Spoilers for 2x13: Risk
“Where have you been?” Mac asked Taylor. The two of them were entering the floor of the Crime Lab at the same time.
“Don’t worry, Mac, she was with me,” Stella rescued her as she caught the two up.
“Well, so long as you were supervised.”
Taylor managed a small smile. She wasn’t surprised, but for some reason it actually bothered her that Mac didn’t trust her. “I’ll be in your break room,” Taylor told Stella, before heading for the room. She settled down onto the couch, and let out a yawn. It was still early morning, but she hadn’t been to bed yet. She also had a column due in, in six hours, and was being pestered by two ghosts from two cases. Taylor frowned. It was either a case of, try and do some work, and wait for the ghosts to bug her, or, get rid of the ghosts so she could fully focus on her column.
She was about to opt for the first option, and find a computer, when she realise that she was a journalist, and she should be doing what she did best – researching. The ghost of QT seemed pretty adamant that his death had something to do with coffee. She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through her numbers, settling on Smith.
Smith was a colleague of hers from the paper, who worked in the finance section, mainly on the Stock Market reports, but he also had his own column. She hit dial and brought her phone to her ear.
“Chris Smith.”
“Hi, Smith. It’s Taylor Turner.”
“Hi Taylor, how’s things?” he asked her warmly.
“Good. I’m surprised you hear your phone.” When he wasn’t writing, the guy lived in headphones – he was always listening to something. He claimed it was the stock reports, but Taylor was pretty certain she had heard Celine Dion before.
“Vibrate, Taylor.”
Taylor laughed, “Look, I was hoping you could help me with something?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“This is going to sound strange, but how is coffee doing in the stock market?”
“Um, okay. Not the question I was expecting. Well, not well enough that I would recommend you buying a lot of shares. But coffee is a constant, so they’ll pick up.”
“Oh,” sighed Taylor, as she slumped back into the couch in disappointment.
“Can I ask why you want to know?”
“I’m doing some research for an article about how the motive amongst the business class and the lower class is different,” Taylor told him, quickly drumming up a reason.
“And your example is coffee?” he asked in surprise.
Taylor froze. “No, I, uh… a stock broker.”
“Well, what’s your thesis?”
“That the lower classes do it for money.”
“I don’t know exactly where you’re going, but money would be a big motive for a stock broker.”
Taylor leant forward. “What do you mean?”
“Well, aside from the obvious of angry clients if their broker lost them money, there’s also the fact that the under broker could be a threat,” Smith told her.
“Explain,” pressed Taylor.
“Well under the City Exchange By-Laws, if a broker dies, his under broker inherits his book, effectively inheriting his money,” Smith explained.
“Smith, I owe you one. Thank you.” She said her goodbyes and hung up, before hurrying out of the room to find a computer – Smith was going to email her a copy of the By-Laws for her.
“Don’t worry, Mac, she was with me,” Stella rescued her as she caught the two up.
“Well, so long as you were supervised.”
Taylor managed a small smile. She wasn’t surprised, but for some reason it actually bothered her that Mac didn’t trust her. “I’ll be in your break room,” Taylor told Stella, before heading for the room. She settled down onto the couch, and let out a yawn. It was still early morning, but she hadn’t been to bed yet. She also had a column due in, in six hours, and was being pestered by two ghosts from two cases. Taylor frowned. It was either a case of, try and do some work, and wait for the ghosts to bug her, or, get rid of the ghosts so she could fully focus on her column.
She was about to opt for the first option, and find a computer, when she realise that she was a journalist, and she should be doing what she did best – researching. The ghost of QT seemed pretty adamant that his death had something to do with coffee. She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through her numbers, settling on Smith.
Smith was a colleague of hers from the paper, who worked in the finance section, mainly on the Stock Market reports, but he also had his own column. She hit dial and brought her phone to her ear.
“Chris Smith.”
“Hi, Smith. It’s Taylor Turner.”
“Hi Taylor, how’s things?” he asked her warmly.
