A/N: Why not complicating things a little? ;)

Chapter 07: Two pieces from the same puzzle

"Flack!", Don roared accepting the call without checking the ID.

"Okay, I'll call you later"

"No, wait! Sorry... I'm not mad at you. I've just finished talking to our catering chef..."

"Do I want to know another problem about my wedding planning?", Jess's voice sounded slightly nervous and worried. It was unusual for her, but they were talking about their wedding, a big day.

"You must. The chef, a person full of attitude and more than ready to give suggestions I don't need, is convinced that a simple big dish of sliced beef on every table is going to be a problem"

"And why?"

"Detective! That's raw meat, ugly to be shown! You wouldn't want to disgust your guests, wouldn't you! Maybe, you and your bride-to-be are fine with truculent scenes but the others are not!", Flack was mimicking perfectly the cook's piercing voice.

"Maybe he's assuming we're planning to paint the walls with blood and similar things... you know, we're tough detectives "

"Yeah... By the way, after a tiring negotiation, here's the deal: Yes to the sliced beef, but every guest is going to be served his own portion – three slices and the most raw parts are going to be hidden under mountains of arugola leaves"

"Is this the final compromise?", Jess was surprised: Her fiance was usually unmoving about his food choices.

"I know, I know, it doesn't sound like me at all... but I have an unresolvable case, I have just left the annoying landlady of Buster's house and I'm driving to the publishing company, but the road is blocked..."

"A perfect day, huh?"

He snorted: "What about you? Your DB?"

Jess's answer was bitter: "A girl has been killed with a single shot to the chest. Then, she was left on a street without documents and..."

"... no..."

"What?"

"No documents, and let me guess, the place where you found her wasn't the place where she had been killed"

"How did you know?"

"Jess, there are at least two points in common with my case"

"Could it be a coincidence?"

"I stopped believing in coincidences ages ago. Inform Stella, and tell her to call Mac"

"We have a problem, haven't we?"

"Yeah... a great day, a great job, a great life... wait, someone is calling me", Don look at the screen, "Our dear chief. What is he finding unpleasant now? Not answering him"

"If he has the nerve to call me I'll do the same as you. He's hating us, you know..."

"Well... he's not one of my favorite people either. You calling Stella?"

"Of course. But, really, maybe it's just a coincidence"

"Jess, was your victim wrapped in a dark blanket?"

"..."

"That's wonderful. I'll see you later. I guess we have to work together"

"Later"

Flack ended the call, sighing. He didn't want to be anxious – he wasn't the type – but he didn't like a bit the idea of dealing with a potential serial killer. During last serial killers' chasing, members of the team have always risked to be seriously wounded, or worst, and I can't stand it anymore. He also knew that, in no time, the press would start the usual campaign against the NYPD. And the lovely mister Dunbrook is going to be the leading man, and I don't want to talk to him. Following the slow traffic course, Flack was imaging the future problems they were going to face, adding to the mix the slight but present opposition from Sinclair. Even if he was the Chief he always seemed to disapprove Mac's moves and ideas. And he couldn't forget that his wedding was getting closer and closer and there were still tons of things they had to do. Waiting in front of the umpteenth red light, Flack grabbed his phone texting fast: Las Vegas. We can still do it. Few minutes later he received the answer: The idea of seeing you dressed as Elvis is really intriguing, but what are we going to do with our families? They're going to kill us! There were no solutions, but Jess's text at least made him smile.

The publishing company Brooks and Sons was located in a typical New York skyscraper. Flack reached the right floor using a transparent elevator built to make people admiring the magnificent skyline. The young receptionist looked at his badge excitedly but didn't cause any problems, calling the director almost immediately.

"Detective Flack, NYPD", Don extended his hand, studying the man in front of him. He looks normal, no negative vibe from him... perfect.

"Mark Gander... please, let's talk in my office", the man shook the detective's hand. His office, medium dimension with a big window in front of the Park, was similar to other offices seen during the years.

"So, how can I help you, detective?"

Flack arched his eyebrow, slightly confused: It was seldom rare to witness someone so willing to help the police.

"I'm here for Gregory Buster"

"Something happened?"

"He was found dead last night. Gunshot wound"

Gander was speechless for a little while. It was clear the news shocked him.

"It can't be... are you sure he was him?"

The detective said nothing, he just put some pictures on Gander's desk. Apart the lack of color and the rigidity in his expression, Buster looked almost asleep.

"That's him... so sad. Till a year ago, Greg was full of life: He worked here as proof-reader but he wrote short articles and ran a fun column, too... he was good, really good, he was gifted. He had it, you know? But he didn't want to become an author, oh no, he was just happy with what he had. He was funny, kind, he knew how livening up the place, you know? But in a tragic day..."

"The accident where his wife died"

"Yes", the director closed his eyes, reflecting, "We devoted to her a little space in one of our periodic. Would you like to see it? It's among the copies I keep in my archive."

Flack nodded observing Mark moving around the room. He saw him opening a drawer. While looking at him, he put his right hand on the holster. He doesn't seem dangerous, but better be safe than sorry. But Gander truly didn't have bad intentions. He sat back in front of Flack, giving him a single paper: "Please, take a look"

The title, Melissa Buster, the angel went back to the Paradise, was printed above Melissa and Gregory's wedding photo. So classic... an easy way to make people cry and sell copies. Probably they didn't even know her deeply.

"It was just a tragic accident, you know? Greg suddenly fell asleep while driving, his alcohol level was zero. He started changing from that day; he started staying alone, he was sad, morose. He started losing work days... but I didn't want to fire him. So, his only task was proof-reading. He worked from home, sending his job by mail. It was still okay, even if it lacked brilliance. He had a deadline in a couple of days"

"Did you talk to him often?"

"At all. Between consignments he kind of disappeared. I didn't want to be too meddler... maybe I should have been"

Flack shrugged: He knew perfectly how some things went. Samantha, my dear Sammie.

"I guess you don't know if he was seeing someone, if he had some friends?"

"Before... you know... he was full of friends, but after... he closed the world outside, he looked unreachable"

Without expecting it, the day of the shooting came to Flack's mind. He had spent days at the hospital, waiting for Jess to feel better, and he hadn't talked a single time to Mac or Danny, event if his two friends had been there for him. And Jess survived. What if... he shook his head, averting the director's eyes for a moment.

"By the way, this is my card. Feel free to call me if you remember something else"

"Sure", Gander stood up and shook warmly Flack's hand. Than he pushed the intercom: "Stacy, would you accompany detective Flack outside? Thank you"

On the street, Don checked his phone. There was a new text: He was awaited in the lab for a briefing. He sighed, the day was far from its end.