A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter - you make my inbox smile and dance a little dance.

Usual disclaimer applies.

Chapter Three – Confused

The station was roaring with what had happened the previous night. Theories were being cast like small nets in a big sea, dredging up Flack's cases from back when he was a rookie cop to the previous week's successful conviction. Angell listened carefully, knowing that there was the possibility that treasure was to be had, however modest. Cookie had handed the case over to her before escaping to grab his suit case and head off to the Caribbean, glad to be rid of the albatross that was now hung around her neck. Flack had been left to sleep, and Angell was relieved his presence was missing, given some of the comment being made. Flack in a temper would be difficult to interview, and she could do without his fireworks being set off beforehand.

The witness statements had offered very little. Neither of Flack's neighbours had been in, getting home just after the building had been evacuated. Both neighbours had suffered minor damage to their apartments, but were particularly understanding, although one expressed the hope that the detective would now find another apartment. Angell smelt something illegal going on in Miss Wolinski's apartment, but passed up on the opportunity to delve any deeper. No doubt it would at some point come to light, and it seemed irrelevant to the bomb. An old man across from Flack had heard the voices of two men walking down the hall at half past seven, but after some digging, the voices could be accounted to the brothers of Mr Hilton, four doors down. So far, things were drawing a huge blank. No unusual faces had been spotted, no suspicious behaviours, no one walking around with an 'I'm up to no good' t-shirt on. Angell sat back in her chair and ran a hand through her hair. Nothing was standing out; no one had been released recently who may have wanted some sort of revenge, no relatives appeared to have been holding a grudge – it was a minefield of small 'could-be's'.

"Coffee?" she looked up to see the victim in question holding two cups. She took the one he offered her and he sat down opposite. "You should have woken me. I'm crabby if I have too much sleep."

"I shall bear that in mind for future reference," she said, taking the lid off. Cinnamon latte with chocolate sprinkles. "How was my bed?"

He looked at her with a smirk. "Big."

Angell eyed him and raised her eyebrows, questioning his statement. His eyes twinkled in answer and she felt a sudden rush to her stomach and legs. "We need to go to interview room seven," she said abruptly, changing the subject.

He nodded, and for a second looked morose. She fought an urge to touch him again, playing with an elastic band instead.

"Let's go and get it over with then I can get back to my job," he said, standing.

She nodded, following him across the room. It was common knowledge amongst their colleagues that Flack had stayed at her's the night before. When asked, she had nodded, refraining from comment. Her father had been a firm believer in the lady protesting too much, and she had learnt that denial could often be interpreted as admittance early on, after sneaking a boy back into her room, the remaining t-shirt too small to fit any of her brothers.

"You haven't said anything about me working today," Flack said, almost looking annoyed at the fact.

"I wouldn't have expected you not to," she said, her tone level and unperturbed. She switched on the recorder, stating the date and time. Flack held his head in his hands as she went through the formalities. It needn't have been recorded, they both knew, but any investigation where a cop was the victim needed to be free from holes.

"Can you tell me what happened when you reached your apartment?" Angell said. Flack went through step by step what had occurred, describing in precise detail what they had seen when the door to his home had opened.

She found it strange, listening to him recount the experience and mentioning her name, referring to her as 'Jess'. She realised that their relationship had changed, that it had gone beyond the stage of flirting colleagues to something with more substance.

Flack reached over and paused the tape, looking up at her. She put her note pad down, it was unnecessary with the tape, but she liked to see things spelt out. "Are you okay, Jess?"

Angell nodded. "I'm fine. It's all in a day's work, I suppose," she said, knowing he was referring to last night.

He stared at her, waiting.

She rolled her eyes and moved her head back then nodded. "Okay. It's unnerving. It still feels unreal."

"I'm sorry."

She was taken back by his apology. "Sorry for what?"

He shrugged. "For your being there. For mentioning that stupid film. I don't know – I'm sorry that you could have been hurt."

