A/N: A short chapter, with just a little more background stuff - just to flesh things out – again another Nancy-centric chapter. Hope you all enjoy! Things are going to start to move a little faster story-wise, and I promise we'll have the Hardys and Bess meeting up very soon.

Chapter 10.

"Why would someone want to kill me?" Nancy asked Sergeant MacMillan in her room at Mt. Sinai. Her father, Carson Drew, had just rushed down with news of the telephoned warning.

"We were hoping you could help us out with that," MacMillan answered.

"I have no idea. I thought it was just a drive-by. I thought the owner said Gus Marouelli's people were the probable cause."

"Yeah, we got that bit. But now from the anonymous call your father received, we know it was a calculated attack on you, and not Carlo Fatelli's establishment. Think, Detective Drew. What have you been doing in the past few weeks or months? These people sound like they mean business. They'll kill you if they even think you know something you shouldn't."

"I can't possibly imagine what I might know that could be potentially dangerous to anyone! I'm working on the serial case."

"I know…I also heard you've just been pulled from that case. We're all very sorry about what happened to Dr. Gray. But please, Detective, try to think about anything strange that might have happened over the past few weeks. Anything out of the ordinary."

"You mean besides Debra getting murdered, and me and my friends being shot and possibly killed? No, nothing out of the ordinary." Nancy said despondently.

It was nearly midnight, and 'Joan' still could not find a comfortable position in her small bed in the safe house in San Francisco. Her mind kept replaying old conversations, giving her no peace. MacMillan had been asking the right question that night in the hospital, of course. At the time, she had been unable to think of anything she had done in the past few weeks leading up to the attempt on her life at Fatelli's.

It just didn't make sense. But then again, that week had been full of senseless events. The county had lost two coroners: one a heart attack and the other a murder. Then the drive-by.

The memory of finding Debra that morning a year ago flooded back in all its horribly vivid details:

She was waiting in their unmarked car as Tom was picking up coffee. They were on their way back to the station after visiting with a potential witness in their case involving the serial killer, and they needed the break.

Nancy's cell phone rang. She answered, and gasped as the caller relayed a very disturbing message.

Tom was at the passenger side, juggling a tray of coffee and doughnuts. He placed the tray on the roof of the car and opened door.

"We just got a call about a homicide," Nancy said urgently. "Tom…it's at your place."

"What?" came his stunned response.

Tom blinked in disbelief. "My house? We're taking this one."

Nancy looked doubtful. "Tom," she asked carefully, "is Deb at work today?"

"I –I think so," Tom stammered, realising the implications of Nancy's question. "I leave before she does. Did you hear anything at all about who the victim is?"

"I don't know who it is yet, Tom. All I know is that there's a body at what has been reported to be your address."

Tom stopped. "Wait, I want to get on the line with whoever is out there at the scene. I don't want anyone going in there until we personally have a chance to secure the scene."

"Tom-" Nancy started.

"Don't say it Nancy," Tom warned. "It's my house. If it's…Oh God, if it's Deb…I want everything done right! I won't have some wet-behind-the-ears rookie messing anything up."

"Tom, if it is Deb, they won't let you anywhere near this!"

"Then we're going to be hoping it's not her then, aren't we?"

She looked at him doubtfully, then relented. But inside her thoughts screamed If it's not Debra, then who else could it be?

On the way, Nancy drove in silence while Tom contacted the officers who had first responded to the scene of the murder. He was adamant that everything remain untouched until they arrived. He then put in a call to the office of the county Medical Examiner.

"Please pick up, Deb," Tom pleaded under his breath. "Pick up…"

"Cook County Coroner's Office…Hello?" a voice on the other end finally spoke. But Tom instantly knew it was not the voice of his wife.

"This is Detective Thomas Morrison," he said quickly, "is my wife, Dr. Debra Gray there?"

"No, Detective," the person on the other line responded. "She hasn't come in all day. We tried to contact her at home, but there's been no answer. We tried to reach you today, but we were told you were out. Is she sick today, Detective? There's a lot of work that needs to be taken care of since Dr. Vasek-"

Tom hung up on the call.

"What is it?" Nancy asked anxiously.

"She's not at the lab," Tom said bleakly, in a choked voice. "One of the dieners picked up. She said Deb hasn't been there all day."

Nancy knew that trying to say something uplifting to her partner would be futile. Deep in the pit of her stomach, she knew exactly what they'd find when they walked into the house. She just hoped she'd be able to maintain her composure when she was actually faced with the reality of it.

She looked over at Tom. His face was impassive. Oh, Lord, she thought, it looks like he's in denial. He can't face the fact that we are most definitely going to walk in there and find Deb dead.

"Don't say it, Drew," Tom said in a warning voice.

"Don't say what?"

"I know what you're thinking," he responded. "You're thinking I won't be able to handle it if it turns out to be Deb in there. Well you can just shove that line of thinking. I'm a professional, and I've seen a lot of things in my career. I can handle myself. Understood?"

