The tragic reality of cold cases was that they'd almost always gone cold because there just weren't any hard leads to follow. The Padmore-Callaghan case was, unfortunately, not all that different. DNA and Sapphira's re-emergence had done wonders, propelling the case further than the team could have gotten it alone, but there just wasn't any concrete evidence that Amanda and her children had survived the blaze. Spence had spoken with the fire department at least half a dozen times in an attempt to work out the likelihood of numerous bodies being rendered ash while two had remained intact in the chimney, and, while there had been some data for it, the numbers remained astronomical. Slowly, the team had all come to the belief they'd not been in the house at the time of the fire, but that didn't mean they'd find them. John Callaghan's life insurance money hadn't been any small chunk of change; they could have literally gotten anywhere in the country with that money.

The Cold Case Unit had always been somewhat controversial within the Met; half the higher-ups had wanted it shut down as a waste of time and resources, while others had seen it as fantastic publicity. The team's solved case statistics weren't anything to snivel at either. However, none of the pencil pushers would just stand by while Boyd fixated on a case that had ground to a halt. So, begrudgingly, Boyd had allowed his team to start reviewing other cases while they chased down the last of their leads and theories. He'd insisted Stella sat down with Sapphira to go through absolutely everything that could have been even remotely helpful to the case, although that hadn't actually gotten them as much as Boyd hoped. It had, however, told them that the only reason she and her sisters had become properly literate and able to do basic arithmetic was down to Sapphira's and Elizabeth's hard work. Homeschooled; their mother had insisted upon it but never actually bothered to teach them anything aside from what would happen if the chores weren't done. Oh! Boyd truly did hope Amanda Callaghan was still alive so he could smash her face into an interview table and see how she liked being beaten with a belt. Children were sacred, were innocents in need of protection and love, not targets to be viciously abused with religion as a smokescreen.

The more days Sapphira had spent at his home, the more amazed Boyd had been by her. She'd slowly begun to emerge from her shell, and he'd been right; once clean, that hair of hers was captivating; he'd had to hold his fingers back from carding through it a few times. Smart, kind, thoughtful – Sapphira was all those things and more. After about a week, her timidness had mostly dried up, but she did keep insisting on cleaning up, which had started to irk him since she was his guest rather than his maid. Still, if a little vacuuming and loading the dishwasher made her feel more comfortable while she was there, Boyd wouldn't complain. Leaving her with only two sets of worn-out clothes hadn't been something he could abide, so Boyd had supplied her with several old t-shirts he no longer wore for her to sleep in. Insisting she take some cash to go buy herself some new things had almost made her cry, but he'd managed to navigate the situation and make her comply. Books were another thing he'd noticed. Sapphira had swiftly begun working her way through his extensive tomes without much care to genre, practically devour the things she did. all while snuggled up in an armchair by the window that overlooked his large yard. Only once had he managed to peek into that precious backpack of hers, just once when he'd taken her some towels, but he'd spotted the battered paperbacks in it and quickly made the decision to give her free rein of his literature. Other than the two paperbacks, the bag hadn't seemed to hold all that much: a single change of clothes, the photograph of her father from CCHQ, a handful of loose change, and what he'd assumed was a water bottle. While he'd never flaunted it, Boyd had always loved a good book and felt an odd sense of pride when he'd discovered Sapphira did as well.

It might not have been the best thing to do since they were looking into a case she'd been heavily involved in, but Boyd hadn't mentioned to his team that Sapphira was now basically living with him. He'd known all too well Grace would have had some psychiatric blather for him about it that he just couldn't be bothered to listen to. So, he'd kept quiet and carried on with his days rather peacefully. Frankly, coming home to lights on and a smiling face had been heartwarming after so many years of walking into an empty house. However, that Tuesday night when he arrived home, he'd entered to find his house filled with dramatic Japanese voices drifting from the television. Curious, Boyd had closed the door quietly and poked his head into the living room to see Sapphira glued to a cartoon as though it were some gritty crime drama. Even as a kid he'd not been all that bothered by cartoons, but Sapphira looked totally engrossed.

"What on earth are you watching?" The gray-haired man asked as he perched on the couch arm beside her.

