Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

A Blast from the Past

'There was someone else. A woman.'

From his expression, Ironside thought his sergeant was about to get up and run all the way back to the Kingston Building. Mark noticed as well, and put a restraining hand on Ed's shoulder.

'Hey, man, just take it easy.'

Ed opened his mouth as if he was about to shout back at Mark, so Ironside interrupted.

'Sergeant Brown!'

Eyes wide with confusion, Ed looked back at his boss. It was an expression the Chief had rarely seen on his friend's face. He was taking short, shallow breaths, and whiter now than when he'd first appeared that the door. Ironside gave a small frown. He didn't like the way Ed had suddenly remembered, and the way he'd reacted.

'Chief, she was there. She warned me to run. She might still be under there…'

'And the fire crews will find her,' Ironside said firmly, looking Ed in the eye, willing him to understand.

'But-'

'That's their job, Sergeant Brown. If she's there, they will find her.'

'But-'

'Getting in their way is not going to help.'

That was something he could say with honest conviction. The wheelchair had taught him to make sure he helped when he could help, and to get the hell out of the way when he couldn't.

'But-'

'Ed! No!' Ironside told him, not breaking eye contact. 'You are in no position to help her like that. But you can help by telling me exactly what happened.'

Ed stared back at him, then briefly closed his eyes, breathing in more slowly. Finally, he nodded and slumped back into the chair. Ironside looked carefully at his sergeant, his friend, seeing the faint shadows under his red-tinted eyes, and the crumpled, dusty look to his jacket and shirt.

The difference between the man he'd waved away last night and the man before him now was astonishing. The explosion had stripped away the pretense, letting Ironside see exactly how hard his friend had taken what had happened six months ago. Ed could be guarded about his personal life and his feelings, and who could blame him considering what usually happened to the people he cared about? They were all so used to seeing who they expected to see, the image he projected, the calm, assured officer that was always there to be relied on. That wasn't who Ironside saw this morning.

For a moment, Ironside thought Ed had lost his nerve and he been pushed over that curious line between confidence and despair. There had been times Ironside had seen the true toll that police work took on officers. These were the people who see the very worst of human nature, having to work for a justice that sometimes never came. The brutality of violence, the cruelty of poverty, the insanity of drugs, it was all here in this city, no different from any other city in the world, and most of it ended up being dragged through this very police station. And being on Ironside's staff, Ed Brown was part of a unique group of officers who sometimes had to face nightmares from which there was no escape.

Ironside looked down to his useless legs. Yes, sometimes there was no way back to how life had been before. You could only go onward. But how could he help Ed? And what sort of help would he accept?

'Coffee first,' suggested Mark. Fran looked disapproving, but Ed gave a thin smile and nodded again.

'Take your time, Ed,' said Ironside. 'Try to remember.'

They waited while Ed took another mouthful of coffee. Ironside kept watching his friend, a cold dread growing in his stomach. The random nature of the memories, along with the uncharacteristic confusion and lack of details was a sign that the hospital should have kept him in and checked again for a concussion. He didn't like the stubborn streak that Ed had recently acquired about his health. The Chief knew exactly who he'd gotten that from. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but Ironside was not pleased.

'So tell me what happened,' Ironside repeated. 'As much as you can remember.'

'I responded to the call on the radio, robbery in progress,' Ed said. 'There was no one else close by. It only took me minutes to get to the building.'

'Backup?' asked Ironside.

'I think a couple of cars were on their way, too.' Ironside nodded. That would be easy enough to check later, if he had to.

'What was it like when you arrived?' Ironside asked.

'Some of the lights were on at the front in the foyer,' he said. 'Only the front, at the entrance. I think it was bright, too bright. That was odd. If you were going to go breaking and entering, you don't usually put on the lights.'

Ironside nodded again, encouraging him to speak. Ed closed his eyes, frowning with the effort to remember. It was difficult, that was obvious from his expression.

'I left my car away from the front, I didn't want it too close as I didn't want to be conspicuous. I walked over to the main door.' He paused, opening his eyes, looking at the Chief. 'Wasn't locked, I got right inside. Both sets of double doors opened easily.'

'Not locked?'

'I just walked straight in.'

Ed took a deep breath, his brow furrowed as if he was in pain.

'What did you see first?' prompted Ironside. 'What got your attention?'

'It was so hot,' he said. He said it slowly, the intonation not quite what Ironside would have expected, almost as if Ed was mimicking someone else.

'Hot?'

'Too hot to breathe. And there was an odd smell.'

Ironside raised his eyebrows.

'What kind?'

'Chemical. Like the school lab, and…' Ed hesitated. 'I can't describe it, bitter maybe. It wasn't like anything I recognised.'

Odd, but maybe not too much. The Kingston Building had science labs on some of the higher floors.

'Did you see anything else out of the ordinary?'

Ed closed his eyes once again, pursing his lips. Ironside noticed the concern on Mark's face as they exchanged glances.

'It just looked like a foyer,' Ed continued. 'There was a reception desk. A phone, seats, coffee tables, lots of glass windows and some pictures on the wall. There were some doors off to either side. I think one of them was open. Maybe. I-I'm not sure.'

'The open door? Is that where you saw the woman?'

At the mention of the other person, Ed tensed and opened his eyes.

'No,' Ed shook his head slowly, and Ironside did not like the expression on his face. 'She was further away, somewhere else. It was darker there. I don't know where it was.' Ed's hand went to tug at his collar, as if he was acting out what had happened before. 'I was so hot. The air was too hot to breathe. It looked like heat was coming out of the floor vents, the air shimmered like a mirage. It was so hot.'

'And the woman?'

'She looked scared, panicky. Confused. She was terrified when I first saw her.'

'Where did you see her?'

'It was dark. I think, she ran, I can't remember where she went, everything is blurry.'

Again, Ironside frowned. A mysterious woman who appeared and vanished without explanation. Could Ed have imagined the whole thing? It was unlikely, but considering the state his sergeant was in, he shouldn't dismiss it out of hand.

'What then?' he prompted.

Ed suddenly went still, hardly even breathing, his eyes fixed on the coffee cup. He didn't answer for a few seconds, and Ironside forced himself not to interrupt with more questions. In that moment, Ironside was acutely aware of the silence in the room, accentuated by the muffled noise of the traffic outside. And how everyone was staring at Ed.

'Then?' Ed continued eventually. 'I-I was curled up beside the wall, covered in dust and glass, the front was just gone and there was sky where there should have been a roof. I couldn't believe it. It was just gone.'

'And the explosion?'

Ed shrugged, slowly shaking his head as if he didn't quite believe what he was saying.

'I don't remember. That's all there is.'

In the hush that followed, Ironside felt everyone look at him.

'That is one hell of a story, man,' Mark said at last, breaking the uneasy silence. Fran had paused in her writing and was looking startled.

Ed nodded again.

'I can only remember bits afterward. My car was crushed but I could still call in to base. Then there were people. I don't really know…'

Ironside leaned forward, getting Ed's attention and looking him straight in the eye.

'You don't remember the actual explosion?'

Ed paused to consider the question, then shook his head.

'The girl ran. She had warned me to get out. I tried, I think I felt there was more I had to do. But the air burned. It was so hot.'

The emotional edge to Ed's voice worried Ironside more than the apparent lack of details.

'Take it easy, Ed,' Ironside told him. 'How about we concentrate on the woman. Can you describe her?'

'I remember what she looked like,' Ed murmured. 'Young, student age, slim built, long brown hair. Pretty.'

Beside the Chief, Fran gave a tiny huff of annoyance at the last word, but Ed didn't notice, he was back staring at the coffee.

'Could she be a student?' Ironside asked. 'Someone who studies at the labs? Someone who stays on the campus?'

Ed nodded slowly.

'They keep records. I can start looking there.'

Ironside noted the use of the word "I" without comment.

'And she might be missing from her room or her class today,' added Fran. 'We can ask around.'

This time, Ironside noted the word "we", also without comment. Mark had noticed as well, judging by his expression, and he looked at Ironside anxiously.

'So what's our first move, Chief?' Mark asked. Ironside acknowledged it with a nod, grateful to his aide for helping keep the conversation on track.

Hunching down, he considered the question carefully. The situation had left them little choice. Under other circumstances, Sergeant Brown would have been straight home in a patrol car, or maybe even back to the hospital for another x-ray. But only Ed had seen that girl. Using a police artist would take time, time they maybe didn't have. If there was a question of identifying her, then Ed was the only one who could do that. And while he could stay here, away from the scene of the destruction, it would all take that bit more time. Wasting time was not something they could afford to do. They had their jobs to do, and quickly, the Commissioner had been clear on that point. With Ed as his only witness, and his memory shaken up by the blast, taking him back to the scene might help tease out something a little more specific.

But apart from helping remember details, it might help Ed to get on with the job rather than sit here and brood on past mistakes, real or imagined. While actively working on the case was not an option, Ironside was sure that they would find something to help take Ed's mind off his brush with death. And besides, considering the amount of work Ed had done over the past few months, just expecting him to stop was like expecting the Golden Gate to fall over, or the sun not to rise. At least this was a way they could keep an eye on him without raising too much suspicion.

'Our first stop is the Kingston Building,' he said firmly.

They all looked surprised, especially Ed, who presumably thought he'd have to fight to get taken along.

'All of us?' asked Fran incredulously. 'Chief, you can't think that's a good idea, considering.'

A dark look crossed Ed's face at her words. Perhaps he would have responded, but Ironside didn't give him the chance.

'All of us,' he insisted. 'We all have our jobs to do.'

No one moved. Ironside scowled. He hated it when they did this.

'What are you waiting for?' he demanded. 'Christmas? Well, let's get going.'

The words had the desired effect, and everyone else stood, Fran pushed the pad onto the table, and reached for her jacket and bag. Mark moved to help Ironside push himself up the ramp. Ed trailed along at the back.

There was very little conversation as they walked through the department and down to the basement where the van was parked. Ed said virtually nothing even when addressed directly, just walked along with his hands in his pockets looking at the floor. Mark chatted to the Chief, and Fran stayed close as well, but didn't join in. The tension within the group was palpable and added to Ironside's worry.

They were even less talkative in the van as they drove through the city, and Ironside watched Ed as he stared out of the side window. The sergeant was lost in his own thoughts, barely responding when the Chief tried to start a conversation and, for the moment, Ironside was content to leave it at that. Fran, on the other hand, was staring out of the opposite window, and looked at the Chief from time to time as if about to say something. But each time she had stopped just before any words came out.

This was not the start to her new job that Ironside had hoped for. He knew Fran and Ed hadn't exactly hit it off on their first case. Fran had been upset by what had happened to her father and had lashed out, probably at Ed. The Chief couldn't be sure, as neither of them had said anything. There had been tension in the office for a few days afterward, but in the build up to finalising Fran's transfer it had appeared to fizzle out. He'd hoped they would be able to find some sort of middle ground, and it had been working. Up until now.

Mark drove steadily through the city and, rather than worrying about his staff, Ironside finally turned his attention to the job at hand. He looked at Fran.

'So, Officer Belding,' he said. 'What do you know of the Kingston Building?'

'Other than that fact it's just been blown up?' she replied curtly. Seeing Ironside's impassive response she gave a timid smile. 'Sorry, Chief. I don't know much about it. I saw articles about it in the paper, but I didn't read them, something about extending the campus, new halls and new labs. It was expensive, wasn't it?'

'No one but the owner can tell us just how expensive it was,' replied Ironside, arching his eyebrows. It had been rumoured to be so eye-wateringly expensive that even the most hardened industrialists would have swooned at the total.

'But,' interrupted Mark, as he slowed at some lights, 'Curtis Kingston is a cat with a lot of money. And the place looked expensive.'

'Had you been in it?' Fran asked. Mark nodded.

'We went to the opening, me and the Chief,' he replied. 'That was an evening to remember.'

Fran glanced to the Chief for an explanation.

'It's only been open a few weeks,' he said. 'A few weeks before that it was still an old derelict building ready to be pulled down. Curtis Kingston saved it from the rubble pile and used it to showcase his new building style.'

'New style?' Fran asked. 'What do you mean?'

'Did you ever see it from the outside?'

Fran shrugged.

'Not really, just lots of glass and steel, very bright and shiny. The student halls next door looked ok. And the whole campus itself looked quite nice.'

'Rather than pulling old buildings down, Kingston wanted to use what could be salvaged. To rebuild the front, while refurbishing the inside. Claimed it was the start of a whole new way of recovering old buildings.'

'Wouldn't that be a good thing?' asked Fran. 'Rather than knocking the whole thing down and starting from scratch?'

'That's not the way most of the men in the construction business saw it,' Ironside replied. 'And there were a few rumours. Nothing that could be proved.'

'Rumours?'

'Like how he got it through planning in the first place. How he got the design approved. How he got it insured. How he got the city to finance it. All of these questions don't have a clear answer.'

'And I still don't see why did we need a new building in the first place,' chipped in Mark. 'The university have plenty of labs and halls and space in the city already. I don't see why another whole campus. And why did they need another big glass building?'

'You were at the dinner,' Ironside said. 'You can answer your own question.'

Mark thought for a few moments, while guiding the van through the slow moving traffic.

'Curtis Kingston?' he suggested. 'That is the kind of cat who likes having his name on important things. Especially a groovy, eye-catching building that got everyone's attention.'

'Exactly,' said the Chief.

As Mark spoke, the van turned onto the street with the remains of the Kingston Building at one end.

Once, it had been a modernist fantasy in glass and steel, now it was still eye-catching, but for all the wrong reasons. The entire refurbished front was missing and the original stone facade was exposed to the daylight again. Sticking out were the hollow internal support structures of steel beams and bars, all twisted around each other, a few blocks of concrete still attached. Of the new front, there was little left, only a few chunks of steel or concrete were lying around the car lot at the entrance to the building. There was a dusting of shattered glass over the whole area.

No one spoke as they drove round to the edge of the cordon, to somewhere with enough space to get the wheelchair out of the van.

In the rubble-strewn car park, alone but for the emergency service vehicles, was a crumpled police Ford Galaxie, with a block of concrete embedded in the hood and its roof about a foot too low. The Chief saw his Sergeant give a tiny shiver. Having Ed along was a bad idea, the man had almost died here a few hours ago. Ironside gave an internal sigh. After everything else that had happened to them over the past few months, this could be the final straw.

But they all knew why they were here. They had a job to do. Ed wouldn't leave well alone until he knew that girl was safe, Ironside knew him well enough to predict that. And even more, Ed had been inside the building in the moments before it had been destroyed. He could be an invaluable source of information, if they could jog his memory, and Ironside had trusted that his sergeant could do his job. But now, seeing the building for himself, the Chief had the first gnawing doubts about the wisdom of letting Ed anywhere near this place again. It was not going to be easy, even for someone as focused Ed Brown.

And what about the attack by Richards and Mcarthur? Ironside wondered. There was a file on his desk that showed Ed was on a cliff edge. Wasn't this going to tip him over that edge, and into something even worse? Many times before that moment, Ironside had wished he'd made a different decision that day, six months before. Compassion and worry threaded through Ironside, knowing what Ed had gone through, and was still going through.

Brown was struggling. It was painfully obvious, so much so that the Chief wondered how he could have missed it before. He knew the answer, even if he didn't know how to help. Ed had made a deliberate attempt to hide it from his boss and Ironside hadn't wanted to pry into the other man's private life. Some men had no lasting luck in relationships. Of the three women Ed had ever taken a serious interest in, two were murdered and one had left him, unable to come to terms with his job as a policeman. Was it any wonder that Ed didn't like intrusive questions and only ever pretended to have a personal life?

They sat in silence for a few moments longer as Ironside brooded on his past mistakes. Even Fran, who was the most uncomfortable within the group, waited patiently to see what Ironside would do next.

They had a job to do, that was the bottom line, the line that Ed would instinctively understand. Other considerations would have to wait. Ironside gave an imperceptible shake of his head at the thought. This was one of the few occasions when he wished there was another way.

'Let's get this over with,' he said, moving to open the door.

Mark, Fran, then Ed got out of the van, with the Chief getting out last. There were people from Fire and a few from the police lab milling around the scene, all looking busy. One of the senior Fire officers saw them arrive and came over, nodding in greeting to the Chief.

'What do we have?' demanded Ironside.

The man gave a thin, tired smile, but nevertheless looked happy to see them.

'We've had some luck, Chief,' said the man. 'We've been all over it. Fortunate that this was a night time job, or there could have been hundreds of casualties. As it is, the place is clear.'

'You're sure?' It was Ed who spoke, his voice strained.

'Of course,' the Fire officer replied. Maybe he would have had more to say, but one look at Ed made him stop and the two men glared at each other in an uneasily stand-off. The Fire officer looked away first.

'My boss has just given us the nod,' he said. 'There's no one else.'

Ed's expression mirrored Ironside's own confusion, and again the Chief wondered if Ed had imagined the girl, he had sounded so certain earlier. Best to presume he was right and act accordingly.

'And you are sure there's no one?' he insisted.

'Very,' the Fire officer answered, beginning to sound annoyed. 'You can ask my boss if you want, but he'll just say the same thing. No casualties.'

There was no need to antagonise the Fire Service by suggesting they couldn't do their job, even if that was what Ed was probably thinking. Instead, the Chief gave a nod of thanks. As the man returned to his work, Ed turned to frown at the Chief.

'That's good news, remember, Sergeant,' Ironside said.

'I suppose,' replied Ed slowly. 'But in that case…?'

'We need to find her,' Ironside told them. 'And quickly. Fran, will you…'

'Chief?' Mark pointed to a man waving at them from over beside the edge of the building. Ironside recognised Frank from the police lab and gave him a wave back. As they watched, Frank zigzagged his way over to the Chief with the casual ease of a man who knew his way around a bomb site.

'Morning, Frank,' said Ironside with a smile as they shook hands. 'How does it feel to finally get out of the lab and into the fresh air?'

'I'm not in the mood for kidding around,' Frank said, his face echoing his sentiment. He looked at Ed and there were a few moments of tense silence. 'It's good to see you, Sergeant. When I heard I could hardly believe it.' Frank turned to the Chief. 'And now I've seen the place for myself I believe it even less.'

'This is Officer Belding,' said Ironside before Frank could make Ed feel even more awkward. 'Today is her first official day on my team.'

In spite of everything, Fran gave a beaming smile at the introduction.

'You picked a good day to start,' Frank said as they shook hands. 'Because you're going to need all the help you can get with this one, Chief.'

'That bad?'

'You'd better believe it.'

Fran shifted into the Chief's line of sight.

'I'm going to talk to the students in the halls,' she said, flicking a pointed look in Ed's direction. 'I'll be back as soon as I can.'

Ironside nodded, and watched her walk over to the low building close by, obviously a student hall by the way there were windows packed with young, gawking onlookers. He gestured at where she was heading towards.

'Those halls not been cleared?' Ironside asked in surprise.

Frank shrugged.

'Fire was happy enough to keep them in there and not poking around out here,' he said. 'Only the windows on the other side of the building blew out, the ones opposite the front. You know, offices, and a few shops. All the student halls were untouched.'

Ironside frowned, and Frank nodded approvingly at his confusion.

'Exactly,' he said. 'But that's not the worst of it.' Frank waved them all forward, leading them towards the broken building. 'I knew you were on your way, so I arranged for some of my boys to set up a route. You'll want to see this for yourself.'

'I will?' asked the Chief.

'You will. Because you are not going to believe it otherwise.'

Mark looked quizzically at him. Ed didn't react at all, and Ironside couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not.

The parking lot was covered in sparkling shards of glass, and the Chief could see the characteristic shatter patterns of architectural glass not normal plate. At least there hadn't been sharp-edged, lethal daggers of the stuff flying around lacerating people.

Frank noticed where Ironside was looking and nodded once more.

'It's a good job too. If they'd used the plate glass this could have been a bloodbath. As it is, most of it ended up as sand and dust not chunks. Smaller than I would have expected, but it should all be easy enough to clear.'

Closer to the building, there were a few stray blocks of concrete and steel, but Frank's team had cleared enough of a path for Ironside to get along safely, with Mark guiding him if it became tricky.

As they approached the entrance, Ironside looked up at Ed, and was unsettled by the expression of dismay and dread on his Sergeant's face. The foyer that Ironside remembered was gone. No desks or chairs or tables were there, not even a hint that anything like that had ever been there. The back wall was still standing, as it was the old building front made of good old-fashioned city stone, but the wooden doors that once were there had mostly vanished. In the centre was a hallway, cut out of the old building, leading to the stairwell that led to the upper halls and the conference rooms.

Slightly along that hall, a few feet away from the vaporised foyer and just against the right hand wall, there was an Ed Brown-sized shape, mostly clear of the all-pervading dust. On the wall above was a picture, still hanging, albeit now slightly squint. Further back, the rest of the hallway also looked untouched, except for a layer of dust. There was nothing to show that this wasn't the inside of a normal building, one that still had its front. It was Ironside's turn to stare.

'Two feet closer to the entrance, and you would have been in the market for a new Sergeant,' said Frank.