She frowned at him. "I could be hurt every day, Flack. It's a choice that we all make doing this job."

"But last night you weren't doing your job. Coming back to pick up a DVD doesn't have neon flashing across it saying 'watch out for bombs'."

She struggled with a smile.

"What?" he said, indignantly, observant eyes having picked up on it.

"You're trying to protect me, and you feel guilty that you couldn't have stopped me getting hurt."

"No I'm not!"

She laughed. "Don't lie. You are. You feel bad because you nearly got me hurt."

He spluttered. "I did not nearly get you hurt! And I'm not feeling guilty! I'm just…" he looked away,

Angell observed him, wondering what the end of the sentence was. The teasing tone had exited the room. She let it go. Flack would end the sentence in his own sweet time. She reached over and began recording again, making eye contact with his piercing blues once more. He held the look for longer than necessary, leaving an empty space on the tape.

"Detective Flack, can you think of anyone who may have reason to want to harm you and your property?"

He reeled off names of felons, both in jail and out, listing the reasons they might have, or crimes committed that echoed the night before. None seemed to have enough substance, but all would need looking into.

"Is there anyone else, ex-girlfriends for instance who may have reason to harm you?" she had to ask again, even though it had been mentioned previously.

"My relationships have always ended amicably," he said. His eyes met hers once more and she struggled to hold their gaze. "I can give you a list of women I have dated and their numbers if you wish to question any."

"We may need that information at a later date," she said, looking at her notepad, able to break the look. It would be interesting to see what Flack's list of exes contained.

"Does anything strike you about the case, Detective?" he said.

"I'm not sure if it was personal toward you or someone with an attachment to you," she said. "I've looked through recent cases, and cases where the felon has been recently released, and nothing is obvious, so I can only conclude that we're looking at this the wrong way."

Flack nodded, and looked at the tape. She concluded the interview and switched it off.

"There's not just my case history to check," he said, arms folded.

She nodded, hearing what wasn't being said.

"I wouldn't necessarily jump to a connection with your father. There are other people a perp may take an interest in."

"Danny, Mac, Stella… you," he said, watching her reaction.

Angell shook her head. "It won't be one of mine. If I look back at my convictions then I need to check others' too."

"Start with Flack Senior," he said. "But don't make it public."

"Is there something you should tell me?" Angell said seriously. Flack's father was legendary. A good cop, with an excellent record, unblemished.

"Not as far as I know, but I haven't spoken to my father in a good few weeks, and that's not for want of trying. According to mom he's always out fishing, or in the garden – enjoying his retirement," the tone was sarcastic.

"He's avoiding you."

"That would be my conclusion."

"I'll start there. Once I've re questioned a few potential witnesses. There maybe something that was missed last night." It had been chaotic, and from Cookie's report a few people had yet to be interviewed for one reason or another.

Flack stood up, taking the empty coffee cup with him. He paused before opening the door. "Hey, Jess?"

She looked up at him.

"What's for dinner?"

She stood up, hands on hips, eyes coy. "I don't know, sweetheart, why don't you pick something up while you're buying yourself something pretty?"

The corners of his mouth twitched, and she found herself trying desperately not to smile.

"Some would argue that I'm pretty enough. Enough to rival you in a Kevlar vest maybe."

"Is that your game again, Flack?" she said, enjoying bringing out the colour in his cheeks.

"I told you, I have no game," he said. "Things get more confusing that what they already are when you play games," he said, after a brief silence.

She met his eyes, the coyness and teasing gone. He had finished his sentence.

-&-

Mac Taylor stepped back from the microscope and slid another slide in place. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So far, there hadn't been one drop of evidence that could give them a lead on who had destroyed Flack's apartment. There had been no fingerprints that shouldn't have been there, no hairs that had been recovered. Even the parts from the bomb that had been recovered held no secrets. The ingredients of it were common place, everyday household objects, cleverly put together. He had sent a list of them to Detective Angell to see if they matched with any information she had. The paint from the spray can was also untraceable, too common to be narrowed down to one wholesaler. Whoever had done it knew exactly how to play the game.

