The senior FBI agent, Agent Frater, wasn't that keen on the idea of releasing Crane, but reluctantly ceded after Crane pointed out that the next date was soon approaching, July 16, a month from now. Frater, an older man with a craggy, hardworn face, had actioned Crane's release on condition that Abbie partner up with him, which exempted her from regular cop duty. How Crane knew anything about Moloch or Purgatory or what exactly the Feds had on him was never explained, despite her best efforts in trying to find out.

They were using the old Armory as a base of operations and had recorded all of what they knew of Moloch and Purgatory. Right now that meant staring at a board with the details of known persons who'd escaped Purgatory to see if they could glean any clues. It was frustrating as hell for Abbie, as she rubbed the back of her neck to relieve the tension there. There seemed to be no order to Purgatory's sessions; in the year since they'd first heard about the club, there'd been one time when it was held twice in a month; then another time, three months later. Crane and Abbie had been working together for a week, going over all the information, with nothing to show for it.

Crane strode in with Chinese takeout, setting hers on the desk. Working with him was something. He was brilliant, made intuitive leaps of logic and kept up with her in a way she'd never experienced before. He was also impulsive, arrogant and seemed to believe he was incapable of being wrong.

"Nothing yet?" He came next to her, standing too close. Again. She stubbornly focused on the board.

"Nothing, zip, nada." She paced to and fro, when a thought hit her. "Crane, why Purgatory?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why name a club Purgatory? Why not Heaven or Hell or Starlight, Starbright?"

He rubbed his beard and moustache thoughtfully, fingers drawing Abbie's attention until she focused again when he started to speak. "Purgatory is the middle ground between the two worlds, serving as a place to absolve sins after death before a soul can move on to heaven. It is precisely neither totally good, nor totally bad."

He held up one finger and she recognised he had something. "Ms. Mills, the people who have been hospitalised after attending these parties, have they run afoul of the law before? Or are they considered upstanding citizens?"

Her eyes widened as she followed his train of thought. "It isn't the known drug addicts attending these parties. It's everybody else."

She dashed off to her desk, remembering something. He followed closely behind, the edge of his coat brushing her bare arm as she sat. She fought off the awareness and quickly ran through a printed list of names of those currently hospitalised at Sleepy Hollow General. "Look." She turned to find him leaning over her, and pointed to a name. "Melanie Stickler, 21, an assistant librarian at Sleepy Hollow Library. She was described by friends and family as shy and reserved, yet she chose to go to a party with drugs? What if...?"

"They're camouflaging the intent of Purgatory, somehow convincing innocent persons to be present?" He finished the thought, staring down intently at her. "Lieutenant, I do believe we have a break."

As he beamed at her, his first real smile since they've been paired up, she couldn't help the overwhelming feeling of satisfaction flooding her. "Come on, Crane, let's hit the streets."

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They started first with Melanie Stickler's father who confirmed the family had never heard of this Purgatory and was shocked to hear their daughter had overdosed. "Melanie was never the type of girl to do drugs," her dad said in anguish. The last place she'd been that anyone could remember was the library.

It was the same for the others on the list; they had not changed routine in any way and had last been seen doing apparently ordinary things.

"So what are we missing, Crane?" Abbie mused, after nibbling on some fries from the diner opposite the Armory. She could feel it, that nagging sensation she often got on cases when there was more to the surface. She slurped on her smoothie, bringing a haughty look of disgust from Crane, and didn't even try restraining her smirk. She waved the free mints to him in offer, but he turned her down with an offended shake of the head. Oh, he was too easy to rile up, she thought.

He stood, and Abbie couldn't help the look at his (pretty impressive looking) junk. It was a source of constant attention from the women on the force, who were all but salivating over him and shooting looks of envy her way. "We need to find the way..."

She rolled her eyes. "No shit, Sherlock."

He frowned at her interruption, arching his voice in that manner of his that suggested he was going to be pissy about something, "As I was saying, we need to find the way to Purgatory by looking back at the past. Have the police checked the areas further than a mile from the Horseman's killings?"

She was a little stunned, annoyed the possibility hadn't occurred to her. "You think we'll turn up evidence since the Horseman is working for Moloch."

He looked smugly at her, one eyebrow raised. "Indeed, Ms. Mills. When we plot the spaces between the Horseman's killings on the map, then we can narrow down the areas to search."

It was on their second outing that they discovered, quite by accident, their first big break.

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