AN: Thanks as always to my beta/gamma team of Boleyn, Elainhe, and Audrina. :)
Super-big thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed so far - thank you for taking the time to do so!

Chapter 3

The days rolled past uneventfully. Lindsay stared at her computer screen as she ran a print for Stella. Emma Mezzolo's case had pretty much hit a dead end – the lack of evidence and usable leads forced them to put the case on the back burner. It bothered her – not only had Emma been dead for three days, but now they wouldn't be able to find out who had done that to her.

The last few days had been absolutely infuriating. Lindsay hated – hated – it when they had to let cases go. She felt somewhat responsible for finding out what had happened to the victims, to help them rest in peace and bring closure to their families.

The only solace she seemed to get out of the whole thing was that things were finally starting to get back to normal with Danny. She was glad she decided to go to Mulligan's after the first day of Emma's case – it helped clear her mind, helped her feel more comfortable around Danny. It really hadn't been the same since she turned him down, if you could call it that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Danny walking into their office. "Linds, we've got a call. Another apartment building, seems we're on a roll with them this week," he joked. "Come on, I'll drive. Flack's already there."

"Sure," replied Lindsay, quickly double-checking that her kit was stocked. "Let's go."

Lindsay and Danny walked up the stairs to the floor where Flack was waiting for them. As soon as Lindsay saw the look on his face, she knew something wasn't right.

"You guys aren't going to believe this," Flack said, stepping out of the way so they could enter the victim's apartment.

Lindsay hadn't walked more than a step through the door when she stopped dead in her tracks, Danny standing completely still behind her.

"Oh my God," she whispered. In front of her was another immaculate apartment – nothing out of place, the furniture shining clean.

"There's no way," said Danny slowly, stepping in front of Lindsay and looking around. "It's not possible."

"And that's not all," said Flack, motioning towards the bedroom. "Michelle Gregor, twenty-three. She's a student at NYU. And guys," he added, "it ain't pretty."

Lindsay drew a breath as she followed Danny into the bedroom. She expected to find Michelle in a similar state as Emma, and at first glance, everything did seem to be the same. Michelle lay on her bed, eyes open, face up, with a single gunshot wound in her head, blood soaking the comforter around her. And then there was the similar stench of rotting flesh. But as Lindsay moved closer to the body, one difference blared out at her. Michelle was also wearing nothing but a white t-shirt, but instead of a vertical slit from her collarbone to her navel, instead was –

"A two?!" Lindsay exclaimed, turning to face Danny. "He's carving numbers into them?!"

"Seems like it," replied Danny, swallowing hard. "I guess the simple slit we found on Mezzolo was more than just a slit."

Lindsay squeezed her eyes shut – whoever they were dealing with was seriously twisted. Feeling her stomach lurch, she walked out of the bedroom in an attempt to get a hold of herself. Two of them. There were two of them. Two that had been left alone for days before being found, and he was numbering them! What kind of sick—

"Monroe," came Flack's voice from behind her, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Definitely the same MO," she said, trying to recover. "What do you know?" She swallowed the lump in her throat and focused on Flack.

"Gregor was a senior at NYU. Her best friend, Kathy Culkins, found her. Gregor had been planning a surprise trip to visit her boyfriend…" Flack flipped through his notebook searching for the name, "Michael Norwood, in Toronto. She had booked a flight Monday night, but never made it there. Michael didn't know she was coming, and thus didn't expect her. Her friends obviously didn't think anything of it when they didn't see her for days, since they thought she was in Toronto." Flack sighed. "But after three days of not being able to get a hold of Gregor, Norwood called Culkins, asking where his girlfriend was. Culkins said she thought she was with Norwood… Culkins has a spare key, you know, 'just in case'. She came by this morning looking for Gregor… and found this."

"God," mumbled Lindsay. "Culkins must have been pretty shook up."

"Yeah, took her awhile to get through the story, she was sobbing so hard. She's with a few other friends right now, they're all pretty upset."

"Understandably so." Lindsay could see Danny in the bedroom with a few other men who were bagging the body. "Bullet?" she asked.

"None, same as before, retrieved out of the mattress."