Mark was shaking his head.

'Man, this is heavy,' he murmured. 'How is this possible?'

'That,' said Frank, 'is a very interesting question.'

'I hope you have a very interesting answer,' replied the Chief.

'An interesting answer to what?' said a new voice from close by. At the question, Ironside noticed Frank's posture change as he crossed his arms. The Chief looked round to see Curtis Kingston himself striding over the debris towards them, accompanied by a younger woman. Kingston was the taller of the two, not quite the same height as Mark, lean like a greyhound, clean-shaven and strikingly handsome, one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. His companion was an intense-looking woman a few years younger than Kingston, in her early thirties. She had light brown hair tied back in a bun and was wearing a tan coloured jumper and brown trousers. Her gaze constantly flicked between Ed, Kingston and the Chief.

With Mark's help, Ironside manoeuvred himself round to greet them.

'Chief Ironside, it's a pleasure to see you here,' Kingston said, giving the Chief's hand a hearty shake.

Ironside nodded.

'Mr Kingston. This is Mark Sanger, my aide, and Sergeant Brown.'

After a moment of impolite staring, Kingston offered his hand to Ed, who took it with little enthusiasm.

'So you really are still among the living,' he said. 'When my assistant told me someone had walked away from the blast, I didn't believe her.'

Ironside looked to the young lady beside Kingston, making the reasonable assumption that this was the assistant in question. The young lady stared coldly back, unamused. Kingston laughed.

'Oh, no, this is Dr Wright. She doesn't assist anyone.'

The Chief held out his hand.

'Pleased to meet you,' he said. The woman paused for a few moments, then took his hand with a firm, steady grip. She didn't smile or look in any way pleased to meet him. She didn't say anything.

'So why are you here, Chief Ironside?' Kingston asked. 'It looks pretty clear that this was an issue with the gas.'

'Gas?' said the Chief, noting the way Frank reacted to the word.

'Well what else would it be?' Kingston said. He waved a hand dismissively at Frank. 'You are always looking for more than just the obvious explanation, but it looks like gas to me. I can't have time wasted on a long investigation. I have to get this place fixed up, it's costing me a fortune, with or without its front wall. But thank God there wasn't more damage inside. And that there weren't any other people inside, either. Oh, that doesn't bear thinking about.'

Ironside sensed Ed shift beside him at the words, but fortunately didn't say anything.

'My sergeant needs to have a look at the student records,' Ironside told Kingston. 'The students who would use this building, people who are familiar with it. If you could just point him in the right direction?'

'Oh, no, we can't have it like that,' Kingston said. 'Julia, would you mind taking him across there?'

Julia Wright didn't give any indication if she minded or not, but focused her cool, steady gaze on Ed. Then, without speaking she whirled around and walked off. At a nod from Ironside, Ed followed her, having to jog a few steps to catch up.

'And just what is he looking for in those student files?' asked Kingston in a polite tone. 'What do they have to do with my building?'

As far as Ironside could tell, there was no obvious reason not to be straight with the man, but there was a residual discomfort that Ironside couldn't shake about the situation. Ed had seen a mysterious woman, possibly a student, in the building before it was destroyed, but no one else had mentioned anything and there was no other sign of her. So either the girl had got out and was hiding somewhere or… Ironside paused. Or Ed could have imagined the whole thing. There was no need to share either possibility with Curtis Kingston, someone who was obviously more concerned with money than with any human tragedy. Besides, he didn't like Curtis Kingston and was in no mood to play nice.

'We have a number of lines of enquiry,' Ironside said with his best policeman smile.

'Lines of enquiry? Like?'

Ironside held the man's gaze for a moment.

'Like the ones I'm not going to discuss with you.'

'What the devil do you mean?' Kingston demanded. 'Not going to discuss with me? It's my damn building that's scattered over the sidewalk! I have a right to know what's going on.'

'And we have a right to investigate. Without interruption,' Ironside pointed out.

'There is nothing to investigate,' insisted Kingston. 'I have got to get my building rebuilt as soon as I can. I can't waste even more time.'

The way he was talking, he sounded like the building had been left in that state for years, not just a few hours.

Kingston crossed his arms, frowning at the Chief.

'It's a good job I have a backup plan,' he said coldly. 'The whole place would have been shut down by your inconsiderate investigating. Do you know how much money that would cost me?'

'Inconsiderate investigating?' repeated Ironside incredulously. 'It's more like an inconsiderate explosion, so don't go blaming us for doing our jobs, Mr Kingston. We have a duty to the public.'

'And I have a duty to my stockholders,' he said, matching the Chief's tone. 'So I need to get my building back standing up.'

Frank spoke suddenly, interrupting what could have been more arguing.

'I'm not going to be signed off on this one for weeks,' he said.

Kingston gave Frank a very ugly look.

'I don't think I need your permission, whatever kind of expert you think you are,' he said. 'I'm sure the Chief will see things my way and I can get my men here within hours to start the reconstruction.'

'I'm the kind of expert you need to get your insurance claim started,' growled Frank.

'Oh, do you think so?' said Kingston. The tone was friendly but the look on his face was the opposite.

'Mr Kingston,' Ironside said loudly. 'Whatever happened, we need to start with a few questions.'

Kingston's expression changed to one of resignation, and he shrugged, but the Chief wasn't fooled. It was clear what Mr Kingston's priorities were.

'What can you tell me about this morning?' he asked, deliberately using an open question.

'I don't know what you expect me to say, Chief Ironside,' Kingston replied tightly. 'I got a call at six this morning from my secretary to say that the front of my building was missing. I thought she was joking.'

'And it was an unexpected call?'

'What is that supposed to mean?'

'Did you have security issues? Disgruntled employees that might have wanted to get back at you. Reasons why the building might have been a target?' The Chief watched with grim fascination as his words caused increasing outrage.

'Just what are you implying Chief Ironside?' Kingston demanded. 'A target? A target! There is nothing wrong in, or with my department. This campus runs like clockwork.'

'But the front face of your new building is missing,' Ironside pointed out. 'So something went wrong.'

'That must be an accident. It must have been the gas main. I can't imagine anything else.'

Then maybe you have a very limited imagination, was what Ironside was thinking. But he let the comment pass without challenging it. There was something he didn't like about this whole sorry excuse for a conversation. Instead he said:

'I'm sure you understand, but we have to investigate. We need to explore every angle.'

'Every angle?'

'And we would appreciate your help.'

Kingston looked thoughtfully at the remains of the building around him.

'I suppose someone might have made a mistake with the storage,' he said, tapping his chin with a finger.

Frank, who had been fuming quietly as the conversation had progressed, finally gave a loud snort. Kingston glared at him. Ironside held up his hand, distracting both of them just long enough to stall any impending disagreement.

'I'm sure we all have better things to do than argue,' he said calmly. To underline his point, he held Kingston in his steady gaze, waiting to see what the man would do next.

Kingston looked from one man to the other, his lips tightly pressed together.

'Well,' he said eventually. 'We'll just see.'

With that, Kingston turned and marched off, even managing to raise a thin trail of dust as he left.

Mark gave a low whistle as soon as he was out of earshot.

'Now there goes a man who needs some lessons in the art of persuasion.' he said. 'Or a man used to getting his own way all the time.'

'You're not kidding,' said Frank hotly. 'He was here before I got here, and has been getting under my feet all day. I'm sick of him. And if he thinks I'm going to do anything but a thorough, by-the-book job, then he's got another damn think coming. Him and his backup plan and his duty to his shareholders. He can shove his backup plan "back up" somewher-'

'You know,' interrupted Mark, grinning at the Chief, 'for a man whose building is scattered over the sidewalk, he doesn't seem to be that concerned about the cause. More worried about the costs, maybe?'

Ironside smiled up at Mark.

'Exactly.'

'He should be worried about both,' said Frank, who still sounded cross.

'Which worries you the most?' Ironside asked, keen to hear more about what Frank had to say. But the other man just frowned.

'I can't answer that,' said Frank 'And I don't have any proof. Yet.'

'Yet?'

'I need to get back into it,' said Frank, shaking his head. 'There's a lot to do. A lot to sort through.'

He took a half step away but the Chief wasn't going to let him away without some hint of what had happened.

'I need something, Frank,' said Ironside. 'What's the verdict so far?'

'You know I can't say much for certain.'

Ironside hunched forward in his chair. He didn't like the way Frank was looking round at the bits of building nearby, and not answering the question.

'But there is something on your mind,' he insisted.

'Quick summary so far, then I have to go. And this isn't on the record, it's just first impression, right?'

'Right.'

'And maybe when I get more data, I'll have to change my conclusions, right?'

'Right.'

'Well, it wasn't gas,' said Frank in a derisive tone. 'Even an amateur could tell that. The debris pattern is wrong. It's quite close I'll give you that, but not close enough. Not enough boom!'

'If not a gas main then what was it?'

'I can't say much else, not yet,' Frank said. 'I'm still on the preliminaries. Except buildings do not normally explode like this if someone makes a mistake with storage.' There was an uncomfortable pause. 'Buildings do not normally explode like this, period.'

'Meaning?'

Frank looked the Chief in the eye.

'Meaning there is something very wrong here.'

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Pressure Wave

No one gave Ed a second look as he followed Dr Wright across the car lot and along the pathway towards the entrance of the administration building. The sun was bright, and apart from the throng of people who were gawking at the mess, there were others going about their business as usual. He felt more aware than ever of the normality of life going on around him, people walking and talking, snippets of half-heard conversation as they passed, the smell of dust and grass. The sunlight felt warm on his face and the breeze was light and ruffled his hair as he walked.

Under different circumstances, he would have tried to talk to his companion, not just because he was gregarious in nature, but he was still working and there were always questions that needed answering and insights to be gleaned. However, it was obvious from the woman's posture that she had nothing to say to him, and after a difficult morning of disagreements and nearly being killed, he couldn't quite be bothered making the effort at small talk just to be rebuffed.

The campus itself wasn't large, so it didn't take long to get to their destination. Once inside the main offices, Ed showed his badge to the receptionist and was politely directed through to the back of the building. Dr Wright guided him to a small records room tucked away in one corner.

He looked around and gave a quiet sigh. Maybe this wasn't the great idea he'd thought it was when he'd first suggested it. The room might have felt small, but that was most likely because it was filled with filing cabinets, drawers, shelves and boxes, all containing information about students, past and present who had been part of the university over the previous year.

After a cursory glance at the index, he could see there was no clear order to how this information had been stored. Maybe no one had thought that it would be needed at any point in the future, and so had just left it for someone else to sort out. It might have held information about current students, but he would need to spend days wading through paperwork to get to it, and that was something he dreaded. He felt an uneasy impatience for this kind of methodical police work today. His recent brush with the eternal notwithstanding, his instincts were telling him that he had to do something quickly to find the mystery girl; that she was important and she needed his help.

Again, Ed looked around the room, feeling overcome with something that verged on hopelessness. How was he supposed to help anyone from in here? He moved to the table and sat down on the seat next to it. There was a quiet noise from the door that made him jerk round in surprise. Dr Wright was still standing there, her arms crossed, watching what he was doing. He looked back at her, and she returned his gaze expectantly.

Ed looked away first. He wasn't going to let her distract him from his work. He started with the index and began to look through the newest batch of student records as methodically as he could. But after ten minutes of silent and fruitless searching, Ed was getting increasingly annoyed. He could feel Dr Wright staring at him, watching his every movement with intense interest.

It was as if she was deliberately trying to get a reaction out of him. He struggled on for longer than he would have normally, not wanting to give in. But after another five minutes he'd had enough and he looked up, meeting her gaze again. She didn't look away, or appear in any way embarrassed that he'd caught her staring.

'Am I keeping you from something?' Ed asked, as politely as he could manage in the circumstances. Standing around staring at him like that had gone beyond uncomfortable, and was verging on infuriating.

'No.' Her accent was from the other coast, not New York but somewhere close by. It was difficult to tell with just one word.

'Really?'

'Yes.'

Ed shifted uneasily at the unexpected response, disliking the way she was looking at him. He enjoyed the attention of the opposite sex, he enjoyed cultivating it and admiring them in return. But under the watchful eye of this particular woman he felt more like a lab rat than a person.

As if the exchange had been an invitation to stay, she moved from her position by the door to sit on the table next to him. He stopped himself checking her out, wondering how to get her to leave without making an issue of it. She gave a deliberate blink and looked at him, not making eye contact but searching his face as if for more information. Then she reached out, catching his chin with the tips of her warm fingers, tilting his head to the side. A thumb ran over the side of his cheek. Ed was so caught off-guard by the intimacy of the gesture that for a few moments he didn't respond.

'And you walked away?' she murmured.

A flash of hot anger passed through Ed, making him jerked his head back, though he regretted the sudden movement when a wave of dizziness made the room lurch like he was on a boat. This was not a conversation he wanted to have. He wanted to get on with his job, not be oo'ed and ah'ed over by someone he had taken a firm dislike to. He didn't reply.

'I'm right,' she said, leaning forward. 'And you just got up and walked out.'

'Yes,' he replied shortly, forcing the word out in the forlorn hope she would leave him alone.

'I see,' she murmured, continuing to stare as if examining a specimen in a test tube. 'Lucky you weren't any closer.'

Ed drew a slow breath, trying to keep his cool, more uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned than with being stared at. Yes, he'd had a very lucky escape, but he was growing increasingly tired of people reminding him of that fact at every turn. And in surviving he had also failed, the girl he'd seen had vanished and he felt like he was getting nowhere, just suffocating under old paperwork and everyone else's curiosity.

'And just why are you looking through the personal files of the students?' she asked in a casual tone. Ed narrowed his eyes. He might have been nearly blown up earlier, but he wasn't going to fall for that one today.

'Just being thorough,' he said warily.

'No other reason?'

'I do what my boss tells me.'

'I see,' she said. It was the first time she had looked anything but coolly detached. 'And your boss is?'

Ed fixed his most sober and serious expression on his face.

'Chief Ironside.'

'Oh…' That was not the answer she'd wanted, and once again, Ed offered up thanks for Ironside's mighty reputation, though why that would have been needed for a member of the university staff, he didn't know. She gave a thin smile that was as unconvincing as her act, then shifted slightly closer. 'I just wondered, because if you were looking for someone in particular, for some reason, maybe I could help.'

It was an odd thing to say, in the circumstances. His instincts might have been a little dulled by the difficulties of the day; no sleep, nearly dying, the painkillers from the hospital and the deeply unpleasant conversation with the Chief, but that didn't mean he couldn't see where this was leading. She wanted information.

'The Chief just likes everything checked,' he said firmly, looking back at her and mirroring her expression. For a moment she said nothing, looking at him in that same cold, aloof way, then she flicked her hand in his vague direction and stood up, heading straight out of the door without even a goodbye. The door closed behind her with a firm thud and he heard the sound of her footsteps fade away.

Finally alone, Ed gave a loud sigh of relief, gently shaking his head. What was her problem? He glanced to the papers in front of him, the files and the record cards, then he sat back in the seat and looked out of the window.

This wasn't working. This was not the way to find the missing girl. With no pictures and only scant personal details in the files, he would just end up having to talk to every person on campus. There had to be a better way. He shook his head again, more slowly than before. Fran had the right idea in just asking around and seeing who wasn't where they should have been. He'd known it at the time when she'd suggested it, but hadn't felt able to agree without making Ironside wonder about his competence. What was more, Fran was in a much better position to do the asking than he was. He felt too much like a slogging policeman today, needing straight answers to direct questions, and not in the mood to be patient or clever.

The Chief had let him do what he'd wanted, but now he should go back and admit he'd been wrong. He looked back to his notes. This was a waste of time. His head still hurt, he was starting to ache all over. What am I doing here? he wondered.

Ed rubbed his hand over his eyes, feeling a wave of unexpected tiredness. There was something else as well, he still felt slightly sick, the back of his nose hurt as if he'd inhaled vinegar and his eyes still stung from the dust. It was hard to think straight at the moment, the images were all jumbled and indistinct, he despaired of ever figuring it all out. Even the conversation with the Chief earlier on was beginning to lose its clarity in his memory. A few details stood out, but most of it was just a collection of random fragments. What was going on?

He stared out of the window, letting his mind drift, not dwelling on any one thought in particular, enjoying the peace away from the noise of the city and the people. He had no idea how long he spent like that, just gazing out to the buildings and the blue sky. But eventually, with a heavy sigh, Ed forced himself to get up off the chair and weaved his way slowly through the corridors, heading to the exit.

Once outside, the mild nausea lessened, but the sunlight made his eyes hurt more. The aches through his body were becoming more pronounced, and he suspected the painkillers he'd been given at the hospital were wearing off. He gave a gentle stretch, feeling his shoulders and back ache. He knew that a rest would help, and could feel exhaustion creeping up on him. But the drive inside wouldn't let him stop, not yet, not when there were so many unanswered questions, not least what had actually happened this morning and what had happened to that girl.

He tried to think back, to focus on the details, but once again it was all blurry and infuriatingly just out of reach. He tried to imagine the look of the rooms, the look of the hallways, but instead of memories all he could think of were the broken remains that he'd seen earlier.

Resigned, Ed started toward the van. He could see the Chief in his wheelchair just beside the back door, Mark next to him, and Fran as well. It was obvious they were having an animated discussion, one that stopped as soon as they noticed him. He walked towards the group, round the rubble and past his squashed car.

'Are you alright, man?' Mark asked as he approached. Ed bit back a cynical reply. He was getting so sick of being asked that today. Why couldn't they find something else to ask?

'Any success?' Mark continued. Ed shook him head, faintly annoyed that the Chief hadn't asked him, but then, at least the Chief hadn't made him admit his mistake.

'Just fifteen minutes feeling like a lab rat,' he said. 'As if Dr Wright had nothing better to do than stare at me.'

Mark grinned and looked like he was about to make some sort of smart comment, so Ed carried on talking, changing the subject.

'What about you?' he asked, forcing himself to sound calm. The expressions on their faces did not inspire any sort of calm.

'We're not sure,' said the Chief, though from the way he glanced at Mark, and the way Mark looked back, Ed was sure that statement was a barefaced lie.

'But Fran's found a couple of leads,' said Ironside quickly. 'So you could look into those. Ask about and see who you can find.'

That was exactly what he didn't feel like doing at the moment, asking insightful questions, or having to speak to people at all. This was a terrible idea. But what was he going to say to the Chief? Ironside would have had him back to the office, or worse back home, in a heartbeat if he thought Ed couldn't do the job. Home was the last place Ed wanted to be just now. Well, except for back in the hospital.

'Sure,' he said stiffly.

'Go with Fran and make…'

'With Fran?' he hissed, suddenly and irrationally annoyed at the thought. 'I don't need help to ask questions!'

'That's a nice way to treat your colleague,' Fran retorted, glaring at Ed.

'Sergeant Brown!' snapped Ironside in a tone that would countenance no argument. 'You are only here with my goodwill.'

Ed pursed his lips and looked to the ground, knowing that the Chief was right and ashamed of the uncharacteristic outburst. How could he explain that he didn't feel like talking to anyone at the moment, let alone try and be nice to someone who acted as if she hated his guts. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. Of course she was annoyed, he'd have reacted in exactly the same way if someone had just been that rude to him. He was being unfair, and it was a stupid and petty thing to say. What was wrong with him today?

'Yes, Chief,' he said. He looked at Fran, forcing himself to make eye contact with her. 'I'm sorry, Fran. I didn't mean that. It was uncalled for.'

She didn't reply, just crossed her arms, and Ed felt worse.

'In any case,' said the Chief, 'you will do as I say, Sergeant Brown.'

He looked at Fran.

'Follow up on those leads,' he said. 'Quickly as you can.'

'Yes, Chief,' she said.

Ed noticed the look Fran gave the Chief as she walked off. Once again he sped up to walk next to her as they headed to the student buildings nearby. He mentally shook his head. What was it about Fran that managed to keep bringing out the worst in him? He didn't like the little voice in the back of his mind that answered the question: She isn't Eve.

Ed was silent as they knocked on doors and spoke to people, and the time passed in something of a haze. He let Fran do almost all of the talking as most of his energy was used up in keeping his temper under control and ignoring the increasingly frequent amazed looks and the whispers that followed him everywhere. He was barely even listening as they worked, no one had anything to add, either they didn't know or they weren't going to say. It crossed Ed's mind that him glowering at everyone was probably not the most helpful way of getting information, but at least Fran didn't complain about it.

By the time they reached the third-to-last name on the list, Ed had lost all hope of making any progress. They were in the second building, one of the older parts of the campus, with narrow corridors and high ceilings. The students had tried to brighten up the place with paintings and pictures, but there was an old, oppressive feeling that seeped up out of the floorboards. He and Fran spent a number of minutes walking along the maze of hallways, until they finally reached the correct room. Fran knocked and the door was opened by a pretty, blonde-haired young woman, who let them inside once she'd seen Fran's badge.

Ed slowly looked around the room, not listening as Fran asked who she was and started to explain why they were there, the same thing she had repeated at each previous room. A picture on one of the tables attracted Ed's attention, and he went over to look at it, picking it up. He stared, finding it difficult to breathe.

