The scent of fresh blood started to pollute the air as a pool of it trickled slowly down the concrete road veering for the sewers. The owner lay in an awkward pose, splayed out with their face almost unrecognisable as it had been crunched down and blackened from bad tyre burns.

CSI Warrick Brown considered it an easy catch for the early evening. Hit and run. It had happened on a public road so he imagined it wouldn't take much to find the offender. He snapped on his gloves and surveyed the body with a calm ease. The sensation of pity for the victim had come and gone, years of this duty had taught Warrick not to get bogged down with being personal, you did that, and the job would eat you alive.

Warrick turned his pale blues up to the detective who had caught the case as he heard their mobile ringing. Detective Chris Cavaliere looked a little haggard to the CSI and he wondered curiously if it might be due to the carousel case he had caught. Warrick felt glad he hadn't been called in for that one, four victims was a complication all by itself but throw in the fact that they were headless and without and that became a colossal mess to untangle.

Detective Cavaliere tugged out his mobile and gave a half-apologetic nod to Warrick before he turned away to answer it.

"Detective Cavaliere."

"Oh, detective?" a slightly uncertain male's voice answered. "Wow, I wasn't expecting that."

Perplexed and just a little frustrated, Chris queried coldly, "and this is?"

"Sorry, right. This is Officer Richards here. I'm sorry to disturb you but I'm with a young woman called Paige, she seems disoriented, a member of the public found her pacing around muttering to herself and called it in. Anyway, she isn't making a lot of sense, can't even confirm her full name to us but I was able to get her phone off her and she had you listed as Roomie, you were her last call so I was hoping you could help us I.D her."

"Where are you?"

"Just outside 4 Queens at Fremont Street."

"Okay, stay there with her, I'm on my way."

"Alright."

Chris ended the call and looked back to Warrick who stared up at him inquisitively. "I've gotta run to Fremont Street, it's Paige."

Warrick nodded in calm understanding. "Well, at least it's not far," he said. "Take your time." Warrick looked down to the body and then over his shoulder to the waiting officers. "This guy is smeared down the road, it'll take a while, and I can only do so much until the M.E gets here."

"Thanks," Chris said.

The detective hurried over to his unmarked car, entered it and triggered the sirens. He kept his mind one-track, telling himself just to get there without wasting time on speculations. He wondered if Paige had given her surname would Officer Richards have recognised it.

Not that long ago Paige had been infamous, hell she still was, a lone survivor of a serial killer who had kidnapped and tried to murder her twice. Her name had become forgotten to some because people didn't really care about the person she had been, it was the idea of her that fascinated people- ' the Two-Time Survivor', ' Schoolgirl Strangler Survivor' and other nicknames, her identity had become lost to titles. This was why for a get-well gift her something along the lines of boyfriend but not quite Lou had grouped together with a few others to get her a gold and diamond pendant that spelled out her name. It served as a reminder for her of her identity and apparently also as a useful clue for anyone else trying to identify her.

Chris arrived at Fremont Street with only a little difficulty, Vegas might have tourists from the world over, but sirens were universal, and most people knew to give way to them. He parked right at the entrance to the street, startling a few pedestrians who started to instinctively look about them for the trouble. As he killed the sirens and the engine, he found a group of tourists clustering close by, cameras and phones up and flashing as they stared at him curiously. Chris waved them off angrily before getting out of the car.

Fremont Street had its usual hustle and bustle crowd as lights and music came from all directions while street vendors performed either for money or to advertise for the casinos lined up behind them. Past the strip, it was infamous for its neon lights, looking glitzy but appearing more than a little shady when people went to investigate. It acted a little like the lantern fishes that swam the dark depths of the ocean, luring prey into their maws with the attraction of light. From the nineties there had been an effort to boost the appeal of the street with more light displays and stages for entertainment. Chris felt the street could don whatever flashy disguise it liked but the inside didn't change. Hell, the rest of the city did no better, drawing people to the lights to lose their money whilst keeping them from seeing the seedy sin lurking in the shadows. The flashy colours of casinos advertised fun and offered safety whilst the dark alleyways and deep sewers offered pockets of darkness for used needles and guns to be hidden and worse, bodies to be abandoned.

Chris headed in a hurry to where the 4 Queens Casino stood, letting the gold star badge pinned to his jacket pocket do some of the work of parting crowds for him.

A small cluster of people clued the detective in to where Paige could be. He veered over to them and spotted the familiar khaki uniforms of two officers before he caught the flash of blonde of the young woman who held their attention.