"Damn. Well, I'm going to process in here; hopefully it's not as much of a strikeout as last time." Lindsay sighed heavily as she pulled out what she needed. As was the case with Emma, pictures around the apartment caught her attention as she dusted for prints, except Michelle was in the majority of these pictures: a boy she assumed to be Michael, Michelle with a few other girls at an amusement park, one of Michelle and Kathy laughing on a beach front. Lindsay tore her eyes away from the pictures and focused herself on dusting the surfaces, hoping to find something, anything.

But her mind wouldn't be distracted. Both Michelle and Emma lived alone, and both had been left dead for days. The thing with Emma, though, was that she was pretty independent – didn't have many friends, really only had her job and that was it. Michelle, though, had a boyfriend and had plenty of friends, and still, she lay dead for four days before she was found – longer than Emma. Maybe if she had a roommate… Lindsay began to think, but abruptly stopped herself. No, Lindsay, no, no what-ifs, you'll just drive yourself crazy. Focus on the evidence; focus on what's in front of you. If there is anything in front of you, that is.

Danny's hand on her back startled her. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I've done a sweep of the bedroom, there's nothing there." He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched his arms in front of him. "It's the same situation as Mezzolo – apparently we're dealing with a ghost. How can you possibly catch a ghost?"

"I don't know," sighed Lindsay, turning back to the table she was dusting. "I don't know." She could feel Danny's eyes on her, but was afraid to look up at him. "Why don't you go through the rest of the house – the bathroom, the kitchen," she suggested, not taking her eyes off the table.

Danny drew a breath to say something, then exhaled, changing his mind. "Yeah, sure, I'll do the bathroom." He picked up his kit, giving Lindsay a last glance over his shoulder before disappearing through the bathroom door.

When she thought it was safe, Lindsay peeked behind her to make sure Danny was gone. She stood up and stretched, trying to control her emotions. The last thing she wanted to do was get upset at a crime scene, but something about this case… something about it was just getting under her skin - the gruesomeness of it, how these women must have felt. Did they know that they wouldn't be found for days? That no one was even out looking for them?

Lindsay grabbed her kit with considerably more force than was necessary and began tape lifting Michelle's doormat. She had no idea if she would find anything, but at this point, she wasn't willing to leave even a single stoned unturned.

Danny finished processing the bathroom at about the same time Lindsay finished with the common room. They together processed the kitchen, finding nothing outright useful. They sat in awkward silence on the way back to the lab. Images of both victims ran through Lindsay's head: the bloody numbers carved into their chests, their eyes wide open and lifeless, looks of sheer terror frozen on their faces. Danny noticed Lindsay shift uncomfortably in her seat.

"You alright?"

"We had better catch this guy, Danny," she said through a clenched jaw. "We had better…"

"We will, Lindsay," Danny said, trying to sound reassuring. "We'll go back and process everything we collected – we have two victims to compare now, so hopefully we can find some similarities and that will give us a lead."

Lindsay nodded her head. She just hoped he was right.

"You're not going to like what I have to tell you," said Hammerback solemnly as Lindsay and Danny entered the morgue.

"Let me guess," said Danny, leaning against Hammerback's table. "Through-and-through, no trace, slice in her chest inflicted pre-mortem. Exactly the same as the other vic."

"Afraid so," said Hammerback. "The only thing of interest that I found was that she fought back more than Miss Mezzolo did."

"Please tell me you got some trace, Doc," said Danny, hopeful.

"I've send what I could to Trace, but her nails were clipped and her fingertips scrubbed. So chances aren't that high, but I sent what I could get anyway."

"This guy is smart," said Danny, looking sideways at Lindsay. She nodded slowly, then looked up at Hammerback.

"Thanks Doc, let us know if you find anything else." Hammerback gave her a quick nod, and went back to combing through Michelle's hair. Lindsay stood frozen, unable to pry her eyes away.

"Lindsay, we should compare their backgrounds, see if we can find any similarities." Danny looked at her expectantly, but Lindsay didn't move. "Lindsay?"

"What? Yeah, backgrounds, right." She strode off purposefully, not waiting for Danny to follow.

"What's with her?" asked Hammerback as Lindsay pushed forcefully through the doors. Danny just glared. "Geez, sorry," mumbled Hammerback, turning his attention back to the victim, as Danny took off after Lindsay.

This case was going from bad to worse.

And Lindsay was feeling every little effect of it.