“Good. I’m surprised you hear your phone.” When he wasn’t writing, the guy lived in headphones – he was always listening to something. He claimed it was the stock reports, but Taylor was pretty certain she had heard Celine Dion before.
“Vibrate, Taylor.”
Taylor laughed, “Look, I was hoping you could help me with something?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“This is going to sound strange, but how is coffee doing in the stock market?”
“Um, okay. Not the question I was expecting. Well, not well enough that I would recommend you buying a lot of shares. But coffee is a constant, so they’ll pick up.”
“Oh,” sighed Taylor, as she slumped back into the couch in disappointment.
“Can I ask why you want to know?”
“I’m doing some research for an article about how the motive amongst the business class and the lower class is different,” Taylor told him, quickly drumming up a reason.
“And your example is coffee?” he asked in surprise.
Taylor froze. “No, I, uh… a stock broker.”
“Well, what’s your thesis?”
“That the lower classes do it for money.”
“I don’t know exactly where you’re going, but money would be a big motive for a stock broker.”
Taylor leant forward. “What do you mean?”
“Well, aside from the obvious of angry clients if their broker lost them money, there’s also the fact that the under broker could be a threat,” Smith told her.
“Explain,” pressed Taylor.
“Well under the City Exchange By-Laws, if a broker dies, his under broker inherits his book, effectively inheriting his money,” Smith explained.
“Smith, I owe you one. Thank you.” She said her goodbyes and hung up, before hurrying out of the room to find a computer – Smith was going to email her a copy of the By-Laws for her.
* * *
She found Stella with Sheldon in one of the Audio Visual Labs. Taylor was about to go in, when she caught what Stella was saying.
“I checked that office high and low. I didn’t find a paper cup.”
Taylor smiled – it was a nice feeling to know that Stella was beginning to listen. She could tell that Stella didn’t completely believe, but she believed enough that she would listen.
“Let’s fast forward the image,” Sheldon was saying.
“He came out of QT’s office without it.”
“Probably hid the cup on his person and threw the cup away in the bathroom when he was supposed to be throwing up,” Sheldon suggested.
“Spying on them?”
Taylor whirled around and found Flack watching her. “Nope, just about to break your case,” she told him, smugly.
Flack rolled his eyes, “Don’t tell me – a ghost.”
Taylor shook her head, “Good old fashioned research.
“More talking to yourself, then?”
“Nope, to Chris Smith,” Taylor retorted lightly.
“And he would be who?”
“The man who writes the Stocks, Shares and Finance column in my paper,” Taylor replied.
“And talking to him is going to break the case, how?” Flack asked, once again rolling his eyes at her. Taylor smiled at him and handed him the papers she had printed out. “What’s this?” he asked, flicking through them.
“That would be the City Exchange By-Laws. In them, it says that should a broker die, his under broker is entitled to his book – his clients.”
Flack glanced from the Taylor, to the papers, and back to Taylor again. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, walked into the AV lab, and over to Sheldon and Stella. “Well, this isn’t going to get taken away by the cleaning crew.”
Taylor followed him in.
“What have you got there?” Stella asked, looking at the papers.
“City Exchange By-Laws.” Stella cocked her head. “Turns out our little Nancy Drew was doing what she does best. Seems the under broker told a big fib. When QT Hammer went out the window, his under broker Bobby Martin inherited his book.”
Stella turned to Taylor and smiled. “QT gave you that?”
Taylor shook her head, “I called a friend from the paper. Don’t worry – I didn’t give away any information to the case. I was asking him about coffee, actually.” She laughed, “I think the next time I see him, he’s going to try and convince me to invest in something, though.”
“You were right about the coffee,” Stella told her. “Only not in the way we were expecting it.”
“Our killer used it to smuggle chloroform into the office without us seeing,” Sheldon explained.
“Okay, so we don’t have the paper cup, but we have the motive,” declared Stella. “Gentlemen,” she said, addressing Flack and Sheldon, “We have to find that cup.”
“I checked that office high and low. I didn’t find a paper cup.”
Taylor smiled – it was a nice feeling to know that Stella was beginning to listen. She could tell that Stella didn’t completely believe, but she believed enough that she would listen.
