Annabeth frowned against the mid-morning rays as she took in the crime scene before her. She wiped sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. Next to the heat, the stench of wet garbage permeating the air made it near unbearable to stand still. She felt sorry for the forensics guys who were covered head to toe in their protective gear while they took pictures of and marked out possible evidence in the area. Having started a while ago, they'd likely be done within the hour. Outside, a cluster of reporters and journalists had gathered to catch early footage of the latest murder case, with two uniformed officers making sure they stayed beyond the police tape that was strung across the mouth of the alley.

Tuning out the din, Annabeth turned her attention to the body. The victim was African-American, early- to mid-thirties. Slumped against the left wall of the alley, his head was tilted slightly downwards, open eyes staring vacantly at a spot near his feet. A single gunshot wound gaped in the centre of his chest.

Standing a safe distance from the body, her partner looked up from scribbling in her notepad. "Shame to have one so early in the day," Clarisse remarked.

Annabeth hummed in agreement. "Especially on a weekend… How did the witness find him?"

"Said she was walking past on the way to work when she got spooked by a pack of dogs coming out of the alley. She happened to look and saw him lying there."

Annabeth curled her lip. "That's troubling… Hopefully none of the evidence got contaminated."

Kneeling next to the body, their lead CSI was taking a sample swab of a rust-coloured substance that had dried on the cement. "In my experience, stray dogs don't usually go around trying to eat dead bodies," Nico said from behind his face mask, not looking up. "But there's nothing we can do if they messed up the evidence. We'll just have to take what we can get. But hey, all part of the job, right?"

"I appreciate the optimism as always, Nico," Annabeth chided. While she couldn't see it, she was sure he was smiling under the mask.

She scanned the area around the body. "For a gunshot wound there's not much blood around here…"

"No, there isn't," Nico agreed, packing up his completed swab into an evidence bag. "I didn't see any bullet casings during the initial sweep of the place either, although that could just mean the perp remembered to clean up after himself. Assuming there's an exit wound, I'll be able to take a better look behind the body once we move it, but for now I'm thinking he was shot somewhere else, and then transported and dumped here."

Clarisse grunted. "Doesn't seem like a typical robbery."

"Maybe it wasn't," Annabeth said. "Nico, what's your idea on time of death?"

"Well, there's no maggot activity or visible decomp yet, and considering how the body's out in the open and how busy this area is it couldn't have been here too long without getting noticed. I could be wrong, but I'd say he died sometime last evening. Anyway, Solace should be able to give you a better estimate from the autopsy."

Annabeth turned and looked at the line of shops across the street. "We should ask the retail owners around here if they heard anything last night. Just in case."

She crossed her arms as she took in the victim's attire: smart casual, a dark blue blazer over an ash-grey dress shirt. His leather shoes looked new.

"His clothing tells me he might have been attending some sort of work event, or maybe a date. Thoughts?"

"I agree," Clarisse said. She stooped lower and studied the victim's shoes. "Soles aren't even that worn out yet, so I'm betting he didn't normally wear formal for work or otherwise. Unless this is a second pair. Then that theory goes out the window."

"If we can get an ID, we'll be able to find out for sure…"

Nico stood up with his forensics kit. "Well, I'll leave you guys to it. I have to do another sweep of the place before we transport the body to the ME's Office. Oh, while you're there, say hi to Will for me."

Annabeth smiled and waved once in goodbye. Then she turned to her partner.

"So, thoughts on this one?"

Clarisse shifted her weight onto her left foot and rested her hand on her hip. "First glance, it's a strange case. Evidence seems to point to the vic being shot elsewhere, which raises the question of the real scene of the crime. Could have something to do with his outfit. No other injuries we can see aside from the single gunshot. Could be a robbery gone wrong, although the scene here refutes that, so then what is the motive?"

Annabeth thoughtfully tapped a finger against her arm. "We could assume the body was transported by car. Surveillance cameras might be our best shot."

"Right. I'll go take a walk around here and see what I can find, then I'll meet you back at the station to do the witness interview. Tough luck, crime scene being here in this little alleyway…"

She turned to leave. Annabeth was about to follow when a metallic glint caught her eye, near the victim's neck. She paused to peer at the spot.

Looks like there's something on the body, she thought. She called Nico back over.

Once he'd set down his forensics kit, he eased into a squat and carefully reached for the lapel of the victim's blazer with a gloved hand under her instruction. He pulled it aside just enough to reveal a bronze-bodied fountain pen clipped to the inside shirt's collar.

"That's interesting," Nico said, studying the pen. "Based on the blood spatter it looks like this was on him when he was shot. But this being here is odd. There's pockets in the blazer, so why pin this on the shirt instead?"

He packed the pen away in a new evidence bag, and his question was lost to the air. He walked off again with a small salute.

