ACT II

 At only the beginning of a very long day, Claire could feel the exhaustion in her legs, muscles aching as she slung her heavy bag over her shoulders and headed away from the yellow tape and the flashing lights of the police cars.

Waiting at the morgue was a laundry list of bodies and activities, quite a workload even without the two bodies that were on their way at the moment. Claire was already working things out in her head, delegating, shifting priorities and deciding which cases she could push off for yet another day in order to get Lindsay her autopsies, when her phone rang.

 The caller was Jill. Claire immediately snapped it open, raising it to her ear as she glanced back at the crime scene, keeping a watchful eye out for a redhead or a brunette.

"Thank God, finally," she breathed. "Tell me there's good news."

 The soft, tired sigh that came through indicated she wasn't going to get it. "In a situation like this," Jill replied, sounding as exhausted as she felt. "Is there ever?"

 "What happened?"

 Jill was quiet for a moment; a pregnant pause. "How's Lindsay holding up?"

 It was clear evasion, but Claire humored her, letting Jill work up her courage. "How do you think she's holding up?" she asked, fingers balling into a fist as she turned toward her car, keeping her expression hidden from anyone who might glance over. "The man who kidnapped her, seduced her, nearly killed her and almost destroyed her life keeps on chipping at her, and now she's got a double homicide of two young girls who look like they've been in a Freddy Krueger flick."

 "God."

 "On top of that, Cindy's having nightmares."

 Once again, Jill was quiet. "The Pete kind?"

 "Lindsay wasn't specific, but I'm pretty sure."

 "Fuck."

 The curse was unexpected – the tone behind it tortured. A trickle of unsettling fear inched up her spine. "Jill?"

 "Pete wants to cut a deal."

The statement, said so flippantly, took a moment to process. "What kind of deal?" she asked, but the dread had already begun to seep into her.

 "The kind that involves confessing to Detective Scott's murders and taking the death penalty off the table – and confessing only to Lindsay."

 Claire sucked in her breath and closed her eyes. "That bastard."

 "I'm on my way back to the office. I'll talk to Lindsay then. "

 "You can't ask her to do that."

 It was unfair to demand that of Jill. She knew that. But to say it had been instinctive – absolute. She couldn't. Not after all that had happened. Not after everything Pete had put them through.

 "Look, Denise is glaring daggers at me. I have to go. I'll see you at the office, okay?"

 Claire pressed her lips together grimly. "Jill-"

 But the line had already cut off. Heart in her throat, Claire lowered the phone with a frustrated sigh.

 Above her, the sun shone down, the rays soaking her with warm rays that did nothing to dissipate the chill she felt.

******

 

Leaning against the dirty wall of the penitentiary, Jill fiddled with her phone, eyes downcast as she heard the sharp steps of her boss echoing down the hallway towards her.

 "Is he on his way?" she asked, before lifting her eyes up to meet Denise's.

 "In the taxi and on his way to the hotel." Denise regarded her in that same careful manner as she had this morning. Like Jill was made of porcelain and would shatter at any moment.

 It irritated her so greatly she found herself snapping, "Don’t look at me like that. I'm fine."

 Denise crossed her arms, and without a word, turned and settled against the same wall as Jill, pressed up just inches from her, staring straight ahead.

 "I know we have to do it," Jill said, a moment later. Through her peripheral vision, she could see Denise glance at her, before just as quickly glancing away.

 "There isn't another option," Denise answered.

 "There's more than enough evidence for the death penalty-"

 "Is that all you're after? You'd rather kill the man then give grieving families closure?"

 "And what about giving Lindsay closure?"

 Denise shifted. The fabric brushed against her shoulder. "Lindsay is a cop. She'll get over it. We have other things to take into account other than Lindsay's tender sensibilities."

 She said it callously, meant to sting. Jill swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check, argue with Denise on anything but an emotional level.  "Lindsay is just as much of a victim as any of the others."

 "No, Lindsay is lucky. She's alive. And as the lucky one and as a cop, she owes them this much. And so do you."

 Jill's throat felt tight, choked. Her voice sounded weaker than she wanted when she finally bit her lip and turned. The profile of Denise Kwon was striking. Feeling the heat of Jill's stare on her, her boss finally glanced up, locking eyes with her.

