the only people not wearing costumes."
"Did you see how many robbers there were?"
"Four or five, I think. No wait. Maybe more?" She rubbed the silky material of her dress as she thought. "At one point Michael tried to get away." She motioned to the stage where Braun had been accosted. "It took two to stop him. But there were still several out here." She motioned to the tables. "That's why no one else tried anything, I think. I know that one was right behind me when it happened. They just continued filling their bags of loot while it happened; they didn't care. I-I can't be certain how many there were. They had the same costume as the other servers, so it was hard to tell who was who."
Which was probably the point, Angell thought to herself, masking a frown as she wrote the details in her memo book. The same costumes suggested someone had known enough about the party to get in unnoticed. She made a note to see if the caterer was missing any wait staff. "And after the men pulled out their weapons?"
"They took everything. If it was valuable or looked valuable, they took it. And then they left, taking Michael with them. They said not to do anything stupid, like he was their insurance. They said that he'd be fine, or at least they suggested it. After they left, we waited and waited for Michael to come back. I was getting up, to see if there was a phone or if I could hear anything outside. I don't really know what I was going to do, I just needed to do something. That was when we heard the gunshot. I-I should have known better than to believe them, shouldn't I? I didn't think they'd actually kill him, though. He's Michael Braun."
"Did you see how they left? What kind of vehicle they had?"
Annalee shook her head. "They were gone by the time I got out there. I couldn't see what they did after leaving the ballroom. I just heard the shot and ran." She paused, giving Angell a sad look. "Probably not the smartest thing to do, but with Michael out there-" She trailed off, wiping her eyes.
"Thank you, Ms. Crenshaw. I'll have an officer help you home." Angell handed her one of her cards as she stood. "If you remember anything else, don't hesitate to contact me."
She nodded, accepting the card and following a uniformed officer out the door. Angell moved to the next name on her long list. A Mr. Dustin Lucas, Braun's assistant, was standing near one of the doors, ignoring the glass of water in his hand as he tried to convince an officer to open the bar, "because after a night like this we all need a drink".
"And you can have one. Once you get home," Angell said as pleasantly as possible, interrupting his tirade. "But first I need to ask a few questions about what you saw."
"Of course I could. But I want one now," he retorted, frowning at her. "And why must you ask me anything? I saw exactly the same thing as the other three hundred and fourteen people in this room."
"Which was?"
"Men came in. They had on masks like everyone else. They also had guns and demanded money and jewelry. They left, taking Michael with them. Then there's gunfire and we find Michael dead. End of story. Good enough for you, detective?"
She refused to rise to his bait, having dealt with difficult witnesses more times than she could count. "Do you remember how many armed men there were?"
"Eight," he said in a definite tone. He frowned at her surprised look. "What?"
"I'm impressed. No one else could give me an exact number."
"Two to take out Michael, three spread between those tables on that side of the aisle--" He motioned with his glass of water. "--two between those on this side and one walking up and down the aisle." He shrugged, wiping his brow. "I counted. And paid attention. Those are the kind of details Michael expects us to keep track of, and I knew he'd want to, or would have wanted to, know."
"Thank you. This information will be very helpful."
"Then I can go?"
"Mr. Lucas, I have more questions for you."
He sighed, crossing his arms and giving her an expectant look. "Well?"
"What can you tell me about Mr. Braun?"
"I doubt there's anything I can tell you that you haven't already read on the internet."
"You don't seem too interested in helping find the people who did this."
"I would like my Timex and Blackberry back, but insurance should cover them, and the watch held no sentimental value. The Blackberry is a bit more important, as it contains names, addresses, and phone numbers that aren't meant to be public, but it is encrypted, and I feel my password is sufficiently esoteric and difficult for them to crack easily."
"And your employer's death doesn't matter?"
"Why should I care? He was miserable to work for." He slicked his hair back as he spoke.
"Is that so?" Angell asked, raising an eyebrow.
He shook his head, backpedaling as he waved his hands in front of him. "Not that I had anything to do with it. But the man was horrible to work for. Maybe he's been more pleasant than usual lately, but that doesn't mean a thing--just that he decided to shape up his act thanks to those lawsuits, put on a good show for the gossip grubbing public. Once he got past them, he'd be back to his usual pain-in-the-ass self. Trust me, we've been through it before."
"Mm-hmmm."
