#I'm not a homicide investigator or a medical examiner

[winedarkthoughts]

house of addams (3)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4k

— 🍄 summary: the coroner of Farrow's End finally invites you into his kingdom, and you can feel more than one set of watching eyes as you continue your investigation.

— ☕ content warnings: coroner!taehyung, assistant!jungkook, mentions of murder/death/suicide

— 🕸️ a/n: meeting more of the boys!!

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 3: into the morgue

"Have her come in," Taehyung says over dinner.

There's a collective clang as several sets of silverware are put down.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, hyung," Jungkook replies. He's nervous around you, especially because you can see more than you let on.

"We're going to have to eventually," Namjoon adds, and Jimin sends him a mischievous, knowing look. He knows how Joon likes to watch you in the bookshop, offering his assistance at his earliest convenience, asking if you need help finding anything specific.

"It's obvious she was hired by the mayor," Yoongi says. "Though, I'm not entirely sure why."

They all know that Mayor Summerbee runs in some of the same circles that they do, but they wonder if you're aware of that fact too. How much did she tell you?

"At the very least, it'll tell us what she already knows," Yoongi says.

"And if she scares easily," Taehyung adds, suppressing a smirk.

What kind of private investigator are you? Are you motivated by self interests? Are you just here to get the job done, bare minimum? Or are you the morbidly curious type? The kind that can't stop until a mystery is solved, even if it leads you to dangerous places.

Yoongi and Namjoon already have a guess at which type you are.

"She has some kind of sight," Jungkook says, biting his nails. The real question is how sharp is that sight?

"I don't think she knows that she has it," Jin pipes in.

They exchange glances, thinking.

"Well," Hoseok says, and they all turn to look at him. "I suppose we'll just have to test it."

september 27, 2004

You've seen your fair share of coroners. Good ones, even excellent ones, and the ones who never should've been appointed to the job in the first place. Most people aren't aware that there is no national standard for coroners, some don't even have medical training.

You remember a case not too long ago when a family mourning the loss of their son hired you to investigate the circumstances of his death, which was ruled "accidental" at the time. The coroner had not had any prior forensic training, he was an OBGYN turned politician. Elected by the small-town voters (nearly 80% of coroners in the U.S. are elected, by the way), he was cushy with the local police force.

And being your naturally suspicious self, or maybe it's a side effect of your job, you pressed for a second autopsy by an examiner actually worth his salt.

The external examination alone proved that it was far from accidental. His wounds suggested severe beating, and his cause of death was suffocation from being choked, homicide not accident.

Further investigation revealed police brutality. You pushed and pushed and pushed, and after being enough of a pain in the ass (and threatening several lawsuits), they finally convicted the officers responsible.

The family still sends you a Christmas card every year, and it more than makes up for being a pain in the ass for living.

So yeah, you don't trust coroners, or their reports, until you get the chance to evaluate their level of competence for yourself. And the fact that the coroner of Farrow's End has been so resistant to your attempts to contact him doesn't bode well.

But today, the Monday following your little expedition up to the Addam's House, he's finally available to see you. Last night you received a call at around midnight, seemingly from the same young man you saw on the other side of the gate the other day.

Of course you were awake, but you wondered why the coroner's office would be up and running at such an hour. Maybe a late night emergency autopsy? It wasn't unheard of, sometimes a Sheriff will request an autopsy to be completed as soon as possible when the press are particularly bothersome and the cause of death is unclear.

You didn't get the chance to ask, because the man started rattling off about how the coroner would be able to see you tomorrow morning, and he advised that you bring any notes you might have.

Good sign, it suggests that the coroner is willing to work with you.

It's early, maybe a little too early. The fog is blanket-thick and the clouds are sprinkling down a fine mist of rain.

You take your car as far as the rocky dirt road allows, park it at the base of the hill, and trudge on through the mud, the umbrella over your head immediately collecting dew.

You reach the gate, closed like last time. When you reach for it, you're expecting to find it locked, but just as your fingers are about to touch the cold metal, the gate swings open with a long creak.

You stand there for a moment, searching for some kind of mechanism that would make it open by itself, but you find nothing but old iron forged in intricate patterns.

Whatever, you've seen weirder. You slip through the parted gates and close them behind you.

Gigantic trees, pines it looks like, envelop the perimeter of the surrounding gates, with twisting, leafless trees in abundance nearer to the house, even though fall is just beginning to dawn and most leaves haven't even begun to change color yet.

You didn't notice it before, but these leafless trees are full of crows, black tufts perched on the reaching branches. No, crows and ravens. They call out as you pass by, and you get the odd sense that every single one of them is looking at you.

The cobblestone path leading up to the front door is overgrown with weeds. The exterior of the house, now that you can see it up close, is almost decrepit. The wood is rotting, the roof is sagging, the windows are dirty and smudged.

They rent this place out?

"Ma'am!" a voice calls out.

You search for the owner of the voice, finally finding it at the side of the house. It's the young man from the other day, peeking around a brick corner. He gestures you over and swiftly disappears again.

When you turn the corner, the man is standing by a double hatch door in the ground. Not a good sign for a supposed "morgue."

He seems to read as much on your face, because then he's saying, "I would take you down the elevator inside, but everyone is still asleep."

There's a childish nervousness in his voice, and it makes you send an uncharacteristic smile his way as you step through the door and down a spiral staircase.

Distracted, you don't see the curtains twitch, and the several faces in the windows above, watching.

The passage runs deep. You emerge in a wide hallway, lined with carved wooden walls and old portraits. The foundation is clearly old, but there are newly installed fluorescent lights that don't do the original craftsmanship justice.

"How old is this house?" you blurt out, and the young man can't suppress a high, boyish laugh.

"I'm not sure, around a century, I think," he says.

Wow hard to believe it's gone untouched for so long, you think as he leads you down the extensive hallway, passing several branching doorways.

Your eyes drink everything in, curious and scrutinous. Again, the man seems to read your mind.

"It might not look it, but we have a state of the art facility here," he begins.

"Crematorium," he gestures to one door. "Viewing room. Embalming room. Autopsy room. And the largest refrigeration unit in five counties."

This place is extensive, and the further you go, the cleaner and more modern it gets.

You notice that the man is wearing similar clothing from before: a large coat (broad shoulders) and big, thick boots. Black, laced up over his ankles it appears, it makes the thud of his footsteps echo against the walls.

You wonder if they are corpse-handling boots, or merely a style choice.

"Here's the office," he says, leading you into a small but cozy room fit with a cluttered desk and a few dusty but comfortable-looking armchairs.

"You can have a seat if you like," he says, nervousness creeping back into his voice.

You take him up on the offer, sinking into one of the armchairs despite the fact that you're a little damp from the rain. But judging by the state of the chairs, you doubt it would bother them.

It's then than you realize how chilly it is down here, in this basement maze tucked under an ancient house. Damn, you're so—

"Cold?" the man says suddenly. "I'm sorry, we get quite the chill down here. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

You perk up almost instantly.

"Coffee, please," you reply maybe a little too perkily, because it makes him smile at you, exposing those bunny teeth again. Very cute.

He disappears through another doorway, into some sort of kitchenette judging by the sounds coming from it (metal banging, water running, porcelain clanking).

You take a look around. The office walls are lined with framed photos and plaques all boasting the same name: Kim Taehyung. Bachelor of Science in Biology, Bachelor of Science in Chemistry, Master of Forensic Science, Embalmer's License, Medical Examiner Certification, Doctor of Medicine.

Got it, this man is learned. Good sign.

The young man returns with a silver tray in his hands. He sets it down on the ottoman between the two armchairs, grasping the black teapot and pouring fresh steaming coffee into a matching black teacup. You notice that the sugar cubes are in the shape of skulls and bones, and a part of you admires the dedication to the aesthetic.

You prepare your cup and sip greedily. The coffee is rich and strongly-brewed. Another good sign. It may not contribute to your investigation, but at least you can respect him as a person.

The young man takes the seat next to you and prepares his own cup.

For the first time since you arrived, you aren't distracted by your surroundings, and you're realizing just how strange this young man looks.

His skin is a dull shade of gray, with slight red blemishes and spots of dark purple flesh that look like deep bruises. His lips are simultaneously pale yet also tinged red, like there's blood inside his mouth. And his eyes, they look like—

The man seems to notice you staring at him, because he shifts uncomfortably in his chair and coughs awkwardly.

You blink, and his form seems to blur at the edges, becoming fuzzier and harder to latch onto. Maybe he has some sort of skin condition. But that wouldn't explain the feeling that something isn't quite right about him, something uncanny.

"I'll go see if Dr. Kim is ready for you," he says, practically sprinting out of his seat and out of the room. You hear his footsteps pounding through the halls, then hushed voices.

You being you, the debate over whether to slip through the hall to eavesdrop on their conversation does cross your mind. But you figured that even with your silent feet, they would probably still hear you rustling around in the quiet of the morgue.

A few moments later, and you hear one set of footsteps returning to the office. The young man pops his head into the doorway.

"He'll see you now," he says, vanishing just as fast. The way he appears and disappears like a ghost is starting to give you whiplash.

You follow him down the hall, entering a fluorescent-lit room fit with chrome features. The walls are lined with little doors, drawer openings, and there are several gurneys scattered throughout the room. The chill is even stronger here, this must be part of that state of the art refrigeration system.

The man standing in the center of it all is wearing a white medical gown and black latex gloves. He looks up as you enter, and—

Oh. He's young, startlingly young, early thirties max. His skin is golden tan over strong, handsome features. Dark tiger eyes, sharp and perceptive. The only indicator of his age is several tendrils of silver hair growing from the crown of his head.

"Good morning," he greets in a deep, charming voice. "Miss ______?"

"Yes, Dr. Kim?" you reply, holding out a hand.

