I used to love the fall.
The first few weeks as Jim's official partner were some kind of honeymoon, I guess. Certainly awkward like one, at times. It felt very strange to have an actual schedule, instead of just blowing in when I could. And assignments, too, just like everyone else in the bullpen. Yeah, I knew how to do all of it but I was never required to do it—that is some big difference. Did I mention the 401(k) plan? Too weird.
Everyone in the bullpen treated me the same, which helped a lot. I still found Jim's paperwork on my desk. And Joel's. And Rafe's. I called them on it and was promptly told that's why they called me Junior Detective.
Humble is my new world.
There were plenty of bumps, sure, although Major Crimes remained a safe haven—these were my friends and they all had stood by me, even when the rest of the world would rather just spit on me. We worked cases together, ate pizza together, just like always, except now I had this damn shoulder holster. I had yet to draw my weapon in a life-threatening situation and every night I was grateful for that fact. When I was off-duty, the Glock stayed unloaded and put away. If we came home together, Jim just took it from me and unloaded it himself before sticking it in the drawer. The cuffs ended up with the spare change on my dresser but this ritual reminded us both that I was in this for him. No, that's not true anymore, if it ever was. What I do, I do for us.
Which includes making mistakes and getting people pissed off at me on a regular basis, but at least now I was getting paid for it.
Jeez, I used to love autumn. It was late September and admittedly, I was feeling pretty low. This was the first fall in my adult life I wasn't hip deep in studying or teaching. Can't say I missed the fountain, but I was very much into missing my nasty little office at Hargrove. And oh, man, the anticipation of New Stuff—new stuff to learn, to experience, to share. You know, I think I was allowed to be a little funked. All the distractions in the world—and man, cops saw them all—didn't change the feeling of loss that had taken up residence in the pit of my stomach.
I mean, fourteen years of my life had been given over to the academic, the cerebral. Conversations in the abstract used to be my bread and butter, but now I was locked into truth, evidence, law. Talking to people who depended on me now to find the answers. Working with people who trusted me with their lives.
But life goes on and crime still doesn't pay. I was totally hooked into that little thrill when Jim and I were sent out on a call, which was nothing compared to the rush I got when we a) solved a case while b) helping someone. This part of police work was more rewarding than I ever anticipated, which helped make things tolerable. I had no room to complain. Well, maybe about the rain but that was a Sandburg constant.
Jim was aware of my state of mind but he was way low-key about it. Working together, living together, how could he not know I was bummed? But he just kept going like everything was fine, which helped me concentrate on my new life instead of getting fixated on the past. It wasn't the old "work it out for yourself and get back to me, Sandburg" attitude like last year, like the way he treated me on the Ventriss deal. There was an underlying foundation of care towards me now, one that had been building since that day, Sandburg's Day of Atonement. He told me once that seeing the press conference made everything clear, that he finally got it. Well, it showed.
Which would lead me around in this little circle in my head—like the work, hate the gun. Hate the gun, love being Jim's official partner. Helping people out, heaven. Not being in school—well, not exactly hell but there was some minor suffering involved.
Then one day the circle squared and I hit the edge—hard.
Early one Thursday morning Jim received a phone call that immediately put him on edge. I didn't hear the call, just enough of Jim's reaction to get the gist of it. It was brief, someone obviously giving him unwelcome news by the sound of the slammed receiver. Now, this is not a good thing, an edgy Jim Ellison. Makes everyone around him practically tiptoe—well, except for me, of course; I could never be accused of tiptoeing around Jim. More like falling all over his feet. Anyway, after about the sixth or seventh "damn it" from my partner I looked up from whatever paperwork hell I was involved in and asked.
"Ok, Jim, what's wrong. You've been cranky since you took that phone call a couple of hours ago. You can say it's none of my business—"
"You're right. It's not. Just an old case someone called about. Before your time." He didn't even look up from his desk, shifting folders around like he was suddenly swamped.
I leaned back, subliminally registering how much I loved this chair. After three years of perching on whatever surface was handy this was so cool. So what if it was patched vinyl in ugly-dog brown; it was my official chair. I stretched my arms over my head and smiled at Jim even though he was pretending to ignore me.
"Tell me. I'm almost caught up and you'll give me your stuff anyway. We've got lots of time before we meet with Muñoz." He stopped shuffling paper and looked over at me, smiling only with the crinkle around his eyes.
"Besides," he sighed, "you'll just keep hounding me until I cough it up, right?"
I brought my arms down and crossed them over my chest, faking indignation and glad to see Jim was loosening up. "I do not hound, detective, I persist. C'mon, give. It must've been important to bug you this much so many years later." I reminded myself to walk carefully; there was no telling what memories may have surfaced with that call and despite evidence to the contrary I really do respect Jim's privacy.
Jim leaned his elbows on his desk, resting his chin on entwined fingers. Good, he was going to tell me. "When I first transferred to Major Crimes I was assigned this murder case. Simon ended up working it with me, I don't remember why. Simon was new and he may have been checking out the talent. Jack and I hadn't been partnered yet. Anyway, get this. There's this guy, name of Soon, pretty well regarded local businessman from Korea. Ran a little photography place over on Royer, in that strip mall off of I-5. Turns out he's got this whole scam set up where he gets other immigrants to hand over all their money to him when they get here, telling them he'll get them social security cards, English lessons, whatever. He pockets the money and sends them to social services. These people had no idea they were being had and their English wasn't good enough to explain it if they did know."
I felt a little twinge of disgust. "Man, that's harsh! These people trusted him, right?"
"Oh yeah, they handed it over in droves. He did just enough footwork to keep them hooked but kept the money regardless. Turns out this was a family enterprise. His brother in Seoul sent the marks over, making sure only the ones with lots of cash made it on their list."
I leaned forward, getting caught up in the story. "So who got murdered?"
Now Jim leaned back, idly flipping a pen between his long fingers. "Hold on, you're getting ahead. Soon has this kid Ricky, his grown son, working for him and Ricky decides to branch out. He gets into this whole counterfeit thing, producing fake green cards and social security cards. Then he goes back to these people who've purchased them from him and blackmails them, telling them he'll get them deported if they don't come up with more money."
It's not often I'm speechless but for just for a moment there I could think of nothing to say. Jim's eyes locked with mine as we communicated our mutual disgust. I shook my head a little as Jim continued with the story.
"So the uncle back home hears that Ricky is moonlighting and flies over to persuade him to knock it off. Turns out the kid had a gambling jones and owed a couple thou to his bookie. Things are beginning to fall apart because of Ricky's little improv and the two brothers decided to quit the whole operation and head back to Seoul. Ricky disagrees with the decision and breaks with his family but at this point we're pretty sure the bookie had already sold the markers to the mob. We show up at the store address one night to question Ricky, not knowing he's got a buddy with him." At this point Jim stopped. For some reason he was carefully editing this saga for my benefit. Sometimes Jim's protective instincts kick in at the weirdest times.
Instead of calling him on it, I urged him to give me whatever he felt he could. I let my eyebrows climb up my forehead and asked, "So, let me guess. Ricky killed the father or uncle over money?"
"Nope. We arrested Ricky on the counterfeit charge and some other stuff. His dad and uncle fled the country, back to Seoul."
I frowned. Jim was watching me carefully, letting me puzzle it out until I finally gave in and asked. "Ok, then what homicide were you investigating?"
"The bookie's. Guy by the name of Jimmy Frantz. We think Ricky killed Frantz when his markers came due but Jimmy had already sold them off. Our investigation into the death of Frantz had started to heat things up for Ricky so he started getting careless."
Ok, as stories go this one was pretty tame. Tawdry, but tame. Which brought me back to my original question. "Ok, I see the lousy family values here but what was the phone call about?"
"Ricky made parole, got out of Walla Walla four days ago, heading back to Cascade. That was a buddy of mine from the parole office in Olympia, letting me know." Jim dropped the pen and suddenly wouldn't meet my eyes, sitting up straight and peering at his monitor like it was broadcasting the ninth inning of a Mariner's game and Griffey was up.
I felt a little tickle of fear at the base of my spine. Criminals Jim had sent up came and went out of prison on a regular basis; we saw the parolee lists all the time and no one ever bothered to call Jim personally.
I gave him a chance to just tell me without the usual prying on my part. Sometimes I swear he just likes to make me work for it. Plus I hate asking questions when I know I'm not gonna like the answer.
"C'mon Jim, finish the story. Why did your friend call you specifically?" Jim turned to me with a frown between his eyes, like I had just interrupted him. There was definitely some sentinel revisionism going on here.
Just then Simon came sauntering into the bullpen, full of rare good spirits and wearing a killer new suit. Cigars and Savile Row, those are my captain's weaknesses. He walked over to our adjoined desks, absolutely beaming at us. My first instinct was to mention something about Simon getting lucky last night but then the old Sandburg spirit of self-preservation kicked in. Yes, I do have one, despite what Jim thinks.
"Good morning, Detectives! Nice to see you here bright and early! Catch any criminals yet?" He looked from Jim to me with this huge, avuncular smile. Jim and I looked at each other. Then we looked at Simon.
Jim cleared his throat. "Uh, no, captain, not yet. Boy Wonder over there hasn't had his Wheaties. Might I say you're awfully, um, chipper this morning?" Jim said this carefully, straining out any hint of mockery.
Simon clapped his hands together. "Yes, detective, you may. And I'll tell you why. Yours truly has been placed on the short list of candidates to head up the new Major Crimes division in Seattle." That megawatt smile just broadened as he waited for our response.
Ok, silence would not be appreciated here. Jim and I shared another, admittedly panicked, glance, then I shot up and extended my hand to Simon.
"Oh, man, that's terrific, captain! Congratulations! Really! I mean it, that's great!" Simon grasped my hand as Jim rose more slowly. Funny, people think Jim is stoic as hell but I can read him like the Sunday funnies. He hated this and I wasn't happy about it either. But he stuck a smile on his face and extended his hand in turn.
"Congratulations, captain, that's great." Nice try, Jim, but no sale.
"I detect a certain lack of enthusiasm in your tone, detective, and way too much in yours, Sandburg." Simon was still smiling, obviously at ease with this situation and happy just to watch us flounder.
"However," he continued, "I have asked that my name be removed from said list. I know where my duty lies. No way am I leaving Cascade to the likes of you two. I just wanted you to know that I am appreciated elsewhere. Carry on." And with a debonair wave of his hand, Simon sauntered into his office.
"He enjoyed that way too much." I turned back to Jim, expecting to see an answering smile that was not there. Instead, there was a bleak edge to the cool eyes.
"You know why he's staying, don't you? Because of me. To protect me. Jesus Christ, Sandburg." He fisted his hands on his hips, eyes looking into the middle distance.
Uh oh. Way too early in the day for Sentinel Guilt. Countermeasures were needed fast.
I swiftly came around the desks to get closer to my partner. "Whoa, Jim, hold on. I didn't get that from him here, not at all. Gee, Daryl goes to school here, his career, all his friends are here—why go to Seattle? He wouldn't blow off a promotion because of your abilities now—you've got them nailed, man!" I paused to see if my initial volley was having an effect. He was listening to me but looked like he had yet to buy in to my line of thought. I struggled to find the words that would let him acquit himself when another thought occurred to me, a thought that gave me a sick feeling deep inside. I could feel the blood drain from my face and I stepped back, holding up a hand as if to avoid a blow. Whatever it was, the change in my blood pressure or heartrate, suddenly I had Jim's full attention.
"God, Jim, not you, me. He knows any other captain would toss me out on my ass. Somebody like Finkleman would pull my shield in a heartbeat." I struggled against the rising nausea and started backing away, my only thought to talk to Simon and tell him he couldn't sacrifice his career for me. There had been enough sacrifices lately.
I was turning to head into Simon's office when Jim grabbed my arm.
"Hold up there, Junior, wait. You're right, Simon seemed ok. Let's leave it alone for now. Besides, I gotta go talk to him about something else soon as he gets off the phone." His hand moved down to my wrist and gave it a little shake before letting go. "You ok on this?"
Jeez, Jim, that's what I was gonna ask. For a few seconds we searched for the truth in each other's eyes, not exactly finding it but knowing when to leave it alone.
"Yeah, ok. When did he get on the—oh, never mind. I mean, you're right, we're both overreacting here. He's cool, we're cool, right?"
Jim rubbed his chin and nodded. "Yeah, we're cool." He reached down and grabbed a handful of folders. "You must be psychic, Chief. Look what I found." He tossed them on my desk, raising his eyebrows in innocence. I scowled back and sat down, giving in to the inevitable.
Ten minutes later Jim suddenly tossed down his pen.
"I'm gonna go see Simon." With that he got up and began to stride towards the Captain's office. I started to stand so I could go with him but as he drew beside me he stopped hard and I suddenly found his index finger about eight inches from my nose.
"You. Stay." My eyes widened at the imperative tone as I dropped back, but meeting his stern gaze every smartass comeback I had in my head vanished. Then the hand in front of my face dropped to my shoulder for a squeeze that was meant to be reassuring I'm sure, but was actually borderline painful.
Ok, this was so not good.
Then I remembered. Jim never told me the end of the story.
Jim continued towards Simon's office, knocking carefully before entering and just as carefully closing the door behind him. I glanced around the bullpen, catching Rafe's confused glance. Jim without me in Simon's office? Since when? I shrugged, a kind of "I don't know what I did" thing, so he smiled and got up from his desk to wander next to mine.
"Alright, Sandburg, what the hell did you do now?" Great to have a rep.
I shrugged again. "Let's see. Broke into the Academy mainframe, changed all the grades. Nah, made 'em all better so who would rat me out? Um, made Jim listen to Sarah McLachlan all the way back from the cabin? No, he woulda just killed me and hidden the body. Why bother Simon with that?" I shook my head. "Beats the hell outta me, man."
Rafe chuckled "Sandburg, you gotta keep your nose clean. Simon has every right to kick you all the way down to janitor now."
The banter was distracting and I appreciated his time. "Hey, I was thinking of getting a nose ring, you know? Or an eyebrow ring, maybe right here—" Rafe laughed as I intended, walking away as the phone rang on his desk. I looked back down at the newly expanded pile of reports on my desk and sighed.
Wonder what Jim and Simon were talking about?
Jim keeping things from me is irritating as hell. He knows that and does it anyway, usually thinking it's for my own good. As much as I appreciated the thought, it also kept me from doing my job. Sure, technically I was a Major Crimes detective but in truth I was a sentinel's guide, the cop thing being a cover. We're talking sacred trust here, one I take with extreme seriousness. If they took away the badge tomorrow, I would still be Jim's guide. So when he thinks he's keeping me safe or shielding me from life's harsher realities I just want to smack him one upside the head.
Which would, of course, result in retaliatory smacking and I always get the short end of the stick there. So, if Jim wasn't gonna finish the story, I would just have to find alternative sources.
Wait a minute. Hello, Detective Sandburg, what is that big plastic thing sitting on your desk again?
I've been a target before. It's not the greatest feeling in the world but I understood the mechanics. Order up a couple of kevlar vests with that coffee, detective. I was really hoping for a non-event here.
Leaving Sandburg behind was tough. God knows I share everything else with him. My reluctance to tell Blair the rest of the story about Soon and his family stemmed primarily from my ever-present need to protect him. This time, the protection needed was to cover his heart, not his body. The rest of the story was tragic and dangerous and frankly I was just hoping it would all go away. Damn it. It never happened that way.
So instead I went off to ruin Simon's great mood. The job offer in Seattle had taken me totally off-guard and I was a little pissed about that. After Sandburg, who was pretty much in a league of his own, Simon Banks was my closest friend and I had known nothing of the Seattle gig. The fact he wasn't going to take the job wasn't nearly as important in my book as the fact he hadn't told me.
I knocked and heard a cheerful "Enter." He was not going to like this at all.
"Hey, Simon, got a minute?"
He was just turning away from the coffee maker behind his desk. Catching my eye, he sighed.
"You know, Jim, whatever you have to say isn't going to change my good mood here. I have been wined and dined by the Seattle brass and they think I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread. Whatever you have to say is not going to change the fact I agree with them."
I smiled and sat down across from him. Nothing wrong with that ego.
"Ok, captain, if you say so. Just thought you should know I received a call from my buddy down in Olympia. Ricky Soon's parole was approved. He's already out."
As predicted, the shine left his eyes and he sighed heavily. "Oh, Christ, Jim. Why didn't they ask us to testify at his hearing?" I saw the same realization in his eyes that I felt in my gut. Was it all starting over?
"Typical reason. His parole hearing was moved up and the notifications got lost in the bureaucracy. We'll probably get 'em tomorrow."
"You tell Sandburg yet?" Simon asked carefully, knowing that Blair would probably not react well to this.
I nodded. "Yeah, but just a little. I didn't tell him what happened during the arrest or the trial."
"Jesus. This one case probably contributed more to my divorce than any other, even if it did take a few years. Didn't start yours off too well, if I remember correctly."
Ouch. I hadn't exactly forgotten the fear and anger this case had caused but the direct correlation to two failed marriages was unmistakable.
"I'm thinking of just keeping the details to myself. Just because he's out doesn't mean anything's going to happen. We couldn't ever pin any of that crap on him anyway." That had always rankled, the fact that Ricky Soon had terrorized at will and we never nailed his ass for it. Lucky for him he only went after me and Simon; if he had gone after our families things would have turned out differently. The residual trauma he inflicted on Carolyn alone was enough to make me consign him to hell—Walla Walla was too good for that little shit.
