Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter - your comment are appreciated! If you haven't reviewed, you can always go back and do so :smiles:

Usual disclaimer applies. I would also like to add that none of the original characters in this fic bare any relation whatsoever to anyone living or dead. I have done some research on NYU, but a lot of what I've written has been done so using poetic licence! I imagine that everyone there is very nice and lovely!

Chapter 4 – As Phoebe Wanes

The eyes of the world awoke when dawn came, the time for sleep broken and discarded. The sun's rays began to creep around the buildings she could see from the window, soft yellows kissing the bricks as the trails of night drifted away like gentle phantoms. The city stilled; the night revellers had gone home to sleep, while those who had given their night to the dream king were only awakening. Only she was there to see it all, to watch while sleep dissolved. A soft breeze peeked around the open window, blowing the new warmth of day back into the room. She looked at the desk, covered with the papers she had been reading, the papers that made her head reel with information and facts and inconsequential words. She tried to not let the anger spread into her veins, knowing that she would only become more agitated. Breathing deeply, she opened the window as wide as possible, looking out into the city, seeing the greenery of the park nearby and hearing the voices from down below as the breeze carried them up. She turned from them, her eyes falling on the tome that sat on the pristine bed, its white sheets undisturbed. She stepped to it, caressing the pages, its words etched on her mind. She smiled, the scent of the pages taking preference over the smells of the cafés below as they began to cook a breakfast for the day, for those who were servants to sleep.

-&-

Stella cursed as her concealer ran out; throwing it into the trash with a precision Danny would have been proud of. Lack of sleep hung about her eyes, which felt as dry as a desert before the monsoon. She rummaged in her purse for the drops used to revive tired eyes and cursed as she found that they too were empty. Sleep had not been her friend, spending most of the remaining hours of darkness tossing and turning, replaying over the facts of the case so far. She'd been back at the lab before the first rays of sun had glimmered over the city, finding Mac running some form of experiment which involved several test tubes and chemicals and looked far too complex for someone who had spent the night awake. He hadn't questioned her early appearance, understanding the reasons for it all too well.

The door to the restroom opened and Angell entered. "Don's just gotten here now with Professor Murphy," she said.

Stella's ears pricked at the use of the Detective's first name, but she let it go. At some point someone would enlighten her as to what was going on between the pair, but until then, she was content that her suspicions were correct. She threw the rest of her make up into her purse and looked at the younger detective through the mirror. Angell looked as if she'd had even less sleep. "You manage to get some rest last night?" she said.

Angell shook her head. "My mind kept racing."

"Some cases are like that. You'll find ways to deal with it," Stella said. "How's Flack?" She watched Angell's face for her reaction but the detective remained cool.

"Not amused. The car refused to start this morning and Flack is not the best of mechanics. His temper wasn't improved when I managed to fix it," Angell said, her face brightening as she told the story, clearly pleased at its outcome.

Stella looked knowingly at her, refraining from saying anything. A day like this had little time to spare on frivolities. "Where's Flack taking him?"

"Room seven," Angell said, opening the door to leave. "Murphy seems to be more responsive to female questioning than male, so it's down to us." She paused, her silence full of thought. "You think this is going to take us anywhere?"

Stella shrugged. "I don't think it's easily discountable. He's the last person we have who saw Goddard, copies of his exam papers were found in Goddard's study along with another body. We have to speak with him anyway. Whether he's the killer, we have no conclusive evidence – in fact we have no evidence."

They had so far found nothing other than what was to be expected from every day visitations of students. The door handle had no fingerprints on it and it seemed clear that whoever had committed the crime had worn gloves. It had been pre-emptied, planned. Someone knew that Taylor Raimo would be inside the study.

"Where do we start with him?" Stella said, looking at Angell as they walked toward room seven. "The papers or the sighting?"

"The sighting," Angell said. "Sid's given us a more accurate time of death after analysing the stomach contents. He puts it around Wednesday late afternoon or evening. Don's got some of his men at Vanderbilt now asking around if anyone saw Goddard after breakfast on Wednesday. He says he'll call if he gets anything."

Stella nodded. "Is he aware of the papers that were found?"

"Nothing's been said about them. I want to know if there's been any bad feeling between Murphy and Goddard before we tell him about the papers, he could easily incriminate himself if he denies it. However, I don't like him for this. If it was him, why leave the papers?" Angell said, her tone quick and sharp. Stella could tell she wanted this case to be finished and done with in a way that was unlike her. Stella didn't know Angell that well, but what did know was that she was thorough and tough, something about this one had reached under her skin and stayed there.

