Chapter Twenty-Two

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Stella had long left to check in with Danny and Hawkes later that afternoon, leaving Mac annoyed. Hidal. James. Lynn. The names floated around his head repeatedly, but the more he thought about it, the more that niggling feeling in his mind drifted away. It left him in a mood. He leaned back in his chair and twirled a pen between his fingers, letting his eyes rove over his office and beyond the glass walls to the busy lab full of people working to solve crime in the city.

Shifting slightly and grimacing at the pain, Mac's eyes caught the pile of folders that had found their way back to their rightful place on the corner of his desk. It had been one of the things that had made Stella so angry at Branco for. The detective taking over temporarily had shown complete disregard for something both he and Stella felt was very personal, and while it had slightly irked him, Stella had been in an uproar. The folders represented victims and families still waiting for answers and justice and Branco had been dismissive of such a fact. Yet another political-minded person. As his gaze continued to fix on the folders, something clicked in his mind and he pushed his chair back, standing up. With a determined stride, Mac hit headed to the elevator; his destination was the police archives.

There was a new resolve to Mac's face, that much the team, plus Angell and Flack, could gather as they congregated in his office a short hour later. They took up comfortable positions like a small party of soldiers ready for a brief by their commanding officer.

Mac faced everyone's inquisitive faces and held up a folder, looking slightly yellowed with age.

"Jane Doe is Ashley Astbury. She was a victim in a rape case ten years ago. The case was against an Ian Boyd and for all intents and purposes seemed like an open-and-shut case. The evidence was all there, including two witnesses, a couple and friends of the victim, who unexpectedly showed up that night at her apartment and caught Boyd in the act. One of them, James Hidal, managed to subdue Boyd and police were called. The other witness was his wife at the time, Lynn Hidal." Mac shook his head and handed the old file to Stella, who glanced through it. "When Boyd was arrested, he was drunk. Given the chance to sober up, he automatically denied doing such a thing, but also admitted that everything was hazy. With the evidence saying one thing, Boyd was arrested, still protesting his innocence. He told me during the short investigation that he was being framed, by Hidal. Something about competing for a contract and while there was a substantial connection, there was no evidence."

"And boom, off Boyd goes to jail," Danny finished. He took the file from Stella and studied the pictures, sharing it with Hawkes. His blue eyes narrowed. "Height seems right. With a little more meat, a dye job, a new beard, and slap on some fake glasses...meh, it could be him."

Mac leaned back against his desk slowly. "I made a call to the prison where Boyd was sent. He's out. A lawyer managed to wring a lesser sentence a while back based on good rehabilitated behavior, along with some other concessions. Ones that Boyd promptly broke once outside."

Hawkes nodded. "The only thing on his mind was revenge."

"So do we want to splash his picture on the media?" The question came from Angell.

"We could," Stella mused, "but that might cause him to go to ground. If this is right, and it is Boyd, he's already started getting his revenge. Lynn Teegan and Ashley Astbury are dead."

"James Hidal is next," Mac finished. With his statement, Angell straightened. "I'm going to request twenty-four hour surveillance on Hidal. Station a couple plain-clothes in the lobby..." she trailed off, making notes. "If I could get access to his picture..." Hawkes nodded and he, Flack, and Angell left.

"There's just one thing, Mac. Why would Boyd shoot you? And what's the significance of calling you at 3:33?" Stella asked questioningly.

Mac unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat down. "Could be that Boyd feels a small grudge against me as well, evidenced by the newspaper clipping. I was the CSI on his case and in his mind, did nothing to help him prove his innocence. He might have wanted to hurt me for that. As to the significance of the phone calls," Mac sighed, "we'll just have to ask him when we see him." He looked at Stella and Danny. "In the meantime, you two start going over what we have. Now that we have the missing pieces, let's start putting all the evidence into context." Stella nodded, but Danny hesitated, looking as if he wanted to ask Mac something, catching the attention of the other two.

"What is it, Danny?" Mac asked questioningly.

Opening his mouth to speak and then closing it, Danny repeated the process a few times before his shoulders slumped. He shook his head resignedly and pushed up his glasses. "Never mind, Mac. It's nothing." He pulled open the door and walked off into the hallway, shoving his hands in his pockets, looking pensive and worried.

Stella and Mac exchanged looks. "Lindsay?" she asked.

"Lindsay," Mac answered. He looked concerned. "I called the Bozeman police chief. Things are looking bad out there Stella."

"Things are looking bad here too." Mac just shook his head.

Officer Keely stifled a yawn and checked his watch once more before shifting in the chair provided for him in the security room. He and the current guard, Jim, were watching the black and white images being fed through the cameras from the apartment lobby and had been for the last three hours. Keely shook his head. This was definitely one of the more boring aspects of his job. He stretched and then turned to Jim. "Hey man, you want a coffee or something?"

Jim gestured to the door. "There's a small kitchenette across the hall with a coffee-maker. Grab some sugar packets for me too."

Keely got up and nodded, smoothing out his pants. "Sure thing man."

The exchange was short, not even two minutes, but it was enough for the two to miss a man, dressed in a crisp business suit carrying a business satchel , crossing the lobby and entering the elevator.

"Honey, what's wrong?" James Hidal ignored his girlfriend's whining voice and continued to pace in his home office. His usually styled hair was disheveled from repeatedly running his hands through it and his dress shirt, once crisp, was now wrinkled and creased. "Honey?" Scowling, James grabbed his girlfriend's arm tightly and shoved her down the hallway in the apartment ignoring her protesting cries.

"Why don't you just go watch some fashion show or something, anything, just leave me alone," he barked before letting her go and storming into the bedroom, slamming the door shut.

Lacey Johnson rubbed her arm with an angry scowl on her pretty face. She opened her mouth to yell something, but settled for a loud huff before making her way to the living room. A knock came at the door and she let out an aggravated sigh. Her arm was really hurting and walking towards the door, she examined it. She was definitely going to have a bruise. Jamesie was going to buy her something really expensive to make it up to her. Opening the door, she had a big smile showcasing her sparkling white teeth once she saw a well-built man with blond hair standing on the other side. "Hi! Can I help you?"

"Is James home? I'm an old friend," he said in a low deep voice that accompanied by a charming smile had her swooning and opening the door wide open. "Yes, he is. Please come in. I have to warn you that he's a bit of a snit," Lacey rolled her eyes, "I have no idea why. What did you say your name was?"

"Boyd. Ian Boyd." It was the last thing she heard before a sharp violent blow to her head knocked her to the ground. It was with dispassionate eyes that Boyd watched her fall with a thud and with the gun still in his hand, he began moving. His steps became a run when he heard talking from the bedroom and he burst in through the door, gun pointed at Hidal who was cradling a phone in his hand and talking frantically. "Put the phone down now or I'll kill you. Do it, now!"