Mac was startled out of his sleep by Stella's phone. She was lying on his arm, and he thought it was asleep. "Stella," he whispered.

"I hear it," Stella said. She reached to the nightstand and got the pest. She fell back on the bed and looked at Mac. "It's a case."

Just then, Mac's phone rang in the other room. "I guess we both have to go out in this weather."

"It looks like it stopped raining."

Mac kissed her. "Well, at least if we want to go from one bed to the other, we can just go to the next room."

Stella smiled and snuggled closer to him. "I never want us to be apart again."

"Me neither." Mac kissed her forehead. "Marry me, Stella," he whispered.

Stella was surprised by that. She looked at him. "Marry you?"

Mac nodded. "I love you. Why shouldn't we be married? We're never going to be apart."

"I can't imagine anything I would rather do."

Mac kissed her again, but then he heard his phone again. "I guess we better get up," he said.

Mac got out of bed and went to his room. "I'm coming!" he said to the phone. He looked at the phone and realized it wasn't even the same address that was on Stella's phone. Actually, his call was in Queens. He went to the bathroom and then got dressed in a suit and tie.

Stella was in the living room when Mac came in. "We riding together?" she asked.

"Mine is not even the same address," Mac replied.

"Two at once?"

"Looks like it."

Stella kissed him. "I guess I'll see you later then."

Mac went out to the Avalanche. He was glad it wasn't raining, even though it was cold. He drove over to Queens to the address. Don Flack was there. "We're spreading out in the world," Don said. "Aren't you glad it stopped raining?"

"Yeah," Mac answered. "What have we got?"

"Nothing quite so attention-getting as that last case."

"Just as important though."

"Twenty-one years old. Makayla Wyatt. New York driver's license. The way she's dressed, I'd say she is either a model or a stripper."

Mac took pictures of the body. The girl had long blond hair and green eyes. Mac thought she looked like a Barbie doll. He agreed with Flack, but he didn't think she was a stripper. She looked like a model to him. He remembered there had been a modeling show here last night. He had seen the advertisement in the newspaper. There had even been pictures of some of the models. Mac looked at her face. He thought she might have been one of them. He looked at how she was dressed, in 4-inch heels and skimpy lingerie. He noticed bruising around her right ankle, and it seemed to be swollen. He thought she might have tried to run from her attacker in those heels and sprained or broke her ankle.

"Pitiful, isn't it?" Don asked.

"Yeah," Mac agreed. "So young."

Mac didn't think she was raped. She was still clothed, although the lingerie would allow rape without fully undressing her. He looked at the victim's hands. Some of her acrylic nails were broken off, but there was no skin or tissue under them, only something dark. He bagged the victim's hands. As he was bagging the left, he realized it was not in rigor like the rest of her body. He made a note of that in his notepad. He thought she must have been grasping something when she died. He noticed bruising on her face, but she was stabbed in the chest. Mac took closer pictures of the bruising and the wound. Then he turned the body over to the ME's office.

Mac searched around the area. He found overturned garbage cans, since he was in an alley. He couldn't be sure they were overturned in a struggle, but he documented them anyway. There was a hotel near here, and Mac thought that was where that fashion show had been. He thought maybe that's where she came from. He knew she had been dead at least six hours. It was after 3 am now. He would estimate that she died at around 9 pm last night. Mac wondered why no one had missed her. That was something he would have to find out. Surely she was supposed to be somewhere.

Don walked over to Mac. "Well, what did you find?" Don asked.

"She's close to that hotel where the modeling show was last night I think. I want you to make sure. Find out who she was modeling for. I believe she was in that modeling show," Mac said.

Don wrote that down. "I'll get on it."

Mac went back to the lab, not having much to work with. He would have to wait for Sid to finish with the autopsy. All his evidence was on the body, since it rained after the victim was killed. He knew that because she had been wet. He went to his office and hung his coat up. Then he sat down and wrote out a report about everything so far. Then he heard the elevator beep. He looked up to see Chief Sinclair coming toward his office. He walked in and sat down on the couch.

Mac looked at him a moment. "Chief," he said. "What brings you in?"

"I wanted to thank you, Taylor," Sinclair said.

"For what?"

"For proving me innocent, not giving up on me. You could have hung me out to dry like everybody else after the way I treated you before."

"I'm not one to do that. I know you're not a murderer."

"If you ever need my help again, I'll be there for you. I heard about your punishment the Commissioner dealt. I'll speak to him about that."

"Thanks," Mac said. "I was about to get used to it though."

"You were doing your job."

"He was right though. I was careless."

"How many hundreds of cases have you solved, Mac?"

"I don't know."

"One little slip-up shouldn't bring punishment like this. Besides that, you were right anyway."

"She could have ruined the case with that information though."

The chief nodded. "Yes, but she didn't." He stood up. "I'll talk to you later, Taylor."

"Thanks."

Mac had not expected that. He finished writing his information on the case so far. Then he went down to the morgue. Sid looked around as Mac came out of the elevator. "You didn't sneak up on me this time," Sid said.

