A/N: Madison Bellows, thank you very much. You're a great beta.

To my reviewers: thanks to you, too. Glad you're liking the fiction and more glad you're using your time to tell me.

Enjoy the reading.

Chapter 17: No news is bad news

During the following morning briefing, Flack was feeling like a kid going to school without his homework finished. The first set of results from the name search hadn't turned up anything. To be honest, they weren't really meant to, but Flack couldn't help hoping.

Looking around, he noticed that the rest of the team also didn't have any good news.

"Good morning to you all. I already know nobody has anything new to tell me, even if I would have at least expected to have some results about the composition of the blankets", raising an eyebrow, Mac glanced at Lindsay, who was drinking from a Starbuck's cup.

"They didn't tell you?" the young woman commented, sounding surprised and nervous, "unfortunately, we had some problems in the lab and the equipment needed to be fixed."

"Nobody told me. I'd like to be warned immediately when these things happen." Taylor's tone was stern and almost icy.

"In the lab they swore they were going to tell you, so..." Lindsay looked at her fingers, feeling guilty. In any other moment she would have run to her Boss's office to warn him, but the previous night she had been beaten and her mind hadn't been completely focused. Plus, she had missed Lucy all day like crazy and she had only desired to go home to spend some time with her daughter. "I'm sorry, Mac. It won't happen again."

"You're right, it won't. So, another dead end right now. You two, what about your list?" Taylor's attention was at the two detectives seated in front of him.

"The weird thing is that-" Flack looked at his notes, "only twenty-nine people have a gun license."

"Weird?", Hawkes asked.

"I don't know, it looks like every person in New York owns a weapon. I was expecting a higher number, that's all."

"Could we leave our personal expectations off the case, please?"

"Of course, Mac, sorry. Twenty-nine people, sixteen men and thirteen women with no criminal records. They look clean, but I won't be surprised if some of these records would have been polished with care. We decided to start with them and then go on with the rest of the list."

"In what order?"

Angell answered, "first weapons owners, then the ones who live in the range of twelve miles from the victims' houses, two of them also have the license , and then we go to the dark cars' owners. Adam, we need some help with the cars."

Adam nodded, "okay. I'll look also at the type of weapons owned."

"I remind you, be careful, we're not sure the person we're looking for is in the list."

The two detectives nodded.

"Stella, any news from the bullets?"

"Obvious details apart, I've found a particular streak. I've compared it with our reference Desert Eagle, and it doesn't look a standard one. Maybe the killer modified the weapon. I'm also checking for a Desert Eagle missing report. I hope we'll have a temporary line. It seems there are lots of things we don't know yet."

"The problem is that we don't know anything about this guy."

Mac sighed, "Fine. Okay, you can all go. Call me if you have something."

"Okay." They all stood and left the room to do their tasks. Mac look at them, he was going to do further research about the question and then he'd a chat with Cruz's friends. He shuddered slightly realizing that a visit from Sinclair was on his agenda.

"So, who's the first lucky one?" Flack was driving skilfully in the traffic, in a way only a police officer or a cab driver would be able to do.

"Frank Powers, thirty years old, he lives on 62nd, not far from the 5th," Jess read from the list. She loathed that case, she loathed it very deeply. Plus, she loathed going from door to door. It was one thing going to arrest someone, but it was another going around asking questions. The majority of New Yorkers detested being disturbed by police first thing in the morning. Or in the late morning. Or during afternoon. Or always, if she was being honest.

"It'd be great if he was the killer, don't you think? He could be. He is a man, he has a gun license, he lives few miles from Buster's house, he's a volunteer in the help line. We don't know if he has a car, but he seems to be the perfect candidate."

"And this is why he won't be him," she smiled sarcastically.

"You're right... what a jerk!", Flack quickly steered right, "Manhattan drivers... he deserves a ticket."

"Are you going to say: 'Where are the police when you need them?', she teased.

Don turned toward her with a half smile on his lips, "maybe. Sometimes I just wish I had my ticket book in the car. Of course, I'd be never on time to crime scenes, but-"

"You're so by the book!"

"Hawkes would say I have a extremely developed superego."

"Busted! You listen to our little nerd friends when they talk to you."

"Obviously. I'll use all these notions against them when they won't expect it," he snickered.

"You know the thing I said about you being by the book? Well, let's forget it."

"What do you mean? Never mind, here we are."

"Saved by the bell!"

The detectives left the car and walked to the door, knocking, "Mister Powers, NYPD."

Few seconds later they heard someone nearing the door and opening the lock. But they weren't prepared for what they found in front of them.