Thanks again for the lovely reviews and for putting this on alert. I'm so pleasantly surprised by how many people are following this. Feel free to add a name to the number :).
Adam blinks at the paper he's holding as if that could cause the information to change; the Cs, Ts, As, and Gs to trade places and spell out something different. His hand is reaching out for the keyboard without looking. Hitting a series of keys to pull up information he has also stored in his head. But he wants to make sure, he has to make sure. His eyes swing from the paper to the screen. Nothing changes.
He thinks of double-checking, though he's sure that he didn't make any mistakes. And what are the chances of making a mistake and getting that result, anyway? Still, he's picking out another tiny fragment from the bits of skin cells they had found shed in the gloves, and prepares it for another test.
His concentration is at 100 percent, making sure that if he made a mistake he will not repeat it, and grateful for being able to keep his thoughts off the conclusions to be drawn from the result. What to tell Hawkes? And when? He had promised to tell him right away. And he's hoping for a second opinion. He's dialing the number.
--
Hawkes approaches a place that never seems to fall dark, occupied by a man who has dedicated his life to fighting the darkness in this city, thus sleeping as little as the city does. He doesn't have to knock; Mac has seen him already and waves him in.
"You've got news?"
"Yeah …" Hawkes hesitates for a moment, knowing that Mac isn't going to like what he has to say.
Mac eyes him expectantly, knowing that if Hawkes hesitates the news isn't going to be good, but he wants to know anyway.
"Adam has started another series of tests, and we need a DNA sample for confirmation …" Hawkes continues to beat about the bush.
"Hawkes." Mac pushes, stretching the 'a'. "What's your point?" Not without sympathy though.
"The DNA from inside the gloves belongs to a relative of Marina Carson. The similarities leave only one conclusion: her brother."
"Hector Lakis." Mac voices, carefully considering the implications, "Bring him in first thing tomorrow, see what he has to say, and get that sample. Adam should check the gloves meticulously, in case there is any other DNA."
"He's already on it." Adding with a small grin, "If the gloves were real leather he'd find you the cow that gave its hide for them."
For a moment the smile infects Mac. Yes, Adam is thorough and full of zeal, and he's glad to have him on the team. Especially now. He wonders if he should pass the news on to Stella. It would give him a reason to call her.
--
Gingerly Stella sneaks her cell from her pocket as vibrations announce a call – or a message. 'Call me?' she reads off the illuminated screen, setting off the letters against the various shades of grey surrounding her. She smiles, gently maneuvering her arm from under Iota's neck. The girl stirs a little but thankfully doesn't wake. Stella watches for a few moments, the little chest moving up and down, a little hand twitching in a dream. She withdraws, her heart both heavy and light.
"Sorry about that, I'll call you back. I just didn't want to wake Iota …" he blurts before she can say as much as 'hello'.
"Mac …, Mac." she interrupts him gently, "It's okay, don't worry. That was very considerate of you." Adding with a tender smile, "You don't have to whisper."
He's unable to slip out of it yet. "How's it going?"
Unable to separate the pain of having seen what Iota had gone through from the relief that the worst is over and the girl is able to sleep, Stella decides to recount the facts. She relishes the warmth of Mac's voice though it's distorted a bit by her cell's reception and his replies are monosyllabic, not wishing to intrude into the flow of her words.
"So, any news on the case?" she changes the topic.
He hesitates. He doesn't really want to tell her what they have found out.
"Mac? You still there?"
"Hm. Yes and no." His voice becomes less than a whisper as he's running through his thoughts.
"Meaning?" Stella nudges him verbally.
"There is something new but …" he stops again.
"Mac." she's slightly stretching the 'a'.
"I … hm, this doesn't really make any sense yet. I'll tell you as soon as we know more, okay?" he's evasive.
She hesitates, knowing exactly that there is something he doesn't want to tell her. "Okay."
No point in insisting anyway. When Mac chooses to he can be as stubborn as Stella herself. And officially she's off the case; off any case, on personal leave. She sighs.
"I'm sorry." he whispers, having heard her sigh. "I just don't want to get your hopes up." Or your worries, he adds in his thoughts.
"Don't be. It's not your fault."
After moments of silence, "Mac? Thanks for calling. I …"
More silence before he encourages her to continue, "You … what?"
'I miss you.' she had wanted to say. "I'm glad we're staying in touch." she says.
"So am I." He smiles genuinely. "By the way, Lindsay has offered to baby-sit, so maybe we could have a coffee some day."
"That would be lovely." He hears honest joy in her voice.
"Sleep well."
"And you. Sleep at all, that is." Her voice is tinged with a grin.
--
Hawkes looks at the man sitting on the edge of a chair that seems too small for him, head resting equally uneasily and desolately on his hands. He looks at the two who will be watching through the one-way mirror. Adam's eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep, signs of fatigue less obvious on Mac's face because they have settled and made home there years ago. They nod at each other. No use in delaying this.
"Mr. Lakis, do you know why we asked you to come here?" Hawkes opens the conversation.
He wants it to be a conversation, not an interrogation. He hopes for an explanation. But evidence doesn't lie. He sticks with the facts, he follows the procedure. Nobody says he has to be happy about it.
"You found my DNA in some gloves, I think? I don't understand … what gloves? What does it have to do with the murder of my sister … and my brother in law? What about Iota? Is she okay?" His voice becomes increasingly urgent and dejected.
Hawkes silently grits his teeth before he explains what he can.
"Are you saying you think I shot my own sister?" Mr. Lakis looks at the man opposite him in blank horror.
"No. We know you couldn't have. Your alibi has been confirmed. But you could still have been involved."
Adam hadn't thought the look of pain on the Greek man's face could increase. Somehow he feels that this man is also on the receiving side of abuse. But feelings are irrelevant here, he tells himself, they only serve to drive you on, to keep you going.
"Maybe you just wanted to teach them a lesson because of what you thought they did to Iota. But it got out of hand." Hawkes continues.
Mr. Lakis stares at him for a long time before he's able to shake his head, longer still before he is able to speak. Only one word before his voice fails again. "No."
"Can you tell us how your DNA got on these gloves?" Hawkes shoves the evidence in question a little closer to his opposite.
Mr. Lakis shakes his head again, forehead in a frown not only because he's scrutinizing the gloves.
Finally words come out slowly and quietly, "I didn't know what had happened to Iota. As I told St… your colleague Ms Bonasera, I wish I had noticed …"
The slip doesn't escape Hawkes' attention – but what does it hide?