SV-Files, Episode 105
A shorter ep this time:
Title: The SV-Files, Episode 105
Author: PepperjackCandy
Rating: PG
Category: AU/Futurefic/Science Fiction/Action/Drama
Disclaimer: I own nothing Smallville-related, or related in any other way to Clark Kent, Superman or any of the various creations of the wonderful folks at DC Comics. The X-Files was created by Chris Carter and belongs to 20th Century Fox and Ten Thirteen Productions.
========
Lex arrived at the crime scene, flashing his badge for the officers on duty. "Luthor. KBI."
The officer moved out of the way, and Lex stepped into the apartment, where he found Clark in deep discussion with Barry Allen, of the Metropolis Police Department's forensics unit.
"Kent. Allen." Lex greeted them brusquely. He pulled Clark aside and asked, "Why are we here? This seems a routine enough murder, and they've already got Allen on the case."
Clark gestured towards the body, which Lex couldn't see clearly from where he was standing.
They walked closer to it, and only his seven years' experience with the Kansas Bureau of Investigations kept him from retching at the sight of the corpse. Its head was nearly obliterated.
"Because apparently this guy bashed in his own head with a blunt object."
Lex quirked an eyebrow upwards, "His own head?"
"He's the only person seen coming into or leaving the apartment. All visitors are required to register, but all visitors have been accounted for."
"Couldn't someone have sneaked into the building?"
Clark shook his head, "Apparently, the victim, Stiller, was very worried about his safety. Security's like Fort Knox around here. The only other entrance is the residents' entrance, which is protected by a fingerprint reader and a video camera. Both show that Mr. Stiller came home at the usual time. Alone."
"A locked room mystery. How intriguing," Lex said quietly, almost to himself.
"I'm pretty sure the murder weapon was the right-hand bookend," Clark pointed to a pair of heavy-looking stone Chinese lion bookends on the book shelf. "The murderer probably washed the blood off of it and put it back."
Lex eyed the bookends dubiously.
"Trust him," Barry said over his shoulder as he passed by.
Lex made eye contact with Allen.
"We didn't call him 'Spooky' for nothing."
Lex looked back at Clark, who blushed.
Distracted by how cute Clark was when he blushed, Lex nearly tripped over an end table. He collected himself as best he could and walked agilely the rest of the way to the bookshelves. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves, then lifted the bookend up. "Have someone dust this for prints and examine it for blood," he said, handing it to a passing police officer.
They left soon after that, and as they stepped out into the hallway, Lex asked, with humor, "Spooky?"
***
They returned to their office and began to work on paperwork.
After they returned from lunch, Clark's e-mail beeped. "It's from Barry Allen. Crime scene photos," he said, "you want me to forward them to you, too?"
"Sure."
As soon as he received it, Lex opened the attachment and selected a photo of the sitting area in the living room. Something seemed off about it to him, but he couldn't place it. He heard Clark say something about fingerprints. "Huh?"
"I said, that Barry ran tests on the bookend. Sure enough, blood showed up under the black light, and they found partial fingerprints on the bookend, too."
"Stiller's?"
"Stiller's index finger, yeah. But what they can see of the rest of the fingerprints doesn't match."
"The right hand?"
Clark nodded.
"So we have a right-handed killer with one of the same fingerprints as the victim. I guess fingerprints aren't like snowflakes after all."
"What about you?"
"What?"
"What are you staring at?"
"This. The end table there," Lex turned his monitor towards Clark and pointed, "doesn't fit."
"You're criticizing the victim's taste in furniture?"
"No. Just . . . there are three of them. Who buys three end tables?"
"Someone with three chairs?"
Lex wasn't convinced, "I guess . . . ."
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He stood, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and beginning to dial the Metropolis Police Department number. "Come on," he said.
"Where are we going?"
"Back to Stiller's apartment."
***
Turns out they didn't need the police officer to let them back into Stiller's apartment. The door was standing wide open.
