A/N: Sorry for the delay. Lots happening. Here's a short bite for you.

Cuddy walked over to the couch to face Wilson. "What are you doing going through my things?" she asked.

He gave her his familiar smile. "Sorry, but it was sitting right there. You can't tell me you wouldn't have looked at a whole stack like that in my place if the roles were reversed."

No, she couldn't. She had to grant him that.

"If you don't want to tell me, all right. But I never thought of you as a detective, and I have known you a while."

Part of her bristled at the description; part of her had to acknowledge the truth of it. She had never been a reader of mystery stories. Too frivolous.

But this wasn't a story, and House was real, as was his sentence to an isolated existence in a chilly, abandoned building unless she could sort this out somehow. Maybe another perspective would add some new ideas. On the other hand, she didn't want to tell Wilson about her encounters on the roof and in his lair with the Maestro. That was too personal, too intimate, even aside from the fact that House was wanted by the police. Murder had no statute of limitations. She knew he was innocent, but the moment his location became public knowledge, he would be hauled in for questioning.

If he was, would he even put up a defense? No, she couldn't let him be arrested.

She sighed. "Were you around when Dr. Nordstrom was filling in recently?"

He shook his head. "I didn't do rounds with him. Saw him in the halls a few times, but we never spoke."

"He mentioned a brilliant old resident he knew, Dr. Greg House. Then he wouldn't say what had happened to him, just shut off. He got my curiosity up the way he cut the story short. So I did a little research."

Wilson looked at the voluminous papers and printouts. "A little research?"

"The man was the most promising resident Dr. Nordstrom had ever seen. He still remembers him ten years later. Think of what good could be done if the charges were cleared. If he were publicly announced to be innocent, maybe he'd come back out of wherever he went to."

"You're assuming that he's innocent," Wilson pointed out. "The newspaper stories seem to say he ran."

"Is guilt the only reason to disappear?"

"It's the main one with timing this coincidental." Wilson sat back. "I'll admit, it's not proven, though. Actually, it does sound like a nice little exercise. I've imagined myself as a detective more than once, and I have read several mysteries. Maybe I could help you. Can you tell me what you've found out so far? I've hardly read all of this."

Cuddy sat down in the chair and launched into her summary. "House's landlord was murdered in his apartment, had his head bashed in. The body was found that afternoon by a UPS man who knocked on the door, and it wasn't quite shut. House had been there; there was a cane mark in the blood puddle and then to the sink, where he apparently washed off."

Wilson looked thoughtful. "Just a cane mark?" he asked.

"Cane mark and footprints going from the body to the sink," Cuddy filled in. "House was using a cane because he was still in rehab from an infarction earlier that year."

"But no other drips or such along the trail? Nothing that might have fallen off his clothes? Just from his shoes and the cane?"

Cuddy was annoyed that she hadn't seen that point. "No."

"Whoever committed the murder probably got blood on more than his shoes given he'd just bashed a man's skull in. If the murderer walked straight to the sink to wash off right after, he would have left other drips along the way, not just foot marks. Maybe House is innocent," Wilson said.

"But what about the true murderer then? Where did he drip?"

"Raincoat and rain boots set aside and then reached over and put on after to cover up?" Wilson suggested. "Or more likely worn during the murder and then removed and put into the convenient trash bag he had in his pocket. Something like that would be how it was done in the movies."

"Not bad," Cuddy had to admit.

"Where was House? Does he have any kind of alibi? I hadn't read that far, just verified at a glance that all these papers were on the same topic and from the same date."

"He had a PT appointment that afternoon, which he went to. Seemed his usual self to the therapist."

"Motive?" Wilson asked. "The stories said there was an argument, but bashing your landlord's brains out over a tenant-management argument is a little extreme. That's another point in House's favor for me."

"As far as I see it, the motive had to be to get him framed. It was in his apartment, after all."

Wilson visibly was getting into this. "Who would benefit from him being out of the way? Other residents? Other tenants? Did he have enemies?"

The trouble was, it sounded like he had rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, and Cuddy had to admit that she could see why. Not that his occasional acerbic personality would excuse murder. "I've been trying to track the other doctors who were here then. Other hospital personnel, too, although that's harder. Also asking a few quiet questions, trying to see who remembers him."

"Good a place as any to start," Wilson said. "What about other tenants?"

"Good point but harder to track."

"Have you considered just going to the police and asking them if they remember the case?" Wilson asked. "Maybe the detective who worked it is still there."

Cuddy deducted a few of the case strategy points she'd been crediting him with. "They wouldn't reveal everything, Wilson. No statute of limitations. It's still an open case for them."

"Who else have you talked to? Relatives might be helpful. Has anybody heard from him?"

"No. I did talk to his father and to an aunt. His father is a piece of work and has disowned him. The aunt was much more friendly, but no, she hasn't heard a word."

"Wonder where he is? He's probably still following the news, unless he retreated to a deserted island somewhere. If we could clear him, he might come back out." Wilson smiled at her. "We can be a detective team, just like in the movies. That might even be romantic."

Cuddy sighed. "This is reality, Wilson," she reminded him. "Not a book. If he's out there, he needs help."

Wilson's smile faded. He was sensitive to people needing help. "Yes, he does. Imagine hiding out for ten years while knowing you were innocent. Okay, how can we help find the real culprit?"