Simon nodded. "Yes, that's probably for the best. Better let Chuck Dodgson know, though. He retired couple of years ago so we may have a hard time getting ahold of him. Then let's just leave it alone—"
Maybe five seconds before the door opened I heard Sandburg headed our way under a full head of steam. The office door flew open and there stood 5′7″ of pissed off guide. He stopped to glare at me before closing the door and sitting in the other chair in front of Simon's desk, tossing a sheaf of papers on the captain's desk. Well, not exactly sitting; more like pausing in flight. He took a deep breath and then looked at the still silent captain, who was in turn watching Sandburg like he was a salmon and Simon a hungry eagle. Bursting into Simon's office is a sure way to get permanent assignment to the graveyard shift. Thanks a lot, Sandburg.
I tried to head him off. "Sandburg," I said, "I thought I said I didn't need you right now!"
"Well, not exactly, Jim, you told me to stay like I'm a golden retriever which is not the same thing. Would have, too, except for that." He gestured towards the report.
"Ok, just so you know, I'm not angry here, right?" Sandburg waved his hand at both of us, trying for a reasonable tone. "I'm just, um, bothered that you—" a pointed wave in my direction followed by a flash of hurt blue eyes through steel-rimmed glasses "chose not to tell me a few of the choicer details regarding your old case. I mean, it's one thing if the guy had gone to prison and that was the end. Not telling me about the explosion, ok, yeah, I do have a problem and it's that I'm pissed off." That said, Sandburg scooted back in the chair and waited.
I deferred to my senior officer. My partner had obviously pulled the file and found all the nasty little details. Hell, I should have thought of that.
"Sandburg," Simon said fairly civilly, considering Sandburg had just taken over our private conversation, "that was all a long time ago and not any of your business. Now I understand and appreciate your concern—"
"Concern? Concern?" Sandburg held up his hands in mock surrender. "Yeah, ok, concern works. Guess concern about covers it, after reading some pretty horrific details about threats, vandalism and oh yeah, the bombs sent to your homes. Not to mention the little explosion when you went to arrest Soon, the one where—" he swallowed, "where Jim almost died. And that woman was hurt." There was an edge of anger to his voice, the voice that locked my world together like a jigsaw puzzle. I instinctively set out to remove that edge, to calm his fears.
"Whoa, Chief, what's the problem here? Soon did his time and now he's out. It's been almost eight years. He maintained his innocence over the threats even as they led him out of the courtroom. We couldn't pin one incident on him"
Blair turned to me. "Jim, it's not like he just forgot about you, you know? Whatever twisted reasoning he had to go nuts like that doesn't just go away. You gotta think he's coming after you two now."
Simon chimed in. "No, we don't gotta think anything. He's going back to work with his sister at their photography studio, he's got a parole officer. Everything is in order here."
I kept my eyes on Sandburg, willing him to understand and let it go. Funny thing; I felt a certain kinship for him here, seeing overprotectiveness at work. If things were reversed I probably wouldn't be so calm.
Sandburg understood just fine, apparently. But he was not ready to let it go. No surprise there.
He nodded as if in agreement. "Ok, according to what I just read, both of you had your tires slashed, followed by threatening messages, nasty gifts left on your doorsteps and oh yeah—those little drive-by shootings. I'm sure going to prison softened him right up." He pulled off his glasses and shoved them in his breast pocket.
Simon rubbed at his eyes behind his glasses. "This day started out so well," he said softly. Then he straightened up. "That's enough, Sandburg. We treat this like any other perp that just got released. We make sure everyone involved in the case is notified and then we go about the business of protecting Cascade. Do I make myself clear here?" Simon rose, using his imposing height to intimidate Sandburg. It worked about as well as usual.
"Sure, Simon, that's clear. But what are you gonna do about protection? You two are gonna need—"
"Hold it right there, Sandburg." I too, stood up, not liking the direction of his thoughts. "Look, we don't have the manpower for that and there isn't even a need. Simon and I can take care of ourselves."
"Jim, that is so like you to make these sweeping proclamations! Sim—captain, surely you see the need here?"
"No, I do not." Simon folded his arms and stared down at Blair.
Finally, Blair stood up, a bantam in a room of heavyweights and not an ounce of give in him.
"Look, you can do all the macho bullshit posturing you want, but if this were anyone else you would at least assign a squad car for off-duty surveillance on you two, right?"
"Sandburg," said Simon in that tone Sandburg really hated, "quit overreacting. We are taking this seriously. There just aren't enough people to spare for something like this. Between the start of the fair and that folk festival at Rainier, all the departments are spread pretty thin. I'll inform the Chief about our situation and I'm sure he'll ok an occasional unit drive-by and some surveillance."
"Drive-bys and some surveillance. That's great, just great. You're nuts, Simon, you know that's not gonna be enough. Why don't you just wear a T-shirt with a goddamn bullseye printed right on it!" Somewhere in the back of his brain Blair must have realized that calling his commanding officer nuts was not the most appropriate thing to do, but he was pissed. So pissed he missed the warning flag go up in Simon's eyes as the captain suddenly slapped the desk, hard.
"That's enough, detective!" Uh, oh, that was a bad one. Even I flinched a little. Simon must have seen the same stricken expression I did in Sandburg's eyes, the one that makes you feel like you kicked a puppy, because his next words were somewhat milder.
"Look, Sandburg, like I said, I appreciate the concern but this is how we're gonna proceed. Now use that brain of yours to start tracking the bad guys, ok?"
Sandburg turned that pleading look on me. He wanted some validation here and I just couldn't justify it.
I spread my hands. "Look, Simon is right. We go forward, we do our job, we keep our eyes open and that's it." Oh, damn it. Disappointment. I hate that look.
My phone starting ringing so I moved around Sandburg to step out of Simon's office. I ghosted a hand across his shoulder, immediately feeling the rigidity in the muscles there. As far as I was concerned the conversation was over. I know Blair wasn't happy about it but the kid had to learn to control his emotions job-wise. He struggled with the harsh realities of budgets and lack of manpower when we faced some of the job's uglier moments, but it never stopped him from doing his job.
The call was from the feds on another case and before too long I was wrapped up in the conversation. I vaguely registered Simon walking past me on his way out, gathering up Rafe and H. on his way.
After I got off the phone with the feds I started to concentrate on the case Sandburg and I were assigned to. We had a meeting with Detective Muñoz in Robbery later that morning and I knew I needed to pull the file and reacquaint myself with the particulars of the case. I wasn't going to let this Soon thing become anything more than an annoying distraction.
Speaking of distractions, a few minutes after I hung up I noticed Sandburg had not left the confines of Simon's office, even though Simon was long gone. His back was now to me as he sat at the conference table. I knew he was really upset about this and I wasn't sure how to proceed with him. Having been on the other side of this equation I knew how he was feeling, but with Sandburg there was always something different going on in that head of his.
I got up from my desk and walked into Simon's office, quietly closing the door behind me. He turned and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest and pinning me with his eyes as I parked one hip on the table.
"Jim," he began, but I interrupted him.
"I think I know how you feel, here Chief."
"You do?"
"It's almost harder to be on the sidelines, knowing all you can do is watch. But I don't think we're looking at a real bad situation here. Ricky just came unglued when his life fell apart, went a little crazy. With what happened to his sister he just lost it for a while." I kept my voice light, all the while tuned in to Sandburg as he listened to me.
He uncrossed his arms and laid them on the table, bowing his head a little. My eyes narrowed, taking in the defeated posture. Come on, Chief, what are you thinking? He started picking at the cuff of his flannel shirt; I could see the fraying holes at the edge and made a mental note to figure out a way to get him a new shirt or two. Sandburg had less than no money and new clothes were nowhere in his budget.
Finally, he raised his eyes to mine and I saw it. Fear.
For me.
Ok, time to do some damage control here. "Look, Sandburg, this guy was a second rate hood at best. He's not a professional hit man or syndicate goon. He's just a dumb bad guy that lost his cool for a while. We can deal with this, ok?"
His gaze never wavered, the strain reflected in his eyes. "Just a second rate hood? Jesus, Jim, he got close enough to plant fake explosives on your doorstep! That's some pretty major shit, all right? So don't try to whitewash it for me, ok?" Now the anger was back in his tone. I know that feeling, too—it comes out as anger but it's really frustration over lack of control. I don't do lack of control well, either.
I stood up. "Ok, you're right, maybe Simon and I are taking this too lightly. What do you want us to do, turn tail and run? We're all professionals here," I said mildly, hoping he would get my point. He's had this problem before. I knew it was hard for him to not react with his heart but too much depended on him keeping his head in the game.
He shook his head and pulled his hands in until they rested in his lap. We sat there silently for a moment and then I couldn't stand it any longer. There was a vulnerability in the set of his shoulders, as if the weight of the world now rested on them.
I stepped up behind him and placed my hands on
those shoulders, feeling the tension wound inside my partner. He leaned back a little and I gave the muscles under the leather straps of the holster a slight squeeze. I bent down a little to speak softly in his ear.
"C'mon, Chief, let's get busy, get things back to normal, ok? Muñoz is waiting."
He nodded sharply and stood up, breaking contact abruptly. He paused at the door. "Jim, you and Simon, you're handling this better than I am. I'm sorry. I just feel kinda useless, ok?"
Where does he come up with this stuff? "Useless? I don't think so. Anyway, don't sweat it. Underneath, I'm really a jellyfish here."
That made him laugh a little as he opened the door. "Yeah, right. Ellison the jellyfish. That'll be the day."
The rest of the morning passed in relative calm. Sandburg and I met with Muñoz and followed a few leads on one of our current cases. Lunch was a hurried fish taco while discussing the Seahawks' chances this year on the way to interview a witness. We made it back to the station in time for a conference call with the Minneapolis PD on yet another open case. Job security is not a problem here.
We hadn't seen much of Simon for the rest of the day. I knew a case that Brown and Rafe had been working was heating up and the captain was sticking close to the situation. I wanted to pump him for more information about the Seattle job, both because I was interested and I wanted to make sure his reasons for turning it down were true. Neither Sandburg nor I were totally convinced we weren't somehow standing in his way, so my thought was to suggest going out for a beer after the shift and talking it out.
Didn't work out that way.
About three o'clock I took a phone call. Marco Laurenti was the head of the Cascade PD communications department, moving over from Homicide when he blew out his knee a few years ago. When something really big went down, chances are he heard it first. With a photographic memory he made connections faster than anyone I ever knew. This was no exception.
"Ellison."
"Jim, it's Marco. Chuck Dodgson and his wife—shit, they just found them. They're dead. "
Oh, God. I closed my eyes. Little bastard didn't waste any time.
"Tell me what happened." Laurenti did, and to keep the horror at bay I made extensive notes. "Ok, thanks, Marco. Yeah, we will."
Now it all changed.
I hung up the phone and looked directly into my partner's worried eyes. How did he know? I kept my eyes locked with Sandburg's as I yelled, "Hey Rhonda? I gotta talk to Simon. It's important."
From across the bullpen she called back. "Yeah, Jim, he's in interrogation. Need him paged?"
Never leaving Sandburg's eyes, I replied, "Yep." I watched those eyes slide away from mine and I suddenly felt colder.
Ten minutes later the three of us and Joel, who was the only other Major Crimes detective around at the moment, sat down at the conference table. I relayed the information I had received from Laurenti and subsequently verified with the Yakima Homicide department.
"At approximately eleven this morning former federal prosecutor Charles Dodgson and his wife Marie were found shot to death in their home in Yakima. According to the initial forensic reports Marie Dodgson was shot once in the head as she sat at her kitchen table reading the morning paper. Chuck Dodgson was found in the kitchen doorway, dead from a gunshot through the abdomen after apparently struggling with the assailant. Also found at the scene was a photograph left by the assailant. Yakima homicide is faxing over a copy, we should have it any minute." I flipped the cover closed on my notebook and waited.
Sandburg said softly, "So this guy was Ricky Soon's prosecutor."
I nodded. "Right. Received the same harassment we did during the trial, except for the fake explosives and the shootings."
There was an uncomfortable silence finally broken by Sandburg.
"Ok, now what? Now do you go into protective custody, what?"
Simon took a deep breath before answering. "No, Sandburg, we do not. I'll inform the brass that indirect threats have been made to members of the department and from there we'll follow whatever procedure is necessary."
Rhonda tapped on the door and entered, extending a fax to Simon with shaking hands. He took it wordlessly then tossed it on the middle of the table.
Sandburg drew in a sharp breath. "Indirect my ass, " he said quietly.
It was a 5 x 7 picture of Dodgson, Simon and myself, taken sometime during the trial and posted in the local paper. We were on the steps of the courthouse, Chuck gesturing with a paper in his hand. Pretty non-threatening evidence by itself. The bullseye drawn on the chest of the prosecutor changed that perception considerably.
A few consultations with the higher-ups resulted in decisions made. With resources being stretched by other venues throughout the city and the vulnerability of Simon's house, it was decided the captain would be better off staying at the loft until we got a handle on this thing. Due to our involvement in the case, we weren't allowed to find Soon and interrogate him; that was left to another set of detectives. Everyone knows you can't be on your own case, even Sandburg.
My partner and I had a heavy workload that had to be reassigned as much as possible. That pretty much eliminated fieldwork and effectively tied us to the station. Well, me, anyway, although with this threat hanging over me I knew Sandburg would never be far from my side. His loyalty would have amazed me if it weren't reciprocated unquestioningly.
Later that afternoon, right as the shift changed, Simon held a staff meeting and explained the situation. Rafe and Henri offered themselves as permanent off-duty back up, but Simon declined, stating the department would be providing a police surveillance unit to cover the loft as much as possible. Connor was also temporarily out of the picture, visiting family back home. Copies of mug shots and the photograph were passed around, along with the case history. All routine, except I had a stressed out guide who was taking this way too personally.
At five, Joel took off with Simon to head over to his place for clothes and other stuff he would need, while I headed to the truck with my too silent partner.
Halfway to the loft, he finally spoke up, as usual with a non sequitur that had me off balance. "I'll need to go to the store when we get home. We don't have enough food for us, let alone Simon. You know he eats like a horse. And I want to get that weird salsa he likes for his eggs." I was expecting an ass-chewing; what I got was a grocery list.
"Why don't we just stop on the way? Simon has a key if he beats us there."
The kid looked at me like I'd grown another head and I could feel the anger in his eyes. "I guess because you're a damn moving target and the guy that wants you dead could be picking up some hummus for his pitas! Jesus, Jim, you can't be wandering around in public!" He jerked his thumb towards the kevlar vest lying on the cab floor behind us. "You don't even that that on!"
"Look Sandburg, I'm not gonna change my life because of this guy, ok? I'm gonna go to work, I'm gonna go to the gym, whatever."
"Oh, yeah, great Jim, that makes perfect sense. If you were a civilian you'd be hog tied to a chair in a safe house but since you're a cop, you just invite him to take his best shot. Why are you different?"
"Because I am a damn cop! I know how to take care of myself, so does Simon! Come on, you've been hacked off since this whole thing started. What's going on here?"
I pulled into the loft parking stall and killed the engine. I reflexively extended my hearing as I turned to face my partner, focussing on him. Sandburg sat silently next to me, still buckled in, eyes straight ahead. He finally turned to me, left hand clenched in a fist on his thigh, the other grasping the door handle. All the anger had drained out of his face, making him appear young and a little lost.
He bit his lower lip. "Because—oh, hell, Jim, I don't know."
"Yes, you do. Come on, spill it."
He released the door handle and reached over to tap the gun strapped to his chest. "This is why, ok?" His voice was intense, eyes looking to me for an understanding I didn't have yet.
I shook my head. "Not following you here, Chief. "
He closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh. "Because I would do... anything to protect you, all right? And I guess I'm just starting to figure that out." His eyes opened with a plea in them—what was I missing?
Oh, Christ. I got it in a blossoming flash of pain in my gut. My mouth opened and closed a couple of times before anything came out. When it did, I hoped it made sense.
I reached a hand over to grasp the fist still resting on his thigh. "Listen to me Blair, ok? People have wanted to off me before, right? I've always come out of it ok. Same thing's gonna happen this time Soon isn't a professional, he's not that good. We'll get him before it gets out of hand, all right?" I gave his fist a squeeze. "Look, you're right, I won't take any stupid chances and neither will Simon. We'll follow procedure, we'll do it right. It'll be ok." I gave his hand a final pat and went to draw away, but he twisted his hand until it grasped my wrist.
"Listen to me, Jim. I'm not a kid, I'm not gonna force you to make promises you can't keep. I just want you to be safe, all right?" His grip tightened, then he let go and unbuckled his seat belt, moving out of the truck in one smooth move. I watched him as he headed for the Volvo, intent now on laying in supplies for the siege. A stray thought came to my mind as I watched him, thinking I was glad I finally got him his own copy of my ATM card—he was right, Simon did eat like a horse. But right on the heels of that frivolous thought was another, a darker one that tightened my chest as I contemplated the man who had just left my side.
Blair Sandburg had become the center of my life. I had wasted a lot of time coming to that inevitable conclusion, time I would never have back to spend with him. When I think of all the torture we endured with Barnes and how afterwards I still just didn't get it, the shame damn near chokes me. Because I still spent almost the next whole year trying not to care, trying to ready myself for Sandburg's departure by being a grade A son of a bitch, although Blair might dispute that. The release of the dissertation was the momentum I needed for a preemptive strike, allowing me the opportunity to cut Sandburg loose before he could do the same to me.
Instead, Blair cut himself adrift, away from his academic life and dreams without a life raft in sight. That's when I got it. Man, the angels must have wept in relief when old Ellison finally got a clue about this friendship. Now that I was secure in our trust, believing in the strengthening of the bond way beyond what we ever had before, my stomach wrenched at the thought that someone wanted to take me away from this. From him. Unacceptable. Once, I wouldn't have cared. Now—well, now I care.
Even as I got out of the truck, snagging the vest, Joel was pulling up with Simon. I watched as Taggert got out first and scanned the area, then leaned down to speak through his open car door to Simon inside. I expanded my senses from the safety of the parking stall, watching as Simon and Joel crossed the street to join me. They both gave a wave to Sandburg as he drove off, then joined me to walk into the building.