"Just Taehyung, please," he says, taking off his gloves to shake your hand firmly, and jesus his hands are large and very pretty.

Ah, so he's not a pretentious asshole who insists on being addressed as "doctor" constantly. Another good sign. Though, judging from his extensive education, in this case it would be justified.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't see you sooner. It can get quite busy with just the two of us down here," Taehyung says.

You can't help but take another glance around the room. Only two people running this whole facility?

"I understand that you're working with the mayor?" Taehyung inquires, his casual voice good at hiding his burning curiosity.

You, in turn, are good at hiding the slight suspicion from hearing the mayor mentioned yet again. You're not sure who you're suspicious of though, him or the mayor herself.

"Yes, I was hoping I could get copies of the autopsy reports for Michael Bradley, Jarvis Laplan, and Sharon Mason."

You say it matter-of-factly, curious if they will bend at the slight flex of authority in your voice. Or, if being associated with the mayor yields certain results.

The two of them glance at each other.

"Access to Laplan and Mason aren't a problem, but Mary Bradley has requested that no further information on her husband's death be released," Dr. Kim replies, cool as a cucumber.

Your eyes widen just a bit, unable to hide your surprise. Wait...what? He would just give you the reports for Laplan and Mason, just like that? No request for credentials? No questions asked?

Truth be told, you've never gotten hold of an autopsy report after the first ask. You've always had to jump through hoops to get the right permissions and authorizations, as is the case for private investigators since they are not real police. And rightly so, the fine details of people's violent deaths is not something to be made light of, in your opinion.

Clearly your confusion is evident on your face, because then Taehyung is saying, "Laplan's wife and Sharon Mason's parents are quite eager for further investigation."

Ah, so they suspect something unusual too. Hopefully they'll be more than willing for an interview.

"And Bradley...?" your voice trails off with the question.

Taehyung furrows his brows like he isn't sure how exactly to put it.

"Mrs. Bradley has had a bad experience with the press," is all he says.

You can feel your eyebrow raise.

"Is she still a suspect?" you ask, deadpan.

Taehyung is quick to correct himself.

"No, god no!" he says, eyes wide and head shaking. "His death was purely accidental, a tragedy that could've been avoided."

Your attention catches on that last part like a snagged thread on a nailhead.

"Oh? Why do you say that?" you ask, unconsciously taking a step forward.

Jungkook, who's silently watching the whole exchange, can't help but think it makes you look predatory, a hunter locked onto their target with frightening accuracy.

But Dr. Kim doesn't bend. He tilts his head ever so slightly as the corner of his mouth curves up, like he respects your drive.

"Well, Michael Bradley exhibited signs of extreme mental distress, many of them suggestive of suicide."

"But you don't think it was suicide, do you?" you say, before you can help it really, because your mind is running a hundred miles a minute right now.

Jungkook can sense it too, his eyes Bambi-wide and watching in fascination as the cogs turn in your analytical brain.

"No, I don't." It comes from Taehyung's mouth like a sigh. You don't see it (Jungkook does), but he's impressed.

"That's all I can say really," Taehyung says suddenly, sounding apologetic. "You'll have to speak with Mrs. Bradley about getting access, but talking about her husband is painful for her. And she's been through enough."

He cares about people, the ones he works on are not just bodies to him. Very good sign. You're coming to the conclusion than Dr. Kim is definitely a coroner worth his salt.

"I'll be sure to proceed delicately, then," you reply softly. You're trying to say it back. I care about these victims, this isn't just a case to me. Everyone has a story.

He seems to get it, nodding his head with a gentle smile. Something very small, almost ghostly, clicks between you.

Jungkook observes it all in a slight state of awe. He can already tell that the rest of them, his "family," are going to like you.

Taehyung gives you the copies of the autopsy reports, a sizable stack of folders and papers and photos. He even gives you a copy of the autopsy transcript.

You realize that he was prepared to give you this information before you even got here. Either Mayor Summerbee is a very persuasive person, or Dr. Kim is eager to work with you. Maybe both.

Your point is proven seconds later when Taehyung hands you a business card (with his personal number scrawled on the back), as he tells you that you're free to contact him with any questions you might have.

You profess your thanks with an armful of documents, making a point to shake Dr. Kim's and Jungkook's hand firmly.

Jungkook leads you back, his boots softly thudding with every step, and you can feel Taehyung's eyes on your back as you walk through down the long hallway.

Jungkook is kind. He offers to help you with the massive stack of documents in your arms, but you politely refuse. You've got liquid gold in your possession.

He holds the gate open for you, even offering to walk you to your car, but again, you decline and thank him for his offer.

The gate shuts behind you with a resonate clang. As you turn away from the house to begin the trek down the muddy hill, you feel an odd sensation, like tingling insects down your back.

Looking over your shoulder, you see the curtains of several windows suddenly fall back into place. Someone, several someone's, are watching you.

You can't find it in you to be creeped out, though. Something about this house, despite its run-down appearance, is welcoming. Beckoning, even.

It's dark and old and practically falling apart, but many things that you love also happen to have those same traits.

A slight smile tugs at your lips as you turn and make your way down the path. You'll have to find out more about this place.

"Again. She saw through my glamour again," Jungkook announces to the room, sounding slightly defeated.

"Don't worry, Kook. It's a solid spell, I checked it myself," Yoongi replies as he waters one of the endless houseplants adorning their home. Thanks to Yoongi himself, of course.

"She saw through mine too," Taehyung says, resolute. He's staring at the black and white checkered floor, deep in thought.

Everyone looks up at that.

"That proves it then," Namjoon says. "She has a heightened degree of sight."

"I wanna know why though," Yoongi interrupts in a sudden bout of passion. "She's human. Why is she able to see everything?"

"Not the house though," Jungkook blurts out. "The glamour on the house held up."

"Of course it did, the house magick is stronger than any of us," Jin quips from the kitchen, standing over a sizzling stove.

"Lots of humans have the sight," Jimin says lazily, sprawled out in one of the lounge chairs.

"Yeah, but it's the type of humans who turn it into a cheap gimmick," Jungkook replies, pacing around the room now.

Taehyung crosses the distance between them in a few strides, putting a large hand on Jungkook's shoulder. The younger man looks up at him, then lets out a breath and returns the smile.

"You're safe, Kook," Taehyung says softly. "No one's gonna put up a fuss."

Jimin chuckles. "She might."

Taehyung throws a scolding glance over his shoulder. "A real fuss, I mean. Everything's been kept under wraps so far."

"And she's not a phony, or a leech. The mayor made sure of that," Yoongi says.

"In any case," Jin begins, an authoritative edge to his voice. "Hoseok said to keep an eye on her, so that's just what we'll do."

september 28, 2004

You may be a damn good investigator, but you're no med student. So the next day you set out to the bookstore, determined to understand every last term and phrase in the autopsy reports.

The same man is behind the desk, but this time he's bent over a typewriter, clacking away. You can't help but observe him for a moment, watching as his dark eyes dart over the page, the way his glasses rest at the edge of his nose like a wizened old man.

"Welcome in," he calls out at the chime of the bell on the door, like an instinct.

You take a few steps into the ever-crowded space, your eyes shifting over all the things you missed the last time you were here. Because that's what kind of place this is, somewhere you could go a hundred times and find something new each visit. Places like this are quite dear to you.

You're about to examine a shelf full of perfectly preserved beetles, when you sense the man look up at you.

"Oh," he says, like he's pleasantly surprised. "It's you."

And you would be lying if you said it didn't make your gut feel something warm squirming inside it.

"Need help finding anything?" he asks, like he has every time you've visited this place.

"Yes, please," you reply, barely hiding your smile.

He leads you through the maze of shelves like it's a map of his own brain. Several times you have to hurry to catch up to him in his excitement.

Soon your arms are occupied by an impressive stack. Anatomy, general medical knowledge, crime scene identification, even a few textbooks on post-mortem examinations.

To you, it's more liquid gold. You profess your thanks to the bookshop keeper, dropping a generous tip into the jar when you go to checkout. Again, the books are almost too reasonably priced. Not that it matters, since research purchases are an easy business expense ride-off.

Just as you turn to leave, the man clears his throat awkwardly, like he's building himself up to speak.

"There's plenty of places to sit here," he almost blurts out. "Lots of cozy nooks. Perfect for...research."

You pause at the door to glance back at him. You find him watching you closely, his expression somewhere between innocently curious and suggestive of hidden knowledge on his part.

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply, a little teasing lilt to your voice. Because clearly he enjoys your company too.

Then you turn on your heel and let the door swing shut behind you, leaving him wanting more.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! i would combust with joy if you'd tell me any of your thoughts :D

NEXT UPDATE: 05/25/24

[ausetkmt]

The family of a 17-year-old boy whose dismembered body was found 10 days after his mother reported him missing last month is pleading for answers.

After Cion Carroll's remains were found in a shallow grave in Lunenburg County on Nov. 12, investigators still haven't announced a suspect or made an arrest.

"I just can't figure out why they've had no suspects, and they haven't reached out to give us an update," Cion's grandfather Junius Carter told TV station WWBT on Friday. "We need some answers."

The teen was last seen on Nov. 2 at his grandparents' house in Kenbridge, Va., reports CBS6. His family said they knew something was wrong when he didn't answer his cell phone, which he always carried with him.

His mother Tiffany Baker called Kenbridge Police to report him missing, she told NBC12, but she says they weren't responsive.

"I notified them on the second day that my son had to be in danger," Tiffany told the station. "They gave me different scenarios on what probably happened, but me as his mother, I knew that those scenarios weren't true."

Without any support, Cion's family searched for him, according to a GoFundMe site created for the family.

"The family had to conduct their own independent searches, investigations, and contact news outlets to bring awareness to everyone," it states.

