He used the motorbike, since time was critical and he figured it would give him better mobility in the traffic. But neither Traynor nor Clayton were at their old addresses. Their photos were on his phone, and he spent some time asking around the neighbourhood, but neither had been sighted. When he checked in with Finch, he found that Shaw had already dealt with Potter. She had sedated him, planted an illegal handgun on his unconscious body and called the local cops. With or without the court order, his history would ensure that he was off the streets for at least the next few days until his case was heard. Score one for Shaw; he wished he and Fusco were doing as well.

Finch was having trouble figuring out how the six had been released in the first place. Carter was sure there had been no court hearings about the orders which had seen them committed, but Finch hadn't found any evidence of hacking in any of the court's systems. Meanwhile, Reese checked a couple more bodegas and convenience stores without result and admitted to himself that he was spinning his wheels trying to figure out where his two targets might be.

He tapped his earpiece. "Finch, what's the background on these two? Is there anywhere else they might be? Their former neighbourhood's been a bust."

There was a short pause, broken by the inevitable rattle of Finch's keyboard. "I'm looking at their treatment records right now. You might try the New York City Zoo for Traynor, John. He was obsessed with the big cats there, and believed that like them he needed raw meat every few days." Another pause. "Oh my goodness...some of the fantasies he had about the tigers are...very unpleasant."

"On it, Finch." The roar of the bike's engine should have been soothing for him – he usually found it so. But instead the incessant stop-start of riding in the city irritated him. He had a nagging feeling that he was too slow, too late, hopelessly behind. Playing catch-up again.

The Zoo. He parked the bike, and gained entrance by flashing his badge at the attendant and barreling through the turnstile past a group of school children and a couple of mothers with toddlers in buggies. A cool autumn day, but mostly sunny, just the right weather for plenty of people to be about. Damn.

He slowed his pace, trying to blend with the crowd. This public place would make the kind of sleight-of-hand Shaw had pulled with Potter impossible. How the hell was he going to pull Traynor in, even if he was here? With any luck at all he would be acting erratically enough for Detective Riley to simply arrest the guy for whatever weirdness he was exhibiting, but if not... he got out his cell and flicked through to Traynor's picture. A gaunt, thin face, graying hair pulled across in a cowlick. Sad eyes. The man looked more unhappy than crazy, but Reese was only too well aware that appearances could be deceiving.

He decided to head straight to the tiger enclosure, and if Traynor wasn't there, to begin a methodical sweep of the whole zoo site, though with the crowds present he desperately hoped he would get lucky and find the man with the big cats. It would be a needle in a haystack today, and there was a relentless hurry, hurry, hurry in the back of his mind. Clayton was still out there.

The tigers at last. A viewing platform was suspended over the enclosure, while a second viewing space at ground level with a huge sheet of glass allowed the public to get up close and personal with the big predators. A family group, out of town visitors perhaps, was just filing out as Reese ducked past them. A single figure was standing in the gloomy interior, his hand up on the glass. A huge male tiger, striped coat gleaming, appeared padding along what was evidently his usual path along the edge of the enclosure. Yellow eyes seemed to look straight through the man, who was now pressing himself against the glass. Reese breathed out in relief. Even without a glimpse of his face, it must be Traynor. He eased his hand into a pocket, grasping the syringe there. Maybe Shaw's trick, or something similar, would be possible after all...

But the man saw him coming, reflected in the glass. He spun on the spot, eyes wild. His hands reached out, fingers crooked into claws. His lips drew back in a snarl as he lunged at Reese. Reese stepped sideways, dodging easily, and the man charged past him and out into the daylight.

He followed at a dead run. Traynor was sprinting up the steps, two at a time, to the viewing platform. Another school group was coming down; Reese waited perforce until his path was clear. As he emerged at the top, Traynor was standing on the railing. With a triumphant glance over his shoulder at Reese, he jumped.

xxxxxxx

Back out on in the zoo car park, Reese tapped his earpiece. "Traynor's not going anywhere, Finch. He jumped into the tiger enclosure before I could close with him. He's been badly mauled, and from what I could see he may not live. I managed to stay clear of the situation. Didn't want to get tied down here with Clayton still out there."

"You'll be pleased to hear Detective Fusco was able to arrest Ms Smith about twenty minutes ago. And Ms Carter has had a word in the ear of one of the other ADAs in her office, so the wheels are turning to get their court orders reinstated. But it'll be another few hours at least. The situation is still highly unstable."

"Any thoughts on where Clayton might be?" He was buckling his helmet on as he spoke.

"He had a particular obsession with a woman called Natalie Sinclair. She's a kindergarten teacher in Staten Island. I'm sending you her address and a route there now."

He kicked the bike into life and was off.

xxxxxx

The traffic was lighter during the early afternoon – at least until the schools let out – and he made swift progress. With three of their potential killers out of the way he permitted himself to hope that the rest might be as easy. But as he approached Natalie Sinclair's street his heart sank. Police tape across the intersection; a couple of ambulances in front of an otherwise nondescript apartment building. Parking the bike, he slipped into Riley's persona and approached the uni standing just inside the tape.

