Chapter 4

"Detective," Harry nods politely as they enter the building together, escaping the early morning drizzle.

"Dr Cunningham," His usual self would ask to be called by his first name, but he doesn't want to make the case anymore personal than it needs to be. He needs to act completely professional, if he has any hope of solving the case and keeping his new position. "Your boss said you weren't going to get involved beyond telling me the facts,"

"I shouldn't," He waits, giving the Detective time to decide whether he really wants to proceed. Yes, he agreed to meet with the pathologist, but they both know actively inviting him to get involved could create complications. Sam still has time to back out.

"You wanted to walk me through the theory?" He decides that even if he doesn't facilitate Dr Cunningham's ideas, he's going to have them anyway, and he very well might act on them, with or without police help – Sam didn't miss the look of determination that had been present since the body was identified. He's already noticed how close he is to his bereaved colleague – when he phoned the lab the night before, he'd been told Harry was with her; and his inability, or refusal, to talk for the majority of yesterday morning gives Sam a good idea of how much he cares for her. The bags under the elder man's eyes give him a clue too. And whilst he trusts (or is trying desperately hard to hope) that the he won't do anything illegal, that he won't give her any information, Sam is certain he will do anything he can to solve the case for his friend. He will work flat out – Sam admires that.

Plus, he wants to get this case done with, as quickly as possible - not just for him, but for everyone involved (he can tell the pathologist hasn't slept) – and to do so, he'll need as much help as he can get. From the brief overview he'd given on the phone, it seems like he's incredibly perceptive and incredibly smart – he's thought of something that hadn't even crossed Sam's mind. The young detective isn't stupid – there's a reason he was promoted through the ranks so quickly – but he knows he can't dismiss the fact that this is his first murder case, and it most certainly isn't Dr Cunningham's. His experience is invaluable.

"Yes,"

Harry spends the next hour piecing together his ideas. He runs his hands through his hair several times, and throughout it all Walker stays silent, allowing Harry complete freedom, and giving himself time to process everything, sifting through for any potential cracks.

"What do you think?"

"His phone was on him, yes? Whoever it was, if they were after the phone, they would have known it was on him. Nobody goes out without their mobile." Sam wanders into the kitchen. "So, it makes sense that they would need to threaten him, get him to give it up. So, why would they not have brought their own weapon? Why use a kitchen knife?"

"Maybe they didn't use violence to threaten him at first," Harry can't help but stare at the calendar that still hangs on the wall besides the fridge – lunch with Nikki is written in today's box. "They could have threatened to harm his family, friends,"

"But they would have brought some sort of weapon along – to prove they were serious, to frighten him. If like you said, things went wrong, the victim didn't give up as easily as they had thought, they had to kill him – why not use their own weapon?"

"I don't know," Confidence begins to seep out of Harry – he can see the detective's face straining, picking apart his ideas, and attempting to work out if they were any use at all.

"The wound to the back was the first?"

"Yes,"

"And he was in that position when it happened?"

"Almost certainly,"

"Why would he turn his back on them?"

"Maybe there was more than one," It is one of the main problems with his theory, and having kept him up all night, he is yet to come to a better answer than the one he has just given. "One could have been talking to him, distracting him, whilst the other attacked,"

"But why attack?" This is the biggest crack – it's not even a crack, more a wide-open canyon, which Harry has been unable to fill with any sort of logical explanation. "There are no signs he fought with them, nothing at all. We're pretty sure the broken plates were staged afterwards. There was no struggle. Why turn robbery, into murder?"

"Maybe they always intended to murder him – he would have known what was on the phone and laptop, he could be equally as damaging."

"Which brings us back to why not bring their own weapon, if that was what they planned all along?"

Both men stand in silence, deep in thought. Harry tries his hardest to ignore that a jar of Nikki's favourite brand of instant coffee sits on a shelf, next to a different brand – presumably Daniel's choice.

