Working Late

B was up late working on a case of her own--actually, make that more like five cases. The ME's office was backed up, and her assistant was out with a disastrous stomach bug. She couldn't hold it against the man, really; he'd tried to survive a day at work, but stomach issues and decomp didn't mix well. She'd sent him home fifteen minutes in.

Of course, the city had chosen that day to throw a wrench in the works and absolutely bury her in work.

It had been a long day, and she still wasn't finished--there was one more man who had been homeless waiting for her. She'd left him til last because his case appeared to be a simple one, meaning that there was less chance of her exhaustion leading to a murderer going free. Still, she intended to do him as much justice as she could; he was still a person who deserved respect. Perhaps she'd put on some nice Chopin while she worked, to soothe both their souls.

But first: caffeine.

She trooped up the stairs, stifling a yawn, and made for the break room. The coffee was never amazing, but hey, it was coffee, and that was all she could ask.

She paused in the doorway with a frown when she say TJ McCarthy lingering over a case file in the break room.

"I think you misread the sign, Detective," she teased mildly when he looked up at her. She resumed her coffee quest as she did, choosing a path next to his table so she could tap that file with her fingertips as she went.

"It's called a break room, not a 'work until you drop' room."

B poured herself a cup of black coffee and sniffed it slightly before taking a sip to prepare herself for what she was about to put into her body. Weak and burnt. Lovely. She drank half the Styrofoam cup full in a swift movement, trying not to taste it. And then, against her better judgement, she filled it back to the top before moving to join TJ at his table.

"Trent's out today, and half the city chose today to commit murder," she answered nonchalantly despite the rather grim reality. "Things got a little backed up, so I'm picking up the slack."

As she dropped into the chair across from him, she extended her free hand and wiggled her fingers at him, gesturing for him to hand over the file. She wanted a look at this 'bonus' case that had him so occupied that he was hanging around here to deal with it. She didn't know TJ particularly well, but she had heard that he was a bit of a bulldog with his cases--once he locked his jaw, he was never letting go, come hell or high water. She was curious what had triggered that reflex in him.

"Let's have a look, then. Must be a good one to have you doing it as a bonus, hm?"

"Technically I don't think I'm supposed to have it."

B smiled slightly and shook her head. It didn't surprise her that TJ was digging into things that weren't technically his business. Honestly, that seemed to be perfectly in line with his attitude. There were a few in the department like that. She wasn't one to seek out that kind of thing on her own, but when the opportunity arose…? Well, she wasn't going to turn down a perfectly good mystery.

She accepted the picture he passed her and actually picked it up once he'd finished tapping a few locations on the body. She'd noticed a discrepancy right away, and as he explained the details from the past report, her brows drew closer and closer together with each sentence.

When he passed her the file, she immediately went through it for the coroner's full report. The rest she set aside with hardly a glance. This was what mattered to her.

As she read through the old coroner's report, then sifted through for a photo of the victim's exit wounds, her disconcerted frown slowly changed into a look that most detectives in the department had learned to fear--one of disgust and outrage. She took a sharp breath through her nose and schooled her face back into her usual calm expression, though her outrage lingered in the flare of her nose and the sharp edge to her consonants.

"Simple. This coroner lied." She declared, setting the paperwork down and returning the pictures of the man's front and back to the top of the stack side by side. She glanced around the room for a way to illustrate her point; a 2D image was a poor representation of the 3D problem. On the counter was a cup full of red and white coffee stir sticks, and she popped out of her seat to grab one.

"Hold this, please." She asked TJ, though the please was more an afterthought to a command. She held the front photo above the back photo, about the length of the stir sticks, and waited for him to hold it for her, so she could use the sticks to illustrate her point.

"These shots," She held the stir stick between the entrance and exit of each wound, showing the remarkably straight, uniform trajectories of the shots, each with only a slight angle. "These were shot straight into the victim, there's no variation of angles, so they're all from the same weapon at the same instance. This one, however…" She adjusted her stir stick to illustrate the sharper, opposite angle.

"More than that," she added, gesturing for him to put down the photo so she could draw his attention to the back photo, gesturing to several areas with her stir stick. "These exit wounds are close to the same size, perhaps a .45? But this one is noticeably larger. It's the wrong caliber to match the rest. Honestly, it's rather clumsy of them to do such obvious work--If it were me, I would have kept my shots close to the same area to obscure the wound tract."

While her irritation at the coroner had been clear, her explanation of what was actually demonstrated in the photos and xrays was calm and clear. This part was easy; in fact, that was why she was so irritated in the first place. This wasn't a case of simple mistake. This had to be a lie, because no self respecting medical professional was that blind. Really, she was surprised that the CSI teams hadn't noted that either, when they mapped the room. Hadn't they used a laser pointer to map the trajectories, or at least string?