Disclaimer I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.

Notes Fourth chapter: thank you very much for the reviews for the previous chapters, please continue - still love to know what you think! All very welcome, and always replied to. Thank you also to everyone who has this on alert.

Thanks to sarramaks for a read through and fact check

Lost Letters: Chapter 4

"You got yourself a young man then, girl?" The old lady opened the conversation with Lindsay, who interpreted a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. She could not help but think that those eyes resembled beads of amber, as they caught a wink of light from the early afternoon sun. Sun that filtered in through dusty windows, and cast lacy patterns over the room and its many contents.

Lindsay shifted slightly in her seat, trying to avoid what felt to be a loose spring underneath; and refused to look at the young detective accompanying her, who failed to conceal a smirk.

There seemed to be no avoidance of the old lady's question; something about her gaze drew out answers and the CSI replied, "Well, yes, there is, someone. A young man, yes, ah, but, Mrs Adams, that's not really… Can you tell us what exactly happened earlier? Then Detective Markham and I can make a start on the investigation and I can check for fingerprints and DNA, and so on..."

Oh, smoothly done, Lindsay…

The old lady chortled and then twinkled at Markham, who had remained standing, "And what about a good looking young man like yourself, huh? Don't you be telling me you ain't got a pretty young lady." She pulled a pipe out from her apron and the amber eyes glittered, "Or a handsome young man is it too?"

Lindsay's eyebrows quirked and Markham was stunned into silence, the smirk vanishing from his face. Mrs Adams grinned delightedly, "Oh don't look like that, boy. I'm not so behind the times. Each to his or her own. So, you got yourself someone?"

Lindsay grinned at the young man as he shifted his feet, dug his hands into his pockets and looked anywhere but at her, "Young man, I uh, got a young man. In a manner of speaking. That is, we're kind of, but we're well, uh... So, you remember what you saw then, Mrs Adams?"

Her mirth spilled over into a laugh as rich as old sherry, "I do indeed. I may be old in years and body, but I ain't old in mind, boy. Nothing wrong with my memory. Happened as I told it when I phoned your people - I'd been looking for my Joshua…"

"Joshua?" Lindsay couldn't help interrupting, and received a sharp glare from the old lady, "Sorry…"

Mrs Adams harrumphed, "Don't appreciate being interrupted girl, but appreciate the apology. Joshua is my young man. Guess he ain't so young now though, got nearly as many years on his fur as I have."

Lindsay felt reality slipping away from her, and the question was out of her mouth before she could stop it, "Fur?"

The answer came stalking into the room, head high, tail higher. Markham jumped back a few steps, "Whoa! A cat? Joshua is a cat? Mrs Adams, ma'am, you have my apologies, but I got to tell you, I got allergies and cats ain't good for me…" Lindsay was immediately reminded of someone she knew well, and wondered if pet allergy was a trait amongst the male detectives in robbery as well as homicide.

The full-beam glare of Mrs Adams's eyes was focused on Markham as his words stumbled out, "…Even such a fine and handsome cat as, uh, Joshua. Sorry, you're going to have to excuse me for a moment."

He fled from the room, and Lindsay heard the sound of violent sneezing and coughing. She gave Mrs Adams a pained smile. A few moments later and a red-eyed and nosed Markham reappeared, a handkerchief almost the size of a table cloth in his hands. Mrs Adams grumbled herself up out of the velvet covered armchair that she was holding court in, and scooped up her cat who suffered the action with a mew of protest. She carried him through the front door and closed him out in the basement yard.

"There now, he's exiled. So you can sit yourself down, and listen properly to what I got to tell you."

"I'm all ears." Markham eased his long and skinny legs into a low and narrow armchair and sat folded almost in half, his notebook perched on his knees. Lindsay looked away, and tried to regain her composure; Markham, in a light grey suit, with unruly black hair and an aquiline nose, reminded her suddenly of a crane fly, and she was trying desperately to banish the image from her mind before an inappropriate burst of laughter escaped her.

This was one of the most interesting calls she had been on in some time. An unusual burglary in Harlem, called in by the tiniest old lady she had ever met. Tiny in stature, however, as they discovered within minutes of their arrival, most definitely did not mean tiny in spirit and personality. She required not deference or sympathy, but respect; and was, Lindsay realised, the kind of woman who had lived on the harder side of life, and had no doubt won battles that would have defeated many. It struck anger into her that such a lady had suffered the ignominy of an attempted burglary and assault, and Mrs Adams received both Lindsay's and Markham's undivided respect and attention.

The suspect had knocked the old lady over and threatened her with a knife, hence Lindsay's presence: Mac had directed her there on the way out to his scene with Stella and Danny. There also seemed to be some mystery over what exactly had been stolen, and why. She was impatient to know more, but realised that the story would tell itself, and there would be no rushing the storyteller. Lindsay asked her now gently, "You said you surprised someone?"

