It was a peculiar Summer morning. The sun hid behind ominous grey clouds, threatening rain. A female body lay naked on dry, almost yellow grass. Danny tried to hide his discomfort by squinting at the eluding sun, as tiny sweatdrops began to form on his forehead. The air was stale and the stench emanating from the victim sickening. It was almost unbearably hot, but Mac acted as though nothing could disturb him as he examined the crime scene closely.
"Multiple stabwounds" he noted. "The cause of death's quite obvious."
«Now, that's what I call an understatement», Danny thought. The immense pool of blood surrounding the victim was nothing more than a detail when one looked at the body itself: Jack the Ripper would be proud of the serial killer they had been chasing for what seemed like months, but had only been two weeks.
"When's this gonna end?" a frustrated Danny muttered, to no one in particular. Mac looked up at him from his crouching position, an unreadable expression on his chiseled features.
"Not until we stop him ourselves."
"We have six victims so far."
Danny found himself wishing Mac had ommitted the dreaded 'so far'. The other CSIs were gathered around a table in the lab, concentrating - as much as the scorching heat and a broken air conditioning allowed them to - on Mac's weekly update on the case, which had become usual since the sanguinary serial killer's killing spree had begun, not a fortnight ago. The head CSI had resorted to assigning Lindsay and Hawkes the few cases that sprung here and there across New York City, while he, Stella and Danny dedicated themselves fully to one of the most disturbing cases Mac had ever had the displeasure of working on. Not without the occasional protests from Lindsay, of course. Hawkes, on the other hand, was quite happy with the tacit arrangement, for it allowed him a few short strolls to the ME's office to observe the victims of 'Joe the Ripper', as he called him.
Danny suddenly wished they all didn't look so damn okay about this. He was the first to admit he was on the verge of breaking down, though. He'd been working non stop since they had found the first vicim, a female jogger on Central Park. The others had too, but somehow he was sure they weren't plagued by nightmares at night and the unsettling vision of Mac by day. Mac.
«Damn, Mac. Why do you have to look so fuckin' inhuman?»
He thought he had made his peace with the side of him that longed for his boss, night and day, through the bitterness of Winter and the softness of Summer. The truce, however, seemed rather fragile then. Life seemed fragile too, in looks of the crime scene photos that lay in front of him, reflecting the fluorescent light of the large table, taunting in their violence and a crude reminder that we're all made of bones, flesh and blood. Mac too.
"As far as we know, they share no connection. We were not able to establish any motivation on the murderer's part either. In short, he's keeping us in the dark. No DNA, no fingerprints, no fibers, hair, nothing."
"He knows what he's doing", Stella cut in.
"We, on the other hand, don't." Lindsay let out, with a defeated look plastered all over her face.
Danny was about to say something when Flack practically threw the door open and hurried inside the lab.
"We got something", he announced, panting. "Our colleagues from Lisbon faxed this just minutes ago. Looks like they've been watching the news about our 'Joe'." Hawkes raised a hand with two fingers forming a 'V' and a small smile, aknowledging the nickname he had created. "They had a similar case five years ago and it looks like their murderer striked again last night. They've sent their files over for confirmation."
Mac studied the photos Flack handed him. Danny got impacient and asked, "Well!".
"It could be him." Mac admitted, albeit doubtful. "It's hard to tell, though."
"I suppose it's possible." Stella twisted her curly hair in a bun and secured it behind her neck, willing the clinging heat to simply stop bothering her. "The last murder here in New York happened five days ago."
"Still," Danny retorted, averting his eyes from Mac for the first time since their meeting had started. "Why would he be merrily hopping between New York City and Lisbon - on the other side of the ocean - murdering and disemboweling people like there's no tomorrow?"
"That's what we have to find out."
Everyone stared at Mac at this. Lindsay started, tentatively, "You mean… are we going to fly over to Lisbon?"
"Me, Stella and Danny are. We need you and Hawkes here to take on the cases that might come up in the meantime, and to work with Flack in case we need something while we're there."
Hawkes got up from his chair. "I'll check the passenger lists of the flights between New York City and Lisbon in the past four days, so you can compare them to the suspects the Lisbon PD might have."
"You do that. I'll make the arrangements for our trip." With this, Mac left the lab with Stella. Only Danny sat there, contemplating his luck - or lack thereof - which denied him the most simple things. Like sleeping. And having Mac in his bed.
The portuguese detective waiting for them at the airport was a tall, harsh-looking man in his forties. His black hair contrasted oddly with pale grey eyes, cold as ice and every bit as unwelcoming as their owner. He introduced himself as Detective Alves as he practically forced them into an old black car sporting numerous scratches and dents and drove them to the place where the victim had been found.
They left the car on the side of a road that crossed the most dense forest Danny had ever seen right in the middle of a city. They ventured into the woods, getting all sorts of odd looks from the few joggers and bikers who passed by. The day was drawing to an end, and seeing the beautiful sunset both amazed and relieved the blond CSI, who found himself meditating on the differences between New York heat and Mediterranean heat. But then Detective Alves spoke.
"We found her here," he said, pointing towards a tower with barred windows, but no door. He could hear water running inside. Mac edged closer to the strange tower and peered inside a hole on its wall, dug by the police.
"In there?" he inquired, and Detective Alves nodded.
"Yes, people started noticing the smell. She'd been dead for at least 36 hours. You've already seen the pictures and read our report."
"What is this, anyway?" Stella asked with a puzzled expression.
"An aqueduct, built in the 18th century. This is one of it's many air-holes, or rather towers. It extends for over 36 miles throughout the city."
"Great. That means she could've been dumped anywhere..." Danny remarked. Alves nodded again.
"I'll take you to the aqueduct tomorrow morning. Chances are she was dumped there. We've arranged for you to stay in a guest house downtown, we'd better get going."
Mac and Danny exchanged glances. The scent of eucalyptus and pine-trees flooded the night air, and Mac suddenly regretted the disturbed peace of the forest. He also regretted the anguish in Danny's blue eyes.
"Oh, my God."
Those were Danny's words upon entering their room. Mac looked around and silently agreed.
The guest house looked old on the outside, but this run-down room was definitely something out of a horror movie about haunted mansions.
"You must be kidding me, Detective Alves." Danny let himself fall back on one of the beds, following Mac's movements as he took off his jacket and hung it neatly on the back of the only chair in the room. "Maybe Stella's room's better."
"I wouldn't count on it, Danny." Mac said, with a hint of a smile.
Danny smiled too and closed his eyes.
TBC