Don arrived in the West Village and angled his car against the curb. Two police cruisers were parked outside the tall red brick building, a former civic building now converted into the Petty Cash Artist's Quarter. The murders had taken place on the third floor of the building. He gripped the steering wheel and looked up at the building, stalling. He thought he'd be overjoyed after spending the night with Danny, but a sense of dread was slowly starting to descend upon him.

Although he had smiled and kept things light this morning for Danny's sake, inside he wasn't feeling so calm. He managed to keep control of his uncertainty while Danny was still in his apartment, but the minute Danny had left, the damn was broken open. He couldn't help but feel like they had made an irreparable mistake. He shouldn't have let things go so far, should have stopped the second Danny got uncomfortable. But he didn't. What did he do instead? He firmly held the other man in place and proceeded to take off his clothes. 'Yeah, first time's are really scary, Danny, but don't worry, all I'm going to do is grope you a bit because at the moment I can't think clearly and I've wanted to touch you for so long. So sorry!' Don thought angrily, slamming his palms against the steering wheel. He had been like a rutting animal, unreasonable and single-minded in his pursuit.

After Danny had drifted off to sleep, Don had slipped from the bed and tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom. He could still feel Danny's back pressed against his chest, sweaty and warm, and Danny's ass moving against his groin as he arched into Don's hand. He could still hear the quiet moaning that escaped Danny's lips. All of it had driven him crazy in the moment and then, long after his skin had cooled and his breathing had slowed, the memory of Danny's body against his, shaking in ecstasy, made him hard again. He had slunk off to the bathroom to jerk off, picturing Danny in his mind as brought off a bittersweet orgasm with his hand. Afterwards, he had washed his hands methodically and avoided looking in the mirror – it had made him feel dirty and ridiculous, and he was thankful that Danny was still asleep when he climbed back into bed. Sleep eluded him most of the night, only allowing him short, fitful periods of rest.

In the clear light of the morning, Don felt even worse. He could definitely see those few beautiful hours with Danny blowing up in his face. It had to end at some point, surely Danny would realize what a mistake he had made, and their friendship would be over. Don realized that losing Danny completely would hurt more than loving him from afar ever did. He had messed up and he despised himself for it.

Still firmly rooted in his car seat, Don scrubbed his hands roughly over his face, urging himself to get a grip. He had an investigation to lead; any thoughts of Danny would have to wait until after his shift. A couple deep breaths and a few choice words later, he had pushed open the car door and walked resolutely into the building.

After ascending the stairs, he spotted a female police officer standing outside a door on the left-hand side of the hallway. She was speaking with a middle-aged woman. 'Alvarez,' Don said, nodding to the officer as he passed by her into the room.

The studio was spacious, large windows lining the far wall, allowing the early morning sunshine to flood the room. Along the right wall were shelving units crammed full of tools, spools of wire, sheets of metal, pieces of electronics, and various other materials. A large – thing – stood in the middle of the room. Don supposed it was art, but it looked more like a heap pulled out of a trash compacter at the city dump. Don dismissed it and turned to the other officer standing in the room.

'What do we got, Richards?'

Officer Richards looked up from his notepad. 'Oh, hey, Detective Flack. Three DOAs, two male and one female. Rex Martin, 43, he's the artist who rents the space, stabbed in the chest. Louise Atkinson, 31, identified as Martin's girlfriend. The other male is a John Doe, appears to be in his late teens or early 20s. Both he and Ms. Atkinson have sustained fatal gunshot wounds.'

Don took in the scene at his feet. Rex Martin's body was sprawled in a pool of blood at the base of the 'sculpture', a large metal object protruding from his chest. It was a gruesome wound and Don looked away in repulsion. The other victims were lying on their stomachs approximately ten feet away from Martin with their hands bound behind their backs with wire.

'Who called it in?' he asked, studying the ligatures. The fact that their hands were bound while Martin's remained free led Don to wonder about who the intended victim had been.

'Rose Patterson, another artist. She's the one out in the hall with Officer Alvarez. She said she noticed the door ajar when she arrived this morning and she thought it was strange because Martin usually works from mid-afternoon until late at night, but he's never here in the morning. She poked her head in and saw the bodies and called us. Detective Taylor just radioed to say he and the M.E. are on the way.'

