A short while later, Taylor was sat at a computer with Mac and Stella (Flack was standing just behind, arms crossed, sceptical expression on his face) running through the logo and font database. She still looked like the proverbial million dollars, even though she was now wearing a crime lab overall and a spare pair of running shoes.
Stella had run a search on “pig” and the computer had kicked out a little over three hundred matches. They were about halfway through the matches when Taylor spotted a match, “That one.”
Stella nodded and pulled up the details, “Are you sure?”
“Definitely.”
“Taylor, this is a logo for a slaughterhouse which specializes in supplies for dog meat.”
“And?” asked a puzzled Taylor.
“It got closed down about a decade ago.”
Flack burst out laughing, “Off to a good start, I see.”
Taylor shot a quick glare at him, and then turned back to the monitor. “No, it’s definitely the logo,” she sighed, “What happened to the slaughterhouse?”
Stella opened another program and ran a quick check, “It’s over on Staten Island, near the Monastery. Empty building.”
“Well, let’s go check it out,” Taylor shrugged.
Flack rolled his eyes as Mac nodded and walked out of the door, followed closely by Stella. Taylor made to go after them, but he grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Not likely.”
“Detective, you either let me go, or I will go over there myself.”
Mac stuck his head back around the door, “You can come,” he told her, as though he had heard her make that statement – which he probably had, “But you do not leave the car until we have secured the scene.”
Taylor smirked at Flack then almost skipped out of the room to follow Mac and Stella to the SUVs.
A short while later, the three of them pulled up outside the abandoned slaughterhouse, Flack pulling up in a black and white, just behind them.
Taylor stood staring up at the building, its backdrop framed by the Staten Island Monastery. It looked so dark in there, the lack of moon not helping, that she was secretly glad she didn’t have to go in. She wasn’t scared of ghosts – only a little irritated with them, in all honesty – it was the living things that worried her. The buildings around her had bad reputations for being haunted – but it wasn’t ghosts that haunted them – rather gangs and criminals. After the nice incident with a knife being held to her throat, Taylor had no desire to go into that building unless she had a gun… which she didn’t.
She leant against the hood of the car as Mac and Stella headed to the back to collect some torches. “Stay here,” said Mac, drawing his gun. “I mean it, Taylor. We need to secure this scene.”
“Mac, I have no intention of leaving this car. I promise you that,” she told him, as she wrapped a spare CSI jacket Stella handed her, around herself.
“I’ll stay here with Taylor,” said Flack.
Stella looked at him and laughed, “You know, the ghosts are more likely to visit her than you meet one in there.”
Flack glared at her, “I just want to make sure she stays put.”
Even Mac managed a small smile as the two CSIs walked away. As they walked into the building, Taylor let out the laugh she had been struggling to hold in.
Flack crossed his arms and turned his glares in her direction, “Shut up.”
“Oh, no,” chuckled Taylor, “I get it now! It’s not that you don’t believe in ghosts, it’s that you don’t want to. You’re scared of ghosts.”
“I am not scared of ghosts!” he cried indignantly.
“Yeah. You are.” She stopped laughing suddenly and froze, staring at something behind Flack, in the slaughterhouse.
“What?” asked a slightly suspicious Flack.
Taylor just slowly raised her arm and pointed. Just as slowly, Flack turned around. As soon as his back was to her, Taylor grabbed him, “BOO!”
Flack left into the air. When he realised what had happened, he whirled around so fast he slipped slightly on the muddy ground, to find Taylor in hysterics leaning against the car.
“THAT WAS NOT FUNNY!” he roared.
Taylor looked at his purple face and laughed harder, “Yeah,” she gasped, “It was!”
Flack took one last furious look at her, before storming off and sitting in his squad car. Taylor calmed herself down, and looked at him sulking, arms crossed, glaring at the steering wheel. It was so pathetic, it was verging on cute. She took a final deep breath to calm herself, and walked over to his car, and tapped on the window. He ignored her, staring stonily in front of him. Taylor knocked again, “I’m sorry, alright. I couldn’t resist.”
Flack wound the window down, continuing to stare ahead.
“I won’t do it again, I promise.”
