A/N: So, the response for the last chapter was pretty.. wow. Thanks for sticking around. I didn't take 2 months this time but I guess 3 weeks is pretty unacceptable as well. (Yikes)

Since time hasn't been on my side, I present to you the shortest chapter I've ever done for this story.

Keep busy. Keep occupied. That was what Santana kept telling herself, starting from the time she walked out the door. It was the only way she knew not to fall apart, not in the middle of the day and certainly not in the middle of a crucial investigation.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to rage. She wanted to beat her head against the wall. She wanted to shake Quinn and ask her what the hell was going on in that pretty head of hers. She wanted to touch her to make sure she was okay. She wanted what Quinn had so clearly told her she didn't want.

Why didn't Quinn want her? One moment, there were creating fireworks together and the next, it was like she was getting doused by a huge bucket of ice water. Or slapped by an extremely frozen, wet slab of chicken breast.

Focus, Santana, focus. What was she supposed to be thinking of?

Brody, right. Brody. What did they know about Brody Weston? He had visited Gabriella Haney at approximately 11.30pm, a convenient enough time for murder to be committed. Prior to this, he had bought twenty boxes of Godiva, an item used by the killer as a scare tactic. Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe not. But one thing Santana had learned on the force was this: coincidence was hardly ever coincidence as it was planned deliberation.

Whatever it was, she was going to get to the bottom of it now.

She took a deep breath, steeled her mind and walked into the interrogation room, where she found herself face to face with a severely pissed off looking man. He had risen from his seat the moment he had heard the door opening.

"What the fuck is going on? I got pulled out of rehearsal for this shit! I've told you everything! I've co-operated! What is the meaning of this? You promised that you wouldn't bring me down if I co-operated."

"Good afternoon . It's nice to see you again." Santana remarked flatly. "I'm to read you your Miranda rights before we begin. You have the right to remain silent when questioned. Anything you say or do.."

"Damn right I have the right to remain silent. I demand to be released at once!"

She ignored him and ploughed right on. ".. may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney…"

"Are you even listening to me, you bigheaded piece of shit?"

She gritted her teeth and continued. "If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you before any questioning, if you wish. If you decide to…"

"Hey bitch! Did you hear me? I want…"

She snapped when he shoved her, was even glad when he did because he gave her a reason to do something. She was itching to just do something, anything, because she was tired of sitting around and even more tired of waiting for the death number to rise while she worked out her paperwork.

She grabbed one of the offending wrists and in a slick move, maneuvered his arm behind his back before slamming him down on the table. "Listen to me you son of a bitch. I don't have time for fun and games, not with three more faces pinned on my death board. So either you play nice and answer my questions or I can book you for prostitution. I personally know a few guys in jail who would love a pretty boy like you."

She saw how quickly his face paled and got some satisfaction from that. "So what do you say Brody? Are you going to play hardball or shall we just have a nice, pleasant conversation like we did back at the theatre?"

He mumbled an unintelligible response from where his face was squished up against the table surface.

"What did you say? I can't hear you."

"I said okay, all right?" He gritted out and she released her stronghold on him.

Rubbing his shoulder joint, he glared at her before obediently taking a seat.

She allowed an uncomfortable silence to brew before she began.

"Where were you from 10pm to 7am yesterday?"

He snorted and smirked. "Do you mean 7am yesterday or 7am today?"

Her gaze never wavered. "Don't play stupid with me Brody. The only reason why I haven't taken you in for prostitution is because I understand some people have a need for social escorts such as yourself," she air quoted the term, "and because sometimes, we do whatever we can to get the money we need."

She saw his jaw twitch. "I don't like to judge people based on the work they go into Brody but when you start appearing at my death scenes, then you become a problem for me."

He frowned and shifted in his seat. His confusion seemed genuine enough. "What do you mean?"

"Where were you from 10pm yesterday to 7am today?"

"I was at home."

She sighed and opened one of the files in front of her. "I really, really don't like listening to lies Brody so let's cut to the chase. What were you doing at Gabriella Haney's house at 11.30pm?"

His eyes widened. "How did you…"

"Answer the question."

He looked away and gained a light kick to the shin for his stubborn silence.

"She doesn't want anyone to know okay?" He glared at Santana when she kicked him again.

"That's fair enough. But guess what Brody? She's not going to care anymore because she's dead." She said shortly, then felt a twinge of guilt and regret when the blood drained from his face.

"She… What?" He blinked. "That's impossible. Gabby's what you said?"

Not Gabriella, but Gabby. They were obviously closer than she had expected. She could see by his face the truth hadn't sunk in. He couldn't understand; he couldn't connect the dots. That or he didn't want to.