Upstairs, Joel deposited Simon's suitcase next to the couch. The three of us stood there a little awkwardly until I noticed a blinking light on the answering machine. I moved over to the phone and hit the play button, while Simon headed for the refrigerator and Joel ended up on the couch, switching on the TV. The message was from the station, telling me the two Yakima detectives working the Dodgson homicide would be in town tomorrow on a 7:00 a.m. flight.
With the TV on, it felt fairly normal. I was aware of the unmarked police car that made a fairly frequent visit to the neighborhood, having been tuned in to the particular thrum of those well-tuned vehicles every day at work. Simon and I stayed away from the covered loft windows, even though there virtually wasn't any angle by which a sniper could get at us unless we stepped onto the balcony.
Less than an hour later I heard the Volvo turn onto Prospect. I leaned over the couch and tapped Joel on the shoulder. "Taggert, since you seem to be sticking around for dinner, why don't you go down and give Sandburg a hand with the groceries." I looked at him blandly, waiting for the inevitable.
His eyes had a look of confusion in them for about ten seconds, then cleared. "You can hear him, can't you? You hear him all the way up here?" He was looking at me like I'd just performed a magic trick. It was taking a little time for my four co-workers to get comfortable with my abilities, but since it took the pressure off of Sandburg, at least in our immediate circle, I could deal.
Looking a little like a kid who had just been told that Santa really did exist, Joel headed down the stairs, giving me a much needed moment alone with Simon.
With the same idea, we sat down at the kitchen table, knowing our time was limited. I waited for him to speak first.
"Jim," he started, "I can't stay here forever. Your couch is gonna kill me as it is. Unless you want to give up your bed to your commanding officer?"
I smiled. "Man's house is his kingdom, captain. You can arm wrestle Sandburg for his room."
He chuckled. "Right, like he's that stupid. No, I figure a couple nights on your couch will be great incentive to get this bastard that much faster."
"This guy isn't that good. The photo was a big mistake. We should get it cleared up pretty soon." I leaned back in the chair, luxuriously popping vertebrae as I stretched. "How do you want to proceed from here?"
Simon pulled off his glasses and ran a hand over his eyes. "Hell, Jim, just like any other case. Except this time," he patted his chest, "you and I will be wearing the kevlar, not some federal witness or union boss. And tomorrow, we'll meet with the Yakima cops and compare notes. And maybe, just maybe, the night shift will pick up Soon for questioning."
"Sounds good. Hey, Simon," I paused, not really knowing how to go on. Rubbing my jaw, I tried to paraphrase the conversation Sandburg and I had in the truck. "About Sandburg—"
"He's having a hard time with this, I know."
"Yeah. Before, something like this happened, he was always on the sidelines. Not for long, of course, him being Sandburg and all, but at least no one expected anything from him. Now," damn, I heard the elevator doors slide open downstairs, "he's gone into this protective thing and he's scared stiff he's gonna have to take some kind of extreme measures." I paused, trying to put into words the nebulous feeling nagging at my insides. "I'm not thrilled at being a clay pigeon here but I'm fucking pissed off he's been put in this position by this situation. You know I don't want that for him." The elevator hit the third floor and I could hear Joel tell Blair that enchiladas sounded great. I stood up and walked over to the door, ready to open it when they got close enough. Simon rose too, grabbing his glasses and the evening paper as he headed for the couch. As he passed by me, he gave me a little smile.
"I pray to God it won't come to that either, Jim, but either way we can't treat Sandburg like he's glass. God knows he's about the gutsiest guy I ever met. So let's do our job and make sure it doesn't go down bad, all right? In the meantime, Sandburg will do what he has to. He will protect you."
I shook my head, turning the handle. He didn't get it yet. "Wrong, captain. He'll protect us both."
I opened the door to let Sandburg and Taggert in, snagging a plastic bag of groceries from an overloaded Blair as he walked by. Plopping it on the counter next to the other bags piling up, I turned to Sandburg.
"Buy out the whole store, Chief?" I waved a hand at the growing number of bags being deposited by the two of them, wincing a little at the hit my checking account must have taken.
Sandburg smiled at me, a welcome sight after this crappy day. "Nah, man, just that I knew comfort food would be the order of the day, and with Simon—hey, Simon, you ok, man?" Sandburg was looking past me at Simon, who hadn't moved from the side of the door. He nodded at Sandburg, looking at him with what might have been wonder and I suddenly realized he had finally figured it out.
Under the bustle of Blair and Joel unpacking the groceries, I walked over to my captain.
"Hell of a feeling, isn't it?" I said softly. He looked at me and I saw he understood perfectly.
Neither of us wanted to be the reason Blair Sandburg had to use deadly force.
I moved back into the kitchen and shooed Taggert out. I hate other people putting stuff away—they never did it right. Joel joined Simon back on the sofa and between Sandburg and I we got the groceries squared away. Then I automatically did what I had done every night since Sandburg had received his weapon—I reached out my hand for it, ready to eject the clip and toss them both in the drawer.
Sandburg looked at me, hands at his side, making no move to reach under the flannel he wore over the T-shirt and holster. Our eyes locked and I silently asked the question. Something twisted inside me when he answered with a little shake of his head. I stepped closer to him and rested my outstretched hand on the side of his neck, my thumb brushing the pulse at his throat.
"Find Simon's weird salsa?" That wasn't what I meant to say, as usual.
He gave me a wry smile. "Yeah, cost a fortune, though." He tried to move out of my reach but I held fast.
"S'ok, I'll put it on my expense account. He'll have to sign off on it anyway." I reached my other hand up to frame his face and forced him to meet my eyes. "How you doin' there, Chief?"
"I'm ok, Jim, really."
I gave his head a little shake. He knew better than that.
He gave a little chuff of laughter. "Ok, all right. I'm just worried, you know? But I'm also hungry, and right now hunger is winning the battle here."
I let him go with a tap to his temple. "Can't argue with you there, kid."
I left him to his dinner preparations and decided to take a little break myself. Seeing Joel and Simon sitting like an old married couple on my couch made my room look pretty enticing so I took the stairs two at a time and flopped down on the bed, throwing an arm across my eyes in an attempt to shut out as much as I could. No way was I wearing that mask with guests in the house.
What I had told Simon was true. I was furious about Sandburg being in this situation, so soon after his whole life had changed direction so dramatically. I knew he hated wearing the gun but he did understand the reason behind it. My partner is the most adaptable person I've ever met and carrying a weapon was one huge adjustment. When I took it from him at night I felt I was fulfilling a covenant between us, an unspoken promise that we would never view it as anything more than a tool.
I drew my arm away, staring through the skylight and listening to the sounds below me. The game, Blair rattling pans and bantering with Simon. But behind the teasing in Blair's voice there was the kind of strain only detectable to the ears of a best friend. My hands clutched into fists as I gave in to the frustration of not being able to alleviate the stress I heard there. Every day I relied on that voice, that presence, to shield me from the abuse my senses took, yet I couldn't shield him from my own past.
And here I was, upstairs brooding about it, when he was downstairs trying to keep it together and feed us all.
Ten seconds later I was beside him in the kitchen.
"Move over, Chief. Lemme chop the chiles."
The next hour or so was spent in the humdrum of dinner, Joel sticking around long enough to consume a fair portion of Blair's enchiladas verde. We were interrupted by various phone calls on various phones, mostly having to do with the night shift checking in with Simon. He and I spent most of the evening back at the kitchen table, talking over other cases as well as our own little problem, with Sandburg and Taggert chiming in once in a while.
It was ten o'clock before Joel was convinced to head on home; he had done the dishes, watched the end of the game and helped Blair with the laundry. As I closed the door behind him, Sandburg turned to Simon.
"Ok, Simon, got the sheets changed, you're all set up in there."
Simon rose from the table, carrying his empty coffee cup over to the kitchen sink. I rolled my eyes. Here we go again. They had been doing this all night.
"Sandburg," Simon began, "I told you three times already I'm not taking your room. The couch has the advantage of being in front of the television and you know I'm a sucker for infomercials."
Sandburg shook his head. "No late night TV with a sentinel, captain. He hasn't even told you the bathroom rules yet."
"And he won't, if he doesn't want to end up cleaning out squad cars for the next two weeks."
"That is way harsh, Simon. Jim, guess you better relax those rules."
I waggled a finger at them "You two, uh, hash it out between you. Leave me and my rules out of this." Except I already knew who was going to win this little test of wills. While Simon and Blair argued amiably, I ducked into Sandburg's room and grabbed his pillow, exchanging it for the extra one I grabbed from the linen closet. Sandburg may have to sleep on the couch but he could at least have his own pillow.
As I came out of the bedroom, unnoticed by the other two, the phone rang and I snagged it.
"Ellison."
"Hi, Jim!" It was the voice of Sandburg's young friend Josiah, the kid he had met while working that Vice case last month. True to form, Sandburg had followed up with the boy, checking out his situation and giving the kid some much-needed guidance. I found him a likable kid stuck in a rotten home life. No parents, living with an alcoholic aunt and her abusive boyfriend in mind-numbing poverty. When Sandburg had a break, which wasn't often, he met Josiah after school and just spent time with him. Once in a while we grabbed Daryl for some hoops. Josiah had a huge case of Sandburg hero-worship—me, I was just the chauffeur half the time.
"Hey, J, what are you doing up so late? Hold on. Lemme get Blair. Hey, Sandburg! It's Josiah." I tossed the phone over the couch to where Sandburg and Simon were having their little standoff. Sandburg took the opportunity to leap onto the couch and stretch out, effectively occupying the entire space, all the while starting his conversation with Josiah and grinning at Simon. Do I know where to put my money or what?
I tossed him his pillow and headed to the bathroom, noting Simon's look of bemusement. He'll learn someday.
The next morning I made sure I was up before the other two, thinking shower time was going to be at a premium for a while. I slipped down the stairs just as predawn light was filtering in through the skylights. Pausing for a second, it was easy to imagine there wasn't anyone out there doing their damndest to kill me. Of course, the basso profundo snore coming out of Blair's room did remind me that everything was most definitely not normal.
I walked over and checked on my guide, curled tightly on his side, as tense in sleep as he was awake. I grabbed a corner of the afghan that was mostly hanging off the couch and pulled it up over his shoulder. The holster lay on the coffee table next to the phone, another reminder that this would not be a normal day.
He stirred a little and I realized my window of opportunity was closing so I took off for the first shower. The rest of the morning was spent in the usual confusion of an added person in your home who also happened to be your boss and fellow target. Despite the strange circumstances, we all did ok. I cooked the eggs to my exacting specifications, only wincing a little when Simon insisted on smothering them in that exotic salsa. Ruining perfectly good eggs annoyed me only slightly more than the helpful remarks he made about the size of my bathroom. Seems my captain had the remodel bug from watching some show on HGTV. I countered with a remark about Simon being too old to handle the excitement on ESPN.
Of course my roommate, who scarcely had time to breathe, knew exactly the show Simon was referring to.
There was a unit scheduled to pick up the two Yakima cops so Joel was put on shotgun detail. Straight up eight o'clock he called on Simon's cell to let us know he was downstairs, even though I heard him finish his latte two minutes before he made the call. Simon rode with him and Sandburg with me, taking two different routes to the station.
Despite what people see on TV, police work is very mundane. Even with this idiot out there trying to kill me, I had to concentrate on paperwork and protocol. The two detectives from Yakima, Jefferson and Kiley, turned out to be easy to work with but there were some boundaries that had to be made so everyone would play nice. I know Sandburg hated the territoriality that came with law enforcement so he immediately set out to make them feel at home, helping Rhonda clear off an unused desk and rounding up chairs, paper and pens. I knew he still caught a lot of crap from officers outside of our close circle so the easy acceptance he got from these two must have felt pretty good.
Ricky Soon was nowhere to be found. He had missed his anger management class, he had never met with his parole officer and his sister claimed he hadn't shown up after his release, even though he had listed her house as his permanent address. All of this found out by Cascade detectives and verified by the Yakima pair. On top of that, there was nothing to place him at the scene of the Dodgson homicides, pending further forensic evidence.
It was like he disappeared off the face of the earth. Last seen getting off the Greyhound at the Maple Street station, Soon was not seen meeting anyone, calling a cab or catching a cross-town bus.
Finally, just before nine that Friday, we thought we had caught a break. Seattle had sent up a Korean-speaking uniform to help canvass the mostly immigrant neighborhood where the Soons had set up shop. Simon had sent her out with Villiers and McBride, two of our counterparts from the night shift who had volunteered the extra hours to work the locals in the hopes they had seen Ricky lately.
Knowing that any call would be forwarded straight to Simon's desk, I kept an ear peeled that way most of the morning. Of course the only one who knew I was eavesdropping was Sandburg and he was keeping his head low today. He tried responding to my teasing with his usual good humor but the strain was visible to my educated eyes.
Jefferson and Kiley were wrapping up the Cascade part of their investigation and were packing up to go when I finally heard what sounded like a lead placing Soon somewhere near his sister's house. I sat tight, waiting for Simon to finish his conversation with Villiers, hoping Simon would cut us loose to help track it down.
Technically, we were desk-bound while the search was on for Ricky, so when the call came to Simon I got a nasty surprise. When I say technically, I figured Simon would still blow off procedure and send us out. I was halfway out of my chair, hand reaching behind me to grab my jacket when the captain blew out of his office to pass on the info I had already heard.
"All right, people, listen up. We got a lead on Soon, and since I'm shorthanded, Sandburg, I want you to take our two guests over to the International District and help out our people there. You've got a ride signed out to you down in the motor pool."
"Whoa, Simon, what about me?" The jacket hung limp in my hand. This is not what I had in mind.
"Ellison, what do you think?" Simon stepped over to my desk and made no effort to disguise the annoyance in his voice. "You and I watch from the sidelines on this one, you know that. No way I'm letting you go out there."
"I'll wear the damn vest, sir." We locked eyes. Mine fell first, deferring to his rank and the truth of his words. I watched as Sandburg pulled his jacket on and walked over the desk Kiley and Jefferson had borrowed for the duration. As the three of them moved passed Simon grabbed Sandburg by the arm.
"Keep your eyes open out there, Sandburg. I don't want any unwelcome surprises."
Blair smiled, eyebrows raised. "Hey, Captain, that makes two—" his eyes rested on mine "—three of us, right? No sweat, and tell you what. I'll stop by Uwajimaya's and get lunch, ok?" Typical Sandburg tactic, trying to remove the focus from him onto something else. Nice try.
He flashed another smile, mainly for my benefit, and moved to join the detectives waiting for him at the elevator. I watched until the doors closed behind them then turned my attention back to Simon, who was watching me with half a smile.
I tilted my head to the side and frowned. "What."
"You gonna be cool about this, Jim?"
My brows drew together as I nodded. "Yeah, Simon. I'm cool."
Simon just shook his head and moved on, stopping but not turning around when my fist connected with my desk.
On the whole, I'd rather just take Sandburg and go fishing.
I guess it's a matter of perspective. I mean, my little rendition of the ol' college blues was totally lost in the symphony of worry that now played in my head. All the procedure in the world couldn't dull the gnawing in my gut that this was going to be really bad. For some reason, I was the only one who held this view.
I knew Jim thought it was dumb I took it so personally. Well, maybe not dumb; I didn't get those harsh judgements from him anymore. I also knew he thought I had lost my professional attitude. Not the first time he'd nailed me on that. Problem was, I just didn't know how to maintain a detached mindset when my friends had this death warrant out on them. Guess I don't remember that course at the academy.
What I really needed to do was learn how to hide it better, although I don't think I could hide anything like that from Jim. Not anymore. It had surprised the hell out of me when Simon let me go out on that lead to the I.D. Backed me right up against the dichotomy that had begun to define my life. I was now a member of a team and as such subject to the whims of management. I was naïve to think that after I'd rejoined Major Crimes I wouldn't be assigned to anything Jim wasn't.
Which still held true, if I thought about it—only Jim was the assignment now.
I knew the International District pretty well; there are a lot of shops in a three block radius selling hard to find herbs and ingredients I liked to use for homemade ointments and stuff. It was an older part of downtown Cascade, slightly decayed, lots of cultures thrown together by the necessity of economics. The highest Korean population in the Northwest was concentrated here, along with a lot Vietnamese and Hmong.
We met Villiers, McBride and Officer Nan Ang outside of Uwajimaya's, the closest thing to a supermarket in the District. They filled us in quickly, saying local gang law enforcement heard Ricky had been seen hanging out near the local social club. If he was, he was stupider than I thought.
The next couple of hours were spent walking the neighborhood, talking to anyone and everyone but more often than not hitting the language barrier. Officer Ang stuck with the other two Major Crimes detectives while the three of us struggled along as best we could. Finally, close to noon, the six of us met up again in the parking lot to compare notes. No further sighting of Soon
could be verified but we had all come to one really strong conclusion.
This neighborhood was scared—someone or a group of someones held these people in an iron grip. I placed a quick call on my cell to the gang unit, asking them to give us some background on the area which they promised to feed back to the bullpen later that day. Then, on to better things. Officer Ang took off for Seattle and the five of us ducked into Uwajimaya's to grab lunch; funny thing, the two Yakima cops did some serious shopping and I had to send our two guys on reconnaissance to find them so we could get out of there after I paid. McBride and Villiers took off for some down time and I herded the other two back to the sedan for the trip uptown.
Kiley and Jefferson turned out to be a couple of really nice guys, actually. They had the easy camaraderie of longtime partners and on the drive back I wondered if Jim and I were perceived the same way. They asked for a good Mexican restaurant around town and I recommended Plaza Jalisco, which led to a food discussion, one of my favorite non-Sentinel topics. Pretty soon I was swapping recipes with Mike who turned out to be an amateur chef. He jotted down what sounded like an awesome recipe for gazpacho. Jim doesn't know it yet, but I think cilantro is sentinel catnip and I wanted to check out my theory. If he was going to be tied to his desk for too long I was going to need every advantage I could get.
