Chapter 3

Thank you guys for bearing with this. It's been a busy week and such, but I've uploaded this with very little proofreading. Leave me and review if you enjoyed it or if you didn't :-)

A few hours had passed since she and Mac left the crime scene, and going straight to his office, he pulled out the whiteboard, working through everything that the team knew so far. Stella had tried, where possible, to help him establish a rough picture of where Jennifer went, the people she spoke to, and whether or not any of her friends or classmates would have any reason to want her dead. A better question became apparent; who wouldn't want her dead?

Young, beautiful and incredibly quick-witted, Stella had never been surprised when Jennifer had told her of all the guys from university who had asked her out on dates since she had joined last year. Dark hair, and fair in complexion, Jennifer went beyond the definition of just a 'pretty girl'. She dressed modestly for her build, which, of course, made her stand out from the other girls.

"Stella, girls are actually jealous of me!"

She had chuckled at the younger girl's naivety, "Jen, that's because at that age, girl's hormones dictate that having guys chasing after them is a sure sign that they have met the criteria that says they've made it."

But Jennifer couldn't care less. She believed that if she was going to meet the right person, she would. Her work came first, and the drama that came with college… well, it barely even made second place. Coupled with the fact her relationship and arrangements with Stella were no secret, she found it hard to believe that not a single person in her class could be jealous enough of Jennifer's apparent success to kill her.

People had been killed over much less.

Then there was her human rights work. Immigration, gun laws and chemical warfare were but a few of the causes she had campaigned for. Far from idealistic, she was intelligent enough to see that every human being was the same, that guns do more harm than good. Despite the city's political stances aligning very concretely with her father's, she had no doubt that Jennifer had managed to piss off some hard-core Conservative out there.

And so, the two overwhelming motives had become jealousy and politics, and she hoped for the sake of James that the motive was jealousy.

Tomorrow however, they planned to send someone to speak to the students on the Chelsea University Campus and confirm that Stella's suspicions had been correct – that the girls in her class weren't particularly fond of her. She wasn't sure how those interviews would go – but Danny and Flack were handling those, so they weren't her personal priority at the moment. On top of dealing with Sinclair, Mac tasked himself with going through the security footage from the apartment building, speaking to James and Veronica's security detail to see what they knew and going with Stella to see Sid once James and Veronica had finished viewing the body.

Which left Stella and Danny to deal with the DNA and trace evidence for now.

Stella, taking the DNA evidence, was running a set of prints she had found on the front door handle when she felt his eyes on her.

"Can I help you, Messer?" she teased lightly, however, strain evident in her voice. He didn't return her light-hearted attitude, and put his work down.

"Stel, anyone else would have been taken off of the case if they were as involved as you," he begun. "How you doin'? Really."

Biting her lip, she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, "I don't think that it's sunk in yet, Danny. But at least if I'm on the case then I know every possible resource is being used to find this bastard. What's the alternative? Working that drugs case with Lindsay? Working my way through a pile of cold cases when a young woman is dead?"

Nodding in agreement, Danny brought his eyes back to the trace. She saw him pause for a minute before running a swab over Jennifer's jeans where trace amounts of white powder seemed to stick to the fabric.

"What do you think that powder could be?"

He shrugged, "It tested negative for narcotics when Mac tested it at the scene. So, I don't know – could be flour, some form of cosmetics, maybe? I'm just about to test it, so we'll know for sure when the results come back."

"Okay, that could be helpful," she pondered. Her own screen beeped with results, and the display caused her to sigh once more.

"The top set of prints returned no matches in AFIS and the others came back to a member of James' security detail. Which, I can flag up to Mac- "

"But you'd expect them to be there, and it's not enough for a warrant, anyway," he said casually, snipping the end of a swab into a beaker. Creating a solution, he entered it into the substances database.

Leaning against the light table, she rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn. Having worked the late shift last night and receiving the call out before she could try and get some sleep, Stella found it difficult to stay awake, never mind concentrate on the evidence she was working on. But her tiredness went beyond a lack of sleep. It was fatigue. The type that starts as a weight in your stomach, before, like a slow growing cancer, taking over in your limbs as a burden too heavy to carry. Had her appetite been fully there, she might have eaten something to try and relinquish her exhaustion (if only temporarily). But her stomach barely rumbled as it acknowledged the fact she hadn't eaten since yesterday.