It was her. It was the woman. They'd found her.

The name on Fran's list was Katie Marshall. The missing girl had a name. The full and terrible understanding hit him so hard he almost fell. He knew what the others thought. He had wondered as well; he could have imagined the whole thing and that this was a pointless search and a waste of time, and that he would have to go back to his boss and admit he must have been wrong, that it was just his imagination.

The picture in his hand proved him right. It had really happened. He had seen her in the doomed Kingston Building minutes, or even seconds, before the front had blown off. Where was she? Was she still alive? What had gone wrong? A different emotion swept through him. What if she was dead? Another woman he'd failed to help? It was going to happen all over again…

'Ed?' Fran asked, her question breaking into his thoughts 'Ed, are you ok?'

'That's her,' he said, his voice unexpectedly weak. 'I'm certain.'

'What do you want with Katie,' the roommate asked, looking between them. 'What's happened? What's she done this time?'

'We just want to make sure she'd alright,' Fran replied lightly. 'We're checking everyone who wasn't signed in. Has she been back here?'

The roommate shook her head.

'I don't see much of her, she's often, um, with friends, out…' The roommate frowned. 'She's out most of the time. She likes being out.'

Fran glanced at Ed.

'Can you give us any names? Who she might be with?' asked Fran. The roommate shook her head firmly, crossing her arms in that self-righteous, argumentative, teenage way.

'Can I take this?' Ed asked indicating the photograph.

'Well, yeah, I suppose,' the roommate said warily. 'Look, is Katie alright? You'd tell me if she was in trouble again, wouldn't you?'

'We don't know,' said Fran, smiling reassuringly at the girl. 'We just need to find her.'

The girl still looked anxious, she was staring at Ed. Then an expression of understand spread over her face.

'I thought they'd made it up,' she said, staring with wide eyes. 'It's all over the campus that someone was in there. And someone survived.' Her voice took on a hushed tone. 'That was you?'

It took most of Ed's self-control not to make a snide comment. He forced himself to nod, not trusting himself to speak.

'Wild!' she said, looking him up and down. 'Just wild!'

That was too much.

'Look,' Ed snapped. 'We need to find this girl, so instead of staring at me, it would be helpful if you can tell us who she might be with.'

'Gee, sorry!' she replied, her cheeks flushing. 'But I don't know. You could ask Tim, Timothy Montgomery. He's her ex, but he might know. He should be in the labs at the Kingston, but I guess he'll be at home. He's in the next block. Room 238.'

Ed didn't wait for anything else. He started out of the door, leaving Fran to deal with the rest. She caught up with him on the stairs down, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop.

'Look,' Fran said angrily. 'Just what have I done wrong this time?'

'Nothing,' he replied. It was the truth. It wasn't Fran's fault he was finding it difficult. He looked at her, acutely aware of the difference between her and Eve. He didn't mean to compare them, it wasn't fair to expect her to be someone she wasn't. But just at this moment in time he missed Eve's experience, and her steady friendship. He could have talked to Eve. They could have had a conversation not an argument.

Fran crossed her arms.

'I know what you're thinking,' she said, not trying to hide her anger and frustration. 'You don't have to make it so obvious. You don't have to make me feel so bad.' Ed frowned as she continued. 'I know I'm new. I know I'm not as good as she was.' Her expression changed, and the next words were bitter. 'But you don't have to stick the knife in.'

Whatever Ed was going to say vanished in the flood of emotions that passed through him when she said those words. He recoiled from her as if she'd slapped him, and he felt the blood draining from his face. After everything today, he didn't need to be reminded of that.

For Fran's part, she must have realised she'd said something wrong. Ed didn't hear what she tried to say as he fought down the surge of unwanted memories. A moment later his cold glare stopped the sentence half-said. They stared at each other in silence.

'We have a job to do,' he managed to say at last, the emotions making his voice sound thick and heavy. 'So let's do it.'

Forcing himself forward, he marched off in the direction of the other block. Fran followed, but they didn't walk together, for which Ed was very grateful. He found it hard to focus now, acutely aware of the tiredness and the growing headache. He just wanted this over with.

A few minutes later they were at the correct door and Ed knocked, more loudly than he'd meant to.

The door was yanked open by a dark-haired, disdainful young man, who stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips. Even before the man opened his mouth Ed knew the interview was not going to go well.

'You don't have to break it down,' he said, his southern drawl dripping with sarcasm. Ed had a fleeting urge to be sarcastic back, and he swallowed the unhelpful comment before he ruined the conversation before it had even started. He was here for a reason. And he had to get this over with quickly before anything else went wrong, or he lost control again.

'Timothy Montgomery?' he asked. The boy nodded warily.

'It's because of the explosion, isn't it?' Tim asked immediately he saw Ed's badge. 'I knew it! I knew it! I knew they were up to something.' He gave Ed a nasty glare. 'You're not getting any names out of me, I know my rights, pig!'

Ed was used to the insult, but today it rankled more than usual. He took a step forward, towering over the young man by at least six inches.

'We're looking for Katie Marshall,' Fran said quickly. 'Do you know…?'

'You tried her room?' Tim replied, a little sneer on his face. 'Just a suggestion.'

Again, Ed forced down the sudden urge to lash out.

'Her roommate said to ask you,' he said.

Tim gave an unpleasant, sneering laugh.

'Why am I not surprised? Poppy is just that sort of girl, getting me to do the dirty deed.'

'What dirty deed?' demanded Ed. 'What do you mean?'

'Don't play games with me, pig. You want me to grass on them.'

A snarl suddenly appeared on Ed's face, and he couldn't stop the rush of anger as it swept through his chest.

'Call me that again and I'll put you through the wall,' he growled.

'Ed!'

Shaking, he turned to glare at Fran and then back at Tim, who was looking at him, his mouth slightly open. As they looked at each other, Tim took a small step back.

'Man, far out! What is with you?' Tim asked in a loud, strained voice.

'We're looking for Katie Marshall,' Fran said, her own anger clear in her voice.

Ed pulled the photograph of the missing girl out of his pocket and shoved it towards the other man.

'I saw this girl in the Kingston Building this morning,' he said, his voice deliberately harsh. 'And I have to find her.'

Tim looked blankly at him, then and expression of amazement and confusion spread slowly over his face.

'You? This morning? That means you were there too?'

Ed felt his anger rising once more. The novelty had worn off and it was getting harder to respond politely every time it was mentioned.

'So?'

'Surviving somethi-' Tim started to say quietly.

Ed's breath caught in his chest, an overwhelming rush of adrenaline made his head feel light. It took every ounce of his willpower to stop himself lashing out. He had to get away. Before Tim could make another sound, or Fran could react, Ed turned on his heel, and walked off, unable to resist slamming the hallway door on his way out. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Back to Front

Ironside watched the heavy machinery as it trundled slowly over to the damaged building. Workmen were moving some of the smaller debris, the clear up starting, and members of Frank's staff were still working on-site as well. Mark waited silently beside him. For the moment, there wasn't a great deal the Chief could do but wait, and use the time to think.

He tried to focus on the building, the explosion, and what he had heard from Frank. But instead of the here and now, he kept finding his thoughts pulled back to earlier at the office. He remembered Brown walking unsteadily down the ramp, how he'd sat anxiously at the table, and the disjointed explanation he'd given of what had happened. Had Ed been confused enough to imagine seeing the mystery girl? The unexpected way he'd remembered gave the Chief pause to consider the possibility, however unlikely it was.

Ironside didn't like how this was working out. Maybe he had been wrong to let the sergeant join them at the scene. Maybe he had been wrong to let him look for that girl. He gave a sigh. There were always so many things to be wrong about. He felt like he spent most of his time being wrong these days. Nothing felt like it was going right, not since Eve left.

Eve. He could picture her now. She would have been fussing over Ed in that motherly way she used with them all. Her gentle smile and her calm concern were very different from how Fran had reacted. Fran was a wonderful woman, smart, strong and caring. He knew she was a fine officer and would be a good addition to his staff; if they could ever get past the antagonism between her and Ed. It had been simmering since they'd first met, although the atmosphere had been less tense over the past few weeks. But now, with this, it had flared up once more, just when he needed them both to be at their best.

He looked blankly at the damaged building in front of him, silently cursing his decisions over the past few months. If he'd stopped Ed when Mark had suggested it last night, then maybe they wouldn't be in this mess. If he'd stopped Ed before, if he'd spoken to him weeks ago when he first began to have suspicions that his sergeant was overworking, then maybe they wouldn't be in this mess either.

Ironside shook his head. This mess had started months ago when his own lack of foresight, and lack of faith, had left Ed in the hands of a man determined to exact his own uniquely painful sort of twisted justice. There was a cold, sickening chill that went through the Chief at the thought. He should have trusted the man he knew, and not reacted so slowly. He should have done what Mark had said, and caused an earthquake rather than following procedure. Instead, Ironside had left Ed to suffer alone and let him think that no one cared. The fact that it had been his only choice didn't matter. It should never have gone that far in the first place.

Since then, though Eve had left the force, they had worked hard, solved cases, brought murders and thieves and drug dealers to justice. They had helped Fran clear her father's name. They had done their jobs, just as they had done before. But somehow, in the intervening time, he'd missed the fact that his sergeant, one of his closest friends, was heading over the cliff edge to self-destruction.

Beside him, Mark was shifting in an anxious fashion that Ironside recognised. He could guess what the other man was thinking, that this should have been over and done with last night. But he was grateful to Mark for not putting that thought into words. He looked up.

'Something wrong, Mark?' he asked eventually.

'I was going to say the same to you,' Mark replied.

'Nothing. Everything.'

'That makes two of us.'

Ironside gave a tired laugh.

'We can't get this case closed soon enough for me,' the Chief said with great feeling.

'I was gonna say,' Mark replied. 'Because don't we have somewhere else to be? I mean, away from the newly bombed building?'

'Nervous, Mark?'

'Yes! Why aren't you?'

'Frank said it was stable.'

'Yes, but I don't like the way it leans out, man.'

Ironside looked at the wall Mark had pointed at.

'That's the old building,' Ironside said, recognising it. 'One that's survived earthquakes. They just rebuilt the front when the building was renovated.'

'Still doesn't look safe to me.'

It didn't look safe to Ironside either, not at first glance, but he also could see the corner of the original structure, and that was still standing firm with only a few little chunks of the stonework missing. The rest of what had been there, the glass and the steel, had just vanished.

'They didn't find anyone else inside,' Mark added. He looked at his boss with his eyebrows raised. 'No sign of the girl. Is that a good thing, or bad?'

'I'm not sure,' Ironside admitted. There was something very wrong. He could sense it without Frank's warning, or even Ed's odd behaviour. 'What does your instinct tell you?' he asked Mark.

'My instinct says to stay away from the damage,' he replied. 'And stay away from the Kingston Building.'

A small smile spread across Ironside's face. He nodded.

'You have good instincts, Mark,' he said. 'This is a dangerous place to be.'

'I don't get why there are so many people here,' Mark said, gesturing at the building. 'If I had a choice…'

'If you had a choice, you'd be long gone,' finished Ironside. 'So would I. So would anybody.'

'Yet they're all still hanging here.'

'Some people love a spectacle,' the Chief said.

He looked around again, seeing people moving, walking, working, some police officers keeping the crowd back, Frank and his assistants examining in the debris. There were onlookers staring in grim fascination at the destruction, but most people looked like they were going about their business.

Thoughtfully, he looked at the area cordoned off, then glanced in the direction Fran and Ed had gone.

'What else do you see,' he asked Mark.

His friend looked around. 'The blast made a mess of the parking lot.'

This time Ironside smiled more widely.

'And?'

'And nothing, just the parking lot.'

Ironside nodded approvingly.

'The blast was powerful enough to take the front off a building, but most of the windows nearby, and the rest of the building itself, are hardly touched.'

'I don't know much about explosions,' said Mark, 'but I'm gonna guess that that's not what usually happens.'

'Exactly.'

'Frank said something was wrong. Do you think that's what he meant?'

'That. And more, most likely.' Ironside frowned. 'I don't like this.'

'Why?'

'Apart from the report from HQ's top lab technician?'

'Apart from what Frank said,' persisted Mark. 'What else is getting you down about this place?'

'Curtis Kingston.'

'Apart from him, too.'

'That's a good question,' Ironside murmured. This didn't make sense. It made even less sense that Ed Brown had been right here, in that very building, when it happened. 'It's as if we're looking at two different cases. One with the exploding building and one with Ed and his mysterious girl.'

'What are you going to say to Ed,' Mark said unexpectedly.

Shaking his head, the Chief shrugged.

'Why?' he asked.

'Well, I'd figure it out pretty quick, because he's on his way over. Look!'

Mark pointed toward one of the far buildings, and a man with a familiar rolling gait was striding over the debris field, his hands in his pockets, head lowered. The Chief and Mark exchanged pointed looks, but Mark didn't say anything.

As Ed drew closer to the van he saw the others, and slowed his pace, but he didn't try to avoid them. He came to a stop by the side door, just next to the Chief, resolutely staring at the ground. Ironside waited as Ed drew a shuddering breath.

'You were right,' he said eventually, an unusual, angry edge to his voice. 'There, I've said it. You're right. You win.' Ironside regarded his colleague in silence. Ed's mouth was clamped shut in a thin line, his frown deeper than usual, and he still didn't make eye contact with his boss. 'Everyone keeps talking about me like I'm some kind of walking miracle. It's really getting on my nerves.'

He suddenly looked at Ironside. His eyes were still tinged with red and had the slightly glazed look of someone who'd had a skinful and was trying to hide it.

'I don't need you to say I-told-you-so, Chief.' His tone was bitter.

Ironside silently cursed his decision to let Ed come along. The man in front of him was in need of help, anyone could see that. But what help could they give and, more importantly, what help would he accept? And they still hadn't even touched on the subject of Ed's all-night working and the complaints. But maybe this was an opportunity to give the man an enforced break and let him get a bit of perspective.

At Ironside's side Mark moved again, tapping Ed on the shoulder.

'I think Fran's had some luck,' he said.

Ironside looked around and saw Fran on her way over to the van with a young man, about twenty or so, beside her. When Ed saw them, he scowled, something Ironside had not expected.

'Chief,' Fran said breathlessly, sounding like she had rushed over. 'This is Tim Montgomery.'

Ironside regarded the youth carefully. He was about twenty, with short dark hair and a constant curve to his brow and his top lip, as if he looked down on everything. The Chief held out his hand and Tim shook it. But Ed didn't look at him at all, coldly staring off into the distance.

'You'll want to hear what he has to say,' Fran told the Chief.

Tim moved trying to attract Ed's attention.

'Hey man, I didn't mean to get under your skin like that,' he said. 'It's just, you know…' he trailed off as Ed still didn't look at him. The Chief watched the exchange with growing concern. Had Ed stormed off? Worse was the dark look Fran gave him as well. What the blazes had happened?

'What do you have to tell us?' Ironside asked, making a deliberate attempt to get the conversation back to what it was supposed to be. Fran passed him a picture of a pretty, young woman with long, wavy, brown hair and a bright, fun-loving smile.

'That's Katie Marshall,' said Fran. 'That's the girl Ed saw.'

There was a peculiar relief to that statement, tinged with confusion. At least Ed hadn't imagined her, but if he hadn't, then where was she? And what had really happened inside the Kingston Building this morning?

'I'm her boyfriend,' said the young man quickly. 'Well, was, as we split a few weeks ago.'

'Have you seen her today?'

'Not today. I might have, y'know, not been speaking to her, any more. I was pretty cut up and I didn't want to see her.'

The young man gave a sigh, loss and regret and confusion on his face. Young love, thought Ironside, nothing is ever so painful, so messy, or so heartbreaking. Not until you grow up and discover love was always painful, messy and heartbreaking.

'And?' prompted the Chief.

'Last night,' he said. 'I hadn't seen her since we split, and then last night she just showed up at my door.'

'What happened? Why was she there?'

Tim looked around, ill-at-ease.

'She was high, and not just on the good stuff, you know what I'm saying?' He gave Ironside a look.

'She was taking something?'

'She'd tried some junk once or twice,' he said. 'Nothing heavy.'

'And last night?'

'I don't know what she took, but she looked high, I mean really high. She was all keyed up and talking crazy about uncovering a secret plot, saying that something bad was going down.' He paused, a crestfallen look on his face. 'At the Kingston Building.'

The Chief waited, not speaking, watching the young man carefully. After a moment or two of hesitation Tim continued.

'And,' He drew a deep breath, 'and she wanted me to go with her to take a look. I said no. We argued and she left. Next morning most of the Kingston Building is decorating the parking lot.'

'Why didn't you go?' Ironside asked gently.

'I-I just didn't feel like it.' The Chief immediately sensed a lie.

'Tim, you need to tell us,' he said firmly.

'But-'

'We have to find out what's happened to Katie, and why. You can help us, can't you?' The boy pursed his lips and Ironside leaned forward in his chair.

'We are going to find out eventually,' he said. 'I would rather it was sooner, not later. Katie might need help sooner, not later.' He let the sentence hang.

Tim ran his hand through his hair, then rubbed the back of his neck. Ironside kept silent.

'It's not my bag any more,' Tim said at last. 'I don't want to stick it to the man, I just want to get my degree and get on with my life. I-I only joined the group because of her.'

'The group?'

Tim paused, pursing his lips, looking acutely uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. It took a few moments for him to speak.

'There was a radical group,' he said quietly. 'Some of the students who go to the Kingston labs were into… well… they'd been causing trouble for the staff. Protests. Breaking in and disrupting experiments. That sort of thing. Nothing heavy.'

Admitting this to the police must have been tough, as Tim struggled with the words.

'Tim,' Ironside said firmly, and the boy looked at him. 'We're not worried about that at the moment. We just need to know what Katie told you last night. What was she going to do?'

'She was going to break in,' he said, his voice shaking. 'She said that she'd found proof that the staff were breaking the law, big time. That they were into something real bad.'

'Did she say what sort of proof?'

Tim shook his head.

'That was the trouble,' he said, his voice building with anger. 'That was always the problem, she would go off with these crazy ideas and stir it all up and there was nothing. She wanted to be a journalist, she wanted to get the big scoop, but in the end I didn't think there was a story. I thought she made it up, she had before. That was before, this-' he gestured to the Kingston Building.

'And last night…?' Ironside prompted.

'Man, she was wired. She said she didn't care that the others had chickened out and wouldn't go. She was going to get the proof and publish it all over the papers, for everyone to see. Then they would know what he's like.'

'He?'

Tim shrugged.

'She didn't give a name. But someone here. And I just let her go. I didn't try to stop her. I called her crazy.' Tim's voice faded to a whisper. 'I said I never wanted to see her again.'

Ironside looked squarely at the boy. All he could see was grief and a terrible regret at words blurted out in anger. Maybe he'd loved her, maybe there was going to be no happy ending and he'd have to live with that regret for the rest of his life. Ironside gave a tiny shiver at the thought. Regret was the hardest emotion to live with.

'That's all?' he asked.

Tim nodded.

'Do you know where she might be now?'

This time Tim shook his head.

'She could be anywhere. I've no idea where she might be. If she's not in her rooms with Poppy, then I don't know. I hope she's okay.' The last sentence was said quietly and was laden with worry.

'Thank you for being honest,' the Chief said. 'We may need to speak to you later.' The boy nodded, but not with any enthusiasm. 'And Tim? We'll do everything we can to find her.'

Tim looked hopefully down at the Chief. Even as they looked at each other, the hope faded. Then Tim edged closer to Ed, who had remained uncomfortably silent through the whole conversation.

'Hey man, I hope you're okay,' he said. This time Ed looked round and gave a small nod, but his expression stayed blank. Tim turned back to Ironside. 'If you find anything, can you tell me?'

'We will,' Ironside said. Tim looked more reassured than he had before. With a final nod he turned away. Ironside watched him walk back to his room, wondering if that was all he knew. Maybe he would ask Fran to go and talk to him again, once they had a clearer idea of the cause of the explosion. And there was still the question of the other members of the group, and who had given Katie the drugs. Talking to Tim had raised more questions than it had answered, and how it tied in with the explosion, he couldn't see. But now, more than before, Ironside was sure that there was something more going on than the simple "gas main" explosion theory that Curtis Kingston had clung to so doggedly. His instinct told him that speaking to Kingston again should be top of his priority list. Well, almost.

Fran was glaring red hot daggers at Ed, her anger almost setting the air between them alight.

'Well, Chief?' asked Mark.

'Well, I for one want to have another talk to Curtis Kingston,' Ironside said firmly. He paused, looking at Ed, who was still staring off into the middle distance. 'And I think someone should go home.'

At the final word Ed looked around at his boss.

'I won't,' Ed said firmly. 'I won't stop half way through.'

'I didn't say stop,' replied the Chief in a reasonable tone. 'But you need to give yourself a break. Take the rest of the day off…'

'I won't just give up,' snapped Ed.

