[B][I][U]Collab between Kentsukan and TNY[/U][/I][/B]

Robert had to control himself so that he didn't immediately rise from the table in his excitement. An ME was needed? Why of course, he was more than willing, pleased, eager, to help. He stood up, and adjusted his jacket a little, taking a deep breath before he answered. "Yes. I am willing to assist the FBI again. Where are they? Will I be provided my tools? Do you drive, Dr. Shavleson, or shall I drive us there? Was your presence also requested?"

Dennis nodded when Robert answered, told J.L his response, and hung up the phone. Robert was anxious, excited. That made a great deal of sense, since Dennis stole the only thing he’d ever known his entire life. He was suddenly, and utterly, without, and here Dennis was, offering the man his job back, albeit temporarily. Dennis realized a certain recursiveness forming itself. He smiled inwardly at the possibilities now that he was assisting on the case. Dennis could not have imagined J.L’s desperation, he could not have attributed for Roberts involvement. This would get dirty, blood would be spilt, and from the fountain of sacrifice the light of his becoming would spur forth. The only pressing matter, Dennis noted, was Robert’s seemingly sane demeanor. That was a matter easily rectified, especially using coercive therapy.
Dennis walked to the table, began picking up the dishes. “We’ll talk on the way there.” Dennis commented as he whisked the plates away into the kitchen. He put them in the oven, closed it, and hurried back into the living room. After retrieving his coat from a nearby chair Dennis was ready to leave the condo, grabbing his keys from a dish on the lip of the pit fireplace. Dennis allowed Robert to leave first then followed, locking the door behind him. The two made their way down the hall, toward a different direction than the elevator. “I’ll drive,” Dennis finally said. “J.L is making sure the boys in blue deliver a kit for you on scene. You should have everything you need.” The two approached a large set of doors with a big green button on the side, Dennis pressed it and the doors [i[swished[/i] open. Dennis’ silver Tesla model S was parked on a turntable filled with all other sorts of cars, mostly those of his neighbors. Dennis clicked his car remote in order to unlock the doors and turn it on, the lights blanketed the hallway and the duo within it. “Hop in.” Dennis said, heading inside the massive elevator.

Robert moved to try and assist with the plates, but Dr. Shavleson reached them first. Instead he hurried along with Dr. Shavleson's pace to his car. [I]"The good Doctor's pockets are limitless,"[/I] a passing thought noted in his head, before being drowned by other more pressing thoughts. How desperate would they be if they were calling a retired medical examiner to examine a scene? They were lucky that he was still licensed. [I]"Who am I examining? Why are we both being called?"[/I] These questions would be asked later, once they were on the way. The other most important thing he could do was focus. This was not the time to become overly excited at another change at work. Robert took in another deep breath and shut his eyes, trying to calm himself. This was probably a one time thing. Even then, it would mean nothing if he did something wrong. He was not there for materials, science, or even justice. He was there to do it right.

The elevator chugged it’s way down as the duo sat in a dim light among the freshly cleaned, leather upholstery. Finally the elevator stopped and the doors swung open, revealing a spacious garage area. The model S sprinted from there and onto the street, luckily barren. As Dennis turned onto Eighth avenue Robert started asking more questions, some he would have to be careful with answering, since he noticed that J.L had kept some of the details of the crime scene to himself. This within itself was enough to feel a little paranoid, but Dennis felt confident in his abilities, in his vail.

“I believe it’s a family. J.L mentioned one of my patients was involved but not how. Which, I suppose is why he decided to call me in, that and his other agents are busy. All I had to do was mention your name and J.L jumped all over it. So I guess it was coincidental.” Dennis added, and that was true. There was no way Dennis could have foreseen all of this, yet here they were, silently speeding toward the Queensboro with the transformative prospects of friendship before them, and the bloody fire iron behind them.