Ten days later, the family's worst fears were confirmed. Cion's body was found in a shallow grave and police are investigating it as a homicide, Virginia State Police spokesperson Corinne Geller confirmed to CBS6.

"He had two gunshot wounds, one to his head and one to his back which hit his spine," the teen's mother said she learned from the Richmond County Medical Examiner's Office. "He was then dismembered, and lye was poured on him along with cement, and then he was buried."

A spokesperson from the Virginia State Police, the agency handling the investigation, tells PEOPLE the investigation remains ongoing.

"This remains an active investigation and state police [are] actively pursuing several leads at this time," spokesperson Geller stated in an email.

But the teen's mother says she has received little information about the status of the case and fears such a gruesome murder could happen again.

"It's going to happen to some other kid because they think they can get away with it," Tiffany told the station. "But I'm going to say this: We ain't going to give up, you ain't going to sweep this under the rug, so if you know something, say something. Please."

Anyone with any information about the case is urged to call the Virginia State Police at 434-352-7128 or emailing questions@vsp.virginia.gov.

[rockislandadultreads]

New Title Tuesday: Thrillers

Midnight is the Darkest Hour by Ashley Winstead

For fans of Verity and A Flicker in the Dark, this is a twisted tale of murder, obsessive love, and the beastly urges that lie dormant within us all...even the God-fearing folk of Bottom Springs, Louisiana. In her small hometown, librarian Ruth Cornier has always felt like an outsider, even as her beloved father rains fire-and-brimstone warnings from the pulpit at Holy Fire Baptist.

Unfortunately for Ruth, the only things the townspeople fear more than the God and the Devil are the myths that haunt the area, like the story of the Low Man, a vampiric figure said to steal into sinners' bedrooms and kill them on moonless nights. When a skull is found deep in the swamp next to mysterious carved symbols, Bottom Springs is thrown into uproar—and Ruth realizes only she and Everett, an old friend with a dark past, have the power to comb the town's secret underbelly in search of true evil.

The Reformatory by Tananarive Due

Gracetown, Florida, June 1950: Twelve-year-old Robbie Stephens, Jr., is sentenced to six months at the Gracetown School for Boys, a reformatory, for kicking the son of the largest landowner in town in defense of his older sister, Gloria. So begins Robbie’s journey further into the terrors of the Jim Crow South and the very real horror of the school they call The Reformatory.

Robbie has a talent for seeing ghosts, or haints. But what was once a comfort to him after the loss of his mother has become a window to the truth of what happens at the reformatory. Boys forced to work to remediate their so-called crimes have gone missing, but the haints Robbie sees hint at worse things. Through his friends Redbone and Blue, Robbie is learning not just the rules but how to survive. Meanwhile, Gloria is rallying every family member and connection in Florida to find a way to get Robbie out before it’s too late.

The Spy Coast by Tess Gerritsen

Former spy Maggie Bird came to the seaside village of Purity, Maine, eager to put the past behind her after a mission went tragically wrong. These days, she’s living quietly on her chicken farm, still wary of blowback from the events that forced her early retirement.

But when a body turns up in Maggie’s driveway, she knows it’s a message from former foes who haven’t forgotten her. Maggie turns to her local circle of old friends—all retirees from the CIA—to help uncover the truth about who is trying to kill her, and why. This “Martini Club” of former spies may be retired, but they still have a few useful skills that they’re eager to use again, if only to spice up their rather sedate new lives.

Complicating their efforts is Purity’s acting police chief, Jo Thibodeau. More accustomed to dealing with rowdy tourists than homicide, Jo is puzzled by Maggie’s reluctance to share information—and by her odd circle of friends, who seem to be a step ahead of her at every turn.

As Jo’s investigation collides with the Martini Club’s maneuvers, Maggie’s hunt for answers will force her to revisit a clandestine career that spanned the globe, from Bangkok to Istanbul, from London to Malta. The ghosts of her past have returned, but with the help of her friends—and the reluctant Jo Thibodeau—Maggie might just be able to save the life she’s built.

This is the first volume of "The Martini Club" series.

When I'm Dead by Hannah Morrissey

On a bone-chilling October night, Medical Examiner Rowan Winthorp investigates the death of her daughter’s best friend. Hours later, the tragedy hits even closer to home when she makes a devastating discovery—her daughter, Chloe, is gone. But, not without a trace.

A morbid mosaic of clues forces Rowan and her husband to question how deeply they really knew their daughter. As they work closely to peel back the layers of this case, they begin to unearth disturbing details about Chloe and her secret transgressions…details that threaten to tear them apart.

Amidst the noise of navigating her newfound grief and reconciling the sins of her past, an undeniable fact rings true for Rowan: karma has finally come to collect.

This is the third volume of the "Black Harbor" series.

[novacallaway]

It's a case built on lies. We still have no idea what happened to two-year-old Caylee Anthony. Little Caylee had been absent for 31 days before her grandmother, Cindy Anthony, reported her missing. Her remains had reached the skeletal stage of decomposition by the time they discovered her body on December 11, 2008 near her family home in Orlando. There's been a whirlwind of theories surrounding her death, suspected to have occurred in June of 2008, which the medical examiner initially described as a homicide by "undetermined means".

The defense argued that she drowned in a swimming pool and that Caylee's mother, Casey Anthony, panicked before George Anthony, Casey's father, disposed of Caylee's body.

The prosecution painted a far more sinister picture. Casey, from the prosecution's lips, wanted to relieve herself of her parental responsibility.

Caylee Anthony's homicide is a well-known case, and I'm sitting on a wealth of material from law enforcement that provides great insight into everything they saw when they were investigating and collecting evidence. There are people who know a lot more about this case than I know right now, but that might not be for long...

On the other hand, talented medium, Derek Slater, has no idea what the prosecution said. He knows very little about the case--just the young girl's name--and I'm sad to report his statements are lining up with the prosecution's in uncomfortable ways.

After all, Casey Anthony was acquitted in 2011.

[ao3-rex1223]

Chapter 10: Plain View Doctrine

Twelfth Floor Intern Masterlist

Pairing: Miles Edgeworth x fem!reader

Summary: You finally get a few minutes to catch up with your dad and tell him who you're new mentor is. You attempt to tell him about your relationship with Miles, but it goes about as well as you expected. Later, your investigation continues and the more you uncover, the less things are adding up. At the morgue, you're given the preliminary results of the autopsy, however, your first interaction with one of the medical examiners doesn't go like you imagine. You're not the only one with eyes for the chief prosecutor.

Tags: Power Imbalance, Mentor/Intern, Miles wants you so bad but he's ethical AF now, No use of y/n, depictions of violence, Discussion of Rape, description of murder victims, adult murder victims, child murder victims, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampies, Loss of Virginity, Miles is the king of prosecutors but also the king of consent, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Blow Jobs, Nightmare about sexual assault, cross posted on AO3

"Hi, Sweetheart! Your mom and I miss you! Are you doing alright?" Your father asks. It really is good to hear his voice; the soothing voice of the man who raised you, held you when you cried, and rocked you when you were sick. So much has happened since you last talked, it feels like it's been a lifetime since you heard him speak.

"I'm fine, Dad. I've just been busy. I'm really sorry, but can I call you back later? I'm still at work," you admit, saddened you have to terminate the call.

"Wow, you're still at work?" He asks, surprised.

"Homicide never sleeps, Dad; you know that," you reply.

"No, it doesn't. Alright, Sweetie. Just get home safe, okay? I'll talk to you later. I love you!" He says, sounding sad.

"Love you, too, Dad," you reply and hang up.

"You could have taken a few minutes to talk with him if you wanted," Miles said.

"I figured I owe him a nice, long chat. I'll call him back when I'm home," you reply, withholding the fact that you're still afraid to confess to your dad that you're even interning with Miles let alone also sleeping with him.

You arrive at the morgue to meet with the medical examiner. Ms. Ozcar's body lays on the exam table, the telltale, Y-shaped incision running across her chest. You approach the table and see a white coat move in your peripheral vision. You turn your eyes up to a beautiful blonde woman looking very intently at Miles. Your Miles! Not hers! What the hell? MEs are all supposed to be old geezers! She stands directly in front of him.

"Miles! Great to see you!" She greets emphatically. She smiles sweetly with pearly white teeth. Her silky blonde hair is tied back with a few flyaways and long bangs free to frame her face. Her eyes look fierce, but with totally fake eyelashes. Her lips obviously have gloss on them, but you can't tell if the underlying color is really her natural lips or makeup; it's such a lovely shade of pink. Could she really be that perfect? She hasn't even acknowledged me yet! "How are you?" She asks, still ignoring you. "You don't get down here to see me enough," she comments flirtatiously. You can smell floral perfume that was obviously just sprayed. Apparently, she's completely unaware that Miles has absolutely no affinity for perfume. 'To me, it simply smells,' he'd say.

"Terribly sorry, Dr. Anderson. I don't get much time for social calls," Miles replies, his expression neutral. Unless I'm naked on his desk. Then he's very social, you say to yourself, wishing you could repeat it out lout.

"You should make some," she retorts with a smirk. Aren't you just classy? Your eyes are about to light her on fire. "And call me Sarah! You know that!" She playfully scolds.

Miles ignores her comment and places a hand on the small of your back. He introduces you to the doctor, sharing your name and the university where you're studying. "She's at the top of her class and well on her way to one day surpassing even my skills as a prosecutor," he brags. You reach out your hand to shake hers. The exchange happens over a few seconds but you wordlessly challenge her with your grip. She responds in kind. You stare daggers into each other's eyes. You both squeeze tighter and tighter until Sarah pulls away, her expression just barely showing a wince. Ha! A lifetime of thumb wrestling with Dad, is finally paying off! You withhold the smirk.

"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Anderson," you greet with a soft, sweet tone.