'Now you listen to me, Sergeant Brown,' he said loudly, hunching forward in his chair and squaring up for a fight. 'You are only here at my discretion.' Ed opened his mouth to answer back, but Ironside ignored him. 'Do not make me regret my decision.'

For a second it looked as if Ed might argue. Ironside saw the lines of tiredness and the discomfort on his face, and recognised the effort it had taken to keep going and do his job. At that moment, Ed had the look of a man who might fall asleep where he was standing.

'I suggest you go home and get some rest,' Ironside said firmly. 'Tomorrow is another day.'

There was an uncomfortable pause.

'Okay, Chief,' Ed said eventually, still sounding annoyed. 'You win.'

Ironside put his hand on Ed's arm.

'I understand what it's like to think you're not involved in something you feel you should be involved in,' he said with real feeling. Ed nodded, then he glanced across to where his crushed car was waiting for him in lot, covered in a thin layer of dust and twisted out of shape, with its front windshield blown in and the hood decorated with a block of masonry. Ironside followed Ed's gaze with a heavy heart. The sooner Brown was out of here the better.

'You look like a man in need of a lift,' said Mark. Ed made no reply, but gave a soundless sigh then walked round to the front passenger door. Mark looked at Ironside for a long moment, then gave a subtle nod to his boss.

'I'll do what I can,' he said quietly, so only the Chief and Fran could hear. Then he clambered into the driver side. Fran helped the Chief out of the way as the van reversed and pulled away from the building. It had barely disappeared around the corner when Fran spoke.

'What is wrong with that man?' she asked, the words fizzing with anger. 'I can't believe he'd act like that in front of a member of the public.'

Her sense of righteous indignation was almost amusing, considering to whom it was directed. Ed Brown was one of the force's most honest, dedicated and reliable officers, although Ironside would rather die than tell him that to his face.

'Chief,' said Fran. 'I don't understand.'

'What's there not to understand,' he said, deliberately keeping his tone light. 'That's what happens when you don't follow doctor's orders.'

'That's not what I mean,' she said curtly. 'And you know it.'

Ironside looked up at her, feigning mild surprise. She was a smart woman, after all she wouldn't be on his staff if she couldn't put two and two together and get four.

'What was he doing here this morning? Why was he inside the Kingston Building in the first place?'

'Well…'

'You didn't ask him,' she said, her eyes narrowing. 'Because you already knew. And don't tell me I'm wrong, because you didn't ask him back at the office either.'

Ironside sighed. When no reply came, Fran gave an angry huff and crossed her arms.

'I should know,' she said. 'Sergeant Brown is a danger at the moment. He almost hit that boy, Tim. Then what would have happened?'

'Fran, now isn't the right time for this conversation,' the Chief said, wondering if there would ever be a right time for a conversation like that. Fran wasn't listening to him.

'I'm beginning to wonder,' she continued, ignoring the look Ironside gave her, 'I think you keep him on your staff to keep him out of trouble rather than because he's a good officer.'

She glared at him, challenging him to tell her differently. Ironside didn't react, he stared back at her. Fran looked away first.

'Okay, I don't really think that,' she admitted angrily. 'But there is something.'

'Yes,' he said at last. 'There is. But that's for later. We have work to do.'

She gave a stilted nod of agreement, but Ironside wasn't fooled into thinking she had given up on finding out. But at least now he could think of a better way of telling her what had happened, rather than saying that Ed Brown was slowly driving himself insane with work to compensate for the trauma of being kidnapped, blackmailed and then tortured by a man who wanted revenge on the Chief. How did you drop that into a conversation?

'We need to get on with what's in front of us,' Ironside said. 'We should talk to Curtis Kingston.'

It was obvious to Ed that Mark wanted to ask him something, he had learnt to tell his friend's moods over the years, and there was no prizes for guessing what it was. So Ed turned slightly away from Mark to look out of the side window, determined not to break the silence.

For the first time in hours, days maybe, he felt tired, truly exhausted all the way through to his bones. He didn't want to talk, not just because he wouldn't like the subject but because he was worried he couldn't give coherent answers. The silence continued for almost all of the journey. Only when they turned onto Ed's street did Mark say something.

'Hey, Ed, you gonna be cool?'

How could a simple question be so hard to answer? For a moment Ed had no words to form a reply. He managed a small nod.

'Look, if there's something you need to say, man,' Mark said.

'It's fine,' Ed replied. It was obvious that Mark didn't believe that statement, Ed could see that very clearly. The van pulled up outside Ed's apartment, and Mark turned to look at him.

'You know the Chief,' he said ruefully. 'You know I have to ask. And you know I want to ask.'

Ed did know, that was the trouble. He knew Mark was worried. He'd deliberately dodged personal questions for months, feeling unable to burden Mark with his own problems. Mark had enough to worry about with the Chief. And he missed Eve too.

'I can't think about it anymore,' he said eventually, trying to only use short words, to be sure he wouldn't slur them together. 'I just need sleep, like the Chief said.'

There was an uncomfortable few seconds when Ed almost asked if the Chief knew why he was at the Kingston Building in the first place, if he knew about the complaints and the unpaid overtime. But neither of them spoke, then Ed opened the van door and quickly slid out. He gave Mark a wave.

'Later!' he said.

On Mark's face was a look of infinite compassion, and for a brief moment Ed had second thoughts about not saying anything. It was sometimes strange to think of Mark as his friend, how different could two men be? Different upbringings, different choices, different ambitions. Working for the Chief was what had initially brought them close, at a time when the Chief's life was in turmoil after the sniper. In time, they had found their own common ground and a respect that had defied the odds.

Ed rested his hand on the door, hesitating before shutting it. Did Mark miss Eve as much as he did? Did he speak to her often?

Under almost any other circumstances Ed would have stopped to talk, feeling an urge to connect. But he was exhausted, he didn't want to think in full sentences, he wanted to shut it all out and forget for a while. Besides, Mark had his own work to do helping the Chief. He shouldn't take up any more of his time, he was grateful enough for a lift from a friend.

'And Mark?' he said. 'Thanks.'

'Anytime, man, it's always a pleasure to chauffeur policemen around.'

Ed gave a tiny smile.

'Good job too,' he murmured, and Mark laughed. It was a good sound. 'Later!' he added, swinging the van door shut.

'Yeah, man, see you in the morning.'

The van pulled away and Ed didn't watch it leave. Instead, he walked up to the door and let himself into his apartment.

Once inside, he dropped his keys into the dish on the bookcase and loosened his tie. Slowly he glanced around, seeing everything exactly how he had left it; the chair squint beside the table, the empty coffee cup on the window sill and a barely-glanced-at newspaper from a few days ago. It was both mundane and surprising, and Ed frowned.

It felt very still and quiet. He was alone again. No one was here to greet him with warm hug and a friendly kiss, no one to hear him say "honey, I'm home". He didn't often miss the companionship of a woman, he had grown used to the emptiness of his apartment over the years since Anne had died.

Anne. Today, he missed Anne and what should have been. If he hadn't been working that night, or if she had taken the other shift instead, then this would have all been different. It could have all been so different, if he had only been more careful, if he had only been faster, if he had only done something more.

Didn't this keep happening to him? Letting women down, wasn't that what he did best? Anne. Elaine. Vivian. Even Eve.

His thoughts lingered on the final name: Eve. He glanced at the phone, feeling that maybe calling her would help, missing the sound of her voice. She was safe, that was one thing, but her career was gone, her life on Ironside's staff gone, their friendship strained by the words they could never say to each other. She wasn't dead, but an important part of her life had been destroyed by his negligence. He should have been more careful that day by the Bayside Motel. He shouldn't have let his guard down.

Even though he had done everything he could to keep her safe, somehow it had still hadn't been good enough. Ed could see it all with the same clarity as the day it had happened. There had been days in the hospital when he thought he'd never be free of the memories, or from waking in the night from dreams of blood and cold, sharp steel. It had gotten a little better over the months, the late nights and the heavy workload had helped.

But not today, everywhere he turned he was reminded of it. Was it because he had just narrowly avoided death for the second time in six months? In the silence of his apartment, there was nothing to distract from the whispers that had followed him all day, and the softly spoken admonishments that had followed him everywhere since that morning at the Bayside Motel, when he'd first met Anthony Richards. He should have done something more, he should have sensed something was wrong, he should have been better at his job. If he had been a better policeman, none of it would have happened.

With a start, Ed realised he had been standing, staring blindly at the table for who knows how long. He was too tired to do this anymore today.

What was left to do? Slowly he pulled out the bottle of painkillers from his pocket, the ones he'd been given this morning at the hospital. He hadn't taken any yet, not because he wasn't in pain, but because he feared they would make him sleepy. Any sign that he was at less than his best and the Chief would have him locked up here for weeks.

He needed to be sharp, he needed to be working, and he didn't want to sleep while other people were doing his job, acting like he wasn't there. The thought grew large in his mind, his breath suddenly catching in the back of his throat. They had been saying it to him all day: He should have died this morning.

Ed had faced death before, in his job as well as his personal life. He'd been a marine and seen action in the army, seeing his comrades fall, seeing people dead on the streets of villages and towns. He saw death every day at work, there was death around every corner or maybe just a phone call away. He knew it. He accepted it as the price he paid to do his job. It was a price he had been willing to pay, even though the price was much, much more than he'd thought it would be. Somehow, he could never get it right, there were always different ways he paid for his badge. New, more dangerous, more painful. And other people kept on paying.

Letting women down, wasn't that what he did best?

He didn't want to think about that. Ignoring the option of food, he went to the bureau by the window, got a bottle of scotch from the top left-hand corner, and a highball glass. Hand shaking slightly, he poured himself a generous double then took it through to his bedroom. He sat down heavily on the side of the bed. Deliberately not thinking about it too much, he took two little blue pills out and washed them down with most of the scotch. Then he took a couple more and finished the drink in one gulp.

Without bothering to change out of his dusty clothes, Ed lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, praying he'd be asleep quickly.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Cold Fission

'Mr Kingston is expecting you,' said the secretary in Curtis Kingston's office as the Chief and Fran entered. She picked up the phone on her desk. 'Mr Kingston, Mr Ironside is here for you.' There was the muffled sound of talking from the other end.

'He's just finishing up with his previous appointment,' she said with a professional smile, replacing the handset. 'It will only take a few minutes.'

The secretary returned to her work and Ironside looked around the room. There were modern, up-to-date pieces of furniture that had the look of luxury about them, a couple of oil paintings of places that Ironside didn't recognise, plain red carpet, plain red curtains and a view out of the campus, with the back of the Kingston Building off to the side. From this angle it didn't look damaged at all, the only hint was the bustle of emergency personnel beside it, and the ubiquitous sprinkling of glass and dust on the ground.

Ironside and Fran waited side by side without speaking. He looked at his companion, feeling at a loss as to what to say. This was her first day on his staff, he didn't think there could have been a worse possible start, and that was before the disagreement between her and Ed. She hadn't given any more details about what had gone wrong to make her so upset. Now was not the right time to discuss it, and she'd remained resolutely silent on their way over, trying to mask her anger.

At last, there was a buzz from the phone and the secretary nodded them through. With a little help from Fran, Ironside pushed himself forward into Curtis Kingston's office. Inside, Kingston was sitting behind an impressively long, oak desk, bare but for a phone, a fountain pen and a cup of coffee. He rose and shook hands with the Chief once again, as Ironside took a quick glance around. This was the same as the outer office; modern, orderly and red.

'Good to see you again, Chief Ironside,' said Kingston cheerfully, settling himself back into his comfy leather chair. Ironside hid his surprise. When they had parted company outside, Kingston hadn't been anywhere close to cheerful and the unexpected change made him wary.

'And who is this delightful young lady?' he asked.

'Officer Belding.' Ironside watched as Kingston shook her hand warmly, a perfect smile on his face.

'What charming company you keep, Chief Ironside,' he said. 'So I take it you're finished on site for the day?' He motioned Fran to take a seat beside the Chief and she did.

'We're not quite finished yet,' Ironside replied.

'I'm sure it's only a matter of loose ends,' Kingston said, appearing not to care about the answer to his question. 'I've been in contact with the insurance and I know the contractors. I can't afford to waste any time starting reconstruction. I need to make sure it's back working at full capacity as soon as I can.'

'There are some aspects we still need to check,' Ironside began.

'Yes, I'm sure that's all very well,' Kingston said. 'I'm sure your lab boys are leaving no stone unturned. But no one was hurt, it's just the front that's gone, thank goodness, and that won't take long to put back up and everything will be back to normal.'

'Good job it was so simple,' said Ironside, Kingston either not noticing or ignoring the intended irony of that statement.

'There is no need to delay.'

'I don't see it that way,' the Chief said. 'We have a few unanswered questions. Like what caused the front to come off to start with.'

The meaning of what the Chief was trying to say suddenly dawned on the other man.

'Oh, no, Chief Ironside,' Kingston said, holding up his hand. 'This is not going to be one of those! Have you any idea of the favours I had to call in just to get this built in the first place? It was supposed to be the start of an architectural revolution, a renaissance movement, even. And it will be.'

He leaned back in his chair, looking wistfully off past the Chief.

'My building is the future of construction,' he said with an air of pride. 'We will be able to rescue older buildings, make them stronger, and better. We will get the building to work for us, designed to be as efficient as possible. The water system, the heating systems, even the make of the glass and the strength of the steel frame have been reinvented and optimised. This is not the old way of making buildings. This is something completely new. This is using the latest cutting-edge technology to make life better.' He gave a happy sigh. 'We are making advances in materials science and thermal engineering that amaze even me. And I'm not easily amazed.'

'Advances often cost money,' Ironside observed.

The wistfulness vanished as Kingston looked back at the Chief.

'How right you are,' he said. 'The first of anything new always does cost a lot.' Ironside looked politely at Kingston, waiting for him to continue. 'And we have had a few small bumps on the way.'

'Bumps?'

'Oh, nothing like that,' he said. 'Technical issues. There's a lot of pipework, there's a lot of equipment that could go wrong. The control panels, the junctions, the wiring. And don't forget it's all new.'

'And you still say-'

'No!' Kingston said, interrupting the Chief. 'There is nothing explosive in my building design. There are complex structures. And they have never been tried before. And just because it's new, and it's complicated, and it's expensive doesn't mean that it shouldn't be tried. Of course we've had difficulties. But the idea is sound. I'm not going to let them win, those Philistines at the City Hall wouldn't know good design if it sat on them. I am not going to let them win.'

Ironside regarded the man with mild surprise, his passion for the project was clear in the way he spoke.

'Then how do you explain the mess your building made of the sidewalk and the parking lot?'

Kingston scowled.

'Gas main,' he declared. 'You show me a man who says different and I'll show you a liar. There is nothing else it could be.'

'That's a strong statement, Mr Kingston,' Ironside said seriously. The words of Frank came back to him. The police expert was extremely unhappy about the whole situation. What's more, Frank had been with the department right out of army ordnance, and Ironside had always considered him knowledgeable, careful and highly competent, not given to exaggerations or mistakes. But he wasn't about to play that card just yet. Kingston's insistence on a dead-end lead was curious, and out of character. Wasn't the man even slightly curious about what had happened to his building?

'We can't rule out criminal intent,' Ironside said, watching Kingston's reaction carefully. 'It's still a crime scene until I say otherwise.'

'Criminal!' Kingston flicked his head back and gave a derisive little snort. 'Don't be ridiculous, Chief Ironside! No one would want to destroy my new building.'

'That's not what you implied a moment ago,' said the Chief, reasonably.

'Yes, but,' Kingston paused, glancing to the ceiling as if for inspiration. 'Mr Ironside, critics of modern architecture do not go around blowing up buildings.'

'No?'

'No.'

'And there is no one else who would gain from something like this.'

'No,' insisted Kingston.

'Someone with a grudge maybe?'

'No…' came the reply. But it wasn't as quick as before, and for the first time Kingston looked unsettled.

'Are you sure?'

There was no response. After a few moments hesitation, Kingston opened a drawer under the table and pulled out a bundle of letters. The Chief took them with a heavy heart. Poison pen letters, using clippings of newspapers and cheap paper. They all said the same thing: You'll pay.

'These have been arriving since my new building opened,' Kingston said.

The Chief shook his head in disbelief.

'Why didn't you tell the police? Why?'

Kingston's face hardened, a hint of the ruthless businessman shining through.

'I get things like this all the time,' he said. 'I'm one of the richest men in the state, I own businesses and companies all over the world, and I make a lot of money. There are always people who hold a grudge against others who thrive thanks to their own tireless effort.'

'That's as maybe,' said the Chief, now feeling even more suspicious than before. 'But I still need an explanation.'

No one spoke, and Ironside waited, knowing that the uncomfortable silence would make Kingston talk.

'I thought it was just the kids,' Kingston said eventually. 'I thought they were just playing. I never thought in a million years they would try something like this. And I still don't.'

Ironside immediately thought of what Tim Montgomery had told them, that Katie Marshall had been part of a group hell bent on causing mischief in the Kingston Building. Would they have resorted to these childish threats? And would they have gone further too?

'The kids?' he asked. 'Who?'

'A group of students who use the lab got it into their heads that we were doing special work.'

'Special?'

'Governmental.'

'Ah!' Ironside hated that word, especially when it was used to keep information under wraps, but he gave no hint of his feelings to Kingston. 'What happened?'

'There were a few protests, nothing that the media got hold of, I made sure of that. And they broke in a few times, disrupted a few experiments, nothing even close to being serious.'

'And were they right?'

For the first time Kingston looked uneasy.

'There was nothing in any of my funded projects that was backed by the Government.'

Ironside settled himself into his wheelchair, leaning back, never taking his eyes off the other man. Though Kingston tried hard to disguise it, Ironside noted the narrowing of his eyes and the fleeting look of worry that crossed the man's face.

'What about the other projects?'

'I-I don't know. There shouldn't have been. I was always very clear.' It was a bitter admission for the man, that was obvious enough from his tone. 'No one declared anything, and I thought everyone was telling me the truth. If you can't trust a scientist, who can you trust? But now I wonder.'

'How would I find out?'

'If they didn't declare it to me, they are hardly likely to tell you.'

That was a true, if disagreeable, way of putting it.

'I'll need a list of your personnel,' Ironside said. 'Who is doing what in that building.'

'Alright, Chief Ironside,' he said with a sigh, his annoyance at the request making the Chief annoyed in turn.

'And I'll need to speak to them as well.'

Another sigh.

'Alright, Chief Ironside.'

'And I want the names of the students you suspected of breaking in.'

He sighed a third time.

'They'll be sent over to your office by this evening. Is there anything else?'

'I'll take the letters.'

Kingston didn't bother to give an answer, he just shrugged dismissively, making it clear that he thought the interview was over.

'Officer Belding?' Ironside nodded towards the door. Fran stood, and helped him turn the chair. Just before he left Ironside looked back, then said:

'We will get to the bottom of what happened, Mr Kingston, I assure you.'

Again, there was no reply, but from what Ironside gathered from his expression, Curtis Kingston did not look enthusiastic about their chances.

Fran helped guide the Chief out of the office, holding her annoyance in check for the whole time. She knew she should be concentrating on the case, but she was continually distracted by all the unanswered questions she had buzzing around in her mind. And she was angry, still fuming at Brown, and cross with the Chief for defending him. That wasn't helping her keep focused.

This was not how she'd imagined her first day going, not in the slightest. She had been so looking forward to starting. Working for the Chief was something she'd always aspired to, and when he asked her to stay on she'd had no hesitation. She wasn't going to let anything, or anyone, spoil it for her, no matter how hard they tried.

The van was waiting for them as they left the building, Mark standing, leaning on the side door, looking as calm as always. Fran smiled and waved. He waved back.

At least he made her feel part of the team. Unlike Edward Brown, the worlds most unhelpful police sergeant. Could Brown have been more disagreeable? It felt like he was doing it deliberately.

The Chief tried to speed up, but over the uneven flagstones on the path, it was next to impossible. Fran helpfully gave the chair a guiding push every so often, but the Chief still muttered angrily as he struggled to get where he was going.

'Well?' he demanded as soon as he was close enough to have a conversation. 'Tell me.'

'It's a mess,' Mark replied. 'He's a mess.'

'You mean Ed?' Fran asked, even though she knew the answer.

Mark nodded, and exchanged a look with the Chief. Inside, Fran gave an exasperated sigh, knowing there was something they weren't telling her. It was obviously important. And it was obviously about Brown.

And then there was the thought that had hounded her all day, and for most of the few weeks previously, that continually popped into the front of her mind at inopportune moments: they wouldn't have treated Eve Whitfield like this. It was petty, it was childish, she knew, but she couldn't get away from the other woman's shadow. It wasn't fair. How was she supposed to prove herself when she never got the chance to try?

The Chief looked up at her.

'So, Officer Belding,' he said, his smile small, but genuine. 'What do you think of the case so far?'

