-1Hey,

Thanks to everyone that has read and reviewed so far. I do appreciate the reviews!

Jim Steele is a character from Conviction I'm borrowing for this story.

Please, read and review and Merry Christmas!

Chapter Three

"ADA Steele."

"Detective Taylor." Jim Steele shook hands with Mac. "Thank you for coming in. Good to see you."

"Where are we on the Cassidy trial?"

"Just about ready to go." Jim gestured at the seat on the other side of his desk, littered with folders and handwritten notes. "I just need to walk through your testimony, make sure there's no holes for this bastard to slip through."

Mac nodded, sitting down into the uncomfortable chair, his eyes darting around Jim Steele's office, lingering on the notice board, on the photographs and details of Declan Cassidy's crimes. "We've got enough to put him away."

Steele nodded, following Mac's gaze. "I had hoped he might roll on the rest of his organisation, but he's stayed mute. Dumb bastard."

"Loyal."

"Loyal but dumb." Steele lifted a folder from the clutter on his desk, tapping it against his other hand. "Lets get started, shall we?"

"Fine with me."

He opened the folder, glancing quickly at the report inside, his handwritten notes crawling across the page like snakes. "Detective Taylor, you are head of the NYPD Crime Lab, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Where you on duty on the night of October 14th this year?"

"I was."

"Did you respond to a call from Central Park at approximately 1032 that evening?"

"I did."

He gestured at the wall across from Mac, practising his motions, his movements for the jury. "Can you tell jury…" he broke of suddenly, his eyes locking onto Mac. "And loose the smirk, will you?"

"Sorry."

"Can you tell the jury what happened when you responded to that call?"

"My partner, Detective Bonaserra and I arrived at Central Park at approximately 1041pm that evening…."

XxxXXXxxx

"State your name for the tape."

"Declan Patrick Cassidy."

"Do you know a Samuel James McCann?"

"Maybe."

"It's a yes or no question, Declan. Do you know Samuel James McCann?"

"I've got nothing to say."

"You know he was shot last night, Declan?"

"How would I know that? I'm in prison, for Christ sake!"

"Someone put a forty five against his kneecap and pulled the trigger. You used to favour a forty five, didn't you Declan?"

"I got nothing to do with this."

"You didn't reach out to someone on the outside, get someone to do a favour for you or your old man. Take out some of the opposition, send a warning out?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Can I have a cigarette?"

"No."

"Then take me back to my cell. I aint talking to anyone about anyone unless I get a smoke."

"I know who you are, Declan. I know what you've done, you piece of shit. I know you reached out to one of your cronies on the outside and had this done. I know you did this, you bastard."

"Prove it."

"Take him back to his cell."

xxxXXXxxxx

"Dr. Callaghan."

"Detective Flack." She stopped, waiting on him, her hands on her hips, her hair a flaming, burning contrast to the paler of her skin, the dark, bruised circles surrounding her eyes, eased by the motion of her smile. "Twice in the space of eight hours?"

"Yeah, I just cant stay away." He handed her a tall Styrofoam cup. "I thought you could do with some decent coffee."

"Always."

"How much longer are you on for?"

"A few more hours." She took a mouthful of coffee, grateful for the sudden rush of warmth and heat through her body, the bitter flavour in her mouth. "I'm going home to sleep until Sunday."

"Don't blame you there." He walked along beside her, shortening his stride to keep pace with her. "You watching the Rangers game tonight?"

"Yeah." She took another mouthful of coffee, the cup warm against her sensitive, delicate fingers. "My cousin has tickets for tonight."

"Lucky bastard. Where are his seats?"

"Blue line. Don't know how he managed to score those." She lifted the cup to her lips again, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "You here to see Samuel McCann?"

Her words slipping between them like a wall, casting shadows across them, cold and bitter, throwing her, throwing them into darkness.

He wondered what had gone through Samuel McCann's mind, just before his assailant pulled the trigger. The smell of burning flesh, of gunpowder on a cold night, the searing flash of pain in his knee.

"Yeah." He tugged on his tie, tight and constricting around his throat, the colours too bright, too jarring against the subdued lights and colouring of the hospital. "How's he doing?"

She shrugged. "He'll live. He's got bruising on his arms and shoulders as well. Broken nose, fractured cheekbone. Plus the gunshot wound to his knee"

Flack smiled briefly, almost coldly. "Someone held him down."

"Looks like it." She drained the last of the coffee, throwing her empty cup into one of the nearby bins. "This is his room, Detective."

She was back to calling him 'Detective.' back to business.

"Thank you, Doctor."

He waited until she walked away before he opened the door to Samuel McCann's room. The smile slipping form his face, his posture straightening, his eyes darkening, cold and hard, clouded like rain clouds. This was business.

"Hello, Samuel."

xxxXXXxxx

"Hey, Cowboy."

"Montana." He pushed his glasses up on to his forehead, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "What are you doing in today? Aren't you supposed to be off today?"

"Stella called me in." Lindsay frowned. "She needs the cover. Mac's in court and she's covering him…."

"So you drew the short straw"

"Something like that." She glanced around quickly, reaching out, running her hand down his arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired."

"Is this Flack's shooting?"

"Yeah." He adjusted his glasses, staring at the readouts on the screen. "I had to dig it out of his vic's knee."

"The vic's still alive?"

"Yeah. Punishment shooting."

"Punishment for what?"

"I guess that's what we're trying to figure out. Flack reckons that the victim is a piece of shit, got his fingers into all sorts of things."

"Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out." She leaned forward and kissed him, briefly, too briefly for his tired mind and body to react to, the taste of her lingering on his lips. "Later, Cowboy."

"Later."

xxxXXXxxx

"Counsellor."

"Counsellor…Jim, I need to talk to you about the Cassidy case."

"I'm all ears."

"You don't have enough to connect him with the shootings."

"I can put him at the scene."

"Even CSI evidence can't prove my client…."

"Your client is a murdering piece of shit, Counsellor. He killed those people in cold blood. He put that gun against their head, looked into their eyes and he pulled the trigger."

"You cant know that. Murder Two. Declan does five to ten years, less time served."

"You're insane. No deal."

"This is a one time offer, Jim. Otherwise we go to trial and we see if your evidence can stand up."

"See you in court, then."

xxxXXXxxx

"Hello, Samuel."

Samuel McCann drew a wheezing, laboured breath. "I got nothing to say to you." His voice was thick, coloured by the bruises decorating his face.

"I got plenty to say to you." Flack walked over to the bedside, dragging a chair out and sitting down on the edge of the chair. "Someone held you down, put a gun against your knee and pulled the trigger."

Samuel McCann looked away, staring at the stained and cracked walls of the hospital room.

"I know who you are, Samuel. You've been in trouble before, done some time out at Rikers. You've tread on someone's toes here, got somebody with a hell of a lout of power pissed off. Tell me who that was."

"Just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Detective."

xxxXXXxxx

"How did you find me?"

"Your daughter told me you'd be here." He slid into the seat behind the Auld Man, leaning forward, resting his arms against the back of the pew in front. "Said you've been coming here more and more since Declan got lifted."

"It helps me to think." The Auld Man looked to the front of the chapel, the wooden figure on the cross casting His benevolent, merciful gaze across the chapel, the row upon row of empty seats.

Across them, with all their anger and darkness.

"Did you find him?"

"Yeah." He glanced up at the crucifix and lowered his voice, afraid of being overheard. "It's done."

"Good." The Auld Man jerked his hand through the motions of crossing himself. "Dark times are coming, Mickey. Make em pay."

End of Chapter Three