Thoughts of Fire, Doors of Vegas Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for everyone who commented. I don’t own anything except the plot. Enjoy.

“You know what I hate about being out on the field?” Mike asked Pete as he walked into the building.

“You’re working with Gabe.” Pete replied without hesitation, “Where are you going?”

“I need some decent coffee man, I’m pulling a double.” Mike rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Come on,” Pete motioned Patrick to follow him, “Let’s get this to DNA.”

Mikey was not exactly happy to be assigned more work, but he grudgingly took the sample, with a few grumbles and complaints.

“You guys are lucky I think this case is important,” He told them, “Or I wouldn’t be doing this right now.”

“Thanks Mikey,” Patrick said, gratefully, “We really appreciate it.”

Pete gave sort of a non-committal grunt.

When they walked out of the DNA lab, Patrick turned to Pete, “What do we do now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Pete grinned, “We bond.”

Pete learned a lot just from looking at Patrick. He could tell that the young CSI was shy, because he never took off his hat, usually pulled close over his eyes. He could tell that Patrick was sensitive; by the way he chewed on his thumbnail when interviewing someone, likely because if he had something in his mouth, he wouldn’t say anything rude. Pete could tell that he liked his privacy; he didn’t say one word that didn’t relate to the case. Pete knew that Patrick graduated from The University of Chicago, but that was because Pete snuck a peek in his file. Pete knew all this, within 78 hours of meeting him.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is why Pete Wentz is a Level Three CSI.

The two CSIs sat in the break room, Patrick nursing a cup of coffee. “Why did you decide to become a CSI?” He asked Pete.

Pete looked up thoughtfully, “I grew up in Vegas. I lived with the shootings, the robberies, the strippers, the works.

“I bet you’re expecting me to tell you a story about how when I was a kid, something life-changing happened to me. My mom got shot or something. But nothing like that happened.

“So in the end, I guess the only answer I can tell you is, ever since I was a little kid, I wanted to catch bad guys.”

Patrick laughed softly.

“I considered being a cop,” Pete continued, “But then I realized how stupid that would be.

“I was top in school. I studied hard, I worked hard, I graduated university with honours. I wasn’t going to let all that hard work go to waste.

“So instead of being a police officer, I became a scientist. I don’t chase after lies, I don’t rely on dogs. I take credit for all my work.”

Patrick nodded, sipping his coffee. “I never really wanted to be stuck in a lab my whole life.”

Pete looked up.

“I started off doing tox work. It sucked.” Patrick chuckled dryly, “I didn’t want to go through the same routine every day, and wait for a machine to tell me whether the victim had heroin in her system or not. I needed my space.

“So I started training for a CSI. It was hard, but so much more satisfying. It’s like the difference between jacking off and having sex, you know what I mean?”

Pete stared at him.

“Never mind,” Patrick said quickly, flushing.

“Jacking off and having sex?” Pete repeated slowly.

Before Patrick could answer, Joe breezed in. “Hey guys,” He took a carton of orange juice from the fridge, “Cool, no pulp. Are you guys slacking off?”

“Are you?” Pete retorted, “We’re waiting on the DNA results. Other than that, we have nothing to do. If Diane Richard’s DNA matches the DNA we retrieved from Natasha Anders fingernails, then we’ve got our murderer.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Joe leaned against the counter.

“Then I’ll punch you in the face, and scream at the wall.” Pete replied matter-of-factly, ignoring the look on Patrick’s face.

Bob popped in the room, “Pete, Patrick, since the both of you are slacking off, I need you to take a look at a 419 at the Luxor.”

“Another one?” Pete spun around so hard he could’ve gotten whiplash, “There’s another dead body?”

“Well,” Patrick sighed, getting up, “At least it’ll pass the ‘slacking off’ time.”

The Luxor is known for its ancient Egyptian theme, a giant pyramid amongst buildings. It has 4407 rooms and 120,000 square feet of gaming space.

“When I was a kid,” Pete told Patrick, pulling up at the entrance, “I thought the Egyptians came and built the Luxor for Las Vegas because Vegas paid them to.”

Patrick bit back a chuckle.

“Of course,” Pete added, “That was before I went to Egypt and saw the actual pyramids. I was fourteen.”

“Where’s the body?” Pete asked a patrol officer at the door.

“Upstairs, fifth floor.”

The crime scene tape marked the location of the body. “Pete Wentz!” A tall, thin man in a gray suit walked up to Pete. “Nice to see you here!”

“Detective,” Pete called, then turning to Patrick, “This is Detective Ryland Blackinton.”

“How are you?” Patrick asked politely, offering his hand.

