Apologies for the delay in updating. Hopefully I'll get more frequent this week. Thank you too all of those who have reviewed or put me on alert – you keep me motivated to write!

For those of you who are reading this as a case fic rather than Flack/Angell, this story is preceded by several on shots charting their relationship. You don't have to have read them, but they explain why Flack and Angell are where they are with regards to each other.

Thank you to Lily Moonlight for the read through.

Chapter 5 – The Daylight Bleeds

Darkness hung around quiet corners, false lights protecting the eyes from sleep. Even in the middle of the day, night time could be found; whether in the shadows or in the recesses of minds. The bar was quiet, although within the hour it would be flooded with students, celebrating the end of term and the final exam. She looked over to the table where Maxwell was standing; tall, chiselled and eyes of darkness. He looked as if he was the night personified, darkness spilling out of him. That was one of the reasons he had been chosen, one of the many reasons.

She stayed in the shadows, watching as he became impatient. Maxwell wasn't used to being kept waiting. Maxwell Wilson III was used to having everything his way and she was very much enjoying showing him otherwise. She would wait, until he looked about to leave and then bounce into the light, her blonde hair seemingly tousled by daytime's gentle breeze, her skin sun-kissed and her smile the bait. She had been well selected.

He drank the last of his drink; a clear liquid she supposed was a vodka martini. Personally, it was too early for her, but then she had never been one with money to spend on drinks before night.

He was becoming impatient, his eyes cold, the depth of them endless, looking nervously at the door. He glanced at his watch before slamming the empty glass on the table and she made her way round in the shadows to the door, waiting for him to turn away to give the appearance of having just arrived.

When he saw her, he smiled, the stone in his eyes turning to sand. She smiled back, apologising profusely, blaming transport and he kissed her cheek. She was winning. Another one would soon be theirs.

-&-

Flack pulled open a drawer and rummaged through its contents. Nothing except unwritten envelops, postage stamps and stationary. "Did this man have a life?" he said to Hawkes who was the other side of the room, looking in an old-fashioned, and probably antique, bureau.

"It seems not. This doesn't feel real somehow. It's as if all of this has just been put here for show to make the place seem used," Hawkes said, turning round and looking at Flack. "We've been here an hour and haven't found anything recent, there's nothing to suggest that Goddard was actually living in this place before he died."

Flack closed the drawer and stood in the middle of the lounge. Goddard's apartment in D'Agostino hall should have produced a mine of productivity. So far, what they actually knew about the man could be written on the back of a postcard. He was an enigma. "We've got no bills, no documentation of any kind, no personal correspondence. We haven't even found his cell phone and everyone has a cell phone."

Hawkes nodded. "But we have enough evidence to suggest he lived here: the sheets have been slept in, there's a change of bed linen, his work's here," he gestured to a pile of marked assignments on a shelf. "This place was used even though it doesn't seem like it."

Pulled open another drawer, the only one he hadn't yet checked in. He felt frustrated and stagnant. Usually a victim's home gave them leads as to who would want to kill them, unless it was entirely random. This case was not random in the slightest, but so far, there were no clues. The drawer was empty. "You think someone's been in here and taken all of his personal information? We haven't even found a passport, and the guy lectured at Oxford University in March."

"Maybe he has another place," Hawkes said. "This is his only residence listed on the college database, or where his driver's licence is registered, but that doesn't mean he hasn't got another property."

Flack looked around the living room. It was small; just big enough for two two-seater sofas, a desk and a bureau. The double bedroom came off it, containing a queen sized bed, wardrobe and set of drawers. The wardrobe and drawers were filled with clothes for every occasion. A small kitchen fed off the hallway, as did a bathroom with a shower cubicle, rather than a bath. "Clair Raynes who let us in said that Goddard was offered a bigger place but turned it down. She said that most of the faculty only use these rooms as a place to stay if it's more convenient to be here for lectures or meetings and that most have places elsewhere, except Goddard. He could always be found here." Flack closed the drawer having been watching it as if expecting something to appear.

Hawkes was crouched down by his kit, pulling out more fingerprint tape. "There are fingerprints of people other than Goddard in here," he said. "That could give us a lead. Once I'm back at the lab I'll run them through AFIS. I can't see these rooms as being the height of social interaction. Whoever Goddard brought back here must have been important. Anything to do with his work he would have done through his office."

"There's nothing to say he let them in. Any signs of this being the primary crime scene?" Flack said, knowing he was being hopeful.

Hawkes shook his head. "No evidence of blood anywhere, I'm afraid. I heard back from Mac a while ago that Goddard's study contained no traces of Goddard's blood, just Taylor Raimo's."

"I think we should head over to Raimo's place and see what Lindsay's coming up with," Flack said. She'd been sent over there at the start of her shift, one of his men accompanying her. Today had been the worse day yet for sickness, with over 65 percent of officers down with the bug, including Danny and Kendall, but he hadn't felt as if he could send Lindsay off on her own. Raimo's apartment had already been search briefly but the thorough detail had been left for daylight, not that there was much of that.