"He may well have information that could be pertinent to the case," Stella said. "And we have to cover all angles."

"And if there's the slightest chance that Murphy's responsible…" she left the rest of the sentence unsaid as Flack approached them in the corridor leading to the interview room. Stella saw Angell's face lighten slightly, the shadows that had fallen across her disappeared.

"You okay?" Flack said. They nodded. "Murphy's in there. He's not happy about being brought down here to be interviewed rather than at the college, says this makes it seem like he's a suspect."

"Somebody may have something to hide," Stella said as they reached the door. Flack gestured for her to enter; she unlocked it and went through, seeing a man in his forties dressed smartly in a suit looking at her with disdain in his eyes.

"There was no need to lock the door," he said. "I am certainly above 'making a run for it' as you clearly suspected."

Angell sat down on a chair in front of him, the desk between them and looked at him for a second before answering. "The door was locked out of habit, Professor Murphy and I apologise for that. We just need to ask you a few questions with regard to the murders of Brian Goddard and Taylor Raimo. Then you can go back to your work. You remember I'm Detective Angell, and this is Detective Bonasera."

Murphy glared at them, his eyes grey and cold, like stone. Stella remained standing, keeping more of a distance, wanting to observe. A teacher friend of hers had once said that she learnt more about the children she taught by being able to sit back and watch them than reading and marking their work. It had been a useful observation.

"You said last night that you saw Goddard in Larry's coffee shop with a man you didn't recognise. What was Goddard's demeanour? Was he agitated, for example?" Angell said. Stella smiled at her phrasing of the question; factual. She was going purely for information rather than opinion. This would put Murphy at ease.

"I can't even be certain that it was Goddard I saw as I didn't get a close enough look at him. I couldn't swear to it in court," Murphy said with an impatient sigh, his eyes moving to the wall where a poster about dropping litter had been placed.

"Was Larry's café a place he normally frequented – had you seen him there before?" Angell said, her tone unresponsive to Murphy's mood.

Murphy's eyes came back to her as he nodded. "He would often do tutorials in there, preferring to meet with some students in public rather than in his study. It was also where he breakfasted most mornings before lectures."

"So there's a good chance that it was Goddard you saw?" Angell said. Murphy nodded. "Who was he with?"

"A man I hadn't seen before," Murphy said. "I told you all of this last night!"

Angell nodded. "We need as much detail as you can remember. What did the man look like?"

"He was in his thirties, had brown short hair and wore glasses. He was very thin – I didn't pay too much attention as I don't think it necessary to make a mental note of everyone I see!" he glared at them before looking at the poster again. Stella noted his lack of eye contact. The poster wasn't there to pass on a message.

"Can you recall how they were acting around each other?" Angell said, her voice calming and soft, almost as if she was dealing with an angry child.

Murphy shrugged, his eyes fixed on the poster. "Normal, I guess."

Angell let the silence hang for a moment, a small smile playing on her lips. "Professor Murphy, you've been a practising lawyer for a very long time. One thing you are skilled at is reading body language and responding to it. I expect a bit more from than 'normal, I guess'. Can you please elaborate," her voice was now forceful and Stella could see Murphy becoming immediately agitated.

"Like I said before, detectives, I don't expect to have to take notes every time I see someone. I suppose there was a bit of tension between them as they walked out; they were clearly in each other's company, but weren't keeping the same pace. That was all I noticed," he said. "I really need to get back to my work."

Angell smiled at the professor, and Stella saw the corners of his lips turn upwards for a moment. She was pretty sure that Flack would not have had the same reaction from him had been him smiling. "Before you go, Professor, can you tell me why you have just lied?" her tone was unmistakeable; sickly sweet and full of promise. Murphy looked as if a bowling ball had just hit him on the head.

"I haven't lied…" he began, and then thought better of it. After a few seconds of thoughts visibly running through his head he began to speak once more, choosing his words carefully. "The man I described – who Brian was with – I described him incorrectly. He was older, in his fifties, with brown hair, slightly greying at the sides. He was very slim with broad shoulders that made him look bigger than he was. He wore glasses. That's it. That's the truth."

"Why lie?" The question was short and to the point. "Is it someone you recognised?"

Murphy shrugged, his eyes on the poster again. "I thought I recognised him. But it's been over ten years. It could have been David Rostow," he sighed, knowing he was going to have to give up information he wanted to keep hold of. "I hate saying that, because if it wasn't him, I've sent you after an innocent man. Rostow was an academic here. He never reached professor status, much to his chagrin. His was a specialist in Holocaust litigation and very knowledgeable on his subject. He was fired for being inappropriate with a pupil and using his status to stop her from failing. It was Goddard who caught him out."

