A/N: Please refer to notes and disclaimers in chapter one.

Chapter 2

Light bulbs flashed amid the hum of a busy crime scene. The medical examiner crouched over the body behind the desk, taking notes. In the middle of the hubbub stood NYPD Detective Robert Goren, taking in the scene, picking up whatever clues he could.

Finally, after a few moments of contemplation, he made his way over to the body and the medical examiner.

"Strangled," ME Warner explained. "It doesn't look like he put up too much of a fight. There are no lacerations or other marks to suggest a struggle. I put the time of death between midnight and four AM."

Goren studied the body for a moment. More specifically, the ligature marks on the victim's neck. "This is interesting," he said. He pulled a pen from a pocket and used it as a pointer, without actually touching the body. It was very interesting. There wasn't one single line around the victim's throat, but rather six very thin lines, close together.

Warner looked. "The killer could have been shifting to get a better grip. It happens. Each time he changes position, the ligature leaves a new impression."

Goren nodded, but his curiosity was not satisfied. "But it would stay the same size, wouldn't it?" He pointed with the pen to the topmost line. "At the top…here…it's thicker than the rest." He moved the pen to the next line. "And this one…it's second thickest." He pointed at each of the other marks. "The pattern continues all the way down. They go in order. Biggest…to smallest." He put his pen away.

Outside in the hallway, Detective Alexandra Eames was busy making some discoveries of her own. As Goren fiddled around with the stiff in the next room, Eames stood in the hallway jotting notes as she spoke to Joey Sutiani's anxious assistant, Jerry Barone.

"I-I-I just showed up a little before t-t-two o'clock. I w-was running late, so I-I didn't want to knock on his d-door." Jerry paused and swallowed some excess mucous that had been building up in his throat. "B-But he had an appointment with his accountant." He gestured toward a tall, thin, bald man with glasses in a suit speaking with another detective a few yards away. "I buzzed the intercom, and when he didn't answer, I knocked on the…" Jerry closed his eyes and took a breath to calm himself. "When he didn't answer, I opened the door and I smelled this awful…I looked behind the desk and that's when I ran out and called 911. I've watched Crime Justice enough to know not to touch anything. The only thing I touched was the doorknob, and I don't think I st-stepped… Well, I tried my best not to disturb anything."

Eames nodded, trying her best not to let her annoyance show. "Did Mr. Sutiani have a problem with anybody recently? Any employees recently let go, dissatisfied customers, anything like that?"

Barone wiped away a single tear and sniffled while shaking his head in the negative. "Hollywood Highlife has always provided top quality food, entertainment and service. According to our latest online polls, our customer satisfaction is at 97, and we hope to achieve the other 3 soon. Anyway, most of our clientele are tourists. They wander over from Times Square or their hotel manager suggests us. As for employees, no one's been let go in the past year… Except…"

Eames stopped writing and looked up with an inquisitive expression, waiting for Jerry to continue. He didn't.

"Except…" she prodded.

"Well, I don't know if it means anything. We had a band that played here every once in a while. Some college kids from Long Island. A couple weeks ago I walked in on a boisterous argument between the lead singer and Mr. Sutiani. It was a dispute over money. Mr. Sutiani told her she was no longer welcome to play here. But they haven't been a problem. Well, except for last night."

"What happened last night?"

Jerry hesitated. "I overheard a heated argument between Mr. Sutiani and the band's keyboardist. He was trying to get more money out of Mr. Sutiani. The boy has a drug problem, from what I've heard."

Eames held in a smiled as she scribbled down that last tidbit. "How about his personal life? Any problems there?"

"Mr. Sutiani was going through a divorce. From what I heard it was rather ugly. I don't know many details; Mr. Sutiani wasn't much of a gossip."

Eames nodded and forced a look of understanding.

"Close up shots and far away shots," Goren was saying to a CSU tech with a camera. "Make sure those marks are focused, I don't want blurry pictures."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his partner approach and he turned to talk to her. "Anything?"

"The assistant listened in on a couple arguments between Sutiani and members of a band he'd fired, and he was going through a divorce. Other than that, it seems he was generally liked."

"Well, someone didn't like him."

Apartment of Mrs. Sutiani

1052 5th Avenue

Friday, March 11, 2005

Ariana Sutiani sunk into the couch and absently pulled a tissue from the box on the end table to dab at her eyes.

"Mrs. Sutiani, we understand you and your husband were going through a divorce," Eames said gently, taking a seat on the couch across from the widow. Goren stayed standing.

The middle-aged woman nodded. "He'd been spending too much time at work. That's why I had him hire an assistant, so he didn't have to be there all day and all night. At first it worked, but after a month he was right back where he was before."

"How were the assets being split up?"

"He was—Why?"

The detectives exchanged a look before Eames continued. "We were told things weren't…going well."

"Ah huh." Mrs. Sutiani took this in for a moment. "I feel I should have an attorney."

"When you're ready to talk to us, just give us a call." Eames handed the woman a business card before standing to leave.