"Look. Michael knew exactly how I felt about him, me and everyone else who works for him. That was his rule. He didn't care what we thought or said about him as long as we told him. No gossiping behind his back. I've seen guys get fired for that. So he was a shitty employer and a pain in the ass to work for, but he knew it. And while he never apologized, he compensated for it. I'm paid twice as much as most people doing my job, because I'm good at it and he didn't want to have to deal with finding someone else. Anywhere else I go to work, I'll be taking a pay cut. Why would I want to do that?"
Angell nodded, glancing at her memo book. "Tell me about the lawsuits."
"You don't think they were the motive, do you? I mean, really. The people who did this weren't even in the same league as those guys."
"Tell me," she said in a quiet tone that brooked no refusal, "about the lawsuits." Just because it didn't look at first blush like it was related didn't mean it wasn't related. Motives were motives.
He blanched, nodding, and proceeded to do just that, explaining that one involved a former partner, another was related to a business that Mr. Braun had taken over, and the third was related to a deal to buy out a company. His detailed explanations of the business transactions that had brought on the lawsuits were more than she could wrap her mind around, but she took detailed notes with a reminder to get copies of the lawsuits and have the forensic accounting techs go through them. If there was a possibility that the lawsuits had something to do with this, she'd find it. A uniformed officer approached, and after a few more questions, she let Lucas leave.
Angell's next interview was a young woman in an impressive-looking corset, who looked very relieved when she approached.
"Thank you," she said emphatically. "You have no idea how uncomfortable this is." She motioned to the costume as she spoke. "I have newfound respect for the women who had to wear these daily. But I can't go home and take it off until one of you asks me all these questions."
Angell nodded, glancing over at Stella, who had started collecting evidence in the ballroom, as she asked the woman her name and how she came to be there. This was going to be a long night; three hundred was not small number of people to interview.
::
There was a pair of coveralls at the bottom of the crime scene kit, much to Stella's relief. She pulled them on over her dress once she finished the photographs. Those weren't so bad to do in a short skirt, but she hadn't been looking forward to crawling around the body looking for trace while trying to not flash god and country.
The first thing she found was easily spotted, the long blond hair a stark contrast to the dark velvet costume he wore. Carefully bagging it, she continued her examination of the body. Finally, after working in a spiraling pattern out from the body that covered most of the sidewalk, she declared it a bust. There wasn't anything more to find. Nodding to Sid's assistant, she stood and collected her kit. She refused to get discouraged just because she hadn't found much there - from what she'd heard, most of the action took place in the ballroom.
At the ballroom doorway, a uniformed officer pointed out to her where the witnesses said Braun had been standing when everything started. He had been near the stage, in a small area cordoned off from the rest of the room. Stella started with more pictures, placing small numbered placards next to the few items of interest.
The small amount of soil, some still holding the shape of shoe treads, on the floor was swept into an evidence bag for further analysis after the pictures. If they were lucky, it would contain compounds specific to a certain area. If they weren't, it'd end up matching half the dirt in New York. The photograph of the shoe tread pattern would be compared to the tread patterns available on the market. There wasn't enough to estimate the size of the shoe, but just narrowing things down to a brand could help.
But the real find was about a foot away. Crouching down to take a picture, she waved one of the uniformed officers over.
"Detective?"
"Are any of Braun's people here?"
"Yes ma'am," he said, nodding and gesturing to a man Angell was talking with.
"Have her find out if Braun wore contact lenses."
She carefully bagged the contact in question, trying to remember what she knew of the victim. As Angell suggested, he was frequently highlighted on Page Six, his actions carefully tracked like those of most of the city's rich and famous. Stella couldn't remember there ever being any photographs of him wearing glasses, but that didn't necessarily mean that he hadn't needed corrective lenses. Possibly, he just never left the house without changing to contacts. If the contact wasn't his, however, it certainly opened some doors for them. Setting the bagged evidence aside, she continued to process the scene.
"Nope, no contacts," Angell said as she approached. "According to his assistant, Braun's vision was 25/20 - something he was very proud of and would brag about to any and all, especially to any of his employees who wore glasses."
"Of course he did," Stella muttered even as she felt a bit of relief at the news. Braun's murder was set to make headlines, and the extra media attention would mean extra scrutiny on the case. Having this kind of evidence would help when the Chief came calling for an update. "But that means the contact belonged to one of his attackers. I can work with that."
