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"That's him, coming out of the third building on the right."
Blair Sandburg shifted, trying to follow his partner's line of sight, not that his vision would allow the same view. He gave up and flattened his back against the dumpster that shielded them. "I don't doubt you, but where are the kids?"
"We'll have to find out." Jim motioned him to follow, gliding along into the shadows. Blair knew better than to interrupt his concentration. His answers could wait while Jim trailed their only lead.
Two blocks later, Jim broke the silence. "Convenience store. Damn. If he's noticed us, he might go out the back. We could lose him."
"We can't chance it. He doesn't know me, Jim. I wasn't there when you questioned him."
"Forget it, Sandburg. You are not going in there."
Jim's face was hidden in the gloom, but the voice carried the message. The last detective on Geoff Kelly's trail had been found in a recycling bin, covered by cardboard with his throat slit ear to ear. The case had been bounced from Vice to Major Crime the same day, and to their great misfortune, into their laps.
"We're missing two junior high kids, Jim."
"We think he has them. The witness didn't get a license number. He's not the only one in the city who drives a dark colored SUV."
"We can't take the chance. If Kelly runs true to form, they'll be dead by morning. I'm going in."
"No. I'll take the back, cut him off."
"And what if he comes out the front?" Blair blocked his path, stripped off the oversized fatigue coat he'd been wearing and dumped it in Jim's arm. He shed the wool hat, gloves, a sweatshirt and slipped his glasses on. He was left with flannel over a Henley and jeans. "I still know how to impersonate a college kid. I'll check it out. He'll never know."
"Damn you, Chief - stubborn as ever. No heroics. Just get in and get out."
Blair flashed him a grin, certain Jim could see it, and trotted down the street.
The tiny store had seen better days. A single strand of colored lights drooped across the entrance, matching a cutout Rudolf dangling precariously from a single strand of tape. The glass cases were covered with handprints. A dose of Windex would have been an act of mercy, Blair thought grimly. A bored clerk sat scrunched behind the counter, reading a tabloid and smoking a cigarette. "Hey, man," Blair said, forcing a bright tone into his voice. "You have any eggnog mix?"
The clerk made no eye contact from behind his newspaper and snorted. "What, you can't look? Dairy case is in the back."
"Right. Merry Christmas, man." Blair wound through the narrow isles, following trails worn into the pattern of the grimy linoleum by countless feet. No Geoff Kelly. He moved carefully along the back of the store, trying his best to look like a clueless shopper and not a detective on the hunt. Shit, maybe Kelly really did know he was being followed and had already split.
He turned a corner in haste, nearly smacking into the man he was looking for. Kelly glared at him as he shoved him with a shoulder. "Watch were you're going, dumbass." He had a case of beer and two boxes of frozen pizza under his arm.
Blair held up a hand. "Take it easy man; just looking for the eggnog. Those pizza's any good?"
Kelly threw him a withering look and pushed by. He stopped at the chips, rearranging his load as he picked up a few bags. Blair doubled back and headed for the door. The moment he spotted Kelly heading for the cashier, he ducked out.
Jim practically hauled him back into the shadows. "Are you crazy? You were supposed to find him, not have a conversation. Why don't you ever listen!"
"Couldn't be helped," Blair muttered, pulling the heavy coat back on. He tucked his hair under the stocking cap. Without the glasses, Kelly would have to get a really good look to recognize him as the customer he'd collided with. "He's paying, and I'll bet he comes out the front. He's buying kid food, Jim. He's got those boys stashed somewhere, and he's bringing back the party."
"Not if we can help it," Jim said grimly. "This ends tonight."
&&&&
The hallway was dark. One pale, barely functioning bulb burned above the rickety stairwell. Everything else was either broken or burned out. They were pressed into a narrow alcove, which was not much cover, but the place seemed deserted. "What do you hear, Jim?" Blair whispered.
"The boys are there. Both of them. Doesn't sound like the first six-pack of beer; they're having a pretty good time."
"That bastard. What, they're thirteen? Well, this party's over. Let's go."
Jim pulled him back, landing him on his butt. "No."
"No? What do you mean 'no'? We've got him in the act."