"I'm assuming that the family he was found with is not his." There did not seem to be many details at the moment, but that suited Robert just fine. It would be better to see everything himself, but a little background never hurt. And not everything should be shared over a phone, as that would waste everyone's time. "How long ago were they discovered? Have any suspects been apprehended?" Biological samples would be needed. Photos as well. Robert faintly wondered if J.L would let him stick around on this case until it reached its end, but he doubted that. Family murders were often times crimes of passion: a grudge. It could be a very real possibility that Dr. Shavleson's patient caused the murders: a man or woman with some sort of psychosis murders a family in their home. Charming, realistic, and perhaps, a perfect red herring. But that all depended on what he found there at the scene.

“No. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. 1911, 24th road. Ditmars, Queens.” J.L had told him that much, and Dennis was notorious for his memory, there was no worrying there. My patient, you might have met him, Phillip Kyle.” Dennis’ hands clenched on the wheel, feigning an uncomfortability, an expected mourning. “You’ll excuse me if we don’t speak about him until we get there.”
The bridge was mostly clear and they made the trip quickly and easily. The house was surrounded by police cars with their lights spinning and their doors purposefully opened. Men in veiled body armor stood about talking to each other or watching the scene with their hands on their pistols or their arms crossed over their chest, women too, of course. The red and blue lights pierced the night air and colored the beautiful house ahead, it’s frame only partially corrupted by the scene held within. The window above was covered with a plastic cover, something that might have to come down during the analysis, and glass covered the lawn below. A large, well sculptured African-American man in a somewhat tight pastel purple dress shirt and white tie approached Robert and Dennis as they crossed the police line.

“Dennis Shavleson, Robert Bishop? I’m Tyrice McDonald. Welcome to hell.” He had a brilliant smile, but it showed up with a hint of shame, and desperately unwavered disposition. He had a short afro and his fingers and arms were probably longer than anyone on the scene. He was perhaps three inches taller than Dennis. In the chest pocket of his shirt was a pad and pen, he retrieved both items. Dennis suddenly realized that he [b]wanted[/b] this man, for his own. That, indeed, was a matter for another time.

“Yes, thanks for the warm greeting. Is it on the top floor?” Dennis inquired, lifting his head to the broken window.

“You guessed it, sure am glad they sent you in.” He quipped, he looked at Robert. “Mr. Bishop, we have your kit. I’m assuming you have some sort of magical prowess that Katherine doesn’t. Look, boys, I’m just going to warn you, this is an open/shut case. We have the killer, we have the victims, it’s all here.”
Dennis looked over to Robert, showing a sense of fear, regret perhaps. His mechanisms for falsehoods was finely tuned, perfectly balanced.

They entered through the front, Tyrice pointed to the back entrance, that’s where he came in. It was open, the food on the counter not as fresh as it had been, the blood napkin which sat somewhere near was gone, a trophy. They climbed the stairs and Dennis had flashbacks, the image of Philip’s shadow still burned into the canvas of his mindscape. They entered the room of the murders, Robert’s kit sat on a table at the far edge of the room. The blood had seeped and dried into the carpet, Mrs. Jenkins was slumped over herself and her husband was leaned against a wall, directly under the window, holes littering his chest. A light stand was nearby and it illuminated the grisely scene. Dennis stood still as he pictured the scene in his mind’s eye, uncovered the truths he wanted to see as they happened.

“There is a redemption here, a relief. This is a deliverance from evil, by neutrality, by nothingness.”
“It’s cold, that’s true.” Tyrice responded. There was no one else in the room, thankfully.

“But what is he delivering them from?” Dennis questioned. He crossed around to look at the mother’s face. Her makeup had run all down her face, the part that wasn’t blasted off. “She’d been crying all day. What was this family going through?”

Tyrice flipped through his pad, came upon something important, nodded his head. “Their daughter is missing.”

Dennis looked over at Robert again, a rising fear showing in his icy blues. “Is…” Dennis seemed to have trouble getting this out, “Is Philip in the next room?”