Sarah forces herself to return your greeting, then turns immediately to Miles again. "Miles, I'm surprised at you. You hate interns; a trait you and I share," she says and flashes you a glance as she speaks the word 'interns' with venom and disdain. Listen here, Dr. Zhivago, you better back up before I... You shake your head at your rage imbued thoughts. Is this how Miles felt around Professor Fredericks?

"She's shown such an impressive aptitude for the practice of law that I just couldn't resist. Her talents would be wasted on the simple cases she would see with the other prosecutors. I figured her progress would be most significant under my mentorship," Miles explains, looking fondly at you.

"Well," Sarah begins with a longing sigh and glares at you briefly before returning her flirtatious gaze to Miles. "Just when I think you can't get any sweeter," she continues and places her hand on his arm. Your breathing holds steady on the outside, but in your mind, you shriek as if obscenely offended. "Here you are, taking on the burden of teaching a student."

Don't touch him, you cretinous hag! Your head screams. You're about ready to rip that arm of hers off her body, but Miles quickly removes the promiscuous doctor's hand from his arm and changes the subject. He looks annoyed. You relax a bit.

"Dr. Anderson, my intern and I are quite pressed for time. I'm afraid I must cut the pleasantries short and insist we obtain the preliminary results of the victim's autopsy." Miles instructs.

"Of course. All work and no play, huh Miles? It's your best and worst trait," Sarah comments. Miles ignores her. Oh, sorry, honey; he only plays with me. She lets out a sigh of defeat and grabs a clean pair of latex gloves to pull over her hands and begin her report. "The victim died at around eleven-thirty last night. The cause of death was asphyxiation by a ligature made from her clothes," Sarah explains looking solely at Miles. She points to several, small, crescent shaped marks on the victim's neck. "Take a look at the curvilinear abrasions on her neck, they're from…" Sarah is cut off by your enthusiastic interjection.

"Fingernails. She tried to pull the cloth off her neck as she was strangled," you conclude. "Her killer was likely much stronger than she was."

"Yes, that's correct," Sarah reluctantly admits. "Notice the petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes, also indicative of strangulation," she continues and gently opens the victim's eyelid to reveal dark red spots on the tissue. "There wasn't much other internal damage aside from superficial bruising, but there is pretty significant tissue damage to the external and internal genitalia. Sexual assault is very likely and it was before she died."

Miles leans his head toward yours and softly adds, "keep in mind, the defense will likely argue the encounter was 'consensual rough sex'. The important counter argument to develop is the witness testimony about the victim's typical sexual behavior. They certainly aren't pleasant questions to ask or answer, but it is necessary."

"Got it," you acknowledge.

"That actually shouldn't be too difficult. Her blood alcohol content was high. Point-zero-nine," she reveals.

"That means we can argue she was too intoxicated to consent to sex," you add. Miles nods.

"I was able to pull what I believe to be semen from the vaginal vault. DNA analysis will take a bit, though," Sarah continues. "There was a good amount of dirt and tissue under her fingernails, but again we won't know who it belongs to for a while. There's a fair chance it's her own skin from her neck." Sarah turns around to grab a printed report off of her desk and hands it to Miles. "That's all I have so far, but there are still tests to be done. I'll be in touch with the results." She pulls the gloves off and drops them in the trash.

"Thank you for your report, Dr. Anderson," Miles says, forcing politeness.

"Miles, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Sarah?" The relentless doctor asks through pouting lips.

"I prefer to maintain a sense of propriety, Dr. Anderson," Miles answers.

"You call the intern by her first name," she argues and quickly darts her eyes to you. That's so he knows what to moan when we're in bed together.

"There's a special bond between a mentor and a student. A first name basis is necessary to cultivate a therapeutic rapport. Perhaps you will understand one day should you choose to accept interns yourself. We appreciate your time, doctor." Miles places his hand on your back and leads you out of the morgue.

"What new things come to mind now that you've been given the autopsy report?" Miles asks as he drives back to the office. The sun is setting and it's obviously going to be another late night.

My ability to restrain myself from screaming at that handsy tart is pretty top notch "If I had any doubts our perpetrator was a male, they're gone now. The victim struggled, but was unable to save herself. With the adrenaline that must have been coursing through her body, the aggressor had to be very strong. Once we determine if the cells collected from the victim's body are sperm cells, well, I think I'm comfortable making that conclusion. I think if the DNA under her fingernails can be matched to the sperm cell DNA, we'll have a pretty good idea who our suspect is."

"Very good. There is one more thing to consider…" Miles hints.

"Her intoxication. Right. That probably did weaken her, but I still think it would have taken a great deal to overcome. All that aside, the consensual sex argument the defense might use is moot given her blood alcohol level."

"Precisely. Well done. Before long, every defense attorney will dread meeting you in court," Miles comments proudly. He pulls into a parking space in the lot for the office which is nearly empty at this point in the evening.

"I think that doctor already dreaded meeting me," you reply, frustration returning to your voice at the thought of her. You walk beside Miles with your arms folded firmly in front of you, bound for his office.

"Dr. Anderson is one of the…less professional medical examiners. I apologize if she offended you," Miles answers. He clearly picked up on at least some of the angry tension between you and the flirtatious doctor.

"She's the one who should apologize!" You exclaim. You both exit the vehicle to head inside. "I've never seen a physician so unprofessional in my life!"

Miles chuckles. "I am very interested to hear which behavior you deemed so offensive," he muses, unlocking his office door.

"Her hands belong on corpses not my mentor!" You fume, stepping inside. Your nails dig into your palms from the tight fists your hands are making.

Miles closes the door. "I do believe you are now able to fully empathize with me," he comments, still chuckling.

You turn to face him and let out a tense sigh. "Professor Fredericks?"

Miles nods with a smirk.

"My God! Is this what it feels like for you?" You ask. This poisonous jealousy feels awful and guilt boils up within you for putting Miles through it.

"Mhmm," he confirms.

"I am…so sorry," you express genuinely.

"It's a powerful emotion isn't it?" Miles says.

Your eyes fall to the floor. "Yes, but I know what I'm feeling isn't arrogance, as you called it. I am jealous. It's terrible. She's so beautiful and charming…and a doctor," you squirm, leaning against Miles' desk again. Your face twists back into a scowl. "She's so pushy! Does she not hear herself?! Where did she get her medical degree? The University of Impudent Audacity!?"

Miles moves to stand in front of you. "While I'm pleased to see your feelings for me run as deep as mine do for you, you shouldn't concern yourself with her or her distasteful behavior. There are far more important things for you to worry about right now."

"Is she always like that with you?" You ask, finally looking up at him.

"She is. I never respond to her comments other than redirecting her to her job. The only emotion she gets from me is indifference, although I did find her particularly annoying today. I have a good idea why," he explains.

"Do tell," you reply, you glance up at him through hooded eyes, the rest of your angry face still turned down.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and cups your face, tilting it up toward his. "I'd wager that as soon as she saw you, noticed your beauty is vastly superior to her own, and that all the attention she seeks from me is clearly given to you, her own jealousy became nearly unbearable. I will admit, the urge to confess our relationship to her was intense," Miles reveals.

"I wouldn't have told her…I'd have shown her with a graphic demonstration!" You declare through gritted teeth.

Miles leans down to kiss you lightly. "We truly do understand each other," he comments happily. You reach up and wrap your hand around his forearm, stroking his wrist with your thumb.

"If Professor Fredericks touches me again, I will call him out on it and set a very firm boundary," you vow.

"I'll do the same for Dr. Anderson," Miles replies.

"Good," you reply and pull him in for a deeper kiss. The urge springs up on you quickly and you have to fight to stop yourself from tearing Miles' clothes off. As your mind struggles for control of your hands, your tongue takes advantage of the lack of mental supervision and slips into his mouth, moaning at the delicious taste of him.

He grabs your hips and pulls you tight against his. He sucks on your tongue and moans back into your mouth.

You enjoy your sensual kiss until Miles manages to pull himself away. "We should stop, lest your bed end up empty for another night," he admits, begrudgingly.

"Yeah," you agree, sadly. It would be nice to enjoy some time together alone after the day you've had, but it's already late and you could almost collapse from exhaustion.

"And," he begins and pecks your lips once more. "You owe your father a phone call. Are you going to tell him about us?" He runs his fingers gently through your hair.

"Us or us?" You ask.

"Both," he answers.

"Us, yes. Us...I'm still working on that one." You look away, trying to hide the guilt in your eyes.

"Why not just tell him?" He asks, eyebrows raised.

"I want to; I just…I really want him to be happy for me and not be immediately disapproving. I've been trying to figure out the best way to bring it up. I love my dad. I don't want him to be upset with me, but I…won't give you up, either," you explain.

"From what you've told me, it probably doesn't matter how you tell him. He will be upset, but he is your father. He loves you. He'll come around eventually," Miles reassures you and kisses your forehead. "It's your decision, but I think the longer you wait the worse it will be."

"Yeah, I guess," you reluctantly agree.

"Let me take you home," Miles says, kisses you once more, and steps away to pack up his briefcase. You follow suit and both head for Miles' car.

You sit on your bed, pajamas on, face washed, staring at 'Dad' in your contacts list.

"It's a cell phone, hon," Nora teases, just about to head into the bathroom to shower.

"Trying to get myself to call my dad," you admit weakly.

"Are you going to tell him everything?" Nora asks, tilting her head forward, eyebrows sliding up.

"I don't know if I can. I think I'll try…" you reply.

Nora pushes the bathroom door open. "Well," she begins flatly, "good luck, whatever you decide to do. Personally, I think you should just tell him. Rip the band-aid off now." She walks in and closes the door.

I have to tell him, you coach yourself. You take a deep breath and release it, then press the 'call' button.

"Hi, Sweetie!" Your dad greets you happily. "Are you finally home? How was your day?"

"Yeah, it was great. It's really really busy, but it's great! I love it here!" You answer.