Quickly she turned the volume down before those enrapturing eyes of hers found his. "It's anime. I used to watch it sometimes before I aged out of care. I think I like it so much because it's totally different from real life, and I never got to watch TV at home." A little smile settled across her face then that Boyd doubted she knew was there. "I missed it."

Some silly little cartoon meant so much to her. That sounded ridiculous, but he could see the truth of it in her green eyes. So, totally unsure of the plot or who any of the characters were, Boyd soon slipped from the arm to the couch itself so he could watch – no, that wasn't exactly true; he watched her watching the show. Although, after a time, he did oddly find himself sucked into the strange cross between cop drama and supernatural thriller.

"What insanity is this?"

That made Sapphira laugh. If somebody had glanced through the window then, they'd likely have thought the two of them a couple enjoying a quiet evening.

"Okay, so there's a war between the vampires and the werewolves, but also an internal conflict between regular vampires and those who can go out in the sun." He just nodded along. "Chiyo is Aoi's best friend, but Aoi was killed, and Chiyo started investigating it."

"And they're human?"

"Uh-huh," confirmed Sapphira without looking away from the screen. "Isamu was helping her because he's a cop and a werewolf, then he vanished as well – I think Hiro has him, but I'm not sure. Hiro is the bad guy who's been dosing vampires with this chemical that makes them go nuts to perpetuate the war. He also turned Chiyo's older brother to use as a spy, but Akira got exposed to the drug, and now he's uncontrollable. The vampire tactical unit got dispatched, so there's a standoff where he's using Chiyo as a hostage. He's lost it; Akira pulled his own fangs out."

It took him a couple of seconds to wrap his head around all that, but soon figured it out; it wasn't like he'd be getting invested in the show. However, seeing a young woman with a knife to her throat – or sharp claws in this case – while police surrounded the area was a scene he was all too familiar with. He watched as snipers looked for an opening that never came, so they chose to shoot Chiyo, which forced her to drop and provide that opening to kill Akira with what Sapphira had explained was some kind of magic bullet.

"You know that is idiotic, right?" He gestured to the bullet wound to Chiyo's shoulder. "Television always gets that wrong. Shooting someone in the shoulder isn't safe; it can kill you or, at the very least, leave the arm permanently disabled."

"I don't think anime is all that concerned with realism, Boyd." She teased. "What would you do then? If you were held hostage and shooting the guy holding you was the only option?"

"Simple," he began. "I'd just drop. Just go heavy, totally limp. It would cause the hostage taker to drop me and give snipers an opening."

"I'll remember that." The episode ended then and Sapphira handed him the remote knowing he'd surely not want to spend his evening watching anime. Then she rose to her full height and shuffled passed him to the door. "I'll make dinner."

Boyd's brow furrowed as it often did; the television was forgotten for a moment as he looked to her with a serious expression.

"You don't have to cook for me, Saph." He insisted. "You're my guest."

"Don't be silly," she told him over her shoulder. "It's the least I can do for you. Besides, I like cooking."

Something told Boyd he'd be having that conversation with her for the entire time Sapphira lived with him. Still, how many other grumpy policemen had gorgeous twenty-five-year-old women wanting to make them dinner every night?

~X~

Rachel – Ruth – whatever the hell her name had become – stood before the bathroom mirror as she dabbed blood from her lip and nose. Ever since that article about Sapphira had been released, Adam had been even more unpredictable than usual. She shoved her short hair over her ear, then leaned closer to the mirror as crimson dripped into the basin sorrowfully. A damn coward was Sapphira! She'd run away without a thought to the rest of them – abandoned them. Her mother had been right; Sapphira wasn't anything but a lying whore. Elizabeth insisted on idolizing her while Adam looked to be fixated on locating her. Why was everything always about Sapphira?! Why did she get to be the lucky one? Why did she get to be the one everybody cared about?

Rachel threw the stained cloth into the sink, then slipped down to the floor where she leaned against the bathtub. Anger surged around her as it almost always did. She'd done everything her mother and brother had ever asked of her; she'd been the good girl, but it hadn't ever been enough. Rachel always ended up forgotten about. She even looked the most like Mother and Adam, with her blonde hair and blue eyes. It wasn't fair!