“Let’s fast forward the image,” Sheldon was saying.
“He came out of QT’s office without it.”
“Probably hid the cup on his person and threw the cup away in the bathroom when he was supposed to be throwing up,” Sheldon suggested.
“Spying on them?”
Taylor whirled around and found Flack watching her. “Nope, just about to break your case,” she told him, smugly.
Flack rolled his eyes, “Don’t tell me – a ghost.”
Taylor shook her head, “Good old fashioned research.
“More talking to yourself, then?”
“Nope, to Chris Smith,” Taylor retorted lightly.
“And he would be who?”
“The man who writes the Stocks, Shares and Finance column in my paper,” Taylor replied.
“And talking to him is going to break the case, how?” Flack asked, once again rolling his eyes at her. Taylor smiled at him and handed him the papers she had printed out. “What’s this?” he asked, flicking through them.
“That would be the City Exchange By-Laws. In them, it says that should a broker die, his under broker is entitled to his book – his clients.”
Flack glanced from the Taylor, to the papers, and back to Taylor again. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, walked into the AV lab, and over to Sheldon and Stella. “Well, this isn’t going to get taken away by the cleaning crew.”
Taylor followed him in.
“What have you got there?” Stella asked, looking at the papers.
“City Exchange By-Laws.” Stella cocked her head. “Turns out our little Nancy Drew was doing what she does best. Seems the under broker told a big fib. When QT Hammer went out the window, his under broker Bobby Martin inherited his book.”
Stella turned to Taylor and smiled. “QT gave you that?”
Taylor shook her head, “I called a friend from the paper. Don’t worry – I didn’t give away any information to the case. I was asking him about coffee, actually.” She laughed, “I think the next time I see him, he’s going to try and convince me to invest in something, though.”
“You were right about the coffee,” Stella told her. “Only not in the way we were expecting it.”
“Our killer used it to smuggle chloroform into the office without us seeing,” Sheldon explained.
“Okay, so we don’t have the paper cup, but we have the motive,” declared Stella. “Gentlemen,” she said, addressing Flack and Sheldon, “We have to find that cup.”
* * *
Taylor was back in the break room. There was nothing she could do on the QT case unless he appeared, and now she was going to focus on the Randy Williams case. Or rather, Randy appeared and gave her no choice in the matter. “Help me.” He was holding his map again, pointing to a spot.
Taylor sighed, “Look, they have exhausted that car – there’s nothing there, Randy,” she told the ghost. “You are going to have to give me something else to work with.” The map was replaced by a tooth. “The shark tooth?”
“Help me.”
Taylor bit her tongue and pulled out her phone, flicking through it to Al Briscoe – the sports writer. Normally, Al would seem like a strange person to go to, but what a lot of people didn’t know about Al, was that he knew a lot of random facts. It was thanks to him that Taylor knew the reason Coca-Cola was called that was because it used to have cocaine in it until it was made illegal, and that there are, on average, 158 sesame seeds on a Big Mac bun.
“Taylor? What’s up, sweetheart?” he greeted her cheerfully.
“Sharks.”
“Sharks?”
“Yeah, as in the ones that swim in the sea,” Taylor quickly clarified. “If I was to have a shark’s tooth, how likely would it be that it came from the real thing, or, rather, what are the chances it would be some trinket from Coney Island.”
“You mean, what are the chances that a shark was caught around here?” he asked her, sounding puzzled.
“Yeah,” Taylor agreed.
“In all honesty, quite slim. However, my uncle caught one, probably a good decade ago,” Al told her.
“Here?”
“Just outta the mouth of the Hudson. He’s always bragging about how him and his friend, Chuck White, caught a Great White with six other guys.”
Chuck White? Danny had said that was the guy who he and Lindsay had been to see before they had gone back to the subway car. An enormous grin spread across Taylor’s face, “Al, I could kiss you.”
All laughed, “I don’t think my wife would appreciate it, but thanks. So, why do you want to know?”
“Research on natural deaths in the city,” Taylor offered.
Al took the bait. “Ah, ok. Glad I could help.”
