Sunday, February 24, 2019
How to Solve a Crime? Essay
One dollar sign and eighty-s level cents. That was only impertinence had on him. He laid a credit card on the parapet counter and wished it luck. It only had to harbour the price of a span of rounds, but his salary and his expenses were not on speaking terms lately. It was Christmas in Las Vegas. levelry year, it set him rear end until April. Which was appraise time. Which set him back until Christmas. in that respect was a comforting rhythm to it. They tolerate nigh soundly single malts, Catherine said, and ordered a beer. That was one of the things buttock akind closely her. She had class, but didnt make a homo pay for it.Marg Helgenberger as Catherine Willows, Las Vegas Crime Scene Investigation cured executive program. Catherine is the exciting com musical compositionder of a crack team of forensic criminologists It was 430am on Christmas Eve, meaning it was Christmas morning to anybody who had got some sleep in the interim, and crime expression investigators Catherine Willows and mountain pass Stokes had just finished dropping off bodies and registering the evidence theyd ga on that pointd at a messy murder scene. The voluptuousal force of Christmas lights was wound nigh the female victims neck so many another(prenominal)(prenominal) times the coroner was going to corroborate to cut it from the corpse. The succor victim was her husband they assumed he was the one that did the strangling. With the steak knife in his neck, hed only had just enough caudex in him to finish the job.The weird part, ding remarked, leaning on the bar with his serious forearms, is the lights some her neck were still on when we got there. It lent a received festive air to the scene, Brass replied. Brasss understudy for the evening, a young detective by the name of Ottman, known as The Otter among the wittier senior staff, sat uncomfortably between Catherine and Brass. He pure toneed ill. He hadnt worked many murder scenes before, and this one wasnt just bloody, it was ironic. Irony al routes do things worse. The knife was part of a gift set intended for the slain man. It had his monogram burned into the handle. For the veteran CSI team, it was just another couple of dead people, another raft of evidence and paperwork. Ottman cle ard his throat before he spoke, a habit that irritated Brass.Theres nothing festive ab come bring start(a) people killing each other on Christmas Eve, he objected. He doesnt mean it, Catherine said. Its awful. Every murder is awful. But if we grieve the dead every time we find them . . . Some do, Brass interrupted. They entert last in the job. He fixed his melancholy eye on Ottman and waited for the message to sink in. Before he could be indisputable it had, the drinks arrived. Beer all round except Ottman, who opted for one of those Tiger Woods non-alcoholic things that use to be an Arnold Palmer. The kid didnt even know how to drink. Catherine de sessted her beer into a glass. mountain pas s picked at the label on his.George Eads as nick Stokes. Formerly Catherines deputy, he has just been promoted to be her co-supervisor. Occasionally over-emotional. Lot of murders this time of year, Nick said, in much the way he might observe it was a chilly night. Ottman cleared his throat. People always describe crazy around the holidays? he asked nobody in particular. If youre going to kill somebody, the term of joy is a popular time. Statistically speaking, Catherine replied. She checked her watch. Coming to the bar had been her idea it was to a fault late to go home and get in bed. Shed wake her daughter Lindsay up, and now that she was 18, Lindsay didnt handle primaeval rising at Christmas.So Catherine was pretending it was the previous night, rather than the pastime morning. Nick had proposed they get drinking chocolate and breakfast, but he lived alone and his family was in Texas. He could lounge around all day. Catherine had a full chronicle of family events, and breakfast at home was one of them. Brass glanced over at Ottman. The computerized axial tomography wasnt cut out for this work. He was a reasonably good detective. Book smart, but not great at murders. He would be best at property crime, hustles, something like that. Brasss first reaction to any weak-hearted cop was always to push his buttons, spoil the soft parts and toughen them up that, or drive him out of the segment before he made a costly mistake. Still, it was Christmas Eve or morning, according to your tastes, and the poor clapperclaw was clearly having a surd time. Sometimes, even with murder, theres Christmas spirit, Brass said. The steak knives were good quality, Nick agreed.Catherine move her head. Go easy, she said, observing Ottmans discomfort. No, seriously, Brass continued. Remember that time, it must have been seven, eight years ago, the one with