Goren, however, wasn't ready just yet.

"Mrs. Sutiani, I noticed there are pictures of you and your husband placed around the house," he said, gesturing to some frames on the mantle and hung on the wall.

Mrs. Sutiani followed the gestures and smiled nostalgically. "Yes, we had some great times together. Times I wish weren't over…but I guess there's no chance at reconciling now."

Mrs. Sutiani let out a long, sorrowful breath. The moment of silence was broken from a phone ringing from another room. Mrs. Sutiani excused herself as she rose from the couch and left the room.

Goren watched the woman leave the room. "If things weren't going so well, why was she considering reconciliation?"

"Maybe it was one sided…?"

"Or… Maybe things weren't going as bad as we're supposed to think."

On the eleventh floor of One Police Plaza, the Major Case squad room, Goren and Eames briefed their Captain in his office.

"The brass want a quick resolution to this one," Captain James Deakins lectured. "Nothing kills tourism like a high-class murder in midtown. No pun intended."

"We looked up the divorce records," Eames said. "Everything was being split down the middle; Mrs. Sutiani was going to be a millionaire. They had put the negotiations on hold while they discussed the possibility of reconciling. Either Sutiani lied to Barone, or Barone's lying to us."

There was a tap on the glass door, and Goren opened it to take a file from a secretary.

"Got something?" Deakins asked.

Goren nodded slightly as he scanned the papers. "One of the band members has a record. Eric Bigelow. Arrests for possession, possession, burglary, possession. Drug of choice: cocaine."

Deakins took the file and glanced through it. "All right. Go have a chat with Mr. Bigelow."

State University of New York, The College at Old Westbury

Dorm #4, Room 118

Friday, March 11, 2005

Eric was halfway down the hallway before he noticed the man and woman knocking on his door. He pulled his key out of his pocket and cleared his throat as he approached. He immediately noticed the familiar glint of detective badges as the two turned toward him.

"Looking for someone?" he asked as casually as he could while he unlocked his door.

"Yeah, you, Eric" Eames said.

Eric snorted a laugh as he walked into his room and tossed his books on his bed. "Okay. How can I help you, detectives?"

"You can start by telling us where you were last night," Goren said, looking through the textbooks on Eric's desk.

Eric thought for a moment. Carefully. "There was a campus party at 11 that I went to."

"What about after the party?" Eames asked.

"Came back here and crashed."

"And what time was that?"

Eric's eyes slid up toward the ceiling and he unconsciously crossed his arms. "Um, I think around two-thirty or three."

Goren picked up a textbook and started flipping through it. "Forensic Psychology. You know, I took a class like this when I was in college."

Eric offered half a shrug. "Yeah, it's all right. I took it last semester."

"My favorite chapter was the one on lie detection," Goren continued. He stopped flipping pages and scanned an interesting passage. "Yeah, here. Ways to tell when a person is lying. Their eyes dart to a different area, they cross their arms…"

Goren looked up from the book. Eric immediately dropped his arms to his sides and took a step back.

"Okay, okay," he said. "Maybe I didn't get back to the room until four." Goren opened his mouth to say something, but Eric was quicker. "Maybe five."

"University Police have you coming through the front gate at 5:17 this morning," Eames said. "Did you forget they check ID's between 10pm and 7am?"

"I—Last night is a blur, I don't really remember too much."

"Do you remember going to Hollywood Highlife in midtown?" Goren asked, finally closing the book and setting it back on the desk.

"Oh, is that what this is about? What's that son of a bitch saying? I didn't do anything!"

"He's not saying anything," Eames said. "He's dead."

Eric stopped moving and stared at the detectives. "Shit, are you serious?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"He was murdered at about the same time you were there, Eric," Goren said.

It took him a moment. "No. No, no way! I didn't do anything, I swear to God!"

"Come on, Eric," Goren said, taking a few slow steps toward the young man. "Sutiani…he gypped you and your band on your last gig. You're in college; you have bills, books to buy...Other…recreational things… You went to him to ask him to hire you again, or to ask him for more money. What happened? He refused? Tried to kick you out? You...you got mad?"

"No!" Eric turned his back to the detectives and ran his hands through his bushy hair. "Not again. Oh God, please not again."

"Eric…"

He turned back, his face red. "I went there. But I didn't do anything! I just went to talk to him. I didn't understand why he was ripping us off like that. He started yelling at me, and I started yelling back. Then his faggot assistant came in and Sutiani told me to get out. I left. I swear to God I left! I went to a place around the corner and got trashed. Hopped on the train back to Hicksville and got a cab back here. I paid with a credit card all night, just check the records! Please! I got clean six months ago, I'm straight, I swear! I didn't kill anybody!"

Goren nodded. "Okay Eric. We will. Thank you." He and Eames turned to leave, but at the door Goren turned back. "What about the initial dispute between Sutiani and..."

