A/N: Thank you to those people who have reviewed. I love to know what you think, even if it's bad. All reviews are replied to (although it has taken a while recently).

Thank you to Lily Moonlight for the beta.

Chapter 11 – The Sun Would Have Rose

By noon, the sky had cleared of the clouds and light had managed to burn its way through onto D'Agostino Hall, letting it cast its shadows over the surrounding greenery. Flack stood in the near-empty corridors waiting for Susan Hails, the college's Student Support Service manager to emerge from her office. He hadn't been invited into her office, which narked him, given that he hadn't actually sat down since seven-thirty that morning when he had enjoyed a rushed black coffee with Jess. His mind briefly wandered into its gallery of images, finding one of his girlfriend wrapped in the white sheets of his bed. The vision softened him, and his tongue was not as sharp as it might have been when Mrs Hails emerged from the office bearing a list of names, contact details and a concerned look upon her face.

"Is this really necessary?" she said, her eyes pensive. Her words were not sharp or accusatory, simply disappointed and worried.

"I don't do anything that isn't necessary," he said, his hands in his pockets, the image of Jess now a million miles away from his mind.

She gestured to a door with a couple of comfy looking chairs outside. "Let's go in there. I'd like to talk you through these names."

He nodded, hoping that there were similar chairs inside of the room. "I don't suppose you have any coffee?" he said.

She shot him an almost motherly look. "Mama not sending to off to work properly? I think I have donuts too – Krispy Kreme."

"My day just got a whole lot better," he said as she unlocked the door and ushered him through into a small room.

"I'll be back in a minute," she said. "Make yourself comfortable. This is one of our counselling rooms so it should be a nice place for you to relax." She disappeared, leaving him to look around the room which consisted of an almost-new couch, bookcase full of self-help tomes and a couple of unmatching chairs. He sat in one of the chairs, casting his eyes about the walls. Pictures of various aspects of nature were hung in frames about the plainly painted walls. A stereo was tucked onto a shelf in one corner, its plug hanging down. The room reminded him of the one the precinct shrink used and the shudder that ran down his spine reminded him of his father – it seemed that he had inherited his dislike of anything medical from him.

"Coffee. Black with two sugars," Mrs Hails said as she pushed the door open. Flack stood and reached over, holding it for her as she entered, drinks and donuts on a brightly coloured tray.

"How did you know?" he said as he sat back down.

"You're not the only one with detective skills, Detective," she smiled. "I've been reading people for nearly twenty years. You would have coffee with milk, but you probably think that's too fussy, so you dump a load of sugar in instead. Correct?"

He laughed and nodded, picking up the large mug of black liquid. He tasted it. Asbestos mouth. Just like his dad.

"You were also peeved I didn't invite you into the office," she added cream to her own cup, not looking at him. "I have a very upset student in there and your presence would not have helped. Besides, this is probably the more appropriate place to discuss this situation."

He put the mug down, half empty. "I need to know if you or your counsellors keep records on the students they counsel," he said. He liked this woman. She didn't see him as a threat, she wasn't defensive. Simply pleasant. The world could do with more people like her.

Mrs Hails shook her head. "It's all done in strictest confidence. No paper trail is made on specific students. They're usually given a number which is jotted down when the initial meeting is held or call is made. The counsellor will obviously know the identities of the students that he or she meets, but they are never identified to anyone else."

Flack had thought as much. But there was still the possibility that Mrs Hails would recognise some of the names or pictures of the missing persons. "Would you mind having a look through this list," he pulled the sheet of paper from his inside pocket and unfolded it, passing it to her. "The five names you see are all students at the College of Law who have gone missing in the past two years. All of them received counselling here at some point shortly before their disappearance." It had been Lindsay who had made the connection. All of the missing persons had reported feeling depressed, unable to sleep and were having issues with their course. Whether they all had the same counsellor was another matter completely, but it seemed like more than a coincidence.

Susan Hails looked down the list of names and studied the black and white photos carefully. She looked up, her expression one of careful consideration. "What is it that you want me to tell you, Detective Flack?" she said, her voice level and unagitated.

