Just another homicide...

What the hell? Did the normally morbid, depressing scene of a grisly murder turn into some kind of watering hole for every facet of the city's law enforcement? When the crap had that happened?

For a minute, Slame could only stare at Latha, a mixture of irritation, confusion and- oh God, he wanted to kick his own butt half across the lawn- happiness tumbling over one another in his chest. On the one hand, he was just a bit annoyed that WP was there, thus jeapordizing the whole 'keep the case in the department's hands' deal that he'd been fighting for, for the past month. The Feds were salivating over the chance to catch the now very notorious Kiddy Killer- not quite a tabloid grade name, but the local papers had yet to come up with a good one, according to him- and it had taken every single contact he'd made since he'd gotten his badge to keep it in his hands.

Which brought that whole 'confusion' thing to light. The last time he'd seen Latha, had been with his buddy, Balto. Seeing her now was just...wierd. Especially since she wasn't crying and carrying on.
Damn, he was such a woman. But hey, the old goofball was his only friend, and hell if Kevin Slame didn't take care of his own.

And if he had a third hand to rest the 'happiness' on, it would be focused on the fact that there was actually someone that he could semi-trust standing next to him. Ah, it was such a nice feeling.

His mouth was open to say something else to the Marshall, but the sudden appearance of two very unfamiliar faces behind her made him swallow those words.
And count to ten, before that rampant irritation spilled over and made him do something that he regretted. It just wouldn't do to haul back and slug an old man, temporary insanity or no. He just had to take a deep breath, think of his happy place, and keep his very frayed calm.

...While trying his best not to make a comment about Mr. Pink Shirt 'N Doggie Collar. Lord...he wasn't THAT old, but had fashion really took such a freaking nosedive? He'll never make fun of Arry's pink cowboy boots again, as long as it doesn't rub off.

"Why don't you tell me who the HELL you are, and what the HELL you're doing walking around my crime scene?" Slame replied to Grev and the older man, doing his best to keep his voice as friendly as possible. So what if it came out sounding like some kind of 'eat shxt' growl? At least he wasn't beating someone over the head with his gun.

"Or, better yet," Another voice rang out in a thick Southern drawl. "Why don't all of y'all tell me why you're standing over my boss, who looks like he's about to have a heart attack because he's ready to move the body and can't?"
Standing with her hands on her hips, Arry glared at the people surrounding Tobias and the poor dead girl. She could really give two farts if they had a right to be there; Tobs had promised her dibs on the autopsy, and that wasn't something that she was about to hand over to someone else, because they'd taken so long to get back, and she was officially off the clock.

Standing, the ME dusted the dirt off of his pants, nodding to Arry. "Thank you, Miss Valerian. Ladies and gentlemen, please make room." Two techs wheeled a gurney into the mix, and in two seconds flat, the body was wrapped in the normal plastic and hoised onto the stiff mattress.

Moving forward, she made sure to hip chuck Slame on the way over to her boss, now following alongside his patient. "Next time," She said over her shoulder, grinning at the detective's squawk of protest. "Make your introductions somewhere else. You're irritating my boss, AND walking all over damp grass that just may have some footprints on it. Slame, I'll be seeing you later, so remember, you owe me beignets. Slame's friends, I'll probably see y'all later too," Brown eyes sliding to Grev, she tossed a saucy wink in his direction. "Nice collar, cher. If only it came in pink; they'd match my boots."
That said, she turned on her heel and marched after Drone.

Resisting the urge to find something hard to start banging his head against, Slame sighed. "Right," He said, rubbing at his forehead as yet another headache roared to life behind his eyes. "That was Arry; Assistant ME and crazy woman. Latha, and you two: get behind the tape and we'll talk in a minute. The last I checked, this was MY crime scene, and I don't feel like getting a cast of unknown footprints and finding out that they were yours." Giving each a bloodshot glare, he motioned for the uniforms to come over and escort them all onto the street.

It was hard, but Slame managed to take three deep, calming breaths. He'd just issued an order in his best 'nice voice', and so far, he'd gotten a 'no' from the one person whose stubbornness was close to his own.
If only his head wasn't pounding so hard, he'd have cracked a joke and made the situation better.

"Yep, you know what, I could give a rat's crapper," Slame growled. Turning around, he waved at a group of officers standing idly off to the side of the scene, and with a collective frown, they trotted forward. "All of you are leaving my crime scene right now, because my boss is currently storming across the barricade and looks like he wants to drink my blood." A stubbled chin nodded at a tall, lanky man currently making a beeline toward their little group.
"So scram. All of you. I'm not asking- especially not to you, Lathalia- and if you don't comply, my buddies here will throw you in lockup so fast, you'll be singing 'I Feel Pretty' with the rest of the drunk tank."

The officers moved forward, each cornering one of the strangers surrounding the scene. Damn...it wasn't like there was a body to stare at anymore, so what was with the gather'n gawk party, here? Slame took another deep breath and added as civily as he could "And if you all give me fifteen minutes to explain to Chief O'Brian why everyone's gathering around the crime scene, I'll answer all the questions your little minds can think up. And," He shot a glance at Latha. "See why everyone's so interested in my case."
He had to add that last one in, if only for the principal of the thing.

The remaining officer stood idly next to Slame, who had opened his mouth to say something else to the effect of 'if y'all don't start moving in the next ten seconds, I'll have Arry come back over and eat your faces', but the sounds of fighting reached his ears first. His very bloodshot eyes twitching spasmatically, the detective pointed one scarred finger in the direction of the loud noise, and the uniform was off like a shot.

There were plently of rumors going around as to a certain suspect in a past homicide getting his arms broken and knees dislocated, and a certain young detective's many connections. Nobody wanted to get on Slame's bad side right then...especially when he started to get that weird twitchy-thing going.

"Is everything alright here?" The officer asked Zee, looking at Alex with a speculative look on his face.