What she thought at that precise moment was that Brown was a dangerous loose cannon that should have been suspended. Ever since they had first met, his attitude had grated. Their "undercover" work was painful and embarrassing to look back on, and there had been times she could barely stand to be in the same room as him. Maybe in the past few weeks the rough edges were smoothing off and she was beginning to know him a little better, maybe even occasionally almost enjoying his company, when he wasn't being so aloof or engrossed in work. But after today's little outburst, she wasn't sure she wanted to. However, Fran knew that wasn't what the Chief meant.

'You mean, what do I think of Curtis Kingston?' she suggested.

Ironside nodded approvingly.

'I didn't like him,' she said. There was no need to think much about that. She had disliked him from the moment he had smiled that oily smile and shaken her hand. Some men thought they were being charming when they acted like that, but he couldn't have been more off-putting if he'd tried. She had sensed him checking her out as she'd sat down. She hated being ogled, more like a cheap set of curves than being admired as a woman. At least Brown had never treated her like that, that was something to be grateful for.

'I don't care for him either,' the Chief said.

'And I didn't trust him.'

'Again, I agree,' the Chief said. 'So why didn't you trust him?'

Fran pondered the question for a moment. Truthfully, she had spent a lot of the time during their interview trying not to let her discomfort show to her new boss. She had listened, but now she was worried she hadn't paid close enough attention.

'He talked a lot about getting the building back up and running,' she said at last. 'And he was adamant about the gas main, at least until you challenged him.'

'Yes?' Ironside said.

'He changed his mind pretty quickly when you asked about grudges.'

The Chief nodded thoughtfully, and Fran smiled.

'And he didn't need much persuading to show you those letters,' she added.

'I agree,' Ironside said firmly. 'And he was altogether too calm about the letters.'

'Do you think he wanted you to see them?' Fran asked.

He nodded.

'But the real question is why?' Ironside added.

'Why did he want you to see the letters, you mean?'

'And why did he have to be persuaded to let me see them. And why did he keep them in the first place. And why didn't he report them to the police.' Ironside gave an annoyed grunt. 'That man has just given us more flamin' questions instead of answering them.'

He looked up at Fran, and she waited, eager to help.

'We need answers,' Ironside said. 'We need more information on what's going on around here. And quickly, before Kingston decides that we are poking around too much.'

'That might not be too long,' observed Mark.

'You did a good job questioning the students,' the Chief said warmly to Fran. 'So go and see Tim again, and try to get some names of the members of that group. Maybe her roommate knows more as well. Talk to her too. Ask around and see what you can come up with.'

Fran gave him a wide smile. Finally, she could get on with some police work without Brown as the unfriendly and unhelpful chaperon that got in her way.

'Sure, Chief.'

'Find out all you can,' he paused, his face growing dark. 'And find out who Katie went to for a trip, if you can.'

Fran nodded again, her confidence growing. She was a member of the Chief's staff, one of his team and she could do the job as well as anyone else. Even Eve Whitfield, she thought, then stopped herself from thinking any further down that path. She didn't want to keep comparing herself to the woman who'd so recently left, but somehow she couldn't help it. Would she have even been given this chance if Eve hadn't left? She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

'Where are you going?' she asked.

'We'll be back at the office,' the Chief said. 'We'll make a start on the statements from the witnesses, and I'll get some background checks on the staff.'

For a moment, the Chief looked like he was going to add something. Then he stopped, a frown on his face.

'Relax, Chief,' Mark said. 'I'll give you a hand chasing leads.'

Ironside nodded gratefully.

'Thanks, Mark. That will be a help. We've a lot to get through.'

And the team has a man missing, Fran thought. Her anger at Brown flared again, but this time she thought about the effect all this would be having on the Chief. He was a man who had always demanded excellence, and did whatever he could to get the job done. It must be hard at the moment. Eve had gone, and Brown appeared to be next to useless.

Everyone in the department knew Brown's reputation as one of the top men on the force, a high flier with a long and illustrious career ahead of him. But from what Fran had seen, that reputation was mostly undeserved. No one had mentioned the short temper and the disregard for the public, the stilted attempts at being friendly and the times he stared off, blanking everything else around him.

The Chief was right to be annoyed with him. But no, she thought. He isn't annoyed, is he? The Chief wasn't angry, just worried. That's what she'd thought earlier. The Chief was worried about Brown, deeply concerned in a way that Fran found baffling in the circumstances. And why had Brown even been here at three in the morning? What was going on? Why wouldn't they be straight with her?

Mark had moved to help push the Chief's wheelchair round to the back of the van. Fran watched in silence.

'Call if you get something,' the Chief said to her.

'Yes, Chief,' she said. 'I'll do whatever I can.'

The warmth of the Chief's smile made her smile back. He trusted her to get the job done, and was confident in her ability to find what they needed.

The van door closed, Mark jumped into the front and turned the engine over.

Fran waited until the van had turned the corner and vanished out of sight, then she gave a loud sigh.

So maybe this hadn't been the first day she had hoped for. But she had work to do and she was going to do it and not get sidetracked. She would show them just how good she was. She wasn't going to wait in Eve's shadow any longer, and she would crack this case wide open, even if it took her all day, and all tomorrow as well.

With that thought, Fran walked off towards the student halls.

There was a never-ending pile of papers to read, and the Chief didn't pause all afternoon, or evening, until it was time for chili.

Most of the papers were statements taken from people who lived or worked near the Kingston Building, and the officers from police and fire that had been in first attendance. Details of times and who was where had given the Chief a good idea of the chain of events after Ed had called it in. Of course, what had happened before that was still as much of a mystery as it had been this morning.

He'd not heard much from Fran. She'd called them just before dinner to say she was making good progress, and she would go back at the campus first thing tomorrow, without stopping by the office first. He had almost argued with her, he could only cope with one work-obsessed staff member at a time, but she had been so enthusiastic about how it was going that, in the end, he gave in, trusting her judgement.

Mark was sitting next to him, reading reports and making notes in a companionable silence, when there was a noise from the elevator. Ironside glance up at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten.

'Another late night visitor,' Mark said with a smile. 'It's your lucky week.'

Ironside ignored the comment, but looked to the door. There was only a limited number of people it could be. If he was lucky, like Mark suggested, it wouldn't be the Commissioner.

The door opened, and Commissioner Randall walked in. Ironside cursed his ill-fortune. This couldn't be good.

'Evening, Bob, Mark,' Dennis said, not waiting to be asked in. Ironside glared at him, why couldn't he catch a break and get some peace in the evenings these days?

'San Francisco International would be a quieter place to get some work done,' he muttered.

Dennis ignored the comment, settling himself onto one of the seats at the table. Mark offered him a drink and he accepted with a nod. All the time, Ironside watched with a vague sense of unease. After taking a mouthful of his bourbon, Randall came straight to the point.

'I've been getting calls about you, Bob,' he said.

'Good calls, I hope,' the Chief said.

Dennis raised his eyebrows incredulously.

'Well,' said Ironside with a shrug, 'they could have been.'

'I don't like getting angry calls from rich members of the public complaining about my officers,' the Commissioner said.

Ironside saw Mark give a tiny smirk, but he didn't react. Instead, he glowered at the Commissioner.

'I also heard you let Sergeant Brown accompany you to the scene,' Randall continued, ignoring Ironside's expression. 'Rather than making sure he went home. I hope you have a good explanation.'

'Ed is a police officer,' Ironside replied. 'And I thought he might have useful information.'

'That is not the way Curtis Kingston saw it,' Dennis said pointedly. 'He thinks the investigation is in jeopardy thanks to your recklessness.'

'Recklessness?' Ironside shook his head in surprise.

'And there were complaints about your attitude, Bob.'

'Curtis Kingston again, I take it?' the Chief asked.

Randall nodded.

'He did not like the way you were pushing the investigation towards criminal intent.'

'Did he not?' Ironside didn't bother to disguise the fact that he was angry. 'Then maybe Mr Kingston shouldn't have withheld the threatening letters.'

'Letters?'

Mark helpfully stood up and picked up the letters from the other table. He handed them to the Commissioner. Dennis flicked through them, his forehead furrowed with confusion.

'And what did forensics have to say about these?'

'Nothing but smudged prints,' Ironside said. 'And they're still analysing the samples. Kingston said he'd been receiving them since his new building opened.'

'I see.'

'Now an unexplained explosion. Probably deliberate. Do you think I was wrong to push for answers?' Dennis didn't reply, just kept looking at the letters. 'Kingston said some of the lab's students were causing a little trouble,' Ironside told the Commissioner.

'An explosion is more than a little trouble,' Dennis pointed out.

'Exactly,' Ironside said. 'And Fran has been checking it out.'

'Fran?'

'Yes.'

Dennis paused.

'And where is Sergeant Brown?' he asked.

'Sergeant Brown is at home,' Ironside said firmly.

'And you're sure he is?'

'Yes.'

Dennis gave him a look.

'He had better be, Bob, for his own sake. You shouldn't be encouraging him to work. What were you thinking, taking him along?'

'I do have my reasons,' said the Chief, leaning forward. 'Ed saw someone else in the building before it blew.' The Commissioner looked surprised. 'We think it was one of the students Kingston mentioned. Only Ed could identify her, that's why he was there.'

'I see.' The Commissioner looked thoughtfully at Ironside. 'Keeping this quiet, then?'

'Exactly,' Ironside said with a nod. 'If it did involve these students, I don't want Kingston, or anyone, overreacting before we have all the facts.'

'I see,' repeated the Commissioner.

Ironside waited while his friend sipped his drink.

'I think you'll need to tell me everything,' said the Commissioner.

Ironside explained about Ed's unexpected recollection of someone else in the Kingston Building, how they had identified Katie Marshall as his missing girl, and what Tim Montgomery had said about her actions the evening before.

'Do you think she was involved in the explosion?' Dennis asked at last.

With a shake of his head, Ironside sat back in his chair.

'From Ed's description of what happened, I think she might have been just in the wrong place at the wrong time. We need to speak to her. But first, we need to find her. And I want Curtis Kingston to be the last person to know.'

'Because of the letters?'

'Because I don't like people interfering with police work,' Ironside replied coldly. 'And because of the letters.'

'I see,' said Dennis once more. There was a long pause as the Commissioner slowly finished his drink. 'But you need to be careful with Mr Kingston.'

'Do I?'

'You know very well that what Curtis Kingston wants, Curtis Kingston usually gets. He can make life very difficult.'

'That's why you are the Commissioner, and I am just a consultant.'

Dennis frowned, taking another, larger mouthful of his drink.

'Very well, Bob,' he said. 'I'll back you up on this one. But you'd better be sure.'

It felt like years since Ironside had been sure of anything. And tonight, after a day filled with difficult choices and awkward conversations, he felt less sure than usual.

The Commissioner rose slowly, and after wishing the two men good night, he left. Mark watched him leave, then turned to look questioningly at his boss.

'Tomorrow is another day,' the Chief observed.

'A lot can happen in a day,' Mark said.

'So true!' Less than twenty four hours ago, Murray had been in this very office with complaints against Ed Brown. That had been the most important thing on his mind, but now, there was so much more.

'Today hasn't been so great,' Mark said. 'Tomorrow can't get much worse.'

Ironside gave a humph of mild annoyance.

'You'd better hope it doesn't, Mark, or I'll blame you for saying it, Mister Sanger.'

There was a moment of silence.

'I know you're worried about Ed,' Mark said suddenly. 'So am I.'

It was hard to admit how worried he actually was, but Mark didn't need to be told. He felt just the same, Ironside could see it written all over his face. And they still didn't know what had gone on in the Kingston Building. He felt as far away from an answer as ever.

'Do you think he's stay put?' Mark asked.

Ironside had been tempted to assign a beat cop to make sure Ed hadn't gone out and kept on working, but in the end he had decided that his sergeant was so close to dropping from exhaustion that there was no need. Besides, Ed would not appreciate being checked up on.

'I think so,' he replied. I hope so, he added to himself.

Mark made no comment.

'Let's call it a night,' Ironside said. 'We have plenty to do tomorrow.'

Yes, tomorrow was another day. All Ironside could do was hope that it was better than today had been.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Wake Up Call

Eight-thirty in the morning was too early for most of the students. Today, it was too early for Fran Belding as well. Yesterday, she had been in the Chief's office on the dot at seven, and then she'd been here at the student halls asking questions until it was dark, then been writing up her notes at home until late in the evening.

Now, on another classic Californian morning, she stood in front of the student accommodation once again, feeling more tired than enthusiastic.

Behind her, there were workmen on site at the Kingston Building, a few bored-looking police officers from Traffic keeping an eye on the cordon, but otherwise it felt like business as usual. Already people had grown used to seeing the place in this state, and only a few passers-by gave it a second look.

It was unlikely any of the students were awake yet. She glanced at her notes. Most of the people she'd spoken to yesterday had given her the same story: that Katie Marshall had a rebellious streak, and liked stirring up trouble for people in authority. She hadn't been keeping up with the workload, she had begun to skip classes as well. When Fran had hinted at drugs, they'd all had denied any knowledge, which wasn't unexpected.

Fran had intended to talk to Tim again this morning, then Katie's roommate, Poppy Preston, but now she realised she was too early. Dragging them out of bed to answer more questions was not the way to get people to cooperate. A better idea would be to talk to people who were already awake, like the staff at the Kingston Building. Katie's tutor, Dr Julia Wright was top of her list.

No one was allowed into the Kingston Building at the moment, even though the stone structure had been given a thorough check yesterday, it was still cordoned off and out of bounds. Dr Wright's office was on the first floor of that building, Fran had found that out yesterday, so she would likely be somewhere else this morning, as all the staff had been assigned temporary offices elsewhere. Looking around thoughtfully, her glance came to rest on the administration building, tucked away at the back. That would be as good a place to start as any.

As it turned out, Fran was in luck. The building was open, and the helpful secretary at the front desk directed her to a room on the ground floor, which Dr Wright was using as her office.

The door was slightly ajar when Fran arrived, and she could hear someone rustling about. She gave a polite knock.

'What?' said a female voice.

Fran pushed open the door. Dr Wright was sitting at a desk, her back to the window. Papers were everywhere in what looked like an untidy mess.

'Who are you?' Dr Wright asked bluntly. 'I'm busy, so you'd better have a very good reason for being here.'

Fran showed her badge, watching the other woman carefully. Dr Wright was pretty in a stern, uncompromising kind of way, a narrow unsmiling face, with high cheekbones and pale skin. Her brown hair tied back in a tight bun and she wore only the barest amount of make-up.

The woman looked more annoyed than surprised by the interruption. She flicked her hand impatiently at the empty seat by the far wall, and Fran sat down, feeling like she was outside the Commissioner's office, waiting for a suspension.

'Didn't we go through all of this yesterday?' Dr Wright demanded. 'I've lost count of the number of times I've spoken to different police officers. Some of us have real work to do.'

'There are still a few loose ends to tie up,' Fran replied in as non-committal way as she could, not wanting to annoy the woman before she had even asked any questions.

'I'm sure there are,' Dr Wright said. 'But why do you all have to come bothering me? I've told you all I can about my work at Kingston. None of my current experiments involve anything that could have been explosive. All my work is properly documented. All my work is properly supervised. I'm not the only experimental chemist who worked in that building, so why don't you go and pester someone else. Maybe someone else who hasn't had all their files randomly dumped in a room, so they can't find any of the work they need before the deadline runs out for their funding!'

Fran blinked in surprise at the outburst. She hadn't expected such antagonism.

'I'm looking into something else,' Fran said.

'Oh, that's wonderful,' came the sarcastic reply. 'Something else I'll have to answer stupid and idiotic questions about. Maybe you should read a chemistry primer before coming to talk to me.'

'It about a student,' Fran managed to say, just before the doctor launched into a longer diatribe.

'Oh. A student?'

Fran nodded, relieved that the complaining had stopped for the moment. Dr Wright suddenly frowned.

'Which student?'

Fran almost asked her which one she thought it was, but decided that was more likely to get the other woman back to complaining.

'Katie Marshall,' she said. Was it her imagination, or was that name not a surprise? There were a few moments of silence as Dr Wright leaned back in her chair, fixing Fran with a cool stare.

'Why are you asking?' she said. 'What do you want with Miss Marshall?'

One of the first things drummed into Fran at the police department was how to trust your instinct. Instinct was a cops best weapon in the search for the truth. The Chief had laboured the point on numerous occasions, reminding her that instincts were there for a reason, and that she should always acknowledge them and use them to the best of her ability. As soon as Dr Wright had finished that sentence Fran could sense something was off. Had the Chief asked her to explain it or to justify it, she would have been at a loss. But it was there, and it made Fran pause for thought before answering.

'There are a few questions I'd like to ask her,' Fran said carefully.

'Questions? Just questions? Is that all?'

'Yes.'

'Why don't you try her rooms?' Dr Wright replied, sarcasm dripping out of her tone. 'She must still be in bed. She is a student. I imagine they all are still tucked up in their comfortable little beds this morning, now that the labs are shut and they don't have any classes.'

There was no reason not to be on the level with the doctor, but Fran didn't want to be in the position of explaining exactly why they needed to find Katie Marshall. Somehow she had lost control of the conversation already. She mentally shook her head, admonishing herself, telling herself to be more careful with what she said, and how she said it. This wasn't how the Chief would handle it.

'What can you tell me about Katie? As a student, I mean.'

Doctor Wright looked thoughtful, before giving a long sigh.

'There is no nice way of saying this, I suppose. Miss Marshall was failing, every subject and not just the courses I teach. She was bright, but not diligent, smart but not focused. She followed whatever new cause caught her eye, and never applied herself enough to finish what she started.'

Fran could sense the strong disapproval from the other woman, but there was something else as well. Dr Wright was angry. So instead of asking another question, Fran copied the trick she'd seen the Chief use, forcing herself to keep quiet and looking expectantly at the doctor, waiting for her to speak.

'I was very disappointed with her,' Dr Wright said, filling the awkward silence. 'She had so much potential, she could have been so much more. I had hoped she would do a doctorate here, but instead she went off with that group and it ruined her future.'

'Group?' prompted Fran, hoping to get more answers, and thinking about what Tim Montgomery had said yesterday.

Dr Wright pursed her lips, and didn't reply for a few moments.

'There were a few incidents after the Kingston opened,' she said at last, in a grudging tone. 'I suspected the students were prying into things that were private and confidential. There was a group of them in particular that I thought were behind the sabotage.'

'Sabotage?' That was a much stronger way of putting it than Curtis Kingston had done. He had been almost dismissive of their actions. Dr Wright was clearly furious.

'Yes, sabotage. They ruined a few of my experiments. Stole results from my records. I would call that sabotage.'

'Didn't you report them?'

'Yes,' the woman sighed again. 'But I couldn't prove it. Curtis thought they were just being high-spirited. It was alright for him, he wasn't the one who had their work ruined by short-sighted young idiots who…' She stopped herself suddenly. 'I was very annoyed.'

Fran nodded, hoping that by agreeing she would encourage the doctor to say more.

'You have to understand,' Doctor Wright continued. 'My work is delicate, it requires time and effort, yes, but also money. The reactants are expensive, some of them very expensive and so is the equipment. And there is only a finite amount of money from my funding and if I have to keep on repeating experiments because other people keep messing them up, then very soon I am going to be out of funds, and out of a job.'

'And you thought Katie Marshall was part of this group.'

'Yes,' the word was hissed out rather than said. 'There were a number of them that hung out together, I would always see them coming and going in a group. Not all of them took my classes, but they were always the same faces lurking about at the end of the day.'

'And you took no action?'

That question made Dr Wright snort.

'As I said, there was no proof.'

Again, Fran waited patiently, hoping the other woman would say more.

'However, I did hear a rumour,' Dr Wright said after a few moments. 'And it is only a rumour.'

'Which was?'

'They would meet up in secret,' Wright said scornfully. 'One of the halls, in the basement.' She gave a huff of annoyance. 'A ridiculous place for a meeting.'

Fran gave a short nod, but she didn't agree. A basement meeting place would be just perfect if you didn't want other people accidentally barging in and interrupting.

'Do you know any of the other students involved? Their names?' asked Fran hopefully.

'I think Poppy Preston was probably involved. And Timothy Montgomery.'

Fran had already met both of those people. Poppy Preston was Katie's roommate, and of course Tim was Katie's boyfriend. She hadn't been able to speak to either of them again yesterday as they had both been elsewhere when she'd knocked. No one knew where they were.

'And…?' she asked.

Dr Wright shook her head.

'I don't know the names of the others, they take different classes. But they all hung around in a group, so it shouldn't be too difficult for the police to find out.'

Dr Wright gave Fran a curious look.

'One of the other officers was in the records room yesterday, looking for someone,' she said suddenly. 'Maybe you know him, the sergeant who was incompetent enough to almost get himself blown up. Brown, I think his name was.'

Under other circumstances, Fran might have been the first to agree with her. But after everything, she wasn't going to sit back and let the other woman bad-mouth one of her colleagues, no matter how much she might have agreed with the sentiment.

'Sergeant Brown was just doing his job, and being thorough,' Fran said stiffly.

'Maybe if he'd told me at the time he was looking for information on Miss Marshall, I could have saved him a lot of time, and saved you the effort of being here this morning, interrupting me from my work.'