"Alexis," Eric said. "I don't know, it was just her and Sutiani in the office, right after our last show. She's down the hall in the other wing if you want to talk to her, too. Room 146."

Alexis lay on her bed with her cayenne Gibson Les Paul Standard resting on her stomach as she absently strummed out a tune, her mind wandering around aimlessly. As she became more wrapped up in her thoughts she began to mutter out some words.

"I'm walking down the line

That divides me somewhere in my mind

On the borderline

Of the edge and where I walk alone.

Read between the lines-"

Just as she was about toreach the chorus there was a loud knock on the door. She was way too comfortable to move from her bed.

She kept strumming as she called out, "It's open!"

When Alexis saw two people she didn't know step into the room she sat bolt upright, letting the guitar fall into her lap.

"Who the hell are—" She stopped when she saw the badges. "Oh."

"Alexis Mitchell?" Eames asked. "I'm Detective Eames, this is my partner Detective Goren, NYPD. We just have a few questions for you."

Alexis stared for a moment. "Uh…okay." She slid the guitar back into its case on the floor, and hopped down from the bed.

"You're in the band Broken Dreams, correct?" Eames asked.

Alexis chuckled. "'In it'? You could say I'm 'in it.' I'm the founder. I got the group together and I do the booking."

"You got your band booked at Hollywood Highlife?"

Alexis pulled out her desk chair and sat down, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, last May. Owner's an asshole though, we're done there."

"Why do you say that?" Goren asked.

Alexis shrugged. "He cheated us out of some money. I confronted him and he told me not to come back. It was fine by me. We got labels looking at us now, anyway, so it doesn't matter.

"The money," Eames started. "Is that what your argument was about?"

"That?" Alexis looked surprised. "That was the argument, and it was like a month ago." Suddenly she looked a little suspicious of the detectives. "Why? What's going on?"

"The asshole was murdered this morning," Goren said.

"Oh, shit, for real? That blows."

There was an awkward silence while Goren and Eames watched Alexis run this through her mind. She finally snapped her head up and stood from the chair.

"Wait, wait, wait," she said. "What does that have to do with me?"

Goren, however, was looking behind her. "Is that…is that a Gibson?"

Alexis turned to look where Goren was pointing as he subtly pushed past her to the guitar case lying on the floor.

"Yeah," Alexis answered, obviously puzzled.

Goren smiled gleefully as he picked up the cayenne-colored guitar from its resting place.

"Hey, be careful," Alexis warned.

Goren strummed out a few notes. "Wow, this is nice," he said. He watched Alexis out of the corner of his eye. She was terrified.

"What happened on your last night at Sutiani's club?" Eames asked, drawing Alexis' attention away from Goren and her guitar.

"We finished our set, Sutiani came backstage, gave a job well done speech. He handed me the cash and left. I started counting it out, and it was only two hundred each and he wasn't giving us another show for a month. The band made a fuss, I went into Sutiani's office to talk to him, he shouted at me, I shouted back…then his little bitch assistant came in and Sutiani made it sound like I was the one who had said we didn't want to play there anymore."

Goren hit a chord loudly, drawing the girl's attention back to him. "Where were you last night, Alexis?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Studying."

Goren hit another chord, fumbling with the guitar. Alexis gasped and reached out to catch it before it hit the floor. Goren kept hold with one hand.

"Where?"

Alexis thought fast and spoke faster, in a complete panic. "I was in the library with Zeke and Tony until they closed at eleven, then we came back here to the lounge until two, then we went to the diner in East Meadow, they're open twenty-four hours." The look of skepticism in Goren's face (and the fear of losing the guitar) prodded Alexis on after a pause. "Empress Diner in East Meadow, they'll remember us, we kept playing with the jukeboxes. They asked us like three times to stop."

Goren finally gave a slight nod and let go of the guitar, Alexis just barely catching it. He stepped around her back to Eames.

"We're going to need to talk to Zeke and Tony," Eames said.

Alexis crouched down to set the guitar back safely in the case. "Zeke Masterson is in 312 in this building and Tony Castinelli is in Building five in 207. Justin Woodwater is also in the band in case you want to talk to him, he's Tony's room mate."

"Thanks Alexis," Eames said. "Here's my card in case you think of anything else."

Alexis stood and took the card, refusing to take her eyes off of the detectives until they were both gone. The door was starting to close when a hand pushed it back open.

"Is that, uh… Where do you… find a guitar like that?" Goren asked.

Alexis was visibly annoyed. She sighed heavily and crossed her arms. "A music store," she answered flatly.

"You pay for it with… you have a part-time job…?"

Alexis couldn't quite stifle the laugh. "Yeah, because anyone can afford a Gibson on 6.50 an hour." She looked at the guitar, then back at Goren. "Anything else, detective?"

"Uh…no. Have a nice day."

He finally let the door swing shut and walked toward the elevator with Eames. "A Les Paul Standard," he said quietly. "She had every right to be sarcastic. It's a 3500 guitar."

"So how'd she get her hands on one?" his partner responded.