Author's Note: Welcome to a CSI/Torchwood crossover, where madness will happen in Vegas, Cardiff and London. I'm just not sure what yet...
I do not own Torchwood or CSI. I do, however, own Jasmine, who rocks a fantastic 137 on the Mary Sue litmus test, for which I apologise and I hope she's not too bad
There will be gay men. I just don't know how many (How come as a bi woman I tend to write about gay men, not lesbians or hetero couples?)
For Candybree, Rainbow Stripes and hotflower901, who were so lovely all the way through Late Night Loss
Gilbert Grisson looked through the report on his desk, the photos from the crime scene and the autopsy painting a gruesome and disturbing picture of an attack without any apparent perpetrator. The DNA wasn't human, or any animal that they could identify, and the wounds, the bite marks… It was like a tiger, or some other vicious carnivore.
His computer 'pinged' and he looked up at the screen where a message was flashing at him. No, it was on Microsoft Word, and someone was sending a message in italics.
He stared at it for a few minutes as the message repeated itself a couple of times until the cursor moved again, drifting down to the control panel and changing to an open hand, which waved at him enthusiastically. It was a completely random pattern, but with a definite rotary motion; he grabbed the mouse and found that he could control the cursor as another message appeared below the first.
Finally! I thought you might have gone to sleep there. Or into a trance. Is your screen magic?
He flexed his fingers over the keyboard and, finally, typed:
How are you doing that?
The hand highlighted what he'd just written and de-italicised it, then set italics back on so that the other person could write:
I r the 1337 haxor. I is in ur PC, writin in ur wrd
Sorry… I hacked your computer. And your CCTV system, so I can sees yoooo.
He shook his head and glared up at the CCTV camera in the corner of his room, feeling slightly scared now, not reassured when the message came:
Don't worry, if I wanted to hurt you you'd know about it.
But how are you doing it?
My ace hacking skills, it's part of the job
And what job would that be?
I have the case breaker for you
You didn't answer my question
No. I didn't
Do you want to know who killed her?
He looked down at the photo of a teenage girl, ripped to shreds and partly eaten by a vicious, animalistic killer. If this strange person, who could hack into government computer systems and CCTV networks, could help him, he would trust him.
So do I.
I'm requesting your permission to join your team for the duration of the investigation. You need someone on your team with the collection of security clearances, field experience and a PhD in forensic science that only I possess.
Trust me, if I could send someone else, I would.
And if I decline your request?
I'll request your co-operation whilst my team investigate, which I really don't want to do because two of them are planning a wedding at the moment.
If you decline that then I might tell you our findings once our investigation closes.
He looked back at the photo, considered the clearances the guy must have and made a decision
Do you want a lab preparing?
Yes please. I've got the equipment I'll need though. It's probably more… specialised than yours. More obscure.
Can some of your people meet me at the crime scene to go over the case so far?
I'll send them out. What time?
I'll be there in an hour.
OK. I'll send CSI's Sanders and Stokes.
And don't hack my computer again, it's not polite
Grissom glared at the screen, waiting for a further reply but not expecting one. Someone cleared their throat from the doorway and he looked up into the dark, confused, chocolate-brown eyes of Greg Sanders, "Can I help you Greg?"
The bottle-blond looked down at the file in his hand but didn't move from the doorway, "I wish someone could. This DNA doesn't match any known species from Earth. And…" The CSI level 1 and DNA expert shuffled in annoyance and slight embarrassment, "And someone keeps hacking my computer. I've got Archie in it trying to track it, but he says it's probably the Bad Wolf Virus."
Greg shrugged and shook his head, "It was Archie, I thought it best not to ask." The young man glanced over his shoulder as Nick stood very close behind him in the doorway, looking over his shoulder, "But basically, this creature is an undiscovered species, which is so impossible that you just wouldn't believe it."
"And the wounds don't look like they're from any known species either." Nick supplied over his shoulder, "We've hit a total dead end Griss."
"We have, but someone hasn't." He pointed at them, "Go back to the scene. I got a message from someone who believes he can help us, he'll meet you there."
"Who? Why didn't you ask us first?" Nick demanded angrily
Grissom shrugged, "I don't know, but he didn't give me a say in the matter. You'd better get going, you don't want him to be there first."
