Goren had the crime scene photos spread out on the table in front of him and he looked at each one carefully. Why strangle someone to unconsciousness and then slit her throat? A slit throat was a fast death, particularly a deep, sure slice like this one. Strangulation...not so painless...and prone to induce panic. And the lipstick mark on the neck...what did that mean? Was it left by the killer...or someone totally unrelated to the crime?

The conference room door opened and Deakins stuck his head in. "We've got another body."

He looked up. "Where?"

"Bryant Park."

Goren stiffened. That park was right behind the library. He'd spent many hours there. "How do we know it's related?"

"The person that called it in requested Major Case, just like the first one." He watched as Goren gathered the pictures together and shoved them into his portfolio. "You got an idea on this mutt yet?"

"No. Not yet."

The captain stepped aside and watched as Goren stopped at his desk before heading for the elevators with Eames, glad, and not for the first time, that their personal relationship had not interefered with their ability to deliver the criminal. When they had gotten married, he'd been afraid he'd have to split up his star team, but that had not happened. If anything, they were more in tune with one another now than they ever were...and that was a very good thing.

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It wasn't quite dawn when they arrived at Bryant Park, but they had no trouble locating the scene. Two CSU vans and four patrol cars announced the location quite clearly. Obviously, there was a scramble to get this all cleared up before the city awoke. Like the city ever sleeps, Eames mused silently. A hundred eyes could be watching us and we would never know it.

She watched Goren approach the body, wondering at the odd tension she saw crop up in his body. She left him to his preliminaries while she sought out the first unit that had arrived at the scene.

The victim was another jogger...a male, and not a small man at that. He was tall and muscular, an unusual choice for a victim. Unless this was not a random killing...and his gut was telling him it was not. He snapped on his gloves as he walked around the body. This one made as much sense as the last one. The puddle of blood under the man's head told him he'd taken a devastating hit to the back of the head. So why had the perp stuck a knife in his chest as well? He wasn't getting this at all.

He squatted beside the body and turned the head for a better view of the wound. He didn't see her approach, but he knew she was there. He always did. "There doesn't appear to have been a struggle. The killer would have had to take him down quick, with the first blow." He indicated the wound in front of him. "The first, debilitating blow," he muttered by way of introduction.

"Why was he jogging in the middle of the night?"

"It's not the middle of the night any more." He sighed. "The first victim went for a late jog. This one was going for an early jog."

"What timing."

"I'm more interested in how the killer found them...and why."

"Bobby..." She leaned forward, resting a hand on his shoulder as she pointed to a mark on the victim's neck. "What's that?"

He leaned in for a closer look, then turned his head to look at her and answered, "Lipstick."

"It's the same perp."

"That would be my guess." He returned to his examination of the head wound. "Blunt force trauma...some kind of club...a baseball bat, maybe." He leaned back on his heels and continued musing aloud, "The blow fractured his skull; it very well could have been a lethal blow. But the perp kept going, jamming a knife into his heart." He leaned over the victim's chest, examining the chest wound through the slice on his t-shirt. "Big knife...very sharp...a hunting knife. The perp never gave this guy a chance to fight."

He stood up and Eames said, "The 911 call was made from in front of the library. I already told them to get us a tape of the call." He just nodded, and she asked, "Got any ideas?"

Slowly shaking his head, he said, "Not yet."

"You'll get it. You always do."

He allowed a small smile for her. "Let's get back to the squadroom and see if dispatch has sent over the tape of the first call."

"You think the perp called in his own crime?"

He nodded. "I think he's proud of himself, and he's laughing at us."

"Well, we'll see who gets the last laugh."

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He slid the tape into the recorder, slipped on the headphones and pressed 'play'. His eyes strayed over the crime scene photos as the call began to play:

911. What is your emergency?

I'd like to report a murder.

His eyes widened...no...he hit 'stop'. "Eames!"

She hurried to the conference room door from her desk. "What is it?"

He hit rewind, yanked the headphones from their jack and pressed 'play' again.

911. What is your emergency?

I'd like to report a murder.

He hit 'stop'. "Please tell me I'm hearing things."

She walked to the table and pressed 'play'.

Where is your location?

You will find the body along the harbor path in Battery Park.

Did you witness the murder?

I certainly did. I would suggest you call out your Major Case Squad for this one. After all, they are 'the greatest detectives in the world', and you will need the best for this one.

Click.

Eames felt a rock settle into the pit of her stomach as she looked at her partner, who had taken to pacing around the table, visibly agitated. He wasn't hearing things. It was Nicole Wallace.