|AIR DATE 2011.08.09|
|Location:||ACRU CSI Lab|
|Synopsis: Kev checks in on the progress Harry is making with a case.|
Though the ACRU CSI labs have been open for just about a year now, they still look shiny and new. That may be because most labs are kept pristine and clean in order to not contaminate evidence, but the impression still stands. Access to the labs is through a keypad, but that doesn't lessen the flow of police officers marching into science territory or vice versa.
Currently, Harry stands behind a table filled with clear plastic bags of what looks like random debris. Each one is clearly marked and labelled. Obvious items are an empty champagne bottle, two champagne flutes and what looks to be a dinner for two - each plate, fork and knife in their own separate bags. A few pictures of the scene are also laid out, blood pools on the floor, scattering across the carpet and up the wall and then another blood pool on…does that look like a ceiling? A machine whirs softly in the background as the young scientist, wearing plastic gloves and a white lab coat, carefully attempts to put together a shattered plate of glass.
Smack sounds outside the lab door. Not to worry; all evidence of violence remains solidly inside the lab, splattered in those crime scene photos. Hands collide in a quick companionable slap and series of handshake maneuvers as Kev says bye to a colleague who's out for the day. They both look sweaty — evidence of making use of the exercise equipment. Kev's off-duty purple t-shirt and jeans do little to make him look like a cop, but his badge sways around his neck on a long chain. He walks like a lazy animal might. "Adios, man! Same time tomorrow?" He's all toothy grins and happy-go-lucky dark eyes, throwing a towel over his shoulder in order to multi-task the lab door open. "Yeah, you better be here so I can whup you again!" he shouts after his pal.
Shift. He brings the post-exercise high and laidback ease right with him into the clean precision of the lab — along with sweat and a questionably hygienic towel, but the lab has seen worse. Right? For a brief moment, Kev looks downright bewilered at the champagne and dinner arrangement; then, he takes in the spread with a funny little quirk of his eyebrows and an overly surprised chuckle. "Whoa, hey, sorry! I didn't know I was interrupting a date."
Outside, Harry can hear the exchange between Kev and whoever else is out there in a muffled sort of manner. It's the typical alpha male sort of back and forth and the scientist just shakes her head at that. Who will beat who up, who will come out on top, etc. It's almost funny in it's own way. Of course the lab has seen worse than a sweaty Kev and his sweaty man-towels, but those were almost all due to cases. Except for that one time a few of the technicians split a couple bottles of wine and attempted to turn the Cyanocrylate Fuming chamber into a fondue.
Since Harry assumes he knows enough not to put the towel down where he'll contaminate the evidence, she doesn't warn him not to. However, she does roll her eyes at his question. "My date would have to be quite the mysophobe. And apology not accepted, as I'm sure you have a reason for being here." At that, though, she smirks, because she's not truly angry. "Can I help you with something, Detective?"
Kev is laboriously delayed in his reply, tripped up by everything that came out of Harry's mouth before 'Detective'. He squints at her, his face creasing into the etches of vaguely disgruntled worry that seem to make up his default expression when he's not smiling, as he was a moment ago. "Uhhh," squint, "mice-o'-what? Anyway— " Easy to dismiss what he doesnt understand beyond his presumption that it involves mice, he ambles toward Harry's workspace.
"Heard some mumblings from folks wondering what was goin' on with this case, thought I'd check it out," he says casually. He stops by Harry, using the towel to scratch inside of his ear. But, for all that, his squinting sights have set on the photos have a concerned interest and understanding beyond the casual. "Not that you're slow," he addendums quickly, sincere, "or anything. I'm. You're doing a great job. What's with the champagne?"
"Mysophobe. It's someone who is terrified of germ contamination. A little like this lab." Harry smiles and glances at the glass that she's attempting to put together. There are stains on some of the glasses, possibly fingerprints, as well. It's about halfway there. "I just got this case the other day. And if you've attempted to take a sample from a blood pool that was somehow on the ceiling as well as on the floor, then I'm sure you can understand my distress." With a raised eyebrow, she shakes her head. "Thank you for the praise, though I'm not sure if I can accept it if you don't know what I'm doing." Her smile softens that sentence.