"I'm glad. You've been busy for weeks now. No time to call your mom and dad?" He asks.

"I'm sorry. It's non-stop. This summer has been…" you pause. Incredible, terrifying, amazing, overwhelming, unforgettable, hot. "Crazy. I've gotten to see a few trials now. It's fascinating," you explain. "I helped with a few guilty verdicts, too!"

"That-a-girl! I'm so proud of you, honey! So, that Mr. Payne has really been putting you to work, huh?" He replies.

"Well…" you pause, readying the first part of your updates for your dad. "I'm actually not assigned to Mr. Payne anymore." You cross and uncross your legs and fidget with your pajamas, trying to alleviate your nervousness.

"What happened?" He asks, concern weighing on his voice.

"Oh, nothing bad. It's actually good news. The chief prosecutor was really impressed with my performance, so he invited me to intern with him instead. I get to see more complex cases," you reveal.

"Well, that doesn't surprise me! Of course, my little girl is impressive! Now, I'm trying to remember the chief for that district," he pauses, searching his memory. "Oh! That's not Miles Edgeworth, is it?" He asks excitedly.

"That's him," you confirm.

"Wow! Wait til Cotter hears about this!" He gushes. Dan Cotter is your father's good friend and chief prosecutor of your hometown. You've known him since you were about five years old. "Well, that's just the best news! My baby girl is interning with the great Miles Edgeworth!"

"Yeah, it's been…it's been great. I'm learning so much!" You add. Maybe now is the time to tell him the rest!

"I hear he can be a bastard, though. Is he being nice to you?" Your dad asks. Or…maybe not.

"Yes, he is, Dad. He's a great teacher. He lets me do a lot with his cases and he makes sure to pull me aside if I'm making a mistake and explain what I need to do," you say, defending Miles.

"That's good. I guess it's not tough to believe he's nothing but professional to you," he replies.

depends on how you define 'professional'. "Yeah, Dad, he's been a perfect gentleman," you confirm. It was still true. Even though you've become intimate, Miles has never been anything but good to you.

"That's good! He better be!" He adds.

Come on! Say it! Say it! "Well, he is kind of…handsome…and he's really smart!"

"Hm, bad idea, honey," he begins. You can all but hear him shaking his head. "He may be a talented attorney, but he would be all wrong for you. Men like that, they put everything into work. They make for great prosecutors, but trust me you'd be miserable! Not to mention, your law school and his office would have a big problem with you two being together. That's not a headache you want to deal with. And it's not like you'll be in LA forever. I can't see someone like him picking up and moving back to Colorado with you. Not even close to good enough for my little angel. Best keep your relationship with him strictly professional," he rants.

You let out a silent sigh. "Got it, Dad," you reply, sadly.

"Chin up, Sweetie. You'll meet a nice man when you get back home," he says, attempting but completely failing to reassure you. "Give your mom and I some grandkids!"

You fall back onto your bed. Such a 'dad' answer. It's not that you don't want to be a mother, you'd just like to be able to pick the father.

"Sure, Dad. How's Mom doing?" You decide to quit while you're already behind and change the subject.

"She's loving retirement! She started a garden in the backyard. I tell you, she is trying to grow everything! She's got peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, zucchini…she's even got pumpkins! She's having fun with it, though. It's got me thinking about hanging up my badge, myself," Dad reveals.

"Really!? You're going to retire?" You ask, shocked. Your dad was certainly old enough to retire, but growing up you always saw your dad as a hero. He saved lives and solved crimes. It was hard to picture him not doing that anymore. He had become a legend.

"I've been thinking about it for a while. I love my job, but I get pretty tired at the end of my work days and you know they get pretty long. Hell, you're dealing with the same thing now yourself. Body's only good for so long. I'd kind of like to be able to enjoy my twilight years for a bit, maybe travel around with your mom," he elaborates.

"It'll be weird to see you retire, but…I guess I can't blame you," you reply.

"I'm still deciding, but it will happen one way or another," he says with a chuckle. Dad always had a dark sense of humor and you usually could laugh at it, too, but you have seen enough death today that you didn't find joking about your Dad getting killed in the line of duty palatable.

"Don't say that, Dad!" You exclaim, nearly tearing up. "You promised Mom and me you'd always come home!"

"I'm sorry, Honey. My point is, I think I'd like to retire sooner rather than later," he replies.

"Well, you already have your pension. I guess now is as good a time as any," you add.

"Maybe I'll have a chat with my captain next week," he ponders. You hear the faint sound of a pager going off in the background. "Uh oh, speak of the devil. Duty calls, Honey."

"Okay, Dad. I'll talk to you later," you say, already missing him.

"And, Sweetie, please call us more often. I know you're busy, but whenever you can, we really want to hear from you," he pleads.

"I will, Dad. Love you," you say. "Be safe."

"Love you, too, Sweetheart," he says. You hang up the call and sit back up in bed.

"How'd it go?" Nora asks. You didn't realize she had come back into the room. She sits on her bed applying lotion.

"Eh," you respond. "I sorta tried to tell him, but he shot it down immediately."

"So, he knows you're dating Miles?" Nora asks.

You sigh and lean over to plug your phone into the charger. "No," you groan.

"I know it's not easy to tell your dad the truth but what's going to happen down the road when you and Miles decide to move in together? Or when you decide to get engaged? I think he will be angrier if he's kept in the dark longer," Nora argues.

"I know," you groan and absentmindedly rub your neck. "I'll tell him after this case."

Nora sighs with disapproval. "Okay."

"Don't give me the disappointed mother 'okay'!" You pout.

"Okay…" Nora says, comedically leaning into her disappointed tone. You throw a pillow at her.

The next day brings a few more pieces of evidence and a list of friends of the victim. One in particular catches both your and Miles' attention.

"His name is Bradley Hogger," Gumshoe explains. Miles has turned his office phone to speaker so you both can hear the detective's report. "According to her other friends, Bradley has been a close friend of the victim's for years."

"Did they ever have a relationship?" You ask.

"Not according to any of the victim's other friends," he answers.

"Miles, I just had a thought," you begin. He turns his attention to you. "What if we're not looking for an ex-boyfriend? What if we're looking for a friend who never got to be the boyfriend?"

"You read my mind," Miles replies. He turns his attention back to the phone. "Detective, we'd like to speak with Mr. Hogger. Please ask him if he will agree to an interview."

"Yes, sir," Gumshoe acknowledges.

"Oh, and Detective," Miles begins.

"Sir?" Gumshoe replies.

"My intern and I will be conducting the interview," Miles states.

"Understood, sir," Gumshoe acknowledges and hangs up.

Miles gives you a smile, "I think you should lead the interview, should he agree. I have yet to observe your witness interviews and I think this will be a beneficial learning opportunity for you."

You nod in response; a jolt of nervousness surges through you, but you override it with your desire for answers and to impress Miles.

Mr. Hogger thankfully agrees to meet with you. You and Miles sit across from him in the interview room at the police station. He appears genuinely distressed, obviously grieving the loss of his long term friend.

You introduce yourself and Miles. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with us, Mr. Hogger," you begin, keeping your tone even and calm. Miles' words about following the facts and not getting ahead of the evidence ring in your mind and you consciously maintain an impartial attitude. You tell yourself you are not speaking to a suspect but merely a witness and he will only become a suspect when you have evidence to support that designation.

"Anything to find Suzy's killer," he replies, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Can you tell me about your relationship with Ms. Ozcar?" You ask.

"Suzy and I go way back. We met in high school, actually." His mood brightens a bit from reminiscing. "She was the cheerleader; I was the debate team guy, but she took pity on me, I guess, stood up for me when the jocks ganged up on me. We became best friends. We still are to this day!" His frown returns and he slumps in his chair. "...well we were." A tear falls from his eye.

"When was the last time you saw her?" You ask.

"Last week, I think it was. We went to a movie together," he answers.

"What can you tell me about her relationship with her boyfriend?" You continue.

"Julian? Well, he's okay, I guess. I'm not sure he's good enough for her," Bradley answers, leaning back in his chair with a huff.

"What makes you say that?" You follow up.

"He just didn't seem right for her, you know? Sometimes you can just tell. I just don't think he really loved her like she deserved. He said he wanted to marry her but who knows if he'd ever have actually done it. He seems flaky to me," Bradley explains.

His disapproval of the victim's boyfriend strikes you. You try to stay your judgment but keep the observation in your mind.

"Did you and Ms. Ozcar ever date?" You ask.

"No, never," he replies quickly, and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "She was my best friend, I never thought of her that way."

"So, you never had any romantic feelings for her?" You ask.

"No!" He fires back and leans forward in his chair. "Why? Do you people think I did this?!"

Your heart quickens with Bradley's escalation. You try to hold your neutral expression. "Mr. Hogger, we are not accusing you of anything," you reply, voice trembling.

"Good! Because I didn't do it! I didn't even see her that day!" He proclaims.

"Did you speak to her at all?" You ask.

"I don't think so, no," he replies. "Look, what are you people doing talking to me when you should be out looking for Suzy's killer!?"

"Mr. Hogger, I promise you, we are doing everything we can to find the killer, but we need this kind of information to know where to look," you reply, attempting to calm him. "Can you tell me what you did that day?"

"I went to work and I went home. That's all," he answers sharply.

"Would you be willing to give us your fingerprints and a sample of your DNA?" You ask, bracing yourself for a blow-up.

"No! I wasn't around her at all that day! You don't need it! You got some nerve, kid, dragging me in here and making me feel like a murderer! Is that what they teach in the law schools now?"

An idea hits you. "Mr. Hogger, you're right, I've been rather rude. Let me make it up to you. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Maybe a glass of water?" You ask as sweetly as you can.

"That's more like it! I'll take a cup of coffee!" Bradley says and relaxes into his chair.