Angell nodded, looking satisfied. "How long is it since you have seen David Rostow?"

"Not since he was escorted off the premises. I heard he had moved to England," Murphy stood up to go.

"Thank you, Professor. However," Angell said. He sat down abruptly. "We have a few more questions. Let's see if we can have the truth the first time round. How was your relationship with Brian Goddard?"

"We didn't get on. It was a conflict of personalities. I didn't like him, he agitated me. I thought he was a buffoon. And you will find this out shortly, so I may as well tell you now. Brian beat me to the post of Vice Dean several years ago. I think it was fair to say that I felt murderous about it. However, when he stepped down from the post, he recommended me for it. The murderous feelings ceased and I made an effort to get along with him. He was a brilliant lecturer, I'll give him that."

Stella stepped forward, coming out of the shadows in the room in to the patch of light, lit by the windows. "Can you tell us why photocopies of an exam that was sat on Wednesday by your first year students were found in Goddard's study?"

Professor Murphy smiled broadly, his eyes lighting. "If you go in my study you'll find Goddard's students' papers," he said. "Brian and I have been marking each other's exams for years, ever since he had that problem with a student. We photocopy the papers and pass them onto each other, then copy the grade out onto the actual paper so the student gets a more personal response. I have no reason to kill Brian Goddard, detectives. If that answers all of your questions am I now able to go and speak with my students?"

He stood. Angell remained seated and Stella stayed in her position while he exited the room. "You think we got the whole truth from him?" Angell said once the door had closed and Murphy's footsteps had disappeared.

"And nothing but the truth? No. I don't think he's lied, but I think he knows more than he's letting on," Stella said. "We've nothing on him, though. Unless something comes from Raimo's autopsy."

Angell stood up and walked to the door, pausing before she opened it. "I have the horrible feeling that Sid's going to have more work to do before we've caught this killer," she said, shadows from the corridor darkening her face.

Stella watched the door close before heading to where Murphy had been sat. She couldn't help but agree with Angell. This case had the markings of a tough one already; it had been cold before they had even received the first body. She bent down, her eyes scanning the table. Professor Murphy had a habit of playing with his hair, she'd noticed. At least one would have fallen out, and that one hair could eventually be all they needed.

-&-

Sid looked out of a window on his way up to the lab, noticing the weather. The warmth of yesterday had been stolen, leaving a grey, overcast day, a day of shadows. Blue skies had been replaced with something that looked like it wasn't a colour, just a blend of shades that had been washed wrong. He had taken the stairs, wanting the exercise, feeling the need to stretch his legs. Like a lot of the people present in the building he'd come in before his shift had been due to start, knowing that it would be all hands on deck until more people were well. He reached the lab, his shadow still following him. It was quieter than usual, the noises of experiments that gave the dead their voice were silent and instead a hush ruled. He scanned in and pushed the door that led into the wide open space with scattered worktops. White ruled in here, the lab coats were uniform, each day washed, the stench of chemicals and death rinsed off, only for it to be reapplied the next day, such was their cycle of life.

Mac was at his workstation, the book in front of him. He was scanning down each page, Sid could tell, looking for any notes or circlings. His furrowed brow showed that none had been found. Grey clouds hung at the wide windows, promising more dullness, the sun barely able to shrug off her duvet.

"I've done the autopsy on Taylor Raimo," Sid said, Mac jumping at his words.

"I guess I'm not the only spectre in this building," Mac said, turning around, one hand still on the book. "You should have called, Sid. I would have come down."

Sid shook his head. "I need more exercise than just making Y-incisions," he said, waving the photocopied notes in his hand. He also wanted to see what Mac had under his spotlight. "The results are interesting."

Mac sat down on the stool at his workstation and beckoned for Sid to take the other. "Any luck with COD?"

Sid nodded. "Plenty, and with more to come as soon as I get the results from tox. Cause of death is interesting. The victim appears to have been injected several times with an unknown substance that rendered him unconscious. This wouldn't have been immediate as there are no signs of bruising to suggest he fell in any way and no signs of one of the usual toxins. He wasn't killed by it though. Actual COD is asphyxiation, probably by smothering." He looked at Mac, noting the calmness of his features. He didn't panic, just took everything as it came. Reasoned. Sid wondered if he was too reasoned. Sometimes a little chaos did one good.

Mac's eyes were puzzled. "Then how come there are no obvious signs? There was no discoloration, no cyanosis or petechiae," he said. "There was nothing present last night to suggest suffocation."

