Art was still lost in his thoughts when Gary returned with the coffee, and Grace in tow. "Any further thoughts?"

"Just the one that I have about Wales," he answered with a disgusted grunt.

"Actually, Grace came up with a theory. I can tell you but in fairness, she should do the honours." Gary gave her a short bow. "Tell Art your theory."

"You gonna tell me Felicia marries Reggie because he swept her off her feet in a drunken haze?"

Grace sat on an adjacent desk to her partners, gesticulating with her hands as she spoke. "Didn't want any blame, eh?" She side-eyed Gary and then turned to Art. "No, I don't how their romance blossomed, but when Gary showed me that file, it occurred to me that this murder might have germinated a long time ago. And just now he told me about- about the car business."

"What? What the hell, Crawford, you told her?"

Gary leaned forward, hands on knees. "Damned right! We're a family here, Art, and this family cares. I told you we were both concerned about you – and for some time."

Art took a moment to focus, his own earlier internal admonition flashing in his mind. "Alright. What about the hit and run?"

She wet her lips and began again. "Reg tries to help Jonas through a backdoor loan in exchange for help with his drinking charges. The loan fails and has to be buried. Jonas gets Felicia to honour his part of the deal in case Reg starts making any noise. She learns about Reg's private financial abundance, and Jonas sees a possible answer to his problems.

"He suggests a supposition to Felicia, using those age old charm routines, about how, they together, could get hold of Reggie's wealth. Felicia thinks Jonas is in love with her, and begins her campaign. She winds up leaving her Dominion job to manage Reg, and somehow finds herself marrying him. It isn't long before she realizes that she's in the driver's seat." Grace paused, blushing.

"It's okay, Grace. Don't sweat it, I know what you mean." Art gestured for her to continue.

It took a few moments before she could start. "Felicia sees she can now control Reg's money and use that to get what she wanted from Jonas – attention."

"And he had no choice if he wanted the money."

"Right. Until-" She looked nervously at Gary.

"Until the hit and run." Gary locked eyes with Art.

"We uh, talked over what you told Gary and settled on the fact that, Reg because couldn't drive any more, so Felicia drove them wherever they had to go. That's when . . . and Jonas helped her cover it up, putting him back in- in charge." Her face was rosy, as she spoke.

"Felicia would do as she was told now or Jonas could expose her secret. They dropped their weapons and plotted together how to kill Reg, get the money and live happily ever after."

"Except she didn't know about Crystal Banks." Art said, with a snort. "Pretty sound theory Detective Champion. It could very well have legs."

"You girls all done with your secret confessional?" The Captain of Detectives stood behind them, thumbs hooked in his back pockets, and impressive stomach thrusting over a sad looking belt.

"Just going over our facts, Cap." Art sat up, sighing.

"Well uptown suggests we get off our collective asses and close this murder case you've been fiddling around with. So, let's put those facts to use and tell me I can assure them it will be done – pronto."

"We're getting very close, Cap. It's the lack of a weapon that's stumped us – and the ME," he added for protection.

"The ME stumped you?"

"No. The weapon has him stumped as well. We don't know what it was or where it is."

A hairy arm came around and tilted the wrist up. "According to my watch, it's Thursday, November 2, two-fifteen in the afternoon. Forty-eight hours from now, I want a report on my desk that says you have enough of a case that we can take to the briefcases. Understood?"

"Forty-eight hours?"

"Good, you heard me."

They watched him rumble away to his office, trading forlorn looks.

"Okay folks, get your deduction hats on and let's do this."

"Maybe we could tell each of them separately that we found the murder weapon." Grace suggested.

"Unless they know we couldn't have, which is very likely."

"We could bluff that forensics came up with something on the second search." Gary rolled his chair around to Art's side and grabbed the phone. "Let's see if they did."

"Squat, Detective." Forrester growled when he answered the call. "We sifted through everything."

"Nothing at all out of the ordinary?" Art was pinching the skin between his eyes as he listened on the speaker.

"It's all laid out on a table if you want to come down and see for yourself."

"Thanks, we might just do that."

"Do what?" Grace asked as Gary hung up.

"Go down to the lab and see what they found. Maybe we'll see something they didn't."

"By the way, I hear you two had dinner together last night." Gary hinted, as they descended the stairs to the forensic lab. Grace slapped his back.

"You two are very chummy aren't you. She's gonna get a rip for telling you." Art glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Yeah, right." Gary laughed. "Those bright eyes when you came in, and all that humming in the car." He winked at Grace, who glowered back.

"I refuse to debate this on the grounds that it may incriminate me." Art gave a surprised Gary a wink of his own .

Forrester was waiting when they arrived and led them to the table where everything from the apartment was laid out. Post-it notes were stuck on the surface next to different items, bearing what they figured was forensic shorthand.

"That's it. Just don't mix anything up." Forrester found a chair and sat.

"Well, there's the sweet potato fries package, Doc was right about that." Art studied the collection. "What's this?" He turned to Forrester.

"Dunno," he came to the table. "Just a coil of cardboard wrap of some kind. Generic."

"Can I?" Art made to pick it up, and Forrester nodded. He fiddled with it, turning it this way and that and winding it around, then suddenly he laughed. "Son-of-a-bitch! Look at this!"

Gary and Forrester stared at the cone-shaped item in Art's hand.

"We tested all that stuff. No blood, no trace at all."

"But it's the right size and shape."

"Hell, so's my boss's head, doesn't prove anything."

"Can I borrow this?"

"Yeah, go ahead. We've got a photo record of everything. Try and bring it back though."

Gary rolled his chair back to his own desk and leaned on the top, tapping a pencil in a chaotic rhythm. "No way that could have been shoved into Harrison's neck and still be in perfect shape."

"Maybe it was filled with something, maybe it's a mould."

"Forrester said there was no trace. There would have to be something left."

"Yeah, maybe. It's definitely the right shape though." Art stood the small cone on his desk and stared at it. "Okay, what do we know? Felicia was at the apartment that morning. CCTV shows her coming and going, so she couldn't have done it. She wouldn't have hung around all day – unless it was to get him drunk. But she didn't. Jonas is the only logical suspect."

"Aside from a mystery killer, who either lives in the building, or came and went through a different door." The pencil increased its tattoo.

"I say, we threaten her and squeeze him – separately."

"And if they stick to their stories? Gary stretched his arms back, looking doubtful.

"I don't know. But we've only got forty-eight hours. What do you suggest?"

"Hell, it's all we've got." He tossed the pencil aside and stood up. "Let's do it, partner."