Chapter 3

The autopsy doesn't take long. They work on it together, whilst Sam stands behind the observation glass. The back wound came first, and then the throat was cut. He would have died quickly after that. There is slight bruising on the forehead, consistent with someone holding it back with one arm, whilst using the other to make the fatal wound. They manage to collect some foreign female DNA from around one of the wounds.

His stomach still contains the nuts Nikki had been throwing into his mouth throughout the evening.

"All the blood patterns match with him being stabbed whilst seated." Sam sits across the table from the pathologists, listening intently to Leo. "We didn't find any traces of dirt on his shirt, and no other signs that he might have been dragged. There were no injuries other than the knife wounds."

"So there hadn't been a struggle?"

"I doubt it."

"Then why the smashed plates?"

"We're only here to give you the evidence." Of course, despite this, both of their heads are whirring with ideas and theories, and Harry knows he'll probably end up sharing most of his with the young detective despite protocol.

"Right, yes," His lack of conviction leaves Harry wondering if Nikki was right to not trust his capabilities. "And the DNA sample?"

"No match to the database, and not a relation."

"Ok." He opens his mouth to continue, but then stops. He opens it again, before clamping it back shut – Harry thinks he'd find how out of his depth Sam is amusing, if he wasn't so desperate for this case to be solved quickly. "I'll need to collect DNA from any females close to him."

"Is that absolutely necessary?" Leo manages to say quickly, stopping Harry from voicing his thoughts with a stern glance.

"At the moment we have nothing else to go on. Forensics are still sorting through the flat, but they've found nothing. Not a single fingerprint, no DNA, nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I'll send someone to get samples from his ex-wife and Dr Alexander, they'll be with you by this afternoon,"

"Ok."

"I'll keep you updated on any developments,"

"Thank you,"

"What if it wasn't a robbery?" Leo indicates for Harry to continue. "Ok, so first, the plates – makes it look like there was a struggle – a robber caught in the act, they fight, he panics, and kills him. But there's no other piece of evidence that suggests that. He was sat down, with his back to any possible attacker. And he had bare feet. If you come home and see the lock has been forced, you don't take the time to remove your shoes and socks, then sit down to watch the telly. And the flat is entirely clean. Completely clean."

"They cleared up after themselves,"

"What run of the mill robber is that good at cleaning up after themself? Plus, they would have been panicking – they hadn't intended to hurt anyone, never mind kill someone. When people are panicked they always make a mistake. Always."

"They left DNA on the wound,"

"No matches to the database – you wouldn't pick an expensive block of flats as your first crime – if it was a robber, they would probably have a previous conviction, so they'd be on file."

"Maybe they just hadn't been caught for previous crimes,"

"And why a flat on the top floor? Why would you do that? It makes no sense – it would be much harder to make a quick get away if you got caught, you'd have to run down all the stairs. They could have found cash, and a phone and a laptop in any of those flats, if that's all they wanted." It clicks then, and he curses himself for having not thought of it all morning. "If they just wanted the…"

"Harry?" Papers fly off his desk as he searches for the business card Sam had given him a few hours ago. "Harry?"

"Daniel was a journalist," He explains breathlessly. "What if he was writing any article on someone? If he had dirt on someone, that would explain why they would take the laptop and phone. And why it had to be his flat."

Leo looks on helplessly as Harry works himself into a frenzy explaining the theory to the detective down the phone. This case won't leave any of their minds until it's solved, and probably not for a long time after either, he knows that – but the look in Harry's eyes scares him. It's not the determination that's worrying, he long ago got used to that. He can't place what it is exactly – but it's awfully similar to Hungary, frightening similar.

When he gets off the phone, he immediately begins searching on his computer, looking for any recent articles written by Daniel. Anything that could give him a clue as to what he was working on. Leo closes the lid of the laptop, leaving Harry just enough time to pull his fingers away before being trapped.

"Go see her,"

She sits on the other side of the door, listening to his knocks. He's been there for at least half an hour now, calling out her name between wraps. He isn't shouting, which she appreciates. It calms her.

"Niks, please let me in," She wonders if he knows she's right there, close enough to hear his sigh every time his calls go unanswered. Her mobile buzzes besides her, indicating that she has yet another missed call from him. That's 49 now. "Niks, I just need to know you're OK."

Of course she isn't ok. She can't imagine ever being ok. Which is why she doesn't want to see him right now. She doesn't want to cry again, not yet. And she doesn't want him to hold her, and tell her it will be ok. Because right now, she won't be able to believe what he's telling her, no matter how hard she tries. And she just wants to pretend, just for a little while longer, that it hasn't actually happened – that she'll wake up tomorrow and be able to go to the lunch date they arranged, and laugh at the misplaced apostrophes in the menu with him.

"Nikki,"

She can't be with Harry right now because she can't stand the thought of him knowing more than she does – and she knows she'll question him about it. If face to face with him, there is no way she will be able to resist asking. She won't be able to cope with having him say no to her, like he will inevitably have to.

His shoes clap against the stone floors as he slowly makes his way down the steps, the sound getting fainter and fainter. She waits another 5 minutes before standing up and checking the peephole. He is gone. She hopes not forever.

Because she does need him. She's always going to need him. Just later.

He checks her favourite bench by the Thames; his own flat; the restaurant where she goes… went to lunch with Daniel every Monday. He phones all her other friends that he has contacts for – none of them have seen her. Just to make sure, he goes back to the Lyell – he can't tell quite how desperate she is to find out information. He relaxes slightly when there's no sign of her being there. He drives back to her flat, double-checking that it definitely is her car parked up on the road. He pulls in behind it.

He's still there when daylight hits.

Thank you for your patience!