Angell shared her relieved look. "Good news for us. Better than what I've got."
"Nothing from the witnesses?"
"Oh, I got plenty, just not much that matches. There were four men, no there were six, or maybe five," she said, flicking her dark hair back as she read from her notes. "They wore the 'same uniforms as the servers'. But they also 'looked like they could be extras from The Tudors'. Oh, and my favorite," Angell glanced up, eyes dancing, as she continued, "'The short one had horrible teeth, but the tall one had a great package, if you know what I mean'."
Stella snorted in amusement. "Really. A great package? We'll have to keep on the lookout for that one."
"Oh, and there was one more interesting comment," Angell said, thinking back to the rather cynical older gentleman she had interviewed.
"Braun was behind this. There's no other explanation," he had said agitatedly, waving his hand at the entrance.
"Excuse me?" Angell asked in confusion, uncertain that she understood what he meant. "Braun was murdered here."
"Michael Braun is rich and powerful. He can do whatever he wants, however he wants. Including die."
"Hmm." Stella glanced back over at the crowd. "So, suicide instead of murder?"
"If his date hadn't told me so much about how they 'connected' and were making plans for this weekend, I might buy it." Angell shrugged, glancing at where Ms. Crenshaw had sat, and shook her head. "But who makes a date for Saturday only to kill himself on Friday?"
"The real question here is who benefits from his death," Stella said, nodding her head as she turned from watching the room to packing up the evidence. "And I don't see him benefiting in any way. Just the opposite."
"That's pretty much what I was thinking," Angell said. "And something tells me there are a lot more people in this room who would benefit than there are on their way to the morgue."
"Oh the joys of being rich and powerful. Half of the city is going to be rejoicing over his death."
"Including his assistant." Angell nodded at Stella's interested look. "He could be a possibility. He definitely wasn't happy with his job, but he gave a good argument for not killing Braun."
"Which was?"
"Money, what else?" Angell rolled her eyes. "The price he quoted as his salary--let's just say it was insanely higher than he'd make in the same position with anyone else. Trust me." She nodded to the crowd. "I asked what they paid. He's going to take a helluva pay cut with Braun gone."
"So, a reason to kill and a reason not to kill. Interesting."
"Yeah. I'm going to take a look at his finances; if he has a nest egg, his excuse doesn't hold much water."
"Sounds like a good place to start to me."
"In the morning. Need a ride back to the lab?"
"Thanks. I want to drop this off for the night shift to work on. They should have something for us when we get in tomorrow."
::
Jessica Angell got to the lab at just after eight, bag of bagels and two cups of coffee in hand. Stella looked up when she knocked on her office door.
"Breakfast?"
"Would be wonderful," Stella said as she relieved her of one of the cups of coffee and a bagel. "You're a mind reader."
"It's supposed to be my day off, so I figured it should at least start well." Angell took a drink of her coffee before continuing, "Night shift find anything for us?"
"Oh, yes they did." Stella grinned at Angell as she handed over a folder of photos.
On top were what looked like stills from a surveillance camera. From the view, it appeared to be outside of the building where the party had taken place. Angell flipped through the series of pictures: an SUV pulling up, a group of men in costumes coming out of the building, and one of the men collapsed on the ground as the SUV pulled away. "So we're looking for a dark SUV, either navy or black."
"With a license plate that ends with 75," Stella said as Angell flipped to the next picture, a still taken from a traffic camera that had a better view of the license plate. Most of the plate was obscured with something, but they could just make out the last two numbers. "I put out a BOLO. With luck something will come up."
Angell nodded. "I can't see them hanging onto it. They'd have to know that we'd be looking for it. Unless they have some place to hide it and hide it well."
"They'd have to take it out of the city for that," Stella said, taking a bite of her bagel.
"Which would include a whole host of other problems for them," Angell added. "If the press picks up the BOLO, no place is going to be far enough away to hide, even if they change the plates."
"Good point," Stella said, finishing her bagel. "The traffic camera footage didn't give us much else--the shot of the driver was pretty useless. White, short blond or light-colored hair, and glasses. Fits the descriptions given by the witnesses at the party. He could have been inside as well and left in the confusion to get the car. Or he may have never been inside at all, instead waiting down the street for his cue."
"I'll run what we have of the plates," Angell said, crumbling up her napkin and tossing it in the wastebasket. "We can narrow it down to a list of possibilities for the vehicle."