"Neither of the women matched the DNA," Sam says finally, breaking the silence when he realises neither of them are progressing any further. Harry nods – Leo already told him when he dropped into the Lyell Centre quickly, before meeting the detective. "I'm going to talk to Dr Alexander today,"

"Ok," Sam turns to leave, his feet seems to drag behind him. He wonders if it's possible for them to have actually become heavier since the case started – they feel heavier. Everything feels heavier. "Detective," He stops. "Do it before lunchtime," Harry gestures towards the calendar, and he nods. "Be…" He trails off.

"I'll be delicate,"

With the earnest look in his eyes, and the gentle manner in which he has gone about the rest of his business so far, Harry doesn't doubt him.

"Would you say that Daniel was brave?" She hasn't looked at him yet, and her answers haven't reached beyond 4 words maximum. Mostly, he just gets yes or no. She isn't replying to this one at all.

She desperately wants to look up, raise an eyebrow, and let him see that she wants to know why he's asking – that she wants to understand. But she resents that he knows so much that she cannot; she's angry. And she needs to remain angry – with him, with Harry, with the nice PC that accidentally gave her a coffee with 2 sugars instead of 1. Because once the anger has gone, she will have to deal with the other feelings – the terrifying feelings.

"Nikki," His voice lowers, to barely a whisper. She feels sorry for the Detective, having to deal with her. He seems nice – he seems like he cares. "I'm going to be honest with you. We have nothing to go on." He's glad the PC is still messing about in the kitchen. "We have a couple of theories – but that's all they are, theories. Dr Cu…Harry is working with me to figure it out; and we are doing our very best. But we need your help,"

"But you can't tell me what theories?" She looks up, and for the first time he notices how red her eyes are. Not red from crying – bloodshot red. Angry, tired, bloodshot red. "You can't tell me what I'm helping with."

"You're helping catch the person who did this. So I need you to answer as best as you can." She takes a sip of the overly sweet coffee. "The door was forced open; was Daniel the type of man to go in and investigate, without phoning the police?"

Harry spends the rest of his morning reading through every article of Daniel's he can find.

"Do you know what story Daniel was working on?"

"You think he was killed because he had dirt on someone?" Sam realises he has underestimated how familiar the doctor is with police questioning tactics. Stupid of him, really.

"Did you discuss with him what story he was working on?" He dodges her question.

"No," She's angry with herself now – for not knowing this. For not knowing something that could help them. "We didn't… he said if he discussed work with me, it might encourage me to talk to him about mine." She swallows. "He was squeamish."

He can tell by the look that has spread across her face that she's disappointed with herself – that she wishes she could do more. He tries to tell her it's OK, that they have other ways of getting any information they might need, but she doesn't listen. She sits, silent, staring at the wall.

And from then on she sticks to yes or no answers.

She knows he's lying awake next to her, despite his best efforts at pretending to be sound asleep.

"What's wrong?" She cuddles up against his back, gently tracing a finger down his arm.

"If you thought you might be in trouble, with work. With anyone. You'd tell me?" He can't bare the thought of ever feeling how that doctor must have done – can't even begin to imagine how hopeless he would feel. He doesn't ever want his eyes to look like hers did.

"Baby, I'm an accountant, I don't think I can make many enemies,"

"But you would?" It's just now that she notices how still he is – she can barely feel the movement of his breathing.

"Sam, of course I would,"

She wishes he'd come back. She knows if he comes tonight, she'd open the door and just let herself fall into him. She'll let him spend the night next to her on the sofa, talking, or not talking, whatever – let him comfort her. She'll let him do that.

Going to the lunch reservation wasn't the best idea she's ever had, to put it mildly. She spent an hour trying to decide what to order, the poor waitress had to come over and ask at least 5 times.

But it's midnight now, and she has been sat next to the door for five hours. He's not going to come. She feels stupid for ever thinking he would – not after the way she treated him yesterday.

Hours seem to fly by whenever he sets himself a task. Unless that task is getting his reports finished.

He's read through every article Daniel has ever written, or the ones available online at least, even though Sam told him he got nothing from the newspaper or Nikki. He knows the detective is looking for alternatives to the journalist theory – even Harry has to admit that it seems less plausible tonight than it did this morning, having found nothing to suggest that he was working on anything other than a piece on bio-fuel future – but he refuses to give up on it just yet.

He looks up at the clock, and curses. He should be somewhere else.