Chapter Three.

When Arthur walked through the main entrance of the building, constables, sergeants, and inspectors alike swarmed him, going straight for the box of donuts between his hands. This was customary at the beginning of every week, as a way to lift the Monday blues from all his colleagues, and Arthur gave them happy smiles as he joked and laughed with each of them in turn. There was a chorus of "thanks, Arthur" from each face bobbing in and out of view as they took a pastry from the opened box; and Arthur heard the normal "thanks, Arty" from one of the veteran inspectors, who called him that no matter how many times Arthur tried to politely correct him.

"Hey, save some for my mates in forensics," Arthur told the mob genially, and each person surrounding him gave a laugh before bustling off to their designated department. When Arthur passed the reception desk on the way to the lift, he saw the mascara-streaked face of a tall blonde woman that he instantly recognized as Morgause Russo, Cenred's now widow. He smirked to himself as the lift doors closed before him.

After making his way to the top floor and giving the last donut to an expectant Gwaine, Arthur settled into his private lab, which overlooked the desk-littered floor of the SCD Homicide division. He peered at the office out of the window of the tiny room, happy to be away from the chatting people and ringing phones. He let his fake smile slip from his face, relaxing his exhausted jaw muscles.

Finally, he was able to get down to work, and the first thing on his list was deciphering the killer's message to him. He was trying to tell Arthur something, which meant there must have been more clues in the crime scenes. Arthur pulled up the digital files of the victims on his computer, scanning over the pictures and reports. The first had been six weeks ago, a prostitute identified as Vivian Jones. Her corpse had been found near the Peter Pan statue in Hyde Park. The second victim, a heroine dealer called Jonathan Helios, was found two weeks later on the walkway directly across the Thames from the Eye. Then, a week later, came Freya Tyler, a junkie whose body had turned up on the steps of the National Gallery. Last, of course, was Mordred Barkley, in Elephant and Castle.

As far as Arthur could tell, the only detail that connected these people was the way they died. He considered, for a moment, that it could have been something to do with drugs, but Jones didn't fit the pattern. That's why she had been killed first. The killer didn't want to lead Arthur down the wrong path, but he wasn't making it any easier for him either.

The door to the lab swung open without warning, and Arthur scrambled to close down the windows on his screen before looking over his shoulder and finding Merlin.

"Hey," Merlin said cheerfully, jumping up and sitting on Arthur's desk. "Guess what?"

Arthur leaned back in his chair and feigned consideration. "Hmm. You've finally managed to touch your nose with the tip of your tongue?"

Merlin pursed his lips in annoyance. "No!" he said. "I think I'm close to finding out where Barkley was killed."

Merlin looked rather pleased of himself, but Arthur only furrowed his brows. That couldn't be possible. The killer had stood in Arthur's kitchen not forty-eight hours ago, and Merlin was closer to finding him than Arthur was?

"How?" Arthur asked, trying to sound casual.

"I'm glad you asked," Merlin said tauntingly, puffing out his chest slightly. "I put on the junkie act and went to his flat, where he normally makes the deals; but, of course, he wasn't there. But his girlfriend, Kara Donavon, was. I acted dumb, and she cried while telling me everything about the last time she talked to Mordred. Apparently, she'd called him right before he got out of his car to meet his new supplier. That's the last anyone heard of him. So, while she went to the toilet to get some tissues, I—um—"

Merlin looked sheepish now, giving a soft shrug.

"I nicked her mobile," he said, almost apologetically, but he waved it away.

"So, you do think it was the new supplier who killed him?" Arthur asked.

Merlin shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe he was only pretending to be a supplier to lure Barkley in. He could have pretending to be something he wasn't when he killed the other ones, too. Like you said, they're easy targets. Anyway, I'm having the tech boys downstairs trace the number on Donavon's mobile. They said they'd be able to triangulate the location Mordred was in when he made the call, or something. They said they'd be able to let me know by the end of the day."

Arthur gave an exaggerated frown and nodded, looking impressed. "That's great, Merlin. Good policing."

Merlin looked at his lap and grinned. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't have gotten the idea if not for you. So—thanks, I guess."

Arthur shook his head, staring blankly at his darkened computer monitor as though it would provide him with an answer on how to find the killer before Merlin did.

"No, you would have figured it out on your own," he said. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

When Arthur looked back up, Merlin was giving him a strange look. He had the softest of smiles on his face, his eyes searching Arthur's features as though he were lost in thought, and a little bit breathless. On occasion, Arthur had caught Merlin giving him that look, but he never knew what it particularly meant. He wondered if it was a look every functioning human gave, and Arthur just couldn't find it in the extensive list on the topic of functioning human expressions contained in his recollection.

Arthur gaped a little. "What?" Leaning forward to look into the reflection on his computer screen, Arthur checked his face for any leftover food particles or something of the like. "What is it?"

Merlin gave a choked laugh, shaking his head at the floor. "Nothing."

Shortly after, Merlin excused himself and headed back downstairs, and Arthur went back to scouring the digital files.

There was blood, thick and royally red, flying through the darkness. It splattered the walls and soaked into the sheets. It matted a once shimmering sheet of golden hair. It dripped, trickling one droplet at a time, off a slender hand suspended limply off the side of the mattress.

He heard crying. The sound was distant at first, an echo from far away, but it was blaring now. A child, a little blonde boy, his face splashed with crimson, sobbing on the carpeted floor . . .

Arthur woke with a jolt, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead and his breath coming out labored. He stared up blankly at the dark ceiling above his bed, flashes of the dream coming back to him. Who was that woman? Arthur never saw her face. But why had she been killed? Who was the crying boy? Most importantly, why had Arthur had a nightmare? In all his life, he could not recall a time when he had a bad dream. It unnerved him.

