Thoughts of Fire, Doors of Vegas [Eight]

A/N: This has a lot of chapters. Well, we’re getting somewhere, finally. Thank you to everyone who has commented. There will be smut coming shortly, (VERY SOON) be patient, my lovelies.

A little corny TAI reference.

Detective Blackinton was standing beside a tall, black man in a suit when Pete pulled up beside a silver Honda, Patrick sitting beside him.

“Sheriff!” He acknowledged, climbing out of the car.

“Pete,” Travis McCoy gave Pete a toothy grin, “Untimely deaths all over the place.”

“The DA is going to be all wrapped up in this one.”

Sheriff McCoy pointed to the house he was standing in front of, “You ever seen a murder in Summerlin?”

“Yes, but still,” Pete answered, “You’ve got to be fucked to want to murder someone here.”

“Not really,” Patrick piped up. Pete turned and saw that he was staring at the house thoughtfully, “Summerlin’s an expensive neighborhood. There could be a lot of reasons why people are killed here. Money, adultery, the whole nine yards, right?”

“I like him,” The Sheriff told Pete, “He thinks more than you do.”

Before Pete could come up with some kind of smart ass retort (Good luck there), Victoria walked up to them.

“Hey Sheriff, Pete,” She said desperately, “It’s a scene in there. Probably one of the biggest cases of this year.”

“What’s wrong with your guys?” Pete asked, pointing to Sisky and a bunch of officers standing in the corner, throwing up.

Victoria winced, “They went inside.”

Patrick turned to Pete with an eyebrow raised, “They went inside?” He repeated.

“I can only guess what’s in there.” Pete answered dully.

Once inside, it was clear why the officers had thrown up. The house was filled with the stench of blood, raw and not unlike copper.

“Oh Jesus,” Patrick groaned.

Pete turned on his flashlight. The foyer was already splattered with blood, and in the middle of the room laid an adult male on his stomach, a bullet in his back.

“And we’re not even inside the house yet,” Pete sighed softly, “Don’t turn on any lights. Follow me and try not to step on blood pools. Don’t contaminate any evidence.”

“I’m not five,” Patrick grumbled, but Pete saw that he followed his orders, his footsteps delicately tailing Pete’s.

On the kitchen floor was a young female, lying on the ground. Her throat seemed to have been sliced open, blood spurts on the counters and floor.

“She can’t be older than fifteen,” Pete muttered.

Upstairs, the master bedroom lay the body of a woman, around her forties.

“Gunshot to the back of the head, execution style.” Pete commented.

Patrick scribbled furiously. Pete heard the scratching of the pen on the notepad.

Once they did a walk-through of the whole house, Pete went outside.

“Coroner can go inside,” He declared, looking at Dr. Hurley.

“Thanks Pete,” Dr. Hurley muttered, sliding past Pete and into the house.

“What are you thinking?” Victoria asked, walking up to Pete.

“Terrifying,” Pete replied, “Maybe a crime of passion. Doesn’t look like anybody broke in, might be somebody they knew.” He pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off his headache.

Gabe, Mike and William walked up to him.

“Gabe, interview people,” Pete told him.

“I don’t get to work with anybody?” Gabe asked, frowning.

Pete rolled his eyes, “Christ. We’re on practically the biggest case of the year, and you’re complaining. Stick around, I’ll do it with you. Hey you two,” He turned to Mike and William, “Get your ass on the sketches and Patrick,” He looked at Patrick, who was looking at him, “Bag everything, and I mean everything. Get to work.”

Somebody’s phone rang. Gabe looked up apologetically and answered, “Hello?”

A small silence.

“We’re on the case in Summerlin,” Gabe said into the phone, Bob, he mouthed at Pete.

Pete turned away, “Okay guys,” He said briskly, “Get to work. Tonight’s going to be a long night.”

The interviews didn’t go over well. If people weren’t glaring at Pete or Gabe, females were hitting on Gabe. Really hard. Pete felt a flicker of annoyance, it wasn’t like he wasn’t hot. Sure, Gabe, was a great looking guy, funny and smart, but Pete had his assets.

“So, what can you tell us about the victims?” Gabe asked.

The busty redhead twirled a strand of hair around her finger, stuck her chest out, and licked her lips. “Well,” She said huskily, looking up at Gabe, “They were a really quiet family. You know?”

Pete gritted his teeth. Gabe was dead fucking meat.

“No, we don’t know,” He said impatiently, “Can you elaborate?”

The girl looked at them blankly. Rose Parkinson, she’d told them.

The next person was an old lady, about eighty years old, and she seemed to love to give lectures.

“Ma’am,” Pete started loudly, but not before she interrupted him.

“Don’t talk so loud! I’m eighty-six, you know?! I need my ears!” She screeched.

Gabe winced.

“Sorry ma’am,” Pete apologized quickly, “We were just wondering if you could tell us anything about the victims.”

“The Jenkins?” Gabe winced again as his eardrums almost burst, “Their girl was not the sweetest. Brought home boys everyday! You know, you don’t find sweet girls anymore, they’re all rude and they sleep with everything! I do hope you boys take good care of your girls, I mean, I’ve seen that girl get slapped around a bit, but I guess this is what she deserved-”

“Ma’am,” Gabe started, exasperated, “Thank you for talking to us.”

“Young man,” She replied sternly, “My grandson is about as old as you. He doesn’t just walk away from his grandmother.”

Pete wanted to take his gun out and shoot at something.

The third witness was crying uncontrollably.

“Why are you crying, man?” Gabe asked the man kindly.

“I can’t believe they’re dead,” He sobbed, “I can’t believe it!”

Pete turned to Gabe and raised and eyebrow, “Sir, why can’t you believe it?”

