A/N: Same disclaimers apply, as always. I've had a crazy week and haven't had the opportunity to respond to your reviews yet - forgive me, I'm trying to catch up! But I wanted to keep the story rolling... here is 9, and it is a lot of case stuff. Bear with me, I promise it will make sense later. Credit to Cyko1003, by Beta Mistress.


Chapter 9
Lindsay: Waiting

Tuesday morning dawned gray and lonesome for Lindsay. She felt as if she were running on autopilot; watching a series of commercials and waiting for her own life to return from interruption. In an attempt to avoid the signs of Danny that existed everywhere in her apartment - his spare clothes, his toothbrush - she left for work in a rush. Solving crimes helped her avoid pain - this wasn't the first time in her life she had turned to her career for solace.

As soon as she arrived at the lab, she went straight to Stella's office so they could develop their game plan for the day. She was thankful when Stella failed to ask how she was holding up - Lindsay hated lying, she just wanted to get down to business.

"Sid's completed the autopsy," Stella informed her. "He wants us to meet him in the morgue - let's suit up and do that first. Maybe he'll have some answers."

In the locker room, as she and Stella slid coveralls on over their street clothes, Lindsay quickly checked her cell phone. No new messages, the screen blinked.

Stella noticed, and smiled sympathetically. "You know Danny can't call you," she reminded gently.

Lindsay silently scolded herself for having a moment of weakness in front of Stella. Throughout her relationship with Danny, she had been determined to never let her heart affect her job. "I know," she sighed. "I just wonder if he's thinking of me at all."

Stella grinned and put her arm around Lindsay's shoulder as they left the locker rooms, now clad in drab navy blue from head to toe. "I know he's thinking of you," she promised.

Lindsay nodded, still trying to push down the emotions that threatened to boil over. Having a friend like Stella made her feel less alone. They walked through the swinging doors of the morgue, where Hammerback stood waiting.

"My two favorite girls!" he declared pleasantly. If anyone could bring a chuckle out of Lindsay right now, it was the likeable, albeit odd, medical examiner. He whipped a sheet off of the body of Alan Rothbart, causing white flour to billow out in all directions.

"Cause of death was a subdural hematoma, the result of a blow from a heavy, rounded object," Hammerback said. Turning to the computer screen, he brought up an enlarged photo of the fatal injury. "When we examine the skull here, we see the shape of the wound is a partial semi-circle, consistent with the bottom of a can." He pulled out the tomato sauce can, which was still sealed in a plastic bag, and handed it to Lindsay for comparison. When she held the bottom edge of the can up to the enlarged image of the wound, the match was evident.

"There's you murder weapon," Hammerback nodded. "From the location of the wound on the head, you're looking for a tall killer. Given the height of our victim, the killer would have to be around six-two in order to come down at that angle with the can."

Lindsay frowned at Stella. "Travis Gonzales is short - he's only about my height."

Stella nodded thoughtfully. "I guess it's back to the guest list for now," she said. "Maybe someone who attended the benefit made 'friends' with Chef Rothbart."

Hammerback's eyes widened. "Ah, a chef? I thought I smelled marinara."

"Tomato sauce leaked from the can," Stella explained. "And Trace confirmed what we pretty much knew from the start: the substance covering the body was all-purpose, unbleached wheat flour."

"Such a waste," Hammerback murmured under his breath, a faraway look in his eyes as he gazed at the corpse before him.

Lindsay nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Truesdale was very fond of him."

Hammerback blinked. "No, I meant the tomato sauce," he said. Lindsay and Stella exchanged bewildered looks. "Why, when I was head chef of La Bella Rosa, I made the most delectable manicotti al forno you've ever tasted."

Stella patted his shoulder as she and Lindsay left. "I believe it, Sid," she laughed.

While changing out of their coveralls, Lindsay and Stella weighed their options out loud.

"We're looking for someone very tall," Lindsay said. "At least that's a start. Unless his fingerprints come back as a match, Gonzales is basically off the hook. Maybe we'll have better luck with the guest list."

Stella nodded. "We've got quite a list - let's get started."