"Anything?" Stella said, breezing into the lab. A body had turned up in a dumpster three blocks from the lab and Stella had been assigned to that, Danny assisting her.

Mac shook his head. "Nothing." He shook his head and removed his gloves. "I've been through what we've got twice - it seems as if this was done by a ghost."

"You know as well as I do that that can't be true," she said, pulling on a lab coat from the stand behind them. "Somewhere there will be evidence, we just have to find it."

"I can only think it was done by somebody familiar in the building. No one noticed anything. Someone has seen this person or persons enter the building and head up to Flack's apartment, and hasn't realised what they saw."

"Angell's re-interviewing the residents on Flack's floor. Tag along with her," Stella said.

Mac nodded, discarding his lab coat. "She's here now?"

"So's Flack. He's working the dumpster case."

"Good. He's best being kept busy."

He headed into the main corridor where Flack was stood with Detective Angell. He heard details of the body in the dumpster echo in the air and saw Angell nodding, passing comment.

"You mind if I accompany you?" he said to Angell once their attention was on him.

"I was hoping you would," Angell said, her hands in her pockets, a habit Mac wished he could cure her of.

"How you doing?" he asked Flack. He noticed that the detective didn't look as ruffled as he would have imagined.

"Better than you would expect. I had suits at the dry cleaners so they bastards didn't manage to destroy everything," Flack said. "Is Stella upstairs?"

"Go on up. I imagine she's expecting you."

"I'll catch you later, Mac." He strode away, nodding to Angell as he disappeared.

-&-

"Someone must have seen something," Mac reiterated once in the car with Angell. "They've seen something they thought was ordinary and not bothered to report it. If I can track back noises or sightings, I may be able to pin point some evidence."

"Let's start with Mrs McNaugton who lives across the landing from Flack. She seems to be a stereotypical nosey neighbour," Angell said, pulling into a parking space.

Two and a half hours later, Mac found himself sat on a battered leather sofa listening to the hazed memories of a man who was a few days in need of a shave and stunk of marijuana.

"This was last night? I don't remember no evacuation," Larry stubbed out a cigarette. "Hang on, yeah, that's right. My girlfriend dragged me out of bed. Was that something to do with the alarm check they did yesterday afternoon?"

Mac saw Angell looking at him. No one had mentioned anything about an alarm check. Larry was the first. He's avoided interview last night, Cookie reporting that Larry had been too stoned to have been coherent.

"Was that for the fire alarm, Mr Greenwood?" he said.

Larry shrugged. "I guess. I didn't pay much attention. There were these two guys walking down the hallway carrying wires. One just said they were checking the alarms."

"What time was this?" Angell said.

"About four. I'm not real good with time."

"Can you remember what they looked like?" she continued to ask, seeming relaxed, as if it wasn't anything important.

"One was tall and dark and the other was short and dark. They had a toolkit. The tall one had a packet of cigs on him and I borrowed one off him."

Mac looked around the apartment. It looked like it was regularly tidied, except for the bit in front of the TV, which was where Larry probably spent his days. Two ashtrays were almost full. Mac suspected that was just from today.

"What brand were they?" Mac asked.

"I don't remember, man. I ain't much good with detail," Larry looked itchy, and Mac figured he was ready for another joint, their visit having taken enough of his chilled day away.

"You might find it easier to remember detail down at the station, what do you think?" he suggested, standing up.

"You ain't going to search the place?" Larry said, standing too.

"As long as your memory improves," Angell said.

Larry looked at her, eye narrowing and a slight lick of his lips. "I ain't never gonna forget you," he said.

"Really?" Angell said. "I think you'll be absent from my memories. Let's go."

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