"Officer," he said to the young man, displaying his badge. The boy – surely they were recruiting them younger these days – nodded to him and lifted the tape for him to duck under. He nodded in reply and walked towards the woman apparently in charge of the scene. A gurney was being wheeled out though the front door of the building. No IVs in sight, and the occupant was completely shrouded; a body then. Riley's heart contracted as another gurney followed close behind. He tapped his earpiece. "Finch, I'm at Natalie's place. It doesn't look good."

"I've been tracking the police comms, Mr Reese. Murder-suicide." He caught his breath. Finch must have heard the sound; he added gently, "It would seem it happened this morning before she left for work. You couldn't have prevented it, John. I suggest you extract yourself as quickly as possible and get over to the Brooklyn Bridge. Fusco has a situation there."

"I'm on it, Finch."

He pulled a discreet fade without even talking to the Staten Island detective, aided by that fact that her attention was on the two bodies which had dropped on her turf, and returned to his bike.

xxxxxx

It was nearly seven that evening by the time they finished their reports and made their way to their favourite bar. Club sodas all round again. Reese decided that attractive as scotch rocks might be after this particular day, he wanted to retain his edge just a bit longer that evening. Who knew what other strangeness might be on its way?

He looked up as Carter slid onto the stool next to him. "Hey, John," she said, leaning towards him and kissing him on the cheek.

"Hey yourself," he replied, smirking a little. Fusco took a large sip of club soda and tried to control his expression.

"Hard day at the office, huh?" She glanced past him to Fusco, who gave a little shrug and examined his glass minutely. "I've had better," he said, running his fingers through his hair.

Carter's eyes narrowed. "What is that in your hair, Lionel?" she asked.

Fusco grimaced. He hesitated a long moment and then said sulkily, "Whipped cream, if you must know."

Reese tried very hard to put his poker face on. Joss was trying the same, with some success, he could see from the corner of his eye. There was a pause.

"Come on, Lionel. We have no secrets from each other, do we?" he finally murmured.

Fusco glared at him. "Boy, am I tired of being your comic relief," he said grumpily. "It was Gemma Smith. Crazy broad. She was holed up in a convenience store and had the owner gagged and tied in a corner. She thought he was going to rape her. But since she was unarmed I decided I'd try to go in and talk to her. So I did. And she decided I was also a potential rapist, so she tried to pepper spray me. Except that the can she had in her hand wasn't pepper spray, it was whipped cream."

As he finished this speech, Carter had her eyes closed, her hand stuffed in her mouth and was breathing in short snorts. Reese had to swallow his club soda quickly before it came out his nose, but mostly managed to keep a straight face, he flattered himself. Trying to steer the conversation in a more professional direction, he said, "How did the Brooklyn Bridge thing go in the end, Lionel? Finch told me it was resolved before I even got there, and then I was head down in paperwork for the rest of the shift. I hardly even saw you."

"That fruitcake Gomez was standing there underneath the bridge pylon with a knife to the throat of this poor kid he'd just grabbed off the street somewhere," Fusco told him. "We spent over an hour trying to talk him down, even got his old parish priest in to talk to him. But he just got weirder and more unstable and finally he gave the SWAT guy a clear shot and he took it. Got him right in the apricot."

Reese nodded. A hit to the medulla oblongata at the base of the brain would kill the target instantly and prevent any movement which might endanger the hostage; the marksman had obviously known his job. Shaw had called in with news that she had found and immobilised Cameron James, their last Number – no great achievement apparently as he'd been face down in an alley with more than half a bottle of cheap bourbon in him when she'd caught up with him. That left them with a body count of three, possibly four if Traynor succumbed to his injuries. His stomach hurt thinking about it. Natalie Sinclair was the worst, of course – an innocent victim who'd got out of bed that morning expecting an ordinary day with no idea she wouldn't live to see the sun set. But he felt a sadness for the others which surprised him a little. They'd been sick, not evil, and whatever had caused them to be released into a world they couldn't deal with had made them victims of a sort too.

"Joss, did you ever track down how those people got out of custody in the first place?" he asked her.

She looked troubled, a line appearing between those perfect eyebrows. "No," she said pensively. "There was no court hearing, no arguments presented for revoking any of those court orders. They were simply rescinded. It seems to have been a purely electronic process, no human input at all. Finch is positive there was no hacking. It just came out of nowhere."

"I'm goin' home now, I think. This town gets crazier every day," said Fusco, getting to his feet. "Sometimes I think I'm living in Gotham City, not New York. That serial killer in the Bronx hit again last night, did you see? And you people with your VHF phones might not have noticed, but we lost cell coverage over most of Manhattan for about an hour this morning. I mean, what's next, hallucinogens in the water supply?" He nodded to them both, and made his way to the street door.

To be continued...