A/N: Beware of red herrings! Nothing is ever as straight-forward as it seems - such is life.

Thank you all for your reviews :)

"Go and rest," she said quietly. "Nikki will need you to be on top form tomorrow."

Harry's heart gave a little lurch as Nikki's face lit up when she saw him. "Hello, beautiful."

She rolled her eyes. "You are such a flirt, Harry Cunningham," she said with a smile. "I must look a mess."

"You're alive, though," he said. "And in this case at least, life is beauty, where I'm concerned."

She reached out to take his hand, understanding what he meant. "I'm glad you're here."

"Mm. You remembered my surname," he pointed out. "Without being told."

She looked vaguely surprised. "So I did… I didn't even think about it…"

"Something triggered it, then," smiled Rosemary, joining them. "How are you feeling this morning, Nikki?"

"Much better, thank you."

"You look better, too," approved Rosemary, glancing at Harry.

"Leo took me home to Janet's tender mercies," he grinned. "I spent yesterday evening being well and truly mothered."

"Hmm. You looked as though you needed it," she said, with a wry smile. "Now then… what did Harry say that triggered you remembering his surname?"

Nikki rolled her eyes. "I was telling him off for flirting with me."

"Happens a lot, does it?" she asked, a twinkle in her eye. She'd rarely seen a best friend as devoted as Harry, and strongly suspected there was more to it than met the eye.

"Oh, he's always flirting with me," she laughed.

"You remember that, then," encouraged Rosemary. "And you always tell him off for it?"

"Not always."

"Most of the time," interjected Harry ruefully. "Usually with some sort of line like that."

Rosemary smiled, noting various things down. "Okay. So, what else do you remember about Harry? Do you remember how you met, for example?"

She frowned. "I… can't… quite…" she shook her head. "Something about a desk."

Rosemary sent a questioning glance to Harry. "She left her bones all over my desk. Well, not her bones, obviously, I meant the ones she was working on," he added hastily.

"Oh… yes, I remember! I gate-crashed the mortuary," she said with a sudden laugh. "And… there was a hockey stick."

"There was," Harry confirmed to Rosemary.

"Tell me about the hockey stick," she said. "That sounds unlikely for a pathologist. Why did you need a hockey stick?"

She thought. "I don't know. I don't remember that bit."

"Can you remember what it looked like? Or what you were doing with it?"

"I was trying to hit a target with it. I don't remember why. I can't remember what it looked like."

She nodded. "Okay." She was about to continue, when Nikki looked suddenly thoughtful.

"Wait a minute. I've seen a hockey stick recently. Where, though? Where would I have seen a hockey stick?"

"Do you play hockey, maybe?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Do I?" she asked Harry.

He shook his head. "You said you used to be good at it at school, but in the six years I've known you, I've only seen you with a hockey stick that once."

"But… I have seen one recently," she said bewildered.

Rosemary nodded. "Can you describe it to me? Or anything else about it?"

"I think it had blue webbing round the handle," she said. "It seemed out of place."

"Okay. Can you see the place it was in?"

Nikki sighed. "It was dark. It seemed familiar, though."

"The place was familiar?"

"Yes… no… the hockey stick…" she frowned. "They were both familiar."

Harry sat upright, suddenly alert. "I don't recall having seen the hockey stick for a while," he said. "Was someone holding it?"

She shook her head, then smiled. "No, I remember. I found it in one of the cupboards in the lab. Leo must have put it there."

He slumped back in his chair; he'd hoped that might have solved the mystery of what had inflicted so much damage to Nikki's head – except for the fact that it would have made it basically an inside job, someone they worked with, and he really couldn't see that happening – especially when she'd been attacked on her own front doorstep.

Rosemary gave him an understanding smile. "Well, at least Harry knows where to find his hockey stick now," she said cheerfully.

"Small comfort," he muttered to himself. He wanted to find whoever had done this to Nikki, and, for preference, string him or her up by the ankles for the crows.

Rosemary gave him an almost imperceptible shake of the head. "Now, then. We were talking about Groenveld last night. Do you remember anything more? Someone from your childhood, maybe? A friend of your mother's or father's?"

Nikki's face suddenly seemed hollow. "My mother…" she whispered. "My mother's dead…"

Harry closed his eyes, swallowing with pain. Reaching out, he took her hand. He didn't trust himself to say anything.

Rosemary gave her a sympathetic look. "Do you remember what happened, Nikki? Would you like to talk about it?"

"She was ill," she said, a far-away look on her face. "She had cancer. She lost all her hair, her beautiful hair…" she blinked away a few tears. "She told me I had to be a brave girl, and that she loved me, and she'd always be watching over me." She gave a tired smile. "She knew she was dying. She'd arranged for me to go and live with my dad in England…"

"That's something you remember clearly," commended Rosemary. "What was she like, your mother?"

"Beautiful," she said immediately. "She looked like an angel."

"Like you, then," smiled Rosemary. "Do you take after her?"

"I hope so."

Harry squeezed her hand. "What was her name?"

Nikki thought for a moment. "Mia," she said finally. "Mia Groenveld."