Firstly, thank you to Sonnet Lacewing and Lily Moonlight who both took looks at this. It was an easy chapter to write, but it won't be an easy chapter to read because of the issues it covers.

Secondly, thank you to all of those who have reviewed so far. The reviews for this fic have amazed me - people have had such nice things to say. If you haven't reviewed so far, then your comments are very much appreciated and you can do it anonymously.

The title is taken from a Portishead song. This chapter was written while listening to their eponymous album.

Chapter Twenty One – This Mourning Air

Flack stood at the window, looking out over a slow rising dawn. In the distance he could see the city; tall, imposing buildings standing as silhouettes against the lightening sky. Somewhere in that city, in the density of buildings and stone, was his sister. He felt stifled, almost tied up with his inability to just run in and grab her, hauling her back home where she would be safe.

The city was wrapped around him; it was his home, his territory. He knew every inch of the streets, but now they were strangers, ghosts in the night protecting their secret. His eyes moved from the window to where Jess was lying in bed, her eyes wide open. They hadn't slept. Looking at her gave him some solace. She was safe, unharmed, and his support. Without her he had no idea where he would have been, probably waking every resident in Queens and dead by now himself. All rationality had stopped at one point, and he had been desperate to go to Malcolm Etchells' brother and shake his knowledge out of him. Jess had sat there and listened, then rationalised. And he had listened to what she had to say.

Then he had lost himself in her, needing the conformation of being alive that sex brought, needing to be close to someone, to her. He had felt her heart beating against his chest, felt her skin grow hotter, felt her being alive as the thunder had taken over the city, crying out along with them, the rain had begun to pour, drenching the sidewalks, drenching them. Then he had talked; about his father and the relationship they had struggled with and the tension between his parents that he had grown up with, neither of them seeming to acknowledge its existence. He told her his hopes and dreams and ambitions and fears, and she had listened with that quiet intensity that contrasted sharply with her bladed tongue. He took strength from her, and, stood at the window, watching the city, he realised that he had become too intertwined with her to let go. A few days, a few manic days, had driven away any shades of grey and given him a perfect white path.

"Come back to bed," she said, moving away the cotton sheets that had been surprisingly clean. "Mac or Glass will phone us as soon as they've got something." Another roll of thunder hit the city.

He drew the curtains and returned to the well-worn bed. The humidity was still there as the storms had not yet finished disinfecting the air. The heaviness still weighted on them, oppressive heat clinging to their bodies in beads of sweat and anxiety.

Jess turned onto her side and looked at him, her fingers tracing words across his skin, writing on his body in invisible ink. He felt guilt. He desired her, his body betrayed him, but his mind was wandering around the city.

"When we have found your sister," she said. "And Etchells is out of the way; we'll go away and sort all of this out."

He nodded. "For me everything's sorted," he said.

"Because you only see in black and white, although right now your eyes are red with lack of sleep," she said, pushing the sheets back and sitting up.

He smiled wryly. "I never did look beautiful in the mornings."

She smiled back as the thunder came and her cell rang.

-&-

Stella sat in the small office in Attica where security lived, scrutinising tapes of CCTV footage from the day before. Mac had had a call at just past three am from their friend the prison warden. He had checked the visitors' list from the day before. Matthew Harper had had one visitor, a Mr Andrew Halmann. Now it was confirmed. She could see Halmann as he sat opposite Harper. He looked strained, wringing his hands together, agitation writhing inside him. Harper's face was obscured by the camera angle, but his hand gestures gave him away as being unhappy. She stopped the tape. It was time to see ex-detective Halmann herself and find what answers he had.

Outside the building the rain was pounding, the cool drops shedding steam as they fell. Stella struggled against weariness, pushing the image of bed away from her mind. Hawkes had arranged to pick her up from the lab and drive to Halmann's, and she was thankful that she wouldn't need the concentration required to negotiate the streets of New York, even though dawn was only just creeping through the darkness of night.

She was still drenched by the time she got into Hawkes' car, the video footage of Halmann conversing with Harper safely away in the lab. They were silent as the car made its way to Halmann's apartment, nothing was left to say. Every victim was felt, every one they dealt with had a story, a family, but Amelia Flack was too close. Stella was reminded of Aiden Burns, another investigation that had been blurred around the border of professional and personal. The night time had shown many things, revealing different facets of personalities she thought she knew. She shuddered suddenly, the suffocating heat doing nothing to warm the empty desperation inside.

"We're here," Hawkes said, parking. She got out and headed into the apartment block, the air still empty of words.