 "Promise me," Jill managed, soft and pleading. "That I can be the one to break it to her. That you don't do a thing without telling me. Give me at least this morning."

 Inches away, she could see every line, features magnified and eyes richly hued with depth.

 "You have my word." Denise said, tone low and quiet. "You can trust me."

 Breaking the stare would have taken more strength than Jill had at the moment.  Magnetic and warm, it felt like the only thing keeping her standing.

 The clap of boots on the linoleum startled her out of her haze like a flush of cold water. Jerking away from Denise, she discovered Maggie striding toward her.

 Maggie. Her girlfriend. Her committed, gorgeous girlfriend, who smiled at her with the look of someone infatuated and happy to see her.  Jill's welcoming smile strained to be just as sincere, but she was hauntingly aware of Denise straightening away from her as Maggie approached.

 "Hi," Maggie said, eyes bright and kind, until she came closer and saw the pale face, the watery eyes. Her smile faded. "What's wrong?"

 "What are you doing here?"

 "Doing an interview. Heard you were here." Maggie's eyes slid to Denise, hardening, as if blaming her for Jill's obvious discomfort. "Everything okay?"

 In no mood to try and explain the complications of the morning, Jill just smiled weakly. "No," she admitted. "But it's fine."

 Intelligent eyes darkened with concerned curiosity, and Jill sucked in her breath and stepped off the wall, leaving Denise behind. "Are you headed back to the station?"

 "Absolutely. Need a lift?"

 Before Jill could respond, Denise pushed away from the wall. "Good. I have a few things to settle here, and I need you to start working on the paper work. Get to work, Bernhardt. And make sure you go straight there."

 Without a backwards glance, Denise was already moving away from them, posture stiff and gait fast.

 Jill watched her go. "God, she's such a treat," Maggie said dryly. "What'd she do this time?"

 Jill exhaled an unsteady breath. "This time it's not her." She forced her eyes away from Denise's departing form and faced forward, to her lover and the exit. "Come on. I really do need to go."

******

 

Anne Campbell had been living in a nightmare for the past few hours, and it showed. Red-rimmed eyes looked irritated and dull. Her skin, marked with tracks of tears and the exhaustion of a sleepless night, had taken on a pale pallor, and as she tried to form letters on the notepad that had been given to her, her hands shook with the effort. The coffee she’d been given to settle her nerves lay untouched and had long since gone cold.

 The pen scratched a short line down the pad, until Anne suddenly lingered. Abruptly, she let the pen drop and buried her head in her hands.

 Her shoulders shook with spent sobs. "I'm sorry," she whispered, words barely audible behind her hands. "I can't. I don't… I don't KNOW."

 Lindsay's fingers tangled together, eyes falling to the table. The one fallacy in her relationship with Jacobi was that in their partnership, HE was the sensitive one. Considering Jacobi had the sensitivities of a bear on a good day, that wasn't saying much.

 With Jacobi pulled out of the room to take a phone call, she was left to her own devices.

 Leaning forward, she gingerly reached forward and tugged the notepad away from their witness. Anne had barely managed to scribble Diana’s and Christy's names. Beyond that, there was simply that line.

 Great.

 "Okay," she sighed, feeling a sudden headache. "Maybe we can try again later."

 "No!" Anne's hands came down, eyes flashing with emotion. "You don't get it! Christy and Diana – they loved everyone. Everyone loved them. Diana was a damn beauty queen! I don't know anyone who would want to hurt them. I don't HAVE anyone."

 Behind them, the lock chirped, and Jacobi poked his head into the room. Lindsay sat back in her chair and shared a muted grimace with her partner. Jacobi's brow furrowed as he tugged on his tie.

 "Miss Campbell," she tried, as patiently as possible. "I understand that you're having a tough time with this. But we need your cooperation and your help if we're going to catch the killer."

 "And what can I do?" she asked, genuinely imploring Lindsay with her tear-stained voice and wide eyes. "I can't do anything! God, they were RIGHT up there, and he killed them and I didn't even see him." Her eyes shook and she shuddered, as if she were reliving the moment. "God, what if it was some random sicko? Some random sicko who picked our house and the only reason I'm alive is because he didn't think to check the downstairs, too?"