'He was doing his job,' Fran repeated, not wanting to confirm exactly what Brown had been working on.

Dr Wright gave her an unpleasant, twisted smile, the expression one of contempt.

Once again, Fran's instinct made her wary. A nasty thought occurred to her, that perhaps Dr Wright was fishing for information, or maybe was trying to stir up trouble for those kids. She had been curiously cooperative and knowledgeable about this group, even though she claimed to have no proof. But what would Dr Wright have to gain from telling the police about them, other than making trouble? Was there more to it than she was letting on? How was she going to find out? Another thought struck her: why did she mention Ed Brown?

Fran stood and made as if to leave, thanking Dr Wright for her time.

'I hope I won't be interrupted again,' the doctor said.

'I hope so too,' replied Fran, praying that she was right, or if she was wrong, then someone else would be doing the interrupting. Of all the interviews she'd done in her career so far, this was one that left the worst taste in her mouth. Doctor Wright looked back down at the work in front of her, not bothering to say goodbye as Fran left.

As she walked back to the main doors and the fresh air, Fran thought about what the doctor had said, and her own reaction, what her intuition was telling her.

I wonder what the Chief would have made of her, she thought, then smiled. The Chief would have cut her down to size, and probably made chili out of her! He wouldn't be coming out of the interview feeling like she felt, feeling that somehow she had been used.

Yes, that was it. Dr Wright had wanted to tell her about those students, even though she'd tried to disguise it. She had wanted to direct attention towards them. Wright couldn't have known that Tim had already spoken to the Chief, so she couldn't have known they already knew about a group that liked to cause trouble at the Kingston Building.

Of the two, Fran was inclined to trust Tim's statement more than Dr Wright's, although she couldn't quite put her finger on why. Maybe it was just that Tim had come across as more genuine, even though he was probably still hiding something. And Tim quite obviously cared about Katie Marshall. Could the same be said for Dr Wright?

And then there was that snide little dig at Ed Brown at the end. That made Fran feel uncomfortable, not just because she had felt obliged to defend someone she didn't like very much. Of all the things you could say about Brown, incompetent was not one of them. Annoying? Yes. Self-absorbed? Yes. Unprofessional…? Well, he had been yesterday. But incompetent? You had to be joking! His case files and work list were impeccable, always. She'd never met another officer who was so thorough, it was exhausting trying to keep up. The man lived and breathed police work, so much so it could almost be called an obsession.

Outside the building, Fran paused, thinking about her next move. She hadn't been able to track Tim down, or Poppy, the two people Dr Wright had specifically named. She should start with those two.

For the next few hours Fran tried her best to get more answers out of the students, but nothing worked. For a start, most of them were still in bed, even after nine, and the two people she wanted to talk to weren't in their rooms. The few who knew them hadn't seen either of them, and she ended up going from building to building getting nowhere, and slowly feeling more frustrated.

At last, she stopped where she had been a few hours earlier, outside the Kingston Building, feeling as if she had failed. All she had done was go round in circles all morning, she'd not learnt anything new. She glanced at her watch. The Chief would probably have been waiting for her to get in touch and tell him what was going on, and what progress she had made.

She didn't want to tell him that, after a good start yesterday afternoon, all she had done this morning was spin her wheels and waste time. She mentally shook her head in anger. She should have known better.

There wasn't much point in delaying it any longer, she needed to talk to the Chief. With a soft sigh, she walked back into the administration building, to ask to borrow their phone.

Even a short sleep had helped Ironside's mood. A good breakfast had also helped, and now he and Mark were going over what had happened yesterday.

The remaining statements had been read, and together he and Mark had worked through them methodically. The gaps in the details were slowly being filled, but there had been no more insight into what might have caused the explosion, or about what anyone had been doing in the building beforehand.

'There are still events missing from this timeline,' he said to Mark, for maybe the fourth time that morning. 'Setting the explosives. Katie Marshall getting inside. Someone calling the police to report a robbery. Ed Brown narrowly avoiding getting blown up.'

'So just the important parts,' said Mark with a smile.

Ironside did not smile back, even though he knew Mark was only trying to lighten his mood. He didn't want his mood lightened just then. In front of him was one of the lists that Curtis Kingston had sent over earlier, the "list" of names of the students he thought were in that group. It only had a single name, a name that kept on being mentioned: Katie Marshall.

Mark noticed the direction of the Chief's attention.

'Not much of a list,' he said. 'More like someone's out to pin the blame on this girl.'

Ironside nodded. That was unsettling, but his mind kept coming back to the order and timing of the events of yesterday morning. Somehow, he felt was missing something. But what?

'I didn't mention her name yesterday,' he said. 'We were looking for her because of Ed's statement.'

'What if Ed hadn't seen her, or not remembered?' Mark asked.

'If Ed hadn't seen her, we would have wanted her in for questioning by now, on suspicion of causing the explosion.'

'Doesn't Ed seeing her at the scene make it more likely she was involved in the blast?'

Ironside thought carefully about his answer.

'Maybe,' he said slowly. 'But remember what Ed told us. She looked scared, confused even.'

'He used the word terrified at one point,' Mark added.

'Does that sound to you like someone planning an explosion?'

'Not really.'

'And if you are going to cause an explosion do you stay around at the scene?'

'No!'

'Exactly,' said the Chief. 'It sounds more like someone who has been set up to take the blame for causing an explosion. Remember, Ed being there was only by chance.'

Mark leaned forward, rummaging around on the desk for a report.

'The call from the Kingston Building about a robbery came in about three thirty,' he said. 'The call went over the wire just after. But the black and whites weren't there until over half an hour later. That was after the front came off.'

Ironside nodded, pleased that Mark had noticed. The timing was the problem.

'Ed told us when the call came over the wire, he was there in a few minutes. The blast was just before four.'

Mark frowned at what the Chief was implying.

'Then there is about twenty minutes from when Ed arrived until the blast? Twenty minutes he can't remember?'

'Exactly.'

'And…?' Mark asked.

That was his new problem. There were twenty minutes missing from Ed's original statement, the one Fran had written down yesterday when Ed had first appeared in his office. In fact, other than when Ed had responded to the alert, the time of which they had from the notes from base, he couldn't be sure of anything until Ed had called in again, after the blast. In his current state of confusion, Ed could have muddled the sequence up, as well as forgotten things.

'About the only thing Ed was sure about was that girl,' Mark said. 'And we know he was in the building when it blew.'

In Ironside's mind he could see the man-sized patch on the floor of the hall, that was mostly free of dust, and the words of Frank from yesterday came back to him. "Two feet closer to the entrance and you would have been in the market for a new Sergeant." For the second time in six months, Ed had dodged death. Ironside suppressed a shiver.

He picked up the other list, of the staff who ran labs at the Kingston Building. Five names: Dr E. Smithson, Dr J. Wright, Dr J. Jordan, Professor I. Masrani and Professor R. Bishop. These were the next people Ironside wanted to speak to. They should all be on campus, somewhere.

'We have done all we can here,' the Chief said, still looking at the list. Maybe one of these people would throw a little light on why the front of a building had vanished. And he wanted to find Frank again, and ask him if there had been any progress.

He looked up at the clock, it was afternoon already. He wondered where Fran was and, as if summoned by his thought, the phone rang. He answered it.

'Hi Chief,' it was Fran, and she sounded in a good mood.

'What do you have for me?' Ironside asked. 'Good news or bad?'

'I think it depends,' Fran replied. 'I've been going in circles for the past few hours.'

'We are just one our way over,' he said.

'Good, I was hoping you would say that.'

The Chief let a small smile onto his face, feeling happier now he had spoken to at least one of his staff members, and that she had been making some progress.

'We'll be there soon,' he said and hung up.

'Fran? What does she have?' asked Mark.

'News, of some sort,' Ironside said. He paused. 'We need Ed along too,' he added.

Earlier, the Chief might have been worried that Ed hadn't shown up yet, but he was reasonably certain that Brown would have shown up here at the office first, before doing anything else. He was concerned about the girl, he wanted to get on with the job. He wouldn't go rushing off to the Kingston Building on his own, not after the unpleasantness yesterday. Besides, the man had been close to collapsing from exhaustion. Hopefully, he'd had a decent rest and would be feeling better today.

Mark looked surprised for a moment, then nodded.

Ironside picked up the phone again and dialled.

His nightmare is different this time. There is a pretty girl looking at him. Ed is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and she is standing near the end of dark corridor, beside what looks like a large barrel with pipes and values coming out of it at strange, ugly angles. She turns to stare at him and he can sense her fear and her terror.

She starts to shake her head, move and twist. There is no noise, but it looks like she is shouting at him, shouting and screaming in fury at him. She's so scared but he's not doing his job and helping her. Why isn't he doing his job properly?

It's hot, almost unbearably so. He tries to wipe the sweat from his eyes, but his arms feel heavy. Each breath he takes fills his lungs with thick syrupy air, making it hard to breathe. The smell of it is almost overwhelming and he fights the urge to be sick, the stench of blood and vinegar and oil burning his nose. The girl is still screaming silently at him, terrified and desperate. He stands and does nothing.

Abruptly, she's gone. He leans against the wall, overcome with exhaustion, unable to keep moving forward. The dark corridor is suddenly bright, as if all the lights have been switched on at once. The dazzling white brilliance makes the back of his already sore eyes hurt even more. But he doesn't try to shield his eyes, he can't move.

He feels a weight crushing down on his chest and he looks down. As he does, his vision tilts, and he feels cold stone under his side.

Through the blurring haze of heat, he sees the girl once more. She says nothing, not moving, as if he's seeing her captured in a photograph, a pretty girl with long, wavy, brown hair and a happy, fun-loving smile. Blood streams from long slices on her hands and arms, dropping in thick, red spatters on the ground beside her.

Ed fights to move, even though he's pinned to the floor. He knows he has only this one chance to help her, but no matter how he tries, he's fixed fast in that position. The smell increases in strength. The burning sensation in his nose spreads down his throat and into his lungs. He struggles for air, each breath feels more empty and painful than the last. He wants to gulp down fresh air but there is nothing there. He is drowning in dead air, desperate for oxygen. The scene in front of him is growing grey around the edges as his vision fades to a narrow circle. He can't move. He can't do anything to help. He's fixed to the floor, unable to move. The pressure on his chest grows to a crescendo, a stabbing, slicing pain that is as close to unbearable as anything else he's experienced. He's caught, trapped, barely even able to breathe.

There's no way out. There's no one coming to help him.

With no warning, a puff of billowing dust erupts from his left sweeping everything in front of him away and, somewhere far off, there is the dull blare of an alarm.

Ed woke with a start, taking huge gulps of air. He was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding as if he had just sprinted the full length of a football field.

His telephone was ringing.

For a few more seconds he couldn't move, fixed to his bed with confusion, the smell still in the back of his throat and nausea threatening to overwhelm him. He hurt everywhere, the muscles aching even without him moving. The phone kept on ringing, and ringing, making his already pounding headache all the more uncomfortable. Only one man would have persisted like that so slowly and carefully, Ed levered himself over onto his side and made a grab for the telephone.

'Brown,' he slurred, aware of the unsteady sound of his breathing. The clock by his bed showed it was just after six in the morning and Ed felt a shiver of concern pass through him. Why was the Chief calling so early? What had happened? 'What's wrong?'

'Ed!' Of course it was the Chief, and he sounded anxious.

'What's wrong?' repeated Ed, a spike of panic in his chest adding to his discomfort and disorientation. The Chief wouldn't call this early unless there was something bad. The panic grew more intense, accompanied by an indistinct feeling of dread. What had gone wrong? Why had he been sleeping instead of working? Didn't this always happen when he let his guard down? What had gone wrong now?

'I just wondered if you were alright,' the Chief said.

'You woke me at six just to ask that?' snapped Ed, sounding a lot more angry than he'd meant to.

'Six? No! Ed, it's half past noon.'

'Wh-?' Ed looked back to his clock, this time seeing the hands the correct way around. He stared at it for a few moments, before slowly leaning forward and resting his aching head on his free hand. He'd been asleep for almost twenty hours. No wonder the Chief was annoyed, he'd messed up again. Today of all days, he had needed to be at his best, and instead of being up and ready for a day's work, he'd overslept.

'Chief, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. I'm just on my way over.'

'Take it easy, Sergeant,' Ironside started to say.

'No, I'm on my way.'

'Sergeant Brown!' Ironside said sharply. 'There is no need to rush. Mark will be there to pick you up in about an hour.'

Ed was silent for a few moments. Arguing with the Chief was never easy, and though Ed rarely backed out of a confrontation, he didn't feel able to try and change Ironside's mind this morning. This afternoon, he reminded himself.

'And you have no car,' Ironside said firmly. For a moment, Ed pictured his Galaxie sitting forlornly in the parking lot, crushed and bashed. Another one. He winced. Yes, he had no car. He didn't have much of a choice.

'Thanks,' he managed to say, without sounding too churlish.

'He'll be over in an hour,' Ironside reminded him. The phone clicked.

Ed replaced the receiver and rolled slowly back on his bed to stare up at the ceiling, feeling his heart still racing. In truth, the very last thing he wanted to do at the moment was go anywhere and do anything.

The memory of his nightmare was still fresh and as vivid as it had been while he was sleeping. At least it was a different nightmare this time, he thought with a sigh. At least something had managed to oust his recurring dream of hanging like a slab of meat from a hook as men with knives instead of hands cut and sliced him in an endless night. Wasn't that a good thing? He shook his head. Things must be bad if a dream about watching a girl die was better than usual.

He didn't want to think about it, but she was just the latest in a long line of women who had needed his help and he'd failed them. He was a cop, he was supposed to be there to protect people. This time he'd missed something, he knew he had. Something in that building was wrong, he had sensed that at the time, and now he had no idea what it was. Somehow it had still all gone wrong and now this young woman had vanished. How had he messed up so badly? It was his job to know the signs, he had to know to keep himself alive on the streets of the city and in all the dirty work Ironside always got. How could he had made such a big mistake?

There were obvious excuses. He was tired, dead tired. He usually didn't need much sleep, a definite bonus when you worked for a man like the Chief, but these days he struggled to sleep for longer than a few hours. It was bound to catch up with him at some point.

The pills and the bottle of scotch were sitting beside the bed, but he made no move to pick them up, just looking at them made him anxious. He still ached, he'd been beaten up any number of times over the past few years, and there were days in the marines when he'd pushed himself past his physical limit just to stay alive. But there was nothing to compare to the fainting ringing his whole body felt, as if all the nerve endings had been crushed and bruised. The muscles in his arms and shoulders hurt, and his spine and ribs felt as if he'd been hit hard across his back by something heavy. His neck ached, and round the base of his skull there was an unpleasant thumping sensation. It hurt to lie still and barely breathe, let alone stand up and move.

Eventually, he forced himself to struggle out of bed, surprised he was still wearing yesterday's clothes. He stripped off as gently as he could, dumping the dusty, crumpled clothes in the laundry, noticing for the first time the grime and dirt on his once sharp white shirt. Then he showered, and he stood staring at the tiles on the wall, the hot water running over him, feeling the drum of the drops on his skin.

What had happened yesterday morning? Why did it always remain so infuriatingly out of reach? How had he survived?

That was the question that bothered him the most. He had a fuzzy recollection of coming round, lying curled up on the floor against the wall, feeling confused and afraid. It had taken a few minutes for him to realise how uncomfortable he was, lying like that on his side.

But then, he'd stood up and just walked out, a little slowly and unsteadily it was true, but still he had stood up and walked out. He could remember stumbling over to his crushed car, brushing the dust from his sleeve. Everything else behind him had been virtually vaporised and scattered over the parking lot. How? It was the question everyone had spoken yesterday and one he had no answer to. He'd seen the damage explosions could do to the human body while he was in the army. There were men from ordnance that had missing arms, there had been corpses missing almost everything else. He hadn't thought about it much at the time when he came round, and then not much when he was in hospital or on the way back with that traffic cop, Erikson. But when they were at the Kingston building, and he'd seen the place where he'd come round, the place where he'd been at the moment of explosion, something had scared him. It was so annoying that he couldn't remember.

Time passed in fits and starts and then Ed suddenly realised he'd been standing there for much longer than he'd meant to and the water was going cold.

In the shower, he didn't notice the blood streaming out of his nose, but as he dried off, the towel stained red. Ed swore. The nose bleed didn't last long, but it was just one more thing he could do without today. They had warned him about this at the hospital. Hadn't they? He wasn't so sure anymore, but he remembered something about nose bleeds, or was it a joke about a drug habit? It was all so infuriatingly blurry. He was finding it hard to remember much at all about yesterday, except the looks and the unanswerable questions. He shrugged. What did he expect when he'd had nothing for breakfast, nothing for lunch, and scotch with a double side of morphine as an early dinner?

Forcing himself to focus, he was dried, shaved and dressed in about fifteen minutes. Food was the last thing he wanted, but he downed two large glasses of cold water instead, hoping that would help ease the headache. Finally, he fixed his gun to his belt, then put his wallet and badge in his inner jacket pocket. For a few seconds he looked at himself in the mirror on the wall, smoothing down his hair and straightening his tie. He had to look smart, he had to make sure there was no sign of any weakness, no sign that anything might be wrong.

He was ready to go, and get on with his job.

A cold chill passed through him, a shiver that he'd rarely felt before. He had always wanted to be a cop, he'd made up his mind for sure by the time he was discharged from the marines. He never thought he'd be lucky enough, or good enough, to work for the San Francisco Police Department's Chief of detectives, Robert T. Ironside. And for the most part he'd done a good job.

A fresh wave of guilt swept over him. Somewhere, out in the world, Katie Marshall's parents could be waiting for a call from their little girl. They might be waiting, wondering where she was. He could imagine her father pacing the floor by the telephone, her mother sitting on the settee close by, twisting her hands with worry. How often had he seen this with anxious, terrified families waiting for news of the people they loved? And how many times had it been good news?

Maybe their little girl was never going to call again. Instead, hours, days, or even weeks later, the police were going to knock at their door and tell them she was dead and that he'd failed yet again to do his job and help her.

Letting women down, wasn't that what he did best? No wonder Fran despised him…

There was a sharp knock at the door and Ed started, looking round at the clock. It was well over an hour since the Chief had called. Where had all the time gone?

He moved swiftly to open it and Mark was standing there, his hands in his pockets, a laconic smile on his face. The sight of his friend made Ed feel a little better. He and Mark didn't agree about everything, but he was grateful that the other man was there, just as calm and cool as always.

'Hey, man' he said. 'The Chief sent me to pick you up, I dropped him off before coming to collect you.'

'Okay, I'm almost ready.'

'Are you cool?' asked Mark as he stepped through the door. 'Cause you don't look cool.'

Ed scowled for a moment, almost about to snap back, but Mark grinned and Ed found himself smiling back. It was hard to be angry at his honest concern.

'Thanks!' he said. 'That's just what I needed to hear.'

'Any time, man,' he said. 'Any time.'

Ed ducked back into his bedroom, and impulsively popped open the painkillers, taking two out, putting them in his mouth. Having nothing else on hand he poured a splash of scotch into the glass and gulped down the lot. He knew it wasn't the breakfast or lunch he should have had, but now he was late, the Chief was waiting and they had work to do. He'd have to find food later.

He hesitated for a moment, then picked up the pills and shoved them in his pocket, thinking that he might need them.

'Good to go?' asked Mark. Ed was about to say that he had never felt less good to go in his life.

'It depends on where we are going,' he replied.

'Kingston Building,' Mark replied. 'Fran and the Chief are already there.'

His heart sank.

Great! Ed thought bitterly. That's just the place I want to go.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Chain Reaction

Fran had been in no mood to put up with Brown today, not after everything that had happened. When they'd arrived at the Kingston Building, he'd looked so straight-laced and serious, immaculately dressed and as handsome as always. That had made her suspicious, considering what she'd had to put up with the day before. Right enough, as the Chief had spoken about Tim and Katie, Brown grew steadily more anxious and unsettled, which made Fran increasingly annoyed.

But when the news broke about a bomb, his reaction caught her off-guard.

Ed swerved past the officer, running directly toward the remains of the building. Ironside looked after him, mouth open in shock, and Mark was too busy with the Chief to follow. Then much to her own surprise, after a fraction of a second hesitation, Fran did exactly the same, avoiding the confused police officer and followed after Ed.

At first, she thought she was going to reason with him, but she was too slow to catch up. Then she just wanted to follow him, to stop him making a bigger mess in an already dangerous situation, if she could.

Brown had a head start, and was faster and more nimble, somehow manoeuvring past the rubble without slowing or slipping on the dusty ground. He reached the main building and dashed through to the inner area without the slightest pause, Fran still lagging behind, by now out of breath. For a moment, as she ran up to where the front doors had once been, she worried she wouldn't be able to see where he'd gone. But there was a noise from along one of the corridors behind a now-vacant doorway, and Fran followed the noise.

