The blood had stained the cuffs of her jeans. Another smudge of red that wasn't red wine, or broken pen ink, or paint from decorating a 1960's art-deco apartment.
Drinking, writing, creating. Lost elements of her life, now, as the only red that seemed evident, relevant, was type A positive. Laughing, entertaining, relating - adjectives, objectives, abstractives.
Looking, she wondered if she was evidence now. Fingering the cuff, running the dark blue material across her tips, contaminating and compromising, she briefly wondered if she should be wearing gloves. Grissom would be upset, she frowned, grabbing a pair from her kit that lay open next to the couch.
The music stopped. The gloves snapped as she pulled them on, the CD player clicked and whirred as another mournful woman's voice sang out from the speakers.
Another crime scene had left her stained and distracted. Lemon juice and high-purpose stain remover would get rid of this blood on her jeans. Ice and honey - no, that was for chewing gum. She often wondered what the relatives did once the victim's personal belongings were handed back. She often wondered if they reused them, threw them out, framed them.
The social workers didn't ask her if she'd wanted her father's clothes. No-one asked her which ones of her own she wanted to take with her. A worn-out "California - The Greatest Place in the Sun" shirt (six holes in the sleeves, two in the collar), a purple skirt (one size too small), unmatched socks and her favourite coat.
A striped shirt, blue jeans (an expensive pair), brown riding boots and seven indented, bleeding lines on both wrists.
More blood on her shirt. Such a bitch to get out.
Grissom would be angry for wearing evidence. She was evidence, now, to him. "The evidence never lies". But she'd lied to him, hadn't she? She'd ruined the crime scene by being here in the first place, by wearing her hair down, by not wearing gloves. She wondered what time it was. She wondered why her brother never rang anymore.
The ground seemed closer than what it was before. Sinking, before falling. Self-inflicted wounds to both wrists, up the veins. The vic had medical knowledge - she knew what she was doing.
Time of death - eleven twenty-five.