Don nodded. 'Thanks, Richards.' He proceeded to scan the room, checking to see if the perpetrator had left the gun behind. The floor of the studio was covered in bits of scrap metal though, so the CSIs would have to dig through the piles of what Don considered junk to see what they could find.

'Hey, Flack.'

Don looked up to see Stella striding towards him, a grim expression on her face. Don's breath caught in his chest as he looked towards the door, expecting to see Danny walk in, but it was only Mac and Sid who followed Stella into the studio. He let out the breath he had been holding.

'Stella. Mac. Sid,' he said by way of greeting and then nodded to the DBs, reciting the information Officer Richards had just told him. He stood back and let Sid and the two CSIs examine the scene. Stella started picking her way carefully through the studio, taking overview photographs of the room and the victims.

'I'm assuming COD is the gunshot wounds for these two. Rigor's set in, so they've been dead for at least six hours,' Mac said, squatting between the woman and the young man.

'Mr. Martin here has yet to go into full rigor. Looks like his journey to the pearly gates began after his friends'. And aside from the obvious shard of metal sticking out of his chest, there are also some smaller abrasions to his face, neck and hands. Possibly tortured before the final blow?' Sid mused.

'Hey, Mac, sorry I'm late!' Danny came hurtling through the door, kit in hand. 'Delay on the train – took me ages to get here.'

'Don't worry about it, Danny. I just need you to get to work now that you're here.'

'Sure thing, Mac,' Danny said, glancing briefly at Don before moving into the room and pulling on some rubber gloves. Flack tried to avoid looking at him, but his eyes were drawn to the other man.

'Stella, once you've finished with the overviews, why don't you accompany the bodies back to the morgue with Sid and see what evidence you can get from them and try to ID the John Doe,' Mac said, taking control of the investigation. 'Danny, you'll stay here with me and we'll analyze the scene.'

Danny nodded and opened his kit, glancing up to meet Don's eye. They stared at each other for a minute, Don's heart rate steadily increasing. There was a hint of a smile on Danny's lips and he tilted his head slightly in question. Don didn't know how to respond and was trying to get himself to nod or smile or something when Danny's tongue flicked across his bottom lip in his characteristic gesture and Don had to look away. That little flick of the tongue drove Don crazy and whenever Danny did it, all he wanted to do was pull him into a kiss and taste that bottom lip.

He coughed and shook his head, trying to refocus his attention on the job he had to do. 'All right, I'll leave you to it, Mac. I'm going to go interview the other artists who use this building and see what they know about our DBs.'

'Thanks, Flack. Let me know what you find out,' Mac said quickly before returning to photographing the bodies of Rex Martin, Louise Atkinson and the unknown boy.

Don could feel Danny's eyes on him as he walked out of the room, but he couldn't look back at the other man. Those blue eyes just undid him completely.

'Mrs. Patterson?' Don asked, approaching the woman standing in the hall. He nodded to Officer Alvarez and she moved away to join her partner. 'Hi, I'm Detective Flack. How are you doing?' The woman was clearly distraught. Her eyes were cast downward and she was rubbing her hands together nervously. At Don's question, she looked up, her deep brown eyes watery.

'I'm fine,' she said finally, the slight rise in her voice making her statement seem more like a question. 'It was just such a shock to find them like that.' She waved her hand in the direction of Martin's studio door.

Don nodded and made what he hoped was a comforting sound. 'What can you tell me about Rex Martin? Did you know him well?'

Rose shook her head. 'I only run into him occasionally in the hallway. We tend to work opposite hours. I like working in the morning, while he didn't usually show up until the afternoon sometime. And I'm relatively new to the PCAQ, so I'm still just meeting everyone.'

'The PCAQ?'

'The Petty Cash Artists' Quarter,' Rose explained.

'Oh, right.' He was really off his game today. Don shook his head as if trying to clear his mind. 'What was your opinion of Mr. Martin? '

'He wasn't very friendly, never wanted to chat. In the few times I've run into him I think he spoke about five words to me. I figured he just liked to keep to himself, so I stopped trying to talk to him and just smiled if we happened to pass each other in the building. Perhaps some of the others could tell you more about him, but I just don't know all that much. Sorry, Detective.'

