CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Word Count: 610
Write about an overheard remark or secret that you were not supposed to have heard.
I don’t make a habit of listening in to people’s conversations. But, at certain times, I am required to use, certain, investigative techniques to make sure that nothing is going to go amiss.
He had gone to get her autopsy report, gone to collect it, so he could look at it, and try and work out, for the hundred millionth time, what had gone wrong. What had caused her to die, to let that bastard get to her.
It wasn’t like she had let him in, he had, let himself in. That was evident enough.
But he couldn’t find the report, he couldn’t find it. It wasn’t where it usually was, and he always replaced it. It was missing. It was missing?
So, he had gone to investigate, why in the hell, was his dead wife’s autopsy report, missing. Since it was night, the first stop, after the morgue, was Grissom. Grissom especially, since Robbins was missing.
He was right.
The door had been left ajar, supposedly to let them hear oncoming people to the room, but he spotted that particular fact from a distance and walked quietly from there on in. Standing near the wall beside the door, he thanked the blinds for being down and trained his ears to listen to the voices on the other side of where he was standing.
“Stabbed?” Grissom questioned the other bearded man as they sat together, sharing cups of recently made coffee, courtesy of Greg Sanders.
“We go over this a lot, you know, Gil. Yes, stabbed, multiple times.” the Coroner said, then paused and sighed.
“And raped as well. Poor thing.”
“We shouldn’t be talking about this.” the Nightshift Supervisor said suddenly, then paused in conversation himself.
“But, I want to know. Hell, Al, I need to know.”
“Why?” the other man said, probing deeper, even though he already knew what the answer would be.
“I want to understand him. I know, it’s a foolish plight, but, I do. I just do.”
“And, good God, his parents.” Grissom said, running his hands through his hair.
It was unusual for him to treat the matters concerned with an enemy, with such feeling.
“Why do we know this Gil? We shouldn’t, by which, I mean, we shouldn’t, really know about his parents, about Michelle.” Doc Robbins said, as he collected the papers off the other man’s desk and put them back into the folder.
“But we do. And maybe, one day I’ll understand, and we won’t have to discuss this anymore.” Grissom said, smiling slightly as his friend stood up and turned to leave the room.
“Dream a little dream.” the Coroner said, smiling a little as he began on his way out.
Luckily, the Dayshift Supervisor heard the man’s walking stick on the floor, and quickly walked away before they could find him out.
As Doc Robbins walked away slowly, with the autopsy report file under his free arm, as Grissom sat at his desk with his head in his hands, and Ecklie hurried out to his car, all three, unknowing to the other, sighed in unison, then went about with their work and their daily lives.
When it came to death, continuing was the only thing they could ever do when it all became too much and they saw themselves slipping away from what they loved in life. They were a special breed, and when their work threatened to overcome them, and bring the effects it had on their lives to a head, they just had to keep on going. And continue and keep on doing is what they had always done, and what they would always do.