Tyrice nodded, “Yeah. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Robert had bowed his head politely at Tyrice as he was let in, and as soon as he was in the room he walked to his kit, pulling materials out and noting what he had. His tape recorder, a scalpel, jars for fingerprints, blood, and other materials. Pliers to remove things. Perfect. He, slipped on his non-latex gloves, picked up the tape recorder and waited until everyone was finished speaking before it began.

"Dr. Robert Bishop, MD, on the scene, first room, first impressions. There are two bodies here, the woman's in the middle I the room, slouched over, and the man's against a wall, under a window, facing out towards the street. Female subject is Mrs. Jenkins, the first male subject is her husband." He walked closer to Frank, kneeling down with his eyes at his chest. "First male subject has two gunshot wounds, fatal, in the abdominal area, through organs, likely hitting the lumbar, and exiting out his lower back. A third went through the upper portion of his arm, through the brachial, and exited out and through a window. A final gunshot in his chest appears to be delivered P.M." Robert tilted his head, and tried to bend Mr. Jenkin's fingers. The tape recorder was placed on the ground as he did this, and picked up again when he was finished. "Rigor mortis has begun to settle in. I place this death somewhere within the last twelve hours, at most." Robert rose then and turned towards Mrs. Jenkins, standing behind Dr. Shavleson. "Female subject has only one bullet wound. A shot through her right temple, fatal, exiting through..." He lowered himself again and gently tilted her head so he could see the exit would. "The lower left part of of her head. Near the cerebellum. Female subject also has rigor mortis, I place her time of death around the same as the male's." He stood, his eyes sweeping the room, and he clicked the pause button on the recorder. "Do we have the firearm used in these murders?"

Tyrice nodded regretfully and beckoned the two as he exited the room, crossed the narrow hall and into the master bed room, whose door was only slightly ajar. The scene was astounding, to say the least. Philip had, probably accidentally, bitten off his tongue. His shirt was covered in blood and his tongue sat in his lap. The blood from his wrist had drenched the wooden floors. It was a dry puddle now, the life that was left from him would be scrapped off with some callous instrument. That was how it would be, how it would have to be. He’d soiled himself, of course, and the tie which held him in place was worn but thankfully intact. It was to Dennis’ enjoyment that Mr. Jenkins purchased expensive ties with sturdy materials, otherwise this could have ended up in the toilet. The .22 was laid at his side along with the bowie knife.

Dennis grimaced as he analyzed. “A confession of unsustainability. He told me he was wearing out. That he felt like he couldn’t hold on to his life. He spoke metaphorically all the time, I didn’t see it.” He wondered how this was playing with Robert, how it would seem, he hoped there would be some sort of inquiry. It would only help him further his reliability. “There’s your weapon doctor.” Dennis had to continue. “This is an admission of his ameturity. He always knew he was prone to delusions of grandeur, he was very dark as well. He mentioned to me once, and only suggestively, that he could never be a killer. He’d deluded himself into thinking this would be a way to settle all his debts, wipe the board clean. He was ignoring most of my therapy, that’s for certain.”

Tyrice looked strangely at Dennis, a hint of suspicion, “You’re his therapist?”

“Psychologist, but yes, one of many. His family is insufferable and demands secondary analysis. That’s only most recently. He saw all sorts of psychologists and therapists in the past. He’s been thoroughly dissected. He’s committed a terrible wrong and now he wants to set it right, these people are his sacrificial lambs, and his soul was cleansed.”

“Yet here he is.” Tyrice interjected.

“Yes, his soul was cleansed but his mind still bore the scars. He needed to shed this form.” Dennis commented.

“Wait, hold on a second. You’re talking about religious extremism?” Tyrice noticed.

