A/N: Sorry for the delay, folks! I had intended to post sooner, but I was mourning the loss of a really, big chunk of story I had all written down for part of the conclusion. It got lost somewhere between a 'cut and paste' operation using MS Word, and I could not get it back. But I am over the depression now, and here is the next chapter! Enjoy.

Chapter 14.

"A toxicology screen normally takes four to six weeks to come through," Sergeant Mahoney said, as Frank and Joe continued to look at the autopsy report belonging to Yuri Vladik, the last arrest made by Detectives Thomas Morrison and Nancy Drew.

"Then how could Dr. Stanley Vasek possibly know his cause of death right away?" Frank asked.

All four men looked up at each other, and knew that they had stumbled onto something of extreme importance.

"It looks like this Dr. Redding simply did a perfunctory review of the autopsy report started by Dr. Vasek, and put it to bed," Joe mused, taking a closer look at it. "What reason would Dr. Vasek have for falsifying an autopsy report?"

"Do either of you recall what Dr. Vasek was like? Professionally, I mean," Frank queried.

"He was the Chief Medical Examiner," Mahoney answered. "The guy knew his stuff. Now, those tests aren't cheap, I must say. Ordering them is always going to put a dent in the budget. But falsifying the report? It doesn't make sense."

"Okay," said Frank, "let's look at this Yuri Vladik. Sergeant MacMillan, you mentioned he was a small-time drug dealer. Any connection to Marouelli?"

"If it's drugs, most likely," MacMillan responded.

"Why would Tom Morrison and Nancy arrest him? I thought they were involved with Major Crimes-"

A cell phone started ringing.

"That's mine," Mahoney grumbled. "Hold that thought, Frank."

The three other men quieted while he answered the call.

"Mahoney here," he said. "Yeah…What? When?..Okay…no…I'll be there as soon as I can! This is…this is terrific!… We're sure this time, right? I knew that guy had to be our man…Okay…See you soon!"

Frank and Joe noticed that Mahoney was grinning ear to ear.

"What's the word, Mahoney?" MacMillan asked.

"Gentlemen, I just received news that we have arrested and charged the sick bastard we believe to be responsible for the serial murders!"

"Hang up, and get on the phone to Chicago, now!" 'Joan' said, her voice burning with angry intensity.

"Now just a moment-" the voice on the other side of the line became indignant.

"Agent Phillips, either you get on the phone and tell your contact to get in line with my plan or I'm going there myself and doing it on my own! This has got to stop, and it's going to stop now! People are getting hurt, and people are dying – people who are dear to me. If anyone else dies because of my situation, I swear to God, I will hold the Bureau responsible! I told you before: I am sick of feeling helpless."

Agent Phillips was silent.

"Well, are you going to help me or not?"

Sergeant MacMillan let out an enthusiastic shout and pumped a fist in the air at the news of the capture of the man authorities believed to be the serial killer. "Yes! We got a name?"

"A total and completely depraved sicko named Alec Fontaine. They collared him in his car, taking pictures of women in a Chicago suburb, near a health club. They found a concealed weapon in the vehicle, and they're raiding his residence as we speak, where they're finding lots of incriminating evidence as well."

"That's terrific!" Frank said excitedly. "I know you've been after that guy for quite a while. Nancy would be thrilled to know they've caught him."

"So will her partner," Joe said in agreement. "I don't want to be around if those two were ever in the same room!"

"You're right," MacMillan agreed. "The fact that this Alec Fontaine still managed to kill another woman after Dr. Gray – well, you can imagine just how upset everyone was. Including Detective Morrison."

At the mention of Nancy's partner, a thought occurred to Frank.

"Sergeant Mahoney," he said, "before you leave, I have a request."

"What is it?"

"I'd like help coming up with a list of people with access to these files here – as well as people in the Department who know we're in Chicago."

"Good thinking, bro," Joe said. "It could only possibly be someone – a mole – in the Department who would have known that we were investigating. They are the only ones who would have access to information about us."

"Yes," MacMillan mused, nodding his head, "what you guys told me last night about the man looking for Detective Drew in New York…someone could have been making unauthorized use of police resources to look into your credit records, and that definitely points to someone in the Department."