"I'll be right back," you promise with a smile.

You carefully pour coffee into a freshly cleaned mug, avoiding touching it with your bare hand, using a paper towel to lift it, then gingerly carrying it back to the interview room, sitting on top of a napkin in your palm. You lean down and present the cup to him as a waitress might.

"Thank you," Bradley says calmly and takes the cup. "You know, maybe you're not so bad. Hey, you kind of remind me of Suzy, you know?"

You force a smile and continue your questions, "where do you work, Mr. Hogger?"

"I'm an auto mechanic. I work at a local repair shop; Syd's," he answers and takes a sip of the coffee.

"How long have you worked there?" You follow up, not actually caring about the answers he gives you. You're simply filling dead air while your witness enjoys his coffee.

"Three years," he answers.

"Do you work long hours?" You ask.

"Ten hour shifts, five days a week," he answers.

"Sounds like an exhausting job," you comment.

"Eh. It keeps me in shape," Bradley replies. He holds up his arms and flexes his muscles. He certainly would fit the profile of the killer, you note. Follow the facts, you remind yourself. He lowers his arms and takes another drink of his coffee.

"You mentioned you and Ms. Ozcar went to a movie last week. What else did the two of you like to do together?" You ask.

"We'd go out to the bars from time to time. Julian doesn't drink so he never goes with," he answers.

"Did Ms. Ozcar ever mention Mr. Gates hurting her or did she ever express that she felt unsafe with him?"

He ponders for a moment while drinking more coffee. "No, she never said anything like that. She seemed to really like him. I don't know why," he scoffs. He downs another gulp of coffee.

"What about anyone else in her life?" You ask.

"Nah, I don't think so," he answers. "Everyone loved Suzy." He takes another swig of coffee.

"I appreciate your time very much, Mr. Hogger. Unless my superior has any additional questions, I believe we can conclude this interview," you announce and glance at Miles. He allows a placid smile to form on his lips.

"I have no additional questions. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hogger," Miles says, calmly.

You call for a uniformed officer to escort Bradley out of the building. Once out of ear shot, you call for Gumshoe to bring an evidence bag and collect the used coffee cup. "This should get us a few fingerprints AND some DNA," you announce proudly. "Please take that to the lab, Detective."

"Right away!" He replies happily and turns to leave the interview room.

"You never cease to impress me," Miles compliments.

"Learned that trick from my dad. If they leave their DNA out in the open, I can take it. Plain view," you state.

"Very clever. What do you think about this witness?" Miles quizzes.

"I'm withholding my judgment," you promise, then let out a worried sigh. "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't still have…concerns," you admit. "I'm not sure I believe him when he says he had no feelings for the victim."

"I have the same thoughts. He seemed very defensive when you asked him. There isn't enough to designate him a suspect yet, though. I'm very anxious to see the results of the DNA analysis, as well. That should help guide our search. What would you like to do next?"

You carefully consider all of the facts floating around in your head. Julian Gates seemed genuinely devastated when he heard Suzanne was dead. He was fully cooperative with the police, which, in Hollywood, always leads to a twist, but according to your dad, it was usually a good sign. Bradley Hogger was mostly cooperative but did show some suspicious behaviors and refused to give his DNA and fingerprints. Maybe the boyfriend has some insight. "I think I'd like to talk to Julian Gates again," you finally conclude. "I want to find out what he knows about Bradley Hogger."

You earn a proud smile from your mentor. "My thoughts exactly."

[nlgwj-esq]

"Martha Mason, Movie Star" | Hitchcock Presents

My review: Alfred Hitchcock presents: and Martha Mason, Movie Star

written by: Neil Leslie Gilbert of N L G W J Household

Me wondered about personality of movie actress character. Thoughts about dysfunctional acquintance's and citizens I've privately witnessed, who've enacted scenes from popular movie's or show's as there response (view a & b below)

Wouldn't accept motive for homicide of movie actress character. Me would think: Movie actress character was unable to acknowledge or accept her behaviour as dysfunctional. (As she's an actress).

Me experiences of dysfunctional behaviour include a) subjection and b) witness.

a) I've received complaints about alleged behavioural account's filed by third parties via medical examiner (via unknown formalities e.g. third parties written or verbal account's) Usually biased investigations were processed ( as complaints are deemed: true). Therefore me is perceived as 'lied' . Therefore medical team's prognosis is: delusional, psychotic, paranoid, Autistic. As I'm unable to provide reference or witness's . Me requested hearing and eye tests I.e. should me pass hearing test and eye test, my screening/ tests my recollection of sound and vision would be reliable. Response was continue with treatment. ( perhaps medical team's felt threatened, undermined or professionally challenged?

b) Alfred Hitchcock presents: Martha Mason, Movie Star triggered thoughts about actual citizens and acquintance's previously using enactment's from screenplay, dialogue, song and reference from news bulletin's and stage whispers (which me witnessed during scheduled viewing & scheduled listening).

Me literacy referred to me opinions iterated in literature due to Alfred Hitchcock presents: As Martha Mason, Movie Star's production (definitively defined as each of three definitions for Production)

was productively produced.

All footage with audio was brilliant. Realised stabilization from unstable mental state.

[takeeachdayonebookatatime]

Why did you elbow me? 128

Achilles Castle part 33

Castle: pov I'm not hearing any emergency vehicles yet. It looks like a 3 car accident from what I can see. Lanie says if people are injured from the accident the right thing to do is see if they are okay. She pulls over on the shoulder and gets out of the car and so does Kate who is now in cop mode. The 3 cars are blocking the road/ramp. I have to stay in the car because of my injured leg. Kate tells me to use my cell phone and call emergency services because I don't know if anyone did. She pulls a megaphone out of the trunk. I forgot she had that in there.

Kate: pov at the accident a few cars up I notice it's a 3 car accident Lanie asks all 3 drivers if they are okay. 2 nice men and a woman in the first 3 cars stuck in traffic, get out to help me. I tell them to pull over on the shoulder. They are named Jeff, Ben and Penny. I tell them I'm a police Captain and we need to get the cars off the road and to direct traffic. First help the people from the cars to the grassy shoulder where it's safe. Using my mega phone I tell people in the cars to text me their contact info in case you are needed to give a witness statement i then give out my work phone number.

Lanie: pov in the first car is a younger man named Stewart, I can tell he has been drinking a little Ben helps him to the shoulder. He is very shaken up. The second car has a young woman named Monica who Penny helps, in the backseat of her car. She has a baby who is crying named Beth, which I check over for injuries. So far I'm not seeing any. The older guy in the 3rd car named Edward has a small cut on his forehead he is helped to the shoulder by Jeff.

Kate: pov We need to check if the cars start so we can move them out of the way. I tell Penny to take a bunch of photos using her own phone. I tell her the reason you can't use one of the victim's phones is because they are evidence now. I tell her to text the photos to my work number. Ben gets in the first car and moves it over to the shoulder/grass. Jeff is on the other shoulder directing traffic. Ben then moves the second car over which is not easy, Penny is still taking pictures and video, like I told her to. That way when the police investigate they can have photographic evidence. 2 lanes are now clear. Ben then manages to move the 3rd car over in the grass. I'm glad the cars still worked to move them over. I tell him to help Jeff direct traffic. I can hear the police sirens and ambulance coming. Now that the road is clear cars can move. Emergency services arrive on scene asking what we got.

Officer Dillon: pov me and Officer Cram arrive on scene. The ambulance parks behind us. On the shoulder I notice the accident has been moved to the grass/shoulder and 2 guys are directing traffic. I park on the shoulder behind the accident. A woman who looks to be in charge is standing there. I ask if she is Captain Beckett and she says yep. She tells me it's a 3 car accident and she has three civilians helping with the scene. Ben moved the cars out of the way, I had Penny take photos and video before the cars were moved and Jeff is directing Traffic. Lanie, who is a Medical examiner, is checking the victims for injuries so far there are no major injuries. I got contact info from the witnesses in case you need witness statements. I will send them and the photos to you later. Wow you got a lot done already. Kate tells me she knows how to work a scene she's a homicide Captain out of the 12th precinct in manhattan

Officer Cram: pov the medics are helping Lanie. I take over for Jeff and Ben directing traffic. They head over to Captain Beckett asking if she needs them to do anything. She says no they can go home the same with Penny. Captain Beckett made my job very easy tonight.

Cory ambulance person: pov I head over to the shoulder with my partner Bill. A woman is checking the victims and a baby for injuries. She introduces herself as Dr Lanie Parish medical examiner. She tells us quietly the young guy is fine, he has possibly been drinking, she did a basic field sobriety test on all of them saying it's an accident test they do. That was so smart on Lanie's part. Because if he or any of them were drinking the accident could be their fault. Lanie says the baby needs to be looked at, the mother has possible whiplash. The older guy has a cut on his forehead. But they all should still be checked out before they leave. Bill is checking the 2 guys out while I check the mother and baby out. Lanie thankfully had checked the victims for serious injuries making our jobs easier. Bill is stitching Edward's cut so he doesn't have to go to the Er. Stewart is going to be sore tomorrow. Lanie is helping me check Monica and her baby Beth out better.

Lanie: pov Kate is on the phone and so is Officer Dillon calling the family members to come pick them up. The young guy named Stewart is having his mother pick him up. It's his lucky day, the police are not arresting him since he is not that drunk. The older guy named Edward is being picked up by his concerned daughter. Kate is now on the phone with Monica's very concerned husband explaining what happened and as a precaution the baby is being evaluated at the Er and you can meet them there. As the ambulance is pulling away we say goodbye to the police and give them our info. We then head back to our car. To be continued. ………

[abusylittlezebra]

Dissecting the murder of Annie May Lawson

(tw: discussion of assault and murder below, including images of stabbed, bloodied women- not real, of course, but if that kind of thing bothers you, scroll on by)

I've often wondered how Dale pulled off his first murder, and finally I have a working theory to serve as canon on this blog. Let me break it down for you.

