The so-called "countermeasures" being discussed were nothing more than damage control. Essentially, it was about getting NYPD's public relations team to move quickly and distance themselves from blame. While the full scope of cases affected by the issue was still unclear, an approximate timeline could be estimated.
The batch of cotton swabs in question was supplied by a company called "White Tip Cotton Industries," which had secured contracts about a month ago to supply cotton swabs to government agencies in New York City and surrounding municipalities.
Naturally, this company's operations weren't limited to just this contract. However, the FBI had discovered that to fulfill the new agreements, they had opened a new cotton swab processing plant in Brooklyn, New York. This was the destination of Jack and Mac Taylor's current visit.
If they could confirm that the issue stemmed from this new Brooklyn plant, they could pinpoint the contamination window to the past month. This timeline aligned with the DNA database's last major update. In other words, even without Sheldon Hawkes' accidental discovery, it would only have been a matter of time before the problem surfaced.
The real concern, however, was that while a month may sound short, it was an eternity in forensic and law enforcement terms. Mac Taylor, estimating from CSI's workload alone, projected over 200 cases might involve evidence processed with the potentially contaminated swabs. Among those, at least 30 to 40 were major criminal cases where DNA evidence played a critical role in securing convictions.
And that was a conservative estimate. Some cases involved multiple defendants, amplifying the potential fallout.
Jack was navigating his Dodge Hellcat through the bustling traffic, glancing at Mac Taylor in the passenger seat. "Given that the cotton swabs were supplied under a government contract, how likely is it that NYPD can wash their hands of this?" he asked, phrasing the question delicately.
This, of course, was a polite way of asking whether Mac Taylor himself might face consequences.
Mac, ever pragmatic, responded candidly. "From what I know of Commissioner Reagan, the pressure probably won't reach me personally. But some people won't miss the chance to capitalize on this. Whether the media and public feel the city's budget for law enforcement is too much or too little, politicians will find a way to spin this in their favor and deflect accountability."
Mac Taylor wasn't a lab-bound bookworm. Much like Commissioner Reagan, he wasn't particularly keen on politics, preferring to focus on his own responsibilities. But that didn't mean he was blind to the dynamics of power and public opinion.
Though technically victims in this scenario, NYPD and its CSI lab wouldn't be seen that way by the public. Citizens, understandably fearful of potentially dangerous criminals being released, would instinctively demand to know who was responsible for this mess.
And when faced with such questions, people generally aren't capable of nuanced thinking. They'd follow the narratives fed to them by media and public figures, especially those who prided themselves on being "independent thinkers." Ironically, these individuals are often the most susceptible to conspiracy theories.
Predictably, the city government and politicians would look for scapegoats. This was why Jack and Mac had preemptively urged Danny to notify his father and sister, Commissioner Reagan and Erin Reagan, to brace for the fallout.
The factory in Brooklyn was a chaotic, noisy mess. Machines roared as workers bustled around in the cramped, poorly lit space. Despite the winter chill outside, the small and overcrowded facility was stiflingly hot, with clouds of cotton fibers hanging visibly in the air under fluorescent lights.
The manager of "White Tip Cotton Industries" initially tried to stonewall, citing NYPD's lack of jurisdiction. But when Jack presented his FBI badge, the man relented and nervously stepped aside, clearly realizing the gravity of the situation.
Jack had no idea how many steps it took to turn raw cotton and plastic sticks into cotton swabs, but one thing was clear: ordinary sterilization methods might kill bacteria, but they wouldn't remove DNA contamination.
One look at the factory floor confirmed his worst fears. A teenage girl—clearly underage—was sorting cotton fibers without gloves, her bare hands working directly with the material. Workers at other stations wore gloves but frequently touched their faces and noses, some even sneezing. No one wore masks.
Jack and Mac exchanged a grim glance, their suspicions all but confirmed.
"And it's not just that," Jack muttered, gesturing to the cotton fibers visibly floating in the air. "This whole place is a contamination nightmare."
"I'm shocked that an operation like this managed to secure a government contract," Mac said, his tone dark. His face betrayed his disgust as he scanned the facility.
Child labor, nonexistent safety measures, and a complete lack of sanitation—it was appalling. The issue of DNA contamination almost felt secondary compared to the broader violations. Jack wouldn't have been surprised if the place caught fire within a week.
Any hope that the problem was limited to a single oversight had evaporated. This was a systemic failure.
Back at CSI, technicians scrambled to implement damage control. The factory manager handed over a list of all employees who might have come into contact with the cotton. CSI techs collected DNA samples from the workers for comparison against the contaminated evidence.
While DNA contamination jeopardized its validity in court, CSI labs weren't solely reliant on genetic evidence. Other types of forensic evidence—such as trace analysis and fingerprints—could still hold up in court.
However, by the time Jack had finished his report and officially handed Marcia Vasquez, the drug-running vigilante, over to federal prosecutors, three days had passed. The extent of the crisis was finally becoming clear.
"So, the mayor is standing with NYPD on this?" Jack asked as he sat in Assistant Director Dana Mosier's office. Based on her briefing and recent news reports, he was piecing together the broader picture.
While CSI labs had worked tirelessly to mitigate the damage and prosecutors had scrambled to reinforce cases, some major criminals still managed to slip through the cracks. The public was in an uproar, and the media frenzy was relentless.
"This afternoon, the mayor, NYPD, and the City Council's Public Safety Committee are holding a joint press conference. Commissioner Reagan requested you stop by his office before then," Mosier said.
Fortunately, FBI's New York office had largely avoided being dragged into the scandal. Jack's usual approach to cases—lethal force when necessary—meant most suspects never even made it to court. For those that did, DNA evidence was never the sole basis for convictions.
"Understood. Oh, by the way, after this wraps up, I'll need a few days off to head to Virginia Beach," Jack said, making no attempt to sugarcoat it. He had important business to attend to.
Mosier arched an eyebrow knowingly. "You're really confident you can recruit someone from SEAL Team Six?"
"Maybe. Depends on luck," Jack replied.
Jack arrived at NYPD headquarters and was surprised to see Erin Reagan waiting outside Commissioner Reagan's office. Immediately, he guessed the purpose of his summons.
Sure enough, the Commissioner's assistant, Abigail Baker, emerged from the office, escorting out a sharply dressed prosecutor. Afterward, she gestured to Jack and Erin.
"Who's next?" Frank Reagan's voice called from within.
"A Manhattan ADA and Special Agent Tavoller. Who do you want to see first, sir?" Baker asked with a small smile.
"Both, together," Frank replied. "Jack's here at my invitation."
Once inside, Jack politely let Erin take the seat nearest Frank's desk while he settled into a nearby chair. Baker followed, setting down coffee for the two.
"Two sugars, no cream, right, Special Agent Tavoller?" she asked with a sly smile.
"Thanks, just call me Jack," he replied, raising an eyebrow at Erin, who was clearly amused by the exchange.
Frank ignored the unspoken banter, maintaining his professional demeanor as he turned to Erin. "ADA Reagan, give me the situation from the Manhattan DA's office."
Erin handed over a thin folder. "We've managed to secure new evidence for four cases under appeal. Those suspects will remain in custody without bail."
Frank nodded, clearly relieved. But his gaze shifted to the thicker file she still held. "And the bad news?"
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Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1418)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1422)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1452)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1504)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld!(Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 703)
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