"Did any of these people, to your knowledge, have the same counsellor?" He wondered whether or not she would tell him.

"You think there's a connection between their disappearance and coming here?" She sounded him out, wanting to be sure that she was going to give out information for the right purposes.

He nodded. That was exactly what he wanted. Plus a name.

Mrs Hails shook her head. "They saw different people. This I know for sure. I myself dealt with Jennifer and Jackie. Steven Reid saw Damon. The three were regulars here for quite sometime, which is why I remember them." She looked at him, passing back the paper. Her demeanour was calm and collected; there was nothing rushed about her and he wondered if she would ever considering leaving the college and transferring to the Police Department as their ears-in-residence. She certainly seemed more suited to the job than Doctor Thomas. "There is a link though."

The sentence made his heart begin to pound rapidly, adrenaline pumping into his blood. There were time in a case when you knew you were about to find the key to it and unlock the room where all secrets were held.

"The three names I've mentioned all used to come here on a Tuesday night. We even joked about it being our Tuesday night club," she paused, looking mildly guilty. "We've had a young woman on reception every Tuesday night since 2006. She's also done Thursdays and Fridays too – we run drop-in on a Friday. She signed people in and organised our case files, so she would have had access to information and would have been able to associate names with the case numbers."

He let her speak without interrupting but he needed a name. Large green eyes looked at him nervously.

"I wouldn't be sharing information like this, Detective, if I didn't have concerns. But this girl has been a little… odd, shall we say, since she started. Nothing that we could address, but, well, strange," she paused, biting her bottom lip. "You need her name. It's Aneka Lebowitz."

He knew the name. She had been the girl on reception the night Goddard's body was discovered in the elevator. "Thank…" Flack felt his cell begin to vibrate in his inside pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the number. Angell. "Thank you," he finished his sentence and followed Susan Hails out of the room, watching as she walked down the corridor back to the office where he hadn't been allowed in.

Angell's voice sounded on the other end of the line. "Don, we got a heads up on the whereabouts of Paul Murphy," she said, her tone business like and to the point. She gave him the address.

"I'll see you there," he said, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he began to run down the corridor.

-&-

Danny checked his cell, hoping to see a message from Lindsay. Relations between them were improving, which was good. She was starting to talk to him on a personal level, which was good too. However, she was still trying to keep some sort of distance between them, which was not good. He put the phone away and sighed. No communication from her, or anyone else.

He crouched down and pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk, becoming lost in his job. It was empty. The next two drawers up were full of papers and folders, all neatly sorted into various house accounts. Carefully, he began to test for latent prints. Fine black powder that was magnetically sensitive was deposited on to the light wood handle. The powder then adhered to the moisture and oils left behind by the friction ridges of the fingers. Several prints became visible. Danny took the transparent tape from his kit and, with steady hand, layered it over the print before pulling it gently off and attaching it to a card. There were three clear prints in total and one partial. He imagined that they would come back to the owners of the house, but there was always the chance that someone else had been there to clear what ever was in the drawer.

His cell began to vibrate, and he stood up abruptly in order to take his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. As he did he knocked over the pot of fine black powder with the brush still in it, which rolled a few inches away along the wooden floor.

"Messer," he said, taking the call and saving the curses till later.

"It's Lindsay," his heart began to pound at the sound of her voice. "I'm using a spare phone – mine's in my locker."

"You okay?" he said, casting his eyes over the black spillage.

"I'm fine. Listen – I'm sorry about this morning. Coffee would be good sometime…" he heard her continue speaking, but his concentration was pulled to the black powder, her voice just a blur in the background. He shifted his feet to the right, away from the desk, then squatted down.

"Danny, are you still there?" her voice was impatiently concerned.

"Yeah… I'm sorry, Linds… I think I've found something – I'll call you back…" he hung up, completely engrossed in the floorboard whose nails were missing, and the larger gap between it and its neighbour.