Lunch was enthusiastically greeted and the rest of the day was spent following pointless leads and working the paper side of other cases. We got a thumbnail sketch from the gang squad on the Korean neighborhood; they were aware of heightened tension on the streets but couldn't pin it down to one group or another. Jim and Simon likened it to the atmosphere during the Soon family's heyday, when people were more terrified of legitimate authority than the family stealing them blind.
I could see the tension mounting in Jim as time passed without anything substantial. At one point he hit his keyboard so hard it cracked one of the keys in half. He looked up to see if anyone else had noticed; when our eyes met I looked pointedly up at the bullpen clock.
"Almost thirty-six hours, Jim. That's pretty good."
His eyes narrowed. "Thirty-six hours before what?"
"You started abusing the electronics."
His expression lightened infinitesimally. "You saying I take out my aggressions on inanimate objects?"
"Yeah, but only if I'm outta reach." Ok, there's a smile. Pressure relieved, at least for now.
With nothing new to go on, our shift ended on time. We followed the same procedure home we had that morning, with Joel nonchalantly adding himself to the protection brigade again. I convinced Jim that I should drive the truck while he used his senses for something other than distinguishing between the milk and dark chocolate candy Rhonda kept on her desk. Meaning, pay attention while I drive, big guy.
Ah, home again. With seven hundred pounds of hungry cops to feed. Who said police work wasn't glamorous? I wasn't exactly sure how I got nominated to do all the cooking but I was secretly pretty happy about it. Kept me busy, anyway. Plus I could guilt the other guys into washing the dishes.
Dinner was well under way when Simon's cell went off. I was sitting at the kitchen table with the laptop, waiting for the sauce to cook and entering my cilantro theory. Simon took the call sitting on the stairs to Jim's room. I listened with half an ear. He was obviously talking to Daryl, trying to explain why he was with us without giving away the whole story. I shook my head—Daryl would be hip to the gist of it almost immediately, if not the exact story. Simon underplayed it as much as possible though.
I perked up a little when the conversation caught more of my attention.
"Daryl, just call a cab! We'll figure out how to get a battery for it tomorrow. What? Well, where is it? At your mother's? I thought I told you it was for emergencies—"
I stood up and wandered closer to Simon, wondering if I could help. When I caught his eye I held up my hands in offering.
"Ok, Daryl, hold on a sec—what, Sandburg?"
"Daryl need a lift? I can go get him if you want."
"Yeah, dead battery—just hold, ok, hold on—you sure? Ok, listen, Daryl, Blair's gonna come and give you a ride home. Next time, keep the card in your wallet where it'll do some good. Yeah, ok, call me when you get home. Bye." He clicked off the phone and turned to me. "Sandburg, you sure about this? What about your dinner?"
I was already pulling on my jacket and grabbing my keys. "Hey, no problem, I'll eat when I get back. Jim can get the pasta finished. Where am I going anyway?"
"He's at the U-Dub extension campus over in Layton. You know where that is?'
"Yeah, no problem."
"Ok, he's waiting out in the north parking lot. You sure this is ok?'
I laughed. Simon was going to hate owing me. "It's fine, Simon, really. Don't let Jim eat all the garlic bread, ok?"
I turned to leave and came face to face with Jim. He handed me a five-dollar bill.
"Pick up some ice cream on the way back, Chief. You got the wrong kind again."
I stuffed the bill in my pants pocket. "No, I didn't get the wrong kind, it's just that you don't appreciate all the good stuff Ben and Jerry's does with the money they donate."
He folded his arms and sighed. "Just no mint this time, ok?"
"All right, I'll get something with peanut butter. Happy?" I thwacked him on his arm.
He opened the door for me, giving me a corresponding head thump. "Ecstatic. Be careful."
The University of Washington extension campus was in the Cascade suburb of Layton, twenty minutes north of downtown by freeway. It was an upscale neighborhood but I still knew my way around. Actually, I don't think there was a campus in the Puget Sound area I didn't know pretty well. The drive out there was good for me, although I would never admit it. Everyone thinks I always like to talk, have people around, and most of the time maybe that's true. But a part of me felt like I got lucky tonight, stealing away some time alone. For the first time in two days I could relax my vigilance.
The case was taking its toll on me and I knew it. Between the worry about Jim and Simon's safety and the thought that I now carried the instrument of someone's destruction in my armpit, I was just this side of freaked. The constant low-grade fever of worry I was throwing out had kicked up Jim's Guide Monitor, which in turn added to his own heavy angst burden as he tried to alleviate my stress. If I could spare the energy I would be seriously ticked off at this guy Soon. As it was, all I wanted was for him to go away.
This whole thing totally sucked. The dispassionate words written years ago in a police report did nothing to soften the harsh realities of Ricky Soon's little reign of terror. He had allegedly—God, I love that word, it is so useless—destroyed private and public property while out on bail for the counterfeit charges. He had allegedly planted a fake bomb on the doorsteps of two Cascade detectives. Then potshots had been taken at these same two detectives, one while Jim was driving home after a date with Carolyn and another while Simon watched Daryl at a little league game.
Soon was seriously but not criminally disturbed. Jim and Simon had speculated the other night that the tragedy that befell Ricky's sister on the night of his arrest was what sent him over the edge.
I swallowed convulsively, reenacting in my head the events of a night I never knew happened until two days ago. The mind instinctively draws a timeline—seven years ago I was in Paraguay while Jim lay in a coma.
Simon and Jim had linked Ricky to the dead bookie using info from one of their snitches. It placed him near the scene at the approximate time of death. No other link could be found; the bookie was found shot and the weapon was never retrieved. However, during the course of their investigation, Jim and Simon learned about the racket the Soon family had going. Only the sister, Angie, seemed to be clean of the family business. At the time she was working the family's photography studio and had this huge talent, this amazing ability as a ballet dancer. She was going to be the first dancer of Korean descent to dance the lead in Coppelia at the Cascade Ballet. One night changed so many things.
Jim and Simon had shown up after hours at the photographers where Ricky worked with his sister. Ricky cemented his reputation as a bona fide idiot by resisting arrest. He and some buddy of his cranked up a firefight that held Simon at bay while Jim and a uniform had gone around to the back door.
Then—boom.
It was later proved that one of the shots taken by Ricky's friend had gone wild and struck a container of flammable liquid used in processing photographs. The explosion blew out the back door just as Jim was coming through, sending him flying back across the parking lot and cracking his head open on a cinder block wall. He wouldn't wake up again for almost a week. The cop with him was seriously injured, impaled by flying debris. He never made it back on the force. Ricky was knocked unconscious, his accomplice killed instantly. Simon and another officer managed to drag Ricky and the dead guy out as fire began to ravage the studio.
Angie Soon, unbeknownst to anyone at the time, was in the dark room hiding when the explosion hit. Pieces of corrugated metal had blown through the flimsy door and came close to severing her right leg. Simon, obeying his cop instinct, went back inside to check for anyone else. He found her on the floor and risked his life to get her out through the thickening flames. End of ballet career, end of dream. After Ricky's trial she reopened the photography studio just to earn a living after her father and uncle returned to Korea. She never danced again.
Funny how things that happened so long ago could still make you sick to your stomach years later. I wasn't even there but thinking about it made me want to throw up. The thought of Jim lying in a hospital bed, unconscious, in pain—oh, God, let's not go there.
I still wasn't happy Jim had chosen not to divulge the outcome of the case but I guess I understood. Sometimes, in a totally junior high kind of way, I felt left out when stuff from Jim's past came up, especially post-Peru. Not that Jim knew everything about me either, or had even shown any real interest in my life pre-sentinel. I guess I just wanted so much to be a part of his future that I felt gypped when I missed something before my time, like somehow by not knowing I was failing as a guide.
Ok, way too much introspection when I should be concentrating on the road, the music, that cute blond in the Geo next to me—uh oh, wonder if she has an older sister—damn near anything else but the state of my ego.
It was a nice night, so I rolled the window down a little and cranked up the tunes, happy the Volvo was running smoothly. This was by virtue of some serious bartering with my mechanic, who had a son flunking Anthro 101 at Puget Sound University. Yeah, he had heard about the diss but I managed to convince him I could get the kid a passing grade. Groveling was a small sacrifice if it saved me a buck these days. A little tutoring on the weekends had bought my last set of spark plugs and by the holidays I might have some new brake pads.
By the time I pulled into the parking lot I was relaxed enough to be playing serious percussion on the steering wheel. The lot was pretty full with the new semester just starting but Daryl was easy to find. He was leaning up against his Sentra, backpack at his feet, CD headphones around his neck. Wow. Weird case of déjà vu here. That used to be me.
Seeing me, Daryl gave me a wave and grabbed the backpack, coming around the front of my car as I leaned over and unlocked the passenger side.
"Thanks, man, I really appreciate this," he said as he threw the pack and the CD player onto the back seat and buckled up.
"Hey, no problem, got me outta the house for a while." I pulled out of the lot and made my way back towards the freeway.
"What's up with that, Blair? I mean, Dad staying with you guys. He wouldn't tell me anything."
I waved an admonishing hand at him. "Uh uh, no way, man, I am not getting in the middle of this. Whatever your dad told you is enough." I glanced over at him noting the worried expression. "Hey, it's ok, you know? Just a precautionary thing, no big deal." Wish I believed it myself, but Daryl needed to hear it. "Anyway, where's your mom? Why couldn't she pick you up?"
"She had to work late but she should be home by now. Man, she's gonna pissed when she hears I left my lights on. She's pissed enough as it is."
"Why? I thought she was cool about passing on the Duke scholarship?"
"Not really. I think she wanted me away from Dad, or at least Dad's influence. Which is really twisted because he wanted the same thing she did, for me to go away to college."
I shook my head. Having two parents at odds over a kid's future was something I used to see all the time during my teaching days and it never ceased to amaze me. Maybe because I never had to worry about it I couldn't empathize with that kind of controlling behavior. On the other hand, at least you knew they cared.
"Look," I said, "neither your dad or your mom wanted you to go straight to the Academy, right? And since you already had already been accepted to U-Dub you did the next best thing. This way, you can start collecting those credits towards your criminal justice degree and reapply to the academy in the spring."
Daryl was still a little sullen. "Yeah, well, you don't have to live with my mom. All these sighs," he rolled his eyes dramatically, "and moans, and telling me about so-and-so's son who went to USC." He raised his voice to a falsetto and I started laughing.
"Oh, come on, it's not that bad." I took the freeway exit that led into Daryl's neighborhood. The sun was pretty much gone, and the lights were coming on in the houses around us. Daryl and Joan lived in a really nice older neighborhood, someplace Wally and the Beav would have lived if Ward had paid more attention to those stock options. I tried to imagine Simon cutting the lawn and worrying over termites and just could not get there.
We talked about inconsequential stuff the rest of the way; my stomach was really starting to complain about this lack of dinner thing I had going on. I pulled up in front of Daryl's house, leaving the engine running as he jackknifed over the seat to grab his pack.
"Didn't you say your mom should be home?" I mentioned idly. "No lights are on."
"Yeah, should be." Daryl's voice was muffled. "Hold on, I dropped the headphones on the floor."
I was tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the music playing low on the radio. A flicker in the window caught my eye. I looked closer and saw it again, a tremor in the drapes close to the window frame. Daryl finally pulled around and plopped back down in the front seat, reaching for the door handle.
"Hold up a sec, man," I said, not really sure what was bothering me.
Daryl looked at me, backpack grasped against his chest.
"What? Probably just my mom."
"Yeah, probably," I said absently. We waited a few seconds more and I could feel Daryl's stare as he was getting impatient beside me.
"Come on, Blair, I'm hungry—" he stopped when I reached over and grabbed his arm. I pulled him around in his seat and shook him so he would look at me.
"Daryl, listen to me. I think something's wrong. I want you to run to your neighbor's and stay there, do you hear me?" I shook him again as his eyes widened, trying to take in what I was saying.
"Why—"
"Look, I don't have time to explain, all right? Leave your stuff and go." I pushed him away, beginning to feel panic in my chest. I shut off the engine and we got out of the car simultaneously. I came around the back end, grabbing Daryl's arm as he made a move towards his house.
"My mom—"
"Daryl, go now!" I swung him towards the next house and after the slightest hesitation he starting running off. As he moved away I reached into the Volvo and grabbed the cell from the car seat. I straightened up, my eyes firmly fixed on the front door of Daryl's home. There just wasn't time to tell Daryl I saw the front door open a few inches and get slammed shut—twice, in rapid succession.
I had a huge moment of indecision. What if it was nothing? What if I called it in and there was nothing wrong?
What would Jim do?
I called it in, then tossed the phone through the open passenger car door.
Then I pulled my weapon.
Keeping it in close next to my leg, I quickly made my way over to the side of the house in a running crouch. I leaned up against the wall, breathing heavily. The darkness made it easier and harder at the same time; I wasn't conspicuous but in the deep twilight I couldn't see well, either.
I closed my eyes and just listened, trying to hear anything above the pounding of my heart. What the hell do I do now? Think, Sandburg, think! What did they teach you at the Academy? Wait for backup. What would Jim do? Oh, God, he never waits—
The internal battle ended abruptly when I heard the scream from inside the house. It was followed by a crash that had me up onto the porch and flattened against the outside wall next to the front door. I pulled the gun up close to my head, held tightly between both hands. The front door flew open but before I could react I heard Joan Banks.
"Help! God, someone help me!"
She stepped out and I grabbed her with my left hand, pulling her out of the doorway. She struggled until she recognized me, then collapsed against me. There was a smear of blood on her cheek.
"Blair, oh, thank God!"
"Joan, come on, it's ok, where did he go? Tell me where he is, ok?"
She was trying to catch her breath. "Out the back, they went out the back door. They saw you—Daryl! Where is he, where's Daryl?" Joan clutched at me, her fear overtaking her again.
I pushed her towards the porch steps. "He's next door, he's ok—look, I'm gonna go check things out. Go ahead, I called it in, it'll be ok. Go!"
I watched her run down the steps and turn to me. I waved her to the left and turned back to the open door.
Now what?
Joan said they had left through the back door. I figured they were long gone but I had to check. As I moved through the darkened house, making my way room by room to the kitchen in the back, I started to hear a siren. I clamped down on the relief I felt, not daring to give in to the thought that finally someone was coming who knew what they were doing. I'd been with Jim dozens of times when he did this; I could do it, too.
I made my way as fast as I could through the house, noting the overturned and shattered lamp in the living room, finally coming through the kitchen to the open back door. I had been here a couple of times before so I remembered the small backyard surrounded by cedar fencing. In the back was a gate leading onto an alley; it too was open. I checked the backyard as best I could but in the dark it was getting harder and harder to distinguish anything. I ran across the deck and down the steps, then sprinted across the yard and stopped hard at the gate, quickly sticking my head around and glancing both ways down the alley. There was a streetlight at either end of the alley that gave off just enough light for me to see the garbage cans lining the drive.
The siren was getting louder, coming from my right. The alley looked deserted so I holstered my gun. I started to turn back into the yard when I heard the loud clanking of a tin garbage can lid as it hit the pavement two houses to my left.
Now I know what scared spitless means. My mouth went dry as I whirled around to the sound, totally forgetting I was a sitting duck in the light of the pole to my right. Before the sound of the lid stopped echoing in my ears I saw a dark shape peel off from the side of the neighbor's fence and begin a running lurch away from me towards the opening of the alley. He was so damn hard to make out, what with the ski mask and matching black ensemble that I had trouble discerning him from the shadows.
"Hey! Stop!" Not surprisingly, that didn't work and I suddenly found myself thinking all those stupid morning runs Jim took me on were going to pay off.
I took off after him without another thought, the gun slapping my ribs as I ran. Whoever it was was having a difficult time—he was either injured or drunk.
Oh, damn, he was also armed.
He stopped about twenty yards in front of me, planted and turned. I saw his arm extend and total self-preservation took over. I dived behind the nearest garbage can as he took his shot. It didn't come anywhere near me and he resumed his lopsided run down the alley.
Being shot at can really define your options. Actually, it made me mad. All my fears and insecurities were swept away by the tide of my anger. In a split second my thoughts and actions coalesced and I knew this bastard was not going to get away.
I stood up, pulled out the Glock and took a deep breath.
"C'mon, freeze! Cascade police!"
The figure stumbled and fell to one knee. I kept the gun extended and sprinted closer, keeping an eye out for that hand to come up again.
"Drop it! Right now!"
He lifted his hand, the trigger of the gun dangling from his index finger.
"Toss it away! Towards me! Do it now!"
He did, giving it a half-hearted throw back in my general direction. His back was still to me, heaving with exertion.
"All right, face down! Face down, dammit!"
Slowly he complied until he was spread eagle and I scooted over and kicked his gun further down the alley. Then—finally!—I heard the pounding of footsteps behind me. I froze my position, knowing that the uniforms had no idea who the hell I was, which was confirmed a second later.
"Freeze! Drop your weapon!"
Gee, where have I heard that before? I never took my eyes or my gun off the prone figure in front of me.
"It's ok, I'm Detective Sandburg, Major Crimes."
One of the uniforms circled around me, working his way towards the guy on the ground. As he brought his weapon to bear on the prone figure I finally relaxed my stance, pulling my gun in and turning to the other officer who was still looking at me like I just had to be putting him on. Then there was that moment of recognition I've come to expect, when my face matches up with the circumstance. With cops I didn't know I never knew which side of the fence they were on. I carefully slid the gun into my holster then just as carefully reached into my back pocket for my badge. I briefly wondered if anyone else felt as stupid as I did when I did this. I know Jim didn't; he made it look so cool.
I flipped open the leather to reveal the gold badge. I refrained from identifying myself as Joe Friday.
