FIC: "Found Snuffed A Hidden Candle"
Title: Found Snuffed a Hidden Candle (2/?)
Author: Bernie Laraemie
Characters: Gil Grissom, Brass, Greg & Others (No Sara)
Rating: R (sexuality, language, TMI cam)
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 5
Notes: Written for LJ's Grisslash FuhQFest, 1st Wave; Challenge 14, 16 and pairing challenge 7.
Author's Comment: This is a Paul Milander free story, surprising, no?
Summary: A murder victim in a dance studio may be more than Grissom can handle.
Taking pains to keep his glance from the body, Gil scouted the perimeter. His little flashlight was handy in the dim light, while he checked out corners and inspected doors. No forced entry; no footprints. The floor was polished, smooth, and shoes didn't seem to be regularly permitted. Not regular shoes.
"Gris," Greg said, approaching. "I've uncovered prints from the floor near the body. It's possible our killer leaned over to make sure he was dead."
"Good work, Greg," Gil said, not turning. "There's no evidence of footprints. . .floor's too well kept."
"It is a dance studio."
Gil looked to the studio's back door. "Where does that lead?"
Not sure if it was rhetorical, Greg replied anyway. "It's a corridor to the rest of the building. The studio isn't the only renter."
"Has it all been cleared?"
"Door was locked on the outside, no other lights looked to be on. . .."
Gil motioned for Brass, who came over quickly. "Has this been cleared?"
"The corridor? Yeah. We're still waiting for the landlord to come by with the keys to check out the other doors. I've got a man posted outside," Brass pointed to an officer that stood outside, watching the multiple back doors.
Gil nodded, opening the corridor door. As he did, he tilted his head curiously. "Did you hear that?"
"There's still some guys working on the lot next door. Might have been that."
Gil shook his head. "It was softer." On Gil's motioning Brass stepped into the hall, gun at ready. Following behind, Gil and Greg went to the next door over.
"Victoria Gold," Gil said, pointing to the sign on the door. "Extra studio space?"
"It's not-" Greg stopped. "You heard that?"
Gil nodded. "Brass?"
Brass opened the door, finding it unlocked and light flooded into the corridor.
"Tinted windows," Greg said. "Darkly, too."
Gil looked inside, and noticed movement-which Brass and Greg noticed too.
"Hey!" Brass called to the left-behind dancer, practicing with his back turned in front of a mirror. "Hey!" he called again, walking forward. He kept walking, and was halfway through the room before the smallish looking person jumped in surprise and turned.
"Oh!" He clasped at his chest in an attempt to slow his breathing. "What are you doing here?" he asked, confused, and noticing the gun.
Greg and Gil walked forward behind Brass.
Brass pulled out his badge. "I'm working. What are you doing here?"
"Police?" He shook his head in confusion. "I'm practicing. A friend of mine owns the studio. I pay for lessons, I get to practice after hours. Some of the others do, too. There's nothing illegal about that." He looked to Gil and Greg. "Is there?"
"You didn't hear a gunshot?"
The dancer looked very confused, as well as surprised. "Gunshot?"
Greg stepped forward, putting his kit down. "Would you hold out your hands please?" As he did so, Greg tested the dancer's hands for GSR.
"Right next door," Brass said, "and you didn't hear it?"
"I'm kind of deaf," he explained. "Everything sounds pretty blurred and quiet if I'm not paying attention."
"You can hear me talking to you, and you heard me call you," Brass started, "and yet you didn't hear a gun go off?"
"I can read lips. . . and I'm not completely deaf."
Gil interviened on the attempt to call the young man's bluff. "//Would you be more comfortable signing?//" Gil signed, careful not to move his lips to form the words as he did so.
"//I can read lips,//" he reiterated, "//and I can hear well enough,//" he finished with a smile. His smile quickly fell. "What gunshot?" he said, returning to speech. "Next door in the construction?"
Brass shook his head. "That way," he said, pointing to the other wall, "you wouldn't know of anyone else being here, would you?"
He shook his head. "Only a handful of people have keys. Is someone dead?"
"Can I have your name please?"
Looking emmensely worried, the very short dancer replied, "Andrew. Andrew Satyr. Most people call me Tiny," he said, absent of humour.
"Tiny?" Greg said, looking at the negative GSR result.
"Tiny Dancer," he explained. "Is anyone hurt?" He looked a Brass pleadingly. "Oh, God, tell me it wasn't Bernie," 'Tiny' asked frantically.
"Who is this Bernie?"
"He owns the studio," Tiny explained. "He's usually in and out all the time; please, tell me he's all right."
"We haven't conclusively identified the victim," Brass said finally.
Tiny almost began panicking. "Please, let me see, please, I have to know-"
"Are you and . . .Bernie lovers?" Greg asked, feeling it was pertinent.
Tiny turned and calmed a little. "No. Bernie's straight," he explained.