She remembered the day Sapphira had run away, remembered Elizabeth trying to get Mary to stay quiet about what she'd seen Adam do to their pathetic neighbor. Sometimes it circled around inside her brain like vultures over a dying animal. When their mother had sent them off to the store, Rachel had gone straight to Adam and their mother to inform hem what Mary had seen and that she'd probably tell someone. Rachel had been a good girl! She'd helped her family, but they'd still been more focused on Sapphira and where she'd gone. For years she'd hoped Sapphira had died or wouldn't ever show her face again at the very least. Rachel hated her older sister. The whore had fluttered her eyes at Donovan Padmore and gotten him to stick his nose into their family, then run away without a moment's thought for the rest of them. Elizabeth praised her for it, Abigail never spoke of it, and Adam acted like Sapphira was his only sister with any real value. Why was that bitch so lucky?!

Banging sounded on the bathroom door, then startling Rachel out of her internal anger. Quickly, she was on her feet to pull the door open, where she found Abigail's concerned face staring back at her.

"Are you okay, sis? I can help clean you up if you want."

Rachel hissed, "I'm not a fucking weakling like you. Get out of my way."

Abigail found herself shoved into a wall, so Rachel could leave the bathroom only to come face to face with their mother. The blood of both sisters ran cold when they saw the expression she wore. Amanda Callaghan wasn't a woman to be trifled with and, when angered, could be like evil incarnate; there wasn't a need for Lucifer as long as she lived.

"Did you just blaspheme in my house, Ruth?" That twisted glint in the older woman's eye had Rachel swallow audibly while Abigail tried to blend in with the wall. "Do not make me ask you again, you pathetic little harlot!"

"… Yes." She managed to reply only for the world to turn sideways – No. It wasn't that the world had turned sideways, but rather that she'd been smacked so rapidly and with such force that Rachel had been knocked off her feet. There and then the only small mercy seemed to be she'd chosen the first floor bathroom rather than upstairs, because tumbling down those stairs again sounded like hell. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, you'd better be. How did I end up with such whores for daughters?" Amanda grabbed Rachel by the hair to pull her back onto her feet. Strands were ruthlessly plucked out, each spark of pain a new pinprick. "I think a few days repenting will do you some good, don't you, Ruth?"

"Mother, please-"

"Shut your mouth, Naomi!" Amanda roared with a forked tongue. "Shut your mouth or you'll go with her."

Both girls knew what would happen next, knew the familiar sound of being dragged to the cellar door, of the hefty lock opening, before Rachel was tossed down into the cold darkness. Cellars were used for all sorts of things, mostly storage, but theirs had always been a prison cell. It might have been bigger than the closet under the stairs at their old house, but this cell was colder and let shadows surround like spectral onlookers.

Rachel didn't bother hurrying back up the stairs to bang on the door or beg for release; it would just lengthen her sentence. Instead, she sat there on the chilled, chipped concrete while quietly crying to herself. All of this was Sapphira's fault.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" Rachel sobbed as tears and a little blood trickled onto the concrete.

Why couldn't Rachel be the special one? Why was it pictures of a sleeping Sapphira in Adam's room rather than her? He seemed to treasure those damn Polaroids of Sapphira. In a couple of them he'd even gotten her pyjama top up high enough to expose her breasts. Rachel didn't believe for a second she'd been asleep during that; she'd wanted Adam to get those pictures.

"Whore," she snarled.

Even after all these years, Sapphira still had a hold over Adam. Their mother was right; Sapphira was just a manipulative slut who only cared about herself.

Suddenly a knock sounded on the cellar door, quiet and timid meaning it could have only been Abigail.

"Hey, sis? I've got to clean the windows with Elizabeth, but then I'll ask Mother if you can have some water, okay? Okay?"

Rachel didn't reply, just lay there praying Sapphira would finally die.