On his nightstand, his mobile continued to ring, piercing the night, and Arthur realized it's what had woken him. He reached for the light it produced, squinting his eyes as he brought it closer and answered it with a groggy hello. He listened for a few seconds.

Suddenly, he was wide-awake, sitting upright in bed and listening avidly.

"You what?"

The arcade looked familiar to Arthur. It had been shut down for over a decade now, and apparently no one bothered to remove the outdated games and busted up machines. Layers of dust came off the tarp covering the gaming systems, and Arthur had to suppress a sneeze as he walked through the floodlit room. Uniforms were bustling around while forensic officials scoured the room for evidence. Then, in a clearing in the center of the room, stood Lance, Gwen, Merlin, who was practically bouncing up and down with pride, Leon, Percival, and Mithian in a circle. Gwaine, Arthur could only assume, was at their feet, inspecting whatever they were all huddled around.

Surely enough, once Arthur approached, he saw Gwaine crouched next to a puddle of thick red. There was a photograph of Mordred Barkleyin the center of the ooze. However, white scratches and tears obstructed the face in the picture. Gwaine was using tweezers to pick the photo up, and they all watched as the backside dripped with blood, falling back into the puddle. He bagged the photo for evidence.

"Make sure we dust that for prints," Gwen was saying.

Arthur bent down next to Gwaine, unpacking his kit and snapping on a pair of white rubber gloves.

"The blood looks fresh," he said, taking a sample of it in a vial. "It hasn't been here for more than twelve hours."

"Twelve?" Lance repeated in shock. "But the coroner put Barkley's time of death at three days ago."

"You don't suppose it's someone else's blood?" Leon offered. "Perhaps a new victim?"

Arthur shook his head, smirking up at him. "I said it looks fresh," he said, "but it isn't. Look—" He pointed a white finger down at the puddle. "It isn't clotting. It's been preserved. When we take this sample back to the lab, I'll bet you anything it's Barkley's."

"You're sure?" Gwen inquired, and Arthur didn't take it too personally.

"Blood never lies," he answered.

"The killer is saving blood? How?" Merlin asked.

"The wrists are always cut pretty deep," Gwaine said with a shrug. "Could be getting it from there. It would be the fastest way."

Arthur nodded his head, agreeing. That's how he would go about it, anyway.

"Okay, but," Merlin said again, "Barkley was killed three days ago, but you said the blood was only here for twelve hours. So . . . that must mean the killer didn't leave this here when he killed Barkley. He came back."

"Looks like it," Arthur said.

"Well, that's sick!" Merlin shouted, disgusted. "Why would he do that? So we could find it?"

To leave me another clue, Arthur thought.

However, he shook his head and said, "I don't know," as he repacked his bag and stood up.

A sudden silence fell throughout the room, and the tiny group looked around to see a middle-aged, auburn-headed woman striding towards them. The crowd had practically parted for her. She gave off an air of the utmost authority with her head held high and her shoulders back as she treaded. She scanned the entire room in a way that reminded Arthur of a bird searching out its prey.

He had known Chief Superintendent Annis Corcoran his entire life. While Uther was on the force, she had been Chief Inspector, but she worked her way up the ranks shortly. She had also been one of Uther's oldest and best friends. Arthur had many memories of her coming over for dinner or poring over a case with Uther in the living room late into the night while Arthur eavesdropped on their murmurings and theorizing from the top of the stairs.

"We'd better go catch her up to speed," Gwen told Lance, and the two braced themselves before leaving the group and meeting her half way. Leon and Percival, too, wandered off.

Merlin looked around the arcade, seeming to recall a fond memory. "God, do you remember this place?" he asked Arthur. "Your dad used to take us here all the time."

At once, Arthur knew why the room was so familiar. As a child, he always hated the place—the loud sounds, the noisy kids running about uncontrollably, the overwhelming smell of burnt pizza. However, Uther forced him to go, saying it would help Arthur learn to fit in with his peers. Young boys, after all, played in arcades. Still, Uther always cautioned Arthur away from the more violent games.

"Yeah, I do," Arthur answered, remembering the flashing lights and buzzing sounds of the room in its prime. He also remembered something else: "You always kicked my ass on that dancing game, do you remember?"

Merlin's cheekbones and ears turned a bright shade of pink at this, and he cast an embarrassed look at Gwaine, who was laughing uproariously.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Merlin tried to save face, looking down at his shoes, but Gwaine continued to laugh. Arthur didn't realize what he said was so funny.

"Oh, come on, Merlin. Don't be so modest," Gwaine said. "I bet you still have a few moves left in you." He mimicked a quick dance, making Merlin flush even more.

"Yeah, and I bet you could show us a few moves yourself, Arthur," Mithian said flirtatiously, and Arthur gave her a quick smile but didn't respond. He never understood flirting; it seemed so undignified.

At his side, Merlin had gone tight-lipped and uncharacteristically silent.

"Yeah, he was alright," he told Mithian curtly.

"Oi! I bet you could show me moves I'd never dreamed of, Mith," Gwaine said, wriggling his eyebrows.

Mithian gave a snort of laughter. "Oh, sweetheart, you definitely wouldn't know how to handle it."

"Alright, everyone, listen up!" Annis' voice carried throughout the room, and quiet fell again. All eyes turned to face her. "Good job tonight, all of you, but it's not over yet. If there's a scene like this for Mordred Barkley, there's bound to be three more of the like. Get out there and find them!"

The rallying speech was over and the noise level grew once more as people began packing up. Eventually, Gwen drifted back to the group, her kind smile focused up at Merlin.

"I told the Chief this was your find," she told him, patting him on the back. "She's very impressed, Merlin. Good work."

With that, she was gone again, and Merlin couldn't wipe that beaming grin off his face.