“Hey, Al, I have one last question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“I don’t suppose you have any evidence of this, do you?”
“Funny you should ask. I’ve just pulled a picture of him and his catch out of my closet.”
“Can you email me a copy?” Taylor asked him hopefully.
“Sure. I’ll do that now.” Al promised her
“Thanks, Al. I owe you one.”
“How about next time I have a party, you don’t leave quite so early?”
Taylor agreed and hung up, heading back to the computer she had used earlier. Sure enough, by the time she got there, Al had sent her a copy of the photograph. She printed the picture out and left the room, bumping almost instantly into Danny. “Danny!”
“What’s up, Drew?”
Taylor rolled her eyes at the use of the nickname but handed him the photograph anyway. “Any of those men look familiar?”
Danny took another look at the photograph. “That’s Chuck White.” He stopped and turned to face Taylor. “Where did you get this from?”
“Al Briscoe.”
“Al Briscoe? The sports guy?”
Taylor nodded. “Yeah. Turns out, one of the guys with Chuck is Al’s uncle.”
Danny turned back in the direction he was heading, and saw Mac. “Get anything else from the splinters, boss?” he called after him.
“Yeah, anti-freeze.”
“Anti-freeze?” He gave Taylor a quick nod of the head, and the two of them hurried to catch up with him. “You might want to take a look at what Taylor found.”
Mac looked at the picture and then at Taylor. “Where did you get this?”
“Contact at the paper,” Taylor quickly explained.
Mac stared at her, then smiled. “Good job.” He grabbed his coat and hurried out.
“What’s the rush?” Danny asked.
“I have a train to catch,” Mac called over his shoulder.
Taylor sighed, “Look, they have exhausted that car – there’s nothing there, Randy,” she told the ghost. “You are going to have to give me something else to work with.” The map was replaced by a tooth. “The shark tooth?”
“Help me.”
Taylor bit her tongue and pulled out her phone, flicking through it to Al Briscoe – the sports writer. Normally, Al would seem like a strange person to go to, but what a lot of people didn’t know about Al, was that he knew a lot of random facts. It was thanks to him that Taylor knew the reason Coca-Cola was called that was because it used to have cocaine in it until it was made illegal, and that there are, on average, 158 sesame seeds on a Big Mac bun.
“Taylor? What’s up, sweetheart?” he greeted her cheerfully.
“Sharks.”
“Sharks?”
“Yeah, as in the ones that swim in the sea,” Taylor quickly clarified. “If I was to have a shark’s tooth, how likely would it be that it came from the real thing, or, rather, what are the chances it would be some trinket from Coney Island.”
“You mean, what are the chances that a shark was caught around here?” he asked her, sounding puzzled.
“Yeah,” Taylor agreed.
“In all honesty, quite slim. However, my uncle caught one, probably a good decade ago,” Al told her.
“Here?”
“Just outta the mouth of the Hudson. He’s always bragging about how him and his friend, Chuck White, caught a Great White with six other guys.”
Chuck White? Danny had said that was the guy who he and Lindsay had been to see before they had gone back to the subway car. An enormous grin spread across Taylor’s face, “Al, I could kiss you.”
All laughed, “I don’t think my wife would appreciate it, but thanks. So, why do you want to know?”
“Research on natural deaths in the city,” Taylor offered.
Al took the bait. “Ah, ok. Glad I could help.”
“Hey, Al, I have one last question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“I don’t suppose you have any evidence of this, do you?”
“Funny you should ask. I’ve just pulled a picture of him and his catch out of my closet.”
“Can you email me a copy?” Taylor asked him hopefully.
“Sure. I’ll do that now.” Al promised her
“Thanks, Al. I owe you one.”
“How about next time I have a party, you don’t leave quite so early?”
Taylor agreed and hung up, heading back to the computer she had used earlier. Sure enough, by the time she got there, Al had sent her a copy of the photograph. She printed the picture out and left the room, bumping almost instantly into Danny. “Danny!”
“What’s up, Drew?”
Taylor rolled her eyes at the use of the nickname but handed him the photograph anyway. “Any of those men look familiar?”