He looked at the badge pretty closely then back at me. I held my breath until I saw him nod and turn away. After that I backed off while they cuffed the guy and pulled him into a sitting position. I came over and knelt in front of him, yanking off the mask. Cold black eyes stared back at me from a face I didn't recognize from any mug shots. There was no fear in those almond eyes, practically no emotion whatsoever. One of the uniforms started the Miranda reading; the perp didn't listen, keeping his eyes fixed on my face. The reading finished, the cop asking if he understood his rights. A calculating look entered the dark eyes, followed by a slight smile that degenerated into a slack expression. You bastard, you understood me well enough when I had a gun to your head. I sighed.
"Hold on, you guys, wait," I said. "Think we're gonna need an interpreter here." I quickly explained my suspicions then moved out of the way as more squad patrols showed up to contain the situation.
I quickly walked the arriving sergeant through the incident, pointing out where the guy's gun had landed. Another set of uniforms joined us and started taping off the scene and looking for the casing from the shot. People started swarming around, asking me questions until I thought my head was gonna explode. They finally levered the guy to his feet, catching him when he started to pitch forward. He snarled and tried to break away, to what end I had no idea, but the uniforms yanked him up and started marching him back up the alley.
We made a strange parade, the cops, the perp—and me bringing up the rear, trying very hard to look nonchalant while secretly trying to get my breathing back in some kind of normal rhythm. Up ahead at the gate leading into the yard stood Daryl, waving at me and grinning from ear to ear. As he ducked back in I had this weird feeling of displacement as I realized I had actually apprehended a suspect at gunpoint.
Oh, my God. I stopped in my tracks and let the rest of them proceed on down the alley. I suddenly had a hard time breathing again as reaction began to sink in. I backed up to the fence and bent over, resting my hands on my knees, trying to regain some equilibrium that was just refusing to come back. I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on slowing my heartrate, drawing on years of meditation to get me past this.
By now the night was full of sounds, most of them alien to a quiet neighborhood. I could hear the police radios and the slamming of doors as the curious started to gather. The tall trees in the area glowed alternately blue and red, giving the scene a surreal glow.
I gave myself a mental shake and straightened up, willing my legs to move forward again. I would fall apart later in the privacy of my own home, thank you very much, preferably with a large sentinel nearby to duct tape the pieces back together.
Daryl was waiting for me when I entered his yard.
"Blair, come on, man! What happened? You ok? Mom is, like, majorly freaked out, but she's ok. I called Dad, he's on his way." We walked together, bypassing the house to walk around to the front. An ambulance was just pulling up, adding to the confusion, and the uniforms guided the assailant towards it.
"Daryl, you get back in this house right now!" Joan Banks was on her porch, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist and the other holding a washcloth to the cut on her cheek. Beside her was the sergeant in charge of the scene, vainly trying to get her back inside.
I nudged Daryl and jerked my chin towards his mom. "You better go, man. She needs you, I think."
"Yeah, I know, ok." He joined his mom on the porch and the three of them walked inside.
Suddenly, I was superfluous. The patrol car officers were processing the scene, talking to witnesses and keeping the gawkers at bay. Bad Guy in Black was in the ambulance having his leg looked at. I didn't want to go into the house just yet so I walked around to the back and sat on the steps leading up to the deck. There wasn't a lot of time before everything was going to get crazy again, so I took the time for what it was.
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, smelling freshly mown grass. I flashed on missing the grounds at Rainier, always so beautifully maintained. Weird that should hit me now.
Suddenly the band around my ponytail felt too tight. I reached behind and untied it, welcoming the curtain my hair drew across my face. Eyes still closed, I bowed my head, clasping my hands across the back of my neck. Then, like an answer to prayer, I felt a familiar touch stroke across my fingers and settle on my shoulder.
Jim sat down next to me on the steps. I unclasped my hands and straightened, looking at him sideways as he met my eyes, smiling slightly.
"Guess this means no ice cream, right?" His hand was still warm, resting close to my neck, massaging a little.
I snorted, laughing a little. "Man, you can get your own. I have a feeling I'm spending the rest of the night at the station. And I still didn't get any dinner, which totally sucks. How's Simon?"
"Scared, pissed off, wondering what the hell happened. Same as me." He pulled his hand away and I immediately missed its comforting presence.
"They were waiting for Daryl, had his mom inside the house."
"'They,' Chief?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure there were two of them in there but we'll have to ask Joan. She just kept saying 'they' so I figured one of them might be Soon. Hey, you think it's a good idea you being out here and all? Doesn't look like you're wearing the vest." Maybe it was a stupid question but I didn't want to take any chances. Jim took the question in stride.
"Yeah, I think it's ok here. Soon's gotta be worried that you nabbed his buddy back there. He won't try anything for a while."
My heart sank. "For a while? You think Soon's gonna keep coming?"
"No reason not to. Anyone desperate or crazy enough to go after a police captain and his family isn't gonna stop now."
I sighed, and it must have sounded pretty pathetic because suddenly the hand was back. "Guess Joan and Daryl will have to go into protective custody now, right?"
"Yep. Gonna have to move this party out of the loft." Jim stood up and offered me hand. I took it and pulled myself up.
As we moved back into the house, Jim bumped me with his elbow. I turned to him with a question in my eyes.
"Jeez, Chief, if I'd known the lengths you'd go to avoid getting any kind of ice cream but Ben & Jerry's, I'd have eaten it without protest."
I smiled, total gratitude filling my heart that Jim would try to alleviate the stress beginning to pool in my stomach.
Jim and I walked back into the house through the kitchen door and headed towards the living room where Joan was seated on the couch, one arm wrapped tightly around Daryl's shoulders and the pinchiest look on her face. For his part, Daryl withstood the mama boa constrictor act with as much dignity as he could but even I could sense the adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream. His eyes never quit moving from his dad, to me and Jim, to the unis standing on the front porch, then back to Simon.
Simon was standing nearby, deep in conversation with Joel and various other detectives that had been drawn to the scene like moths to a porch light. The shattered lamp still littered the corner where it had fallen, proof of Joan's quick thinking when she realized Daryl had made it home. Whatever had gone down in this house, Joan had kept her head together enough that her diversion had spooked the assailants into taking off. She was the real hero here.
The next few hours were a blur, as the whole thing was moved to the station for reports and statements. Apparently this guy had broken his ankle when jumping off the Banks' deck; he had been taken to Cascade Gen before he could be booked. Kiley and Jefferson were paged to the station from their dinner at Plaza Jalisco—hey, at least someone enjoyed dinner—so that when the perp was released they could have their shot at him too.
Another round table meeting with the usual suspects (so-so flick but Spacey was awesome) reaffirmed the suspicion that Soon was first of all, nuts and second, totally out of date with his information because he believed Joan and Simon were still married. According to Joan the perps never spoke English.
About midnight I finished up the reports while simultaneously picking at the cold phad tai Jim had managed to get for me. My appetite was shot but I appreciated the gesture. Joan and Daryl had given their statements and had been sent home, set to leave in the morning for Joan's sister's place in Seattle. Once there they would be guests of the Seattle PD until the case was solved. Daryl had protested but his dad and mom had stood firm, united in their response.
Everyone was
up to speed. There was no way to get an interpreter out so late so the guy I nabbed was taken to the county jail infirmary pending processing in the morning. Jefferson and Kiley cancelled their return flight home and all of Cascade PD was placed on heightened alert. I gathered up my mostly untouched dinner and tossed it in the breakroom fridge, briefly wondering if that red-covered container in the back was my leftover pasta from April.
I came back into the now empty bullpen. Jim was nowhere to be found but Simon was turning off the lights in his office, getting ready to head back to Joan's where he and Taggert planned to spend the night. I leaned wearily against the nearest desk, crossing my arms and giving Simon a tired grin. As he pulled even with me, jacket slung across his shoulder, he did not smile in return.
"Sandburg," he said softly, "you did real good tonight. You, um—thank you." His voice was choked with emotion and all he could do was pat me on the arm before moving towards the elevator where Joel joined him. I let him go; there was nothing left in me, not even a teasing reply.
I don't know how long I stood there; my mind had temporarily gone off-line, pending the big processing session in my future. Finally, Jim returned and silently handed me my own kevlar vest, which matched the one he now wore. Wordlessly, I put it on, making sure the gun was accessible through the large armhole, and then covered it with my leather jacket. We moved out, still wrapped in comfortable silence, down the stairs to the truck. While Simon was now covered by other members of the Cascade police department, Jim and I were back on our own in the loft with round the clock surveillance. A safe house was not authorized for police personnel and the loft had been considered defensible in the past, although I had serious doubts about that. This time, though, the protection would already be in place, both outside—and within.
Squad cars went before and behind us; we got home without incident. Since technically there were already two cops in the loft and lack of manpower being what it was we found ourselves alone at home for the first time in two days. I was desperately grateful for that.
When we reached home I came in behind Jim and locked the door, leaning against it. I wasn't real sure what to do next, actually. I felt like a big boulder was rumbling my way and there was nothing I could do to prevent the flattening in store. Reaction was inevitable and I had put it off long enough. This should be interesting.
Jim was stepping over to the lamp on the end table. "Nah, man, leave it off. You don't need it. I—I don't want it. Light over the stove's enough." In that light I could see the pot of sauce I had left to Jim's tender care. Next to it sat a gummy bowl of congealed angel hair pasta, probably now permanently embedded in the ceramic. Stained, empty bowls were stacked in the sink. Idly I noted the pasta fork lying on the floor. Man, they had left in a rush.
My head suddenly felt too heavy and I let it fall forward to stare at the floor, still leaning against the door. My nerves were shot. I couldn't make a decision if my life depended on it.
Size 12 loafers filled my line of sight as Jim walked back and parked in front of me. "What do you need, Chief? Tea, beer, what?" His voice seemed devoid of emotion, reciting my choices like a disinterested waiter. The tone took me by surprise so I raised my eyes to meet his, wondering what had triggered this dispassionate attitude.
Sandburg, you shoulda known better.
Jim stood before me, legs slightly apart and braced, arms crossed, head at an inquiring tilt. Physically, he was a drill sergeant and I was the GI he was expecting to drop and give him twenty.
But those eyes, God, those cool blue eyes spoke of compassion and care and sorrow, need and trust. Regret he had not been there when I was put in the position to draw my weapon in defense of my life. Pride in my ability to deal with the situation safely. Readiness to help me deal with this scary moment so I could move on.
Did I see all that in his eyes, truthfully? I think so, but the one thing I know I saw for sure was an abiding affection. That, and knowledge. He had earned this wisdom the hard way and as our days passed together he revealed more and more his awareness of what we were becoming.
Our eyes locked together and in mine he saw the ambivalence I felt. "Man, Jim I don't know. I'm really, really wiped but it's like my nerves are on freakin' fire here. You still got someone out there trying to kill you and that's like, the most important thing on the menu tonight, you know?"
Jim scrubbed his face with both hands then wrapped one around my upper arm, leading me away from the door towards the coat rack. Simultaneously we peeled off our jackets and hung them on the hooks. Then there was the screech of velcro as we peeled off the vests and added them to the outerwear collection. My shoulder holster, Jim's hip holster—they stayed where they were. Then Jim's hand rewrapped around my elbow and he led me over to the couch. We both sat down, turning towards each other after toeing off our shoes. I don't know what he had in mind. I was just grateful he gave me somewhere to go.
We sat in silence for a few minutes but Jim kept his attention on me, pinning me with a considering look. Finally, he spoke. I had to smile a little—we've been here before.
"I read your report, Chief. Now tell me what happened."
One hour later Sandburg finally dozed off, legs curled up on the couch, feet resting against my thigh. My bed was calling to me but right now this was where I was needed.
I trusted Blair to give me all the hard details and he did, a Sandburgian multi-media presentation of hands and voice. He walked me through the whole thing and I waited patiently for the real stuff. The nuts and bolts I had already memorized from his report and the statements given by Joan and Daryl. In the back of my head I acknowledged I was in a much better place tonight than Simon; his ex was not going to go easy on him.
After Sandburg brought me up to where I found him on the steps, he stopped. This was what I had been waiting for. I could leave him alone, let him stew over what he should or would have done and watch him shut me out. That's what I used to do, then simply wait for him to get over it so we could move on. And every time I did, every time I tuned him out on something important, a little piece of Blair was lost.
Now I understand what he needs.
Me.
So that's what he gets. Without reservation.
And I'm gonna find every damn piece and put it back.
I broke the little silence that had developed. At that point Sandburg was still sitting up, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on one hand.
"So how you doin' with this? Any time a cop pulls his weapon, that's a big deal. You ok?" He looked at me and my eyes defied him to bullshit me. I swear I could see the decision making process going on behind those eyes; he wanted to tell me but he also didn't want to burden me with his fears.
He sighed and leaned back into the cushions of the armrest.
"Yeah, pretty much ok, I guess. Slobberingly grateful I didn't have to fire, though." His eyes slid away from mine as he stared off into the shadows of the loft. "Still don't know if I can do that, Jim. I really don't. It's something I don't want to know I can do." He brought his gaze back to me and I felt a tug in my gut at the pain I saw there.
I nodded. This was no surprise to me. I had heard Sandburg take the oath that day in the bullpen with a strong voice, a voice filled with conviction, but even then I knew the gun would be a stumbling block.
"I know. But I also know the statistics as well as you do, about just how often a police officer discharges his weapon in the line of duty. Now, granted the odds are being a Major Crimes detective may skew the data a little," that earned me a small chuckle from the other end of the couch "but the fact remains the chances are slim you'll ever have to use deadly force. Tonight is a case in point. You resolved the situation without having to pull the trigger."
"It's not like it was the first time I held a gun on somebody, right?" He ran a hand through his curls. "Man, not even the second. I've even fired one to protect myself, you, whatever. Why is this different?"
I rubbed my chin. "I'm not sure. Maybe it's like you said last month on that Vice assignment. Now you're responsible, accountable. People are depending on you more than ever to make the right choice, even if it includes taking a life." I watched him carefully as he considered my words.
Finally, he nodded, then yawned. "True, I guess. Man, I'm done thinking about it tonight, though." Blair sat up and unhooked the holster, wrapping the straps around the shaft and placing it gently on the coffee table. He leaned back again, closing his eyes and bringing up his sock-covered feet. At that point I knew I was losing him. "We better get some sleep here. You want to take first shift or you want me to?" His voice was fading with the rest of him.
First shift? You weren't quite paying attention at the wrap-up, were you there, Chief? "Forget it, Junior, we got two patrol cars out there and a plainclothes in the lobby. We can both sleep. You want the bathroom first?"
"Hmmm, nope, you go ahead. I'll wait." I didn't move, instead content to watch the lines of fatigue around his eyes smooth out as he began to relax. Without dislodging his feet I leaned forward and unclipped my own holster, reaching forward to set it next to his on the table. Then I sat back, listening as Blair began to slip into a deeper sleep. Since the next day was Saturday we could take a break, at least from our assigned duties. Yeah, right. Nothing else to do but go into the station.
Before I woke him up to go to bed, I needed to do some processing, Ellison-style.
He had done good tonight. I had heard Simon tell him that and he was right. It's just that Sandburg wasn't ready to hear it. But I could acknowledge it inside my head. Had he shot the perp it would have been in self-defense. Thank God it hadn't come to that. My hands clenched into fists as I contemplated a different outcome. Not the one where Sandburg had shot the guy. The one where he himself had been shot, left to bleed in the alley, no partner to back him up. That's the thought that kept me on the couch, his warm feet against my leg a reminder that the worse case scenario hadn't developed.
I also had to acknowledge the fact that deep down I was howling in frustration, an emotion that beat at me on so many levels. It was bad enough that the gentlest man I knew had to choose between life and death because of the badge he wore, although strangely enough our inability to find a comfortable place for Blair to be on the whole gun thing strengthened our relationship. But beyond that was the essential wrongness of Sandburg being in a situation like tonight without me at his side. That had to change. That was where the knife cut deepest, where I knew I was most vulnerable.
I shifted a little, letting Sandburg's feet flop on top of my thigh as he stretched out. As I contemplated the hole in the toe of his white sock I realized I felt no fear for my life, no nervousness in greeting the coming day, just impatience to get past this and back to protecting the city I served.
Something was nagging at the back of my head, something about the case. Soon had gone after Dodgson, then ostensibly Simon through his family. The guy sitting in the jail infirmary was an unknown as well; we had nothing on him, no identification, no mug shot. I knew the night shift was running his prints through the I.N.S. database and we figured that was our best shot. The plan was to haul his ass into interrogation as soon as we dug up another interpreter; from there we would just have to see. Trying to question somebody through the services of someone else was going to be a bitch.
When Sandburg began to snore I figured it was time to head to bed. When I wiggled his feet he roused enough to make it into the bathroom and on to his room. I tidied up the kitchen then followed the same routine, listening as his breathing again lengthened into sleep. I was close behind him, praying even as sleep overtook me that my daytime fears wouldn't invade my dreams.
At six a.m. I was awakened by the shift change in the surveillance below us. I could hear the conversation between Rodriguez, the detective parked overnight in the stairwell, and his relief as they exchanged quiet good mornings. Coming off the street were the sounds of two powerful squad car engines; the rumble suddenly doubled as the night shift started their engines and took off, then silence fell as the day shift settled in. Downstairs Blair slept through it all.
I lay there for a while, still tired but unable to return to sleep. The same nagging feeling that had bugged me last night was still there, some thread I needed to pull that would unravel this case. I tossed my arms above my head and stretched, idly wondering if that cabin belonging to Simon's friends would be available some weekend in October. I think Sandburg and I were gonna need it.
I jerked to complete wakefulness when the phone next to my bed starting ringing. Sitting up, I snatched the receiver, hearing Sandburg roll over with a groan, awakened by the noise.
"Ellison."
