It was so simple, the solution. As they always are, really, once you've peeled back the layers of elaboration and trickery. The blood from the roses got a hit in CODIS, a man whose name was Stuart Acorn. He'd just been released a month ago after a five year stint in prison, for manslaughter. He knocked over a bride on her way to church, driving a stolen car, and killed her. I spend a couple of hours pulling up case files and newspaper articles, finding the story which is playing itself out around me.

The bride was called Sarah Miles. I pull up a picture of her, and she was beautiful. Too beautiful, too young, too happy to have to die. Her fiancé, Mark Hughes, committed suicide a few days later. I scan the articles for friends, relations, of either of them. Anyone with motive.

And then, quite suddenly, I find it. An interview with a man, taken about a year ago, raging at the police system for their inadequate punishment of the man who had taken from him both his sister and his best friend. Saying that it was only a few high-profile cases in which appropriate sentences were metered out. And that it was only when those in authority suffered that they understood what it felt like.

I look at the picture accompanying the article, and compare it to my photograph. Same man. John Miles. We have him. DNA, face, name. No escape for him now.

The sun is falling to the west, an hour or so from setting. The sky blazes a brilliant orange, pink vapour trails scouring lines above the rose-red clouds. I feel suddenly, violently, sorry for John Miles. Caught and pinned by fate, needing everyone else to feel the pain he's lived with for five years. Needing us to realise, needing to punish his sister's accidental killer. And now, when we find him, the rest of his life will be over, spent in a whitewashed cell.

But then there's the balance, as there always is. Miles has murdered two people, one of whom we still can't identify. He drugged Mac, and he attacked the two of us in the dark, and shot at us, probably hoping for a kill. But I still pity him, and share some understanding of his actions. Sometimes it's the hardest thing we do, having to catch the murderer. Two sides to every story.

I phone Flack, give him Miles's details, and email the appropriate files to his computer. Now it's only a matter of time.

I print out the articles I've saved, and slip them inside a cardboard folder. Walking through the lab, everywhere shines golden in the sunset from the wide windows, and Mac is also looking out at the sky as I enter his office. I hand the folder to him without speaking, and he opens it and skims through the articles, compares the photographs.

"You've told Flack?" he asks.

"Yes, phoned him."

He looks at me. "You're not happy, are you?"

I shake my head. "I feel so sorry for Miles. I shouldn't, but I do."

I wait for the lecture on how we serve the city, take murderers off the streets to protect the innocent, but today it's not forthcoming. "It's been a long day. Let's get something to eat."

I'm taken aback. "You're serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asks, surprised.

"Shouldn't we be trying to find Miles?"

"Flack'll be chasing him up. But if you'd rather not, don't worry."

I smile. "No, that'd be nice. Yeah, really nice. Where do you have in mind?"

"There's a café by the park. I go there sometimes."

- - - - -

By the time we get to the park, the clouds have begun to move in and the sun has disappeared behind the skyscrapers. We walk towards the café, but when we reach the door I turn and raise an eyebrow at Mac, before having to laugh at the embarrassment on his face, because the café closed at 5, which was quarter of an hour ago.

"Hotdogs it is then?" I say, grinning. "You're not too good at buying dinner for me, you know."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he says ruefully. "I guess it was earlier in the day when I last came here."

We buy hotdogs from a nearby street vendor and stroll along one of the paths in the park. "Why us?" I say.

"What do you mean?" Mac asks.

"Why do you think it was us that Miles picked? Neither of us had anything to do with that case."

He shakes his head slowly. "We're the visible ones, Stella. We're the ones who're there to take the fall when something goes down badly. I don't think Miles really cared who he targeted, all of us together represent those he feels betrayed him. And we're the ones he picked to hurt back."

"Do you ever wonder if it's worth it?" I ask. I gesture at the darkening sky, the trees, the city. "All this. We do all we can, but people still keep dying. Sometimes their murderers get away with it. Do you ever wish you had a normal job, doing something that wasn't a matter of life and death to those you deal with, something that didn't put you in danger every day? We do all this, and on occasion that something goes wrong, we're the scapegoats in the public eye, just like you were with Clay Dobson."

"It's always worth it," Mac says with conviction. "Always. If we don't do this, who will?"

"Uh-huh. You're right, I know, but sometimes it's hard to see it that way."

He smiles. "You'll get there. We all feel this sometimes."

We walk onwards in silence, both of us having finished eating. I've lost track of time, but the skies are growing darker, cloud cover now complete. Mac's phone rings, and he pulls it from his pocket.

"Taylor." He listens intently. "Ok, great. Yeah, pick him up, we'll head back now." He hangs up. "That was Flack. They've located Miles's apartment, and he's gone to bring him in. With backup, as he was careful to emphasise."

"That's good news." We turn around and retrace our steps. A drop of rain falls, then another. We increase our pace, but before we've taken more than a few strides the heavens open and the pouring rain drenches me through my light jumper. I put my hands up to shield my face from the falling water as best I can. Mac's probably faring better in his jacket. It's hard to see any distance at all through the sheets of water being thrown at us from the sky by the bucket-load, especially in the dusk. I can't remember how far away the café, and the road, is, but I don't want to be out in this any longer than I have to. It doesn't feel safe out here anymore.

A/N: Penultimate chapter. I'm sure you know what that means. Not much longer to wait now! Thank you for reading and reviewing. Blue x