FIC: White Shroud (3/20) T
Title: White Shroud, Chapter 3
Author: Zelda Ophelia (zeldaophelia)
Fandom/Character: CSI:NY; Stella, Angell, Flack
General info: Not mine; T.
Content: Later chapters include discussion of sexual violence.
Notes:Written for the csi_bigbang challenge. Big thanks to E for the beta. This fic can be considered a sequel to Titania Falling
Summary: When the flu bug hits the NYPD, the detectives and CSIs work to cover the caseload. Angell, Stella, and Lindsay confront the mystery behind a body in Union Square Park. Meanwhile, Flack, Mac, and Hawkes try to determine what happened at a Rangers game and Danny deals with a case of karma. Previous parts here.
Returning to the precinct, Angell settled in for a long afternoon of phone calls. She had pulled Norton's ICE (in case of emergency) contacts from his cell phone while at the scene, but "Mom and Dad" were listed with an out-of-state phone number. A quick look up in the system verified that they were indeed residents of Maine. Learning that a loved one was dead was never easy; learning about it over the phone was even worse, which meant calling their local PD and asking if they could make a courtesy visit. She felt lucky the detective she spoke with agreed, though it meant she'd probably get to return the favor in the future.
Her next phone call was to the office of the Provost at New York University, both to inform the university of the death as well as get the needed information about Tripp Norton. What she hadn't expected was being transferred directly through to the Provost, or to find herself setting up a meeting with the man. While he hadn't known Norton personally, he seemed genuinely upset about losing a student. Something about his voice reminded her so much of her mother's father that she was suddenly reminded of lazy afternoons at her grandparents' lying in the grass and listening to stories of her mother as a child. It was a bit embarrassing how relaxed - and ready to fall asleep - she was by the time the call was finished, though she had a feeling that ability served him well in his position.
She rubbed her eyes, wondering if she could get away with dropping her head on her desk and napping. When she opened them, a large cup of coffee had appeared in front of her. She turned with a frown to see Flack dropping into the chair by her desk.
"I didn't even hear you come up."
"Well, you were making a pretty good attempt at sleeping with your eyes open," he grinned before lifting his own cup of coffee to his lips and taking a long drink.
Angell shook her head, reaching for the coffee on her desk and lifting it close. Just the smell of it was enough to help her wake up. "If I weren't already seeing someone, I could kiss you."
"Probably best you don't, you know, since I'm seeing someone, too."
Don quirked his eyebrows, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She took a drink to distract herself from the look on his face--not that it helped. He still looked extraordinarily pleased with himself when she turned back. Angell just rolled her eyes: he could be incorrigible.
"If I remember correctly," he continued in a low voice, "the whole reason someone headed back to her place last night was so she could sleep in this morning."
"Don't remind me," she retorted. "I'm not even supposed to be here today."
"Shoulda just stayed. You'd have gotten more sleep."
She snorted in amusement at that suggestion. "More sleep? Really? Somehow I doubt that." Much to her continued mirth, he began to blush, even his ears turning a light shade of pink. "There might have been quite a few things happening, but sleep probably wouldn't have been one of them."
"Is that a challenge?" Don asked, fixing her with a suggestive look that made her stomach tighten in anticipation. He leaned closer and said softly, "Because I'm sure you could try again, you know, to see if you're right about not sleeping."
"Oh, you think so?" She tossed her hair over her shoulder in response, ready to take the verbal sparring further. Then she caught sight of Deputy Inspector Whitford entering the squadroom and quickly leaned back in her chair to turn the conversation to more work appropriate topics. "How's the Birkley case coming?"
"Just closed it," Don said, leaning back as Whitford passed her desk. He shifted his coffee cup to his other hand as he added, "It was pretty obvious once Danny and Hawkes pulled together the last bits of evidence. Made it easy to get a confession out of him."
"Nice. You heading out?" He'd already been in by the time the Lieutenant had called her; his shift should be ending soon.
"Nah, Lieutenant asked me to stick around. Just about the only ones on the next shift who haven't called in are Thacker and Scagnetti."
"And Thacker's on light duty, still recovering from his broken leg."
"Broken ankle," he reminded her, though she just shrugged at the discrepancy. "We should be getting some relief in the morning, pulling in from some of the other precincts. But until then, someone's got to mind the store."
"Ain't that the truth." She stifled a yawn after her reply, eliciting a chuckle from him.
"You know, that offer still stands. And my place is closer to the precinct than yours."