Paige sat on a stone bench, turning her head in all directions sharply whilst clenching her knees and muttering. She wore jeans and a light, long sleeved, pink top with her Paige pendant hanging over it, just above her chest. A worn, grey satchel rested on the bench beside her, secure over her shoulder.

Chris halted before her, turning to the officer who looked to him curiously.

"I'm Detective Cavaliere," he explained.

Chris took the officer in quickly, noting he still had the bright spark in his blue eyes and friendliness to his smile to suggest a freshness to the job or worse, that he might just be a happy person.

"Officer Richards."

Chris nodded before he crouched before Paige who stared back at him in bewilderment. "Paige?"

"Detective...Sneezey?" she murmured in confusion.

Her arms rose up to hug her torso as she continued to look about in puzzlement.

Chris frowned; it had been a long time since she had referred to him by that nickname. "Paige, it's Chris," he reminded her, "your flatmate." He grimaced slightly before correcting himself. "Your roomie."

She turned back to him sharply and her eyes widened slightly before she nodded. "Yes, shit, sorry Chris." She reached up a hand to rub at the right side of her head. "I got confused. I, there should have been a big flamingo statue, I always like to pat its knee for luck. I go right there, then it's past the cookie store and then left by the store with the rubber ducks in the window. Then my bus stop is there, slightly wonky sign, got hit by a bus years ago, irony."

Paige looked around herself again. "I don't understand how I got here," she said worriedly. "I remember leaving work and walking out but I got all mixed up and I couldn't figure it out."

Chris nodded, trying to retain his calm even as he felt a certain sense of frustration creep up him. He did have a case to return to, and he wasn't sure when exactly he had become Paige's keeper. Yet he felt a sense of concern for the woman and a desire to help her out because he did like her for all her quirks and issues, and he knew that this confusion and amnesia were not things she could help.

"Big flamingo statue?" Officer Richards echoed. "Ah I know," he said cheerfully, "yeah it had a sign in its beak for The Flamingo. They knocked that down today, probably wasn't doing them much good, it's too far from The Flamingo, people would get distracted en route from there."

At the officer's words Chris had a sudden realisation.

"You got lost because your marker had gone," he guessed. "And you kept walking." He shook his head scornfully at her. "Paige, if you don't know where you are you stop and call someone, okay?"

Paige shook her head in annoyance. "I thought I could figure it out. I was looking for the cookie store, it couldn't have been far. Then there were all these lights, it got confusing, they all looked the same and I heard sirens but I... I ran away from them. It just happened."

Paige stared up at the stern-faced detective apologetically. "I didn't mean to; I heard the police sirens, and I felt this panic and I ran."

Chris thought about her words as he dug his hands into his jacket pockets. He could sense the officers' growing curiosity as they stared down at the young woman, no doubt wondering why on earth she should fear the police. Paige had been brunette at the time then a redhead, always changing her appearance to evade a killer who liked blondes. The officers would put it together or a colleague would advise them then they'd realise why Paige feared police. Chris understood it, the Schoolgirl Strangler, the man who had ruined her youth and for years terrorised her mind before trying to rectify his mistake of letting her go, had turned out to be a cop.

Paige hadn't known it first time around, she had never seen her attacker but when he had come for her again three months ago, he had done it in uniform. There had been no sirens, he had not been that dumb, but Chris could understand the connection.

"Alright, I'll run you home," Chris said.

The detective's dark gaze darted over to Officer Richards.

"Thanks for the call," the detective addressed the officer sincerely. "I'll take her home now."

"Are you really her roommate?" the officer blurted out as he ogled Chris.

Chris' mouth curled up slightly at the right in the form of a half-smile.

Paige had long, blonde hair, strikingly pale blue eyes, and a svelte, youthful figure. She was twenty-three years old with a certain charm to her face that had started to brighten over the past couple of the months as she finally started to release the fear the Schoolgirl Strangler had held her under for years. Chris understood why he got teased and tormented at work for living with her and why this young officer, one of the few who hadn't heard about Detective Cavaliere and his flatmate apparently, couldn't believe it.

"Flatmate," Chris corrected stonily, "but yes."

Officer Richards glanced back down to Paige. The young woman had grown quiet and become noticeably calmer in Chris' presence.

"Alright then, safe home. I hope you're okay miss," Officer Richards addressed her gently with a small smile.

Paige forced up a grateful look for him as she stood up from the bench, but she couldn't quite banish the wariness in her blue eyes. She paused to adjust the strap of her satchel before looking at Chris sheepishly.