And there were only two end tables.
Title: The SV-Files, Episode 105
Author: PepperjackCandy
Rating: PG
Category: AU/Futurefic/Science Fiction/Action/Drama
Disclaimer: I own nothing Smallville-related, or related in any other way to Clark Kent, Superman or any of the various creations of the wonderful folks at DC Comics. The X-Files was created by Chris Carter and belongs to 20th Century Fox and Ten Thirteen Productions.
========
Lex arrived at the crime scene, flashing his badge for the officers on duty. "Luthor. KBI."
The officer moved out of the way, and Lex stepped into the apartment, where he found Clark in deep discussion with Barry Allen, of the Metropolis Police Department's forensics unit.
"Kent. Allen." Lex greeted them brusquely. He pulled Clark aside and asked, "Why are we here? This seems a routine enough murder, and they've already got Allen on the case."
Clark gestured towards the body, which Lex couldn't see clearly from where he was standing.
They walked closer to it, and only his seven years' experience with the Kansas Bureau of Investigations kept him from retching at the sight of the corpse. Its head was nearly obliterated.
"Because apparently this guy bashed in his own head with a blunt object."
Lex quirked an eyebrow upwards, "His own head?"
"He's the only person seen coming into or leaving the apartment. All visitors are required to register, but all visitors have been accounted for."
"Couldn't someone have sneaked into the building?"
Clark shook his head, "Apparently, the victim, Stiller, was very worried about his safety. Security's like Fort Knox around here. The only other entrance is the residents' entrance, which is protected by a fingerprint reader and a video camera. Both show that Mr. Stiller came home at the usual time. Alone."
"A locked room mystery. How intriguing," Lex said quietly, almost to himself.
"I'm pretty sure the murder weapon was the right-hand bookend," Clark pointed to a pair of heavy-looking stone Chinese lion bookends on the book shelf. "The murderer probably washed the blood off of it and put it back."
Lex eyed the bookends dubiously.
"Trust him," Barry said over his shoulder as he passed by.
Lex made eye contact with Allen.
"We didn't call him 'Spooky' for nothing."
Lex looked back at Clark, who blushed.
Distracted by how cute Clark was when he blushed, Lex nearly tripped over an end table. He collected himself as best he could and walked agilely the rest of the way to the bookshelves. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves, then lifted the bookend up. "Have someone dust this for prints and examine it for blood," he said, handing it to a passing police officer.
They left soon after that, and as they stepped out into the hallway, Lex asked, with humor, "Spooky?"
***
They returned to their office and began to work on paperwork.
After they returned from lunch, Clark's e-mail beeped. "It's from Barry Allen. Crime scene photos," he said, "you want me to forward them to you, too?"
"Sure."
As soon as he received it, Lex opened the attachment and selected a photo of the sitting area in the living room. Something seemed off about it to him, but he couldn't place it. He heard Clark say something about fingerprints. "Huh?"
"I said, that Barry ran tests on the bookend. Sure enough, blood showed up under the black light, and they found partial fingerprints on the bookend, too."
"Stiller's?"
"Stiller's index finger, yeah. But what they can see of the rest of the fingerprints doesn't match."
"The right hand?"
Clark nodded.
"So we have a right-handed killer with one of the same fingerprints as the victim. I guess fingerprints aren't like snowflakes after all."
"What about you?"
"What?"
"What are you staring at?"
"This. The end table there," Lex turned his monitor towards Clark and pointed, "doesn't fit."
"You're criticizing the victim's taste in furniture?"
"No. Just . . . there are three of them. Who buys three end tables?"
"Someone with three chairs?"
Lex wasn't convinced, "I guess . . . ."
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He stood, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and beginning to dial the Metropolis Police Department number. "Come on," he said.
"Where are we going?"
"Back to Stiller's apartment."
***
Turns out they didn't need the police officer to let them back into Stiller's apartment. The door was standing wide open.
And there were only two end tables.