 Beside her, Jacobi offered her a subtle shake of his head. Lindsay glanced down to her tangled fingers. The knuckles were already turning white with the force of her grip.  With a deep breath, she purposely unlocked them.

 "Miss Campbell." Jacobi's voice was kind and reassuring. "Unfortunately, we don't know the circumstances under which this happened. That's what we're doing our very best to find out. If it is a … random sicko… then we need your help to make sure that this doesn't happen to someone else. You were the lucky one. You lived, and that means you need to help us."

 Lindsay's chest rose and fell with the force of her breathing, a sudden agitation at Jacobi's words making her squirm in actual resentment.

 You're projecting, Boxer. If Jacobi noticed her resettling herself, he said nothing. His focus instead was on Campbell, who stared at him like a lost child.

 "But I seriously don't know anyone," she managed.

 "Okay," Lindsay's voice was even, firm. "Then let's start with something easier." From her pocket she produced a baggie. Lindsay placed it on the table and pushed it toward her. "How about getting us a list of anyone you know who might have smoked this particular brand of cigarette?"

 Quiet now, Anne studied the baggie, before her eyes flickered up to meet Lindsay's. "Is that his?"

 "It could be. It's a Salem cigarette." The stub was white. "Like the kind we found outside your window."

 Anne regarded her uncertainly. "I don’t know," she managed, voice shaky. "I mean, I know some guys that smoke… but I don't really pay attention to the brands…"

 "Try," Jacobi answered firmly. "For us. It doesn't have to be right away, but we do need it soon."

 For a moment, Anne just sat, until her lips pressed together and she hesitantly reached up and closed her fingers around the baggie, pulling it into her lap. "Can I go now?" she asked hesitantly. "My friend Margaret is waiting."

 Jacobi glanced at Lindsay. "Sure," he said, and like a true gentleman, rose from his seat, already rounding the corner to press a reassuring palm to the back of Anne's shoulder to lead her out. Lindsay stood and followed, stepping outside the door, eyes on the girl as she went to the young woman who was waiting for her on a hard wooden bench. Immediately, she stood and opened her arms. Annie sunk into them without hesitation.

 "Think she'll come up with anything?" Lindsay asked Jacobi.

 Hands on his hips, he clucked his teeth. "Let’s hope." She could smell his cologne as he leaned in closer. "The last thing we need is to have this be a random act. People are already talking-"

 Her stomach lurched. "Don't say it," she warned, dark eyes flashing. He frowned. "I mean it, Jacobi. This isn't a serial killer. We're going to find this guy, and he's not going to do it again."

 The way her partner studied her made her feel like he was administering some kind of test.  When he smiled, small and soft, Lindsay guessed she may have passed.

 "Then maybe this will help." He held up a file folder. "Cell phone records for one Diana Gibson. Just got them in."

******

 

Diana Gibson had just celebrated her 22^nd birthday. In the past five years, she had been an Ohio State cheerleader and a runner up beauty queen for Miss Ohio.

 A YouTube video of the competition in which a gorgeous Diana, with picture perfect posture, graciously accepted her consolation roses showed why.

 Palm hovering over her mouse, Cindy allowed herself a moment of distraction, watching the victim in what would become the prime of her life.

 Her cell phone rang, breaking the moment and bringing reality back with it.  The buzz of the newsroom exploded with a cacophony of sound – phones ringing and people laughing and talking, and keyboards clacking.

 Feeling oddly as if she had just been woken from a dream, Cindy reached for her phone and glanced at the phone’s display.

 It was almost amusing, how even after all this time, the name 'LINDSAY' on her caller ID sent such a giddy thrill through her. Her body seemed primed and programmed to react to Lindsay Boxer, no matter what the circumstances.

 Well, Cindy did like to say they were made for each other, didn't she? Maybe Cindy had somehow been tinkered with when she was still a fetus –had an invisible 'property of Lindsay Boxer' sticker marked on her heart,  set to go off when she was in her mid-twenties and laid eyes on the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

 It would have been silly if it didn't seem so true. Shaking her head at the thought, she answered.

 "Hi."