"Thank you for coming," she said softly. "You didn't have to."

"I did." Chris turned and started walking to his car.

"You're working." Paige's voice came out quiet as she glanced up to him guiltily.

"Yep, so I'm going to drop you straight at the door." Chris glanced at his watch. "Then I'll head back, wrap up this case and presume you're not letting me out of laundry night."

Chris glanced over his shoulder at the young woman to see if she remembered what tonight should be. He saw the confusion flit across her face once more before she gave a small smile.

"No, laundry night is sacred," she said cheerfully.

Chris gave a sardonic smile at this and shook his head.

They got into his car, and he hit the sirens again as he started up the engine. He considered offering to call Lou for her but figured if she wanted Lou to know what had happened, she'd call him herself.

Chris tread an odd line when it came to Paige. On the one hand, he respected her for all she had suffered and saw how that had made her grow up long before she should have but on the other hand, he felt like he should protect her even though she had already seen the worst of the world.

He drove quickly, flicking on the stereo to block out the silence that fell in the car.

Nick Stokes looked up at the club entrance and grimaced at the sleazy, flashing neon red outlined silhouette of a naked woman opening and closing a corset. The Scarlet Dancers boasted of being more upmarket than the average stripper joint, advertising on a poster its burlesque styled performers. Nick didn't get it; nudity was nudity and no matter how this place tried to dress things up, its clientele were here for just that.

A torn pink stub for V.I.P entry to this club, dated two nights ago, remained Nick's only clue at present to identifying one of the headless John Does. It had been found hidden at the bottom of a rear pocket on the deceased man's blood-stained jeans.

Nick bypassed the queue and headed up to the main doors. He caught the stern look from the bouncer and watched it deepen as Detective Vartann's gold detective shield went up. The badges were like skeleton keys for the city, sometimes you'd get a sneering demand for a warrant but the threat of not only getting one but finding other citations too usually had that demand dissipating.

The bouncer, not wanting the crowd put off, opened the velvet rope and ushered Vartann and Nick in quickly. He didn't ask what they wanted, figuring that should be someone inside's problem.

Nick braced himself for the dark surroundings that came with seedy joints. They used their shadowy interiors as a seduction, a promise that their patrons' misdeeds would go unseen and therefore untold. Nine times out of ten in Vegas that was a lie, there would always be some blinking camera eye watching from somewhere. Of course, no club owner ever admitted to having these cameras freely, usually because they either wanted to keep their clients' secrets so they didn't lose business or because they were blackmailing said clients. Too often Nick had heard the dubious 'wasn't working that night' or 'we don't keep the footage that long'.

They were greeted at the door by a scantily clad woman in a beaded brassier who operated a cash register and offered out stubs from behind a wire mesh cage. Nick felt a little like he'd come to a zoo as he stared at the mesh- look but don't dare touch.

The CSI let the detective take the lead.

Nick liked Lou Vartann, the detective played more neutrally with the CSIs that most in the LVPD ranks, and he tended to present a useful calm while on duty. He had come tonight at Brass' behest because CSIs shouldn't be out chasing leads, and they certainly shouldn't be doing it alone and Lou happened to be on duty tonight. Chris was on duty too but on his way back to the carousel he'd gotten caught up in a hit and run whilst Tony had headed back to the carousel with Greg in a bid to find the owners of the site and the fairground.

Lou was fully aware of the carousel case, the whole of Las Vegas was as the story had broken this morning, just a few hours after the bodies had been discovered. It meant the detective hadn't taken much to get caught up on the case and knew why he was here tonight.

Nick glanced about the place, figuring that with Lou's badge it wouldn't be long before someone in management came to them. He knew they were probably going to have get a warrant so they could lift whatever CCTV this club had.

Women with teasing feather fans danced up on stage whilst others in pearl studded bras swung round poles and gyrated on raised platforms. The place was busy but still in the early stages of its evening.

Lou cocked his head slightly as a busty brunette gave an animated performance on a stage close by.

"Look I don't know; we get guys like that all the time in here."

Nick glanced up at the irate voice and took in the woman who seemed to be approaching them even as she spoke to someone else. She wore a smart, black business suit, instantly standing out as a figure of authority not a performer.

"The cash he flashed around I'm sure your staff might remember even if he doesn't stand out. It was only two nights ago."

Nick's eyes darted over to the woman's companion as he recognised the dry, sardonic male voice immediately.

"Well, this might complicate things," Lou murmured in a low voice.

