4Thank you to all who read and reviewed, it means a lot to us! =) Here is chappie two and hopefully three should be along a little quicker!
"Afternoon Sid."
Mac stopped to watch as the skinny grey haired man who served as the labs medical examiner continued rooting around their victims head with a long, plastic rod. He had the man propped up on his side and appeared to be exerting quite a lot of effort.
"How's it going?"
"Just getting the trajectory for you Mac." With a quiet grunt Sid popped the rod all the way through so that it stuck out a few inches from the back of the man's skull. He straightened with a puff and admired his work, exuding his usual aura of eccentric charm.
"Fixed lividity, Sid?" Mac turned at the voice behind him to see Hawkes studying the victim's back as Sid lowered him back onto the table. He cast an acknowledging glance in Sheldon's direction and nodded in agreement.
"Yes, I'd say so. He wasn't moved at all in the two days he was lying there. That's when I estimate time of death to have been. Maybe the early hours of Thursday morning." He said, looking at the cold body on his table – young, fit, obvious Latino heritage. Sid thought of rinsing blood out of thick dark hair and supposing that this was just the kind of young man his daughter might go for.
Mac was looking at the trajectory rod with narrowed eyes. "The shooter would have had to have been above him." Mac was concentrating on his memory of the basement, trying to think if there were any ledges or rafters.
"Or he was on his knees." Sid suggested. "I found traces of GSR around the entrance wound and ligature marks on his wrists." The ME handed Mac a magnifying glass and he passed it over the vic's right wrist.
"Very neat lines. Cable tie maybe?"
Hawkes had leaned in close as well and agreed with Mac. "They've left ribbed impressions in the skin."
"So am I correct in saying the gunshot to the head was the cause of death?"
"Indeed, he lost a lot of blood from the wounds around his mouth, as you probably noticed his shirt was covered in it. His heart was definitely pumping when the killer cut his tongue out."
Mac fixed his gaze with Sid's. "His tongue is gone?"
Sid reached over and pulled the victim's mouth open. "Yes, I'd say the lacerations on the outside were because he was struggling. They're very rough and irregular."
Mac and Hawkes both leaned in close and peered into the man's mouth. It was encrusted with blackening blood and dust from the basement floor. And unmistakably missing a tongue.
"I also found this...sticky substance on his cheek." Sid continued and held up a swab inside a test tube. A fuchsia coloured gel glistened slightly on it as he turned it in the light.
"Looks like residue from a hard candy or something?" Hawkes offered, dark gaze peering curiously at the swab. "I'll get it to Adam, I'm sure he'll figure it out in no time."
Sid smiled, "I'm sure. I also found smears of what appears to be motor oil on his hands, arms and around his ankles, which I already sent to trace."
"Motor oil?" said Hawkes, his brow creasing as questions and answers flooded through his mind.
"Mm. Is it possible our vic was a mechanic?" Sid asked.
Hawkes gave the older man a lopsided smile, "Hey, at this point, anything's possible."
"This guy's pretty strong looking." Mac added. "And I don't see any signs of a struggle, no defensive wounds or any other injuries for that matter."
"Which leads me in nicely to this." With a flourish, Sid held the magnifying glass to the side of the man's neck. There was a tiny puncture wound in the flesh. "It's most likely from a hypodermic needle, stuck in with a lot of force, notice the small circular bruise around it."
"He was drugged?" Hawkes asked.
"We'll know for sure as soon as we get Tox back."
"Our Vic is a convict." Adam's smirk fell as his joke went completely over Hawkes' head. His eyebrows went up at what appeared to be an unnecessary pause from Adam. The young lab tech sighed and continued. "His name is Emilio Alvarez; he's on parole for trafficking stolen goods. Car parts to be precise."
"Makes sense, we found what looked and smelled like motor oil on his limbs. Anybody listed as his next of kin?" Hawkes asked, intending to notify them of Emilio's death.