Placing his cell on top of his kit, he slid his fingers in to the gap and began to prise the floorboard out of its place. It was only short. At some point it had been cut in half, the one long board made into two. It left its place without argument, lifting up to expose what should have been a five or six inch gap between the floor and ceiling, enough room to run wires and pipes.

But the gap wasn't empty. And it was more than just wires and pipes filling it up.

"Hawkes!" he shouted. A faint voice responded. "Come and see this!"

-&-

La Guardia airport was not the most serene of places to be. It bubbled with the rush of people who were almost-late; its atmosphere filled with distaste and pleasure as people left on business or were retuning back home. The smells of mass produced coffee and fast food filtered through the air, tormenting Flack's senses. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets as if trying to avoid temptation, looking about him, seeking his target.

She was stood where she said she'd be; next to a Starbucks, holding a brown paper bag and a take-out cup, but his eyes were more concerned with her rather than the food. Which, he knew, said a lot about his growing feelings.

"Jess," he said as his long stride covered the ground between them quickly. "Where's Mac?"

She held out the coffee and paper bag. He took the bag first and opened it, finding a Panini filled with cheese, chorizo and tomato. "He's on his way. I got him as he was leaving the lab to go to the Murphy's house. The last I heard he was stuck in traffic on the 495. There's been an RTA with a couple of casualties and nothing's moving. I'm surprised you got here so fast."

He chewed quickly. "It helps being a homeboy. Thanks for this, Jess," he said, taking another bite.

She nodded, accepting his thanks without needing an encore. Previous girlfriends had always wanted a standing ovation for doing anything unprompted. Girlfriend. He smiled without being able to stop. She raised her eyebrows and looked around, now spotting familiar faces in the crowds, stationed at various points.

"You've set this thing up already?" he said. "Impressive."

"Well, hey," she said, a note of humour in her tone. "I learned from the best." She elbowed him playfully, the touch brief, but there. "We've covered the exits, and I've got six men moving around this concourse. Paul Murphy has been scheduled to travel on three separate flights, all booked yesterday morning. Two are with American Airlines – one to Chicago O'Hare at 14.37 and one to Miami at 14.46. The third is with American Eagle to Des Moines, leaving at 14.58. So far Murphy has not checked in. desk staff have been notified and obviously airport security are on alert."

"So we wait," Flack said. "And hopefully he will turn up like the not-so-bad penny. How anonymous was the tip-off?"

Angell rolled her eyes. "Adam had a phone call – direct line rather than through reception. The person on the other end spoke for less than twenty seconds, gave a description of the car Murphy had escaped in and that he was booked on three flights leaving LaGuardia, Concourse C, this afternoon. The caller hung up before poor Adam even had a chance to ask any questions," she sighed deeply. "This could be a massive red herring." Her eyes were serious and her posture was stiff. Somebody could be playing games, wasting their time while someone else was potentially losing their life.

"Jess, with five murders, six missing people and one suicide, if something bites, you reel it in. Even red herrings can be covered in evidence. What time was the call?"

"One pm. All systems were go at one twenty. Most of the cops are from 115th. Their chief wasn't too happy as they're down with this bug too, but he didn't argue." Her eyes were continually watching the passers-by, although she was managing to give the impression of someone who was just meeting her friend for a late lunch. Flack polished off the remainder of the Panini and stepped a few metres over to where there was a bench, Jess following him and they sat down. The PA system made a final call for a Mr and Mrs Jacobsen, travelling to Nashville, at the same time Jess' cell rang. She took it, answering several times in the affirmative.

"The chief says Paul Murphy hasn't checked in to any of his flights," Jess said. "He's getting impatient." Her eyes told him what she thought of 115th's chief right now.

"Any possible sighting?" Flack said, standing.

She shook her head. "I vote we go take a look round." He nodded his agreement.

He dropped the empty coffee cup and paper bag in a trash can as they left the melee of the check-in desks and went into the maze-like corridors of what made up the airport. On the surface of it, there weren't many places for Murphy to hide. Every where were shops or cafés. Security was high and anyone acting suspiciously would be checked out immediately, Flack didn't doubt it. He had to have faith, otherwise he'd never sleep.