At the end of a short hallway Fran came to a set of stairs, and she raced down them as fast as she could. Ed had slowed, she could see him just ahead, and it was clear that he wasn't searching the building. It felt to Fran like he already knew where he had to go. She followed him into the basement, still too far behind to be of use, but determined to keep going in spite of the mess and the dust.

Ed rushed along the dark corridor and vanished into a room at the end. By the time she reached that door, Ed was already well inside, still too far away to speak to. He kept close to the nearside wall and looked around as if he was searching for something. The basement was dimly-lit, but it looked like they were in a boiler room, it smelt of damp and machine oil. There were cylinders stacked at the back, and sets of copper pipes along the walls that trailed up along the roof.

Suddenly Ed went very still, and she copied the movement, trying to stop herself breathing so hard, aware that he might be able to see more of the room than she could. Her annoyance at the situation hadn't lessened and she scowled at his back as he stood there, still furious that he'd gone charging in. He would probably scare the girl, then what? What about the bomb? What was he thinking?

There was an odd peacefulness for a few seconds and nothing happened. Fran started to wonder if Ed knew what he was doing. Maybe they were in the wrong place. She was about to move forward to ask him, when he spoke.

'Katie?' Brown's voice was quiet, but much more calm than she expected. He'd sprinted like he was going for a touchdown across to the building and down the stairs, but he gave no hint that he was out of breath. She looked more closely, her eyes growing accustomed to the gloom. His shoulders looked as if they were shaking and she noticed he was holding onto the wall, the other hand, down by his side, was clenched in a fist. Maybe the run had taken more out of him than he was showing. But why was he taking such a risk?

'Katie?' he repeated, a little louder.

There were soft scuffing noises from somewhere inside, Fran turned slightly to see if she could make out anything, but there were only cylinders and pipes. It occurred to her that Ed could still be wrong, it might have been a rat, or anything, scurrying around down here.

'Katie,' he said a third time, more confidently. 'I'm with the police.'

The shuffling noises stopped abruptly.

Fran frowned again at Ed, but didn't dare move now he had drawn attention to himself, as she didn't want to make things worse. Maybe the girl had been telling the truth, she could set off a bomb and everything in here would go. Including her and Ed. She gave a dry gulp. What had Brown led them into?

'G-G-Go a-a-away,' came a small voice. Fran's heart went out to her, panicking and alone. Tim had told them she was scared, even with just the two words Fran had heard, she could tell Katie sounded absolutely terrified. If the Chief had been here, there was no doubt that…

'I want to help you,' Brown said quietly. Fran blinked in surprise at the utter conviction in his voice.

'L-Leave m-me alone.'

'I want to help you,' he repeated.

'A-Arrest me, you m-mean,' said Katie, her voice trembling.

'I want to help you.'

There was silence, Fran was taking short, shallow breaths, trying to think of a way to help, or a way to discretely go back out and get help, but she didn't dare. The atmosphere of the room felt delicate, tense and unpredictable. For the moment, Fran wasn't sure what to do. She looked expectantly at Ed.

'I know why you're h-here,' Katie said at last, her voice less tremulous and more agitated.

'I'm here to help you,' he said again.

'I know y-you're here because of the explosion. You think it's m-my fault. You're going to a-arrest me.'

'No.' Again there was total conviction in Ed's tone. 'I'm here to help you.'

Katie made no reply. Fran could hardly breathe. She couldn't see where Katie was, she wasn't close enough for that. Ed had turned slightly, his hand higher up on the wall beside him. Fran felt a flutter of confusion and panic. What in the world did he think he was doing? If he was wrong, this whole building could come down on top of them. Why was Ed taking such a ridiculous chance?

There was another soft scuffing noise.

'I-I recognise you,' said Katie suddenly. 'I s-saw you.'

Fran's chest tightened. The girl recognised him from yesterday morning; that was the only explanation. She'd been here. So had Ed. Even if his memories were hazy, maybe Katie might remember more. Another thought struck her, the Chief had been right to trust him.

'And I saw you,' Ed replied, still cool and composed, the diametric opposite of what he had been like interviewing the students.

There was a noise and Katie edged into view from behind a cylinder, not far in front of where Ed was standing. Her long brown hair was tangled and messy, and Fran could see blood on her face. Even in the dim lighting, the young woman was so pale she was almost blue. Katie looked desperately at Ed, then wiped the blood from her nose with the back of her hand.

'You said I'd be s-safe,' she said quietly.

'I know,' Ed told her. 'I'm sorry I took so long, I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner.'

An expression of forlorn hope spread over the girl's face.

'Can you help m-me?' she whispered. 'Please? I'm so scared that they'll f-find me.'

'I want to help you,' Ed insisted. 'That's all I want to do.'

'P-Please don't a-arrest m-me?' Katie murmured.

'No. I'm only here to help you. I'll help you and you can be safe.'

Fran had never heard Ed speak like that, his voice was calm and compelling, with a warmth she hadn't expected.

'I don't want to go to p-p-prison,' Katie said with a mournful sniff. 'I didn't mean for it to h-happen. I s-swear it wasn't me.' Words suddenly spilled out, jumbled up and running on from each other. 'I got scared when they locked the door I thought I couldn't get out I called the police I found the other door it was so hot and stuffy and so hard to breathe and the strange smell and I didn't mean to knock the canister and I didn't mean to break it I tried to stop it I couldn't I ran.' She drew a sudden breath, silent for a moment before continuing. 'And I ran, and, and…' Her voice became almost a whisper, Fran had to strain to hear it. 'I hid.'

'You don't have to hide anymore,' Ed told Katie, using that same calm, reassuring tone. He held out his hand. 'Let me help you. Please.'

For the first time, Fran heard a wobble in Ed's voice, desperation breaking through. He must have been aware of time passing and what must be happening outside. Backup could be here any second, maybe even armed police, and the illusion of calm would be shattered. Fran wasn't sure what they would do, would they try to surprise Katie? Move in from the side, to make sure she didn't have a chance to set the bomb off? Or would they fire first, before finding out what was going on? It was obvious to Fran that the girl in front of her was terrified and in need of help. But the longer it took to talk her into cooperating, the more chance there was of other people leaping to a different conclusion.

'There are no more explosives.' It wasn't a question, and the authority in Ed's tone made the girl look more scared.

'I only w-wanted them to go away,' she said with a whimper. 'I-I don't want to go to jail. I don't want to be locked up. I only w-wanted them to go away.'

But Ed didn't move. He just stood there, waiting, his hand outstretched.

'Let me help you, Katie. Please.'

The tension was excruciating. Fran was torn between rushing in to help her and rushing out to warn the Chief. But she didn't move, finding a trust in her colleague that she hadn't realised was there.

She looked at Ed as he waited, taken aback at how calm he was, all of his attention focused on helping Katie. It was so different from what she'd experienced before, at least for most of the time. There had been occasions when the warmth of his personality had made her smile, even in the hard, dark, lonely days after her father was murdered. He had been there, a safe, if annoying, presence that she had needed.

Yes, safe was the word she was looking for, in spite of the awful undercover assignment. She couldn't have made it through the tough days without Ed Brown being a lightning rod for her anger, the easy target for her to take out all the frustration on. And he had never shied away from it. Watching him now, Fran realised how much his presence had helped her, being the one she could get mad at safely, without fear of retaliation.

It was an uncomfortable realisation. The Chief and Mark had both been there to comfort her and support her, making her feel at home and welcome as part of the team. She felt at ease in their presence in a way she didn't with Ed. A glimmer of understanding made her realise that part of the reason was the association with the sorrow and grief of her father's death. It hadn't been Ed's fault that it had hurt so much, he'd just been the only convenient and willing target.

She blinked, suddenly amazed. Did it really take a bomb threat and a terrified girl to make her see anything good about Ed Brown?

No one had moved. But after what felt like an age, and with no warning, Katie began to edge her way forward, out of the nook she'd wedged herself into. Ed didn't move, he waited patiently for her to come to him. She moved slowly, in timid, shuffling steps. When she was close enough, she reached out and took Ed's hand. With evident tenderness, he gently put his other hand over hers.

'I won't let anything else happen to you,' he said. 'I promise.'

The hope in Katie's eyes made Fran's heart almost burst once again.

'I'm so tired,' she said. 'I'm so scared. They're coming to get me, all I could do was hide.'

'No one is going to hurt you.'

'Where are we g-going?'

'Somewhere safe. I promise.'

'Safe?'

'You need to get to hospital. They can help.'

'And you p-promise?' She looked up at him, the terror lingering in the way she was shaking.

Ed nodded. 'They helped me, they can help you. I promise.'

Still hand-in-hand, Ed guided the girl past Fran and up out of the door, neither of them giving Fran even so much as a glance. Fran followed, struck mute for the moment, unable to think of anything to say, feeling completely out of place and that she should be doing more.

But as they moved toward the stairs, Fran felt a sudden spike of fear. Anything could be waiting for them out there. In the foyer, there could be a whole platoon of armed police officers. She wanted to call out and warn them, but she couldn't find the right words. She moved forward as fast as she could, following a few steps behind them.

To her surprise, the broken foyer was almost deserted and instead of armed policemen, Chief Ironside sat in his wheelchair just where the outer doors should have been. Mark was next to him. They had never looked so calm.

Ed guided Katie forward, making sure she didn't stumble over any of the rubble, toward the Chief.

'Who are you?' Fran heard the girl ask, her voice tired and scared, but steadier than it had been a few minutes before.

'He's my friend,' Ed replied.

The girl accepted that with a nod.

'The ambulance is here to take you to hospital,' the Chief said kindly, smiling at the young woman. 'They'll help.'

'They can keep you safe,' added Ed. 'I promise.'

Katie gave a long sigh, her shoulders relaxing as she breathed out.

'I want to be safe,' she said. 'I'm so scared.'

She leaned against Ed, her eyes closed and he supported her as if she were an exhausted child resting against her father's shoulder. Mark nodded to Ed, then moved a few feet outside, signalling to whoever was out there to come across.

They stood for a few minutes in silence as two ambulance men rolled a stretcher towards the group, and Katie let herself be helped onto it. Only when they had put a blanket over her and fastened the strap across her chest did she let go of Ed's hand.

For a moment, Fran watched Ed as he looked at Katie, his expression one of such bitter loss and regret, showing a sorrow that she had no way to describe. Then he stroked her hair back from her forehead, tucking it behind one ear, a gesture so tender that Fran was once again lost for words.

The ambulance men gently rolled the stretcher out and Ed, Mark and the Chief followed close behind. Fran couldn't move for a moment, then the Chief looked back, motioning her forward to join them.

The ambulance was as close to the cordon limit as it could get, and Fran was pleased to see Tim standing beside it, holding the towel to his head. When he saw Katie an expression of relief washed over him, and when she was close he took her hand, staying by her side as she was lifted inside. The ambulance doors closed, and then it weaved its way off in the direction of the hospital.

Only once the vehicle was out of sight did anyone of the group speak.

'Good work, Sergeant Brown,' the Chief said, looking up at his sergeant.

Ed nodded, and Fran noticed how dazed and drained he looked now. She was sure he was still shaking.

'I keep losing people,' Ed murmured, holding his hand over his eyes. 'I couldn't lose her as well.'

Ironside accepted the comment with a small nod, Mark clapping his friend on the shoulder. They stayed silent for a moment longer, then the Chief gave a huff, shifting in his chair.

'We need to ask her some questions,' Ironside said. 'As soon as we can.'

Ed nodded but there was no enthusiasm in the gesture. With every passing moment he looked increasingly tired, almost shell-shocked at what had happened. Fran wondered how much of an effort it had taken to keep his cool and not panic. The Chief was also looking at Brown with an expression of deep concern.

'Ed?' he asked quietly. 'Are you alright?'

Again, Ed nodded, but Fran didn't agree. She was half-expecting him to pass out there and then.

'I'm sorry Chief,' Brown said suddenly, his distress clear. 'I still can't remember. I don't know what happened. There's nothing. Nothing. I can't remember. I don't know what's wrong.'

The Chief patted Ed reassuringly on the arm.

'Take it easy, Sergeant,' he said. 'You've done your job, and that's all you can do.'

Fran saw how uncomfortable Ed looked at the statement, but the Chief had turned away and didn't notice the reaction.

'Mark,' Ironside called. 'Get the van.' He looked at Ed and Fran. 'You can both get back to the office and make a start on the paperwork there.'

Fran nodded but Ed hesitated, glancing between Fran and his boss.

'Look, Chief,' he said, with an obvious effort to sound more composed than he was, 'I'll be okay on my own.'

'Is that right, Sergeant Brown?' Ironside looked highly sceptical of that statement. Fran agreed.

'I'm okay,' he said. 'Fran doesn't need to baby-sit me. She needs to help you, and do her job.' He looked round and gave her a confident smile, one that she'd rarely seen before. 'She'll be of much more use helping you at the hospital, rather than sitting in an office with me. And I need…' Fran saw him swallow hard. 'I'd rather be on my own.'

Ironside didn't look like he agreed, at least for a moment, and gave Ed a hard stare as if trying to figure out an unfathomable puzzle. Then he gave a sharp nod.

'Fine, Ed. Get a car back to headquarters. Write a statement before anything else gets forgotten. Write down everything Katie said to you. Then go over anything you can remember from the day before.' He gave Ed another hard glare. 'And then stay put until we get back, Sergeant Brown. Understand?'

'Okay.'

'And don't worry, Ed,' Ironside continued. 'The hospital will look after her. And we'll be there as well. We'll give you regular updates.'

After a moment's hesitation, Ed nodded once more. He took a step towards Fran, and gripped her forearm gently.

'Thanks for being my backup,' he said with a tired but warm smile, giving her arm a slight squeeze. 'Just… just, thanks.'

Fran was so surprised and embarrassed that she didn't reply, and stared at him blankly, not sure what to say, or how to explain her actions. Being his backup was the last thing that had been on her mind when she'd followed him, she wasn't sure she'd had any other motivation other than to stop him from making such a huge mistake. Her cheeks flushed, ashamed now of her ill-considered assumption. She hadn't thought, just reacted in anger, as usual. Ed held her arm a moment longer, then quickly moved away.

The Chief turned to Fran.

'Ready?' he asked. She nodded, pleased to be able to move on and focus on something else, now that the immediate drama was over.

As they turned to get in to the van, Fran noticed Ed reach for his handkerchief, it looked like there was blood on his top lip. She even leaned forward to ask what was wrong, but a noise from the Chief distracted her as he got into the van, and Ed moved away. She frowned after him, watching him walk slowly towards the group of patrolmen at the cordon with a vague sense of unease in the back of her mind, unexpectedly torn between helping the Chief and going after Ed.

Instinct, wasn't that what the Chief kept talking about? Just for a moment, her instinct was telling her that Sergeant Brown needed her help more than Ironside. But then she looked back at the Chief, knowing she had work to do at the hospital. With a sigh, she turned and pulled herself up into the van, closing the door behind her.

'So, Officer Belding. I need a report,' Ironside said, hiding his concern beneath the formal title. Fran looked up at the Chief, surprise mixed with confusion on her face.

They were in the van, Mark was driving it to the hospital, and the Chief wanted to hear what had happened with Katie as concisely as possible. He could have asked Ed, but the incident had clearly taken a toll on Sergeant Brown, and his statement would be better being written sooner rather than later. Besides, thanks to Fran's impulse to help, she could give the Chief the main details right now. Slowly, Fran shook her head.

'He just said he was there to help her,' she said, amazed. 'And that she'd be safe.'

'And?'

'That's all he kept saying. I'm not sure why it worked.' Fran blinked, the confused expression on her face fading.

'What about Katie herself?' Ironside asked.

'She was terrified,' Fran said. 'Just how Tim described her. But she said she saw Ed.'

'Ah,' murmured the Chief. That was a relief, more than anything else. They confirmed each other's story. Ed had seen her, she had seen Ed.

'And I think Ed knew where she would be hiding,' said Fran. 'I was surprised.'

Ironside nodded encouragingly.

'Maybe he was down there before, yesterday morning?' he suggested.

'And he's forgotten?'

Again, the Chief nodded. Fran thought for a while longer.

'Katie talking about hiding,' she said slowly. 'And people trying to find her. People being out to get her as if she was being followed. And she was worried about being arrested for causing the explosion.'

Ironside raised his eyebrows, surprised.

'Because she did something to cause the explosion?' he asked. 'Or she thought she did something?'

'Thought,' replied Fran. 'I think.'

'Interesting,'

'She mostly spoke in short sentences,' Fran said. 'Usually repeating herself. But at one point she broke down, saying all sorts of things in a big rush.' She frowned, trying to remember. 'She was scared, someone locked a door. It was getting hot.' Fran looked up Ironside suddenly. 'She said she was the one who called the police.'

'And?' Ironside asked, encouraged that they were at last making some progress with their muddled timeline.

'She said she broke something. And then she said she ran. And then hid.' Fran was silent for a few more moments, then gave her head a quick shake. 'I think that was all.'

Ironside gave her an approving smile.

'Good work, Officer,' he told her. 'It's not easy remembering the details when under pressure.'

'I should probably write it down too,' she said.

'You can put down some notes while we wait at the hospital,' the Chief suggested. 'It might help pass some of the time.'

'Time?'

'I want to speak with her as soon as I can,' he said. 'So we'll stay there and wait.'

The office was suspiciously quiet when Ed walked in. After the tension of earlier he'd needed to be on his own, unable to stand the concern of his colleagues. But now he was here, back at the office, the silence was unsettling. He usually enjoyed being there on his own when he got the chance. It was a good place to get on with work, not like the busy offices downstairs in Homicide, or Narco, or Vice. There the desks were packed together, and those departments were always full of noise and bustle.

Ed gave a long sigh, still shaking after the intense effort at the Kingston Building. The turmoil of emotions kept coming back to him. Relief, surprise, determination, but all tinged with confusion.

Katie Marshall was safe. At least he had managed to get her to safety, like he said he would. The thought sent another powerful wave of relief through him that made his head feel light. Katie wasn't dead, she was in the hospital and someone would take care of her. She was safe.

It had surprised him that he'd known where to look, following his instinct and finding her straight away. Maybe he had been there before, that would explain it, but when he tried to pull a memory from yesterday, there was nothing there but the more recent ones, from after the explosion.

He had been so determined to save her, there wasn't anything he wouldn't have done to help her and get her to safety, even taking risks he wouldn't normally have taken. He had never believed there was another bomb, but he'd had no proof. He could have been wrong. Then what would have happened?

Ed frowned. He hadn't been wrong. She was safe. Making sure she was safe was the only thing that had mattered to him. But now the specifics of what had happened were already beginning to get less clear. It was like trying to remember a dream, each time he focused on one detail, the rest faded away, just out of his reach. What was wrong with him? Why was it getting so hard to remember? The feeling was infuriating.

Still frowning, Ed made himself a cup of strong, black coffee, hoping that would help him feel better. While he was in the kitchen, he grabbed a couple of slices of bread. He wasn't sure when he'd last had something to eat, he couldn't remember either breakfast or lunch, and though he wasn't very hungry, it felt like a good idea.

Walking to the window table, he picked up a blank pad, and a pen. For a long time he stared out of the window, alternating between chewing on the end of the pen, taking mouthfuls of bread and sips of hot coffee, unable to let his mind rest on any one thing.

The office was warm, so Ed pulled off his jacket, and tossed it over the arm of a free seat, loosening his tie at the same time. He wriggled, uncomfortably aware of the way the gun on his belt was digging in. With a sigh, he leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand as he stared out of the window. Maybe he was never going to know what happened yesterday morning. Maybe there were no more memories to find. So he'd better get the details of what had happened with Katie this afternoon down on paper before it all disappeared. He glanced at the blank pad in front of him for a while, wondering about the best way to start, feeling vaguely uneasy but unable to put his finger on why.

By now, the coffee was colder and easier to drink but, in spite of the caffeine, he was feeling more tired, and the warmth of the office combined with the stress of the day made him sleepy. He stretched back, feeling all the aches in his body again, and gave a long yawn.

As he yawned, he tasted blood. Reaching up to his face, Ed felt blood on his lip again. There were drops on the pad of paper as well. With a huff, he pulled the top sheet off and scrunched it up, leaving it on the table, thinking to throw it out later. He pulled out a handkerchief and carefully cleaned the blood from his face.

This was happening too often today. Earlier, beside the Kingston Building, he had only just managed to hide it from the Chief before they had left for the hospital in the van. There was no way Ironside would have let him be part of the case if he suspected there was anything wrong. If the Chief had seen the blood, Ed would have been back in hospital before he could catch his breath.

He looked down again at the blank piece of paper and gave a deep frown. None of this was helping him at the moment. Somehow, he had to remember enough to get some sort of statement written.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

The hospital waiting room was quiet. The Chief had Mark and Fran to keep him company, and they chatted on and off for a while, about the case and about what else was going on, never going in depth about any topic.

They were all on edge. Ironside knew this was one of the hardest parts about police work. Waiting in hospitals was a familiar way to spend an afternoon. Mark brought them coffees and a sandwich each, Fran sat and wrote down all that she could remember about what had happened at the Kingston Building. At some point an officer had dropped off a rushed-looking statement from Todd Chadwick and Poppy Preston. There was nothing new to add, but at least they had that base covered.