Annabeth glanced around the area. The media people outside had dwindled down, probably discouraged by the lack of action, or perhaps the stifling heat. She exhaled through her nose and briefly flapped the collar of her blouse.

With nothing left to do at the scene, she approached the woman who had found the body. Annabeth thanked the officer who had been staying with her before turning to the witness.

"Hi, ma'am. Would you be okay to come back with us to the station? We have a few questions we'd like to ask you."

-Ψ-

Later at the 17th Precinct's police department, they interviewed the witness for full details on how she'd discovered the victim. The middle-aged lady dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief as she described herself stumbling upon the body earlier that morning. Annabeth asked if she'd noticed anyone loitering around the area while waiting for the police to arrive, to which she replied in the negative. The session quickly wrapped up after that, and the woman was asked to sign the completed witness statement. Before she left, Annabeth gave the woman her contact card for if she remembered any more details.

Annabeth told Clarisse about the bronze fountain pen she'd seen on the body at the crime scene as they walked to the detectives' open-plan office area. She mentioned the blood spatter and how odd it was that the pen had been clipped to the victim's shirt. Her partner only shrugged and said they'd have to wait and see if the forensics results would tell them more.

"That witness statement doesn't give us much to work with," said Clarisse once they had settled into their seats across from each other.

"Apparently not, besides being a reference for Nico's theory of time of death." Annabeth placed her notebook on her desk and switched on her computer.

"You think it's possible no one else saw the body before that? It seemed pretty noticeable from the sidewalk, and it didn't look like the perp made much of an effort to conceal it in the first place."

Annabeth tilted her head in thought. "Maybe other pedestrians assumed the victim was only drunk or asleep, which isn't surprising especially if it was dark out. A lot of people prefer to mind their own business. We can't know for sure." She logged into her account, then opened up a fresh document to start working on the incident report.

Her partner tapped her fingers idly on her desk. "Hey, why don't we go get ourselves some coffee? I definitely need it considering we got a body first thing on a Saturday."

Annabeth looked away from her screen to smile at her knowingly. "Are you gonna go, or should I?"

"Oh quit it, Chase," Clarisse grumbled, slumping back against her chair. "I knew I shouldn't have mentioned anything to you."

"It's too late to take it back now, partner. I'm only going to stop when you make a move."

"Right. What you actually mean is you're going to keep yapping in my ear about it until we get married or something." Clarisse rolled her eyes, although she'd already stood up from her chair.

"Anyone can see that you've been lonely for too long, Clarisse."

"Lonely, my face. Since when did you become such a romantic? How about you take your own advice, huh? I'm not seeing any future-Mr Chase's around here."

"As your friend, I just want to see you happy. Is that so hard to believe?" Annabeth smiled innocently.

Clarisse ignored her and proceeded to walk out of the room.

Annabeth got to work on the report. When ten minutes had passed and Clarisse still hadn't returned from the café across the street, she minimised the document, put her desktop to sleep and grabbed one of the case files off the top of the stack that was already on her table.

She skimmed the first page, which held the fifth victim's personal information. She'd read the words so many times in the recent weeks that she practically had them memorised. She flipped to the next page for the details of Michael Yew's death. He had been found face-down on the rough cement of an alley near Bryant Park, with facial and rib fractures among his worst injuries. The autopsy also found a small volume of water in his lungs, although the official cause of death was determined to be extensive internal bleeding as a result of repeated blunt force trauma.

Annabeth stared at one line near the bottom of the page: Mild abrasions found on both wrists; likely caused by prolonged pressure with a rough material. Two of the other victims shared the same detail. It was the reason Annabeth believed the cases might be related, though without stronger evidence linking them together, she couldn't risk spending work hours chasing her own theory.

Finally Clarisse reappeared, placing a takeaway cup of coffee in front of her. "What's with the face, Chase?"

Annabeth looked up and set Michael Yew's file back on the desk. "Just refreshing my memory on the other cases." She let out a quiet sigh. "They just keep piling up. All this time and we've hardly gotten anywhere. I hate it."

Clarisse propped her hip against her desk as she stirred her drink. "Hmm. You still think the murders could be connected?" There was only a little bit of doubt in her voice, but Annabeth knew she wasn't trying to be unkind.

"Maybe. I'm not settling on any theories. I just thought we could explore the possibility since our current leads are getting us nowhere."

"Yeah, I get it. I want these cases to be solved too…"

Annabeth sagged a little more in her seat. What would her job as a detective mean if she couldn't solve any of these cases? She couldn't go to sleep without details of the victims crossing her mind, and every day that she failed to make progress was a restless night spent questioning her competence. She owed it to the victims to find their killers and let them answer for the lives they had taken. She couldn't let them be forgotten like so many of the cold cases left unsolved in the storage room downstairs.

