FIC: "Before the Dawn" 2/?
Mar. 21st, 2005 04:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
astralisTwo things I forgot on chapter one:
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine, I don't own them, and I'm not making any money on 'em either
SPOILERS: There will probably be spoilers right through season five in later chapters. Just so you know.
Oh, yeah. Fic.
6 DAYS EARLIER
The air smelled of death.
Sara thought, glancing sideways, that Greg wouldn't agree with that. He'd probably be more specific, pointing out that it smelt of urine, of week-old trash, of vehicle fumes, and only slightly of blood and dead human flesh. And then he'd be surprised that she'd summed it up so simply.
Never mind. It still smelled of death.
The girl was lying between a dumpster and the wall of the alleyway, on concrete stained with what was probably her own blood. Sara knelt down beside the body, and took a closer look at the girl's face. There was so much blood and swelling that she was probably unrecognisable, even to her friends. Well, that was assuming she had any. "I don't suppose we know who she is."
"The kid who called it in," said Brass, drily, "said she was called 'Blondie'."
"Blondie, huh?" Sara tilted her head to one side, as if a new angle would somehow enable her to really see the girl. Somewhere under the blood, it was entirely possibly that the girl's long, matted hair was blonde.
David Phillips was pushing his way through the crowd. Sara and Greg stood up and stepped away to allow David access to the body. From here, Sara was aware of just how many people had gathered round to watch - what? This was Las Vegas, and these people could be in the casinos, could be walking down the Strip or being married by a man in an alien costume. Yet they were in a dark, damp, dingy alleyway, looking at the beaten, bloodied body of a girl who was probably only barely in her teens. What was the attraction that drew people to death, horror and decay?
Working this job didn't inspire her into much confidence about human nature, her own as much as anyone else's.
When David had done what he needed - not that there was much for him to do at this stage - it was his turn to step back and allow Greg in with a camera. Sara kept her distance and watched as the flash lit up the scene like lightning, every photo illuminating for a split second an area of sordid shadow. Waiting for Greg to finish, with nothing to occupy her mind, Sara found herself wondering who would do this to a girl so young. A crime like this was a tragedy no matter who the victim was, but the deaths of young people always seemed especially traumatic. Was it because they had so much life left to live, but someone had stolen that chance from them? Or was it because the young were supposed to be innocent, supposed to be protected from the horrors of life by their elders?
Whoever this girl - Blondie - was, it was obvious that someone had failed to protect her. Someone, somewhere, knew who this was, knew she was on the edge, getting desperate - living on the streets by the look of her clothes. She was someone's daughter, and where was her mother?
Mothers were supposed to protect their children.
Sara shook her head, blinking, trying to clear the unwelcome thoughts and images from her mind. Greg was looking at her, and she shook her head one last time. "I've finished," he said, gesturing with the camera.
"Hey, you don't need me to babysit you any more. You don't need my approval on everything, Greg."
Greg nodded to David, and the coroner's assistants stepped in to remove the body. They got Blondie onto the gurney slowly, gently: she wasn't in rigor yet. Brass and the cops parted the crowd and the gurney was wheeled through in silence and loaded into the waiting vehicle. The doors slammed shut, the lights came on, and Blondie was driven away with the ceremony of distinguished funeral.
With the gruesome spectacle of the body gone, the crowds began to clear. Sara watched them leave, Greg by her side, for a minute or so. They'd go back to the Strip and the casinos and the bright lights now, and later they'd tell their admiring family and friends about this in minute detail. They'd follow the case in the media, and brag that they'd seen Blondie's body lying in the awful alleyway, and they'd bask in a kind of reflected glory.
"All right," she said, finally. "I'll process where the body was. You get the dumpster, Greg."
Greg didn't seem to have any jokes to crack.
***
Back at the lab, Blondie was lying in the morgue, stretched out like so many other bodies had been before her. She'd been curled in a fetal position back in the alleyway, and she looked older now, taller. Someone had cleaned her up, and it was now evident what a mess her face was in. Sara didn't need Doc Robbins's directions to tell her about the broken nose and jaw, the shattered teeth, the proof that someone had really had it in for this kid.
Doc Robbins solemnly took them through the catalogue of the girl's body: the bruising on her neck, the broken ribs, the three stab wounds in her chest which had been the immediate cause of death. Evidence of rape. Sara swallowed, and ignored a feeling of deja vu she couldn't quite place.
Blondie had probably been dead, the coroner estimated, several hours.
"Brass is getting that call traced, right?" Greg asked.