Dale followed Munch and Fin from the courthouse at a distance and diverged from them after they lost track of Harrison. From there, I imagine he:

A. went back to the lab to get the items he would need to stage a crime-scene (I don't know how one goes about planting fingerprints and I'm not trying to know, Mr. NSA), as well as the murder weapon (possibly stolen from the evidence room) and gloves.

OR

B. went directly to the boardwalk and committed the murder using a knife he happened to already have on his person (possibly a pocket knife, which is somehow way scarier to me), and planted the evidence when he returned to the scene with CSU later on.

At the boardwalk, he located Annie May Lawson and subdued her from behind with his left hand over her mouth to silence her. I think the first stab was to her right breast (1), where most of the blood on her clothing is located. When he pulled back to stab her in the chest again, she deflected the strikes with her right arm, resulting in defensive wounds (2).

When she struggled, he stabbed lower, into her upper abdomen, severing her aorta and causing her to bleed out (3). Then, as she was incapacitated and dying, but before she was dead, he opened her shirt and made the slashes on her chest to replicate what Harrison had done to Rachel Nauss (4).

From there, I imagine he staged the scene, writing "GUILTY" on her forehead (one of the reasons I believe he was wearing gloves, which he could have disposed of in any number of ways) and then cleaned up and got out of there.

As for how he managed to do this all without getting blood on his clothing: some people just live a charmed life, I guess. He's wearing the same clothes when the crime scene is processed that he was wearing when he left the courthouse, so I don't imagine he changed.

I think he just rolled his sleeves up like he did when he stabbed O'Halloran and tortured Stabler. It's also possible that he knows how to position himself so he won't get blood on his clothes. It's also possible that he took his shirt off, but I personally think the image of being stabbed by a pallid, franatic man in business attire is way more frightening, so that's the direction I'm leaning.

One last thing I wanted to mention before I wrap it up: when Rachel Nauss's body is found, Stuckey says her clothes are slashed up, which Harrison more or less confirms under interrogation. I couldn't find any frames that really show her clothing, but it's stated as fact in the episode.

However, Stuckey wasn't in the room when Harrison was interrogated and possibly didn't know that he slashed Rachel Nauss's clothing because he thought she was wearing a wire. So, as far as I can tell (despite what Fin says to the contrary), Annie May Lawson's clothing isn't really slashed up the was Rachel Nauss's was; instead, Stuckey opened her shirt and slashed her bare chest.

I can only assume he did this because he wasn't aware of the significance that slashing the clothing itself had when it came to Harrison's delusions, so he thought the chest slashing was just part of his M.O., but I'm kind of surprised that this detail escaped the notice of detectives, since Annie May Lawson's clothing is only torn in the places where she was stabbed.

Honestly, I think this detail points to the detectives' tunnel vision in the episode*. Sure, if you hear hoof beats, you shouldn't immediately look for zebras, but maybe if you're seeing stripes you shouldn't rule them out.

*or it's an error in the costuming department, but let me have my fun.

[astrumocs]

Oh my name is Luna! hiii! Oh investigations? You're a PI or something oda?

"Nice to meet you then, Luna."

"My official fleet role is as a coroner and medical examiner, but in a lot of situations, I also end up with plenty of work as an unofficial homicide detective when it's needed."

"Currently, I'm investigating something on behalf of a good friend of mine."

[latenightsleuth]

When You're In The Pocket

(Image: https://shaylaraquel.com/blog/gsk )

I have been reading through Michelle McNamara's blog, True Crime Diary. Around 3 am, I found this gem in a blog titled, Criminally Underreported (Date Published 12.09.07):

"An important part of True Crime Diary’s mission is to care for neglected cases by reexamining them and making them known."

McNamara speaks to the media driving interests by availability, while allowing other cases to go unsolved because the public simply did not know about the story. This seems to drive her selection of cases discussed. And what a rich layering of discussion it is.

Michelle McNamara, left and former deputy editor of LA Magazine, Nancy Miller.

Image: https://www.lamag.com/citythinkblog/michelle-mcnamara/

This appreciation of underreported cases brings an open, earnest examination of possibilities. Some, we now know, were not true connections. For a true appreciation of McNamara's style, check out another blog entry Date Published 03.17.08 titled, Evolution Of A Story, blog #129:

One of the ways I find stories to write about is by using Google Alerts. I put in key words like “homicide” and “missing,” for example, and Google sends me news stories that relate to those topics. Some stories I delete immediately for lack of interest, or because the case takes place too far away, like Australia, and I don’t think I can add much to it.

Other stories I file away for later; they glimmer with the promise of something intriguing, and I save them for when I have time to dig deeper.

The other day I decided to revisit a brief and cryptic story that appeared on February 26 out of Missouri. I'm glad I did. Pulling on the strand of available but sparse information unraveled a darker, much more complicated story, one that hints at a most unusual serial killer.

The article describes the exhumation of a 47-year-old Missouri man who died in 1992. The man's death was unremarkable at the time, and no autopsy was done. But now the FBI is reexamining his death. The article says the FBI is also looking into at least two other deaths in Utah that might be related.

Another story about the exhumation was similarly vague, but had a more provocative title: "Could Missouri autopsy lead to serial killer with Utah ties?"

The FBI was being tight-lipped, but I knew I could probably connect some dots through online research. It's exciting when you know only certain facts about a breaking case and then go digging, uncovering small, seemingly innocuous details --- a message left on a memorial guestbook, or an announcement about a job change --- that you arrange to reveal an incomplete, but ominous, picture. The most mundane fragments of everyday life can take on new meaning.

That's what happened when I went digging in this case. I won't name names --- the official investigation is still ongoing and has been characterized to me as “sensitive” --- but because I plan on writing about the case again in the future, I’ll share some of what I discovered.

The first thing I did was look up public records related to the exhumed man. I quickly found the name of his wife at the time of his death. I’ll call her Alice.

I noticed Alice has used at least three last names, suggesting several marriages. I looked up her known addresses, and found that sometime after her husband’s death in Missouri she moved to another state: Utah. The focus of the investigation became clearer.

Alice was definitely living in Utah by 1999. A brief announcement in The Enterprise, a business journal based in Salt Lake City, reported in June, 1999 that Alice had been appointed executive director of a local chamber of commerce. The announcement listed her last name as something other than the exhumed husband's, and mentioned that Alice had been a former member of an Iowa chamber of commerce.

Using the last name listed in The Enterprise and the town in Iowa mentioned, I found a listing for a man who is roughly the same age as Alice. Records indicate Alice and the man are related or associated in some way; because she had his last name, I’m assuming it was by marriage. I couldn’t find an obituary for the man, so I’m not sure if he’s still alive.

So it appears that between her husband's death in Missouri in 1992 and her subsequent move to Utah, Alice was married, likely for the second time, in Iowa.

But by 1999 she was in Utah. That year she married a man I’ll call Randall.

An online search of Randall’s name reveals him to be a much beloved man in his 60s who lives about an hour and a half from Salt Lake City. A young boy lists Randall as his inspiration, because, despite Randall’s mechanical heart and amputated leg, he “always lives life to the fullest and makes everything fun and exciting.”

Randall was born in 1943 and served in Vietnam. He had six children with his first wife, and worked for many years as an industrial engineer. In 1976, he joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In 1999, he married Alice.

In 2003 Randall had a heart attack, and was given a Left Ventricular Assist Device. He was a popular figure in his neighborhood, telling everyone about his miracle heart and passing out candy to the children.

I know this because it’s in his obituary. Randall died, “quietly at his home,” on January 4, 2007.

Three weeks later, Alice’s father died. He was 82, and his death doesn't appear at all suspicious. But his obituary does help fill in some blanks about Alice's early years. Her father was in the United States Air Force during WWII, and then settled in the small town in northeastern Missouri where he grew up. He and his wife had Alice and a son, who appears to have died during adulthood. Alice’s father owned and operated a garage in town for nearly forty years.

Alice gave the eulogy at his funeral.

At this point I’m getting a clearer picture of Alice. The leadership role at the chamber of commerce and giving the eulogy suggest a confident, possibly even extroverted woman. I know she had four children and at least two, possibly three, husbands. It appears that later in life she became a Mormon.

I’m assuming the FBI is investigating the first husband’s death in Missouri, and Randall’s, but I don’t know about the third one. It could be the second husband, or some other associate of Alice’s.

Her children appear to be well-adjusted --- married, thriving in various careers, athletic and bright. I study a picture of a sweet, smiling, white-haired older woman holding a child on Alice’s son’s blog. She is attractive and appears in good shape for her age. The accompanying text describes a visit from “Grandma.” The wife in the family refers to her own mother in other pictures, so it's likely this is the husband's mother. This is Alice. She hugs the toddler, looking like a kindly Mormon grandmother. She looks nothing like a serial killer.

But a hint of tension exists. Alice’s son’s wife has posted a photo album of the family's Christmas vacation in Utah. Her sister-in-law, Alice’s daughter, leaves a terse message: “Where are the pictures of (husband's name) side of the family?” There’s no answer.

Two out of Alice’s four children are in medical-related fields, including respiratory therapy and sleep studies. I don’t know why that unnerves me, but it does.

I track down someone who knew the family in Missouri when the first husband died. She tells me his death was a total shock. He was “the kindest man you could ever meet.”

Alice told everyone it was a heart attack and chose not to have an autopsy done.

People always thought that was odd, the source says.

Full article: http://truecrimediary.com/index.cfm?page=cases&id=48

Image: https://www.abc10.com/article/news/how-michelle-mcnamaras-book-renewed-interest-in-the-golden-state-killer/103-545774228

Tenacious, oh, yes. It took a while of digging, but I was able to find the story eluded to in the blog entry. You really get an idea of her excitement level and her thought process. McNamara was home here.