Immersed in her thoughts, she was brought back to a scene that had never left her memories—her standing in that hospital room when she was 18. A prickle of bitterness welled up inside her as she felt herself slipping back into that part of her life. She shut the rest of the memory away before it could consume her.

Annabeth realised she hadn't touched her coffee. For now she ignored it and checked her watch. "What do you say we take an early lunch? I have a strong feeling the work will only pile up later, so we might as well fuel up while we can."

Clarisse smirked. "I like the way you think, partner."

-Ψ-

After a quick brunch and a spare hour spent typing up paperwork, they met up with Will Solace at the Medical Examiner's Office for the results of the autopsy.

"Good news," he said. "I found the ID card in a wallet on the body. Victim's name was Charles Beckendorf."

The detectives stood with him in the building's mortuary. In between them, Charles Beckendorf lay covered up to the waist by a white sheet on a steel autopsy table.

"His wallet's still there… so not a robbery," Clarisse confirmed.

"Appears so. Money's still inside and everything." Will gestured behind him to a side table, on top of which was a plastic evidence bag containing the wallet in question.

"Cause of death?" Annabeth asked.

"Single gunshot wound to the chest." He pointed to it on the body. "No exit wound, but I found some gunshot residue on the skin, which of course tells us he was shot from the front at close range, although not with direct skin contact since there's no burn marks. The forensics lab should give you the same story from the clothing I'll be sending them. Also, the bullet path has a slight downwards angle, so the killer had to have aimed lower as he fired. Unfortunately the bullet fragmented on impact with the rib, but Reyna should be able to tell you the calibre once all the pieces are put back together.

"Aside from that, contusions at the base of the head indicate blunt force trauma. No other external injuries or defensive wounds on the body except for slight abrasions on both wrists that were probably caused by continuous applied pressure, as with a rope or other binding material."

The back of Annabeth's neck tingled at the last detail. She shared a look with Clarisse, which told her that her partner had caught it too. "And time of death?"

"Estimated about twelve hours ago, likely between 8 pm and 2 am. I hate to inform that the toxicology report will only be ready in four to six weeks at the earliest. Other than that, those are all the big details I have for you. The full report's right here."

"Thanks, Will," Annabeth said.

Clarisse crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto her left foot. Her gaze floated towards the body lying between them as she pondered. "So no defensive wounds, plus head injury, plus abrasions on the wrists—I'm thinking it was a blitz attack first, then the vic was restrained and later shot. But why? And what's the pen got to do with this?"

"What pen?" Will asked.

"Back at the crime scene we found a bronze fountain pen clipped onto the victim's shirt," Annabeth explained. "It's already in evidence, but it seems like it was on him when he was shot."

"Strange," Will mused. He gave them a smile of sympathy. "You two must be pretty busy with your five cases—six now, I guess. I myself am dealing with a boatload of my own from the other precincts."

"Tough," Clarisse remarked. "It's almost like the work never ends."

"You ladies happen to know of any CSIs who might be able to help me, though?" he asked, feigning innocence. "Preferably of the dark and brooding variety."

Clarisse smirked. "Real smooth, buddy. But di Angelo's just as busy as you are. Afraid you're going to have to try harder than that to get him to notice you."

"I could say the same to you, La Rue," he shot back.

Clarisse huffed and turned to leave without a backward glance. Annabeth gave their consulting forensic pathologist a wry smile before bidding him goodbye. She trailed after her partner, a hardcopy of the autopsy report in hand.

"So, think the cases might be related now?" she asked as they stepped out into the sun, trying not to sound too victorious.

"I just might," Clarisse grumbled. "But let's see what we can dig up on this one first."

-Ψ-

Once they'd returned to the station, they went up to the office levels of the building to see their resident technical analyst, Malcolm Pace.

"Hey, Pace," Annabeth greeted once they had made it to his cubicle. "Can you help us pull up records for a Charles Beckendorf? He's our vic from this morning."

"Sure thing," he said, getting to work on searching the police database.

Within a couple minutes he printed out a copy of the information and slotted the sheet of paper into a manila file.

"Much appreciated," Clarisse said, taking it from Malcolm's outstretched hand. "How's progress on the camera footage I gave you?"

"I have it right here, actually." On his computer screen, he pulled up a grid of three black-and-white camera feeds displaying the streets around the crime scene, though none of them gave a direct view of the mouth of the alley.

Annabeth's heart sank in dismay. "This is all we've got?"

"Unfortunately. It's just the closest traffic camera and security ones of the shops around the area."

"Can you show us the footage from 8 pm last night?" Clarisse instructed.

Malcolm navigated to the timestamp and played it in fast-forward. The three of them watched in silence as pedestrians wandered the streets and vehicles zoomed down the roads in a timelapse.