the 60-G watch? Nick raised his feeding bottle to his mouth, trying to recall, and then snapped his fingers an d set the bottle back down. The big true cat and the little laugh at. And the dancer, Catherine added. She never forgot the dancers. Ottman had his hands folded in his lap, his drink untouched in front of him. He clearly didnt want to ask. But the others were spirit expectantly at him, so he asked anyway, rather than let the dummy up get too long. So how was there murder and Christmas spirit? Brass took a pull of his beer, dabbed at his lips with his handkerchief, and twisted around so he could face Ottman. Ill tell you, he said.It was a warm Christmas night back in the high times when people went to Las Vegas just to get rid of their excess cash by the truckload. There was still quite a little of crime, but it was a different lovable of crime, the kind that comes from an opportunityrich environment. These days, its the kind of crime that comes from a lack of opportunity. The difference is academic to more than or less victims. Gil Grissom was supervisor back then. There ha d been various robberies, a couple of fatal accidents and a gang fight that night nothing serious. Then the call came in, around 9pm on Christmas Eve.The call came in from the Mediterranean Hotel on the Strip. Maid finds a corpse in one of the VIP suites. Hes lying on the floor in his boxer shorts, Brass said. Ambulance shows up, medics think it could be foul play, they call us. I was first on the scene, me and a couple of patrolmen. Hell of a suite he had, about the size of northern Stadium. Looked like the Pope decorated it. As crime scenes go, not too shabby especially compared to Latrine Alley, where at that moment most of the graveyard suspension was on its hands and knees, looking for shell casings with a flashlight. Brass took a swig from his beer.Ottman cleared his throat, but Brass got there first So we take a right at the grand piano and theres the victim, in the split-level living room. Dead, Nick added, in case Ottman was as slow as he thought he was.Paul Guilfoyle as Captain James Brass, a Las Vegas Police Department homicide detective who does things by the book Fatally so, Brass resumed. heart-to-heart Bozo Bozigian, heir to the self-propelled floor mat fortune. Big guy. Always rents this same suite, every weekend. He was lying face down on the carpet with his head unkept open against this gold-plated coffee table the size of my house. The table was interesting. There were cardinal lines of coke laid out on it, and a stack of $20 bills that would keep a stripper in business for five years. And most importantly, a chunk of meat with pilus in it from where this individuals head came in contact with the corner. An accident, Ottman interjected. Yeah, except for one thing Bozigians knuckles are all busted up. Theres blood under his fingernails. Maybe its relevant, perhaps its not, but this guy was in a fight some time around when he died. Sounds circumstantial, Ottman said.Brass ignored him and carried on, determined to get to the exciting p art So I look around while Im waiting for these two CSIs to show up, and I cant figure it out. Looks like Bozigian just fell down and busted his head, right? Death by misadventure. Except hes only got his drawers on. And when I look around, all I find is a fully packed suitcase in the bedroom. Wheres the clothes he walked in with? Wheres his shoe? Only thing the victim has on is gold chains and a wristwatch, which is one of these Swiss automatics that sets you back 60 grand. Basically, Im stumped. Which doesnt happen that much, Catherine said, and raised her glass to Brass. Heres to Christmas, Brass said, and they all drank. Took us a while to get there, Nick said. The other major scene, the gang fight, was a mess.Gil Grissom and the rest of us were working it for hours. When we finally got out of there, me and Catherine showed up at the Mediterranean looking like trash pickers. He laughed at the memory. Catherine smiled. It hadnt been funny at the time. Nick went on There wasnt any camera surveillance on that floor, but we got hotel protection to secure video from all the elevators. Then we went into the suite. The deceased was a great guy, twice my size, steroid muscle all over him. Shaved head, stain of a pole dancer on his back. The tattoo probably frighten the maid more than the blood, Catherine added. No question about the head injury, Nick said. He got it from the table. Scalp is split open with a furrow gouged out of the skin, and on the iron corner of the table theres a corresponding scrap of tissue with identical hair on it. You could dupe at a glance this guy hit that table catchy enough to kill him. But we never guess at anything if we can prove it instead.So we take a set of one-to-one pictures of the all scene. Then we collect the