 "You know, I never thought there'd be such a term as a useless witness," came the throaty drawl. "But I found one."

 Cindy muted her smile, lowering her head and grinning into her phone. "Honey, she's been through a severely traumatic event."

 "And according to her, her roommates might as well have been Disney Princesses living in a cartoon. With fuzzy rabbits that talk."

 "No luck on the list, then?" she asked, wincing sympathetically. 

 "None whatsoever." Lindsay being this crabby might have been adorable under any other circumstance. As they were, Cindy understood the ramifications of not having a suspect after such a brutal crime.

 "Well, there's physical evidence, isn't there?" she asked, trying hard to remain optimistic for her crime fighting lover. "The blood smear, the cigarette butts?"

 "Claire's checking in with both," Lindsay confirmed. "How are you feeling?"

 The softening in Lindsay's voice, the sudden concern, brought to surface her headache, the tension in her shoulders. Her blinking eyes, too, thanks to her lack of sleep.

 Swallowing hard, Cindy gave herself a moment to sound convincing. "I'm doing okay," she noted quietly. "Any word from Jill?"

 Lindsay was silent. "No," she said. "But it's just as well. What the hell does it have to do with me? I mean, really?"

 Everything. Everyone knew that. But this Lindsay, the one who was determined not to obsess, at least not in her presence, brought forth such a surge of love and affection Cindy nearly cried.

 "None at all," she agreed, biting down her smile.  "And in the meantime, we've got a killer to catch."

 "Sure do, Lois. How goes the biographies?"

 Cindy smiled, brown eyes moving to the computer screen and the list of information she had gathered. "What do you want to know? I've got clippings, licenses, Facebooks , leases-"

 "We got the phone records," Lindsay said. "Denise and Jill are still out, but Jacobi got one of the underlings to push it through."

 "Score."

 "Anyone by the name of 'Morrison' come by in your online rolodex?"

 Morrison.

 Cindy frowned, the name sparking off a synapse in her brain that had her tilting the phone to her ear and typing fast. "Actually…" She got her hit and sat back, thrilled with her sudden stroke of luck. "Adam Morrison. Diana's Ohio ex-boyfriend, who, judging by his Facebook messages, was NOT happy with the fact that she moved out West without him."

 "Damn. The caller's name is Steven."

 Cindy clicked on the link, and grinned. "Sweetie, you better thank the Lord that Facebook has decided to completely screw their privacy policy at this very moment because guess who the father is?"

 "If you tell me it's Steven, I'll buy you a puppy."

 "I prefer kitties, but how about you sign the lease instead?"

 There was a shocked pause, and suddenly Lindsay laughed, a low, deep chuckle that sent a shiver of joy through Cindy.

 "Baby, I love you," Lindsay whispered, low and privately.  Louder, she heard Lindsay hollering to what could only be Jacobi. 

 Cindy grinned. "Back ‘atcha."

 "Can you make it to the station in an hour? Claire might have something by then."

Cindy winced. "Tell her to call me with whatever I can print. I managed to get a few of the names of the people at the crime scene – friends of the victims. Got an appointment to meet a Margaret Tennyson in half an hour to get some quotes and anecdotes for the paper. Lindsay?" she asked, when she didn't hear an immediate response.

 "Margaret, as in the girl who is hosting our witness?"

 Cindy blinked. "Seriously?"

 "Cindy, do not in any way, shape or form mention that I asked you to do this, but if you run into Anne over there – do what you do. Be chatty. Be annoying."

 "Annoying?!" she sputtered.

 "Just try and get to get some names. Any name."

 The request, desperate and almost out of character for Lindsay, caused Cindy's smile to fade. "Any name? Why?"

 "Just trust me," Lindsay drawled, suddenly sounding exhausted. "With a crime like this, we need for there to be someone specific. If it's random…"

 "Then someone starts crying 'serial killer'," she breathed, slumping back into her chair as the implication sunk in. "God, Lindsay. We can't have another one."

 "We don't," Lindsay said firmly. "But the sooner we get a suspect in custody, the better."

 ******

 

They were three blocks from the station when Maggie made an abrupt right turn, swiveling into an open parking spot and pulling the key from the ignition.