Instead, she plows on into the next question, the one that really matters - the case. Harry steps away from the glass and moves toward Kev in an attempt to pull him over to the other side of the table - where one of the places is set. "That's what I'm attempting to figure out. Look, this is very nice clean china and - obviously - someone went through a lot of trouble to set this up. It's a romantic dinner. There were roses, candles, champagne. It's the most cliche'd 'I'm trying to get you to sleep with me' dinner there is. Or, well, most cliche'd 'I'm going to propose' dinner, too, but they're really in quite similar realms, aren't they? After a proposal I'm sure there's sex. Not that I've been proposed to, but that seems the logical conclusion, right?" At this point, Harry realizes that she's rambling. "Right. Well, anyway. This is a good set up, right? But there's something missing." And she glances down at the dishes in front of Kev for his clue.
Harry is like a tiny bouncing ball that Kev follows with his head in order to attempt to keep up. He adds a distinct nod, here and there — her definition of 'mysophobe' earns one, only to be countered by the further bewildered squint that says he doesn't really get it. He goes where he's led, looks where he's told. It's Harry's rambling over the nature of proposals that etches his face the very most, curving his brows into something like alarm — but he's not without amusement.
"Uhh," he says again as he's meant to study the dishes. First things first, though, he tips his head of haphazard hair toward Harry and states as a matter of ignorance: "I've never been proposed to either." More seriously, gets to thinking (not his expert area, it's no doubt been said), tossing the towel safely over one shoulder and clapping his hands together to peer thoughtfully over them. "Well, there's no dinner. I mean sure, whatever, it's about the romance and candles and crap, but— " he gestures at a plate, "A romantic dinner— has to have— romantic food. So what, did they just not get to cookin' before they got cookin'?"
Helpfully, Harry talks a little fast, too, as if she can't wait for one word to get out of her mouth before the others come spilling out. It comes from wanting to say so much about what is there and not missing anything. Patiently, the woman waits for Kev to either give his guess or give up and when he answers correctly, she beams at him. "Exactly! There's no food! The plates are completely clean. The champagne bottle is also full and uncorked, so they didn't get to even pop the bubbly. There wasn't even any food in the apartment that we could find. Well, there was food in the fridge, but not anything up to par with what would be expected of this sort of setup."
As Harry moves around again to the glass puzzle, she continues, "We've also managed to match one set of prints to the victim. There's another partial print on one of the plates, but this is what used to be his dining room table. I'm hoping there's a full print here." There's a pause. "Oh, yeah, and my theory is that they ordered in. But, it wasn't a delivery guy who called it in, so, where did that person go? Also, gravity. I think it shifted in the room." That's a few alsos.
Also, also, also… "You gotta lotta theories up in that brain a' yours," Kev comments — it's a casual side-comment, commending, rather than scolding Harry's propensity to talk a lot. He looks up at the scientist. "You totally more than just a lab geek." Another compliment, if a sideways one. He plods a thumb into his chin and keeps on considering what's laid out in front of him … and up, at the ceiling of the lab. "Gravity, huh. I'll make sure gravity abilities get run through the registry 'n' see if anyone sticks out. Too bad we aren't rolling in dough like NASA, you could get one of those, like, big ass chambers astronauts use."
At the comment, Harry blinks, incomprehensible for the moment. But…but…that's what she's supposed to do! How else will she tell them what to look for? Then, she shrugs, "That's what I'm here for, I guess. Always asking questions, trying to find things. And I will take offense to that! Lab geeks are quite important, Detective Parrish! You'd should be so lucky to be called one." After all, Harry used to be one of those 'lab geeks' before she shifted to more on scene investigation. "That would be extremely useful, to see how things navigate in a zero-g environment. It's near impossible to determine an angle of impact by blood splatter when the splatter just floats off after impact." And also, "Plus, it'd be great to just float around on your breaks. We could pretend we're in space, eating space food. I bet we could get some of that space ice cream you got as it kid. I also thought it tasted chalky - but in a good way! Like, space chalk. That made it exotic."