tissue, the hair, the currency, the cocaine. Then its time to move the body. Corpses are always heavy, but this guy weighed a ton, Catherine observed. Brass clapped Ottman on the shoulder. It took all three o f us to roll him over, he said. If youd been there, Ottman, it would have been easy. Nick stepped in to continue the story. The front of him was more interesting, from a forensic perspective. Hed been discharge, and it had pooled under him and glued him to the carpet, which is one reason he was so hard to move. His hands were clenched into fists. We found some blonde hair caught under a chain on his wrist. Several skin tags. They got pulled out hard. He wasnt blonde, needless to say, Catherine added.So we bagged it. There was blood, maybe even tissue, under his fingernails, so we went to bag his hands, too, and thats when we start realising the watch is a factor after all. I remember the make. It was a gold Vacherin Constantin automatic, and like Brass says, it was worth five figures. But it didnt fit his wrist. Had a dive-style bracelet on it you fit those exactly to size on a watch like that, by adding or subtracting links with tiny screws. It was way too tight. So we opened the clasp and found blood on the underside of the bracelet. No lividity where it squeezed the skin, so as far as we can tell, the watch was put on after shoemakers last. And get this a patent fingerprint on the crystal. I mean you could see it in ordinary light, it was that clear, and printed in blood. Ottman cleared his throat, and Brass suddenly understood wherefore they called him The Otter. When he swallowed, he looked like an otter eating clams. It was perfect.William Petersen as Dr Gilbert Gil Grissom, Catherines predecessor as CSI senior supervisor If there was blood on the watch, did it correspond with the corpse? asked Ottman. Did his hand fall under his head, or maybe his knuckles bled on it? No, Catherine said. But good question. His hands were down at his sides, palms downward, and the blood was all up under his head. His knuckles had stopped bleeding some time before death. So the blood either came from the in front fight, or it came from somebody else putting the watc h on him after the guy was dead. Ottman nodded as he figured it out. Brass added Thats not all, though. It was on his right wrist, which makes sense if hes a southpaw, but it wasnt a left-handed watch. So we looked around, Nick said, collected whatever we could, and then I accompanied the body to the morgue. Brass and Catherine went to LVPD to file the preliminary report.That was it until we had some more information, Brass said. So back at Crime Central, I did a little research. Bozigian wasnt unknown to the authorities. Brass paused. Bozigian was from Glendale, California, but dog-tired most of his time in Vegas, always at the best hotels. aspect at his rap sheet, he was one of these playboy types with a fat trust fund that didnt go as far as he wanted it, so he was always looking for more money. But he was too lazy to actually earn it, so he went for the quick scores private bookmaking, junk real estate, money laundering through clubs. Most of all, gambling. He loved the cards, so even if he made any money, he lost it just as fast. Got into some wild bets. People got hurt. But he never did a days time.Nick counted off a few detail on his fingers The assistant coroner determined Bozigians time of death to be an estimate of one to three hours prior to the maid determination his body. So I checked out the hotels elevator warrantor footage, looking for any visitors to that floor during this time frame. Sure enough, a guy gets in the elevator alone. Hes suspicious because hes got a towel to his face. Cant get a good look at him. He rode up from the parking garage, exits Bozigians floor. cinque minutes later, he gets in the same elevator car and rides back down. By now, Catherine interjected, Grissom is working another scene, which is a jewellery- insert robbery. Apparently this guy host his monkey-brown Toyota truck straight through the front window of a store on the Strip, jumped out, grabbed what he could, and drove off.Not a real malefactor mastermind . They have his plates and everything. Name is Henry Carson. Theres an APB out on the truck. Catherine said Brass and I have ten minutes free, so we decide to go crazy and get a cup of coffee at the place next door. Halfway across the police department parking lot, we see the truck. Same plates, same colour, the front all unwavering in. Out gets this little tiny man, smaller than me. And it looked like somebody ran him over with a train. Face pummelled. Blood all over his shirt. He sees Brass, walks up to him, and says, Im turning myself in. I killed a man named Frank Bozigian. But how could one of these little people murder a 300lb man mountain with just their bare hands?