"Jim, it's Simon. Listen, grab the kid and meet me at the station as soon as you can. Looks like we finally got a break. "
I slapped the bedcovers. "God, Simon, that's great. What?"
"Yakima Forensics came through for us. They've got Soon nailed at the scene of the Dodgson homicide."
An hour later, still munching on half-toasted bagels, our little cop entourage made it to the station. It looked like it was shaping up to be a beautiful Saturday. I vaguely remember plans to change the oil in the Ford, maybe head to the gym afterwards while Sandburg spent some time with Josiah. My detective blood was up, knowing we now had something previously lacking—evidence. That, and the guy Sandburg caught last night was finally on his way to interrogation. I made a note to ask Simon to send Officer Ang a letter of commendation for her file when I found out she had again volunteered to make the drive up from Seattle to help us out.
There was quite a crowd in the conference room. Simon looked beat, having packed off Joan and Daryl at first light before receiving word from Yakima.
"All right, people, settle down. Come on, take a seat—Sandburg, you mind leaving at least one maple bar? Good, ok, listen up. Yakima forensics came up with blood from the skin sample found underneath Chuck Dodgson's thumbnail that matched Soon's blood type, placing him at the scene of the homicide. There were also traces of shredded black leather, possibly from a jacket or gloves worn by the suspect. Soon was wearing a leather jacket when he left Walla Walla State Penitentiary. They already knew from muddy footprints tracked into the kitchen that there were two assailants. Plus, recreating the timeline, they know Chuck Dodgson had scheduled a golf game for that morning and wasn't expected to come home when he did. Rain apparently cancelled the game, which is why he showed up at the house when he did. So while we figure he was the intended victim, the assailants had to kill his wife to avoid leaving a witness. We have to wait on the DNA fingerprinting for definitive proof, but we've got enough to bring him in until the tests are finished."
Simon paused, running a hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes. I looked around at the assembled cops, each one alert and eager to solve this mess. Beside me, Sandburg slouched in his chair, the slightest smudge of maple frosting at the corner of his mouth.
"Who's gonna do the interrogation on the perp Sandburg got last night?" I asked, knowing full well it wasn't going to be me. As everyone turned their attention back to the head of the table where the captain sat I surreptitiously snagged a paper napkin and handed it to Sandburg.
"It'll be Kiley, Jefferson and Ang; you, me and Sandburg will be on the other side of the glass. Hopefully, this bastard will roll on Soon and tell us where he is. Anybody got anything else? Ok, he's probably ready to be processed so let's get to it. Joel, please take Officer Ang down to booking so we can get this show on the road."
The meeting broke up and we headed out to the bullpen. More good news: just as I sat down I got a call from I.N.S.; they had an I.D. on our suspect. Name was Van Teck, twenty-two years old, here very illegally and for the second time to boot. As I jotted down the information Sandburg was placing a call of his own.
"Hey, Josiah, how ya doin'? Yeah? Cool, yeah, I want to see it. Sounds awesome. Hey, listen, though, can't make it today, all right? Yeah, cop stuff, you know, the usual. Nah, nothing bad, just some stuff I gotta take care of." There was a pause; I had already hung up and was logging on to my computer so I heard the tone of the conversation change.
"Oh, man, J, that sucks. She gonna be all right? You call that number I gave you, right? You gonna be ok there today?" Another pause. I could feel Sandburg's anxiety level start to rise. Just what he needed. "You sure? No, listen, it's not your fault, you hear me? He's just messed up, he doesn't know what he's saying. No, I know. Yeah, you can. Look, I am really sorry about today. How about if I call you later and we'll talk, ok? Maybe tonight? Ok, you gonna be ok, right? Call me if you need me. Yeah, bye." He hung up the receiver with a loud click and rested his forehead in his hands.
"Damn it," he said softly.
"What's up with Josiah, Chief?"
Sandburg wrenched open a desk drawer, grabbing a rubber band to tie back his hair. "Man, this bites! Josiah's aunt's boyfriend used her as a punching bag last night. She tossed him out but he's still hanging around, trying to patch things up I guess. Seems he told Josiah if he were out of the way things would be better for his aunt. God, I hate people manipulating kids that way!" The drawer was slammed back into place and Sandburg stood up. I watched him cautiously, trying to read his mood beyond the obvious anger. I was just about to say something when Joel leaned around the bullpen door and let us know Teck's public defender had showed up and the interrogation was ready to start.
Two hours later we watched as Kiley, Jefferson and Ang exited the interrogation room, exhaustion and frustration rolling off them in waves. Teck was an arrogant son of a bitch, giving away nothing. It was a laborious way to do things; every question, every response interpreted. The lawyer, a pasty-faced, middle-aged guy by the name of Frobisher was less than helpful and Teck paid him no attention whatsoever. Smug bastard just sat there, smoking and posturing, his ankle cast resting on the table as he leaned back.
After the first hour I was practically crawling through the glass to get at him. Sandburg kept up a soft commentary in the tone that always kept me in line, if not exactly calm. Simon paced behind us, unlit cigar dangling between clenched teeth.
By the end of hour two it was clear Teck had no intention of cooperating. The Yakima detectives finally slumped in defeat and led out an exhausted Ang. We regrouped in the bullpen, fresh cups of lousy coffee in hand and no place to take the investigation. We were at a standstill, a far cry from where I had expected us to be earlier this morning.
Simon did another quick run-through of everything we had, going over the details of the case in an effort to jog something in someone's brain. We were about to start over when Rhonda handed him a slip of paper. He read it quickly then shared its contents.
"We've got an address on our buddy Teck, at least one that may prove out. It's out of our jurisdiction though; over in Bellingham. I.N.S. is going to send someone over to check it out soon as they get a warrant. They think they'll have one in hand by noon. Looks like we've got some time on our hands." He turned to Ang. "Officer, on behalf of the Cascade police department I want to thank you for all your time. Sorry it turned out to be such a waste."
She wrinkled her nose. "No problem sir, glad I could help. I'd stick around but my kid has a soccer game this afternoon." She shook hands all around then paused as she pulled on her jacket. "Hey, can someone let me know when you catch this bastard? I'd really like to know."
Simon smiled. "I'll call you myself."
Jefferson and Kiley had to catch a flight back to Yakima so once again they began gathering their things. It was a quick trip by air, and, with the dead end we had reached, they wanted to go back home and work the case from that direction for a while.
Pretty soon it was just the three of us. Rhonda took lunch orders and Sandburg and I settled back down out at our desks, waiting to hear from the Immigration officers. I really hate this part of a case, especially now, since I couldn't be out on the streets. Sandburg had shut up after the interrogation, which annoyed me. Sometimes the kid can't win. Talks too much, doesn't talk enough. I knew he was upset about Josiah now, on top of everything else.
I kept an eye on Simon, trying to judge if now was a good time to discuss the Seattle job offer. Looked like he was just pushing paper around his desk so seeing Sandburg on the phone I got up and wandered into the captain's office.
"Captain, you busy?"
He looked up, dark eyes wary. We were all getting tired of the situation; Simon's stress level after the attack on his family was sky-high. Maybe now wasn't a good time but I was already sitting down.
"What is it, detective?" There was a wealth of weariness in that voice. He made a show of gathering files into a neat pile.
I shrugged. "Just wanted to know if you were serious about passing on the Seattle job. It's a great opportunity, Simon, you know that."
He gave up the pretense of working and leaned back, removing his glasses. "Yeah, Jim, I know. More money, more officers, bigger city, bigger assholes committing smarter crimes. The restaurants may be better but that's about it. Besides, where am I gonna find another pair of detectives like you and Sandburg?"
He wasn't smiling.
I didn't quite know how to answer that but was saved when Sandburg knocked on the door and came in. His elevated temperature registered with me immediately, confirmed by the high color flying in his cheeks.
"Um, sorry for interrupting you guys, but if it's ok I gotta go out for a couple hours?" It may have been a request but he already had his jacket on. He looked at me, dark eyes clouded. "Can I borrow the truck?"
I was already reaching into my front pocket for the keys, asking, "What's up? Is it Josiah?"
Sandburg stepped further into the office, nodding unhappily. "Yeah. His aunt just called. He's run away again. I'm pretty sure I know where he's going though. I really need to talk to him, you know?" He caught the keys I tossed to him, gave me a quick nod and started to move off. A thought hit him and he turned around, eyeing the two of us suspiciously.
"You two are gonna stay put, right?" He waggled a finger at us, smiling for the first time that day.
"Hell, yes, Sandburg," retorted Simon, "wouldn't dream of making a move without you."
Sandburg nodded knowingly. "Glad we've got that settled. Be back as soon as I can. Save my lunch, ok?" he turned and headed out.
"Call me!" I yelled after him, getting a quick backhanded wave in return. I turned back to Simon. He looked back with a bland expression, lacing his fingers across his middle and waiting.
I made a little gesture with my hand, a kind of 'just between you and me' thing. "So, you're sure, right? I don't have to get you drunk to get the truth out of you, do I?"
"Ellison, I could drink you under the table any night of the week. As soon as this case is over I'm gonna give you the privilege of trying, too. But, as to the Seattle job, yes, I am sure and no, I'm not staying because of your abilities or Sandburg's status. Does that about cover it?"
"Damn, captain, guess that's why we call you captain."
"Damn straight, detective." From there conversation moved on; he replayed the earful he got from Joan to which I grunted sympathetically. Rhonda interrupted with lunch and I made sure Sandburg's Caesar salad didn't go to waste. It made a nice appetizer for my cheesesteak sandwich.
I was coming back from the bathroom about half an hour later when Simon came barreling out of his office.
"Jim! Get over here!" He moved over to the fax machine already spitting out what looked like another version of the newspaper photo found at the scene of the Dodgson homicides. "God, Jim, they found more pictures at Teck's apartment. From what the I.N.S. said looks like we've been dealing with this whole thing all wrong." He hovered over the slowly printing fax, practically pulling it out with shaking fingers.
"C'mon, Simon, what?" His agitation was setting off all kinds of alarm bells. He didn't answer, instead pointing to the fax as it finally revealed the reason he was so upset.
The fax machine slowly printed the same picture found at the scene of the Dodgson homicide, except this time the bullseye rested squarely on Simon's chest. Another fax was right behind it. It was like watching film develop, waiting for the next layer of color to identify the subject. Not unexpectedly the second picture had me wearing the same unflattering accessory.
"Look, this isn't unexpected, Simon—"
He cut me off, grabbing my arm in a tight vise but eyes still locked on the next fax.
"Wait, Jim, there's more. There it comes... oh, dammit!" He let go and took a half turn away from the loathsome thing now lying in the basket. My gut began to churn and I reached for the picture with cold fingers, framing it with my hands as if by not actually touching it I wouldn't be contaminated by its contents.
I.N.S. had taken two smaller photographs and copied them so they faxed together on one sheet. First was Daryl, looking like he was crossing a college quad with a backpack hiked high on his shoulder. The other picture was a shot of Sandburg, leaning against the Volvo, light glinting off his sunglasses, hands spread like he was making a point to someone. I followed his line of sight and could just make out an arm that looked like it was beckoning him away. God. My arm.
Daryl had a ragged X drawn across his torso. Sandburg did not.
Something still wasn't registering. Where was the picture of Marie Dodgson?
Joel Taggert, seeing us huddled by the fax, joined us and followed our eyes to the document. "What is it? What do you guys see?"
I dropped the fax into his hands and bolted to the phone on my desk. Simon was grabbing another line, reaching into his coat pocket to pull out a white business card.
I heard Taggert's sharply indrawn breath as I stabbed at the speed dial button for Sandburg's cellphone.
My eyes closed in relief when I heard that voice. "Yeah, Sandburg!"
"Sandburg, gimme your location. I want you back at the station right now, d'you hear me? No stops, right now!" I sounded dictatorial even to my own ears but there was no time to screw around.
"Jim, I can't, man! I been chasing Josiah all over town but he just called me again, he's ready to go back home but I gotta go get him—"
"I said NOW, Blair, goddammit! Don't argue with me!" I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Listen to me. Soon isn't after us, he never was. He's going after family, you got that? Do you hear me?"
"Jeez, Jim, they can hear you in Tacoma! Look, I'm almost to the Metro Bus Station on Fifth now. Josiah's grandmother is meeting me there, I'll get them together and then head right back, ok? You called Steven, and your dad—wait, Steven's outta town, right?"
He didn't get it. I was going to explain it to him when I glanced over at his desk and saw the vest dangling from the back of his chair. "Christ! Sandburg, why aren't you wearing the vest?"
"Because I'm not the one who needs it, remember? Hold on, I gotta turn here—"
Simon and Taggert joined me at my desk. I waited from him to pick up the phone, wrapping and unwrapping the cord around my free hand.
"Ok, back. Listen, I'm pulling into the parking lot now. I swear, I'll find them and come right back, all right? Jim? Hold on, it'll be ok!"
"Look, Sandburg, you goddamn better be careful. You got five minutes then you better have your butt in truck on the way back here and you damn well better call me! Don't leave the phone behind, either!"
"Yeah, ok, I will, I will. Look, I'm there. I'll call you right back. Bye."
Somehow the receiver survived its return to the cradle.
One minute.
We never saw it. It was what had bothered me since last night. Soon had tracked Dodgson all the way to Yakima with the sole intention of killing his wife, not the prosecutor. Dodgson had come home unexpectedly and instead of the agony of finding his wife of forty years dead in their home he had been murdered as well. All because of a rained-out golf game.
Soon and Teck had not immediately harmed Joan, holding her until Daryl got home. They probably knew all along Joan and Simon were divorced, although judging from their history with the prosecutor and his wife that legal paper probably would not have saved her life. But they were no doubt betting on the horror only the death of a child would inflict on a parent to torture Simon until the day he died.
And Sandburg. Jesus Christ, whatever Soon surmised about our relationship he couldn't possibly have devised a more exact way to destroy me.
Three minutes.
I snatched up paperwork, couldn't read it and tossed it aside. Joel started pacing the length of the bullpen. The phone rang in Simon's office; he hung up the phone he was on and moved off to answer it, threading his way through other detectives whose partners were safe. I couldn't swallow; the din of the office began to assault my hearing, the shrilling of phones raking along my spine. Somehow, someway, my senses reacted when my guide was in danger. I was too damn familiar with the routine.
I had finally given up, sitting down to stare at the phone—four minutes—when Simon reemerged from his office. His glasses dangled from one hand while the other rubbed at his temples. Shell-shocked, no other term for it. He caught my gaze and pushed back over to my desk. Joel saw him moving my way and joined him. I stood back up. Something was very, very wrong.
"Jim," Simon began, his voice low and gravelly, "that was Bellingham PD. Ricky Soon's body just washed up on the shore near Chuckanut Drive. Forensics at the scene place preliminary time of death at approximately twelve hours ago. One bullet to the base of the skull."
"Dead, captain? Are they sure it's him?" I was having a hard time wrapping my brain around this one. It seemed impossible that the creator of this nightmare was dead.
"They're sure. Maybe this thing is finally over."
Maybe. Five minutes. The back of my mind acknowledged my imposed deadline while the rest of my brain was working on the new wrinkle. Soon was out of the picture and I had no idea where that put us as far as the investigation.
Six minutes. Time's up.
I redialed Sandburg's cellphone. All the damn thing did was ring.
Ok, no need to panic. Maybe he left it in the truck after all, despite my order not to. Maybe he's deep in discussion with Josiah, helping him out with his family. My eyes met Simon's as he parked next to my desk, leaning against it with his fists. I hung up and dialed again.
Ringing. It was worse than silence.
I slammed the
phone down and reached for my coat.
"I'm heading over to the bus station—"
Simon grabbed my arm. "NO! Jim, just because our main suspect just washed up dead doesn't mean squat! We may still have an unknown out there perfectly capable of taking you down at any time!"
I yanked my arm away, pulling on my jacket and heading for the stairs. There was nothing Simon could say that was going to stop me. He paced me but when we got to the door leading to the stairwell he stepped in front of me, blocking the door handle. I stepped back, beginning to clinically assess how I was going to remove him with as little damage as possible. He tried reason again.
"Jim, listen to me. I'll have dispatch send over a blue and white. I know you're worried but you have to let our people do their job! Look, you don't even have a vehicle!"
"Never stopped me before. Captain, if you don't move from that door—"
"Ellison!" It was Rafe, flying around the bullpen door and frantically waving at me. "You got a call! Some kid, says something happened to Sandburg!"
I don't remember getting back to my desk; the phone was in my hand and I spoke. "Josiah? What's happened, where's Blair?" I couldn't get the words out fast enough.
"Jim?" Oh God, he sounded young. And afraid.
"Yeah, it's ok, it's ok, just tell me what happened. Is Blair ok?" God, say yes.
"I-I don't know, he never saw me, man. Somebody took him away."
No, no, no.
"Who? Who, Josiah, did you seem him?"
"Yeah, I kinda did. I followed them 'cause I didn't know what was going on. Um, Jim, is Blair gonna be ok?"
I shut my eyes. Simon, still at my side, rested a hand on my shoulder.
"Yeah, J, he's gonna be fine. Listen, I'm gonna come get you—" the hand fell away, "and you can tell me everything then. Your grandma there yet?" I looked at Simon, daring him to contradict me.
"Uh huh, she's here but she went to the bathroom. You want us to wait here?"
"Yeah, I'm on my way. Sit tight, ok? If you get scared or something happens, call 911 and have them put you through to me. There should also be a uniformed officer there real soon. If you see him, go up to him and tell him we're on our way and stay there, do you understand me?"
"Yeah, ok. Bye."
I hung up the phone and Simon led the way out of the bullpen. Whatever battle he had to enact in his head to get us out the door was done. In minutes we were in his car and on the way to the bus terminal.