Hawkes banged on Halmann's door, forgetting that it was not yet six in the morning. Stella radioed in, confirming where they were and that they may call for backup. Halmann would be asked to come down to the station, but not arrested, as long as he didn't protest.

No answer came and Hawkes banged again, looking worriedly at Stella. A door opened from across the hall and a man in striped pyjamas stood there. "I wondered when the cops would come," he said, making Stella wonder how he knew even though they weren't in uniform and wore no identification. "I heard a gun shot in there about ten last night."

"And you didn't call the police?" Hawkes said.

"What for?" the man replied. "I call you every time I hear a gun shot and she might as well move in with me." He chuckled and Stella raised her eyebrows. "He was probably shooting pigeons. God knows there's enough flying vermin around here to shoot." He closed his door, disappearing.

"You think we should enter?" Hawkes said.

Stella nodded. "Try turning the handle," she said. The door opened.

Hawkes looked at her.

"He wanted us to be able to get in here," she said, answering his unspoken question.

Halmann's body sat on his sofa, his feet resting on a footstool, the TV set to a sports channel. A gun rested under his right hand. In front of him was a box, identical in style to the ones used by the NYPD for storing evidence in the late seventies and early eighties.

"Suicide," Hawkes said.

Stella shrugged. "You never know. He's clearly up to his neck in the crap he's been amassing since 1979. But he has a daughter and an ex-wife who will have to deal with his death. There's always a loser, Hawkes. No one ever wins." With gloved hands Stella pulled the tape from around the box's lid and opened in. "Missing evidence," she said. "We'll get this back to the lab for Danny to go through." She looked at what remained of Detective Halmann, sadness and disgust both present.

"I've called Sid," Hawkes said. "I'd say he's been dead about seven hours, which fits with the gunshot heard coming from here. The COD's a gunshot wound to the head. I would imagine that we'd find GSR on his right hand."

"With Casey Truro in prison there probably wasn't much hope that Halmann would be able to get away with what he'd done anymore. Any suicide notes?" Stella said. The box in itself was a suicide note. From what she had glanced there was enough evidence in there to convict Harper of all the crimes he had been suspected of, and she imagined that Halmann's brother and probably Halmann himself were implicated in some of those crimes. Stella pulled out her cell phone and dialled Mac, it was news he needed, and the likelihood was that he was still with Glass, and could pass on the message.

"Halmann's dead," she said when Mac answered. "It looks like suicide. He's left a box of evidence, but no note."

"Keep looking. You never know. I'm just about done here. I've sent Danny and Lindsay back to the lab with evidence already, including the clothes. Glass and I are heading back there now," Mac said.

"Any joy from the gas station surveillance?" she said.

"Nothing as of yet. Adam's taken all the tapes and is looking through them as we speak. We had to get a warrant for them. Turns out there's a load of dodgy stuff going on at that garage. The credit card used was a cloned one, so we can't get an address from that – not that we expected it anyway. Our best hope's the tapes. Queens is too big to go knocking door to door, although if we don't find something soon that's exactly what Flack will be doing," Mac said. Stella heard a car door slam in the background.

"How's he doing?" she said.

"As well as could be expected. If Angell wasn't with him I would have suggested sticking him in one of the cells. Luckily he listens to her. The same cannot be said for his father. He's currently with two of Glass' men. Won't speak."

"Keep me informed. We're waiting for Sid then we're going to process the scene. I'll see you back at the lab," she said, hanging up.

Hawkes looked at her and she shook her head. "Nothing," she said. They both knew that time was running out.

-&-

"Detective Messer," a voice echoed into the lab and Danny looked up. "Detective Messer?"

"Here!" Danny said, feeling like he was back in school doing roll call, except there he hadn't been detective.

D'reen from reception looked over at him and smiled. "Your phones aren't working up here. I've called someone to come sort it out, but in the mean time you've got a Mr Lloyd-Richards waiting for you in interview room three. I did try to tell him that you were busy, but he said it was his case you were busy on."

Danny smiled and nodded, taking a deep breath for D'reen. She spoke quickly and with an exuberance he sometimes found difficult to comprehend. "Thank you. Please let him know I'll be right there." He secured his evidence, knowing that although what Harry might have to say wouldn't be directly relevant to Amelia's disappearance it could lend some understand. "Linds," he called, taking off his white lab coat. "I'm going down to interview the witness from yesterday - the guy from the 1979 case who withdrew his statement. I'll be as quick as I can."

She looked up from the pile of clothes she was examining for evidence. "Sure, Danny," she said. "Mac's on his way back. He mentioned something about getting Quinn Shelby over from New Jersey to give us a hand."