Seeing no other choice, she gave him a concise summary. "Gabriella Haney was found dead this morning at her apartment. Your name was found on the security log sheets. What were you doing there Brody?" She asked, in a much gentler voice this time.

She didn't know if she should be feeling relieved or frustrated. This wasn't their killer. He couldn't be, not with the shock and grief clouding his eyes.

"I don't.. Gabby's dead?" He finally formed a full sentence. His tone was filled with incredulity. His eyes locked on hers.

"Yes."

"You've made a mistake. You've made a mistake." He repeated while he continued staring at her with complete bewilderment. For the first time, he was without anger and resentment. This was probably the man Gabriella saw when she was with him. "You've made a mistake because she can't be dead. I just saw her."

"I know you did Brody," Santana said, soothing, "That's why I need you to tell me what you were doing there and how you knew her. I want to help."

"How can you help someone who's dead?"

And the anger was back.

"I didn't kill her! Why aren't you out there looking for her killer? Why are you wasting time looking at me when you should be looking at her killer!" His voice hitched and he blinked back against the flood of tears that had suddenly blurred his vision. "I was.. She wasn't…I like her."

Present tense.

"Brody, calm down."

"She wasn't just a customer. She started out as a customer but it didn't continue that way. She's different." She let him rant because it seemed he needed to. "She didn't judge me or look at me with derision. She didn't think she was better than me. She was gentle and kind and she tipped generously." He gave a bitter laugh and swiped at his nose. "You have to believe me. It wasn't me."

When she didn't say anything, he said it again. "I said it wasn't me."

"I heard you the first time."

"What can I do to make you believe me?" He asked, his voice as raw as his eyes.

"You can start by answering my questions."

He did.

Puck found his partner at the gym, sweaty, obviously exhausted but still beating the hell out of a punching bag. There seemed to be something off about her but he couldn't quite put a finger to it. Probably just the case taking a toll on her. Hell, it was taking a toll on all of them.

"You're going to injure yourself at this rate. Bad day?"

She didn't bother with an answer or a greeting. "Got anything useful from the kid?"

Puck shook his head, folding his arms across the chest as he leaned against the wall. "Not as much as I hoped we would. We couldn't get the eyes. Apparently, Trevor's friend was wearing a pair of shades."

Santana gave the bag a particularly brutal kick. They hadn't been expecting much from the kid but it was still a disappointment to hear they hadn't gotten anything they could use.

"We got his jaw line though. He has facial hair."

She snorted and paused long enough to roll her eyes at Puck. "Fucking A. That tells us a lot."

"Yeah but at least if we get the guy, the kid can let us know if he's the one. We showed him photos of Schuester, Anderson and Weston. Kid doesn't recognize any of them."

"That's assuming he even remembers the guy. But yeah I ruled Weston out at the interview today. Did you have time to watch the recording?" She asked, landing a volley of punches to the bag before moving on to the skipping rope.

"Yeah. He's not the one. Poor chap looked genuinely distraught." He waited a beat. "He's an actor though."

"True but it's just.. Fuck." She cursed when she whipped her thigh with the rope.

Puck laughed. "You never could multi-task with that thing."

"Unfortunately. Skipping is for pansies anyway." She set the rope down and eased into some stretches.

"You're just a sour grape. Anyway," Puck said quickly before Santana could make a comeback, "Officer Hayden left a file on your desk. Said it was the results for what you wanted and that it was important."

Santana's head snapped up in interest. "Oh yeah." At Puck's questioning stare, she continued. "I got him to do some research on the shooting ranges in New York. Figured our guy would be a regular in the range considering his aim. I'll get started on that as soon as I clean up here."

"Now? It's past eight Lopez."

"So? You're still here."

"Yeah but I'm heading back now."

"To start work on that file sticking out of your haversack? Let me guess? You're going to continue on the list that the neighbour gave us?"

She smirked when he started spluttering. She was right.

"Let's face it Puck. We're both in too deep to want to spend precious time sleeping."

She grabbed her towel and bottle off the floor and pushed herself up.

"I've never wanted to take someone down this bad." Puck admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "And to be honest, I'm afraid of what I'll do to him when we get him."

Santana lowered her bottle from her lips and looked her partner right in the eye. "You'll do the right thing when the time comes Noah. It'll be easier to shoot him in the head for what he did to Finn and Ryan and everyone else. Trust me, I understand. But when the time comes, you'll do the right thing. I know you. You always do."

With that parting phrase and a comforting squeeze to the shoulder for good measure, she left for the showers. They both had work to do.