“Fine, fine,” Detective Blackinton smiled warmly. His smile dropped off his face, “The body’s in the room.”

Pete pushed the door open and walked inside. Detective Ryland looked at Patrick, “Hotel manager found her. Coroner says she’s been dead for about two hours.”

“Spontaneous human combustion.”

“What?” Patrick turned around to see Pete bending over the body.

“Spontaneous human combustion is science fiction,” Pete explained, “Nobody know whether there’s real evidence of something like that actually happening.

“Of course, people assume it happens, since there have been apparently many situations like spontaneous combustion.

“An English building constructor was driving past a site in his car, waving out the window when he allegedly burst into flames. A man from Cheshire, was found completely incinerated in his truck. A nineteen year old secretary was dancing with her boyfriend when she apparently burst into flames.

“Most spontaneous combustion situations are described where the victim seems to explode from heat. The fire seemed to be bursting outwards, as if they had originated from the body.”

“What the fuck,” Patrick said desperately, “are you trying to tell me here, Pete?”

“Science fiction,” Pete pointed to the body, “I don’t think this is even possible. Just like spontaneous human combustion.”

Patrick leaned closer to the body. Two holes were carefully pierced through the victim’s ear.

“I don’t think this is even possible,” Pete repeated, shocked, “Our serial has just killed again.”

“Okay people, let’s get the facts straight,” William sighed, standing in front of a whiteboard, marker in hand, “What do we have?”

“Three victims, two nights.” Victoria rubbed her eyes, “And a half.”

“First victim, Jennifer Sumner. Killed on August 22. Coroner pronounced 12:30 AM.” Pete yawned, “Goddamn, I’m tired.”

“Second victim, Natasha Anders. Killed on August 23. Coroner pronounced 10:30 PM.” Gabe continued.

“Third victim,” Mike frowned, “ID says her name is Jillian Haines. 27. Coroner pronounced her dead at 3:00 AM, in the morning of August 24.”

William wrote down the three victims. “What do these women have in common?”

“They have two holes in their ears,” Gabe guessed.

Patrick stifled a yawn, “The victim’s are all women. Young and attractive.”

Mikey walked inside the room. “Good news.” He said, a folder in his hand.

Pete looked up, “Let’s hear it.”

Mikey read the results, “The fingernail scrapings from Natasha Anders and the DNA off the hickey on Jennifer Sumner match Diane Richard.”

Looks were exchanged around the table.

“Well,” Mike started, “I guess it’s time to get to the Police Department.”

Pete and Patrick stood outside glass wall of the interrogation room in the Las Vegas Police Department. Inside sat Diane Richard, pretty and poised, with her lipstick smile and her Gucci bag. Victoria stood in front of her, arms crossed, eyes glaring, prepared for interrogation. Mike sat at the table in front of the suspect, pen and notebook in hand.

“Can you explain how we extracted your DNA from two murder victims?” Pete heard Victoria ask through the speaker.

“Not really.” Diane muttered.

“Listen, girl,” Mike snapped, seeming to have lost all patience, “If you don’t talk, that’s fine. We have enough evidence to put you in jail.”

Diane looked up, shocked.

Pete knew Mike was only scaring her.

“So either tell us what happened, or we’ll have you arrested,” Victoria said.

“Look,” Diane said quickly, “I’m bisexual.”

Pete felt someone’s eyes on him. He turned his head to the side and saw Patrick raise an eyebrow in surprise.

“Jennifer Sumner told me she wanted to have some fun,” She continued, “She said she was 22, and she liked-” She paused, “She wanted to have a memorable night.”

A pause. “And?” Victoria prompted.

“We met this guy.”

Mike’s head shot up, “This guy? You never told us you met a guy.” He snarled.

Victoria shushed him, “Go on,” She said, kindly.

Diane sighed, “He wore a mask. And I never told him to take it off, because, well.”

“You were having sex.” Victoria stated, dully.

Diane nodded, “He watched. I left a hickey on Jennifer’s neck. But that’s it.” She looked up, her eyes huge, her mascara running slightly, “I promise you, when I left Jennifer’s house she was alive.”

“Tell us about Natasha Anders.”

“Same thing, I met the same guy. He said that last time was really fun for him, and he’d like to try it again. I let him. We picked up Natasha at a club, and that was it. I promise, when I left the Excalibur she was alive.”

“Why didn’t you tell any of this to us?” Victoria asked angrily.

“I thought,” Diane dabbed at her eyes, “I thought you were going to arrest me or something.”

Patrick turned to Pete, “We’re at a dead end. All we have for evidence is a guy with a mask.”

Pete frowned, “Time to go back to the surveillance footage.”