"Got him on what?" Jim hissed. "Say we go in there now. Kelly tells the judge he just gave them a ride after school, that they came willingly. What can we hold him for? Supplying alcohol to a minor? He won't even spend the night in jail."
"But we know he's been killing these kids," Blair protested.
"We know it, but not with evidence that will stand up in court. No DNA. No eyewitnesses. We go in there now, and we're talking misdemeanor, if that. We can't even justify a search. He'll walk. Probably leave Cascade and start all over somewhere else. Is that what you want?"
"What do you want to do? Wait till he hauls the bodies out?"
Jim didn't answer. He stared at his partner for a few seconds, then looked away. Blair shifted uneasily. He didn't like the way this conversation was going. He nudged Jim, who still refused to look at him.
"You want to wait," Blair said. "Wait until he gears up." He was appalled. "We can't let him. They're just stupid kids who don't have enough sense to know any better!"
Jim stared at the floor, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "Not boy scout enough for you, Sandburg? You pick. Ride in on the white horse and rescue those two right now, or make sure there aren't any more victims ever. Your call." Blair recoiled.
Jim lowered his head and hunched his shoulders. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that, Chief. I won't let it go too far. You have my word. I just don't see any other way."
Blair nodded, even though it made him sick to agree.
&&&&
It took hours. They waited, practically within arms reach, while Kelly plied his would-be victims with beer, food and one porno flick after another. Jim followed the seduction word by sordid word, occasionally whispering to Blair. It was agonizing, waiting for the moment when Geoff Kelly would incriminate himself beyond all shadow of doubt. All Blair could do was lend silent support as Jim fought down wave after wave of rage.
When they made their move, Kelly was slicing delicately across the chest of one of his unconscious "guests". Jim flung the man backwards, sending the knife flying across the room. Kelly tried to roll away from Jim, and ended up with a knee between his shoulder blades, his face ground into the grubby shag carpeting. Blair interceded, cutting the struggle off before Jim could lose it completely. In his fury, Jim could easily have brought Kelly's life to a quiet, painful and well-deserved end. In another life, Blair thought ruefully. They kept it balanced on the side of duty, law and order by the barest of margins.
Back at Major Crime, Blair looked wearily at the clock. Nine o'clock. They'd been on duty nearly sixteen hours. Geoff Kelly, a bit worse for wear, was languishing in a cell in the basement. All things considered, the creep was lucky Jim hadn't taken his head off instead of snapping on the cuffs. The boys were at Cascade General with their parents with no serious damage. If there was a God in heaven, maybe both of them would clue in and make brighter choices with their lives. Lives they were lucky to have.
They were confident at least this one sex offender turned murderer would spend all of his future Christmas seasons in a cell. An elated DA's office would be making a statement to the press. Simon and Jim were down in Vice, closing out the paperwork. By mutual agreement, Blair was excused. Whenever he crossed paths with the detectives in Vice, they invariably took a cheap verbal shot. Blair could take that in stride, but the idiots never seemed to figure out it was safer not to speak within the excellent hearing of one Detective Ellison. It finally irritated Jim to the point of settling things up close and personal, consequences and procedure be damned. Rather than have Jim on suspension, it was just easier and more expedient to keep Detective Sandburg out of the line of fire.
He was just shutting down the computer when Serena slammed through the doors of Major Crime. The usually reserved forensics supervisor looked flushed and upset.
"Blair! You're still here. Where's Jim?"
"He's in Vice with Captain Banks. What's up?"
"I couldn't wait to tell you. Guess what we found during the search? Tapes. That slimy, disgusting bastard taped himself with those boys. He even indexed them."
"No," Blair said. "You're sure? How many?"
"Ten tapes so far. They're still ripping the place apart." Tears sparkled in Serena's eyes. "He killed every one of those poor kids and recorded it." She held up the tapes in her hand. "I've looked at two of these, and have a positive ID on the victims. They'll all be the same. I just know it."
"Then we've got him." Blair came around the desk and wrapped his arms around her. "Are you okay, Serena?"
"Not really, but at least we can make everything stick. No one deserves death row more than this animal." She brushed the tears from her cheeks. "So much for the cool professional. Sorry."
"Don't apologize. I feel the same way, and I'm not big on the death penalty. You want me to take them the news?"
