MALICIOUS INTENT

Chapter Four

"You think I should be scared of - what? A poem?" Danny grinned at his boss, expecting Mac to share the joke. When that didn't happen, he shook his head, unsettled. "You're not kidding, are you? Okay, explain it to me. I'm listening."

Adam stood between them, gazing from one man to the other. Danny's reaction was not what he had predicted. Such hateful words, and all he could do was laugh? Not for the first time, Adam wished he had even a portion of his colleague's self-confidence.

Closing the door to the Questioned Documents Lab, Mac turned back to Danny. "What happened to Stella yesterday may not have been an accident after all," he said grimly. "Show him the first letter, Adam."

Reluctantly, the lab rat stepped aside. Danny moved in and began to read, mouthing the words as his eyes flicked back and forth. When he had finished, he gave a low whistle.

"That's just plain nasty. What kind of coward writes dirt like that and sends it to other people? Has Stella seen this?"

"No." Adam shook his head with a violent motion. Danny stared at him in astonishment.

"You didn't show her?"

"Would you?" the lab rat demanded. "If it was just the letter, I mean? How was I s'posed to know that she would get hurt?" Except that I should have done, somehow. The guilt continued to eat away at him - Stella's pale face peering over the desk - but he kept it to himself.

Thinking about it, Danny saw his point. "Calm down," he said. "You're right, I suppose. The point is, are we going to tell her now?"

"No, Danny," Mac insisted firmly. "The point is, how do we stop something equally nasty happening to you?" He tilted his head and moved his focus to Adam. "What have you found so far?"

The lab rat pulled a gloomy face. He hated letting Mac down. But really, whoever had written these letters knew exactly what they were doing. "Not much, I'm afraid. No fingerprints, or epithelials - other than mine, of course - so our 'poet' must have known to wear gloves. The paper's expensive, but sold in stores all over the city - not to mention on the internet. No way to track down who bought it. As for the ink in our poisoned pen - high end, but also readily available." Adam sighed. "The penmanship is skilful. Pure calligraphy, in fact, which means that every letter is perfect. Nothing stands out, okay, and without a reference sample..." He tailed off in frustration, smacking the side of his leg with his fist.

"I understand." Disappointment lurked behind Mac's words, but he gave the lab rat a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Adam. They may be clever - but you're determined. And I have faith that you'll find something."

"What about Stella's chair?" asked Danny. "Did anyone take a look at that?"

"It's already been replaced. I'd like you to track it down without arousing suspicion. We need to keep this whole thing low key - for Stella's sake, and for yours."

Danny shrugged. "I'm not worried. Rigging someone's chair to collapse is just petty. I doubt this creep has the balls to do something truly dangerous. What about Adam?"

"What about me?" The lab rat twitched.

Both men turned and stared at him. "You think he could be a target too?" Mac said slowly.

"Why are the letters coming to him? This person has to be seriously unhinged. What if they've taken some kind of sick fancy to him?"

Adam frowned, his temper rising with his anxiety. "It always comes down to that with you, doesn't it, Danny? Am I such a joke to you? A ridiculous clown, who can't get a date unless it's with another geek, or a psychopath?"

"Adam!" Mac's voice rang out. "That's enough."

Blushing to the roots of his hair, the lab rat regretted his words as soon as they had left his mouth. But he couldn't take them back. He could only apologise - and he did so in a state of utter confusion and distress.

"Oh... oh God. I'm sorry, Danny - I didn't mean it. I'm just tired, okay? That must be it, cos I didn't sleep a wink last night... Not that I'm making excuses, but really - you're not too mad at me, are you...?" His woebegone face was so comical that Danny let out a friendly chuckle.

"Don't be an idiot, Adam. You think my mouth never runs away from me? 'Ill-mannered' - that's me, all right." He pulled a face. "Maybe our friend has a point..."

"Don't say that." Mac moved in front of the letters, blocking them from view. "If you let the words take hold, they'll torture you. Don't give them that power. If you do, he's won."

"He or she," Adam reminded them. "There's no gender bias for spite."

