She missed him, she hadn't wanted to admit it – but there it was. When work couldn't distract her he entered her mind, nervously peeking around the corner of her subconscious. She tried to push him out with reviews of files, a bottle of whiskey, even an attempt at jogging (which had failed miserably, as every scarf in the city had decided to be out on the same day jolting him back into her psyche). Every effort to remove him only assisted in creating a keener felt absence that cut through her carefully constructed emotional barrier.

The M.E she had arranged, so as to avoid Henry, was annoying. Lucas had already devised several different ways to kill him and dispose of the body. It was a little unnerving the zealousness with which he described the potential murderous acts, yet she had willingly listened to his theories, before providing obligatory chastisement.

She had left work early, yet another theory involving consuming boiled body parts to hide evidence had brought her to a breaking point. Of course Henry had been absent though out this discussion. Lucas mentioned that he had been in earlier, though had barely spoken and retreated to his office. Around 2pm Lucas advised that Henry had excused himself and left the building, he had not been not heard from again.

Peering over at the clock next to her bed, she watched as the hands struggled to move forward. It was well after midnight. She lay upon her bed, tracing small cracks in the ceiling with her eyes, trying hard to back track recent events to where it had all fallen apart.

Henry had come to her, ridiculously drunk, on the one-year anniversary of Sean's death. Not only had he staggered through her door, dripped over her floor, he had made absurd claims of not being able to die. Claims made whilst wrapped in her dead husbands clothing. Surely it was only reasonable that she had thrown him out. Of course Henry would not have known the date, she hadn't shared it with anyone – except for Hanson who had been at the office on the day of the call. She hadn't technically lied, therefore maintaining higher moral ground than Henry – though she had not disclosed all of the truth. "I am not the one under scrutiny here", she reminded herself.

She recalled seeing Abe struggle to help Henry down the stairs, especially when he had fought to try and come back inside. The scene was pathetic, his pleading which had almost broken her resolve, but then how could she back down. He had lied to her, and in the cruellest possible way. It caused her brain to ache, an ache which had refused to leave her body, during the days that followed.

She rolled over to face the clock again; somehow the hands had dragged themselves to 3.45am. Rubbing her eyes, she considered her options of attempting to sleep, or just give into the insomnia, which had made itself her companion. Tomorrow, she meant today she was not rostered on to work – the absence of commitment made up her mind.

"Damn it", groaning she sat up, lumbered towards her wardrobe, grabbing jeans and jumper. Shrugging into her winter coat she made her way to the front door. It was nearly 4am on a cold New York evening. "What are you doing Jo?" she muttered to herself, whilst checking her gun concealed under multiple layers. She was not a complete idiot and though her area was considered relatively safe there were known to be the odd crazy person wandering around the streets in the early hours of morning. "Henry Morgan", she said his name as an accusation as she made her way down her stairs. "You frustrating, lying, bastard", she tightened her coat against the cold "why the fuck does it matter to me so much that you aren't here".

An hour later she found herself hunched over a coffee at the front doors of the local library, recently opened 24 hours a day to accommodate the University exam period. It had been quite some time since she had meandered through walls of books, except for, of course, with Henry – always with Henry recently. Not really sure what she was looking for, she casually strolled over to a young attendant, whose head was firmly placed in the sleeping position at his desk.

"Ummm…" she cleared her throat and tried again "Umm excuse me. Can you help me?"

"What?" he lifted his face to look at her, eyes half shut against the neon lights.

"Big night?" she mused

"We have to volunteer, its part of our Uni requirements", the young man was talking more to the desk than to Jo "I haven't been home, I think I'm dead".

"Oh ..Ok really big night then. Look I'm not sure what I'm actually looking for"

"Are any of us?" he responded – Jo was fast realising that the conversation was not going anywhere fast.

"Sure, probably not – anyways….if someone wanted to know more about, I don't know, maybe psychological conditions, where might they look"

He waved in the general direction towards the back of the room.

"Thanks for that, you've been help….well you …well I hope you get some sleep", he responded with a gentle snore.

She wandered along the shelves, noting how various homeless persons and what appeared to be lovers, or at least amorous recent aquaintances, had made the most of the establishment. "Really", she thought, gazing a one young couple obviously making the most of the Latin section "that's just wrong", though she maintained viewing for several more seconds until the couple realised they were being watched and moved to Great Architecture of the 18th Century.

Jo had studied Psychology briefly at University; she had not taken it further than her undergraduate studies. She had thought that it would help her with profiling in her later years as a police officer.

"Lets see ….Psychology… in sport, motivational psychology, psychoanalysis ..uh ha Delusional Disorder in Psychology" Pulling the book down from the shelf, she settled into one of the larger lounge chairs to the side.

"Let see if you really are crazy Dr Morgan" she began to thumb through the pages.