"His mother, Sylvia Alvarez. He's got one long list of associates as well. Looks like a bit of a gang to be honest." Adam was scrolling further down the record displayed on the monitor in front of him.
"Can you print me a copy please? I'll call Mac, see if he wants to question any of them."
"You got it." replied Adam, tapping a few buttons on the keyboard in front of him, "He might also be interested to know that two of the names on the list are fellow parolees."
Hawkes flashed the twitchy lab tech a knowing glance, "Well that is interesting. How recently were they released?"
Adam snatched some sheets of paper from the printer and presented them to Hawkes, "I got a Lilliana Russo, released about a month ago. And an Eleanor O'Malley, released, wait for it," he shuffled the papers and added with satisfaction, "on Wednesday afternoon."
He handed the papers to Hawkes and only winced a little when the soft spoken man gave him an appreciative slap on the back along with a smile.
"I'd say this warrants a visit."
Eleanor pulled her head from under the hood of the car she was working on and sighed deeply. The hot weather still hadn't broken and the garage was boiling like the fifth level of hell. She'd been tinkering with this engine for over an hour; sweat was sticking her shirt to her back, her hands and face were sticky and stiff with grime and her hair was scratching at her neck and face as it fell from the messy bun she'd shoved it into.
She was ready for a break.
Throwing the now black rag she'd been using onto the hood, without even attempting to clean her hands with it, she turned to retreat into the at least fan-cooled haven of the office. Then her gaze landed on the figures standing in the hazy opening of the garage and she stopped in her tracks.
She squinted at the official looking clothes and the rigid stances as the two men tried to obtain some intelligible information from Uncle Marty - the crafty, eccentric and very Irish owner of the garage, who spent his days planted at the door like a mad, lovable old Doberman. Nervousness twisted down her spine and she took a few steps to nudge at the dungaree clad legs sticking out from under a red Lamborghini. The first response was a boot to the shin, but a sharper nudge produced the disheveled and dirty form of Lily.
"What? I'm workin' here."
Eleanor stayed silent, instead nodding her head in the direction of the door.
Lily's delicate, oil smeared face creased in a frown and she scrambled to her feet, knowing it was serious when Nel couldn't even summon sarcasm. When she spotted the suits in the doorway, she froze and felt something jagged come to life in her abdomen.
Two green gazes met with apprehension before Lily muttered, "Cops."
Eleanor nodded and licked her lips.
"You done anything?"
"Besides the pot? Nah. You?"
"Nope. I've only been out three days; gimme time."
Marty's Irish lilt increased in decibel as he apparently reached an understanding of what the cops wanted, and the girls watched as he began to lead them through the maze of half constructed car parts.
"What should we do?" Lily murmured.
Eleanor's eyes narrowed, fixed on the approaching figures.
"We deal with it."
"Girls! These are two, ah, detectives, here to ask you some questions or… eh, somethin'!" Marty exclaimed, gesticulating madly. "Couldn't really make out exactly what they were saying." He added in an exaggerated undertone and wandered off, walking into cars and workbenches and whistling off-key as he went. The older of the two cops spoke first, in a surprisingly soft tone that contrasted his stature and the expression on his face.
"My name is Detective Taylor and this is Detective..."
"Flack." Lily said, a smirk playing across her lips. "Well, well. Detective now is it?" He had changed quite a lot since she had last laid eyes on him. He almost looked taller and there was no doubt he'd been working out. His hair was much shorter and was greying slightly at the sides, but there was no mistaking those baby blues. They hadn't changed a bit. There was still the sparkle in them that-
Lily started slightly as Eleanor elbowed her. "Sorry what?"
"We don't really have time for nostalgia, Miss Russo. I asked if you had seen Emilio Alvarez recently?" Flack had his note book open and was looking at her sternly, but not without the hint of a reluctant smile around his mouth. Lily felt her face heat up and immediately shoved her hands in her pockets, nervously playing with whatever she found there.
"Uh, sure. I saw him a few nights ago...Wednesday maybe?"