Kev tosses his hands up in surrender; very briefly, a puppy-eyed expression matches. Did he— did he insult the scientist lady somehow?! "Chill … I was just try'na… okay, okay." Then, with a down-turning tug of his mouth, the process of imagination less than subtle over his face as he envisions such a space-chamber, colour Kev unsure. "Doesn't zero gravity like… mess up your insides?" Especially while eating space chalk. He looks a little unsettled in the stomach area just thinking about it, planting a hand on his abdomen.
Not two seconds later: "Hey, do you have any food in here?" Wandering away from the crime puzzle, he searches out the lab's fridge, strongly leaning onto it with one hand above the door and hauling it with the other before he gets a reply.
Unfortunately, Kev will not find anything much of food in there. It's filled with vials of various colors and sizes. There is also a finger in a jar of ice. But, he's not allowed to eat that.
Harry smiles. "I know, I know. All the detectives think we're just some pencil pushing lab rats in here, but we do good work. I get touchy about the whole, 'you're just a lab person' thing." Obviously, as he just witnessed. "Mess up your insides?" Harry thinks about that for a second. "No…I don't think so. Unless you're talking about a vacuum space as well as zero gravity. A zero-g chamber is essentially what NASA uses to train astronauts. A vacuum, though, would take away the outside force all the inside force that is normally there to counteract natural gravity pushes against. So, basically, you'd explode! Isn't that great?" She may have a strange idea of great. "Oh, no, wrong fridge. I've got a bag of chips around here somewhere, though."
It's entirely possible that Kev has spaced out into the fridge instead of paying attention to the science lesson. He doesn't land eyes on the body part chilling in the fridge until Harry's been rambling for some time and, on explode, he spies it and straightens suddenly. "Uh." He looks from the jar to Harry and back again, considering whether or not he's lost his appetite … and shrugs, knocking the fridge shut. "Alright." He briskly nods to Harry and her work. "You look like you're still pretty busy here, there anything else you want me to go pass along while you do your thing?"
Harry moves toward her messenger bag and shifts through it. Aha, there's the chips. It's a bag of Fritos. Judging the distance, she tosses it at Kev, hoping he'll catch it. She's either oblivious to the fact that he missed the science lesson or doesn't care about it. Instead, she gives a friendly smile. "There you go. Got to keep the carbs up if you're going to be running down all the leads I gave ya!" It's a bit of a joke. A really lame one, but still. She gives a half laugh and thinks, brow knit as she goes over all that she's found. "Um, delivery person, gravity, second finger print, date…OH! Right, yeah. The most obvious thing. Do you ever get that thing where you want to make sure you get all the little tiny details, so you make sure you say them all, but then you miss the huge glaring thing right in front of ya?" She pauses expectantly for his answer, but then plows on right ahead even if he doesn't answer. "Well, it was a date, right? So, uh, then, where was his date?"
Kev grabs the bag of chips from the air as easy as a dog catching a Frisbee, without a second thought. He smiles at Harry's joke, lending an oddly good natured air to his next answer. "Stringin' him up bloodily on the ceiling?" he wagers a guess; despite being the detective, he sounds more like the student unsurely answering the teacher. That doesn't stop him from casually tearing into the bag of Fritos and stuffing half a handful into his face.
Bing! That's the answer Harry was looking for. The woman puts a finger on her nose to convey he nailed it. "Exactly!" She seems pleased as punch by that and gives the detective a big smile. "That's all I've got so far, but give me another hour or so and I'll have finished the glass puzzle. I used to love puzzles as a kid. I used to go all the way up to 2,000 pieces, but then I'd always lose that one piece of sky. Don't you hate it when that happens?"
Kev appears pleased at the praise, even blinking several times in apparent surprise; it's short-lived. He wriggles his eyebrows up skeptically at Harry, puzzling her over the topic of puzzles. "Oh, yeah," he says, going along with it, too deadpan to be entirely making light of her, too edged with jokiness to completely comprehend. "Yeah, I hate when that happens. Stupid… sky." He pops a crispy curl of junk food in his mouth and ambles for the door. "Happy puzzlin'."