Sara didn't need any context to know what Greg was talking about. Whoever the kid was who'd called 911 about Blondie's dead body quite possibly knew something about what had happened, maybe even knew who had done it. "Yeah, the cops are on it."
There wasn't much to do. There was nothing unusual about the body, and no mystery about cause of death. Doc Robbins sent several samples off to Trace, and Sara and Greg emerged from the morgue back into the land of the living.
After a moment's hesitation, Sara gave Greg the job of processing Blondie's clothes. The only reason she was inclined to do it herself was because she didn't want to miss anything, and that was ridiculous. She meant what she'd said at the scene. Greg knew what he was doing now; he didn't need to have anyone hanging over his shoulder, ready to snatch the hard or important jobs away from him the second he looked like doing something wrong.
Besides, she recognised the look on his face. She'd felt it on her own so many times before. Greg wanted justice for Blondie, and he was going to do everything in his power to get it. He wouldn't miss a thing on the clothes.
Leaving him with the bloodied clothes, Sara went down to one of the computer labs. Her first priority had to be to find out who Blondie was, in order to be able to begin hunting for her killer. At the very least, Blondie needed to have her real name discovered and her family tracked down. She needed someone to grieve for her, and to find that someone they needed to know who she was.
Blondie had probably been missing for a while. Sara set the search parameters at females, aged between 10 and 13 at the time of their disappearance who had gone missing between six months and two years ago in Clark County. It was a fairly broad search, but even so she was aware that Blondie could be outside her age range, have been missing for a longer or shorter period, or have come from somewhere outside Clark County.
Never mind. Sara, although aware she was supposed to have breakfast with Nick, determined that she wasn't leaving the lab until she'd come up with a real name for the body in the morgue. If she missed breakfast, she missed breakfast. Nick wouldn't be pleased with her, but he'd understand. Grudgingly.
The computer came up with seven profiles. Sara eliminated the first girl, who was black, and the second, who was Hispanic. The third was a brunette, making it unlikely she was their girl. The fourth was taller than Blondie was.
The fifth profile stopped Sara with a jolt. For several minutes she felt unable to even process the information on the screen, until slowly, gradually, it began to filter through her mind. One and one made two, and two and two made four, and she was pretty sure they wouldn't need DNA samples to confirm the identity of the girl who had died in a dark alleyway.
Sara remembered the deja vu she'd felt in the morgue, and wondered if she was going to be sick.
To Be Continued...
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine, I don't own them, and I'm not making any money on 'em either
SPOILERS: There will probably be spoilers right through season five in later chapters. Just so you know.
Oh, yeah. Fic.
6 DAYS EARLIER
The air smelled of death.
Sara thought, glancing sideways, that Greg wouldn't agree with that. He'd probably be more specific, pointing out that it smelt of urine, of week-old trash, of vehicle fumes, and only slightly of blood and dead human flesh. And then he'd be surprised that she'd summed it up so simply.
Never mind. It still smelled of death.
The girl was lying between a dumpster and the wall of the alleyway, on concrete stained with what was probably her own blood. Sara knelt down beside the body, and took a closer look at the girl's face. There was so much blood and swelling that she was probably unrecognisable, even to her friends. Well, that was assuming she had any. "I don't suppose we know who she is."
"The kid who called it in," said Brass, drily, "said she was called 'Blondie'."
"Blondie, huh?" Sara tilted her head to one side, as if a new angle would somehow enable her to really see the girl. Somewhere under the blood, it was entirely possibly that the girl's long, matted hair was blonde.
David Phillips was pushing his way through the crowd. Sara and Greg stood up and stepped away to allow David access to the body. From here, Sara was aware of just how many people had gathered round to watch - what? This was Las Vegas, and these people could be in the casinos, could be walking down the Strip or being married by a man in an alien costume. Yet they were in a dark, damp, dingy alleyway, looking at the beaten, bloodied body of a girl who was probably only barely in her teens. What was the attraction that drew people to death, horror and decay?
Working this job didn't inspire her into much confidence about human nature, her own as much as anyone else's.
When David had done what he needed - not that there was much for him to do at this stage - it was his turn to step back and allow Greg in with a camera. Sara kept her distance and watched as the flash lit up the scene like lightning, every photo illuminating for a split second an area of sordid shadow. Waiting for Greg to finish, with nothing to occupy her mind, Sara found herself wondering who would do this to a girl so young. A crime like this was a tragedy no matter who the victim was, but the deaths of young people always seemed especially traumatic. Was it because they had so much life left to live, but someone had stolen that chance from them? Or was it because the young were supposed to be innocent, supposed to be protected from the horrors of life by their elders?