Hawkes looked up. "I'm pretty much done here. I should probably get this evidence back to the lab and start processing it. You heard anything from Stella or Angell yet how they went on with Murphy's interview?"

"Yes, they have a name for the guy Murphy saw in the café with Goddard – a David Rostow. He was fired from the college for messing with a student and fixing her results. The name tallies with what one of the waitresses in the café said. Murphy also admitted he and Goddard didn't get along, but had an agreement to mark each others papers. Turns out both had been accused at some point of upping grades of their favoured students and this was a way to cover their backs," Flack said, making his way toward the door, Hawkes behind him, evidence in one hand, kit in the other.

They were parked in separate cars just outside the hall, the first drops of rain beginning to tap down on the cars, large splashes of cool water. Hawkes quickly jumped into his, slamming shut the door and popping open the boot. Flack put the evidence and Hawkes' kit inside it slamming it shut. He looked up to see two people watching his movements, curiosity on their faces.

"I heard Professor Goddard was dead, is it true?" the girl asked, blonde hair pulled back from her face. Her arm was linked through her companions, a man of about twenty, his eyes dark and brooding and his face oddly familiar.

Flack nodded. "You knew him?"

"He was my tutor in freshman year," the girl said. "Nice guy. It's a shame – there aren't many professors you can trust here."

The boy looked angsty and eager to move on. Flack thought about asking the girl more questions but decided not to. The rain had started to come down harder.

-&-

Lindsay was on her own when he reached Raimo's apartment, something Flack hadn't expected. He had specifically ordered Tomas Mare to stay with her until she had finished.

"Where's Mare?" he said as he opened the door and entered a place that could be described as a room rather than an apartment.

"I told him to leave. I know how many officers are sick so I thought it was pointless him being here. Has he not contacted you?" she said, sealing an evidence bag.

Flack felt his insides boil. "No," he said sharply, hands in pockets.

She looked up at him. "I've worked crime scenes on my own before. This one's no different apart from it isn't even a crime scene."

"Lindsay, if I ask one of my men to stay somewhere, there's a reason for it. It doesn't matter if I only have one officer well – if he's told to do something, he does it. And I know for a fact that Mare will now be in the nearest bar, drowning his sorrows after his wife left him last week," he tried to let the words wash away his annoyance. "What've you found?"

Lindsay shook her head. "Nothing that looks useful. Research papers, text books, the odd magazine – nothing I wouldn't expect to see in a student hovel. Sheets haven't been changed for sometime. There are semen stains on them and God knows what else, tomato ketchup I think."

"Maybe he liked a little breakfast in bed," Flack said. "Any sign of friends or girlfriend?"

"Judging by the porn collection, I'd say it was more likely to be boyfriend. Goddard was gay, wasn't he?" she said, pointing to a pile of magazines in the corner next to the bed. "Maybe that's another connection between them. I've found no sign of another person being here, Flack. The mess kind of tells me that Raimo was a loner. If you were bringing someone back here, you wouldn't have a mouldy sandwich under your bed, would you?"

Flack shook his head, remembering the first time there had been the possibility of Angell coming back to his apartment, just as a friend at that point. He had spent at least two hours cleaning. "So this looks like another dead end," he said, the feeling of frustration kicking harder.

Lindsay stood up. "I'm just about done. I guess I'll get this back to the lab and see if there's anything that looks worth analysing."

Flack nodded. "I'm going to go do a little talking. Someone, somewhere must know something more about these people." He left her too it, figuring that like she said, she'd be okay on her own.

-£-

Mac sat back in his chair, his desk clearer than his conscience. He had no idea what he was trying to make amends for, some days he wondered whether he'd done something terrible in a former life, some days he wondered if it was because of his military training, and other days he didn't try to analyse it.

He looked at the book, sitting facing him on his desk, its blue jacket slightly frayed and worn. Sid had piqued his curiosity regarding it, and seeing as nothing else was giving them any clues, he figured he wouldn't be wasting anything by reading at least a few parts of it. Besides, the coincidence with both Fitzgerald and Raimo having chloral hydrate in their systems at point of death was too much to be taken lightly. This book was significant.

He reread the title – The Keeper of Sleep. In his mind that could only refer to one thing, Hypnos, the Greek God of sleep, the Roman equivalent Somnus. The book was written in 1965, and seeing as most information about sleep had only been discovered in the last twenty five years he expected the text to be mainly ramblings taken from Greek mythology and to a certain extent he was right. He opened the book at a random page and began to read, wanting to get a flavour for the style of writing and the contents.

…Sleep and death are both sons of the night, the time when daemons lurk in seek of our souls. Sleep offers us glimpses into the darkness of death, tempting us with dreams, portents of the future, when in reality we slip only into a black oblivion, our twisted visions of our monotonous lives repeating themselves in disjointed fragments. At the point of death we give in to a forever sleep, but it is not the soothing experience we have been taught to believe; we do not wake to join God. We do not wake at all. Every time we sleep, we taste death. Hypnos walks with his brother, Thanatos, sleep and death are brothers, twins, sons of Nix, the Goddess of Night. If we would like to live forever, then we must remain out of reach of Hypnos, we must refuse sleep…

Mac placed the book down, feeling tired. The words resonated in his mind, even though he had no belief in them. Sleep was one of the biggest factors of people's lives. On average, one third of a life was spent asleep, yet the reason for it was still unknown. Yes, people needed to rest, but studies – and there had been countless of them – had proved that rest was not the only reason. If it were, then people would sleep less.