"No. I'll go. Somehow, I think it helps."
"I understand. This has been a bad one. We didn't catch him soon enough, but at least he won't hurt another kid. Thanks for bringing it up here right away."
Blair watched her leave, and checked the clock again. Once Serena got to Vice, his partner would be at least another hour. Now that this sick, disgusting case was wrapped up, he could concentrate on another task. Jim was great for giving advice about checking your emotions at the door, but certain cases pushed all the wrong buttons. Blair was certain he knew when Geoff Kelly had crossed the line from just another serial killer to very, very personal.
It had been the afternoon they'd gotten the case. Vice was furious, but the mayor had insisted that Jim be put on the case. The case files were thin and the death photos of dead boys from age eleven to seventeen were brutal. Each boy had been sexually assaulted, and their bodies mutilated after death. They were reviewing each file in turn when Jim abruptly left the room without a word. Blair had opened the file he'd abandoned and swallowed hard. The victim had been the spitting image of a young Stephen Ellison.
Jim had never said anything, not out loud, anyway. Blair just knew. The silent vigils on the balcony in the wee hours of the morning, the days of brooding concentration were clear enough to someone versed in Jim-speak. They'd kept the investigation legal, but Jim pushed the envelope on this one. He'd gotten his man, but at a cost.
Enough was enough. Jim needed to reenter a world where some optimism and hope still survived, see something clean and good. Blair grabbed the keys to the truck and headed for the elevator.
&&&&
He was running a bit late. Jim was already waiting outside the station when Blair returned to pick him up. "Sandburg! What the hell is that vegetation in the back of my truck?"
Blair smiled sweetly, motioning Jim into the passenger seat. He nudged one of several white bags across the seat in Jim's direction. "There's a Cascade Burger in there with your name on it. Double bacon, double cheese."
Jim nearly ripped the top off the bag. After two giant mouthfuls, he mumbled, "Answer my question."
"Eat, Jim. It will do you good."
"If there's pitch all over the back of my truck, you'll be cleaning it with a toothbrush. Quit avoiding the obvious and answer me."
"Obvious? I don't know, Jim. Even a good Jewish boy like me recognizes a Christmas tree and the makings for a couple of wreaths."
"Sandburg, I am not putting up some stupid tree!
"Jim, there are fries and another burger in that bag. Now quit barking. You are going to replenish that calorie deprived body of yours and do what you're told for a change." Jim fell silent for a few minutes, chewing resentfully, but mercifully silent. When Blair took a left where they would normally turn right, the grousing started again.
"Sandburg, are you out of your mind? I want to go home."
"We are going home. We're just making a little detour first."
"Detour, my ass. I should know better than to let you drive." Blair kept driving. "All right, Chief. You've had your fun. Now turn around and take us home."
"No."
"No? What do you mean, 'No'?"
"No. N. O. I have the keys, and I am in charge. Now at the risk of being rude, shut up."
It took a short five minutes to reach their destination. Jim's reaction was immediate. "Oh, my God! No way! No way am I going in there. You can't make me."
Blair locked his side of the truck and pulled the passenger door open. "Jim, you sound like a spoiled five year old child."
"It's the middle of the night!"
"Close, but aren't we lucky that Wal-Mart is open twenty-four hours a day right now?"
"These places are madhouses before Christmas. You can't be serious."
"This isn't exactly the peak shopping hours, Jim. Now come on, keep walking. Don't make me drag you."
Jim stormed after him. "I thought you were morally opposed to coming here. Whatever happened to exploitation of the workers and all that?"
"Temporarily suspended, since we have a very important, time critical mission to accomplish. Like you said, for all its faults, it's the one place you can buy almost anything in the middle of the night."
"I'll give you five minutes to convince me. After that, I'm gone."
"Yeah, yeah. Get a cart, Jim." Blair waited patiently, then pulled a folded sheet of newspaper out of his pocket.
Jim was eyeing him suspiciously, looking for all the world like he was ready to make a run for it. Blair looked up. "Okay, Jim, pick three numbers from one to two hundred and sixty-seven."
"One to what? Can we go home then?" he added hopefully.
"Three numbers. Don't be dense."
"This better be good. Sixty-eight, seventy-eight and ninety-eight."