Angell shook her head slightly as her cell phone beeped with a text message from Sid. "You know what, I think I'll leave you with your delusions. Tonight I'm planning on getting some sleep."
With that, she stood and headed for the door, glancing back briefly over her shoulder. He just laughed softly as he made his way back to his own desk. If he was lucky, he'd have some time before the next call came in, but then his cell phone began to ring as he sat down. Glancing at the caller ID, he stood and pulled his jacket on, answering as he started for his car.
It was going to be a busy day.
::
He'd been waiting at the scene for a while, about to call the lab again, when the door opened.
"Glad you could make it," Flack said, eyebrow raised, as Hawkes and Mac joined him.
"Just be glad we got here," Mac said, looking around. They were standing in the Ranger's locker room at Madison Square Garden, and he could hear the crowd chanting at the players out on the ice. "Half the lab is out with the flu today. There are more calls coming in than we have teams to go out."
"Yeah, we had another come in on our way here. We ended up dropping Danny off to process that scene. Scagnetti's going to have to give him a lift back to the lab," Hawkes explained, moving further into the locker room and finally getting a good look at the body. "Who's our vic?"
"Meet Jarrett Elliot," Flack said, motioning to the body.
He was near the back of the locker room, close to the doorway into the showers. A shelf of towels had been pulled off the wall, the board resting partially on his body with towels all over him and the floor.
"He's not suited up to play?" Mac asked as he pulled the camera out of his case. The young man, most likely in his early twenties, was wearing street clothes instead of a hockey uniform. "How did he get in here?"
"He's a hockey player, but not for the Rangers. Or not yet, as it was." Flack shook his head in disappointment; he'd heard of the kid - anyone who followed college hockey had heard of him. "He was last year's Hobey Baker Award winner as a junior at the University of Minnesota. He skipped his senior year to join the Hartford Wolfpack this season. They're the feeder team for the Rangers, who, word has it were going to grab him in the upcoming draft."
"So he was up here for the game. And since he was going to be joining the team, he was probably allowed into the locker room," Hawkes mused out loud as he watched Mac take pictures. He couldn't get a good look at the body until the towels were moved, but they needed to get the pictures out of the way first.
"Who else would have had access?" Mac asked, stepping back from the body to get pictures of the rest of the scene. Hawkes stepped in and started uncovering the dead hockey player.
"The team, coach and assistants, managers--oh and the owner's assistant who would really like for you to get this cleaned up so the team can come back in here when first period is over." Flack grinned at the look that crossed Mac's face. "Don't worry, I told him they'd get it back when you were done. And that he should probably have another room ready for them to use."
"Good." He glanced over at Hawkes, who had started examining the body. "What do you have?"
"Lividity, temperature, and lack of rigor all suggest he hasn't been dead long; thirty minutes maybe an hour tops. He has some bruising along his throat," Hawkes said, motioning to the victim's neck, "but it doesn't extend around his neck, meaning it isn't from strangulation. That suggests he most likely hit or was hit by something. The bruise is very recent - likely occurred just prior to death - and depending on how hard the impact was, it could have contributed to what killed him. We'll have to wait and see what Sid says. He has some bruises and scratches on his arms. I'd say he was in a fight."
"It's a hockey game, of course he was in a fight," Flack muttered. He held his hands up at Mac's look. "I'm just saying, show me one hockey game where there wasn't a fight."
"I thought those usually occurred on the ice," Mac said as he took one final picture of the room.
It was a fairly typical locker room: there was a stand holding some extra hockey sticks, helmets, and other gear by the door with walls of lockers extending from either side, benches sitting in front of them. It looked like every other locker room he'd seen. There were laundry baskets for dirty uniforms by one side of the door to the showers and an empty spot on the other side where the shelf and clean towels had been.
"On the ice, in the locker room, at the bar..." Flack shrugged. "Take your pick. They pretty much happen anywhere."
"This one turned deadly. Who kills a rising hockey star at a game?"
"Someone who doesn't want him making it into the NHL?" Hawkes surmised as he pulled some paper evidence bags from his kit.
He carefully fitted them over the victim's hands. Finished with pictures, Mac joined him and began bagging trace evidence they found. Like most locker rooms, there was plenty of evidence of people throughout the room; it was their job to determine what was related to the crime and what was there due to the nature of the room.
"Whoever it was, they turned the Rangers' locker room into a crime scene," Flack said hotly, motioning around him. "If that isn't desecration, I don't know what is."