"I'll get started on the contact lens. I'm guessing the hair I found belongs to his date, since it's long and blond, so that can wait. But if the lens wasn't Braun's, it likely came from the thief he elbowed trying to get away. It's very likely that Jane can isolate the owner's DNA."
"Good." Angell stood, tipping her head to the side. "We've got some good places to start. I'll have Whitford let the Chief know."
"He's already breathing down your neck?" Stella asked, raising an eyebrow.
"He's already breathing down Whitford's neck. She's trying to keep him off my back. It's a bit difficult to do my job if I'm constantly in his office telling him what we've found."
Stella rolled her eyes, remembering all the times Mac had gone up against Sinclair. "That's the truth. Good luck with him."
"Don't worry, I've got Whitford in my corner. I'll get-" Angell broke off as both of their cell phones rang in unison. "Maybe I won't. Angell," she answered, stepping into the hallway as Stella answered her phone. She nodded a few times and made some notes before hanging up, when she turned to find Stella on her way out the door. "They found the SUV: black with a license plate DRL 2275. Wilson ran the full number for registration. It was reported as stolen last week."
"Let me grab my kit and get Kendall started on the contact lens," Stella replied, quirking her eyebrows at Angell. Things didn't look so bleak after all.
The SUV was abandoned in an alley with two blue-and-whites parked at the entrance, their lights blazing. It would have been sitting there with its doors open, if it had doors. From where they were parked, it looked like it didn't have much of anything besides a body and the license plate. Angell was pretty surprised it even had that. "Must have heard the report and known it was hot," she said as she tipped her chin at the plate. "Otherwise it would have been taken, too."
"Let's just hope our enterprising friends left us something," Stella said as she poked her head inside.
Walking around to the other side, Angell took a look into the vehicle as well. They'd also left the seats, it looked like, giving Stella more to work from. The hood was up, and a quick glance revealed that the most valuable parts were gone, as were the wheels. There wasn't much else left.
"Found something," Stella said from inside the SUV. She stood, holding something light-colored in her gloved hand. "It's a tissue. Looks like it was used, and that may be blood."
"More DNA?"
"Yeah. The question is who it belongs to. The thieves?" She shrugged, motioning to the stripped down vehicle. "Or the other thieves?"
"My money is on the murderous thieves. Most car-stripping gangs don't get bloody noses, and they're careful enough to avoid leaving something like that behind. But taking an elbow to your nose-" Angell left off there. She looked around the alley. "They had to know what would happen if they left it here. Our guys were planning on the SUV getting stripped down. They likely weren't expecting for anything to be left for us to find, especially not this quickly."
"Meaning they probably didn't think leaving behind a tissue could be a problem. Between the other thieves crawling around in the car and the removal of potential evidence, they had a good idea. Who knows how much of what they touched is gone?" Stella said as she sealed the evidence bag. "I'll have it towed back to the lab, but I don't think we're going to find much more than this without taking it apart. And even if we do get DNA, it's only good for us now if there's a match in CODIS."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed," Angell said, grabbing the bag as Stella climbed out of the vehicle.
A tow truck pulled up as they headed to the mouth of the alley. Stella waved it forward, stepping up to the driver's side window to give instructions. She rejoined Angell as it pulled up to the SUV, techs getting out to start the loading process.
"I'm going to head back in with the vehicle," she said, grabbing the crime scene kit and evidence. "I want to get them started on finishing what our parts ring started."
Angell nodded, glancing at her phone. "I'm going to track down the original owners of the SUV and see what they have to say about the theft. Sid'll have the autopsy report soon enough; I'll see you back at the lab then."
::
"Stella!"
She stopped when she heard her name, turning to find Mac following her down the hallway. "Hi, Mac," she said, waiting for him to catch up with her. "How's the Conrad case?"
"We have a suspect, we just need to connect him with Conrad's murder. How are things coming with the Braun murder?" he asked as he joined her.
Stella mentally grimaced; they weren't doing nearly as well. "We have the getaway car, some soil, a contact that doesn't belong to Braun, and a used tissue. Oh, and three hundred witnesses who don't agree on what they saw." She shook her head, glad she wasn't the one who had to interview them. "I have Kendall on the contact--with the potential DNA it was a higher priority. She's sent a swab to Jane and is working on the contact itself now. I'm on my way to DNA with the tissue." She held up the evidence bag she'd brought from the garage.