Whoever this girl - Blondie - was, it was obvious that someone had failed to protect her. Someone, somewhere, knew who this was, knew she was on the edge, getting desperate - living on the streets by the look of her clothes. She was someone's daughter, and where was her mother?
Mothers were supposed to protect their children.
Sara shook her head, blinking, trying to clear the unwelcome thoughts and images from her mind. Greg was looking at her, and she shook her head one last time. "I've finished," he said, gesturing with the camera.
"Hey, you don't need me to babysit you any more. You don't need my approval on everything, Greg."
Greg nodded to David, and the coroner's assistants stepped in to remove the body. They got Blondie onto the gurney slowly, gently: she wasn't in rigor yet. Brass and the cops parted the crowd and the gurney was wheeled through in silence and loaded into the waiting vehicle. The doors slammed shut, the lights came on, and Blondie was driven away with the ceremony of distinguished funeral.
With the gruesome spectacle of the body gone, the crowds began to clear. Sara watched them leave, Greg by her side, for a minute or so. They'd go back to the Strip and the casinos and the bright lights now, and later they'd tell their admiring family and friends about this in minute detail. They'd follow the case in the media, and brag that they'd seen Blondie's body lying in the awful alleyway, and they'd bask in a kind of reflected glory.
"All right," she said, finally. "I'll process where the body was. You get the dumpster, Greg."
Greg didn't seem to have any jokes to crack.
***
Back at the lab, Blondie was lying in the morgue, stretched out like so many other bodies had been before her. She'd been curled in a fetal position back in the alleyway, and she looked older now, taller. Someone had cleaned her up, and it was now evident what a mess her face was in. Sara didn't need Doc Robbins's directions to tell her about the broken nose and jaw, the shattered teeth, the proof that someone had really had it in for this kid.
Doc Robbins solemnly took them through the catalogue of the girl's body: the bruising on her neck, the broken ribs, the three stab wounds in her chest which had been the immediate cause of death. Evidence of rape. Sara swallowed, and ignored a feeling of deja vu she couldn't quite place.
Blondie had probably been dead, the coroner estimated, several hours.
"Brass is getting that call traced, right?" Greg asked.
Sara didn't need any context to know what Greg was talking about. Whoever the kid was who'd called 911 about Blondie's dead body quite possibly knew something about what had happened, maybe even knew who had done it. "Yeah, the cops are on it."
There wasn't much to do. There was nothing unusual about the body, and no mystery about cause of death. Doc Robbins sent several samples off to Trace, and Sara and Greg emerged from the morgue back into the land of the living.
After a moment's hesitation, Sara gave Greg the job of processing Blondie's clothes. The only reason she was inclined to do it herself was because she didn't want to miss anything, and that was ridiculous. She meant what she'd said at the scene. Greg knew what he was doing now; he didn't need to have anyone hanging over his shoulder, ready to snatch the hard or important jobs away from him the second he looked like doing something wrong.
Besides, she recognised the look on his face. She'd felt it on her own so many times before. Greg wanted justice for Blondie, and he was going to do everything in his power to get it. He wouldn't miss a thing on the clothes.
Leaving him with the bloodied clothes, Sara went down to one of the computer labs. Her first priority had to be to find out who Blondie was, in order to be able to begin hunting for her killer. At the very least, Blondie needed to have her real name discovered and her family tracked down. She needed someone to grieve for her, and to find that someone they needed to know who she was.
Blondie had probably been missing for a while. Sara set the search parameters at females, aged between 10 and 13 at the time of their disappearance who had gone missing between six months and two years ago in Clark County. It was a fairly broad search, but even so she was aware that Blondie could be outside her age range, have been missing for a longer or shorter period, or have come from somewhere outside Clark County.
Never mind. Sara, although aware she was supposed to have breakfast with Nick, determined that she wasn't leaving the lab until she'd come up with a real name for the body in the morgue. If she missed breakfast, she missed breakfast. Nick wouldn't be pleased with her, but he'd understand. Grudgingly.
The computer came up with seven profiles. Sara eliminated the first girl, who was black, and the second, who was Hispanic. The third was a brunette, making it unlikely she was their girl. The fourth was taller than Blondie was.
The fifth profile stopped Sara with a jolt. For several minutes she felt unable to even process the information on the screen, until slowly, gradually, it began to filter through her mind. One and one made two, and two and two made four, and she was pretty sure they wouldn't need DNA samples to confirm the identity of the girl who had died in a dark alleyway.
Sara remembered the deja vu she'd felt in the morgue, and wondered if she was going to be sick.
To Be Continued...