"If my 'secret love' theory turns out to be correct, you'd better hope it's a girl," quipped Danny - but the wink he gave to Adam was full of warmth and, this time, the lab rat saw the joke for what it was.

"Hehehe," he mocked, in a fine imitation of Danny's laugh.

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Maintenance had its own set of rooms down the corridor from Autopsy. As soon as the budget crisis had reared its ugly head, Sinclair and his financial lackeys had whittled down the janitorial staff until there were only four employees left - two for the day shift and two for the nights. When Danny knocked on the door, it was the day shift supervisor who answered promptly. Supervisor of one, sighed Danny, taking in the guy's pristine appearance. Unusual for a janitor. Even his coveralls had creases ironed into the legs. The young man stared back, full of self-possession, waiting for Danny to speak.

"Can I come in?" he asked at last. "Danny," he added, by way of a late introduction. "Messer. I'm one of the CSIs here."

"I know who you are," said the man. His voice was cultured, and controlled.

Danny slipped past him - and rocked on his heels as he gazed around the workshop. The place was immaculate, a shrine to cleanliness. Every rack of tools was loaded according to size and purpose. Storage bins were lined up so that items could be sorted before disposal or recycling. Someone's printer had been working overtime, making snippy little posters to adorn the walls, and labels for the containers. The white floor gleamed, and a strong scent of pine filled the room. "This your work?" asked Danny, full of confused admiration.

"It is." The janitor's voice was proud.

"Then I'm pretty sure you'll be able to help me." Danny peered down at the man's breast pocket and quirked his eyebrow. "Marley. That a first name, or a last name?"

"Nickname, actually." Checking his watch, the man tried not to look impatient. "What can I do for you, Mr. Messer?"

"Detective, actually." Sensing Marley's thinly veiled distaste, the CSI dropped his friendly act and got straight down to business. "I'm looking for a chair."

"Then may I politely suggest that you're in the wrong place? Try requisitions. Or a furniture store."

Danny's hackles rose further.

"No. Not a new chair. An old one. From Stella Bonasera's office. It broke yesterday, and I'd like to take a look at it."

"Why? Think you can fix it?"

Keep a low profile, Danny told himself urgently. Don't get mad... With Mac Taylor frowning inside his head, he managed to rein in his temper.

"It was her favourite chair, okay? I promised her I'd take a look. You know how sentimental girls can be..." Trying to form a bond between them, he winked at the man, who pulled a face. But clearly, he'd hit a nerve.

"I suppose..." said Marley. Relenting at last, he ducked into a nearby closet. Moments later, he returned, holding the seat and the base of Stella's chair in two separate halves. "Is this what you need?"

"Thank you," sighed Danny. "I'll score some serious points for this."

"Don't mention it." The janitor's words were polite, but his expression was stiff. Once more, he looked at his watch.

Gratefully, Danny took the hint and fled from the room, clutching his prize to his chest.

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Back in the friendly corridors of the main lab, he slowed his pace and steadied his breath - until a hand on his shoulder made him jump.

"Danny," said Sheldon, urgently. "Where have you been?"

The doctor's eager face was unusually troubled. Clearly, something was wrong. "Why? What's up?"

"Flack just arrived and he's on the warpath. He wants to see you. Danny, what the hell did you do?"

"I... nothing, I don't think..." Grammar went out of the window, as Danny searched his conscience for any possible misdemeanour. "Where is he now?"

"With Mac. They're waiting for you." Sheldon grimaced. "Want me to tag along?"

Gloomily, Danny shook his head. "That's kind of you, buddy. But no. Whatever this is, okay, I doubt you want to get involved. Besides, it's probably just a misunderstanding of some kind..." He lifted the two broken halves of the chair and thrust them at an extremely startled Sheldon. "Here - take these for me, would you? I'll pick 'em up later. If I come out alive, that is..."

Joking aside, it wasn't until he reached the door to Mac's office and saw Don pacing like a tiger that Danny really began to panic.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the glass.

"Come in," said his boss, with a frown.

And Danny entered.

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A/N: Thank you, as always, to everyone who is taking the time to follow or review this story. Want to know why Flack is so mad? Next update on Saturday! Happy guessing in the meantime...