A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed. Sorry if it didn't seem long enough, but the first part was labeled 'Prologue'. Think of it as the few minutes before the first commercial. If you feel you're wasting your time with this story, you don't have to leave a review. I'll understand.

"How did you meet her?"

Don sat at the end of the long conference table, with Mosley on one side so the man wouldn't feel like he was being interrogated – which he was. Megan sat at the other end of the table, making notes on a legal pad silently so as not to distract them. Mosley didn't even look in her direction. "I was… there was a bar," he began.

"Where was this?" Don asked.

Mosley wrung his hands. "Down on Tremont. Just a little place – 'The Rose', I think it was called." Don nodded once and Megan wrote it down. "It was late. Probably gone eleven by the time she walked in. I didn't even notice her at first."

Don waited. When the man didn't continue, he prompted, "Then what happened?"

He seemed to think for a moment. "I was sitting there, minding my own business – I didn't want to bother anybody, you know?" Don nodded. "She was playing pool with a couple of guys and they had some kind of argument. She threw the cue on the table and came over to me."

"Why did she do that?" Don asked.

"Well, I was sitting at the bar, you see," Mosley replied with a shrug. "She came over to get a drink, I suppose." He fell silent.

Don glanced at Megan. She met his gaze and gave a small nod. "So she ordered a drink," Don said. "And then what?"

"She looked at me," Mosley replied in an almost-whisper. "And she asked me if I'd buy her a drink. I said 'sure'. I mean, why not? Pretty girl… and I wasn't with anyone… I bought her a drink."

"What kind of drink?"

"Something fancy," he replied, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. "With a city name – you know, New York, or…" He frowned. "No – Manhattan. That's it. She wanted a Manhattan."

Don glanced at Megan again. The autopsy report had said the girl's stomach contents revealed she was drinking heavily that night – and the combination of ingredients typically made up a 'Manhattan'. A point in their favor. "Go on, Mr. Mosley," Don said. "Then what happened?"

"She started talking," the man went on. "About how she was there for spring break and how her friends had left her to go to some party…" He shrugged. "I just let her talk."

"What were you drinking?" Don put in suddenly.

Mosley frowned again. "Rye, I think," he said at last. "Yeah… it was rye."

"How much had you had by that time?"

"I don't know. Five? Six? I was pretty wrecked." Mosley sighed. "Anyway, she went to the ladies' room – I thought she'd taken off – but then she came back and grabbed my arm. Said she wanted to get out of there."

Don nodded. "Did you?" he asked. "Leave, I mean."

"Yeah." Mosley ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I didn't even think about it. I mean, what would a pretty girl like that want with a guy like me, you know? I'm not that much to look at, I admit it."

"You don't think she'd be attracted to you?"

Mosley sat up and waved a hand vaguely in front of his chest. "Look at me, Agent Eppes!" he burst out. "Do I look like the type of guy that would attract girls that look like her?"

Don smiled gently. "Maybe not," he agreed. "Where did you go after that?"

The other man slumped in his seat, staring at the table top. "I thought she wanted to go to another bar," he continued after a moment. "She asked me to take her to her motel instead."

"The Vagabond?" Don asked.

Mosley nodded sadly. "We got there – I expected her to brush me off, then – but she dragged me inside and started… you know." His cheeks reddened slightly.

"How did you get there?" Don put in suddenly.

If anything, Mosley's blush deepened. "My car," he said quietly. "It wasn't that far, but…" His voice trailed off.

Don frowned and glanced at Megan. The motel manager didn't say anything about a car. "Where did you park?"

"I don't…" Mosley hesitated. "Around the back, I think," he said at last. "She wanted me to park in front, but I didn't."

Megan opened her mouth to speak but Don silenced her with a look. "Then what?" he prompted.

Drawing in a shuddering sigh, Mosley went on, "She was all over me – touching and kissing and…" He shrugged. "You know… And then she stopped."

"She stopped?"

"Just… stopped. I don't know why. By that time I was pretty worked up and when she quit… it made me mad."

Don nodded sympathetically. "I bet," he replied. "Got you all hot and bothered and then just turned it off? I'd be pretty mad, too."

"I was," Mosley nodded emphatically. "I yelled at her. Asked her what the hell she was playing at."

"What did she say?"

"She told me to shut up."

Don blinked. "That's it? Just 'shut up'?"

Mosley glanced up. "Well, no," he replied slowly. "She used some pretty rude words. Called me an 'old man' and told me to shut up – said I should be grateful she'd paid any attention to me at all."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Angry," Mosley replied in a firm tone. "I got really mad then."

Don rested his chin in one hand. "What did you do?"

"Tried to leave," Mosley bit out. "But she wouldn't let me."

Shifting a bit in his seat, Don caught Megan's eye and she nodded. "She wouldn't let you leave?" he repeated. "What did she do?"

"She grabbed me," the man replied. "Grabbed my arm and dragged me to the bed. Then she pushed me down onto it and told me I wasn't going anywhere."

"What did you do then?"

Mosley looked up at Don slowly. "I don't remember."

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Don and Megan stood side-by-side in the observation room, watching Mosley fidget through the one-way glass. "What do you think?" Megan asked at last.

"I don't know," Don replied. "His prints came back a match for the unknowns in the motel room – they were even on the lamp base used to kill her."

"But?"

He shook his head, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I don't know," he repeated softly. "Something about this just doesn't sit right."

Megan pointed to a folder lying on the table in front of them. "He's a predicate offender," she offered.

"I know that," Don replied, turning. "An attempt to solicit a minor. But that was over ten years ago, Megan."

"And Mandy Fischer was only nineteen," Megan countered. "Barely legal."

Don shook his head. "I still don't think…" He shrugged. "We'll hold him, of course, but I want to keep going on this."

"Don?"

"Just…" He turned to look at her. "Just don't ignore anything, okay?"

Megan regarded him thoughtfully. "All right," she agreed. She stared at him for a moment, nodded and then left the room.

Don watched Mosley for another minute and then left too.