The two men glanced at each other and moved away, knowing there was nothing they could say about the matter and heading for the locker room to grab their stuff.
Greg shut the door and checked they were alone, "If you keep standing so close behind me like that…"
"People will think you have to stop standing in doorways." Nick finished for him, brushing his shoulder and just touching his neck reassuringly, squeezing it in a friendly manner when Catherine pushed the door open, "It'll be fine, let's get going."
"What, where are you two off to?" The woman asked as she pulled things from her locker
"Griss thinks he's got a lead on the Ellen Carrillo case. He's meeting us at the scene, the lead that is." Nick pulled his gun out and clipped it on, seeing Greg do the same
"What, your lead's a guy?"
"As far as we know. Could be anyone really. Griss got a message through his computer, probably the same person hacked my computer and…" Greg blushed
"Well I was playing solitaire whilst I waited for the DNA results and he seemed to object to some of the moves I made."
"OK, so we've got someone who knows about unsolvable crimes and plays solitaire on other people's computers. Suddenly I feel reassured." Nick griped, "Ah well, let's see what he has to say for himself."
Greg leaned against the wall by the crime scene tape which still kept the public out of the alleyway and looked up. You could never see the stars in Vegas, but it didn't stop him trying. Out in the desert though, you couldn't see anything but stars. He sighed and glanced across to where Nick stood, gazing across the street; the older man met his gaze and smiled tightly, they'd been here five minutes already and no one had shown up, but they still had ten minutes before their informant was due.
The officer on duty for the night was leaning outside the crime scene tape, eyes glazed over except when anyone came near; it was a quiet part of town, so there weren't many people around, but the few who came by tended to move on after a cursory, curious glance. It was far too dark to see anything. A girl approached, however, and peered into the darkness, flashing a warm smile at Greg and Nick and nodding a greeting to the officer; she made to duck under the tape but he stopped her, "Where do you think you're going missy?"
She grinned, "I'm with the crime lab." He checked her ID and let her through with an apology, "Not to worry, I'm new."
"Not from around here either." Nick noted out loud, not that it was hard to tell from her definitely English accent, "I didn't know anyone was joining the lab. We're just waiting for an informant."
"I know, I'm her." Jazz grinned at him, eyeing his muscular frame appreciatively, "I'm also joining the crime lab, did he not mention that?"
"No, he didn't." He shared a glance with Greg over her head and she turned round to give the Californian an equally appraising once-over
"I hate it when information isn't shared. My name's Jasmine Donovan, Jazz or Jay to my friends, Zee only to my boyfriend. Commander to my employees." She extended a hand, first to Greg, who shook it with a smile, and then to Nick, who reciprocated considerably less enthusiastically, "You're Sanders and Stokes?"
Greg took in her slim but clearly athletic form, blonde hair tied back, eyes dancing with mischief even in the dark, clothes functional but showing off her curves, and clapped Nick on the shoulder, "I'm Greg Sanders, and this is Nicholas Stokes." When the older man remained silent he rolled his eyes, "He does talk, eventually."
"So I've noticed." She rolled her eyes in reply, "Not that I'm complaining, most of my friends the problem is getting them to shut up. Again, not complaining, but they don't half talk crap."
Nick smiled reluctantly, "OK, scene to show you round, case to acquaint you with." He gestured to the end of the alley, "The vic was found down there, badly mauled, like by an animal but clearly by something with human build. DNA doesn't match a species, let alone anyone in CODIS. No one saw or heard anything, and there's no CCTV coverage, even if it had been light enough to see."
"Why did she come down here?" Jazz asked, bending to study a blood stain on the wall, "What would draw a girl like that into an alley like this."
"There was signs of a struggle, and of the body bein' dragged." Nick pointed out
"That might explain it. Still…" She put one hand on her hip and flashed her torch around, scanning the piles of rubbish and the crates dispassionately, "When you got to the scene, what did it smell like?"
"Like shit. Worse than it does now. The sewers were open for repairs."
She nodded sagely, "I thought they might have been. That'll be where it came from. Where's the sewer entrance?"
He nodded towards the street and she headed towards it, "That'll be where what came from?"
"The thing that killed her, they're copraphagic. It's called a weevil." She studied the sewer cover and her torch highlighted slight marks on the edge of the cover, "And it's trapped outside somewhere. But what the hell is it doing in Vegas?"