~X~

Just as he'd expected, Boyd and Sapphira had gone around and around with the 'you don't have to cook for me' conversation until he'd finally just stopped bringing it up. Sapphira seemed happy cooking for him, and his home hadn't been so tidy in decades. In fact, a few days previous, she'd even found a pair of cufflinks he'd thought long lost years ago just tucked in the back of a drawer in his dining room. Hadn't taken long for Boyd to decide he liked seeing Sapphira so at ease; it was far more natural than the timid girl he'd first met in his office, a timid girl he'd been rather rude to. That was all in the past though, now they chatted like they'd been friends for years, and those polished emeralds had him wanting to go home at night rather than slumming it in his office to finish paperwork alone in dim light.

In a way, keeping the fact that Sapphira was living with him to himself had become like a little secret, his own private delight nobody could interfere with. That raven-haired angel had become his respite after a hard day at CCHQ.

Although, as it always did, time went on and life tossed curveballs out as it pleased. For days Grace had been repeatedly insisting they needed to bring Sapphira in so she could perform a proper evaluation of her trauma. Boyd, of course, totally understood they needed to help her and that Grace might be able to get Sapphira to remember something new, but the last thing he wanted was to dredge all that turmoil back up for her. She'd been thriving at his house to the point she was like a new person, Boyd didn't wish to jeopardize that. Still, Grace hadn't let it go and Boyd had been forced to confess he'd squirrelled Sapphira away inside his home over a fortnight ago.

"You can't be serious, Boyd." Grace closed the office door behind her just as Boyd fell into his desk chair; which made it squeak. "She's not some needy kitten, she needs proper help."

"I'm not sure she does, Grace." He objected. "Saph seems just fine to me. She's content; she laughs and jokes; she seems pretty happy."

"No, she's buried everything down deep in an attempt to protect herself. You saw her when she first came in. She was crying, shivering, and on the cusp of a breakdown. Sapphira has compartmentalized. Now, normally that is an important part of creating healthy boundaries, but putting up a mental barrier to block trauma out and actually dealing with said trauma are two very different things."

Large hands ran their way through gray hair as Boyd sighed deeply. "Stop making her out to be a patient, Grace. She's not some study for your books, nor is she a nervous wreck."

"I didn't suggest she was," Grace huffed. "I just want to evaluate her and ensure she's okay from a psychological standpoint. I'm concerned about Sapphira, that's all. Boyd, she's not Luke."

"I know she's not Luke!" Boyd screamed as he launched up out of his chair, leaving it spinning. "I'm all too fucking aware of that. They're nothing alike, and don't you for one second suggest I only have any interest in her because of my son!"

The woman dressed in a mix of browns and woodland greens raised her hands as non-threateningly as possible. Indicating Boyd was filling the hole left behind by Luke with Sapphira hadn't been what she'd wanted. Other than their ages and the fact they'd spent several years on the streets, there were no similarities between Luke and Sapphira. However, Boyd's probable belief that he could save Sapphira while he hadn't save his child had occurred to Grace rather quickly.

"Look," she started in the calmest tone she could muster. "How about you just float the idea to Sapphira so she can decide for herself, hmm? That's fair, surely."

"All right, fine. Fine, I'll ask her to come in so you can talk to her. If-" The phone ringing cut Boyd off, something for which Grace found herself grateful. He grabbed it up only to respond with a series of lazy affirmatives to whatever he was being told before hanging up without so much as a bye. "That was Eve. She says she's found the same male DNA sample on Donovan and Mary, but there's no match in the system. She thinks the killer cut himself when he stabbed Donovan, then was either still bleeding or opened the cut back up when he killed Mary."

"And Eve's still convinced Adam Callaghan actually carried out the murders?"

"Looks that way." He confirmed before again taking his seat. "Either way, I have nobody to test the blood to. Saph and Mary were adopted, and his father was cremated."

Grace folded her arms over her chest. "True. Although, if we do find Amanda and Adam alive, we can test it to him then."

She had a point. Grace always had a point; it was just that Boyd didn't always want to hear what that point was. All that said, Grace had not only learnt Sapphira was somewhere safe, but she had also gotten Boyd to agree to her plan. She worried Boyd would get himself too invested in the case and Sapphira's life – he'd always been weak to a pretty face – but determining if a murderer and his abusive mother were still alive was the Cold Case Unit's primary focus, while everything else could be dealt with later.