New York, two days ago

"So, you see Mac…it's just that I found what you asked me to and so, that's why I'm here and…" Adam, one of the younger members of the CSI unit of the New York Police Department, approached his boss, Mac Taylor, who was reading few reports in his office; as the young man (dressed in jeans, t-shirt from some unknown rock band and sweatshirt and a pair of red converse) entered, Mac looked at him, confused, and with an expression that poor Adam saw as disappointment and anger.

"So, what can you tell me about the robberies?"

"Yeah, well, about that…I think that…"

"WE think that we may have a problem." To end the sentence it was a man who was the complete opposite of Adam, both physically, in clothes and mannerism: Robbery and Homicide Detective Don Flack was just a little older than Adam, but, unlike him, he was taller, and while Adam was brown haired and eyed – and his hair was an hell of a mess -, Don had black, short hair and a pair of magnificent blue sapphire eyes; where Adam still looked as a college guy, Don always had white shirts, ties and suites – and, mostly, where Adam was still a bit reluctant about dealing with his superiors, Don was well aware of his position and known how to deal with people – any people. It was one of the most hated detectives of the department, to be honest: he didn't have any problem in bringing in other officers, if they were guilty of something – not exactly what few people loved.

"Explain" Mac only said, without looking at them; it was the beginning of the year, and the beginning of the year was even worse than the summer – because, while in Summer they kept having an escalation in murders, in January it was the turn of the suicides (and of the attempted suicides), and it meant one thing only: more wok for everyone.

"Have you ever heard of the Gentleman Robber?" Don asked him, more with rhetoric than for a real reason.

"You're telling me that the footage we have of the guy who robbed 4 banks in 5 weeks is of Thaddeus Swanson, the gentleman robber from California?"

"Yeah, I know, weird that someone leaves California for New York, but Ivy did too, so maybe it's not that weird and… - As he saw how they were looking at him, Adam become quiet; another of his problems was that he didn't know when he had to shout up, and he had definitely to stay quiet, since said woman he mentioned, a fellow CSI, Ivy Carter, was, actually, Don's ex-wife and Mac's long-time protégé – sorry. Anyway, we can only assume it's Thaddeus Swanson, since everything the LAPD had of him was an identikit and an old lady in an asylum who kept saying the gentleman robber was the son of the boy she and her husband had taken in and that his birth name was Thaddeus Swanson."

"And, guess what? Thaddeus Swanson was a guy there were no records on, like he never existed. I followed the case and let me say it – Don said pointing at Taylor – that's bullshit. We may have found the Gentleman Robber, but I bet all my money it's not some dude called Swanson."

"How much did he take this time?" Mac asked, finally looking at them, interested.

"In total, the guy, whoever he is – Don said controlling his notepad – has taken over 2,500,000 of dollars. He knew where and when to strike. I'd check again inside the banks, see if there can be any kind of connection…."

"Swanson stroke 12 times at least, and he had took over 8,000,000 of dollars in California. Then, he vanished, and no one has ever found what he did with the money."

"Maybe he is waiting for the right time to use them – Don says scrolling his shoulders – or maybe they are in Swiss or in some other fiscal paradise…"

"Anyway, he is still wanted for the robberies in California, and, if we found traces of him here, we had to call the department that was investigating on him…"

"Do you want me to?"

"No, I'll do it by myself, I still have few connections on the other side of the country… maybe I'll be able to convince them to let us work it out on our own."

Few minutes after the Homicide detective and Adam left, the person the goofy CSI mentioned early was resting her right shoulder against Mac's doorframe, the living embodiment of mess - and, presumably, of a dump; Mac lifted his eyebrows at her, knowing that there was no way she had been in such a place – he had sent her with the Bomb Disposal Unit in a small wood in Central Park.

"Yeah, I know I smell, thanks a lot, there's no need to point it out to me, ok?" she was crossing her arms, annoyed but grateful she had missed everyone – Mac didn't count, he had seen worse.

"What… I thought you were supposed to… I thought that…"

"Yeah, well, the abandoned beg happened to not be a bomb, but, guess what? - she said pointing at her clothes, the red vintage polo shirt and the jeans, the still almost tidy but sticky and smelly – There was a cadaver! A cadaver made in pieces and it wasn't only decomposed, no, it was liquefied! Because that's what happen when a cadaver stays closed in s small space for even few days!"