Danny took another look at the photograph. “That’s Chuck White.” He stopped and turned to face Taylor. “Where did you get this from?”
“Al Briscoe.”
“Al Briscoe? The sports guy?”
Taylor nodded. “Yeah. Turns out, one of the guys with Chuck is Al’s uncle.”
Danny turned back in the direction he was heading, and saw Mac. “Get anything else from the splinters, boss?” he called after him.
“Yeah, anti-freeze.”
“Anti-freeze?” He gave Taylor a quick nod of the head, and the two of them hurried to catch up with him. “You might want to take a look at what Taylor found.”
Mac looked at the picture and then at Taylor. “Where did you get this?”
“Contact at the paper,” Taylor quickly explained.
Mac stared at her, then smiled. “Good job.” He grabbed his coat and hurried out.
“What’s the rush?” Danny asked.
“I have a train to catch,” Mac called over his shoulder.
* * *
Taylor hit the send button and leant back in her chair, letting out a sigh. She had gone home after both Chuck White and Bobby Martin had been arrested and charged for murder. It actually felt good that she had managed to help by herself, rather than with the help of ghosts. And if it wasn’t for the fact that CSIs had to deal with death on a daily basis… and the fact she had an arts degree, rather than a science degree, she could almost consider a change of profession.
Almost.
However, as it was, she loved her job, and the award she was going to receive that weekend was proof that not only was she good at it, but others thought so too. She got to her feet and headed to the kitchen to get herself some food, when the ghost of QT appeared.
“Thank you,” he told her.
“You’re welcome.”
“You really help, you know that?” he said, earnestly.
Taylor frowned, “The CSIs do a brilliant job without me.”
“Yes, but you give us our final voice.”
Taylor bit her lip. “I just wish that you weren’t alone whilst I try to help you – that you have someone there to make it easier for you.”
“Do you mean that?” he asked her, somewhat surprised.
Taylor nodded. The ghost of QT disappeared to be replaced with Randy.
“Thank you, also.”
“You’re also welcome,” Taylor told him.
“You past the first part of the test.”
“What test?” Taylor demanded.
“The Powers That Be are pleased,” was Randy’s response.
“Hang on, you can’t keep coming here, leaving me cryptic messages about some higher power, without explaining a thing or two.”
The ghost frowned. “There is a plan. It has been set in motion from before you were born. It is underway now. What is going to happen, was going to happen. It will all be explained to you in due course.” Randy disappeared.
“Is that is?” Taylor shouted at the ceiling. “Can’t you just give me something a little more substantial to go on here. I’m talking to dead people, for crying out loud.”
Unsurprisingly, she didn’t get an answer.
Almost.
However, as it was, she loved her job, and the award she was going to receive that weekend was proof that not only was she good at it, but others thought so too. She got to her feet and headed to the kitchen to get herself some food, when the ghost of QT appeared.
“Thank you,” he told her.
“You’re welcome.”
“You really help, you know that?” he said, earnestly.
Taylor frowned, “The CSIs do a brilliant job without me.”
“Yes, but you give us our final voice.”
Taylor bit her lip. “I just wish that you weren’t alone whilst I try to help you – that you have someone there to make it easier for you.”
“Do you mean that?” he asked her, somewhat surprised.
Taylor nodded. The ghost of QT disappeared to be replaced with Randy.
“Thank you, also.”
“You’re also welcome,” Taylor told him.
“You past the first part of the test.”
“What test?” Taylor demanded.
“The Powers That Be are pleased,” was Randy’s response.
“Hang on, you can’t keep coming here, leaving me cryptic messages about some higher power, without explaining a thing or two.”
The ghost frowned. “There is a plan. It has been set in motion from before you were born. It is underway now. What is going to happen, was going to happen. It will all be explained to you in due course.” Randy disappeared.
“Is that is?” Taylor shouted at the ceiling. “Can’t you just give me something a little more substantial to go on here. I’m talking to dead people, for crying out loud.”
Unsurprisingly, she didn’t get an answer.
Originally posted: 02/06/2006