Blair rolled his eyes. "Gee, how imaginative." He consulted the newspaper. "Number sixty-eight. Fred J - wants winter gloves, a stocking hat, and a sweatshirt, size large in black or navy blue. Head over that way."
"Chief, what the hell are you talking about?" Blair hijacked the cart and got them moving. Jim finally trailed after him. After all, he still had the truck keys. "What is that thing you're reading, Sandburg?" He made a grab for the newspaper, and Blair pulled it just out of his reach.
"Christmas shopping, Jim. The Cascade Herald publishes this every year. You and I are buying gifts for nursing home residents who don't have family. Tomorrow morning is the last day to drop them off." Blair stopped abruptly. With Jim, it was sometimes best to cut to the chase and leave the explanations for later. "We don't have time to mess around, so get with it. What do you think for the gloves, leather or knit?" There was a lengthy pause as Jim seemed to struggle with the whole concept. "Jimmm, leather or knit? Pay attention. We're on a tight timeline here." He pointed at the display, and grinned to himself as Jim sorted through the gloves on display. Jim was so goal oriented, once they got started the hard part was over. By the time Jim added the sweat shirt to the gloves and hat, Blair was up and running.
"Seventy-eight, Mary F and ninety-eight, Andy J both want sugar-free hard candy. Over there." He took off, knowing Jim would follow.
"Let me see that." Jim took the newspaper list from Blair, frowning as he took over the cart and pushed it towards the candy. "What good is candy without sugar? It's Christmas. Why can't the old farts have a little fun? Hell, let's go for a bag of Snickers, at least."
Blair almost laughed out loud. The trap had been sprung. "Don't mess with the program, Jim. We need results, not commentary. Besides, they could be diabetics. What do you think? Mints or lemon?"
"Uh, both. Hey, butterscotch. I like butterscotch."
"We'll get those, too. Now, we need microwave popcorn."
It worked better than Blair had hoped. An hour later, the cart was overflowing with gifts, wrapping paper, tape and package tags. With each purchase a little bit of the ugliness dropped away from Jim's soul, displaced by major, critical decisions. Should the white socks be cotton or a blend? Which aloe vera lotion for Alice? Jim drew the line at buying a bra, 40-C, for Debra. No matter. She wanted purple stretch pants, and she was getting the brightest, purplest stretch pants in North America. At intervals, Blair slipped in a few items for the "vegetation" as Jim put it. No digging through the boxes in the basement to find ornaments. Jim's ornaments had been purchased by Carolyn. Blair was going for fun, not formal and the goofier the better.
They finally headed home. Sometime after midnight, Jim was wrapping a small mountain of packages with sentinel precision. Blair's job was to trim the tree and fill out the tags simultaneously. The tree fell over twice before they finally got the stand right. Jim just laughed and added more schnapps to their mugs of hot chocolate. They had a lively debate about whether to add beer to the gifts for the men. By three, the gifts were boxed for delivery, the tree was decorated - sort of - and Jim had dozed off on the couch. Blair sighed in relief, shut off all the lights except for the tree. It had been more than a week since Jim had slept through the night, tormented with the need to bring the guilty to justice.
Blair gently covered Jim with a blanket, careful not to wake him. He settled into his own chair, content to relax in the glow and stay with Jim rather than head to his own bed. Even the truest warrior needed rest and someone to watch over them. Tomorrow they'd deliver the packages, go for the biggest cholesterol-filled breakfast they could find and then get some real rest. They could pick up life again.
The twinkling lights were mesmerizing, comforting. He'd missed Hanukkah this year while they were chasing Geoff Kelly to ground. A little Christmas cheer would have to do. Content, he hummed the melody to Moaz Tzur. He'd learned the old Hanukkah song as a child, fascinated by the rhythm and mystery of the Yiddish. It had been years before he'd learned and come to appreciate the translation.
Rock of Ages, let our song, Praise Thy saving power
Thou amidst the raging foes, Wast our sheltering tower
Furious they assailed us, But Thine arm availed us
And thy word broke their sword, When our own strength failed us.
And thy word broke their sword, When our own strength failed us.
At least for this night, their enemies' sword was broken. Blair closed his eyes and yielded to sleep.