She was saved from a response by Mac, who had radioed Flack, causing them both to jump, “Flack, we’re going to need the area secured. There’s a body.”
Stella had run a search on “pig” and the computer had kicked out a little over three hundred matches. They were about halfway through the matches when Taylor spotted a match, “That one.”
Stella nodded and pulled up the details, “Are you sure?”
“Definitely.”
“Taylor, this is a logo for a slaughterhouse which specializes in supplies for dog meat.”
“And?” asked a puzzled Taylor.
“It got closed down about a decade ago.”
Flack burst out laughing, “Off to a good start, I see.”
Taylor shot a quick glare at him, and then turned back to the monitor. “No, it’s definitely the logo,” she sighed, “What happened to the slaughterhouse?”
Stella opened another program and ran a quick check, “It’s over on Staten Island, near the Monastery. Empty building.”
“Well, let’s go check it out,” Taylor shrugged.
Flack rolled his eyes as Mac nodded and walked out of the door, followed closely by Stella. Taylor made to go after them, but he grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Not likely.”
“Detective, you either let me go, or I will go over there myself.”
Mac stuck his head back around the door, “You can come,” he told her, as though he had heard her make that statement – which he probably had, “But you do not leave the car until we have secured the scene.”
Taylor smirked at Flack then almost skipped out of the room to follow Mac and Stella to the SUVs.
A short while later, the three of them pulled up outside the abandoned slaughterhouse, Flack pulling up in a black and white, just behind them.
Taylor stood staring up at the building, its backdrop framed by the Staten Island Monastery. It looked so dark in there, the lack of moon not helping, that she was secretly glad she didn’t have to go in. She wasn’t scared of ghosts – only a little irritated with them, in all honesty – it was the living things that worried her. The buildings around her had bad reputations for being haunted – but it wasn’t ghosts that haunted them – rather gangs and criminals. After the nice incident with a knife being held to her throat, Taylor had no desire to go into that building unless she had a gun… which she didn’t.
She leant against the hood of the car as Mac and Stella headed to the back to collect some torches. “Stay here,” said Mac, drawing his gun. “I mean it, Taylor. We need to secure this scene.”
“Mac, I have no intention of leaving this car. I promise you that,” she told him, as she wrapped a spare CSI jacket Stella handed her, around herself.
“I’ll stay here with Taylor,” said Flack.
Stella looked at him and laughed, “You know, the ghosts are more likely to visit her than you meet one in there.”
Flack glared at her, “I just want to make sure she stays put.”
Even Mac managed a small smile as the two CSIs walked away. As they walked into the building, Taylor let out the laugh she had been struggling to hold in.
Flack crossed his arms and turned his glares in her direction, “Shut up.”
“Oh, no,” chuckled Taylor, “I get it now! It’s not that you don’t believe in ghosts, it’s that you don’t want to. You’re scared of ghosts.”
“I am not scared of ghosts!” he cried indignantly.
“Yeah. You are.” She stopped laughing suddenly and froze, staring at something behind Flack, in the slaughterhouse.
“What?” asked a slightly suspicious Flack.
Taylor just slowly raised her arm and pointed. Just as slowly, Flack turned around. As soon as his back was to her, Taylor grabbed him, “BOO!”
Flack left into the air. When he realised what had happened, he whirled around so fast he slipped slightly on the muddy ground, to find Taylor in hysterics leaning against the car.
“THAT WAS NOT FUNNY!” he roared.
Taylor looked at his purple face and laughed harder, “Yeah,” she gasped, “It was!”
Flack took one last furious look at her, before storming off and sitting in his squad car. Taylor calmed herself down, and looked at him sulking, arms crossed, glaring at the steering wheel. It was so pathetic, it was verging on cute. She took a final deep breath to calm herself, and walked over to his car, and tapped on the window. He ignored her, staring stonily in front of him. Taylor knocked again, “I’m sorry, alright. I couldn’t resist.”
Flack wound the window down, continuing to stare ahead.
“I won’t do it again, I promise.”
She was saved from a response by Mac, who had radioed Flack, causing them both to jump, “Flack, we’re going to need the area secured. There’s a body.”