"No, I guess not," Mac said. "What have you got?"

"A very pretty girl."

"She was a model."

"Twenty-one years old. The bruises on her face were from a fist. Her jaw was fractured on the left side. The bruising on her right ankle was from her spraining the ankle. I'm thinking she might have been running in those shoes she was wearing because she had some bruising on both heels. She wasn't raped. No sign of any sexual activity. As a matter of fact, I would say your victim was a virgin. Her left hand must have gone into early rigor because she was grasping something and someone pried her hand open to get it, but the cause of death was the stab wound. It penetrated the left lung. She drowned in her own blood. I collected the samples from under her nails. It was something gritty. She also had a lot of scrapes on her knees and legs as well as her hands."

Mac took the evidence and the report Sid had for him. "Anything else?" Mac asked.

"No. She had no other broken bones or injuries."

"Thanks, Sid."

Mac went back up to the lab to analyze the evidence Sid had given him. Stella was in the lab now. "Hi," she said.

"Hi," Mac replied. "What have you got?"

"A disc jockey."

"A model. I think she was in that show last night."

"Hmmm. I have a guy who insults people over the radio. I suppose I have about two million suspects."

"Good luck. I don't even have one yet."

Mac analyzed the dark substance from the victim's fingernails. It was asphault from the pavement in the alley. Mac thought she must have been trying to get away from her attacker after she fell from the sprained ankle. He wondered what she could have been holding when she died. Was it what the killer wanted? He would have to find out who had something against this girl.

Mac studied the pictures of the victim. The bruises on her face were pretty distinctive. When he found a suspect, he could compare his fist to the bruises. He studied the victim's clothes next. They were torn slightly in the front. Mac thought that must have been from the struggle.

Stella was studying her victim, Norman Randle. He was a DJ on KMZY. He had a talk show called "In My Opinion". He had no qualms about expressing his opinion either, no matter how insulting it was. People would call in and give their opinions. Stella thought people like that were just asking for it. Anyone could have killed him. She would have to go over his broadcasts and see who his latest victims had been to narrow her search down a little. She had heard this guy before. He made fun of people for being overweight and anything else he could find wrong with anyone. Stella was disgusted the first time she ever heard that show and she had never heard it again. Now, here she was trying to figure out who murdered the jerk. His tongue had been cut out, which Stella figured had been symbolic to whomever killed him. Then his throat had been cut and his vocal cords pulled out. She knew from all that, it had to be something about that radio show. Stella wondered who could have enough knowledge of the body to be able to find the vocal cords like that. She wasn't sure she could even do it.

Stella went to her office to go over the evidence she had so far, which wasn't much. She would have to go to the radio station studio to get more information later. Nothing was open at this time of the morning.

At sunrise, Mac went and got a quick breakfast and some coffee. Then he went over to the hotel where the fashion show had taken place. He found that the conductors of the fashion show were staying in the hotel. He found out the room numbers and went up to the 25th floor, which seemed to be the designated floor for them all. First, he went to the victim's agent. He knocked on the door and waited. No answer, so he knocked again. Then he heard the door being opened.

A man opened the door and stared at Mac. "Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

Mac looked at his watch. "About seven am," he said.

The man narrowed his eyes. "Okay, what is this about?"

Mac showed him his badge. "I'm Detective Mac Taylor. Did you know Makayla Wyatt?"

"Yes, I know her. Is she in trouble?"

"She was murdered last night."

The man's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "You're not serious!"

"I'm afraid I am. You're her manager?"

"Yes. I'm Frank Deets."

"I need to talk to you."

"Come in."

Mac went into the hotel room. "Excuse the mess," Deets said, as he sat down in a chair.

Mac sat down. "Did anyone have anything against MaKayla?"

"Not that I know of. She was a sweet girl who got along with everybody, as far as I know. She wasn't like most models you see who will do anything to get on that runway. She was pretty enough to get what she wanted without giving anything else."

Mac stared at him a moment. "And what do the others give?"

"Whatever they want to."

"Maybe that was what caused jealousy. She was stabbed, and she had been holding something in her left hand when she died. Someone took it."

"Are you accusing me?"

"Where were you around nine last night?"

"I was still at the fashion show."

"She was wearing some skimpy lingerie and four-inch heels. It appears that she was chased into that alley. She sprained her ankle and that's when her attacker got the best of her. What motive could anyone have?"

"Like I said, I never saw her cross with anyone or anyone cross with her."

"What about some of the other models?"

"You'll have to ask them."

"And she was modeling for a lingerie line?"

"Yes. Is the owner of the line still staying here?"

"Sure."

"I want the names of the models in your agency."

"I have six." Deets took out a notepad and wrote the names down for Mac. "I don't think any of those girls would kill MaKayla."

"Jealousy is a powerful motive in my business," Mac said. "Money is one too. I'm sure MaKayla was making money with a job like this and all these girls must want their finger in the pie."

"I'm sure they do, but to murder for it?"

"We'll see." Mac opened his forensics kit. "I need an imprint of your fist."

Deets stared at him. "What for?"

"To compare to the bruises on MaKayla's face."