Beyond where the public were allowed to tread were offices and rooms which were occasionally empty, storerooms and restrooms which were off limits to anyone but staff. He'd made two arrests at LaGuardia before now; one as a rookie cop, when a teenager who was selling crack cocaine tried to make a bolt for it. The second was a woman attempting to abduct a half-day old baby from nearby Flushing Hospital. Both had involved going back-stage and by now he felt like he'd lived a life chasing around the various corridors and dead-ends.

They had looked down two separate sections by the time the PA system was calling for Mr Paul Murphy to check in. The third section was dimly lit, rarely used. They passed two janitors' cupboards before Jess stopped and looked behind her.

"That door looked odd," she said, the air thick, as if waiting for them to discover something.

Flack began to retrace his steps, reaching the door she had referred to. The lock had been tampered with, the handle slightly tilted as three of the screws had been removed.

"Someone's tried to get in here and failed," he said. "I'll let Mac know. It might be worth checking for prints." He pulled out his cell. As he hit the speed dial for Mac he heard a scream. Without speaking both he and Angell set off down the corridor, away from the door they had been looking at towards a room used for unclaimed luggage.

The door was ajar and Angell pushed it open, weapon in hand. Had Flack been anything but a homicide detective he would have been disturbed at the picture in front of him; now it just felt like another day at the office. A woman was crouched on the floor, her back to the door, an open suitcase in front of her. In it lay the body of Paul Murphy, his knees to his chest, his body like stone in rigour.

Angell began to call Mac, her voice echoing around the still room. The woman had begun to sob, her hands shaking. Flack knelt down next to her, her face obscured by her hair, long and thick and black.

"Do you know him?" Flack asked her. The woman shook her head. "You opened the case just now?"

She nodded, her sobs becoming controlled. "Sorry, it was the shock," she turned to him and he saw that she was little more than a young girl, probably about twenty. "I came to bring this case – it's been going round the carousel for twenty-four hours – and the door was open. This case was in the way and was a bit undone. I thought I saw a finger poking out, so I checked it thinking one of the guys was playing a joke, hiding in it…" she looked up at him with eyes as black as ink. "I shouldn't have checked. I hadn't seen the case before – it could have had anything in it – a bomb… anything."

"What's your name?" he said, his voice calm, trying to be reassuring.

"Jaslene Velasquez," she said, passing him her ID. "I do this to help me get through college."

His ears pricked up, wondering if he was about to be bitten by yet another coincidence. "Which college?"

"LaGuardia Community College – I'm studying Childhood Education," she gave him a tear-filled smile.

Flack heard footsteps running down the corridor. He turned around to see Mac, followed by the chief, John Lavine, who looked slightly more than out of breath. Jaslene's face was filled once more with terror. "It wasn't me," Flack heard her say. "I don't know who he is…"

"Miss Velasquez," Flack said. "No one's accusing you of anything. We just need to ask you to come down to the station and give some details. Then we'll get you home."

She stood on shaky legs, allowing Angell to escort her out of the room and into the hands of another of the female officers who had been called to the airport.

"This is your man?" Lavine said, looking down at the body lying in one half of the case.

Flack nodded. "Not in the state we were expecting." He looked at Mac and shrugged. "Fancy a short break to Miami, Mac?"

Mac looked up at him, puzzled.

"Well he's not going anywhere is he? Other than the morgue."

-&-

Had he been alive, Maxwell Wilson III would have heard the sirens as they past the room where he was waiting. He would have heard the rain as it burst from the clouds, pattering down on the sidewalks outside and bouncing off the windows. He would have seen cars dart passed as they went about their business; in one of them, Detectives Angell and Flack, making their way back from LaGuardia airport. He would have smelt the pizza sent to the dorm room next door and probably knocked, hoping to share some. He would have heard his cell phone ring – his father, asking why he hadn't been in contact.

As it were, Maxwell Wilson III observed none of these things. But Rachael McKinsey did.

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