“Perhaps, judeo-christian or pagan, really. I’ll need to see his room.” Dennis said mostly to himself. Dennis’ phone rang, since he agreed to turn it on for J.L’s sake, and so he moved to a corner of the room to answer it. It was J.L, and he asked Dennis to give him a summary of his impressions.

While Dennis was examining Philip, Robert was examining the weapon. He began by pulling back the slide to see if there was a bullet inside. Sure enough, there was. After removing the bullet, he began to speak into the tape recorder, opting to voice his deductions later. "Firearm was found in the room with a second male subject. A semi-automatic pistol with .22 caliber rounds. Magazine is in the handle," he noted while releasing it and sliding it back into the gun with a click, "with rounds. And a round was found in the chamber. Second male subject is Philip Kyle." He grabbed a plastic evidence bag and placed both the round and the gun into it, carefully sealing it. "This needs to be photographed and tested for fingerprints." He noted, pausing his recording. "Someone do so now!" He shouted before turning to examine Philip. "Second male subject is hanging in a closet, the slip knot being a tie, and appears to have bit his tongue off. There are multiple cuts going up the length of his left forearm, sliced from elbow to wrist. Second male subject appears to also have relieved his bowels. It is unknown if the second male subject was on any substances during his final hours. A blood toxicology report should be made, perhaps a urine and fecal analysis as well. Second subject's cause of death appears to be due to blood loss from loss of tongue." The tape recorder was paused again. Robert turned to both Dr. Shavleson and Tyrice, his eyes narrowed. "How fascinating then, that he chose to end his life with a knife rather than kill himself quickly with a bullet," he remarked dryly. "And his hanging. If he wished to do it quickly, he would need an approximately twenty foot--maybe twenty four foot--drop to do it quickly. Why let himself choke? Even in the religions that you just mentioned, animals were not left to suffer long. Their deaths were quick. Quick like the ones Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins suffered." A coroner ran in and took photos of the gun, and turned to leave, "Wait, take photos of this one." Robert called out, pointing at Philip. Four photos were taken, at multiple angles. Robert then nodded, and used his scalpel to cut the silken thread, carefully catching Philip's body as it fell. That's when he saw the blood on the back of Philip's shirt. His eyes widened, and he carefully dragged the body out of the closet and on the main floor, showing everyone the stain. The tape recorder was picked up again. "Subject has a splash of blood on his back. This is... Most interesting. Perhaps disturbing. This should not be there, if he hung himself and slit his wrists. Second male subject also has the beginnings of rigor mortis. His time of death should be along the same as the previous two subjects in the first room." He paused the recording before turning to Tyrice. "This is not so cut and dry anymore. This is strange."

Tyrice took out a pack of gum and took one out to chew. He looked over, unimpressed at Dr. Bishop. “That could have happened while he was writhing in a pool of his own blood.” He suggested.

Dennis, coming back from his short conversation with J.L, nodded, “True, but there’s no reason not to look into it, that’s how the FBI works, Mr. MacDonald, isn’t that right, Dr. Bishop?” Dennis asked with a playful smugness, then he returned to the analysis, “What you say about the animals is true, at least in the Jewish tradition, being kosher and all. But, firstly, in some pagan or polytheistic tribal rituals it was common for the animal to be bled out. Secondly. perhaps Mr. Kyle was not one of the animals. Perhaps he was not the sacrifice, but only the sinner. Purifying his soul and mind along with his body. There’s an excommunication of human form and life, or blood, as it were. As if he rejected it. You should get a test for any sorts of diseases while getting that tox screen.”

Dennis quickly shuffled over to Phillip, took a pair of latex gloves from a nearby box and put them on, then checked the boys hands. He lifted them into the light, brought the soft hands to his nose, sniffed. He put the hand back down and examined the body one last time, seeming a little defeated. “He pulled the trigger, Robert, I can tell you that. There may be something else here, but there’s no denying that.” Dennis stood from his squatted position and brought his hand up to his brow, his eyes shut, as he faced away from the body. These actions were meant to mean something, but they didn’t, not for Dennis. He was playacting.

