GCPD - MCU 7:03 PM
Her hand finds the phone even though her eyes are reviewing the contents of her inbox. "MCU, MacDonald." Her inbox is forgotten as soon as she hears the other voice. "Really? I didn't think you'd get them--wait, what? You checked against the state database, right? No, I'm not saying that, but I thought--okay, okay. Right. Yeah, if the Feds don't have anything, maybe we should try something bigger. Canada's not that far away, and who knows, some guy may've been trying to outrun the RCMP and wound up working here. Okay. Thanks." She puts the receiver back in place, thinks for a few minutes, then goes over to the receptionist's desk. "Stacy, do you have anything that I can take down to the lab for you?"
The younger woman's eyes blink behind her glasses. "Josie, I can--oh. This is like when Renee told me something needed polishing, isn't it?"
The detective nods. "That's right. And now something needs me to take it down to the lab."
Stacy searches through her desk. "Um ... well, I don't ... I guess you could take this." She offers Josie a somewhat wrinkled request form. "It's for one of those cold cases, but Captain Sawyer said it wasn't a priority, what with all the contract hits going on these days--"
"It'll do." Josie Mac takes the request form and glances over it. No, not a priority, but it would serve its purpose. She heads down to the lab, trying to look bored and put-upon instead of angry and confused.
It's textbook. Should be, anyway. Sure, we have no murder weapon, but we have a distinctive stab wound--stiletto, double edged--and we didn't worry about "no witnesses" once we found there was skin under the victim's fingernails. Stiletto between the ribs, straight into the heart, straight out again, that means a pro, doesn't it? Letting the vic get away with some of your DNA doesn't sound like a pro, but even they make mistakes sometimes, right? Maybe someone was coming, maybe he wanted to book it before someone did ... maybe he didn't even notice Sergei Andropov had gotten a piece of him.
So why aren't we getting a hit on the DNA?
She flashes her gold shield briefly at the crime lab desk. "MacDonald, MCU. Got some paperwork for you ... hey, is Corrigan here? No, that's fine--if you could take care of this, I'll look for him myself."
It doesn't take her long to find the temperature-controlled storage unit holding the evidence from the Andropov case. Little bits of skin. Did you really get tested? she asks them silently. Or did someone get paid to not examine you?
The skin tells her nothing, but the formerly sterile containers holding the trace evidence does. Yes, they'd been carried out of here to the crime scene, then organics placed in them, then they were taken back here, and everything that was supposed to happen had happened.
Nothing. Damn.
As she walked back to the squadroom, she found herself wondering if Andropov's name would stay in red, until Captain Sawyer agreed to let them wipe it off the whiteboard, to make room for other cases.
She hated the thought. She was good. She knew she was good. So was Driver. They were a good team, dammit. Maybe Andropov was Odessa Mob, but that didn't mean they were going to just let his killer get away from them.
She'd see that name in black. Sooner or later.
The younger woman's eyes blink behind her glasses. "Josie, I can--oh. This is like when Renee told me something needed polishing, isn't it?"
The detective nods. "That's right. And now something needs me to take it down to the lab."
Stacy searches through her desk. "Um ... well, I don't ... I guess you could take this." She offers Josie a somewhat wrinkled request form. "It's for one of those cold cases, but Captain Sawyer said it wasn't a priority, what with all the contract hits going on these days--"
"It'll do." Josie Mac takes the request form and glances over it. No, not a priority, but it would serve its purpose. She heads down to the lab, trying to look bored and put-upon instead of angry and confused.
It's textbook. Should be, anyway. Sure, we have no murder weapon, but we have a distinctive stab wound--stiletto, double edged--and we didn't worry about "no witnesses" once we found there was skin under the victim's fingernails. Stiletto between the ribs, straight into the heart, straight out again, that means a pro, doesn't it? Letting the vic get away with some of your DNA doesn't sound like a pro, but even they make mistakes sometimes, right? Maybe someone was coming, maybe he wanted to book it before someone did ... maybe he didn't even notice Sergei Andropov had gotten a piece of him.
So why aren't we getting a hit on the DNA?
She flashes her gold shield briefly at the crime lab desk. "MacDonald, MCU. Got some paperwork for you ... hey, is Corrigan here? No, that's fine--if you could take care of this, I'll look for him myself."
It doesn't take her long to find the temperature-controlled storage unit holding the evidence from the Andropov case. Little bits of skin. Did you really get tested? she asks them silently. Or did someone get paid to not examine you?
The skin tells her nothing, but the formerly sterile containers holding the trace evidence does. Yes, they'd been carried out of here to the crime scene, then organics placed in them, then they were taken back here, and everything that was supposed to happen had happened.
Nothing. Damn.
As she walked back to the squadroom, she found herself wondering if Andropov's name would stay in red, until Captain Sawyer agreed to let them wipe it off the whiteboard, to make room for other cases.
She hated the thought. She was good. She knew she was good. So was Driver. They were a good team, dammit. Maybe Andropov was Odessa Mob, but that didn't mean they were going to just let his killer get away from them.
She'd see that name in black. Sooner or later.