She still stand there, where she was – it was a matter of respect for her boss and friend – because it didn't seem nice to kill him with the nauseating smell - , and because, frankly, what she had to tell him she could say it from her position. Ivy, who looked older than her 37 years – and Mac thought she had took more than the 4 years she had spend there in NY - stared at her feet and lowered her voice, trying to sound less angry and annoyed; she couldn't blame Mac because things with her husband, Detective Don Flack, hadn't worked – besides, they weren't pretty civil with each other, and even managed to remain a bit "friends", as friends exes could be (because, apparently, being good people doesn't mean that you'll get the happy ever after).

"Sheldon and I gave a look at the bones, and we think it's a male in his late 40, early 50; he seemed pretty healthy. Since the body is liquefied, we can't look for DNA from his tissues – no blood, skin cells, and the few strands of hair we found don't have genetic material. We could try the bones, but it's kind of hard. It's a particular exam, and we don't have the instruments. We should ask the Jeffersonian, but it will still take days, maybe even a couple of weeks, and, therefore, there's the fact that they work for the FBI and I know we don't particularly appreciate when we have to call them in on a case; I'd do that as a last resource. – She paused, taking a big breath, as she was going to get closer, but still standing at the same distance – the teeth are gone, disassembled from the rest of the mouth – no way we can find out who the guy is from them."

"From your statement, I assume he didn't have anything with him" Ivy, dark brown hair on her shoulders, now tied in a messy ponytail, bit her lips, and, as he saw her expression, Mac smirked: she was up to something.

"Ivy Carol Carter, what are you up to?"

"Well, we may not have the great and mighty instrumentation of the Jeffersonian…"

"Tell that do the Chief, not to me. He is the one with the budget issues."

" But, as you know – she started to talk again, gesturing a bit, shifting her weight on her right leg – My CSI partner and I, a certain Dr. Sheldon Hawks, are still well aware of the brunch of science also known as Forensic Anthropology and forensic Art; as a matter of facts, we are two of the major experts of the country, and, taking the skull of the man, basing our work on genetic statistic and analysis of the facial structure, we could easily rebuilt his face as it was when he died with a small piece of chalk and few colors…BUT it will take a couple of days, at least." she smirked satisfied, smiling at him, like she used to until few years ago.

"Do what you have to – he said with the same smile – BUT don't pass too many nights here and get that awful smell away from you!"

"Right boss, I'll not keep Sheldon away from home for too long – she turned as she was already walking away, eyes focused on the board in Mac's office, on a photo the man had just put on, serious , and pointed at it with her right index - Ehy, why do I think I know the guy?"

"That's because you probably do, Ivy – he got closer to the board again, giving his back to the girl, eyes focused on the picture – Ivy Carter, meet Thaddeus Swanson, also known as…"

"Also known as the Gentleman Robber! - she smiled with satisfaction, remembering the case; it wasn't a case she had worked on when she was with the LAPD, but she wasn't stupid, she knew what was going on at the Department and, moreover, she was the kind of person obsessed with reading as many newspapers as possible. She looked at him, a bit unsure, and, maybe, even shy, and serious again– Is that the case you are working on with Don and Adam?"

"Once the evidences will tell me something, I'll let you know."

Again she turned to leave, but this time, as she was walking away, it was Mac who stopped her, shouting her name so loud that it almost broke her heart – it was like he was desperate, or at least extremely sad, and she couldn't get why.

"There's something I'd like to ask you from a while Ivy… - he got closer, and then stopped, hands in the pockets of his pants, taking a deep breath – are you unhappy? Because I know you from more than 20 years and…and I'm worried about you."

She left her back resting against the doorframe, looking at him with sad but sweet eyes, hair in her dark orbits. "I'm not unhappy, Mac, really – she paused, looking in the void in front of herself – and I'm not going to do something stupid. That, I already did it 20 years ago."

"But you're not happy, either" he looked at his feet, like they could give him an answer, any kind of answer, like he could forget what it was really about, what the real topic was.

"Once the evidences will tell me something, I'll let you know" she said, a smile clear in her voice, quoting him as she did often; as he lifted his eyes to look back at her, she was already gone. "Yes, you're not happy here, and it's my fault."