"Okay, so the white powder is a substance consisting mainly of abietic acid. Stel, I have no idea what that is…"

"Violin Rosin," Mac contributed smugly from the door. Danny raised an eyebrow at Mac, before turning to Stella.

"Was Jennifer a Violinist?"

She shook her head, "Her boyfriend is quite musical, if I remember right. I don't know what it is that he plays, though. Paul Moretti, studies at Chelsea, although I don't know what it is that he studies if I'm totally honest."

"Maybe Flack and I can try and pick him up when we go over there tomorrow," Danny suggested, waiting for either of his superiors to approve his proposal. "Didn't Flack say that he and Jennifer were arguing a lot these days?"

Nodding her head in approval, Stella looked to Mac, "You can tell Sinclair we've got a suspect."

Running his hands through his hair, he sighed, "The way he's speaking right now, it's like he expects this case shut as quickly as it was opened. Although, James and Veronica only got back this morning, so I don't imagine them being on the NYPD's asses about this case, although their daughter is the victim, is a priority before they get the chance to start grieving."

But Stella knew James better than that. As a politician, James was used to being persistent and getting on people's nerves in order to get a political upper hand. As a law graduate, he was used to saying exactly what had to be said to put pressure on someone or to persuade people to see his side. But most importantly, as the good father he was, he would fight for Jennifer, because she deserved no less – even if it was the last thing that he would ever do.

But she wouldn't dare say that when Mac was feeling confident in his time frame.

"How busy are you, Stel?"

"I'm just waiting for results, that's all. Why?"

"Because you pulled the late shift last night and seen as you have been working since three this morning; I thought I'd treat you to lunch. That café you like around the corner?" she watched Danny beginning to process Jennifer's belt for fingerprints.

"Danny, you mind waiting on my fingerprint results? Please, I'll owe you?"

And when he looked up with a smile, she pulled off her lab coat and hung it up, following her partner and friend to the elevator.

As her mind became indifferent to the 70s muzak playing through speakers she couldn't see, she consulted the menu in front of her. It was a nice, little café on the next block from the lab. It wasn't particularly pricey, nor was it fancy, but it was their café. Having been their go-to place when they were working long hours at the lab for a few years now, the owners knew and respected the pair, making them welcome whenever they visited. Owned by an Italian family, the café primarily served American diner food – but miles better.

She heard Mac smirk at her before running his fingertips over the table between them.

"What's so funny, Taylor?"

Leaning forward, he smiled, "You're going to order pancakes with maple syrup and a side of chopped strawberries, along with a black coffee, even though it's basically dinnertime and you should be eating something more nutritious, like you always do."

Only taken aback for a second, she quickly retorted, "What? Nutritious like your cheeseburger?"

Although he chuckled, she could feel the strain in his gesture. She had been so caught up in her own grief that she had forgotten to ask Mac if he was okay. He didn't know Jennifer all that well, but had a great working relationship with James. Anything one needed, the other was there, particularly through various budget crises over the year. Even if grief wasn't the issue, Mac was bound to be under pressure from Sinclair. And while his usual defence was to ignore it, he didn't have the luxury of job security right now.

He raised his eyebrow at her, "You're giving me that look."

She sighed, "Are you okay?"

"Stell-"

Gino, the restaurant owner, approached the table with a small notepad in his hand, and a smile on his face. The pair couldn't help but smile back at him – his radiant positivity was infectious. Large in body and presence, one might have feared him if it wasn't for his exuberant personality and his defining friendliness to absolutely everyone.

"What can I get for my two favourite detectives?"

"I'll have a cheeseburger and a cappuccino, please," he said confidently, ignoring Stella's mock eye roll. Then as an after-thought added, "With some fries, too please, Gino."

"Getting adventurous, aren't we, Taylor?" she teased. Suddenly, the thought of trying to get through an entire pancake stack as tired as she was, seemed barbaric.

"What about you, Bonasera?" the Italian asked.

"I'll have a waffle-"

Mac's phone rang, and as he answered it, she finished her order. Turning her attention to her partner, she tuned into his conversation.

"Stella and I are out grabbing some lunch… She hasn't eaten today, I don't want to take responsibility for her passing out on the job… Can't we just… Right, bye."

"Sinclair?"

He sighed, "I am so sorry, Stell. You're going to have to go up to the morgue yourself. Sinclair's organised a meeting with the brass and I need to be there. I'm so sorry."

Smiling weakly, she placed her hand on his, "I'll be okay, Mac. Really. We'll get the food to go."