Nancy gave a curt nod and said nothing else for the rest of the short, speedy drive.

When they arrived, a lone squad car was parked out front. One officer was waiting by the door, and the other was talking to a civilian who was looking quite distraught.

Probably the person that stumbled upon the body in the house, Nancy thought to herself.

A few neighbours were peeking out of their windows across the street, and one that had been walking her dog stopped and came back up the sidewalk when she saw Tom and Nancy get out of their vehicle.

The partners hurriedly approached the officer standing watch at the door.

"'Morning, Officer…Grenfeldt," Nancy spoke as she read his name from his uniform. She flashed her badge. "I'm Detective Drew, and this is my partner Detective Tom Morrison."

"Hello, Detectives," Officer Grenfeldt said pleasantly.

"Officer," Tom said, his voice strained, "no one has come in or out since you arrived on the scene, is that right?"

"That's right, Detective," Officer Grenfeldt replied affirmatively. "Me and my partner there, Officer Jordan, we were out on patrol when that guy – uh, Hugh McCartney, ran out of the house, saw us, and flagged us down. Said he found some lady on the floor of her living room. We came in, saw the body and called it in. Then we got your call immediately after, Detective, telling us not to touch anything."

"Good, Officer…good job," Tom said mechanically. He brushed past the young officer and up the three small front steps towards the front door. Nancy followed close behind.

She noted the front door was slightly open.

"Our pal, Hugh, over there, says he found the door open when he came calling," Officer Grenfeldt called out after them. "He's canvassing for some charity or other."

"Thank you, Officer," Tom replied, "I'm sure you were diligent enough to take his statement down, weren't you?"

Grenfeldt nodded with slight indignation. Satisfied, Tom turned back into the entrance.

They entered slowly. The house felt like a freezer.

"Damn, it's cold in here," Tom muttered, reaching out to the thermostat and adjusting the dial. "Deb usually turns it down when she leaves for work to save on our heating bill- "

The partners peered into the living room, noted the disarray. A lamp was smashed. Cushions were scattered on the carpet. Papers were strewn about, and the telephone had been ripped from the jack.

"Debra!" Tom cried out.

On the floor, between the coffee table and couch, lay Dr. Debra Grey. The coils of the telephone were wrapped tightly around her throat. Her green eyes were wide with shock and fear, mouth gaping and tongue stretching out.

"Deb," Tom whispered softly, his voice breaking as he knelt beside the body.

"Don't touch her!" Nancy snapped, realising her partner's mind was not focusing on proper procedure. How stupid of her to think he would have been able to handle this; that they should have responded to this. They were really going to catch heat for breaking protocol like this.

"I'm calling for backup," Nancy said decisively. "You – I want you outside, now!"

"But…I can't just leave her…" Tom whimpered.

"Out!" Nancy bellowed. "I won't have you blubbering all around this crime scene. You'll never forgive yourself if you mess up a crucial piece of evidence."

Tom obediently got up and started for the door. He stopped and looked back one last time. "She must have just been on her way out…That's why it's so cold in here. It's always the last thing she does before she leaves. She always turns down the heat."

He's in shock, Nancy thought with pity, he's babbling.

But the house did indeed feel like a freezer. The early morning had been extremely chilly, but Nancy knew that by evening it was going to warm up. The temperamental Chicago weather! she thought.

She hadn't wanted to say it in Tom's presence, but she already had a sinking feeling that Debra was the most recent victim of the elusive serial killer. The telephone cord was a dead giveaway.

Authorities had purposely released incorrect information about the manner in which the other women had died; the media had reported that they'd all been strangled with 'electrical' cords – not telephone cords.

Nancy took a moment to still herself, calm her emotions and her breathing. She was just beginning to overcome the shock of finding her new friend dead, and knew she had to remain rational. The house was very still. Too still. There was no hum of the refrigerator motor; no buzz of electrical activity from any houselights. Nancy took a quick walk around the ground level of the house. All the lamps in the house were unplugged in the living room. In the kitchen, all the appliances including the refrigerator and stove were also unplugged. In the master bedroom, the television, bedside lamps and alarm clocks were disconnected in a like manner.

All indicative that this was the work of their serial killer – a killer who curiously unplugged all electrical appliances and devices in the homes of his victims.

With a deep sigh, Nancy finally called in department crime scene investigators, and other members of the task force involved with case.

The realisation hit her that a coroner from another county might have to be called in, as now both Dr. Stanley Vasek and Dr. Debra Gray were dead.

A slow anger began to boil within her. The serial killer had crossed the line. He had made it personal. And Nancy vowed she was going to do everything in her power to see that he was apprehended and brought to justice. It was a promise she made silently to her murdered friend.

As 'Joan' tossed about in the uncomfortable bed, restless and bordering on insomnia, she hoped she would still be able to keep that promise.