Previous || Master Post || Next
Author: Zelda Ophelia (zeldaophelia)
Fandom/Character: CSI:NY; Stella, Angell, Flack
General info: Not mine; T.
Content: Later chapters include discussion of sexual violence.
Notes:Written for the csi_bigbang challenge. Big thanks to E for the beta. This fic can be considered a sequel to Titania Falling
Summary: When the flu bug hits the NYPD, the detectives and CSIs work to cover the caseload. Angell, Stella, and Lindsay confront the mystery behind a body in Union Square Park. Meanwhile, Flack, Mac, and Hawkes try to determine what happened at a Rangers game and Danny deals with a case of karma. Previous parts here.
Returning to the precinct, Angell settled in for a long afternoon of phone calls. She had pulled Norton's ICE (in case of emergency) contacts from his cell phone while at the scene, but "Mom and Dad" were listed with an out-of-state phone number. A quick look up in the system verified that they were indeed residents of Maine. Learning that a loved one was dead was never easy; learning about it over the phone was even worse, which meant calling their local PD and asking if they could make a courtesy visit. She felt lucky the detective she spoke with agreed, though it meant she'd probably get to return the favor in the future.
Her next phone call was to the office of the Provost at New York University, both to inform the university of the death as well as get the needed information about Tripp Norton. What she hadn't expected was being transferred directly through to the Provost, or to find herself setting up a meeting with the man. While he hadn't known Norton personally, he seemed genuinely upset about losing a student. Something about his voice reminded her so much of her mother's father that she was suddenly reminded of lazy afternoons at her grandparents' lying in the grass and listening to stories of her mother as a child. It was a bit embarrassing how relaxed - and ready to fall asleep - she was by the time the call was finished, though she had a feeling that ability served him well in his position.
She rubbed her eyes, wondering if she could get away with dropping her head on her desk and napping. When she opened them, a large cup of coffee had appeared in front of her. She turned with a frown to see Flack dropping into the chair by her desk.
"I didn't even hear you come up."
"Well, you were making a pretty good attempt at sleeping with your eyes open," he grinned before lifting his own cup of coffee to his lips and taking a long drink.
Angell shook her head, reaching for the coffee on her desk and lifting it close. Just the smell of it was enough to help her wake up. "If I weren't already seeing someone, I could kiss you."
"Probably best you don't, you know, since I'm seeing someone, too."
Don quirked his eyebrows, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She took a drink to distract herself from the look on his face--not that it helped. He still looked extraordinarily pleased with himself when she turned back. Angell just rolled her eyes: he could be incorrigible.
"If I remember correctly," he continued in a low voice, "the whole reason someone headed back to her place last night was so she could sleep in this morning."
"Don't remind me," she retorted. "I'm not even supposed to be here today."
"Shoulda just stayed. You'd have gotten more sleep."
She snorted in amusement at that suggestion. "More sleep? Really? Somehow I doubt that." Much to her continued mirth, he began to blush, even his ears turning a light shade of pink. "There might have been quite a few things happening, but sleep probably wouldn't have been one of them."
"Is that a challenge?" Don asked, fixing her with a suggestive look that made her stomach tighten in anticipation. He leaned closer and said softly, "Because I'm sure you could try again, you know, to see if you're right about not sleeping."
"Oh, you think so?" She tossed her hair over her shoulder in response, ready to take the verbal sparring further. Then she caught sight of Deputy Inspector Whitford entering the squadroom and quickly leaned back in her chair to turn the conversation to more work appropriate topics. "How's the Birkley case coming?"
"Just closed it," Don said, leaning back as Whitford passed her desk. He shifted his coffee cup to his other hand as he added, "It was pretty obvious once Danny and Hawkes pulled together the last bits of evidence. Made it easy to get a confession out of him."
"Nice. You heading out?" He'd already been in by the time the Lieutenant had called her; his shift should be ending soon.
"Nah, Lieutenant asked me to stick around. Just about the only ones on the next shift who haven't called in are Thacker and Scagnetti."
"And Thacker's on light duty, still recovering from his broken leg."
"Broken ankle," he reminded her, though she just shrugged at the discrepancy. "We should be getting some relief in the morning, pulling in from some of the other precincts. But until then, someone's got to mind the store."
"Ain't that the truth." She stifled a yawn after her reply, eliciting a chuckle from him.
"You know, that offer still stands. And my place is closer to the precinct than yours."