Keyboard crusader: the true-crime writer Michelle McNamara turned cyber-sleuth when she began following leads on the Golden State Killer, a serial rapist and murderer who terrorized California from 1976-86 COURTESY OF PATTON OSWALT

From: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/how-to-catch-a-serial-killer-from-your-bedroom-diy-detective-michelle-mcnamara-pursued-a-notorious-murderer-without-leaving-the-house-qh6bkk9p9

[erijonarexhepis-blog]

IT’S ALL HER FAULT

SEASON ONE, EPISODE TWO ////// PART TWO

Part one, Part three

The Keating six were called to Annalise's house the next morning. They're sitting in the living room area, reading. "Breaking news on the Lila Stangard murder here," the reporter says. "Police just released the medical examiner's ruling that Ms. Stangard's death was indeed a homicide. This comes a week after she was discovered deceased in a water tank at her sorority house, Kappa Kappa Theta."

"Want to know the best part about that?" Asher asks but doesn't wait for an answer. "Those corpses crap themselves. So the sorority girls were drinking their friend's poop."

"A girl was murdered. There is no good part," April tells him.

Wes walks in. "Hey, is professor Keating in?" Michaela shushes him. Wes turns to the tv.

"Mr. Gibbins," Annalise comes out of her office. "Did you do what I asked?"

"Uh, yes," Wes walks up to Annalise and hands her a file.

"I-I did. But I actually found a discrepancy between what's in the supplemental report versus what's in the prosecution's murder book."

"What kind of discrepancy?" April looks up from her notebook and watches Wes and Annalise.

"A name. The murder book says the hunting knife was found on the front lawn by officer Jake Dorsey.... but the supplemental report said it was found by Officer Chad Mullens."

"That certainly is a discrepancy. Good eye, Mr. Gibbins. I'm impressed."

"Dorsey. Jake Dorsey," the officer introduces himself to the court. April is watching from between Wes and Asher.

"Really?" Annalise asks. "So, you're not officer Chad Mullens?"

"Your honor, I'm not sure what Ms. Keating is insinuating here—"

"I'm not insinuating anything," Annalise cuts her off. "I'm just reading from the supplemental arrest report, which says that officer Mullens found the hunting knife, not our witness here."

Annalise takes the paper and walks up to Dorsey. "Or am I misreading the name, officer Dorsey?"

Jake takes a look at the paper. "Uh... no. Says officer Mullens."

"An officer who I recently found out is under investigation for drinking on the job, which explains why your boss might want to keep his name off of the official arrest report." Annalise walks back to her table. "Maybe even changing his name for yours."

"Your honor, can we recess?"

"After we get the knife thrown, we attack the motive. Any thoughts?"

"I had one," Laurel says but gets cut off by Michaela.

"Prosecution's going to use Marjorie's best friend to say that she wanted to divorce Max, which would have eliminated his inheritance per the prenup and thereby giving him motive to kill. I looked into discrediting the friend, but I couldn't find anything just yet."

"I can make that happen," Connor speaks up. "Why don't I help?" He asks Michaela.

Annalise is standing in front of the blonde woman. "Mrs. Taylor. You claim that your best friend Marjorie spoke to you about divorcing Max nearly a year ago."

"Yes," she answers.

"Even though you wrote the following toast at their anniversary party about two months ago." Annalise picks up a file from her desk and reads it, "I haven't seen two people more in love since the captain and Maria performed their first dance in front of the von Trapp children."

"Doesn't sound like a couple about to divorce to me," Annalise adds.

"How in the hell do you find this crap?" Michaela asks Connor.

"You'll never know," he tells her.

"Impressive," April notes.

"The alibi's next. Max claims he was out for a walk when the murder occurred, so we need a neighbor who saw him. Frank... take who you need."

Frank looks at Laurel for a moment. "You two— prom queen and doucheface. Come with me." Asher seems offended by his new nickname, but April loves it.

"It was around 8:30 when I took out the trash that night. Right after our nightly family dinner."

"And what did you see while you were outside?" Annalise asks.

"A man was walking on the other side of the street."

"And did you recognize the man?"

"Well, it was very dark that night, but I think it's very possible that it was my neighbor, Mr. St. Vincent." Frank gives him a nod.

"First off, I would like to point out that Marjorie's death was messy, the stab wounds were inaccurate, and they hit bone. Considering Max has hunted all his life, he knows how to kill. It couldn't have been him, but rather someone inexperienced. Second off, by studying Max and his behavior, I have every reason to believe that his first wife's death wasn't an accident— which I'm still looking into."

Annalise gives her a slight nod. "That's a good observation. You let me know what you find out."

"I will, professor Keating."

"The prosecution has rested, so the first witness to take the stand will be Max's daughter," Annalise tells her students. "I need someone to write up the prep questions."

"I'll do it," Lauren speaks up.

"Frank's Girl. Good. Have them on my desk by midnight."

///

April walks into her apartment, holding a yellow package and a bottle of Jack Daniels. She closes the door before making her way over to the couch. The package is light, and April is relieved that it has arrived. And knowing what's inside makes her feel at ease.

She opens the package and takes out the file that's inside. The file is in French, and thankfully April is fluent.

April takes a sip from her drink as she frantically takes notes and looks through the files.

There are papers scattered on the table. April takes a short break before getting back to work.

She pours herself another glass. And she chugs it down.

///

[anyawritesthings]

Forensic Writing: Crime Scene Investigation

Intro

I'm finally bringing back the archived posts of my forensic writing series! Today the topic is crime scene investigation, or CSI (evidence collection will be next). The goal of a crime scene investigation is to recognize, document, and collect evidence at the scene of the crime. So, let’s get started! (Also note: This topic includes a trigger warning, since I'll be talking about death, crime, and murder. Please don't read if you're not comfortable with these topics!)

CSI Team

The team involved in crime scene investigation is made up of legal and scientific professionals who work together to solve the crime. These include:

Police officers. They are usually the first to arrive at a crime scene. A district attorney may also be there to determine whether a search warrant is necessary for the crime scene investigators.

Crime scene investigators. They document the crime scene in detail and collect physical evidence. They include recorders to record data, sketch artists to sketch the scene, photographers to take photos of said crime scene, and evidence collectors.

Medical examiners (also called coroners) are sometimes there to determine the cause of a death when a homicide has occurred.

Detectives. They look for leads by interviewing witnesses and talking to crime scene investigators about the evidence.

Specialists, such as entomologists (insect biologists), forensic scientists, and forensic psychologists may be consulted if the evidence requires their specific expertise.

Securing the Scene

Securing the scene is the responsibility of the first responding police officer (first responder). Their priority is the safety of all individuals in the area. Preservation of evidence is their second priority, meaning the officer has to protect the area in which the crime has occurred and restrict unauthorized people from entering so that the evidence isn’t transferred, lost, or contaminated. This officer must also keep a security log of everyone who visits the crime scene.

Separating the Witnesses

Separating the witnesses is the next priority. Witnesses aren’t allowed to talk to each other. Their accounts of the events will be compared, and the purpose of separating them is to avoid witnesses working together to create a story, or false story. There are six basic questions that officers must ask witnesses:

When did the crime occur?

Who called in the crime?

Who is the victim?

Can the perpetrator be identified?

What did you see happen?

Where were you when you observed the crime/crime scene?

Scanning the Scene

Forensic examiners need to scan the scene to determine where photos should be taken. This includes the primary crime scene and the secondary crime scene (ex. A primary crime scene would be a store that was robbed, and a secondary crime scene might be a suspect’s house. Or, a murder may have taken place at one location, the primary scene, and corpse found in another, the secondary scene). Examiners or officers must also sketch the crime scene. This sketch includes position of the body, if there is one, and any other evidence. All objects should be measured from two immovable landmarks. North should be labeled, a scale should be provided, and any other objects in the vicinity (doors, windows, furniture, etc) must be included. If a crime scene is outdoors, positions of trees, vehicles, hedges, and other structures should be included. Later, a more accurate and final copy of the sketch should be made to possibly be used in court.

Crime Scene Reconstruction

Crime scene reconstruction involves forming a hypothesis of the sequence of events from before the crime was committed. Evidence is examined and compared with witnesses’ statements to check the reliability of their statements. The investigator looks at the evidence and tries to determine how it fits into the overall crime scenario. An important thing to note is that evidence does not lie, but it can be staged.

Staged Crime Scenes

Staged crime scenes are also a unique problem, since the evidence doesn’t match the testimony of the witnesses. Some commonly staged crime scenes include:

Arson. The perpetrator stages a fire to cover some other crime such as a burglary or murder.

Suicide/murder. A victim is murdered, and the perpetrator stages the scene to look like a suicide. The death might be caused by alcohol or drug overdose, and the motive could include insurance money, release from an unhappy marriage, or just theft.

Burglary. A burglary is staged to collect insurance money.

If a crime scene is determined to be staged, things to consider are:

Initially treat all death investigations as homicides.

Do the type/types of wounds found on the victim match the weapon?

Could the wounds be easily self inflicted?

Establish a profile of the victim through interviews with friends and family.

Evaluate the behavior (mood and actions) of any suspects before the event

Corroborate statements with evidential facts.

Reconstruct the event.

Conduct all forensic examinations to determine the facts of the cause.

Random Fact

Crime scene investigation teams don’t actually clean up the scene. That job usually falls to the victim's family, although professional crime scene cleaners exist and can be hired to do the job instead.

Conclusion

That's all I have for y'all today. I hope you found this topic as interesting as I did. Whether you're writing a murder mystery, a thriller, or just a book that involves death in general, accuracy is always good, and I hope this information helped! Next topic is evidence collection.

Source: Forensic Science, Fundamentals & Investigations by Anthony J. Bertino