Crime Scene Investigation: Malice Station Needs Help


Fan Fiction

[Grissom and Willows proceed past check-in and concierge stations, through a gauntlet of marble and glass, to the elevators, up and out into a hall.]
Grissom: We have two VICs, a male and a female. Paul and Mary Blundt. Room 310. They checked in last night.
Willows: What’s that smell?
Grissom: Cheap disinfectant?
Willows: It’s like an alternate universe once you cross the elevator threshold.
Grissom: Yeah. Now let’s do it.

[Location: Room 310. Willows and Grissom peruse the scene]
Grissom: Innocents – an older couple come here on vacation to win a few bucks, see a show and eat inexpensive prime rib. Now they’re dead on cheap carpet.
Willows: It’s ugly, too. Worst color scheme I’ve ever seen.
Grissom: It’s all bad, Katherine.
Willows: Yeah. Let’s get trace. It appears that they struggled for breath, choked somehow. The dropped drinking glass – was the woman trying to get to the bathroom for water when she fell?
Grissom: Could be. We might be looking at ingested toxins of some kind. I don’t see human aggression or theft here.
Willows: Yeah. We’ll see what the team devines.

[Grissom and Willows proceed downstairs, through the lobby and towards an exit.]
Grissom: (Reads an employee’s name tag) Um . . .TREVOR. You have an awfully ritzy lobby here. The rooms are Dante’s Inferno. Malice Station can afford concierge service but not effective housekeepers?
Trevor: Yes, sir. Thank you. Have a nice day!

[Location: LV Crime Lab]
Grissom: Take a drive with me, Katherine.
Willows: Where to, boss?
Grissom: St. George. Cal’s giving us cooperation in seeing the Blundt residence.
Willows: Okay, but will we need protective suits?
Grissom: Nuclear tests . . .what were they thinking? Duck and cover, kids! Your desk and school binder will protect you.

[Grissom and Willows proceed east on I-15, taking Exit 6 to N. Bluff Dr.]
Cal: I can’t believe Paul and Mary are dead. They hardly ever went anyplace or took vacations. Now this.
Willows: You could practically eat off these floors. Or drink out of the toilets. They were good housekeepers no doubt.
Grissom: Yeah. Let’s check for prescription meds or other substances. Did they perhaps intentionally or accidentally ingest a slow-acting agent here, before they left for Vegas?
Willows: If they did and if it’s here, we’ll find it.

[Location: LV Morgue]
Robbins: The decedents have elevated levels of tryptase, which indicates they died during the night of anaphylaxis – an extreme allergic reaction during which the airway constricts. In this case the culprit would be . . . dust mites.
Grissom: Dust mites . . . could the VICs possibly have had compromised immune systems from living in a spotless environment?
Robbins: Could be. Things in moderation, my friend. Cleanliness in moderation. And how ironic is this? The Blundts survive a cancer hot zone, leave town, and ultimately die in a crappy hotel room because of dust mites?
Grissom: My philosophy of dust if you will . . . dust, what is it? Some ancients – perhaps fetishists - believed it to be magic – bottled it. We attack it with chemicals. In part it’s the cycling of life debris, cells shedding and degrading, to feed innocent creatures two hundred microns long. ‘Tis the food chain, my friends. Dust shall always be with us. [Grissom arches his brows, makes eye contact with Willows, slightly curls his lips. Scene ends on single violin note]