When a single, suspicious eye turned upon him, Nick felt a rush of fear that put him right back to high school and being selected to answer a question he couldn't.

"CSI Stokes and Detective Vartann, small world," the man addressed them in a biting tone.

The woman glanced from him to the CSI and detective with fresh ire. "You know each other? Is it the same case or how can I help you two?"

She folded her slim arms and surveyed Nick and Lou almost accusingly.

"We'd like to speak to someone about this." Nick produced the ticket stub. "We are hoping to get help with identifying the owner of this."

The woman tilted her head and leaned forward to squint at the stub. "Two nights ago, huh? Well, we get a lot of people in the V.I.P section throughout an evening, it'll be hard to narrow it down to just one."

She looked back to her companion. "You both want a miracle here. Do you seriously think I can pick out one generic white guy in jeans and a shirt throwing around money in the V.I.P area on CCTV?"

"One generic white guy with slicked back red hair and tossing out hundred-dollar bills like confetti," the man beside her corrected. "I think he would've stood out just a little to your staff." He raised two fingers held up to show a tiny gap between them in emphasis to 'little'.

"Uh huh." The woman's dark stare darted back to Nick. "And what kind of hair does your person of interest have?"

"Um..." Nick offered her an embarrassed smile. "Ma'am I'm not really sure of that right now."

The man snorted before reaching up a hand to rub at his unruly blond hair. "And I'm the one not fit for detecting anymore," he grumbled.

Nick's eyes darted up to the man in annoyance before pity pooled into them. "Now Robbie, I have a legitimate reason for it."

The blond's eye fixed upon Nick with annoyance.

"He means P.D Woods," Lou spoke up hastily. He gave the blond a small flicker of a smile. "Look, we've got a case that led us here, same as you. Let's be nice and take turns."

Lou tried to take in the blond discreetly. He hadn't seen him for a few weeks, glimpsing him on and off in passing when the blond took to visiting Paige. Lou knew it was deliberate, ever since he, Robbie and Paige had all fallen foul to the Schoolgirl Strangler on the same night things hadn't been the same between them.

Then Detective Robbie Woods had lost the vision in his left eye, when it had failed to return his badge had gone with it. Then his house and his father's upmarket care home. To keep a roof over his head and make the payments on his dementia suffering father's cheaper care home, Robbie had become a Private Detective. Lou knew what that must have cost him, the privates were considered a pain the ass for the police sanctioned detectives even if a handful of them were retired officers. Too many were either wannabe cops or fame seeking hopefuls trying to make their names in solving the unsolvable, considering themselves better than actual detectives as they got in their road continuously. To have become one would have been a bitter pill to swallow for Robbie.

Lou knew as he looked at him that he didn't want to treat Robbie as a problem but if their cases had a connection, he would be one.

"What's your reasoning then?" Robbie sniped at Nick.

"Um…" Nick swallowed hard and glanced from Robbie to the woman. "I haven't got a look at his head er face."

Robbie's eyebrows rose slightly, and he looked from Nick to Lou before a cold smile cut across his face. "You've got the carousel case then."

"And what do you have?" Lou queried politely.

"Cooper Vincenzo, son of Carlo Vincenzo, up and disappeared as of yesterday along with a dancer, Jasmine."
"Has it been twenty-four hours?" Lou pried. "Or is there a reason someone suspects foul play?"

"Daddy's not saying but I suspect something else disappeared with Cooper and the dancer."

Robbie looked to the woman pointedly. "So, can I see the footage already? Two nights ago, slinging a lot of bills, I know you can narrow that to a time."

"We'll watch it too," Lou chimed up.

The woman folded her arms and glowered at the men. They looked back unflinching, Nick offered up a smile to try and diffuse the situation. She looked about their surroundings and seemed to become aware of the stares they were gathering.

"Alright," she growled out, "but be quick."

She led them through the crowds to a passcode protected door at the back of the club. Once through they headed down a quieter corridor and into a room on the right where a security guard sat watching monitors.

The woman instructed him to bring up the footage of the V.I.P sector from two nights ago around ten p.m. and he complied.

The trio watched as a redheaded man was shown drinking from a bottle of champagne while throwing out notes to the dancers encircling him. Behind him on a couch sat a nervous looking female.

"Blue jeans and pale blue shirt," Nick said quietly. "She's got the black skirt, black jacket, and pink top."

"Cooper and Jasmine," Robbie said with some satisfaction.

"They're two of our victims," Nick realised.