* * *
A short time later, the scene was secure, and Taylor was stood waiting for Mac and Stella to collect their things so that she could walk onto her first crime scene.
“You remember what you agreed?” Mac asked her as he joined her.
Taylor nodded, pulling on the pair of gloves Mac insisted she wear, “Only stand where you tell me, and don’t touch anything.”
Mac nodded and walked into the building. Taylor followed and he led her through a maze of corridors to a large room. It was clear that it was once a slaughterhouse – when it had been shut down, no-one had been bothered to clear much of it out. Mac pointed to a spot, but before Taylor could walk over, she spotted the body. It was one thing to see a ghost – despite the ‘injuries’ because they were upright and talking, they didn’t seem dead – but to see a body lying on the floor… that was another thing all together.
She could feel the bile beginning to rise, so she turned and fled, both to get outside and away from the lingering smell of dead, burnt flesh, and also because she knew if she threw up, she’d contaminate the scene. She barely made it out before she was throwing up against the wall outside, her hands pressed up against it as she bent over. When her stomach finally settled – French cuisine and dead bodies didn’t make the best combination – she rolled around, and slumped against the wall, taking deep breaths.
“First body?”
It figured that the person who came after her was him, “Yeah.” If anyone was going to come, she had been hoping it was Stella, or even Mac. She turned her head to face him, expecting him to be gloating, but he wasn’t. He was actually looking… did she dare say it… concerned?
“I had been working a month before I saw my first body. Husband had put a gun to his wife’s head. Brain matter everywhere. Kinda looked like the porridge I’d eaten for breakfast.”
Taylor retched, turning quickly to throw up again.
“Never ate the stuff again,” he told her, as he rubbed her back.
“I write about this stuff regularly, but I have never seen a dead body before… I mean, I see them alive, or at least ‘walking’ around as a ghost, but to see them lying there…” she turned back around, “It’s the smell.”
“Wait until you smell a decomp.”
Taylor paled again, “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
“No, it’s pretty much that. The liquid version of a human. Smells dreadful – takes forever to get out of your hair.”
Taylor conjured up the image, but instead of feeling the urge to be sick again, she laughed.
“What?”
“No, it’s just that, I don’t think the ghost of a decomp would visit me – it wouldn’t have a mouth to repetitively tell me to help it.”
Flack shook his head, “Look, Mac says if you don’t want to go back in, you don’t have to.”
“No,” she said determinedly, “I set out to prove something, and I’m not going to be able to unless I go back in there.”
Flack shrugged, “Whatever,” he told her, following her back in.
Taylor walked straight back into the room and over to the spot Mac had previously pointed to.
“You alright, Taylor?” Stella asked her, looking up from whatever it was she was staring at intently under her torch.
Taylor smiled and nodded, “Yeah, thanks.”
Stella smiled back and turned her attention back to processing the scene.
Several hours later – Taylor never realised how long it took to actually process a scene – and all the evidence had been bagged and tagged, and the body had just been taken away.
Taylor was about to follow the other three out, who were ready to leave, when she spotted something from the corner of her eye. On the far side was the ghost, pointing to something on the floor. Taylor cocked her head at him, “What?”
Mac, Stella and Flack stopped and turned around, “No-one said anything,” said Stella.
Taylor ignored her, watching the ghost.
“Help us,” it said, still pointing at the ground.
Taylor frowned and started to walk over. As soon as she took a step, the ghost disappeared.
“Taylor?”
Taylor ignored Mac and walked until she reached the point that the ghost had been pointing to, close to where the body had been lying. The ghost has been pointing at a small gap in the dirt and dust ridden floorboards. Taylor frowned and looked around, ignoring the others who had walked over. She grabbed one of the meat hooks that had been abandoned, and using it as a crowbar, levered the floor board away. Underneath was a medal. She picked it up and held it for Mac and Stella to see.
“What’s that?” Stella asked Mac.
“Southwest Asia Service Medal,” he said. “Awarded to any member of the armed forces for service in prescribed geographical parts of the Middle East during Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm. But there is nothing about the victim that said military to me.”