As Simon drove, lights and sirens going, I tried to order my thoughts. Ricky Soon was dead and now my partner was missing. It just didn't add up. The photos were melodramatic, symbolic overkill, in character with the crap that went on during the trial. But if he were dead, along with his vendetta, who had Sandburg?
None of this speculation helped deafen the roar in my ears, the rising tide of panic that filled me as I felt in my gut that my partner was in serious trouble. Then I heard a gasp beside me. I turned to see Simon's hands clenched around the steering wheel. He never took his eyes off as he spoke quietly, his voice tinged with horror.
"Jesus, Jim, I sent Sandburg all over creation these past two days. They could have gotten to him anytime."
I nodded but I couldn't answer. Simon may have needed a kind word from me here but I had none to give him. He was in no way at fault and yet I found myself angry at him, at myself, at Blair. Why didn't we see this coming? Why couldn't we prevent this? I grabbed onto the dash as Simon took the last corner by the bus stop so hard the right side wheels lifted before grabbing pavement again.
The Fifth Street station was in a highly industrialized part of town. It served as a main hub for several city and county transportation systems and was busy day and night. Simon pulled up right in front and we both hit the ground running, looking for Josiah.
The kid and an elderly woman sat on a bench near the automatic front doors. Josiah was talking to a uniform who was taking notes while her partner was interviewing a bus driver. Josiah saw me and broke away, running towards me. When he reached me I fell to one knee.
"Jim! Where's Blair?"
I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "You're gonna help me find him, ok, Josiah? Now tell me what happened. Walk me through it, ok?"
"Ok, just let me tell Grandma what's going on."
It didn't take long. Josiah had been waiting inside the terminal and had seen Sandburg approaching the station doors when a man came up beside him and took him by the arm, pulled him around and led him over to a van parked on the street.
"Ok, J, you're doing good. What do you remember about the van? Color, make, was there a sign on it?"
He scrunched up his face, concentrating. "It was dark green, looked kinda new, I guess. Don't remember anything on it."
Simon spoke up. "Where was it parked, son? Show us exactly where."
"Ok, see, I came out of the station and kinda followed them 'cause Blair was trying to pull his arm away and then he like, stopped." Josiah led us over to the parking spots on the street reserved for the handicapped. He pointed out the first slot.
"Right there. The guy and Blair got in the side door and someone else drove away. Then I called you."
"Good job J, you did the right thing. You remember anything else about the guy?"
"Nah, not really. He was taller than Blair and he, um, he had dark hair. I really only saw him from behind." All of sudden the situation hit the kid and he started to shake. "He gonna be ok, Jim?'
I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, we'll find him. I want you go home with your grandma and stay put. Leave the number with the officer and if you need me, you call me, ok?"
Josiah moved off and Simon and I starting comparing notes. Then the kid was back, tapping at my arm. "What is it, J? You remember something else?"
"Well, just that it was ok for them to park there, you know? They had one of those dangly things hanging from the mirror."
"You mean, like a parking permit?"
"Yeah, yeah, one of those blue ones lets you park in the front of places. My grandma has one too."
Simon and I looked at each other as Josiah scampered off again. I saw understanding begin to grow in his eyes and he grabbed my arm.
"Jim, who's the one person in this mess that would have a disabled parking permit?"
Then it hit me, too. "Jesus, Simon, it's the sister! Angie Soon!"
Simon nodded, rubbing his hands together."Ok, if it is, where would she take him?"
I rubbed at my forehead in frustration. "What has this whole thing been about? Soon and his sister, trying to hurt us, get back at us, right? What would make it good for them, for her? What's gonna fulfil this need she has?" A thought occurred to me and I grabbed Simon's arm. "Wait—she wants us to suffer like she did. God, you think she killed her brother? He's the one truly responsible for her injuries that night." Come on, Ellison, think!
"Look Jim, all I know is that they killed Chuck Dodgson, they tried to kill my son and now they have your partner. What's to say she doesn't just kill him and dump the body?"
I cringed at his bluntness but pushed on. "No, we know Ricky killed Dodgson but he could've killed Daryl and Sandburg last night. Something went wrong, messed up the plan. Now Ricky is dead. If the sister is involved she's playing on our fear, just like during the trial." Suddenly it began coming together in my head. "See, Simon? She may not have been just a victim here. We never nailed him on the harassment during the trial; remember, his trial kept being moved back and she was already out of the hospital when all that crap started."
Simon narrowed his eyes. "You think she was behind all that? She must have had help, an accomplice."
"Exactly! Jesus, Simon, we're still not looking at this right. She's been in it from the beginning. I'll bet she still is, that's why everyone in the I.D. is so scared. The Soon family is still working the business. And remember the pictures? Teck still had them at his apartment and we know he was with Soon last night. Whatever they were planning did not include killing Daryl at the scene. She's orchestrating this, bringing the pieces together. I'll bet she never intended to do anything to the Dodgson's and that's why there's no picture of Marie! Ricky must have improvised!" Suddenly I had a blinding image of that night at the studio eight years ago. "Come on, Simon, we gotta move!" I was already heading out when he grabbed my sleeve.
"Where, Jim?" I heard my own desperation echoed in his voice.
"The studio, Captain. She's gonna do this all over again."
We sprinted back to Simon's car, leaving rubber in the parking lot as Simon pulled out. He hit the lights and sirens again as we headed towards the Soon photography shop. I was on the horn, requesting backup to the address but telling dispatch to make sure no contact was made until we got there and to go in silent.
There was no proof that this was where I would find my partner but it was all we had.
We had to go back to where it all began, this nightmare of a case that wouldn't go away. There was a deadening in the pit of my stomach as I fought the despair that threatened to overcome my senses. That my partner should now be the victim of someone's sick desire for revenge was the cruelest punishment imaginable.
I was gonna punish them right back—God help them if he was hurt. I know how to do vengeance. And if the worst had already happened, I wouldn't be needing a career anyway.
I know this drill. God, I know it too damn well.
I never even saw Josiah, but my one hope was that he had seen me. My abduction had been quick and painless, not counting the bruises on my knees when they impacted on the floor of the van. Oh, and the backhanded pistol-whipping I received when I tried to rush back out of the van and past the guy that had gotten me in the first place. The kick in the ribs after that was just overkill. After all, the guy was holding a gun on me.
I was relieved of my own weapon and my phone by the driver. These two guys were totally non-descript, right out of Bad Guy Central Casting, but definitely not Korean. The few grunts they exchanged were easily identifiable as English. The fact they made no effort to hide there identities from me was chilling.
As the van pulled away, I was tossed to the side and I heard my phone start to ring from where it had been tossed under the passenger seat along with my cuffs. The Glock had ended up in the waistband of the bigger man's pants, a movement that was subliminally grossing me out. The ringing phone had to be Jim, right on time, maybe a minute late. He would know when I didn't answer that I was in trouble, but how he was going to link me to these two was way beyond what I could imagine. Especially since the various parts of my body that had so recently been abused decided to wake up and hurt like hell. The whack on the side of the head was probably the worst, having also caused me to bite my lip. No dates in my near future.
Provided I had a future.
Centrifugal force kept me pretty much rolling into the wheel well; this van seemed to be for industrial use. There was nothing behind the two front seats except some boxes, empty gallon containers and me.
After they had tied me up and grabbed my gear, the two guys in the front seat were pretty silent. I wasn't gagged, just my wrists duct taped behind me about as tight as I could stand and still feel my fingers. As we hit a straight patch I finally maneuvered into a sitting position and braced myself against the well, knees propped up to give me some kind of leverage against the sway.
I looked around for something to help me out, a crow bar or broken razor blade, but the van looked pretty clean. One of the empty boxes jostled along the floor towards me and I was about to kick it away when I saw the logo on the side. "Petersen Photo Paper—Backing the Best for 40 Years."
Photo supplies. Lead suspect in the case worked in a photography studio. Yep, right on schedule. We were going to close this case one way or the other and I was really hoping for the happy ending scenario. No doubt about it, I was scared. I hadn't seen this coming, not by a long shot. Guess I was just leverage again.
The trip seemed fast, too fast for me to figure out a plan. After the van came to a halt the driver went around and pushed the side door open while the other one maneuvered between the two seats, grabbed me and fairly threw me out. It looked like we were in an alley but I only caught a quick glimpse, since the van door opened right onto another set of doors in a brick wall. I was shoved forward into a darkened room, just a few grimy windows set high above the door letting in weak afternoon light.
Behind me the back door was slammed and from what I could hear my two buddies apparently got back in the van and drove off. That was a good sign, I figured. Two fewer problems to worry about.
The sound of the gunshot was still echoing before I registered I wasn't alone. I did a quick inventory and was thankful I was still all there, unperforated. I started to backpedal towards the door but thought better of it when it was suddenly sporting another bullet hole from the next one that whizzed past my ear just a tad too closely. I still couldn't make out anything in the room; the flash from the muzzle died away so fast my eyes could barely register it at all.
"All right, all right! I get it! I'll stay put! That you, Ricky? C'mon, man, we know about you!" I felt stupid, shouting into the darkness but I had nothing else to work with. "Hey, we know you killed the Dodgsons, man! We've got evidence!" I have no idea what I was trying to accomplish by giving up our information on this loony tune but I wasn't just going to go quietly. So not my style.
I waited, holding my position. My eyes had adjusted about as well as they were going to which wasn't much. I could make out some shapes in the room—it looked like a storeroom, boxes piled in corners, stuff like that. Tripods leaned up against the far wall next to stacks of more boxes. Between me and the shooter was a large slab of wood resting on a couple of sawhorses, covered with what looked like blueprints and two-by-fours. To my right was a closed door.
I tried the patented Sandburg offensive again. "Ricky, c'mon here, you gotta know my partner's going to be looking for me! We can move past this, all right?"
A low chuckle finally greeted my ears but man oh man was I surprised. Moving slowly into the center of the room, awkwardly due to the three-pronged cane, was Angie Soon. Her right foot made a dragging sound against the concrete floor as she drew even with the makeshift table.
"Hello, Blair Sandburg."
"Whoa, uh, hi, Angie, right? You wanna let me in on the mystery here? Where's your brother?"
She stepped closer, the little.22 unwavering in her delicate hand. She was still a beautiful woman, even with the burn scars that marred her cheek. She was dressed in a long black leather jacket and tight black pants; her shoes were thick-soled black loafers with one heel obviously higher than the other. Her ebony hair was cut short and stylishly—all in all, she looked like a well-to-do business person, although according to records back at the station the photo studio was barely making rent.
She laughed outright at the mention of her brother. "Ricky? That loser? Oh, if that brother of mine had only listened to me he could be on a beach at Cabo with enough money to sustain even his amusements for a while. But he would not listen. He was going to ruin everything."
Uh oh. "Was, Angie? Was? Where's Ricky now?"
"Gone. Terry took him for a ride and Ricky didn't come back." She said it so dispassionately I began to suspect I really did have another psycho to add to my nightmare collection.
"Ok, help me out here, Angie. I don't understand." I slowly began backing up again, still trying to reach that back door. If she were a true-to-form nutcase she would probably enjoy justifying her actions. Maybe I could get her wrapped up in the story until I could just get that handle turned.
"I don't hate you, you know. It's your partner and Simon Banks that I want to hurt. If Teck and Ricky hadn't screwed up last night you'd have company in the form of Daryl Banks. I understand you were the reason they failed. We weren't ready for you yet."
"Me?" I gulped. "Yeah, well, maybe. Seemed like the right thing to do at the time, anyway." Another step back. "But you didn't kill the Dodgsons, right? We have evidence that Ricky was there."
"Again, Ricky ruined everything. I told him for years that Ellison and Banks were the responsible ones." Her voice began to quiver. "We were doing so well back then, before Ricky got greedy. I told him and told him not to push but he was out of control. He led the cops right to us, those two detectives! God! They had to come that night! They're the ones that are responsible! Responsible for this!" she ended in a shout. The cane suddenly crashed down on the table, sending papers and dust flying. "He has cost me so much!"
The gun came to bear on me again as I made another move towards the door. "Hold it, Blair. Listen to me, I'm going to tell you everything because there isn't much time. I have a flight to catch and soon this place will be just a memory. My stupid brother gambled and he was lousy at it. When he finally had to pay up that dirty little man it was too late—I had already bought the markers. I knew the real money was with the professionals and I was right. We've worked together ever since, keeping this little hellhole in line and making the locals pay for the privilege of living under our protection. I even live in the same crummy house to keep up appearances. But back then? All I wanted was to dance and dancing is expensive, so I helped run the family business. After I bought the markers from that creep I killed him. Then I made a deal with the local boys to run this neighborhood. But that wasn't good enough for Ricky and his dumb little schemes on the side."
"So you what? Set him up?" My eyes were still working the room, seeking out another exit. Angie had come through a darkened doorway that I figured must lead into the main part of the photography studio, which is where I finally realized we had to be.
"No, those two detectives had figured it out. I was leaving to see my uncle and father off on their flight home when Ricky and that idiot friend of his showed up. When I lost everything." Her voice turned quiet, almost contemplative. She shook her head. "The Dodgsons were Ricky's idea and by killing them he made himself the perfect patsy. With him to blame I could take my revenge and no one would ever suspect me. The fact that you arrested Teck—I couldn't care less. I'll be long gone before he ever sees the light of day. And so will you."
That was my cue. Just as I started to move back another step the door behind me flew open. My hopes that it was Jim were dashed when I was seized in two beefy fists and thrust forward to impact with the wooden table. The force bent me over and a strong elbow in my back kept me there.
"Let's go, Angie, get it over with. You wanna do this guy, do him fast." It was a deep voice, one I recognized from the van. With those words I knew I was out of time. I started to struggle but with my hands behind me I had no leverage. My head was slammed back onto the table, pretty much where I had been hit earlier. That brought the stars out early in my world as I fought back the darkness starting to encroach on my sight.
"Undo his hands, Terry." Hey, that sounded encouraging. I heard the quick snick of a blade through the tape and then my hands were free to flop forward next to my head, tape still stuck to both wrists. I tried to push up but was stopped by the oh-so-familiar feel of a gun barrel resting just below my ear. Needless to say, I froze.
"Ok, guys, I just wanna straighten up here, ok? See my arms raised above my head here?" I stood up slowly, delivering what I promised with my arms held high.
Angie and Terry both backed away from me as I turned around until I was now facing the back wall. Terry was armed with a gun of a considerably larger caliber than Angie so I kept a respectful distance.
I kept my focus on the woman, knowing she was the catalyst to this whole mess. "Look, Angie, why pick on me? I'm just a cop's partner, not his family or anything, right?" Keep talking to me, Angie. Buy me some time.
Her pretty face turned ugly in a flash as a snarl marred her features. "Haven't you been listening? I did my goddamn homework! You're closer to Ellison than anyone on this earth and killing you will kill him inside. I wanted both of you, you and that kid, but those two idiots panicked and ruined everything again!" She raised her other hand to support the wrist of her gun hand, dropping the cane as her eyes narrowed in barely contained rage.
I wiggled my upheld hands. "Hey, ok, so it's not going as planned here. Why don't you cut your losses and get out while you can? My backup's gotta be here soon. Get out before it's too late." I raised my eyebrows and ventured a small, conspiratorial smile.
She wasn't buying it. God, Jim, please be on the way.
"Blair," said Angie conversationally, "you need to walk over to that door. It's the old darkroom you see, and I need you in there. I rebuilt as little of this place as possible to keep up appearances, you know? Just enough. Now I need you in that room."
"Uh, ok, sure, Angie." All three of us did this little dance as I backed towards the door, Angie's limp more pronounced without the cane. "Hey, thanks for untying me there. Getting pretty uncomfortable, you know?" I smiled tentatively, beginning to think I was going to get out of this pretty lightly. If they wanted to lock me up and make a run for it I was more than happy to cooperate. Show me the door.
"Had to, Blair. My hands weren't tied that night. No reason yours should be."
"That night? What—" I swallowed. "What night is that?" I was afraid I already knew.
She smiled, exposing perfect, white teeth. "Don't play dumb, Blair. This is very simple. You have to experience exactly what I did the night those two cops ruined my life. If they find you in time, fine. If not, all the better for me. Go on. Move."
"Come on, Angie! They didn't ruin your life! It was Ricky! He's the one who brought the heat down on your operation!" I didn't move, still working for time.
The back door reopened and the other skinnier creep that nabbed me came through. Terry panned the gun his way as he blew through, then quickly brought it back my way when he recognized his buddy.
"Ok," said the new guy, directing his words to Terry, "we're all set. Van's dumped and I got the car waiting at the end of the alley." He paused by the open door, looking ready to shoot back out as soon as he got the word.
Angie extended her gun arm towards me. "Open the door, Blair. It's time."
I turned and grabbed the doorknob, pushing the door into what was nothing more than a small, dirty room. It was dark and smelly and as I stepped in I felt something brush my cheek. I instinctively reached up to swat it away and realized it was a string dangling from a bare light bulb in the center of the ceiling. Wrapping my fingers around it, I started to tug.
"Don't!" Angie was right behind me, leaving the two goons in the larger room. "Up against the wall, Blair. Face first."
Oh God, that was not encouraging. Couldn't she just leave me and get out? Come on lady, cut me a break here.
I did what she said, leaning up against the wall with my arms next to my head. "Ok, I'm there. Go on, Angie, get out of here while you still can." The raw surface of the drywall rubbed against my cheek as I pressed against it, hoping to hear the door shut behind me.
Instead, to my dismay, I heard Angie. She had come up behind me, so close I could feel her warm breath on my cheek. "We're almost done here, Blair. Almost done." Her voice was soothing, like a mother calming a scared child.
Then—agony.