Angell shook her head slightly as her cell phone beeped with a text message from Sid. "You know what, I think I'll leave you with your delusions. Tonight I'm planning on getting some sleep."
With that, she stood and headed for the door, glancing back briefly over her shoulder. He just laughed softly as he made his way back to his own desk. If he was lucky, he'd have some time before the next call came in, but then his cell phone began to ring as he sat down. Glancing at the caller ID, he stood and pulled his jacket on, answering as he started for his car.
It was going to be a busy day.
::
He'd been waiting at the scene for a while, about to call the lab again, when the door opened.
"Glad you could make it," Flack said, eyebrow raised, as Hawkes and Mac joined him.
"Just be glad we got here," Mac said, looking around. They were standing in the Ranger's locker room at Madison Square Garden, and he could hear the crowd chanting at the players out on the ice. "Half the lab is out with the flu today. There are more calls coming in than we have teams to go out."
"Yeah, we had another come in on our way here. We ended up dropping Danny off to process that scene. Scagnetti's going to have to give him a lift back to the lab," Hawkes explained, moving further into the locker room and finally getting a good look at the body. "Who's our vic?"
"Meet Jarrett Elliot," Flack said, motioning to the body.
He was near the back of the locker room, close to the doorway into the showers. A shelf of towels had been pulled off the wall, the board resting partially on his body with towels all over him and the floor.
"He's not suited up to play?" Mac asked as he pulled the camera out of his case. The young man, most likely in his early twenties, was wearing street clothes instead of a hockey uniform. "How did he get in here?"
"He's a hockey player, but not for the Rangers. Or not yet, as it was." Flack shook his head in disappointment; he'd heard of the kid - anyone who followed college hockey had heard of him. "He was last year's Hobey Baker Award winner as a junior at the University of Minnesota. He skipped his senior year to join the Hartford Wolfpack this season. They're the feeder team for the Rangers, who, word has it were going to grab him in the upcoming draft."
"So he was up here for the game. And since he was going to be joining the team, he was probably allowed into the locker room," Hawkes mused out loud as he watched Mac take pictures. He couldn't get a good look at the body until the towels were moved, but they needed to get the pictures out of the way first.
"Who else would have had access?" Mac asked, stepping back from the body to get pictures of the rest of the scene. Hawkes stepped in and started uncovering the dead hockey player.
"The team, coach and assistants, managers--oh and the owner's assistant who would really like for you to get this cleaned up so the team can come back in here when first period is over." Flack grinned at the look that crossed Mac's face. "Don't worry, I told him they'd get it back when you were done. And that he should probably have another room ready for them to use."
"Good." He glanced over at Hawkes, who had started examining the body. "What do you have?"
"Lividity, temperature, and lack of rigor all suggest he hasn't been dead long; thirty minutes maybe an hour tops. He has some bruising along his throat," Hawkes said, motioning to the victim's neck, "but it doesn't extend around his neck, meaning it isn't from strangulation. That suggests he most likely hit or was hit by something. The bruise is very recent - likely occurred just prior to death - and depending on how hard the impact was, it could have contributed to what killed him. We'll have to wait and see what Sid says. He has some bruises and scratches on his arms. I'd say he was in a fight."
"It's a hockey game, of course he was in a fight," Flack muttered. He held his hands up at Mac's look. "I'm just saying, show me one hockey game where there wasn't a fight."
"I thought those usually occurred on the ice," Mac said as he took one final picture of the room.
It was a fairly typical locker room: there was a stand holding some extra hockey sticks, helmets, and other gear by the door with walls of lockers extending from either side, benches sitting in front of them. It looked like every other locker room he'd seen. There were laundry baskets for dirty uniforms by one side of the door to the showers and an empty spot on the other side where the shelf and clean towels had been.
"On the ice, in the locker room, at the bar..." Flack shrugged. "Take your pick. They pretty much happen anywhere."
"This one turned deadly. Who kills a rising hockey star at a game?"
"Someone who doesn't want him making it into the NHL?" Hawkes surmised as he pulled some paper evidence bags from his kit.
He carefully fitted them over the victim's hands. Finished with pictures, Mac joined him and began bagging trace evidence they found. Like most locker rooms, there was plenty of evidence of people throughout the room; it was their job to determine what was related to the crime and what was there due to the nature of the room.
"Whoever it was, they turned the Rangers' locker room into a crime scene," Flack said hotly, motioning around him. "If that isn't desecration, I don't know what is."
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