"That I did. Only left my courtyard for no more than ten minutes I reckon it to be. Heard noises from upstairs, coming from Rita's apartment, and knew that Joshua, the old devil, had snuck his way in there. Silly girl had left her window open - got no air con at the moment - and he'd made his way in. Gets himself in all right, but come to getting out again, and he's helpless. Getting older now's his trouble. Comes to us all. Well then, I climbed up the stairs and let myself into her place."

The question must have been obvious in Lindsay's expression, as the old lady nodded, "Yes, I got a key to her apartment, and she got one to mine. We keep an eye out for each other, as it should be. Girl's a good neighbour to an old lady, and she and Joshua have an understanding. He's in and out of her place almost as much as he is his own." She paused for a moment, and frowned at a clock over the front door, ticking as wearily as the day felt.

"Been out a good while today, Rita, went to mail a bunch of letters." She lifted her hands, "But expect she's met up with a group of her acquaintances; seems to have a whole bunch of 'em, always got people knocking at her door." Lindsay nodded in understanding, but felt frustration at the removal of a potential witness that this meant. However, they could always, if necessary, arrange another visit to the absent Rita.

Mrs Adams continued, "So anyways, there he was as expected, knocking over dishes off of her sink. I scolded him good and proper and shooed him out. Then made my way back down the steps to find a boy sneaking his way out of my own front door. I yelled out of course, and he shoots up the steps towards me as if a pack of demons were after him." She paused for a moment, and closed her eyes, "Shoved past me, knocked me flying and when I tried to get up, I found a knife inches from my face. Thought that was my last moment on earth, and the good Lord had decided to call me up right there and then, but something stopped him. He vaulted right up over the railings and was off barrelling down the street. No way I could've caught him."

"Certainly not!" Lindsay exclaimed, and then hastily added, "Not that I don't think you're capable, Mrs Adams, but we'd never recommend chasing after a suspect yourself - especially one that was armed, and a panicked suspect is always a dangerous thing for anyone to tackle."

"You get a good look at him?" She felt a twinge of sympathy for Markham, nasal in tone, and dabbing at his nose and eyes.

"A fair look. Boy was younger than you, early twenties I'd say. Hair spiked up all over his head, and blonde that looked bleached to me. Wearing a white shirt and dark pants. Seemed to have a lot of chains and such around his neck. That's about all I can tell you on that, he was off too quick for me to see much more. And the knife kind of took my attention." She finished regretfully, and twisted her gnarled, brown hands together.

"No, no, that's very helpful, you did a good job there, Mrs Adams. It's more than we often get." Lindsay reassured her as Markham took down the details.

"Have you established what was taken, ma'am?" Markham asked next. Lindsay smiled to herself as she noted also that his cheeks were still somewhat pinker than normal. He ran a finger round his collar, and she wondered if he was regretting the suit and tie. Another similarity to a certain homicide detective she decided, and wondered idly if he and Flack traded wardrobe tips as well as allergy medications.

"He took no money or what you'd ordinarily call valuables if that's what you're meaning. I checked, and my purse ain't missing, neither's my ma's and grand mamma's pearl necklaces."

"But he did take something? Something that was valuable to you?" Lindsay prompted, and watched the old lady sag a little into the sun-faded red velvet, her face drooping.

"Yes. Yes, he did. He took something precious, and I'm finding that hard to forgive. He carried off a box of my letters. Kept 'em inside my closet, so I reckon he knew where to look for 'em. And I know what you might be thinking, girl. Old lady, being sentimental about a box full of letters, maybe from an old long-lost sweetheart. Well, part of that would be right, but only part."

The pipe that had been resting in Mrs Adam's lap was now taken up, and hands that trembled only a little, fumbled and produced a packet of tobacco from her apron.

Lindsay felt the seat she was perched on the edge, of begin to prickle against the back of her knees, and a sting of perspiration in the creases of her skin. The window vent turned listlessly; the air inside the cluttered apartment was still and heavy, "The letters were important, Mrs Adams?"

Eyes that had been amber now gleamed like tiger's eye gems, "Why else do you think I insisted on you coming out? Those letters girl, are more important than you can imagine. There are lives inside those words and papers; and deaths if they're not found."

Silence swallowed Lindsay's voice.

………………………………...

20th August

Still hot. I'm getting kind of sick of waking up in the morning and seeing the sun, I'm telling you. I guess I shouldn't complain though. The cold doesn't suit me either, and New York in winter is not something to be taken lightly. I'm complaining then as well, of the cold and my windows freezing up on the inside. But the snow though; I never get tired of that. Everything still and white and smothered. It covers all the ugliness, kind of hides it away. Until it melts that is. You can't hide anything then. There's nothing to hide the ugliness this time of year either…

………………………………...