"There," Clarisse said suddenly.

Malcolm paused the video feed as she pointed to the corner of the footage labelled 'Rosa's Empanadas – Street View' over his shoulder. At her finger was a grainy image of the edge of an unmarked van's back bumper by the sidewalk in front of the store. Since the vehicle was dark in colour in the camera footage, Annabeth guessed it was black in real life.

"From what I remember walking around earlier, this shop faces the road and is right next to the alley," Clarisse explained. "Judging from the scale of the video, I'd bet my weeks' worth of coffee that the van here was parked right outside the crime scene at this moment. Probably to obstruct it from view from the street."

The timestamp read 12:05 am. Malcolm rewound the footage slowly to show the van reversing into camera view, then paused to capture the back of it for when it had just passed the shop.

Clarisse drummed her index and middle fingers alternately against the desk. "We can't see the license plate from this angle. See if the traffic cam can pick up a clearer view."

Malcolm toggled to the traffic camera's video feed and navigated to the same timestamp. It gave an angle of the main road a few stores down from the alley, and after some minutes had elapsed on the recording the same black van came into view as it moved straight down the road. Malcolm paused the feed and zoomed in on the back of the vehicle, but most of the plate was shaded in darkness, only a small area of the top corner visible in a lighter tone, and even then not a fragment of a letter or number could be seen. He fiddled with the video to try and obtain a better angle but it was to no avail.

Clarisse cursed under her breath. "It's too dark to read. Any chance you can enhance the video—brighten it up or something?"

"Not in a way that would let us see the plate. The angle of the shadows is blocking it a little too perfectly. Plus the van's backlights are too dim, which I guess helps the perp more than it does us. Might have even been intentional."

"So basically we have nothing." Clarisse cursed again.

"I'd say it's something," Malcolm said helpfully. "At least now you know which model to look for."

"Right," she deadpanned. "And the list of people who drive an unmarked black van in New York definitely won't be longer than five pages."

At that moment, a notification popped up on one side of the screen. Lunchtime!, it read.

"Why do you need a reminder for that?" Annabeth asked, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

Malcolm shrugged. "Sometimes I get carried away with work."

Clarisse clicked her tongue. "Well, thanks again for the info and the optimism. Enjoy your lunch."

Annabeth's phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and read the text that had just come in. "Nico says the evidence is ready for us to look through if we want."

"That kid's got impeccable timing. Well, we'd better go down and get it. It was nice talking to you, Pace."

They took a trip down to the crime lab to retrieve the evidence box before returning to their own office area. Her coffee still sat three-quarters full on her desk and had long turned cold, but Annabeth set it aside. She placed down the cardboard box, took the lid off and began sifting through the bags inside. At the very bottom of the box were the victim's neatly folded clothes and shoes kept in separate labelled resealable bags. She ignored most of the other items inside and pulled out the bag containing the pen she had been wondering about for most of the day.

"Fancy pen," Clarisse commented at a glance. "Must be pretty expensive."

Annabeth stared at the pen for a few moments. "I've been thinking. Maybe the pen was left on the victim's collar on purpose. It's too out of the ordinary not to consider, especially since we're dealing with a homicide. Question is, what's the message meant to be? And why a pen, of all things?"

Clarisse took a while to respond. "Chase, maybe it's not so complicated. Maybe it's just the victim's quirk. He coulda been at a work thing and stuck it to his shirt when he got distracted. It's not entirely unbelievable."

Annabeth sighed. "I hear you. Guess I have tendency to overthink these things."

Leaving the pen in the bag, she turned it over in her fingers to study its exterior. Specks of blood still marred its smooth metallic surface, although she expected Nico would have attempted to lift fingerprints off it. She was about to set it down to check if he had already left them any results in the box when she noticed a neat engraving of block letters along one side. P. JACKSON, it read.

"That name looks familiar…" she murmured.

Clarisse leaned over to see. "That logo." She pointed out the emblem of a trident printed onto the blunt top of the cap. "I bet that name stands for Percy Jackson—you remember that big-shot heir to Poseidon Enterprises who got caught up in that scandal with the red-headed heiress some months ago?"

"Right…" Annabeth said slowly. In truth, she hardly recalled. She was not one to busy herself with celebrity gossip media or news tabloids. Her mind was already constantly occupied with other things.

She dragged the pad of her thumb over the carved name. It made her uneasy. The last thing they needed was someone high-profile getting involved in a homicide case. It would only complicate the investigation, not to mention if he started throwing his lawyers at them on reflex, which was a scenario Annabeth had had the misfortune of experiencing in the past.

"Guess that rules out the quirk theory," Clarisse said. She scowled down at the pen, hands on her hips. "Well, partner, it looks like you and I will need to have a chat with Mr Future CEO."