"Thank you, Mr. Satyr, I'll just need to collect some personal details from you and then you'll have to leave," Brass explained. "I'm sure you understand."
Gil left the end of the interrogation, he and Greg checking about the rest of the dance studio. A piano sat quietly in the corner, and a wall length mirror made the room seem much larger than it was. As Tiny walked away, Greg started printing the bar he'd been practicing on. "Maybe we can get some of his prints. First person found on the scene . . .."
"First suspect," Gil finished.
* * *
Gil took Brass aside after Tiny had been sent home, still panicking about what he hadn't been told. "He might be lying," he said.
"What makes you think that?" Brass asked, reviewing his notes of the questioning.
Gil bit his lip. "From when I knew Bernie Hirons, he wasn't straight."
"What makes you say that?"
After checking from side to side, Gil replied, "I dated him."
"I see."
"It's possible he's bisexual, or Mr. Satyr saw him with a woman and just assumed. It's just something to keep in mind," he said, looking away and in hushed tones.
"You'll be okay with this, Gil?"
"This won't interfere with the case."
"I'm not talking about the case," Brass replied, "I'm talking about you. Are you going to be okay with this?"
"I can handle it," Gil said. "Thank you."
The ride back to the lab was quiet, Gil seated alone with the collected evidence on the seat next to him. Concentrating on the road, he kept his mind from wandering.
Arriving at the lab, he headed for his office, only making a detour to drop off what he'd collected to the various appliciable departments. He started filling out the forms for this case, almost the only time in his career he'd started pushing the paper before crawling over every inch of science a case gave to him.
It was almost an hour later when there was a tap on the door.
"Gris?" Greg called, "we've been trying to page you."
Gil looked up, surprised, then checked his pager. He didn't remember turning it off. "What is it?"
"Fingerprints from the scene."
"Greg, we haven't even gotten the full list of students. How can we know if a print is out of place?"
"Don't need it. We found something more interesting."
"These are the prints of Lindsey Irons," the lab tech said, pointing to the computer screen. "As taken from her non-gaming work card." She called up a second display of prints. "These are Lindsey Irons' prints as taken from when she was arrested as a young offender."
"And?"
Two prints, one of each of the sets, were laid over each other in the display. "These are her left pinky finger prints, one taken from each of the sets."
"No match," Gil said, looking at the display.
"Something to check out, anyway," Greg said.
Gil took the print out of Lindsey Iron's address. "I'll meet you in the car, Greg."
~~~ to be continued ~~~
Author: Bernie Laraemie
Characters: Gil Grissom, Brass, Greg & Others (No Sara)
Rating: R (sexuality, language, TMI cam)
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 5
Notes: Written for LJ's Grisslash FuhQFest, 1st Wave; Challenge 14, 16 and pairing challenge 7.
Author's Comment: This is a Paul Milander free story, surprising, no?
Summary: A murder victim in a dance studio may be more than Grissom can handle.
Taking pains to keep his glance from the body, Gil scouted the perimeter. His little flashlight was handy in the dim light, while he checked out corners and inspected doors. No forced entry; no footprints. The floor was polished, smooth, and shoes didn't seem to be regularly permitted. Not regular shoes.
"Gris," Greg said, approaching. "I've uncovered prints from the floor near the body. It's possible our killer leaned over to make sure he was dead."
"Good work, Greg," Gil said, not turning. "There's no evidence of footprints. . .floor's too well kept."
"It is a dance studio."
Gil looked to the studio's back door. "Where does that lead?"
Not sure if it was rhetorical, Greg replied anyway. "It's a corridor to the rest of the building. The studio isn't the only renter."
"Has it all been cleared?"
"Door was locked on the outside, no other lights looked to be on. . .."
Gil motioned for Brass, who came over quickly. "Has this been cleared?"
"The corridor? Yeah. We're still waiting for the landlord to come by with the keys to check out the other doors. I've got a man posted outside," Brass pointed to an officer that stood outside, watching the multiple back doors.
Gil nodded, opening the corridor door. As he did, he tilted his head curiously. "Did you hear that?"
"There's still some guys working on the lot next door. Might have been that."
Gil shook his head. "It was softer." On Gil's motioning Brass stepped into the hall, gun at ready. Following behind, Gil and Greg went to the next door over.
"Victoria Gold," Gil said, pointing to the sign on the door. "Extra studio space?"
"It's not-" Greg stopped. "You heard that?"
Gil nodded. "Brass?"
Brass opened the door, finding it unlocked and light flooded into the corridor.
"Tinted windows," Greg said. "Darkly, too."
Gil looked inside, and noticed movement-which Brass and Greg noticed too.
"Hey!" Brass called to the left-behind dancer, practicing with his back turned in front of a mirror. "Hey!" he called again, walking forward. He kept walking, and was halfway through the room before the smallish looking person jumped in surprise and turned.