Sid smiled knowingly. He had often thought that Mac was a pathologist trapped in a sensible person's body. "Time of death was around seven yesterday evening. Rigour had only just set in when the body was discovered and because of the chemicals present in the bloodstream, normal signs of asphyxiation were not present. I suspect that Tox will show that what was injected was a sedative."

"Which will have slowed down respiration and blood pressure – and if a large quantity was taken any outward signs of asphyxiation would be minimal," Mac said, clearly pleased that he hadn't missed something crucial. Mac was oblivious to any movement in the rest of the lab; vision tunnelled onto the body that lay downstairs and the tale it had to tell.

"There were some discoloration and petechiae to the feet and hands, but they would have been mistaken for bruising quite easily. If the eyes had been present, it would possibly have been obvious as the blood vessels in them would have been broken by the intravascular pressure," Sid said. "Whoever committed this murder knew what they were doing. Had the victim been conscious he would have struggled and been in immense pain when the eyes were removed. His screams would have drawn attention and he would have had defence wounds on his hands." He looked at Mac as he processed this information, his mind ticking it over, analysing it.

"You said there were multiple injection sites. He was kept alive but unconscious for sometime?" Mac said. Sid smiled. He had known this would be his next question.

"The first injection was given around forty eight hours before time of death. Raimo was kept in an unconscious state for approximately two days – the healing of the injection sites shows this quite clearly. Again, whoever did this knew what they were doing. They have issued enough of a sedative to render him incapable of anything but sleep without causing any sickness or fatal side effects," Sid said, noticing Stella pass by in a blur as she rushed to catch someone with what seemed like important information. "I had Sam bring up Raimo's clothes for trace. I see Danny's not in – another victim of the bug?"

Mac nodded. "He's too sick to get in. Hawkes is covering and is almost on his twelfth hour. I've told him to go home to grab a few hours of sleep, but he argues he did much longer as a doctor. Lindsay's just gone home for a few hours and then she's coming back. Kendall's down with it, and I'm pretty sure Adam's not feeling too hot, but isn't saying anything. How did someone stab Raimo with a needle to start with? Any chance it could have been self-inflicted?"

Sid shook his head. "It was in his back, near the left shoulder." He stood up. The shadows were still there, weak in the lack of bright light. "Have you read The Keeper of Sleep?" He knew, of course, that the book had been found on the victim's body.

Mac's eyes were drawn back to the book. "I haven't. It never caught my interest. The death of the author, J.M. Fitzgerald, was a case a studied back in college. Even now, there's no conclusion as to how he was killed, or even if he was killed. Forensically, there was no evidence left. No trace, no forced entry. Nothing. Rather like what we have with Taylor Raimo."

"You know the cause of death for Fitzgerald?" Sid said. It had also been a case he had studied and one he had taken quite an interest in due to the lack of evidence and also the incompetence of the examiner who carried out the initial autopsy.

Mac looked at him curiously. "There was never one ascertained."

"Not one that was ever made public. A friend of mine I was on a conference with a few years back told me in confidence that a second autopsy was carried out several months after the first," he looked at Mac's expression which was full of interest. "The body was never released as there was no next of kin, only a few strange followers who claimed that Fitzgerald's death was falsified and that he was actually only 'asleep'. A second autopsy showed that he had overdosed on chloral hydrate, not an extreme conclusion to come to in the first place given that several bottles of it were found at his home. Toxicology was in its infancy then, but enough was known to detect it in Fitzgerald's bloodstream," Sid said, knowing that Mac thought he was wandering off on a tangent. "The results were kept secret. Why, I don't know. There were rumours, or so my source told me, that Fitzgerald was carrying out an experiment for a drug company which was financed by the government and they didn't want it leaking out."

"Conspiracy theories," Mac said with a smile. "You friend suggest whether it was accident or murder?"

"No conclusions were drawn," Sid said. "The death of Fitzgerald and the death of Raimo have some similarities. The fact that you've found one of Fitzgerald's books suggests to me that the two are in some way related."

"You think tox will show Raimo was injected with chloral hydrate," Mac's tone was almost accusatory. "That's why you didn't call me downstairs, you wanted to see the book." He held the blue jacketed object up in his hand.

Sid smiled. "I suspect it will be chloral hydrate, yes. But only tox will confirm it. And the book is a work of art."

"Have you read it?" Mac said, referring to the book still in his hand.

"A long time ago. I think most coroners have, if only to mock its ideas," Sid said, his pager vibrating inside his pocket. "That should be tox." He pulled it out and looked at the screen, smiling at Mac. "Positive for chloral hydrate." He pointed to the book. "I guess you'll have to read it, Mac."

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