"That would be a fairly short list," Mahoney said wryly, "unless you want to count every officer you passed in the station parking lot, hallways, offices…"

"And I strongly suspect your motel room was bugged," MacMillan added, "which would be a very good way to keep tabs on you two, as well as your conversations."

"If we make this list, it's a list that would include you two," Frank said, carefully stating the obvious.

"Of course," MacMillan said amiably. "But I hope we've proven to you that we're on your side."

"I guess we have no choice, do we?" Frank said with a small shrug. "I think if you'd wanted to kill us, you've had more than ample opportunity."

"Okay…Who else?" Joe asked, getting the making of the list back on track.

"Detective Thomas Morrison," Frank said. "There's a big question mark next to his name. He all but accused the both of you of being full members of Gus Marouelli's organisation."

"He did, did he?" remarked Mahoney with a frown.

"We were supposed to meet with him last night, in fact," Joe said. "But we all know what happened to prevent that."

"Did he give you any indication what he wanted to discuss with you?" Mahoney asked, brows furrowed.

"No," replied Frank. "He was being secretive, and I'm starting to wonder…"

"Detective Morrison hasn't been the same since Debra's murder," Mahoney said with a heavy voice. "And he refused to be partnered with someone else after what happened to Detective Drew. He's been reprimanded for missing work a couple times in the past year. All-in-all, his performance on the job has been slowly deteriorating. Look, his accusations against me and Sergeant MacMillan are completely unfounded. They're probably the product of a mind that's sunk into depression and paranoia. Of course he's refused counselling of any kind."

And round and round we go, Frank thought with frustration. While his instincts were telling him that these Sergeants were trustworthy, he could not shake the feeling some things were still being kept in the dark.

"Frank, there was that desk Sergeant you first talked to, when we first called from New York," Joe piped up.

"Oh yeah," Frank said, "a guy named Garrison."

"Hank Garrison?" Mahoney asked in surprise. "He's been here for years. He's a pussycat. Trust me, guys; he's got nothing to do with any of this whatsoever."

"Then there was your assistant – we only saw her that one time," Frank said to Sergeant Mahoney.

"Right – Detective Cathy Brunelle. She's been with me for just over two years." Mahoney confirmed.

"And she has access to all kinds of files," Joe said, remembering the time the woman had brought in files about the drive-by shooting.

"Brunelle's clean too, guys. She comes to work, does her job, and goes home. Never a hint of trouble."

"Then we've exhausted our list of potential perpetrators," Joe sighed. "One of these people on this list isn't what they appear to be, unless there's someone unknown – someone we haven't considered. Can we get a list of all the personnel from the district?"

"All the staff, including civilians…won't narrow things down any," Mahoney said in a warning tone. "But I'll get it for you. Now, I gotta be off. Duty calls!"

"Sergeant – wait," Frank called out to the man as he reached the door. "I want to go with you. This guy, Alec Fontaine, the alleged serial killer – how close can we get to him?"

"Why do you ask?" Mahoney asked.

"It may be nothing," Frank said carefully, "but I have the slightest hunch…"

MacMillan spoke up. "I don't think it's safe for you to be leaving this apartment, Frank. No one knows you're here, and I'd like it to stay that way. Going to the station would put you right back in plain sight."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Frank said. "Would anyone be brazen enough to attempt something in a police station?"

MacMillan looked as if he was about to say something, then reconsidered. "I guess not," he said with a shrug.

"I'm coming with you, then," Joe said, and got up to join his older brother.

"And I can't force you to stay here," MacMillan said with a sigh. "Mahoney, they're in your hands."

Sergeant Mahoney gave his colleague a salute, and the three were off.

They let Mahoney lead the way out to the back alley where he had parked his car. Joe tapped Frank quietly on the shoulder.

"What is it?" Frank whispered.

"Did you notice that there were absolutely no pictures or personal effects in that apartment?" Joe said under his breath. "Sergeant MacMillan said it's his son's, but what college-age guy doesn't leave his mark in his own apartment, even if he doesn't use it all that often?"

"You fellas coming or not?" Mahoney called out to them.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Joe," Frank replied quietly. "But I do think there's a lot more to Sergeant MacMillan than he lets on."