Mac nodded, her frustration briefly mirrored on his face. "Okay, keep Kendall for this. I won't put her on anything else. Do you need more help?"
She hesitated. Even if they were closing in on the Conrad killer, the lab was still stretched thin. But this case was big enough, and at the rate they were going, they could use all the help they could get. "If I could get someone on the SUV..." She stopped, interrupted by her phone and glanced at the caller ID. Sid had something for them.
"I'll send Lindsay to start on it," he said, nodding at her phone. "Getting the autopsy report will help."
"But not by much," she said darkly. "We already know how he died, Mac. That's the one thing we do know."
::
Angell was just at the doors to the morgue when Stella got off the elevator, pausing to wait for her to catch up.
"Stella, Detective Angell," Sid said when they entered the room.
Stella frowned as he waved them over to one of the tables. Sid had that look on his face, like he'd been given a puzzle. It didn't match what they knew about the murder: they had 300 witnesses and a surveillance camera telling them what happened.
"Ladies," he said as he folded back the sheet covering the body, "I'd like you to meet someone who is not Michael Braun."
"Not Michael Braun?" Angell asked incredulously from where she stood next to Stella. "From what I can tell, that looks just like him."
"That would be the wonders of plastic surgery for you," Sid said, brushing back the victim's hair to show them a tiny scar along the hairline. "While there was probably a considerable resemblance between them beforehand, I can say with some certainty that this isn't Mr. Braun here now. I've found evidence of rather extensive plastic surgery, altering most of his face to make it identical to Mr. Braun's."
"A body double," Stella mused as she looked down at the victim. "It's been done before. If you're rich enough and have had enough threats, you hire someone to go to events and do things in your place. It isn't that surprising that Braun would have a double, once you think about it. He had his share of enemies."
"Yeah, but why didn't he come forward to let us know it wasn't him?" Angell asked them, frowning at the body. "I don't suppose we have any way of knowing who he is?"
"Not yet, but I can try to reconstruct his original face like I did with Katie Mann, that victim of Suspect X."
"Do it," Stella answered immediately. "The sooner we know who he really is, the sooner we can get some more answers."
"And alert his family, if he has any," Angell added.
"There's something else," Sid said. "He had cancer. John Doe, that is. Stage IV osteosarcoma with metastases in his lungs and probably only a few months to live. It's spread enough that the success rate of treatment would be low. He was likely on steroids to diminish the pain and maintain the quality of what remained of his life."
Stella looked down at the body again, her brow furrowed in frustration. "Who hires a body double with only a few months to live?"
"Depending on how long he's been doing this, he may not have been ill when he was hired. And osteosarcoma can be difficult to diagnose," Sid reminded her. "I'd bet he had great insurance."
"And a private doctor," Angell added. "Otherwise his illness and treatment would have been all over the gossip columns, only with Braun identified as the person who was ill. You know, body doubling is supposed to have some really great perks - living large like the real thing, going to parties, having the best of everything. It's a real treat."
"If you're willing to give up your identity and possibly your life," Stella said quietly. "Think about it. This guy couldn't ever be himself. Either he was Braun or he was hidden away. That's not a way I'd want to live, even if it came with great insurance."
Angell nodded. "I wouldn't do it, but for some people it's a small price to pay for living well."
"So it becomes a question of who would do this for a living. And where is the real Michael Braun?"
"And why didn't he come forward with the truth?" Angell asked again. "That's what's bugging me. He should know we would figure out that this isn't him. He should have been here to tell us who this guy really is."
"Yeah, but for now," Stella said, considering the situation and what they knew, "I want us to play this like it really is Braun." She looked over at Angell as she explained, "These guys didn't have to kill him. He cooperated, the guests cooperated, they got to their getaway car and could have easily gotten out of there before Braun could call the police. He was the target. The theft was the just another disguise - this time to the motive. If they think the real Braun is dead, we have a better chance of finding him before they do. That could be the difference between life and death for him."
"I'll see what I can do with our John Doe," Sid said as he replaced the sheet.
"Thanks, Sid," Stella said as they turned to the door. She continued, to Angell, once they reached the hallway, "I'm going back up to the lab to see what we can get from DNA."
"I want to have another chat with Lucas again and track down Braun's head of security," Angell said. "Of all people, he should have known about the double."
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