“Well,” said Taylor, “It was important to the victim, because his ghost pointed it out.”
“You remember what you agreed?” Mac asked her as he joined her.
Taylor nodded, pulling on the pair of gloves Mac insisted she wear, “Only stand where you tell me, and don’t touch anything.”
Mac nodded and walked into the building. Taylor followed and he led her through a maze of corridors to a large room. It was clear that it was once a slaughterhouse – when it had been shut down, no-one had been bothered to clear much of it out. Mac pointed to a spot, but before Taylor could walk over, she spotted the body. It was one thing to see a ghost – despite the ‘injuries’ because they were upright and talking, they didn’t seem dead – but to see a body lying on the floor… that was another thing all together.
She could feel the bile beginning to rise, so she turned and fled, both to get outside and away from the lingering smell of dead, burnt flesh, and also because she knew if she threw up, she’d contaminate the scene. She barely made it out before she was throwing up against the wall outside, her hands pressed up against it as she bent over. When her stomach finally settled – French cuisine and dead bodies didn’t make the best combination – she rolled around, and slumped against the wall, taking deep breaths.
“First body?”
It figured that the person who came after her was him, “Yeah.” If anyone was going to come, she had been hoping it was Stella, or even Mac. She turned her head to face him, expecting him to be gloating, but he wasn’t. He was actually looking… did she dare say it… concerned?
“I had been working a month before I saw my first body. Husband had put a gun to his wife’s head. Brain matter everywhere. Kinda looked like the porridge I’d eaten for breakfast.”
Taylor retched, turning quickly to throw up again.
“Never ate the stuff again,” he told her, as he rubbed her back.
“I write about this stuff regularly, but I have never seen a dead body before… I mean, I see them alive, or at least ‘walking’ around as a ghost, but to see them lying there…” she turned back around, “It’s the smell.”
“Wait until you smell a decomp.”
Taylor paled again, “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
“No, it’s pretty much that. The liquid version of a human. Smells dreadful – takes forever to get out of your hair.”
Taylor conjured up the image, but instead of feeling the urge to be sick again, she laughed.
“What?”
“No, it’s just that, I don’t think the ghost of a decomp would visit me – it wouldn’t have a mouth to repetitively tell me to help it.”
Flack shook his head, “Look, Mac says if you don’t want to go back in, you don’t have to.”
“No,” she said determinedly, “I set out to prove something, and I’m not going to be able to unless I go back in there.”
Flack shrugged, “Whatever,” he told her, following her back in.
Taylor walked straight back into the room and over to the spot Mac had previously pointed to.
“You alright, Taylor?” Stella asked her, looking up from whatever it was she was staring at intently under her torch.
Taylor smiled and nodded, “Yeah, thanks.”
Stella smiled back and turned her attention back to processing the scene.
Several hours later – Taylor never realised how long it took to actually process a scene – and all the evidence had been bagged and tagged, and the body had just been taken away.
Taylor was about to follow the other three out, who were ready to leave, when she spotted something from the corner of her eye. On the far side was the ghost, pointing to something on the floor. Taylor cocked her head at him, “What?”
Mac, Stella and Flack stopped and turned around, “No-one said anything,” said Stella.
Taylor ignored her, watching the ghost.
“Help us,” it said, still pointing at the ground.
Taylor frowned and started to walk over. As soon as she took a step, the ghost disappeared.
“Taylor?”
Taylor ignored Mac and walked until she reached the point that the ghost had been pointing to, close to where the body had been lying. The ghost has been pointing at a small gap in the dirt and dust ridden floorboards. Taylor frowned and looked around, ignoring the others who had walked over. She grabbed one of the meat hooks that had been abandoned, and using it as a crowbar, levered the floor board away. Underneath was a medal. She picked it up and held it for Mac and Stella to see.
“What’s that?” Stella asked Mac.
“Southwest Asia Service Medal,” he said. “Awarded to any member of the armed forces for service in prescribed geographical parts of the Middle East during Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm. But there is nothing about the victim that said military to me.”
“Well,” said Taylor, “It was important to the victim, because his ghost pointed it out.”
Originally posted: 12/05/2006