 Torn from her heavy thoughts, Jill straightened in surprise, bringing her hand down from the passenger window when Maggie shut off the music and stared at her expectantly.

 "What are you doing?" she asked immediately. "Maggie-"

 "You have exactly five seconds to explain to me what is going on," Maggie interrupted smoothly. "And why you think its okay to hide it from me."

 The expression in Maggie's crystal colored eyes was firm, without compromise, and still, Jill found herself shifting in her seat, head lowering in frustration.

 "Maggie, seriously, I have to get to the station."

 "Four seconds. And we'll get there as soon as you talk to me."

 "Maggie. Please. There isn't time-"

 "If you give a shit about me, there's time, Jill."

 "Now you're giving me time limits and ultimatums? Really?"

"Is this a relationship or are we just fucking around?"

 The statement caused Jill’s eyes to widen, her heart to flare. "What?"

 Maggie's brow rose, but her expression was surprisingly vulnerable. "I’m serious. If this is a relationship, then you need to trust me enough to tell me what's making you look like your dog died. Shit or get off the pot, Jill."

 The panic, the fury, that Maggie was doing this to her NOW, nearly choked her. "Now?! Really? Now is when you want to have this talk?!"

 The stare Maggie gave her was unrelenting. Seconds ticked by, and suddenly, Maggie's  face went hard. She turned in her seat. "Fine," she snapped, reaching for the ignition.

 Helpless, Jill panicked and jerked for Maggie's sleeve. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she said again, when Maggie stared sullenly at the wheel. "I’m sorry, it's just been a bitch of a morning, and …"

 "And what?"

 Jill bit her lip, and finally gave up, her body sinking into the seat. "Pete Raynor wants a deal. He wants to confess to Lindsay where the bodies of his other victims are buried."

 Maggie let that sink in, listening to the rhythmic breathing of her girlfriend as she processed Raynor’s ultimatum. "That's good, isn't it?"

 "Not for us," she snapped, gritting her teeth at the very idea. "Not for Lindsay.  We gave up the death penalty, gave him Lindsay to fuck with all over again. GOD," she practically shouted, hand smacking against Maggie's dashboard. "I told Lindsay to TRUST me, and I'm giving her to him on a silver platter."

 Lost and guilty as hell, Jill let her head fall back against the headrest, eyes on the brick wall of the building on the side of the street, marred with spray paint and graffiti.

 When the soft pressure of a reassuring palm pressed against the tips of her fingers, Jill closed her eyes and bit down on a sigh. 

 "You're right," she heard quietly. "You've had a bitch of a day."

 The flippant, dry tone struck her in a place she sorely needed to feel, and Jill began to chuckle, eyes watering as she instinctively maneuvered her palm upright and tangled her fingers in Maggie's.

 "I'm sorry," she heard. "I didn't mean to push you. I just… maybe I’m paranoid but sometimes I feel you pulling away. It scares me more than I'd like to admit."

 Gripping tight, Jill turned her head, took in the beautiful woman who was staring at her with the gaze of someone who wanted to offer her everything, if she would just take it.

 God, seriously, what was she doing? What the hell was she doing, complicating things with Denise when she had someone already – someone amazing who thought she was WORTHY.

 "I owe you a conversation," she said, quietly and weakly. "And we will have it. Just not today, okay?"

 Maggie regarded her silently, but her fingers tightened and she nodded.

 With a smile, Jill shifted in her seat, feeling the leather creak beneath her as she leaned toward her lover. Maggie met her halfway, opening her mouth against Jill’s, tongue brushing alongside her teeth with both certainty and affection.

******

 

"So, despite the fact that we have a witness who didn't actually see the killer, and solely based on circumstantial evidence, we found our first official suspect."

 Glancing up from the body of one deceased Christy Lopez, Claire offered her friend an affectionate smile. Lindsay, curved into her doorway, hands in the back pocket of her jeans, wore a smirk that looked both sullen and halfway annoyed.

 "And?"

 "And although Steven Morrison does admit to calling Diana Gibson from time to time to 'harass' her for breaking his boy's heart," Lindsay confirmed. "He was very much in Ohio at the time, with a very solid alibi. As was his boy."

 "Damn," Claire said, nodding as she frowned.