Danny shrugged as he passed her. "We need as many hands on deck as possible. Given what we've brought back from Amelia's and the fact that Stella and Hawkes are coming back with more from Halmann's we're snowed under." He looked at her, knowing the reason for her anxiety about Shelby. "She's not here to report on us this time, Linds. Mac holds her in high esteem and we need more eyes if we're going to find Amelia."

Lindsay nodded. Danny touched the top of her arm, unable to resist wanting to cheer her up, but knowing that he was treading on dangerous ground.

Harry Lloyd-Richards sat down at the table, his head held high. Danny knew Flack hadn't expected him to turn up, figuring that they'd be making another visit to his apartment in a couple of days, but Danny had been optimistic. The guy had clearly wanted to get his thoughts straight in his head. They were probably memories that he hadn't thought about, or tried not to think about, in a couple of decades. And he was here.

Danny sat down, offering Harry his hand to shake. The man took it, making eye contact, looking calm and sure of himself.

"Thank you for coming," Danny said. "Can I get you a coffee or something?"

Harry shook his head. "D'reen gave me a glass of water. I was always going to come, Detective Messer. I just had to decide on how to tell my story."

Danny nodded. "I realise this is hard for you."

"The old case – something new has happened which has brought it back to the surface. Can I ask what?"

Danny nodded. "You might remember Detective Donald Flack who worked on the Harper case in 78/79. Threats that were made to him them came to fruition a few nights ago when his son's apartment was blown up."

Harry nodded. "So it was Flack's son you were with yesterday. I thought I recognised something other than the name. He resembles his father, although he seems to have evolved more. That's by the by of course. You need to know what I can remember and why I retracted my statement?"

Danny nodded. "We've had a kidnapping and we suspect Harper has instigated it." He gave few details, not knowing exactly who Harry was still friends with.

Harry fell silent, clearly in thought. "Harper has people working on the outside for him still? That doesn't surprise me. What you need to know about Matthew Harper is that he is a very seductive man. A complete manipulator. You want to be liked by him and you will do anything to be liked by him." He looked at Danny. "I'll start from the beginning, but I'll keep it brief. I can give details at a better time. Stop me if you need more.

"I met Matthew Harper when I was thirteen. He was twenty-six. I hated home having suffered abuse from my step-father since I was nine. Harper became the best thing in my life. I would go to his apartment after school and he would let me watch TV and take me for burgers. It became a sanctuary." He paused, massaging his temples. "After five months he began to abuse me - sexually." Harry stared at the glass of water in front of him, his fingers stroking it almost. Danny let the silence hang between them figuring the man needed time to gather his thoughts. After the silence was stretched he wondered whether he should offer some prompt. At the same time his mouth opened, Harry continued. "It's taken twenty years of counselling for me to admit it was abuse, that what happened to me wasn't abnormal. After what happened with my step father, Harper was gentle and considerate, and I was used to that type of relationship by now. Although I have been told that he didn't love me, that I was only his toy, I still find that difficult to accept, even now. By the age of fourteen I was living with Harper. My mother didn't care; she was only interested in vodka and had been for as long as I can remember. My step father was scared away by Harper and I was, for a time, happy. Then Harper's friends became involved and only my need for Harper stopped me from running away. I was used as a prostitute; Harper taking the money and paying me with what I thought was his love. As I got older, the demands made upon me became more degrading. My youth disappeared quickly, and I had to compensate for that. By now, I knew of other boys and young men whom Harper and his friends had a hold on, and I began to see the darker, much darker, side of my friend. We would be lent out for days, sent to a house where films would be made." Harry laughed darkly, making sure Danny was aware of his meaning. "Not all the boys made more than one film. I was Harper's favourite, so I was, to a certain extent, looked after…"

"This house," Danny said. "Who did it belong to?"

Harry looked at him. "Harper. It was his mother's and remained in her name even after she died, which is why evidence about it was concealed easily."

"Where was it?"

Harry nodded. "Queens. Near Rockaway Park."

"You remember the address?"

Harry recited it. "I can take you there. If you think that's where the girl's been hidden I'd best come. There are rooms within rooms which were hidden for a reason."

Danny shuddered, reaching for his cell to call Mac. The daytime had come, but the light had still not arrived. It was getting darker.

For those of you who spotted it, it was wasn't a deliberate mistake, and Sonnet - I changed it on purpose so you had something new to pick up on! More revealed in the next chapter!

Forgot to mention - thank you to those of you who have nominated me for the NY Fanfic Awards - I'm honoured.