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It had been a grueling day of questioning potential suspects. Despite the exhaustion she felt, Lindsay was glad to be busy. There were less opportunities for sorrow to creep up on her when her mind was occupied. Still, she would often stop and think, Where was Danny right now? What was he doing this very second? It was just not the same without him - she missed seeing his grin around every corner, sneaking up behind her, casting longing glances her way at highly inappropriate times.

The majority of the guests Stella and Lindsay interviewed that day were snobby, uptight, wealthy people who certainly had no need for the measly ten thousand dollars Mrs. Truesdale had stashed away. They also didn't hesitate to express their displeasure at being dragged down to headquarters. None of them were able to provide any solid, relevant information to the case.

Stella and Lindsay's final interview of the day was Dori Price, a stark contrast to the earlier crowd. In her mid-30's, short and round with dark hair and pale skin, she had the haggard appearance of someone much older than she truly was. Her clothes were simple and plain, and she wore no jewelry, save the wedding band on her left ringer finger. The first thing Lindsay noticed was a wound on the woman's right hand.

"What happened?" she asked Dori, gesturing to the wound. "It looks like a bite." She leaned in for a closer look.

Dori laughed uneasily, and covered the mark with her opposing hand. "No, it's just a scrape. An accident."

"You were at the benefit at the Truesdale home last month, correct?" Lindsay asked.

"Yes, I'm a volunteer for the humane society. All of the volunteers were invited." Dori shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not into those high-class parties, but Mrs. Truesdale always bragged about her money. I was curious to see her place."

"Who did you attend the party with?" Lindsay nodded towards the ring on Dori's finger. "Your husband?"

Dori shook her head quickly. "No, no, I went alone. My husband was… away."

"Away?" asked Lindsay, an unspoken request for details.

"In the Peace Corps," Dori explained. "He just returned last month. For a whole year, I had no idea exactly where he was. Somewhere in Guatemala, helping to build schools. I missed him so much, I was so lonely." Her eyes began to well up, and Lindsay felt her own composure in danger of faltering. I know, she wanted to say.

Stella seemed to sense the effect this had on Lindsay, and took over the questioning. "Mrs. Roberts, did you know Mrs. Truesdale well?"

"No," Dori replied, appearing antsy. "We don't exactly run in the same crowd. I was only at her house that one time."

"Did you happen to notice anyone suspicious at that benefit?" Stella inquired. "Maybe someone was snooping around where they weren't supposed to be? Somebody who looked out of place?"

Dori shook her head. "No, nothing like that." She glanced anxiously at the clock. "Can I go now? I really don't know anything. My husband gets angry if I don't have his dinner ready at 5."

Stella stood up and opened the door. "Sure," she said, handing Dori a business card when she brushed by. "Call me if you remember anything from that night."

"She's odd, that's for sure," Lindsay remarked as they watched the woman scurry off. "But she's not tall enough to have committed the crime."

"Something was up, she seemed stressed when we brought up her husband. I say we keep her on our radar," Stella said. She yawned and looked at her watch. "Let's call it a day," she suggested.

Once again, Lindsay was divided between feeling relief and apprehension: it had been a tiresome day, but she wasn't ready for another lonely night.

She was gathering up her belongings when Mac waved her into his office.

"How are you doing, Lindsay?" Mac asked, pointing her to a chair. Lindsay sat down reluctantly. The last thing she wanted to do was crack in front of her boss.

"I'm handling it," she said, looking down into her lap. Don't cry, not now, not here, she thought. She had not broken down yet, and she would not. "I'd never let it affect my job," she added, lifting her chin proudly.

Mac smiled. "I know that, that's not what I meant. I really meant what I said - how are you?"

Lindsay drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair and looked up at the ceiling. She was afraid to open her mouth, for fear that a sob would slip out.

When she didn't respond, Mac leaned forward in his chair, placing his hands on the desk in front of him. His face portrayed both intuition and compassion. "I know you care about Danny," he said softly. "A lot. And I do too, Lindsay. Just know that - I did this to protect him."

Lindsay nodded. As painful as this separation was, she did understand. She understood that the drastic step was necessary to keep Danny safe, and that was all she wanted.

She also hoped that Danny understood just how much she was missing him.


Hint of things to come: next chatper is title "Breakthrough." ;)