“This is insane,” The man continued to sob. Pete looked down on the sheet. James Morrison. “I watched those kids grow up! I can’t believe they’re gone.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, sir,” Gabe told him, “But can you please tell us about the victims?”

“Janice was the mother,” He hiccupped, “She was a sweetheart. Her daughter was a little bit of a trouble, but she always brought over extra pancakes.” He trailed off and started crying again.

Pete looked at Gabe. Gabe buried his head in his hands.

“Well, that went well,” Pete commented, looking at the crowd of people standing outside the house.

He noticed the annoyance in Gabe’s glare. “It was hell.” Gabe told Pete, “You bastard, it was hell.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Pete mused, “You could’ve had sex with all those girls and caught about a thousand STDs.”

Gabe ignored him.

“You could’ve stayed there and little to the lovely nanny talk to you about her grandson.” He said, starting to walk back to the car.

“Patrick seems to be fitting in very well,” Gabe voiced casually.

Pete’s hand stopped right before he met the door. Fucker.

“Yeah he is,” He replied, his voice tight.

“Hey,” Pete felt a hand on his arm, “Do you want to talk?”

“Not really,” He said, pulling the door open.

In the car, Pete adjusted his rearview mirror.

“I like him, you know.” Gabe said, putting his notes in his kit, “Patrick, I mean. He’s a smart kid.”

“Mm,” Pete started the car.

“Pete.” Gabe’s voice was stern, something Pete hadn’t heard often. It usually comes out whenever he was stressed over a case, or angry with a suspect.

Pete pulled out of the parking space, waving goodbye to the Sheriff.

“I’m glad you’ve got his back.”

“What?” Pete swerved violently. He shouldn’t be allowed to drive. Or at least, Gabe shouldn’t talk to him when he was on a vehicle.

“I think you’re taking good care of him,” Gabe’s words were casual, “My only concern is why.”

Pete’s head snapped around, “What the fuck?” He demanded angrily, “Why am I taking a rookie under my wing? Why shouldn’t I?”

“Listen Pete,” Gabe said softly, and Pete relaxed almost instantly. “I’m not accusing you of anything. Why are you taking Patrick under your wing?”

Pete considered the question. After concluding that it wasn’t a stupid question, he turned to look at Gabe, smiling slightly, “I just don’t want newbies doing anything stupid, that’s all.”

He swerved into a new lane and nearly hit a Denali.

Joe waked into the evidence lab where Pete was analyzing the victims’ clothes.

“Paint chip transfer that Patrick scraped off the Jenkins’ car.”

“What is it?” Pete asked, not looking up.

“I give the results to Patrick, right?”

“Actually no,” Pete straightened up, “You give it to the lead CSI, or to the CSI who assigned it to you. Patrick or William. He’s the lead CSI on this one.”

Joe frowned, “Well, where can I find William?”

Pete didn’t answer, “Come here, look at this.” He pointed to a stain on the boxers the daughter was wearing, “What does that look like to you?”

“Semen stain,” Joe peered over Pete’s shoulder, “Obviously that doesn’t belong to her.”

“Obviously.” Pete swabbed the stain and gave it to Joe. “Give this to Mikey to process.”

Joe took the Q-Tip, “How’s the serial case going?”

“Stupid.”

“No leads?”

“Stupid.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing else to lead you guys?”

Pete leaned over the table, “Stupid,” He ground out.

Joe clucked sympathetically, “That bad, huh?”

“Don’t cluck,” Pete complained, “Makes you sound like you’re sixty.”

“Far from that,” Joe said, “I’m still young.”

Pete gave him a look. “You have the mentality of a six year old, Trohman.”

“Oh yeah,” Joe nodded enthusiastically. “The ladies love it.”

Pete rolled his eyes, “Then the ladies are all pedophiles.”

Joe looked offended for a moment. Just a moment, before he burst into laughter.

Pete couldn’t help it. He smiled.

William walked into the evidence lab. “Holy shit,” He groaned, “What am I doing?”

Pete paused, “Your work.”

“I’ve got two cases,” William placed his hands on the table and steadied himself.

“So do I,” Pete scowled, “Do you think we should split this up?”

“I want to,” William pulled his skinny frame onto the table, “I really fucking want to.”

“Serial case,” Pete recited, “Multiple murders.”

“Everyone in the lab should be on the serial case. And until something new comes up on the serial case, we should all be on the Jenkins’ case.”

Bob walked into the evidence lab, “I just got a call from The Sheriff.”

“Excellent,” Joe mimicked, a “Mr. Burns impression” evident on his face.

Bob ignored Joe, “He said that you guys were there for the Jenkins’ case.”

“I guess you can say that,” William commented.

“I want you on this case, William,” Bob said.

“I am.” William defended.

Bob nodded, “There’s a reason why you’re the lead CSI. It’s going to be tough, I know you can handle this. Pete,” He turned to Pete, “I expect you to do this case, but once we have a lead on the serial, you can get your butt working on that.”

“Fine,” Pete scoffed, “I’ll do that.”

When Bob walked out, Joe turned to William. “I have paint chip results.”

“That you will give to Patrick,” William replied, looking over Pete’s head, “Who is here right now.”

Pete turned, Patrick was standing at the doorway, smiling a bit.

“Results?” He asked, looking at Joe.

Joe nodded, “Right here.” He pulled out the results and cleared his throat, “Silver paint from the car belongs to a Honda Civic, 2007.”

“Well that narrows it down, I guess,” William’s thin shoulders slumped.

Pete grabbed Patrick’s arm and steered him out the door, “I know where we can find a silver Honda,” He said.

“Where?” Patrick asked.

Pete grinned, “Neighbors, Patrick. Neighbors.”