She returned to her desk with wet hair cascading down her shoulders. The water seeping through her shirt was a slight annoyance but she couldn't wait to get started on what Officer Hayden had given her. Somehow, she had a gnawing feeling in her gut that told her they had found something.

Nodding at the few night birds scattered in the office, she quickly settled down at her table with a mug of steaming coffee to accompany her. The folder Officer Hayden had left her was easy enough to find because of the yellow post-its littered all over the edges of the file.

"Colour me impress." Santana mumbled under her breath as she opened the file and took a sip from her coffee.

Not only did Haney do the basic research she had asked him to do, he had also added background information on the regulars.

"Damn this boy is good." She flipped the pages and made a mental note to pull him into the team. "And hardworking." She added when she saw several highlights on the papers. If she didn't already have Puck as her partner, she may very well be interested in mentoring him. Still, she figured she could find him a good mentor to guide him. This boy could go places with the right hand.

Shaking her head to focus, she cracked her knuckles before hunching over her desk to work. She read, picked out names, eliminated names, scribbled notes when she came across interesting facts and drank coffee when she felt her energy depleting.

"Biff McInTosh." She frowned. "Here you are again. You sure are free for a businessman." She observed when she saw how regularly he frequented the shooting range. Quinn wouldn't have half that time on her hands and shit, don't think of her, don't think of her.

She straightened up in her chair and drank deeply from the mug. She was on her third refill. "And of course you would be in a club with that name." She scoffed when she saw he was a member of the Colonial Rifle and Pistol Range Club.

"Let's see the information Haney has on you." She muttered and flipped to the next page. A ping went off in her head as she read from her notes. "25m Rapid Fire Pistol champion in high school. You moved on to 50m pistol and are apparently damn good at it too. Shit. This is gold. Are you on the neighbour's list as well? If I remember correctly…"

She placed her file down and proceeded to rifle through the stacks of paper on her desk for what she wanted. She found it quickly enough considering how messy her desk was. Who said there wasn't such a thing as organized clutter?

Going down the list, she stopped at Biff's name. The ink was smudged, presumably from Ashley's tears. Shit, he was.

Adrenaline pumping now, she extracted a piece of blank paper and started drawing a mind map.

Bruising on Mary-Rae's temple. Godiva chocolates. Shooting range. A trusted friend of Gabriella Haney. Biff was over 6 feet, tall enough to make a deadly from top-down. He was the young CEO of Godiva. He was a member of the Colonial Rifle and Pistol Range Club and had won several shooting competitions. He was someone Gabriella would open her door to. She needed to link it to the other murders but shit.

She shot up in her seat, her heart racing. They may just have gotten their guy.

In his luxurious living room, the media-dubbed "Pscyho" sipped on the champagne he had opened. It had become somewhat of a tradition to open a new bottle at the end of a successful project. And yesterday's scare project was definitely more than successful, if he could say so himself.

In fact, it was so successful, he had ached to kill. And so he had. It had been a bit of a rush job considering the short prep time that he had, which was why he could only get to Gabriella. She wasn't his first choice but she required the least effort. It was a bit of a pity really, because he had liked her and she was a friend. Nevertheless, sacrifices had to be made for art. Gabriella would understand. She was an art aficionado herself.

He wondered what she would think of his collection. At the thought of his prized possessions, he grinned. He had worked so hard toward it and was now just short of a few pieces to make his perfect woman.

He had been so worried at first but now, he had found the missing vital piece that would complete his work. He smiled again and took another sip of his champagne.

Who would have thought that after all these years, he would run into Quinn Fabray again? And of all places. He hadn't expected her to show up in the video but she had, and boy had she given him such a show. She always was a trooper that one was; an exquisite piece of work, one that he wanted to reclaim.

He wondered if he should kill two birds in one stone by collecting both Quinn and Rachel Berry at the same time. They were almost always together now what with the ruckus he had been causing. But he liked his girls pure and Rachel was a bit of a nasty hybrid.

Jewish blood, he scowled. He had only just made that discovery. If he had known earlier, he wouldn't have bothered putting her on the list.

But if he could get both Quinn and Rachel in one sweep, then that would save him some time because god knows time wasn't on his side. It was just two weeks to his thirtieth birthday and he still had three people to claim. Still, he didn't want to do slipshod work just to make time.

He huffed and rubbed his brow in frustration. Decisions, decisions. So much to do and so little time.

Life sure could be hard sometimes.

A/N: I've never done this but I would really like to recommend The Sun, the Moon, and the Sky by Quicklove202. I've always found her(his? its?) stories awfully appealing but so underrated. CHECK HER OUT! Her stories really deserve more hits.