Central Park:

Ripples glided over the surface of the lake, almost unnoticed in the breathless afternoon. The hottest, highest point of the day. Here in the park, in the middle of the lake, time was at a standstill. Boats and their cargoes seemed to slide along outside of normal temporal lines, and the water drew them into its own dimensions.

A couple drifting with no other previous thoughts than themselves, passed under a bridge and found themselves away from the main body of water and on a collision course with the overhung bank. They started up, and grabbed for forgotten oars. But something else had taken on the shape of the water and was distorting the serenity of the mirror they had been admiring each other in. White and gleaming, raised with no hope of any Excalibur to be flung its way, a hand rose above the surface, beckoning helplessly in the sway of the wake. Oars clattered against wood, and clunked into the water, and a scream ripped through the tranquillity.

………………………………...

Markham followed her closely, carrying two boxes of letters that Mrs Adams had surrendered reluctantly, and only after extorting promises from Lindsay that she hoped she would be able to keep regarding their swift return. Lindsay herself balanced another two under one arm whilst she rummaged for her car keys, reminding herself at the same time that as soon as she got back to the lab, she needed to replace the battery in her radio. She felt incomplete without it, and Markham, to her added mortification, had left his in his car; admitting this with a discomfited expression himself as they had met at Mrs Adams's front door.

"You think the old lady's for real?" Markham asked, recovered now from his streaming eyes and nose. He grabbed and saved one of her boxes as it wobbled precariously, "All she was saying about what's in here?"

"I don't know." Lindsay replied, her eyes inside her purse, "Really I don't know what to think, yet. But I'm not going to be the one that ignores a warning like that. I'm going to have to discuss this with Mac, Stella too, and make a start on everything we found." She sighed and ducked her head, "Not that I found much; a couple of partials on the door frame was as good as it got, but whatever's in these boxes will hopefully give us more of a clue…"

Still rooting about in the depths of a purse that seemed to have swallowed her keys, Lindsay stepped off the kerb and onto the street. The next thing she knew, there was a rush of air and metal millimetres from her body, and Markham's hand was yanking her back against the side of her car.

"What the hell…?" She gasped, and stared away down the street at the disappearing vehicle that had almost flattened her. Too stunned to notice much more than it being a black SUV, the same make as they used themselves, she turned on less than solid legs to Markham, whose face was as pale as her own felt, "What the hell were they doing? You get a better look at the driver, or the licence plate than I did? I caught 475 and an E, missed the last two letters for certain, think it was a P and an I." She was disappointed with herself, for failing to notice the details.

Markham shook his head, "For a detective, I'm embarrassed to say this, but no, I didn't, same as you, but yeah, think the last letter was an I. Looked like a guy driving, black SUV, no more than that. I was kind of occupied with preventing you from becoming another traffic statistic. You okay?"

Taking a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and feeling her heart begin to slow its battering against her ribs, Lindsay was able to reply cautiously, "Yeah, yeah, I'm good. I think. Thank you, guess I should have looked more carefully where I was going hey?"

But Markham shook his head, and stared away in the direction the vehicle had vanished amongst the slower-moving traffic, "No, wasn't your fault. Guy swerved the wheel, that was as much as I saw, don't think it was aimed at you particularly, guess he was avoiding something, but he veered right over."

Lindsay stared at her hands and could not stop them shaking. Too close. If she had chosen the second earlier to step out, or if Markham had chosen a second later to grab hold of her, then she would not be standing where she was now. Seconds was all it took for lives to change or disappear. The sun burning the back of her neck and head was suddenly more welcome, and the sidewalk's heat rising from under her feet, a more solid comfort than it had been moments before.

"Sure you're okay, Detective Monroe?"

She turned with a smile to Markham's concerned features, "Really, I'm fine, thank you. Just - just a little shaken I guess."

"Think we ought to call it in?"

For a moment Lindsay hesitated; something stirred a murmur in the back of her mind, something that she knew she should know. Something about the car. But she couldn't define it and mould it into a substantial answer, and so she replied to Markham with a shake of her head, "No, no, I don't think we need to. It was probably just an accident; they slipped, or swerved to avoid something as you say. And fast as they were going, I don't think it was breaking the limit. I'm okay, no one was hurt."

Markham nodded, and Lindsay gave him an insubstantial smile; still not entirely convinced by her own arguments, but wanting suddenly to return to the lab and begin what she found security in; investigation of the evidence. In this case, evidence contained in the four cardboard boxes of correspondence they held.

With few further words, only the perfunctory ones necessary for continuation of the case, they parted: Markham striding down the street to his own car, and Lindsay turning off back into the city in hers. She pulled into the traffic and became just another amongst many.

Sorry to keep you hanging on for the fate of certain characters… Reviews help me write more, please send some! Hope to get the next chapter up in a couple of days. Thanks, Lily x