'That's okay, Mrs. Patterson. Just a couple more questions, do you know if anyone in the building had a problem with Mr. Martin? Any arguments or disagreements that you remember?'

Rose thought for a moment. 'Not that I remember specifically, but like I said we worked opposite hours. But I do remember Patricia mentioning that he complained about her music.'

'And who is Patricia?'

'Oh, she's another artist. Patricia Rowland, down in studio number twelve. She sometimes listens to opera while she paints. I find it soothing, but apparently Rex did not. Do you like opera, dear?'

Don smiled at her. 'No, ma'am, I can't say that I do. Now what can you tell me about Louise Atkinson or the young man?'

'The woman would show up here occasionally with Rex. I never spoke to her though. And I've never seen the boy before. Sorry.'

'Thank you, Mrs. Patterson. I appreciate your help.' Don finished jotting some notes and reached into his breast pocket to retrieve a business card. 'Call me if you think of anything else.' The older woman nodded and shuffled back to her studio across the hall.

Don walked down the hall and rapped on the door of Patricia Rowland's studio. There was no answer. He tried the door of studio number eleven, but there was no answer there either. He turned around and headed back down the hallway to check out the rest of the building.

When he reached the top of the stairs, a tall redheaded woman was approaching him. She appeared to be in her late thirties to early forties and was wearing a navy blue dress with a turquoise cardigan. Her eyes were wild with excitement behind her tortoise shell glasses. 'What's going on?' she asked breathlessly, trying to see down the hall over Don's shoulder.

'Erm . . . who are you?' Don asked, blocking her progress up the stairs.

She fixed her eyes on his face and Don immediately felt uncomfortable. 'I'm Patricia,' she said, holding out her hand. He shook it, letting go of her cold fingers as quickly as possible.

'Ah, Patricia Rowland, yes? My name is Detective Flack. I'm investigating a murder that took place in the building last night, and I was wondering what you could tell me about Rex Martin. Mrs. Patterson mentioned that you had an argument with him recently.'

'Rex Martin was a horrible man. He was rude and loud, and he was terribly frightening when he was angry,' Patricia said. Her voice was sickly sweet and it gave Don a chill. 'He often complained about my music. You see, I love opera and I find that it helps my creative process to listen to it while I paint, but sometimes when Rex was in his studio working he come charging down the hall and pound on my door, yelling at me to turn off 'that god-awful screeching,' as he called it. So yes, we've had words in the past.'

'Did it ever occur to you to wear headphones?' Don asked without thinking.

'Excuse me?'

He realized what he said and quickly tried to redirect the conversation. 'Sorry, nevermind. Ah . . . were you in the building last night, Mrs. Rowland?'

She looked at him, pursing her lips before answering. 'No, I wasn't. I was here yesterday during the day, but I left about three in the afternoon. You're not suggesting that I had something to do with this tragedy, are you?'

Don raised an eyebrow. Now she thought his death was a tragedy?

'No, ma'am, I'm just trying to gather information. I'll be talking to all of the artists who have studios in the building.'

This seemed to appease her. 'You have beautiful eyes, detective. A startling shade of blue. I'd love to paint you sometime.' She leaned closer to him and Don instinctively took a step back.

'I don't think so, lady,' Don spat, handing her a business card reluctantly and fleeing down the stairs to canvas the second floor.

The rest of the building yielded only a few other artists, the majority of them not being in their studios at the time. From what Don gathered, it seemed like no one in the building liked Rex Martin or had any substantial relationship with the man. They all seemed to steer clear of him and he of them. And none of the artists he had talked to admitted to being in the building the previous night. Don decided to head back to the precinct to track down the manager of the building and get a list of the other artists who rented studios there.

As Don got into his car he looked up at the third floor. He could have gone back up to talk to Mac about what he'd discovered through his interviews, but instead chose to fill him in later at the lab. Danny's presence seemed to resonate throughout the building and Don needed to get out of there.