"That may be, but if he was writhing, it would be illustrated on the walls. He would have had to whip his arm back. Blood would have painted these walls in drops, on the side of his shirt under his arm, and I would be calling for a blood splatter analysis. Instead it all seems to be just one blob, on his back. In regards to animals being bled out, I would wager that it was the jugular that was cut in those pagan ceremonies, and not a smaller vein. True, they may bleed out, and that would be longer than a decapitation, but the time it takes to die from a slit jugular and a slit brachial vein is quite different. The diseases are not a bad thought, however, along with a biopsy of his liver. Duly noted, Dr. Shavleson." He clicked on his tape recorded to note such a suggestion, then paused it afterwards. "I still believe that this is abnormal." He noted while examining the sleeves of Philip's clothing for gunpowder. The recorder was clicked on again: "Traces of gunpowder are on second male subject's sleeves. I believe he killed the two in the other room. The perpetrator of his own death, however, is much more dubious." It was clicked off after that last word.

“So what?” Tyrice began, “We’re dealing with a partner?”

Dennis continued toward the bed turned toward the scene again. “Or a mentor.”

“That’s even if there is someone else. As far as I’m concerned you still need to prove there was some one else in this room. And if there was, how would we find him?”

Dennis responded calmly, eyeing the dried blood, “It is hidden in his ideas, in his actions. We need to search his room and see if there are some clues there. We’re looking for an important force in his life.” Dennis looked at Robert, seemingly in his place with the recorder in his hand. “But he’s right, Robert, we can’t submit something to J.L without real evidence.”

"That's true. I may not be able to call his death a homicide, but I can note it's strange. Further analysis is needed. But part of that analysis is beyond my sphere of influence. There is work that needs to be done in a lab, and not on the floors of this house. And after tonight, I doubt I will be able to continue to work on this. I could ask, but I would bet that Katherine will have to take over." Robert sighed at this and shook his head. "... Somehow I doubt that he would just write this person's name out in some journal. It should not be assumed that this third person is stupid."

Dennis checked his phone just as he received a text from J.L. “Not so fast, it seems as if J.L wants Philip’s body taken to the FBI. He’s on the phone with your Commissioner now.” Dennis said to Tyrice. “There was a link made from this families daughter to another case BSU has taken up. The profile might fit Philip. He wants us on a plane to Quantico now.” His phone began ringing, Tyrice’s did as well. “It seems like you might get back on the payroll after all, Dr. Bishop. It’s J.L.” And he answered the phone, began detailing a short profile. Tyrice began speaking to his boss with a resentful coolness. Philip and Robert were left alone.

Robert enjoyed the silence for a moment, tilting his head back with his eyes shut, letting the information play back before his eyes. Three bodies. Two were killed by Philip. Fingerprints needed to be taken, a blood sample, fecal, urinal, and hair. A liver biopsy would also be useful once they were in a lab. A pathologist could be contacted for signs of disease. Robert would look at the meningeal layers beneath Philip's skull and have them pathologically examined for good measure. Philip's own murderer, however, was a mystery. Who would have convinced Philip to do this? Did this person hate a grudge, and used Philip as a pawn to his or will? There were many possibilities. Another more disturbing fact was Dr. Shavleson admitting he made a mistake. An amateur's mistake. For someone supposedly on the forefront of his field, having him work on Robert's mind was unsettling. Perhaps he was selfish and not being fair. Robert himself was not perfect. When one thinks he is above the basics, that is when he begins to dull, to look over details. But this was still a bad trait. Philip himself had multiple psychologists. Should he look for a second one? A second opinion would never hurt, he reasoned, and should be expected. J.L could provide the name of a second psychologist, or Robert could pull favors and ask around. That could be thought at a later time. For now, Robert grabbed vials and a pair of scissors, and headed over to Philip to begin collecting what samples he could.