Mac and Flack shared a glance.
"What's goin' on?" Eleanor asked warily. "He in trouble?"
"No. He's dead."
Lily dropped the thing she had been twiddling in her hands and gasped. Mac watched absently as the tube of lipgloss rolled across the floor and hit a blue, metal toolbox. His gaze switched back to the two young women in front of him who both appeared physically shaken by the unpleasant news they'd come to deliver. When he and Flack first came in they looked like tired, dirty, working women, wary and street smart and strong. Now they were little girls with big eyes and pale skin smeared with dirt, and a lot of heartache. But then, Mac had learned long ago never to take anything at face value – not even grief.
"How?" Eleanor asked after a moment, her eyes hot and her voice thick and low.
"He was found in a basement, shot in the head. Not only that, but his tongue had been cut out." Flack said in a seemingly offhand manner, watching their reactions carefully. Lily's hand flew to cover her mouth and she felt Eleanor take hold of her upper arm. Her skin was tingling and she felt a little like she was going to be sick.
"Are you…" she started, swallowing heavily around the bile in her throat, "Are you sure it was him?"
Mac nodded grimly, "I'm afraid so – we have his DNA on record, which is how we found the connection to you two. You were known to… work together before you all ended up doing jail time."
Lily closed her eyes and nodded, a million brightly colored memories flashing through her head, while Eleanor's eyes narrowed and flashed. She couldn't deal with the awful tightness in her chest – so she let the unfocused anger burning there flood over it instead.
Mac noticed the dark haired girl tense, fingers curling and jaw clenching, and filed it away as a possible answer to a question they hadn't asked yet. A slight shift in Flack's demeanor told him that the Queens Detective was noticing too, but he kept his voice neutral as he asked the next question.
"Do either of you have any idea if Mr Alvarez was into anything that might've gotten him killed?"
Two mute and negatively shaking heads were their only answer. So Mac tried taking a little offensive, deliberately making his voice harsh and his gaze hard.
"Look, we know he wasn't exactly running as straight as he wanted everyone to believe, and we know you two might be in need of a little extra cash. So maybe he helped you out – if you know anything, you could be impeding the investigation by not telling us."
Wild, blazing anger stormed through Eleanor's body at the damn nerve of this fucker, and only Lily's damp, shaking hand on hers restrained her from telling both of them to go screw themselves. Her eyebrows bunched in a scowl and her voice came out strained between tightly gritted teeth.
"Emilio was our friend. If we thought for a second that any of those half-assed gang punks he was rippin' off were capable of this shit… believe me, you'd be chasin' us out the door already."
"Really…" said Flack, eyebrows raised patronizingly, watching the girl's hackles rise and waiting for an answer to any challenge he was radiating, but it was the redhead who answered. In contrast to the ball of friction that her friend had become, she seemed deflated and very weary.
"Yeah. Is there anything else we can help you with? Because I think we have to call his mother and tell her her son is dead."
There really wasn't much they could counter with in the face of her quiet civility, so with a final glance and a shrug of Flack's shoulders, Mac let it go. He handed them a card and watched them disappear into the chaos in the back of the garage, Eleanor's fight-ready shoulders softening into Lily's sad arms.
He sighed and joined Don in picking their way out of the murky heat towards the blazing sunlight outside, his mind racing over words and gestures and crime scene photos, placing the shards together only to find they didn't fit. And wondering where the things he couldn't see yet were hiding.
"What do you think?" he mumbled to Don as they made it to the car, "You knew them before right? Would they be capable of this?"
Don squinted up at the heat bright sky and exhaled thoughtfully.
"Honestly, back in the day, I would've said no. But…" he shrugged his shoulders and fiddled with his tie, "they were just street punks back then. And prison changes people."
Mac nodded, flashing through his endless bank of memories, faces of men and women reduced to monstrosity, and those who were monsters to begin with.
"Yes it does." He agreed grimly, "And so does murder."