"Oh!" He clasped at his chest in an attempt to slow his breathing. "What are you doing here?" he asked, confused, and noticing the gun.
Greg and Gil walked forward behind Brass.
Brass pulled out his badge. "I'm working. What are you doing here?"
"Police?" He shook his head in confusion. "I'm practicing. A friend of mine owns the studio. I pay for lessons, I get to practice after hours. Some of the others do, too. There's nothing illegal about that." He looked to Gil and Greg. "Is there?"
"You didn't hear a gunshot?"
The dancer looked very confused, as well as surprised. "Gunshot?"
Greg stepped forward, putting his kit down. "Would you hold out your hands please?" As he did so, Greg tested the dancer's hands for GSR.
"Right next door," Brass said, "and you didn't hear it?"
"I'm kind of deaf," he explained. "Everything sounds pretty blurred and quiet if I'm not paying attention."
"You can hear me talking to you, and you heard me call you," Brass started, "and yet you didn't hear a gun go off?"
"I can read lips. . . and I'm not completely deaf."
Gil interviened on the attempt to call the young man's bluff. "//Would you be more comfortable signing?//" Gil signed, careful not to move his lips to form the words as he did so.
"//I can read lips,//" he reiterated, "//and I can hear well enough,//" he finished with a smile. His smile quickly fell. "What gunshot?" he said, returning to speech. "Next door in the construction?"
Brass shook his head. "That way," he said, pointing to the other wall, "you wouldn't know of anyone else being here, would you?"
He shook his head. "Only a handful of people have keys. Is someone dead?"
"Can I have your name please?"
Looking emmensely worried, the very short dancer replied, "Andrew. Andrew Satyr. Most people call me Tiny," he said, absent of humour.
"Tiny?" Greg said, looking at the negative GSR result.
"Tiny Dancer," he explained. "Is anyone hurt?" He looked a Brass pleadingly. "Oh, God, tell me it wasn't Bernie," 'Tiny' asked frantically.
"Who is this Bernie?"
"He owns the studio," Tiny explained. "He's usually in and out all the time; please, tell me he's all right."
"We haven't conclusively identified the victim," Brass said finally.
Tiny almost began panicking. "Please, let me see, please, I have to know-"
"Are you and . . .Bernie lovers?" Greg asked, feeling it was pertinent.
Tiny turned and calmed a little. "No. Bernie's straight," he explained.
"Thank you, Mr. Satyr, I'll just need to collect some personal details from you and then you'll have to leave," Brass explained. "I'm sure you understand."
Gil left the end of the interrogation, he and Greg checking about the rest of the dance studio. A piano sat quietly in the corner, and a wall length mirror made the room seem much larger than it was. As Tiny walked away, Greg started printing the bar he'd been practicing on. "Maybe we can get some of his prints. First person found on the scene . . .."
"First suspect," Gil finished.
* * *
Gil took Brass aside after Tiny had been sent home, still panicking about what he hadn't been told. "He might be lying," he said.
"What makes you think that?" Brass asked, reviewing his notes of the questioning.
Gil bit his lip. "From when I knew Bernie Hirons, he wasn't straight."
"What makes you say that?"
After checking from side to side, Gil replied, "I dated him."
"I see."
"It's possible he's bisexual, or Mr. Satyr saw him with a woman and just assumed. It's just something to keep in mind," he said, looking away and in hushed tones.
"You'll be okay with this, Gil?"
"This won't interfere with the case."
"I'm not talking about the case," Brass replied, "I'm talking about you. Are you going to be okay with this?"
"I can handle it," Gil said. "Thank you."
The ride back to the lab was quiet, Gil seated alone with the collected evidence on the seat next to him. Concentrating on the road, he kept his mind from wandering.
Arriving at the lab, he headed for his office, only making a detour to drop off what he'd collected to the various appliciable departments. He started filling out the forms for this case, almost the only time in his career he'd started pushing the paper before crawling over every inch of science a case gave to him.
It was almost an hour later when there was a tap on the door.
"Gris?" Greg called, "we've been trying to page you."
Gil looked up, surprised, then checked his pager. He didn't remember turning it off. "What is it?"
"Fingerprints from the scene."
"Greg, we haven't even gotten the full list of students. How can we know if a print is out of place?"
"Don't need it. We found something more interesting."
"These are the prints of Lindsey Irons," the lab tech said, pointing to the computer screen. "As taken from her non-gaming work card." She called up a second display of prints. "These are Lindsey Irons' prints as taken from when she was arrested as a young offender."
"And?"
Two prints, one of each of the sets, were laid over each other in the display. "These are her left pinky finger prints, one taken from each of the sets."
"No match," Gil said, looking at the display.
"Something to check out, anyway," Greg said.
Gil took the print out of Lindsey Iron's address. "I'll meet you in the car, Greg."
~~~ to be continued ~~~