 "Double damn," Lindsay corrected, sighing as she came forward, eyes on the body. "Please tell me that medical forensics will be our saving grace and not make us look like we're in a warped version of Police Academy."

 Claire arched a brow and glanced over to her table. "Well, there is good news. The blood smear’s print is a good one."

 Lindsay sucked in her breath, eyes lighting up. "Tell me you've already submitted it."

 "I've already submitted it," Claire said immediately. "As I did the butt of the cigarette for the DNA. If our guy's in the system, then we've got a shot."

 "How soon till we get the results back?"

 Claire held her breath, clucking her tongue. "That's the bad news. There's a backlog. Not for a couple days at least."

 "Dammit." For Lindsay, who had the patience of a ball-obsessed puppy, that was bad news.

 "Sorry."

 Lindsay rubbed her palm over her face. "You know Tom's up my ass on this thing, right? We need to release to the media that we have a suspect or else the boy who cried wolf is gonna start crying 'serial killer'."

 "Can Cindy help?"

 Lindsay nodded grimly. "At least she's holding off on spinning it that way for the Register. Did she call you?"

 "Gave her the print to lead off," Claire confirmed. "But told her to sit on the rest. At least until we get the results."

 Lindsay's palm moved to her neck and began to rub, eyes on the victim all the while. "Well, maybe when we finally hear from Jill, we can get her to push this thing through." At the mention of their friend, Claire sighed. "I know," Lindsay said, eyes frank. "I'm not asking about him. But we just need her now." 

"What do you need?" Halfway into the doorway, Jill had a smile on her face, but it didn't reach her eyes. Instead, she looked shaken and pale, and immediately Claire found herself regretting her snap in their last conversation.

 "Holy crap, Jill, you look like hell," Lindsay breathed, always much more blunt.

 Jill rolled her eyes, strolling forward. "Nice to see you too, Linz." Claire kept quiet,  watching silently as Jill, in an effort to avoid the obviously questioning look in Lindsay's eyes, turned toward the victim. Immediately, what little color there was, drained from her face and she swiveled back toward the door.  "Oh, God – you could have warned me."

 "Sorry," Claire said, reaching for a sheet, carefully covering the unfortunate victim. "It's safe.  You can turn around now."

 Gingerly, Jill peeked over her shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. "Is that her?"

 "It's one of 'em," Lindsay acknowledged. "How was your visit?"

 "Lindsay…" Claire began softly, warning in her tone.

 "No, it's fine," Jill said, facing them once more, an apologetically grim smile working onto her face. Her eyes were on Lindsay. "I can talk about it now. I actually need to talk to you about it."

 The pointed look on Lindsay's face softened instantly. Palms slid into the back pocket of her jeans, and she stared at her uncertainly. "Okay… now you're scaring me."

 Claire's heartbeat quickened, her throat closed, as she glanced between them.

 The phone at Lindsay's hip began to ring just as Jill began to speak. Lindsay growled, reaching for the contraption instinctively and glaring at the caller ID. "Dammit, it's Tom. I'm sorry – just a minute-"

 When Lindsay answered the phone with a curt hello, Jill's eyes rose heavenward and she exhaled audibly, crossing around the autopsy table and heading for Claire, head falling on her friend’s shoulder.

 "I can't do this," she whispered, gripping Claire tightly. "I can't do this to her."

 "Easy," Claire said back quietly. "We'll get through it."

 Jill's hold tightened in thanks.

 "Tom, can't it wait? I'm getting the autopsy results-" Lindsay's mouth shut, obviously interrupted by Tom. As she listened, her face went ashen gray. "I'm on my way." The phone was lowered as she glanced up, regarding them strangely. "Tom said he's got Denise and Detective Scott in his office – they've made some deal with Pete, that I've been made a part of."

 It was a sucker punch that took the wind out of her. Claire swiveled and saw the stricken face on Jill's face. "Linz-"

 "Save it," Lindsay snapped and headed for the door, boots clapping on the floor as she left them.

 Jill's nails dug into Claire’s bicep, making her wince.

 "I thought you were going to talk to her first."

 "Dammit," Jill breathed, frozen, a horrified, disbelieving expression on her face. "Denise lied to me."

 

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