When Mac walks into my office later, there are several balls of screwed up paper on my desk – clean ones. "Bored?" he asks.

"Did anyone tell you about my case?"

"That your John Doe had my case file in his stomach?" He gives a weary laugh. "Yes, everyone I've run into."

"Mac –"

"What's with all the paper?" he interrupts.

"Just checking something. Two of the paper balls from the vic's stomach had saliva inside as well as on the outside. The sheet was scrunched up, forced into the vic's mouth, unscrewed, torn in half, then reformed into two balls. Our killer learned from that. A whole sheet was too large to fit down someone's throat."

"Does that lead us anywhere?"

"No. Only that he hadn't done this trick before."

"So why did you need all this paper to check?"

"I didn't. I was frustrated. Mac –"

"How much evidence have you got?"

He's interrupting me again, but I've had enough experience with Mac Taylor to know that he's perfectly willing to go on avoiding questions indefinitely. Easier to just answer his questions and get them out of the way. "That's what's frustrating me. We've got nothing. No fingerprints on the paper, or anywhere else on the victim. No DNA on the paper that doesn't belong to the victim. Not so much as an eyelash or fibre on him, or at the scene, that shouldn't be there. Even the gunshot wound was a through-and-through, so no bullet to run through IBIS." I let out a groan and drop my head into my hands, elbows resting on my desk.

I hear him pull up another chair and sit down. "We'll get something."

"No, Mac, we won't. There's nothing at all. Two cases, you and John Doe, both of which are absolute dead ends." I look up, about to try my luck again with getting him to actually talk to me. "And speaking of which –"

"You'll get him," he repeats.

I find myself thinking of the pile of case files on the edge of his desk. He probably is too. I'm about to try and talk to him again, hoping he won't move to cut me off this time, when a young lab tech knocks nervously on my door and hands a printed sheet of test results to Mac. He glances at them, then gets up and leaves without a word, turning to give me a quick smile in the doorway.

I drop my head again, pushing my fingers into my hair and forming fists. Yes, I'm frustrated, and with my partner most of all. With an irritated snort I fling my hand across the surface of the desk, sending the multitude of paper balls flying through the air to ricochet from walls and furniture. Now they're all over the floor, and I know that at some point I'll have to pick them all up again. In life you can lash out as much as you want, but sometime you always have to face the consequences, and it was this thought that kept me from shouting at Mac as he deliberately cut off all the questions he didn't want to have to hear or answer.

"Uh, Stella?"

Lindsay's hovering by the door.

I look up tiredly. "Yeah? Come in." My voice is very flat.

"Bad time?" she asks, looking around as she steps inside.

"No, no, don't worry." I breathe in, out, sitting up straight and pushing Mac to the back of my mind for the moment, and focusing on Lindsay. "Have we got something?"

"Actually, yes. A witness from the dump site."

"Really?" I ask excitedly.

"Yes. This guy took a walk on the other side of the river during his lunch break, saw a car drive up, someone pull something large from the trunk and drive off leaving it there. He thought it was just a fly-tipper until he was driving home past the spot this evening and saw the police notices."

"Sounds promising. Did he describe the car?"

"It was black, but he can't say much more than that about it. Not a 4x4 or anything like that, just an ordinary car. Flack also asked him about whoever did the dumping, but he was too far away, no go on that."

"What time was it?"

"About quarter to one. Again, he's not entirely sure."

I sigh, my brief excitement fast dissipating. "Well, it's a start, at least. Looks like you've been proven right with your case file theory, by the way."

She smiles briefly. "Yeah. Do you need a hand clearing up?" She gestures at my floor.

"Thanks." Any other time I'd have refused help, but right now I haven't got the energy and I'm glad of the company. We both get down on hands and knees and start picking up paper. Apparently I knocked my pot of pens over too without noticing.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" she asks me.

"No. God, I wish I did. Whoever this guy is, he's smart. He's obviously trying to send a message, but I'm not even sure whether it's just for Mac or directed to all of us."

"What does Mac think?" she asks cautiously. I shoot a glare in the direction of the door.

"Whatever Mac thinks, he doesn't seem to be in the mood to share it. Every time I tried asking him anything just now, he cut me dead." We've finished our clearing now, but we stay sitting on the floor, Lindsay leaning against the wall and me against the filing cabinet.

"Hawkes said he seems worried. You know, when there's something at the back of his mind, but he won't talk about it."

"Well, no surprise there." I have never known Mac to share what's worrying him, he just lets it prey on him, a black crow perched on his shoulder. Until it's worn him down so much that he has absolutely no choice because when he gets to that point I won't stop until I've wormed it out of him. Or unless he actually needs someone's help, but that's subjective. For Mac, that's a last resort.

"How'reyou doing, Stella?" Lindsay asks me softly.

I consider telling her I'm fine, everything's fine, but I catch myself, remembering the reason why we're sitting here like this. "I'm worried," I say. "Scared. I have no idea what's going to happen next, but I have a strong feeling that this guy's only just getting started. And I keep thinking that it was so easy for him to slip a drug into Mac's drink, and what if it had been a poison? Or if he tries something like that again?"

We both fall silent. There's really no answer to a question like that. I don't mention to her the anger that I'm also feeling, selfish anger coming from Mac's unacknowledgement of how terrified I was about him. I'll keep that to myself.

My office appears to have become the world's meeting place, I think ruefully, as Danny puts his head around the door and sees the two of us. "Mothers' meeting?"

We scramble to our feet. "Discussing the case," I tell him firmly. I glance pointedly at Lindsay, and she gives me a slight nod to say that she won't be discussing the details of our conversation.

"Don't seem to me like there's a whole lot of case to discuss," he points out. "Especially sitting on the floor."

"Belt it, Messer," Lindsay says. "You have anything useful?"

"I'm just the message runner. Mac told me to tell Stella here that he's gone home."

"Well, that's something at least," I say, although part of me does wish he was still in his office, where I'd be able to corner him. "Anything else?"

"Nope, just swung by to offer Montana a ride home."

"Have fun," I say, and Lindsay blushes slightly. I laugh. "Subtle."

"Yeah, well. Night, Stell. When's your shift end?"

"Couple of hours. Night, Danny. Night, Lindsay."

They leave together, and I'm left alone here with my thoughts, reflected in the dark sky through the un-curtained window.

A/N: Yes, I did screw up balls of paper to check what size they came to. No, I didn't actually eat them.

Since it's my school's half term, I'm going away on holiday for a few days, with no internet, so I won't be able to upload the next chapter until Monday, or reply to reviews until then too. Please don't let that stop you reviewing, though:P And, as always, thank you to everyone who's left reviews so far. You make me very happy!