[February 14, 00:52]

Mac and Stella surveyed the alley. They were ready with their kits, but the scene didn't seem to be ready for them. An officer was putting up police tape over a layer that had already been torn down. An ambulance sped past them, lights flashing and siren blaring. Flack nodded to them, a towel emblazoned with 'Emergency Medical Services' draped over his head as a makeshift hood. It was doing little to keep him dry since he was already drenched from head to toe.

"Flack, what happened?" Stella asked ushering him under Milly's Corner's awning, even though the rain had dwindled to the occasional fat drop. There was no sense in him continuing to get rained on.

Mac clicked on his flashlight, training it on the bloodstains on Flack's knees. The fabric looked intact and Flack's walk was loping and easy as usual, but he had to check.

"It's not mine," Flack reassured his friend. Only then did the light click off. "That's our dead body," he answered Stella, jabbing a finger at the retreating ambulance.

Mac raised his eyebrows. "She's alive?" That didn't happen often.

"Yeah. Paramedics say she's gone into shock but she has a good chance of making it." Flack rubbed the towel through his hair, making it stand up every which way. "They're taking her to Lincoln. They'll document her wounds and keep me posted on her condition."

Stella shook her head. It didn't make sense. "The call from dispatch came in almost an hour ago. They're only taking her now?"

"First on scene," he pointed at the two officers, "didn't check for a pulse because of too much blood," he replied disdainfully. If their victim didn't make it, he would tell Patzo and Liu personally, just to make the lesson stick.

"The rain diluted the blood, making it look like she bled more heavily than she did," Mac reasoned. His flashlight found the blood pool that was slowly disappearing down a sewer grate.

"That's no excuse," Flack scoffed.

"I didn't say it was, Flack." Mac put up a placating hand. Patzo and Liu's negligence would be included in his report. Every time someone didn't follow protocol, it tarnished the NYPD's reputation as a whole and that was never acceptable.

"Let's take a look at the scene," Stella said, redirecting the conversation. "And get a canopy up too."

"Don't know if that's gonna help much. The rain will let up soon and it's already been trampled by EMS." He winced apologetically. He wasn't a science kind of guy, but he'd learned by now that mother nature and paramedics were among a crime scene's worst enemies. Flack hung the towel around his neck and ducked under the black and yellow tape. "Our vic is female, late twenties, early thirties. Blonde hair. Tall, six feet at least, medium build," he informed them as he walked. "She was here, face down, three stab wounds in her back." He used his flashlight to outline where she had been. The blood on the asphalt glinted darkly back at him.

"Doesn't look like a robbery." Mac added his flashlight to Flack's, illuminating her purse, pushed aside by EMS. The brown pleather bag was simple and worn, the leather-like coating so eroded in places that the white beneath showed through. It was something she carried often, and the zipper was still closed.

"Looks like a hate crime." He shone his light on the brick wall, bringing the red painted message to their attention.

Stella stared at the words for half a heartbeat before saying, "Mac, I-"

"Want this case," he finished for her. "I know. But you need to use your head, not your heart." She was a passionate detective and a compassionate person. Sometimes he worried that that very compassion would lead her astray.

"I will." Stella's eyes were hard. The woman tolerated many things, but xenophobia was not one of them. Unfounded hatred of immigrants spread like the plague from the idiots who preached it. She would find the person who had attacked their victim, for no other reason than her home country. And she would make them pay.

Mac studied her for a few long moments, silent. "Okay," he agreed finally. "Your case."

She nodded. "Thanks Mac. Let's start processing," she said brusquely, setting down her kit, pulling on a pair of gloves. Stella took photographs of the purse where it lay, the bright flash making them all blink in the darkness. She opened the purse to examine the contents. "Wallet. Cash and cards still here. Definitely a hate crime," Stella said bitterly. She handed the wallet to Flack. It was just as battered as the purse.

He produced a glove from his pocket and folded it over the edge before he took it. "Juliana van der... I'm gonna butcher this. How do you say B-I-J-L?" he asked, eyeing Stella.

She gave him her best 'How should I know?' look. "Van is a prefix for a Dutch name. I'm Greek."

Mac peered at her driver's licence. It had been issued less than six months ago. There were a few colourful Euros peeking out behind the American bills, and an international calling card too. "She hasn't been here long."

"She probably didn't know what the Bronx is, let alone to stay away," Flack said, snapping the wallet shut. The poor girl was probably after cheap rent, unaware of the rampant criminal activity in the borough. He dropped it into the evidence bag Stella held open for him.

"Go home and get dry Flack. You don't need to be here for all this." It didn't escape him that Flack had tucked his arms around himself to keep warm as their night dragged on. "We'll see you in the morning." Mac crouched and picked up Flack's bloodied coat.

Flack smiled gratefully. The adrenaline had left his veins and he was starting to freeze. "Let me know when that gets released from evidence," he called as he walked back to his car. "I like that one." He threw the borrowed towel onto his passenger seat, then added his soaked shirt. With his undershirt still clinging to him, the man cranked the heat to full blast and rubbed the goosebumps on his arms until they started to fade. He put the car in drive and headed home, to a hot shower that was long overdue.