Author's Note - Thank you for the lovely reviews. The story will probably be getting darker from here on in so you have been warned. Then again, it is a show about death and murder so its to be expected. Please review this chapter!

Tyres squealed on tarmac as Harry drew to a stop outside his apartment block and practically threw himself out of his car, knocking his knee on the door but hardly caring. His attention had been drawn to something far more important. Blue eyes widened as he saw a panda car and the remnants of a crime scene – the tent which had been erected was now being disassembled. Setting off at a run, he shoved his keys in his pocket and charged down the street. The sound of his heavy footfalls echoed in his ears as he felt his heart thump uncomfortably in his chest.

Observing the scene with quick eyes, he took in the shiny black cab which was being prepared to be hauled away and the dark stain on the pavement which had yet to be scrubbed away. This was obviously a murder investigation and, with a horrible sinking feeling, he realised which one it probably was. Judging by the fact they were clearing away, it meant that the pathologist had already been and gone and that the body would be back at the morgue. They'd only had two bodies today. The girl. And the taxi driver. But why on earth had Leo not mentioned that the murder had taken place in his street?

Raking panicked hands through his hair, Harry heard alarm bells going off in his head. He needed to get back to the Lab.

As he sprinted back to the car, he contemplated calling Leo but there was no point, he would be at the university in a few minutes and then he could explain things there. What he couldn't get over was the fact that there had been a murder in his street and that he had let Nikki leave his apartment alone last night to get a taxi. Leo had suggested that there was another victim alongside the cab driver. Although Harry dreaded to think it, he knew there was an awfully high chance that it could be the female pathogolist.

"Oh God, no," he whispered to himself as he sped through the streets of London. He almost jumped a red traffic light but managed to stop himself just in time which was a good thing as there was a police car coming in the other direction. Trying to breathe slowly and calmly, Harry blew into his cheeks and counted to ten. "Come one, Harry," he said, "Keep it together. You're probably just jumping to conclusions."

Turning into the forensic building's car park, he skidded into a space and then climbed out of his vehicle, almost forgetting to lock it as he strode towards the main doors. His only thought was to find Leo.

The glass doors slid open for him as he snapped his card through the slot and then he hurried into their work area, looking into Leo's office. His boss wasn't there. Then where the hell was he? Harry gritted his teeth and kept himself from cursing in frustration; there was no need to lose his temper right now. Barrelling into the changing rooms, he found Asif, one of the technicians.

"Where's Leo?" he barked, forcefully, catching the other man's arm.

Spinning round in surprise, Asif looked into his stormy eyes; perplexed. "He's in the conference room."

"Thank you," Harry nodded and realised his vice like grip.

Like a whirlwind, he slammed out of the changing area and into the room that they used for discussing the evidence. The interactive whiteboards shone brightly on the walls, showing images of the gunshot wound that Harry had seen earlier and several blood spatters on the brown headrest. The young pathologist felt vaguely nauseous as his attention was brought to the unexplained extra blood smeared on the tarmac. He had to swallow fiercely and control himself.

Leo looked up when his colleague charged into the well lit room and smiled at him.

"Hello, Harry, back already? How was Nikki?" The older pathologist paused when he saw the chalk white colour of his friend's face. He frowned, immediately concerned. "Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry shook his head unable to answer that particular question. "Leo, when would you say your man was killed?"

Stepping towards his ill looking friend, the silver haired man held out a reassuring hand. "Last night. Around midnight I would say, judging from the oxidised blood. But Harry, what's this got to do with anything? Tell me what's wrong!"

"Its…." The pathologist halted, unable to form words in his constricted throat. He tried again. "It's Nikki. She's not at home and hasn't been there since last night and she left my house around…..midnight when she went to get a taxi. Leo! Why didn't you tell me the murder was in my road?!"

Leo's face was a mask of shock and he didn't even reply. His jaw hung slack and his eyes were shining with horror. He looked like one of those Greek characters from tragedies, Harry dimly thought. However, he couldn't help feel in even worse when he realised that his boss had put together exactly the same clues as him. It made everything seem even more real.

"The blood work came back," Leo said, hoarsely, "The chromosomes in the DNA show the blood was from a woman but I never even thought….good god…."

He collapsed in a chair, placing his elbows on his knees and staring at the carpeted floor in complete dismay. His rough palms were cupped over his mouth as if he was trying not to utter a distressed sound or, perhaps, he was trying not to be sick like Harry.

"The girl I brought in this morning…." the darker haired man said, softly, "She had the same wounds as the others: London's Lost Girls. That meant he needed another to replace her….Jesus, Leo, you don't think?"

The professor didn't reply.


Everything was hot. It was like being in a sauna but even worse – an oven. Rivulets of perspirations dribbled down heated skin, mingling with the grime and smudges of mascara. Liquid collected in the hollow of her collar bone, salty and warm. A metallic tang hung in the air and clung to chapped lips – she could taste her own blood.

Such an unfamiliar coppery flavour woke her up and Nikki Alexander opened her eyes only to find herself in almost complete darkness. Through the dimness she couldn't see anything except a few unrecognisable shadows and outlines. Hearing her breath come in quick, sharp breaths she tried to move but found that she was tethered to something by a binding round her wrists. The chink of metal told her they were handcuffs.

The handcuffs were hot, burning her skin; blistering at their searing touch. She let out a gasp of pain but that pain was overwhelmed by a greater agony which suddenly made itself known on her temple. Reaching up a tiny way - because of her restraints - with shaking fingers, she felt the stickiness of blood and an unpleasantly large swelling. The skin had split and felt strange beneath her delicate touch. It was too raw and exposed. Letting out a small whimper, she tried to ignore the hurt of her body and focus on why the world around her was so hot. Her back felt like it was on fire.

It was then that she realised that she was sitting beside a radiator. The other ends of her handcuffs were connected to the pipes at the side of it and she couldn't move away from it. Such sweltering heat was horrendous and made her feel faint and sick, especially as she couldn't get away from it.

She tugged ferociously against her restraints and arched her body away from the metal heater but it didn't have any effect. She couldn't escape the cuffs around her slender wrists either – they were conducting heat from the radiator and roasting her flesh.

Fighting the urge to scream in pain and frustration, Nikki tried to remember what happened to her. It was difficult as the memories seemed so cloudy as she sifted through them in her head. It was like swimming through silt; blinding. Vaguely, she recalled spending the evening at Harry's house but even that was through a haze of alcohol so that wasn't very clear. Then she remembered going home and there being a dead man in the taxi with a bullet in his skull. That's when someone had hit her.

Who?

She had no idea but they seemed to have kidnapped her. A frightening thought ran through her addled brain: what did they want her for? Somehow, she knew it couldn't be anything pleasant.