"I'm actually a suspect?"

"Until I eliminate you, you are."

"I don't believe it!"

"Well, believe it." Mac pushed Deets' fist into the mold. "If you're innocent, you don't have a thing to worry about."

"I don't like being accused of murder."

"I know how you feel, but if you're involved in something, you have to be eliminated as a suspect." Mac took a fingerprint kit and a swab out of the kit. "I need your fingerprints and DNA too."

Deets was incredulous. "This is harassment!" he said.

"Just give them to me and it will be over."

Mac got all his evidence and then went on to the room MaKayla Wyatt had been staying in. The maid opened the door for him. He was surprised when he walked in. The place had been ransacked, or it looked like it had. Mac took pictures, but as he went, he realized it had not been ransacked, it was just messy. He wondered how often these people changed clothes. He shined the ALS light on the bed, but there was no evidence of any sexual activity, but then they had determined that the girl had not been raped, and Sid had thought she was a virgin, but Mac had to check anyway. He dusted for prints and found several on the door and chairs in the room. He wondered if any of them would match Deets' prints.

When Mac was done with the hotel room, he went on to the next. Deets had given him a list of all the models and their room numbers. He didn't think any of these models could have fractured MaKayla's jaw, but he had not seen them yet. Deets had no bruising on his knuckles, so Mac didn't really think he did it.

Mac went to the first room and knocked. He waited, and finally heard someone unlocking the door. There was a young woman at the door. She stared at Mac. "This had better be important," she said.

Mac showed her his badge. "It is," he said. "MaKayla Wyatt was murdered."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You're acquainted with her. When was the last time you saw her?"

"Last night at the fashion show."

"What time was that?"

"I don't know. I didn't have time to think about what time it was. I was busy modeling."

"Where were you at around nine last night?"

"Am I a suspect?"

"Where were you around nine…" Mac looked at his list. "…Marla Pascoll?"

"Yeah, I'm Marla. I told you, I was at the fashion show. Do you think I would mess up my career by killing somebody? I sure don't want to spend my life in jail!"

"Hold out your hands."

Marla held out her hands and Mac took pictures of them. "No bruises," he said.

Marla glared at him. "I told you I did not kill her."

"I have to prove it though. Were you and MaKayla friends?"

"We weren't enemies, but I wouldn't call us friends. She was closest to Rhonda Jeffers. They are both from Alabama."

"I need your fingerprints."

"Why?"

"Elimination."

"I don't want that ink on my fingers, under my nails! I am a model!"

"I don't care if you are. This ink isn't that hard to get off. It'll come off really well with a baby wipe."

Marla rolled her eyes and held out her hands. Mac took her fingerprints and labeled the paper. Then he swabbed the inside of her mouth. "Anything else?" she asked.

"No," Mac said.

"Good bye."

Marla shut the door in Mac's face. He knew this was going to be a long day. He didn't have much luck with any of the other models. Rhonda Jeffers was the last. When Mac told her about MaKayla, she was incredibly upset. Mac had not found anyone with bruises on their hands. They had all been at the fashion show. Mac wondered why MaKayla was in that alley. There had to be a reason. Rhonda didn't have any idea why MaKayla would be in the alley.

Mac left the hotel room not knowing much more than he knew before. He would have to visit the designer that these models were working for. He dreaded talking to these people. He figured they might be more rude than the ones he had already talked to. He had talked to ruder ones before though.

Stella was at the studio of the radio station. She had a warrant for the transcripts and tapes from Norman Randle's show. The manager didn't want to cooperate, but he did anyway. Stella dreaded listening to all that stuff from that show. She would have to though. She went to the manager's office. "Did anybody threaten Norman on his show?" she asked.

"People were always threatening," the manager answered. "He had a controversial show."

"But was there anyone who was particularly angry?"

"You can listen to the tapes and you'll hear that everybody is angry."

Stella sighed. "Thanks," she said. She left the studio and headed over to Norman Randle's apartment. She hoped she found more information here than she did at that studio. She would have to get those tapes to Adam so he could analyze them. She figured it would take a while to do it. There were several.

When Stella went into the apartment, she was surprised. It was extremely neat. There was all kinds of war memorabilia on the walls and lots of antique advertisement pictures. She had been in restaurants that were decorated like this. It almost made her wonder if this guy was as bad as he had seemed, but she didn't see how anyone could insult people like that if they were a nice person. Then again, maybe he saw it as just a job. Stella thought she would have changed professions. She went through the whole apartment and found fingerprints and even found fluids on the bed. She thought someone must have loved Norman Randle, or just wanted to sleep with a jerk. She took samples from the bed and then looked through Randle's mail. She found several letters from people in different locations in the city and even some in New Jersey and as far south as Washington, D.C. She would have to take time to look through all these. She couldn't imagine anyone writing a letter to someone if they wanted to kill them, but they might have thought no one would ever know.

When Stella was done there, she headed back to the lab. She wondered how Mac was doing on his case. She had not talked to him in a while. He had been heading over to that hotel. She hoped he was having more luck than she was.