You Can Hide, But You Can't Run

[John Jackson]

John frowned heavily. Vigilante's were a nightmare - hell in paperwork alone, not to mention a bitch to catch. The costumes they so often wore weren't just for show: they had the bonus advantage of masking appearance enough to screw over any kind of visual ID from references, and they were sometimes even good enough to avoid leaving some of the more common forensic clues.

"I dunno, Duke," he countered, puzzling over the strange clue. "If your guy was in here popping off arrows, why'd he kill our vic out by the fire escape? And if he killed him in there, why go to all the trouble of wiping the cameras for the entire building? There's no way that the one pointing at the door would've got a decent shot of him."

He scrubbed a hand across his face, remembering a vigilante case he'd worked back in New York. The idiot had tried to foil a jewellery store heist, and had wound up with on the wrong side of a pyrokinetic and a 9mm. He'd survived somehow; some miraculous mutant healing mojo, no doubt.

His frown-shaded eyes swept across the crime scene once more. A hand waved vaguely in no direction in particular. "And what about these... jumping footprints things? Something doesn't add up here."

[Jo Holloway]

"Good thing we got some DNA," Jo muttered, completely ignored as she documented where she'd found the hair. She could almost hear the dice rolling in her head. Twenty-four hours and backlash at any time. Way to gamble, Roulette. It's just an actual investigation your bad luck is going to harpoon.

She refused to look over at the detectives as she walked over to input the hair into the evidence the rest of CSU was gathering.