The sound of the gun was deafening but before I could focus on the fact she had shot me point blank the God-awful pain hit me like a freight train. The force of the impact slammed me up against the wall, only to sag down in a heap as my legs gave way beneath me. God, there was so much pain I didn't know where she had hit me. The searing heat reverberated down my calf and up my back in a wave so excruciating it squeezed tears out of my eyes. My hands slid down the wall, tight against my body, trailing through the blood now splattered against the rough surface. I finally came to rest with my right shoulder pressed against the wall, legs splayed out awkwardly. A tiny part of my mind registered the ripping of my nails as my left hand clawed at the drywall, searching to relieve the withering fire that gripped my thigh and made the nausea rise in my throat. I finally looked down to see blood welling out of the hole in my thigh and soaking into my jeans.
Even in the agony of the moment I got it.
"Angie," I panted, barely able to get my mouth to work, "just like you. Just like that night. Oh, God!" My eyes slammed shut again as the leg pulsed a steady stream of white-hot anguish through my nervous system. I turned my head enough to watch her back out and was momentarily chilled at the sight of her. She was smiling slightly, her eyes wide and unfocussed.
"Yes, Blair," she breathed, "just like me."
Then I just didn't care. I was going to bleed to death in this cave if I didn't do something fast. I gritted my teeth as I shifted around until my legs were out in front of me and my back was to the wall. My blood covered fingers moved to my belt, slipping over and over again across the metal as I fumbled at the clasp. Darkness clouded my eyesight and I was swallowing convulsively to keep from throwing up, all my concentration flowing into the numbed fingers dragging the leather through the loops. My breathing resounded harshly in my ears as the end of the belt cleared the last loop. Completely blinded now by terror and pain I felt my way with trembling hands, feeding the belt under my thigh and back around, praying I could thread the end back through the clasp in one shot. Miraculously I did, and with the last ounce of strength I possessed I pulled the leather home with both hands, yanking the loose end tight against my abdomen. The added pressure on the wounds made me cry out again and I doubled over, biting my lip again as I tried to block the screams that threatened to take over.
This was so unreal, being shot in the leg again. Same damn leg, too. There's no remembering this kind of pain, no way to draw on experience like that to get me through. That time, I had Jim and Simon at my side, helping me through the agony and the fear. Now? Oh, God, I was never gonna make it. There was so much blood, so much... no, dammit, Sandburg, stay sharp! I pressed my head against the wall and forced the oxygen as deeply as I could into my lungs, blinking fiercely to clear my vision. I needed to let the tourniquet work, to calm down, to believe I was going to survive this. Jim expected me to survive. I focussed on that, on Jim needing me, trusting me to stay alive until he got there. My head began to clear. I could do this. Come on, Jim, please.
I had lost track of Angie and the other two but as my eyesight began to clear I slowly raised my head to look through the open door. She had turned around and was framed in the doorway. Beyond her I could just make out the other two. To my fevered mind they looked frozen in a tableau; at first I couldn't hear them above the pounding of my heart but as their voices raised I began to make out what they said. Angie's voice reached me first, suddenly high and tinny.
"No! Why! I did what he told me, I always did!"
Terry's deep voice followed. "Sorry, Ange, we can't let you go. You and your brother made a mess of this operation and that sets a bad precedent. Drop the gun and back up."
Angie took a step back into the dark room. I tried to scoot closer into the corner but didn't get very far before the pain swallowed me again. I bent forward and my right hand connected with some rags that I grabbed and started to press into the hole in the top of my thigh.
Angie was sounding desperate. "Then why? Why did he let me do this?" Her hand motioned jerkily my way. I wondered the same thing as I began to understand that Angie was in trouble here.
"Boss understands these things. He wanted you to have this. But business is business and he wants no more loose ends. One more step."
"NO!" Angie cried out and brought the.22 up. Before she had a chance to level it she was thrown back by the impact of the bullet she took in her chest. She hit the wall almost exactly where I had, sliding down and slumping the opposite way. I could hear her gurgling attempts at breathing as she folded in on herself.
Terry filled the doorway and looked at us both impassively. He pulled up the semi-auto and took aim.
This was it. Two more shots and it would be over. I closed my eyes and sent out a silent goodbye to Naomi. My final thoughts turned to Jim, filling me with such desolation I felt I was already dying. Automatically tensing my body for the next explosion of lead, I waited.
Déjà vu is a feeling I've always loathed and this time it was excruciating. Simon drove into the strip mall parking lot and pulled up next to the front of the photography studio. It was located in the middle of the stores, a ramshackle grouping of two-bit businesses struggling in a world of Super Malls. It was flanked on one side by a travel agency and on the other by a vacuum repair shop, both closed on this Saturday afternoon. The studio was also dark, sporting a flyspecked Closed sign in the dusty picture window.
I threw the car door open, leapt out and was immediately assaulted so strongly by the smell of cordite that my eyes began to blur. I sagged against the car for a brief, precious second, then pulled myself together to face Simon, who was just getting out of his side.
"We've got shots fired, captain! I'm going around the back!"
"All right, Jim! Take a uniform with you! I'll cover the front!" He pointed to the squad car parked at the side entrance to the lot, the passenger door open and the officer leaning against it, watching. I in turn pointed at him, waving him over to me and pulling the Sig-Sauer from my holster. I met him at the corner of the building as the driver pulled the squad car past us to meet up with Simon.
I recognized the uniform as Phil Mullin, a 50-something career cop I've worked with before. I grabbed his arm and pulled him with me towards the alley.
"Hey, Phil, ok, listen up. We've got shots fired in the third store here, the photography studio. You know this area?" We were right at the edge of the building; a gold Lexus was pulled up along the far side, unattended.
He nodded. "Yeah. Studio's got a back door, third one down. Far side of the alley opens onto a dead-end street."
"Right, good. They may have my partner in there and I gotta go get him. No idea how many perps inside. You ready?" He jerked his head, pulling his weapon and holding it low against his leg. "Follow me."
Right words, wrong person. There was a clock ticking in my head, one that had started when I'd first smelled the cordite. No time, Ellison, no time. I ruthlessly pushed aside that thought as I hugged wall leading to the back door, Mullin right on my heels.
I didn't need enhanced hearing to make out the sound of the gunshot. I came to a dead stop maybe ten feet away from the studio door, my free hand
flying up to stop Mullin behind me. Then I pushed on.
I ran up to the doorframe and saw a scrawny man just inside and to the right. His eyes were fixed on something inside the room and he had no idea I was there.
"I'm going in!" I whispered fiercely. "Guy on the inside, right of the door. You take him."
"Got your back!" Another jerk of his head.
No time.
I took a deep breath and dove through the door, dismissing the first perp and focussing on the big one standing about ten feet away, filling the doorway to another room.
"Freeze! Cascade Police!" I trained my weapon on the other man who was now holding properly still, gun dangling from his hand. As I reached him I was assaulted by another smell, a coppery one that caused my heart to hammer in my chest.
Blair's blood.
Just behind that was the labored but welcome sound of his breathing. I'm almost there, buddy, hang tight.
I shoved the gun up into the perp's neck, wrenching the semi-automatic from his limp fingers and stuffing it in my waistband. Then I switched my gun to my other hand and shoved him up against the wall just as Simon and the other uniform burst into the room through the door leading from the studio. As soon as I felt they had the two under their control I was holstering my weapon and slamming into the little room that held my partner.
My heart jumped in my throat as I came through the door, subconsciously registering the two bloody smears on the wall but only having eyes for Blair. He was huddled over what could only be Angie Soon, frantically pressing blood-soaked rags to her chest. His right leg was awash in red from knee to waist, awkwardly forced out in front of him. His back was to me.
I reached him and took him in my arms, gently pulling him away from the dying woman. Simon moved into the room behind me as I pulled Blair away, pulling us against the near wall and cradling him in close. Simon spared a hand to clasp my shoulder as he passed me to kneel next to Angie, taking Sandburg's position and pressing the rags to her chest with glove-covered hands.
The world faded away as I looked down at Blair, now stretched out in the limited space. I pulled him closer to my chest, hoping he couldn't hear my heart beating frantically in terror. I forced a smile to my lips as he looked up at me, his crimson-stained hand fumbling to clutch my arm. I let go with my right arm to grasp that hand, drawing it up to my neck, being careful to keep it away from my face. Angie's blood was liberally mixed with Sandburg's and I was already straining blood protocols.
"Hey, Chief, how ya doin'?" I whispered tenderly. "Help is on the way, ok?"
His eyes drifted closed, then opened again. He spoke softly; I didn't need to lean close to hear but I did anyway. "Got all the help I need—" he paused, grimacing as a wave of pain hit him. I tightened my grip on his hand, willing the pain away, into me, anything to stop him from hurting. "—right here." His eyes were locked on mine and he gave me a slight smile before closing them again.
Simon looked over his shoulder at me, still keeping pressure on Angie's wound. His eyes were grave as he looked down at Sandburg.
"We've got EMTs on the way, Jim. How's he doing?"
I finally took a look at the wound in his leg without releasing my grip, seeing the jagged edges of blue jean around the bullet hole in his thigh indicating an exit wound. The bleeding was sluggish, no doubt due to the makeshift tourniquet now lax against his hip. Smart kid. Smart cop, smart partner.
"He's gonna be ok, Simon, thank God. He's gonna be fine." Sandburg reopened his eyes just as I heard the ambulance pull up to the back. We had only a few seconds left before I would be separated from him—he knew it too. The next few minutes were going to be rough for us both as he was attended to by the paramedics while I was shoved to the background.
I rested his hand across his chest and placed my hand on the side of his head, over his ear.
"Ok, Chief, they're here. You're looking real good here, you're gonna be fine. Nothin' but net, you hear me?"
He gave a silent chuckle that quickly turned into a cough. I propped him up a little, brushing my free hand over his head.
"Oh, man, Jim," he said hoarsely. "Sports metaphors? Jesus, now I know I'm gonna be ok!"
I heard the medics coming through the room behind me. I laid him gently down on the cold floor, wishing I could stay close but knowing I couldn't.
I got myself out of the way and moved over to Simon, who had also been replaced by the paramedics beginning to work feverishly on Angie. I jerked my chin over to her, silently asking the question. Simon shook his head wearily.
"I don't know, Jim, looks pretty bad to me. She's still breathing, though, that's a good sign." He looked around the dank little room, taking in the bare bulb someone had finally turned on and the blood smears on the drywall.
"Jesus, Jim. Eight years ago I pulled that girl out of this place, thinking how lucky she was to still be alive. Now, she's a murderer God knows how many times over and Sandburg—" he paused to pull off the blood covered gloves and toss them into the pile of medical waste growing on the floor "—Sandburg's got another hole in his leg."
We shared a glance then looked away, neither of us willing to have our eyes betray the depth of feeling surrounding that fact. I turned and watched Sandburg being lifted into a stretcher and found to my surprise that he was still conscious, eyes open and searching. As they pulled him into the larger room I muscled my way past the crowd now filling the space and paced alongside him, my hand resting lightly on his arm.
I blinked when we came out into the late afternoon sunshine, noticing it was making Sandburg squint too. Since the paramedics had halted the gurney momentarily, I maneuvered around until I blocked the brightness pouring down on my partner. His eyes opened wider and seeing me, he smiled.
I smiled back then leaned close again as he began to speak.
"Angie?"
I shook my head. "I don't know, they're still working on her. You just relax, now, ok? I'm right behind you, hell, I'll probably beat you to the hospital."
That smile widened. "The way you drive? No doubt about it man, no doubt."
The paramedics stepped up to drop the stretcher down and I moved back, keeping eye contact with Sandburg while they loaded him up. Just before they closed the doors to transport him I heard him whisper to me.
"No breaking land-speed records without me, Ellison."
The doors shut and the ambulance moved off. "No way, partner," I whispered. "I'll always wait for you."
It was too cold to be lakeside this time of year so I set us up on the deck. The Adirondack chair worked perfectly; I could stuff as many pillows and blankets around Sandburg as needed, making sure he was both warm and supported. Plus I was close to the kitchen, within easy reach of meds, juice, tea, whatever. Sandburg wanted to be closer to the water but knew the toll it would take on his leg wasn't worth it, especially after the grueling therapy I had put him through already.
Stronger every day.
That's what I told him because it was the truth. I had no reason to lie and besides Sandburg could see through any lie I put out there. He was working so hard at getting back to full strength I sometimes wondered if he were doing his exercises after I fell asleep at night. I wouldn't put it past him, he was just that focussed.
Tonight was our last night alone. Daryl and Simon were joining us after Daryl finished with his Friday classes tomorrow. I was a little depressed about that, mainly because I just liked having Sandburg to myself. There's that territorial thing again. With him hurting it just felt natural that I was the only one he needed. Strange, if you think about it. We live and work together and yet need a lot of time for just the two of us, preferably away from the loft. At home it was too easy to let things slide, to give in to the routine of life.
Sandburg had said practically the same thing at dinner.
"Jim, man, this soup is awesome. Who knew? Hey, what time are Simon and Daryl gonna be here tomorrow?"
"Whaddya mean, 'who knew'? Of course it's good. I don't know, probably around six. Why?"
He shrugged and took a huge bite of bread. I waited while he chewed and swallowed, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. "I meant, who knew you knew how to use a food processor, you cave man." He smiled and shrugged again. "No real reason, I guess. This has just been, you know, nice." He waved his hand between us, sending droplets of soup from the spoon he still grasped all over the table. "Oops." He grinned unapologetically.
I rolled my eyes and mopped up with my napkin. "Maybe your table manners will improve when they arrive, Chief."
He nodded. "Maybe. I know I'm not great company these days. The pain meds seem to zap my vocabulary. Makes me sound like you."
My eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"
"You know, monosyllables, grunts, the typical Ellison speech pattern."
I grunted. "Whatever. Finish your soup."
Later I helped him out to the deck and got him settled in the chair. I set up the radio so we could listen to the World Series.
It was too cold for mosquitoes and almost too cold for us but I knew Sandburg wanted to stay out as long as I would let him. It was already deep twilight when we finished dinner and in an effort not to attract any other flying things, I cut all the lights. Soon, it was just baseball, Sandburg and me.
I gave us almost an hour. El Duque was mowing down Braves left and right but the color commentary from the chair next to mine had finally ceased. I was just getting up when Blair spoke.
"Hey, I'm sorry about the grunt comment." I turned to find his eyes fixed on me. "I really don't think of you that way."
I nodded. "I know. S'ok." So maybe I was monosyllabic.
He closed his eyes and smiled, leaning back and shifting to get more comfortable. When I saw him wince I knew it was time to move inside.
Just as I reached him he spoke again, eyes still closed. "Besides, most of the time you don't need to speak. Jim Ellison, master of non-verbal communication."
That brought me up short. With narrowed eyes I gazed down at my partner, fully illuminated to sentinel sight. Beneath the dark lashes I could make out the darker circles of pain. There was a tight set to his mouth as he squirmed again, trying to get comfortable. I knew I needed to get him up soon.
But this communication thing was bugging me. So instead of helping him up, I knelt beside him, grabbing the bill of my Jags cap and turning it around until the band was centered in my forehead. I leaned in close and rested both arms on his chair. He still wasn't aware I was right next to him so I laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Shh," I whispered when he jerked a little at my touch, eyes flying open. "Close your eyes."
He did, a frown wrinkling his smooth forehead. I pulled the topmost blanket up closer around his chin.
Then I started talking, leaning in close to his ear. Softly, hardly above a whisper, I told him everything. Slowly the frown disappeared, to be followed by a silent tear that I caught with the back of my fingers. On and on I spoke, revealing myself in every way, holding nothing back. What our partnership meant to me, how scared I was when I realized he was the target again. How I mourned the loss of his academic life and that I would always feel ashamed for my role in the destruction of his reputation. My pride in his accomplishment as a police officer. The absolute trust I had in him. That I loved him.
I stopped, running out of words at last. Resting my chin on my forearms I studied his profile, waiting.
Finally his tear-drenched eyes opened and looked at me, right through to my soul.
"Jesus, Jim," he whispered, "what was that?" His voice was rough, trembling a little.
I shrugged. "You needed to know. I may not be great at this verbal stuff but I do have my moments."
He smiled and this close, with tears still shining in his eyes, it was blinding. He leaned towards me until his forehead rested against mine. "Oh, man, you certainly do. Thank you."
"You bet. You ready to go inside?" I stood up and stretched, turned my cap back on straight, then leaned down to pull off the blankets. After clearing away the pillows I held out my arms, palms up. Sandburg reached up and grasped my forearms. I slowly pulled him forward until he balanced on his good leg. I started to turn him so we could hobble our way into the cabin but instead found his arms around my waist, curls tucked under my chin. I wrapped my arms around him in turn, indulging us both in our need to be close. Sometimes non-verbal communication was still the only way to go.
Later that night, as Sandburg slept, I went back out on the deck. Clouds had obscured the stars and the temperature was dropping like a rock. This high in the mountains that meant snow, even in mid-October. I could taste it in the back of my throat.
I stared up at the night sky, wondering at the peace inside me. That old saying about confession being good for the soul was true for me tonight. Who knew that I would also receive strength and comfort knowing Blair had no misconceptions about his place in my life or what I expect of our future together.
The cold October night began to seep into my bones but nothing could touch the warmth I carried inside. With one last glance at the lake, I turned and went back into the cabin, knowing I was a lucky, lucky man.
who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
The scam described in this story is not imagined; working in the financial industry I have seen this particularly disgusting form of manipulation at work. I based my tale on an actual event that happened a few years ago where an immigrant stole money from fellow countrymen upon their arrival here in Seattle. The perpetrator of this fraud was arrested but skipped bail. He was last seen in Texas.
Acknowledgements:
As always, this story would not be what it is without the unfailing support and enthusiasm given to me by my beta and site-host, Aithine. She is unfailing in her help, tact (!) and love. I am forever grateful and humbled by the fact that she has extended both her talent and her friendship to this veritable stranger that knocked on her door one day, asking if she would take a look at a little something I wrote. If this all slipped into never-never land tomorrow I would still be the richer for knowing her.
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