He looked at his watch and then the window. The darkness outside was almost masquerading as night, and yet it was only mid-afternoon. The tiredness, he knew, was down to lack of sleep. Tonight he must go home and rest, because for him, that was all that sleep was, contrary to scientific studies. He needed little of it, just enough to function. Maybe he should put himself in for medical research?

The book closed, he toyed with Sid's report on Raimo's death. He'd been injected with a drug which induced sleep, a sedative and a hypnotic drug used for the short term treatment of insomnia and as a relaxant before dental treatment, or minor surgery. It was now illegal without a prescription and was known to have been used as a date rape drug, a nasty chemical compound which had been used for over a century and a half for reasons unlawful.

Mac sat back in his chair, thinking, the tiredness suddenly vanishing. There was a running theme, although how it would be connected to murder, he wasn't sure. A knock at the door broke his thoughts. It opened, and Stella entered, the light entering his office along with her.

"I've got two IDs from the prints Hawkes pulled off the desk drawers in Goddard's rooms at the college," she said, clearly filled with adrenaline. "And matches from both of them. Anne-Marie Townson and Keeley Strachan. Both have priors for shoplifting from Saks, and both attend NYU Law."

"You bringing them it?" Mac said, finally sensing a break through. He knew Flack and Hawkes suspected that someone had entered Goddard's rooms at D'Agostino Hall and emptied them of all of his personal records. For which, there must be a reason.

Stella shook her head. "Not yet. They're at Niagara Falls for the weekend, expected to return on Monday as Keeley has an appointment with Professor Reyes to discuss whether she will be allowed to stay on for her third year as her grades have slipped. I spoke with Reyes – the appointments scheduled for ten AM so I'll be there with Flack to pick her up," she looked at him, her eyes concerned. "You want to grab an early dinner?"

He smiled, standing up and placing the book in a drawer. "Sounds good. The I think I'll head home and sleep for a few hours," he said, wondering if sleep would actually come when he asked.

-&-

The locker room was quiet. It was the time of day when it was usually flooded by officers taking showers before heading off to the nearby bars or, in some cases, home, wanting to wash away the grime of New York's filth. Sickness had depleted their stock, and that of neighbouring precincts. There were no substitutes to call upon, instead everyone who could was working extra, probably unpaid.

Flack sat on the benches near the lockers which separated the men's changing area from the women's. He had no idea why it had been designed like that, why they didn't have two separate areas. Mac had explained once that the precinct was an old building, and when it was thrown up in the 1940's there had been no female officers. When women began working there, instead of spending money on changing the locker room into two separate places, a smaller section had been cordoned off, meaning that some detective, such as Larry Houghton, could find their way into the female section without having to open the door, blaming soap in their eye and not being able to see where he had been going. Angell had remedied that easily enough by poking him in the eye and giving the same excuse. Flack had laughed. It was at that point, a few months ago, that he had realised she had him interested.

"Flack," he heard as the locker room door slammed shut, breaking his reminiscence. "You going home?"

He shrugged, looking up at her, long brown hair curling down past her shoulders. "You got a better suggestion?"

She laughed, sitting down next to him. "I suggest something greasy from the Blue Bar, then a bottle of wine at your place," Angell said. "Neither of us are on shift until, let's see, nine tomorrow. If I stay at yours, you don't have to pick me up. And I can fix the car when it won't start in the morning."

He glared at her in jest. He wasn't one for being able to mess around with cars. Angell, however, had shown otherwise. Out of four older brothers, he supposed one had to be car obsessed and she had served as his slave for a while, picking up enough information to avoid paying garage fees. "People will start talking," he said. "Besides, Jess, I only have so much self control." And what little he did have he'd nearly lost the night before, ending up at her place and giving into the urges he'd been feeling for too long, finding his lips on hers once the door was closed and feeling her respond with the same force.

He'd been the first to pull back. Why, he didn't know. He was beginning to think he was a masochist. He'd spent the rest of the night on her sofa, again, thinking about her, again, and getting very little sleep. Again.

She patted his leg. "This vow of celibacy is not doing me any good, Don," she said. "I hear there's a shortage of monks, you know. Maybe you should go sign up."

"Maybe you should go find a monastery and test their vows," he said, half grumbling. "I'm just being old-fashioned."

"And you're scared you'll disappoint me," she said, eyeing him, baiting him.

He groaned. That was not a challenge he wanted. "Maybe I just have more self-control than you," he said. "Maybe you just want me more." He watched her reaction – indignation was written all over her face. "Stay at mine, Jessica Angell. Sleep with me in my bed, if you like. And we'll see who gives in first."

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