At long last, one of the doctors confirmed that Katie Marshall had been admitted and they were starting the difficult task of trying to find out what had happened.

'But she's okay?' Fran asked. 'She's safe, she's not too upset?'

The doctor nodded.

'She seems calm at the moment,' he said. 'That's a start.'

Once the doctor had left, Fran paced for a few minutes before Ironside stopped her.

'Why don't you call Ed at the office and give him an update,' he suggested.

Ed had finally almost started writing when the phone rang. He got up from the far desk and picked up the receiver.

'Chief Ironside's office.'

'Ed, it's Fran.'

'Oh. Hi.'

She sounded suspiciously pleased to hear him. Had they been thinking he hadn't stayed? Was she checking up on him? He didn't like the thought that they didn't trust him.

'Katie's alright at the moment,' she said. Ed felt a rush of relief. 'The doctor says she's calm and they are working out what happened to her.'

'Right.'

'The Chief, Mark and I are going to stay on here for a while longer. We'll get to talk to her as soon as she's able. We'll let you know right after, okay?'

'Right,' Ed repeated, not sure what else to say.

'How's the statement? All done and dusted?' she asked.

Ed glanced to the other table, to a pile of crumpled up sheets and a new blank page waiting for him when he finished this call.

'Um, yeah.'

'Good,' she said, 'and I told all that I could remember to the Chief on the way over.'

'Ah.'

'Later!' she said, and the call clicked off.

Slowly, Ed replaced the handset, and stood looking at the phone for a few moments. Fran had sounded happy. That was good. Katie was safe, and that was good too.

He glanced to the table and the papers all over it, and pulled a face. He was finding it increasingly difficult to remember any details. That phone call from Fran had distracted him long enough to make it that much more awkward.

Everything with Fran was awkward. Ed gave a sigh. He missed Eve. It would have been a different story if Eve had been here instead of Fran. Not that he didn't like Fran, but this afternoon he missed Eve. He thought about her, wondering what she was doing, where she was rather than being here, working on this case with him, Mark and the Chief.

Then he shook his head, walking slowly back to the other table and sitting down. He was just lonely with no one to talk to. They'd left him there to get on with this on his own. The thought made Ed frown, uneasy once more. He didn't like feeling like this.

Besides, it was a waste of time just hanging around in the office. No one else was here, they were all still out doing their jobs. There was a moment when Ed felt he should go home, get away from this oppressive place and get a bit of perspective, get some proper peace and quiet. Maybe get some rest. They'd let him come here to get him out of the way, and home would be just as good as place for that, not trapped in the office with just a blank pad and a garbage can full of scrap paper for company.

The longer he spent here, then less comfortable he felt. He wanted to get on with the job, and find a way to get rid of this infuriating, fuzzy feeling in his memory. Why was it so difficult to remember anything?

But he didn't feel safe in the office. It was a feeling he couldn't articulate, and if anyone had been here to challenge him, he wouldn't have been able to explain it. It was hard to sit down and concentrate. His third (or was it the fourth?) cup of coffee probably hadn't helped, but at least now he didn't feel quite so exhausted.

Ed thought of what the Chief would say if he was here, and was asking why that flamin' statement wasn't finished. That was a conversation he wanted to avoid. He leaned his elbows on the desk, twisting and rubbing his hands together, agitated. There was only one thing he could do: Finish the statement.

At the thought, Ed tipped his head back and let out a loud, annoyed sigh. That damn statement was gonna kill him.

Ironside looked back at the clock. They had been here for hours. At first, the doctors had been pleasant and cooperative, but over the afternoon they had become decidedly less communicative. He'd thought that they could speak to Katie quickly, then get on with the rest of the investigation. He was sure she would know something that would help. But they had just waited, and he had better things to do than hang around the hospital all day. He'd been doing that too much over the past few months. Now, he could sense something was going wrong. Fran and Mark felt it too. Why was it taking so flamin' long?

Any moment Fran would be here with Tim, after he'd been seen by the doctor downstairs. Mark had been standing by the window. He had watched the Chief as he'd rolled back and forward, and then came over to sit on a seat nearby, deliberately getting in the Chief's way.

'Hey,' Mark said. 'The department's not going to spring for another set of wheels for at least another year. And I don't think the hospital wants to replace the carpet, either.'

Ironside stopped, angrily looking away at the interruption. But he knew what Mark was doing. After a moment, he looked back around.

'Chief,' Mark said. 'It will be okay.'

'What's taking them so long?' Ironside asked. 'We shouldn't be here, there are other places we need to be.'

'It will be okay. No one is going anywhere,'

'That's my problem,' Ironside said. Mark leaned forward trying to look at his face.

'I know you're worried. We all are.'

There was no need to ask what Mark was talking about. Ironside smiled, grateful to his friend for bringing up the subject.

'What was he like when you picked him up?'

Mark considered the question.

'So tightly strung I thought you could reach a high C on him.'

Ironside gave a huffed laugh at Mark's apt and perceptive description.

'Did you speak to him?'

'A little on the way over. Whatever went down yesterday really took it out of him.'

'That and everything else.'

Mark nodded. He was his legs, but he was so deeply part of the Chief's life that there was no need to clarify. Mark had been there all through that mess with Richards. Without him, Eve would be dead, so would Ed, and probably the Chief himself. He'd done a tough job, falling in with the Chief's plan, but it had been close. Too close.

'Hey man, I didn't see it either.'

'But I'm his boss,' Ironside said.

'And I'm his friend,' Mark replied. 'Maybe we both should have been looking harder. Not that he makes it very easy.'

Ironside accepted that observation with a nod. Ed was a good cop, and as good undercover as any of the professional undercover officers, sometimes a lot better.

'Besides,' Mark continued, 'you know what Ed's like, he takes it all too personally.'

Ironside nodded again. The man had lived through some dark days, dealing with grief and loss in his own quiet, private way. That mess with Tom Dayton's release, and after Elaine Moreau in Vegas. Even when Viv had chosen principals over passion, just when they might have had a chance to start something, Ed never let his personal life interfere with work. Not that he was cold and unemotional, they could all see the sorrow, but he had done his job and not let it consume him the way grief had done the first time, when Dayton had killed Anne eight years ago.

Eight years before, he'd watched Ed in the painfully recovery after his fiancée's murder. Once the work was over, once his obsession with getting the job done was no longer needed, Ed had given up. Only the Chief's intervention had halted his slide into oblivion. The aftermath of Elaine had been just as difficult, but at least the Chief had known what would help, his friendship with Ed having grown much deeper by then.

'This conversation is not making me feel much better,' Ironside said heavily.

'Me neither.'

'So what did he say? Anything more?'

Mark shook his head.

'I'm not sure he will ever remember. His memory is like swiss cheese. Except with more holes.'

'That's no help.'

'I don't think it's going to get any better.'

Ironside agreed. And if it didn't, then that made speaking to Katie all the more important. Maybe she could throw some light on the gaps, give more detail. But that was unlikely, considering the state they'd found her in. His lip curled in anger. Drugs. Why did the kids think getting high was such a good way to spend their lives, when they were such easy prey to be exploited?

'We need answers, Mark,' he said. 'We need them quickly.'

Mark nodded.

'Want me to go see who I can find to give you some?'

'Yes,' Ironside said after a moment's hesitation. 'Try and find someone who can tell us how Katie is doing. Impress upon them the urgency.'

Seeing Katie was urgent. Getting on with this case was urgent. Getting back to the office was urgent. All these things needed his attention, as Ironside could sense time rushing past. It felt uncomfortable, as if he was missing an important piece of information, something small and insignificant at the time, that had slipped past him when he wasn't looking.

Then Ironside looked up at his friend. Mark nodded.

'Sure, Chief,' he said.

Mark rose, and the Chief was left to stare out the window and brood all on his own.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Descent

Ed was still working on the statement, or at least he was thinking about the statement. Other things had gotten in the way of writing it.

His feet were up on the desk, and he was on at least his fifth coffee. His head was tipped back and he was holding the bridge of his nose, hoping the bleeding had finally stopped. He'd been sitting like this for fifteen minutes and his neck was stiff.

On the table beside him was the bottle of pills he'd been given yesterday. He was wary of taking any more. They had made him feel more tired; a groggy, chemical kind of tired that he associated with hospitals. On the positive side, they helped his headache and made the rest of him feel less sore. And if he didn't do something to ease the ache around his nose and eyes, that statement was going to stay the way it currently was: six words that were his name, the place he'd been and the word "I" at the start.

He couldn't bear getting shouted at by Ironside at the moment, not because of annoying the Chief, but every sound would make his head thump all the more. And where was everyone anyway? They'd said they would be back, or call to tell him what was going on. But since he'd been here there'd only been one short call from Fran, and that had only been to check up on him and make sure he was here.

Moving very slowly, Ed tipped his head back forward, pushing his shoulders down to help with the crick in his neck. He took a breath in through his nose, then another when everything felt okay. A minute later he was still breathing normally, and he was sure the nosebleed had stopped. For now, anyway.

He stood, dropping yet another piece of bloodied tissue paper into the dustbin beside the table. It was filling up quickly, with the crunched up papers of the discarded versions of his statement adding to the garbage.

Ed picked up the bottle of pills and took two out, putting them next to his statement. His cup was empty. Five, or maybe six, coffees and he still felt like something you'd scrape off your shoe. Many more and he might be too jittery to walk in a straight line. But if he was going to have the pills, a coffee would help wash them down and take the unpleasant taste out of his mouth.

Still nervous about another nosebleed, Ed went to the kitchen and poured yet another coffee. He let it sit and cool beside the blank paper while he prowled round the office, not wanting to sit down just yet, feeling the need to stretch his legs.

The statements from the witnesses at the explosion were in a pile on the desk near the kitchen. He'd avoided reading them in any detail earlier, as even a quick glance at one or two had made him feel uneasy. He was usually so good at keeping himself detached, being able to make sure his personal feelings didn't get in the way of doing a good job. But skimming through what they'd said, the way those people had related their perspective on his own experiences was next to impossible to bear. Reading a description of himself dusting off his sleeve and sitting in an ambulance for five minutes, an incident he didn't even remember, was more than disconcerting.

As Ed wandered, feeling confined in the office yet anxious about leaving, he noticed another file on the small desk. Needing a distraction, he picked it up, not really looking at the name on the front. He saw as soon as he opened it that this was his complaint file from Internal Affairs. With an annoyed snort, he almost put it down again, but then he started looking at his list. Reading it, and not remembering it as the occasional extra night of overtime, he was amazed. Had he really done all that work? No wonder the division heads were annoyed. He must have been under their feet every night. The last page was by the Commissioner, a man Ed liked and respected, and someone who he had always thought was a fair man. The comments were not complimentary, but Ed was upset more by the effect this could have on the cases he'd worked on. If he was charging around doing work without pay, then all of this looked like an off-duty obsession.

An off-duty obsession? The thought made him uncomfortable and Ed shuddered. An obsession with a personal case, like the one with Dayton, was one thing. All police officers struggled with the conflict at some point. But this relentless, scatter-gun, working fixation was well beyond even the word obsession.

Ed closed the file, holding it in front of him with both hands. He couldn't keep the folder still, his hands were shaking too much.

He'd done it again. All he'd done was work. He'd barely slept, he'd barely even stopped long enough to eat. After what had happened to Anne he'd done something similar, with less that productive results, and only the Chief's intervention had saved him from the wrath of his division commander and the abrupt end of a promising police career.

Ironside hasn't stepped in this time, had he? The thought caught Ed off guard and he shuddered. Then, in a moment of unexpected anger, Ed hit his palm off the edge of the table.

He wasn't going to think about that. Suddenly, being in the office felt so unappealing that Ed almost left there and then. Shoving the file back where he'd found it, he stormed over to pick up his jacket, and saw the pad of paper and the pills.

Ed stopped, pursing his lips. Damn it. He had to finish that damn statement. He wasn't going to do a bad job, not on top of everything else.

Fine, he thought. I'll just pull up a chair and do it. Then I can go home.

He took the two pills with a mouthful of warm coffee, and sat down at the table, determined to get it over with.

'Chief Ironside?'

Fran let Tim through the door first. He had a bandage round his temple and looked unsteady on his feet. The Chief held out his hand, and the young man shook it tentatively.

'Take a seat, Tim,' he said.

As he sat, Fran came round to the other chair.

'I've told Tim what happened,' she said. 'How we found Katie.'

Tim was slowly and carefully shaking his head in amazement.

'That sergeant, he helped her?'

Ironside nodded. The smile on Tim's face spoke volumes about his affection for Katie, as well as his surprise at Sergeant Brown.

'Where is he, is he okay?'

'He's fine, Tim,' the Chief said. 'He's working or he'd be here too.'

'I feel kinda bad,' Tim murmured, looking ashamed. 'I called him a pig, to his face, I shoulda said sorry. I was, just… kinda steamed.'

'Sergeant Brown will understand, I'm sure,' Ironside said.

'So do you know what's happening?' Tim asked. 'I don't know why they're taking so long. They won't tell me anything. Is there anything? Did they tell you?'

The Chief shook his head.

'I'm sorry, Tim,' Ironside said. He glanced to the floor, feeling the weight of having to ask awkward questions when the young man was so obviously upset. This was never easy. The day I find it easy, I'll quit, he thought. He leaned forward in his chair.

'Tim, I need to get some answers,' he said. 'You know I do.'

For a moment there was deep suspicion, Tim knew the kind of questions that were coming. His lips were pressed together, but he gave a small nod.

'I wanna help Katie,' he said.

'Then we need to know what you were doing when you were in the Kingston Building,' the Chief said. 'We need to know all of it.'

'Do you think that's why Katie is like this?'

'I don't know for sure,' Ironside said honestly. 'It depends on what you did. But I think it's very likely.'

He was thinking about the so-called "list" from Kingston, with only Katie's name on it. There were others involved, he already knew that, so why just her? Tim was silent for a while.

'It started with Chad,' Tim said, saying the name with badly disguised anger. Ironside nodded, of course it was Todd Chadwick. 'He was the leader, he kinda got everyone else into it. Six or seven of us used to meet, but Chad, Katie and I usually broke in.' He glance at Ironside, the expression on his face showing that he was worried.

'We need to know, Tim,' Ironside said. 'All of it. The bad, the dangerous or illegal. All of it. If you care about Katie, you'll tell us.'

Tim nodded.

'It wasn't serious,' he said. 'Not at first.'

Ironside glanced at Fran, who looked back showing the surprise he felt. That was not what Dr Wright had told her earlier. Maybe it just depended on your perspective.

'We would go in, try and disrupt some of the experiments in the upstairs labs. There were rumours, you see.'

'About?'

'Secret stuff. Chad said it was the Government. Katie thought that too, that they were doing stuff in the labs, making stuff they shouldn't be.'

'What sort of things?' Ironside asked.

'We weren't sure, we never saw much.'

'You've no idea? What did you change? What sort of experiments?'

The chagrined look came back to Tim's face.

'It was just the things in the upstairs labs. Some industrial experiments. Catalysts and stuff like that.'

'Did you target specific experiments? By specific lab staff. Or was it just whatever you found?'

Tim looked very embarrassed.

'Mostly Dr Wright,' he admitted. 'Chad didn't like her. Said she had it in for him. Said that she marked his work down because she was jealous.'

Why was he not surprised that those two didn't get along? A man like that coming up against a brilliant female scientist that didn't suffer anyone gladly. Maybe it had all started as a chance for Chad to get back at Dr Wright, and had spiralled into something else.

'What kind of things did you do?'

'Childish, stupid stuff. We changed names on bottles, we moved equipment round, we mixed up the storage. Stupid stuff.'

Ironside looked at him carefully, thinking back to his conversation with Kingston.

'Did you write threatening letters?' he asked quietly.

Tim's reaction said it all. He snorted as if writing letters was the most idiotic thing they could have done, and Ironside got the sense he wasn't lying.

'Letters?' he replied incredulously, rolling his eyes in spite of everything. 'We were supposed to be radical!'

'So, no letters?' The Chief looked up to Fran who was looking as surprised as he felt. If the students hadn't done that, who had? 'And did you ever mix chemical t-'

'No!' Tim said, interrupting the question. 'No. Katie was very firm about that. She's good at chem class. She might not have bothered with many assignments, but she paid attention. She liked it.'

'Did she like Dr Wright?'

Time barked a sharp laugh.

'No one likes Dr Wright.'

Although he didn't usual make snap judgements, this was a woman he had only met fleetingly yesterday morning, he also had a dislike of her. Ed didn't like her, Fran didn't like her, everyone he asked didn't like her. He'd read the university's file on her this morning, a brilliant scientist that was consistently the best at anything she did. But this was not a woman who people liked.

'So what happened? Why did you pull out?'

Tim huddled himself up, crossing his arms.

'It was getting stupid. I mean more stupid. Chad was being real pushy. But they were doing stuff I wasn't into. It was more radical and, and just nasty. They kept on going on about secrets. Katie said she had a secret tip and that it was a good tip. I thought she was lying just to get the attention. She likes to be in the middle of things, she likes to get everyone steamed up and annoyed. I think she liked annoying Dr Wright.'

Ironside nodded. That sounded about right.

'I said I didn't want to do it any more,' Tim said. 'Breaking in and mucking around was kinda funny, but the rest of it wasn't. She chose that over me and I stopped speaking to her.'

Tim looked to the ground, Ironside recognised the expression of regret.

'And two nights ago?' he asked.

'The first thing I know she's banging on my door,' Tim was sounding angry now. 'She wouldn't go away, she kept on banging on the door and wouldn't let up. And when I let her in she was so strung out. She'd been crying. She said she had been given a tip that something was going down at the Kingston Building, big and dangerous and illegal and wrong. She wouldn't shut up about it.' Tim paused, and ran his hand through his hair again. 'I knew she'd taken something.'

'How?'

'I've seen it. A couple of the other kids got junk from time to time. Nothing heavy. None of us said anything, and we all kinda ignored it and covered for each other.'

Wasn't it always the same. It's just a little junk, it's small, it's okay, no one says anything, and then suddenly you're on the street hooked to coke, or worse. He felt a stab of anger, but hid it from Tim.

'Where did she get it, did she say?'

'No,' Tim said, annoyed again, and Ironside knew what he was going to say next. 'But I think it was Chad. He always had a little something. He could afford to. Not all of us have daddies in the oil business.'

'Did she say what it was?'

He shook his head.

'I didn't ask. But Chad usually had a little bit of mellow to help him chill out. I've heard he took something a bit stronger once or twice, but I never saw it. He was probably making it up.'

'What happened?'

'Katie went on and on, she told me I should help her, she said she would go on her own. I didn't believe what she said. That someone was letting her know secrets.'

'A "him"?'

Tim nodded.

'I thought she might have meant Chad, he likes pretty girls and says whatever he can to get them to like him too.'

Ironside hid his reaction to that statement as well. Tim had a pretty accurate assessment of what Chad was like.

'And was it?'

'I don't know. I mean, it might have been, but Chad is all mouth. He didn't care about the cause, he cared about the trouble. He's such a jerk. He let her go on her own, he wound her up, started all this off, then let her go into the Kingston Building on her own. Jerk!'

Tim lapsed into silence for a few moments. Ironside waited, letting the boy calm down.

'And?' Ironside asked gently.

Tim looked away, still looking annoyed, then huffed.

'That's it, I suppose,' he said. 'You know the rest. She hid, she was so scared and crying. She didn't say anything about what she'd done or what she'd seen. She was just scared.'

He stopped, staring off to the side, blinking.

'Thank you, Tim,' the Chief said. 'I know it's hard to lose what we love.'

Tim opened his mouth, ready to answer back. Then he caught sight of the Chief's chair and closed it again. He nodded.

'I'm glad she's safe. But I want to know what's going on, and why they won't tell us anything.'

Ironside leaned forward. Another one of life's hard truths, but he needed to be told, and the Chief thought that honesty was more appropriate here than trying to spare the boy any sadness. Tim could already tell that something was wrong.

'Maybe they don't know.'

Finally, he thought.

After the last full stop, Ed signed the bottom of the page with his thin, looping signature. Closing his eyes, he sat back, some of the annoyance from earlier fading away. Maybe it wasn't the most detailed statement he'd ever written, but at least there was some sort of record of what he'd done. All the bits he could remember, anyway. And that would have to be enough, because he was about at the end of his patience.

As he lent forward, he licked his lips, tasting blood yet again, and the frustration flared up. The day couldn't end fast enough. He didn't want to be here, no matter how unsafe he felt outside this room. It was like a prison cell, or a hospital room, except no one else came to visit and he might as well have been on the Moon.

His top lip was dry, and Ed sighed, relieved to have avoided another nosebleed. He couldn't stand this much longer. He didn't want to wait around here. It was too quiet. It was too isolated. He didn't feel safe here, though he couldn't put his finger on why. After reading the Internal Affairs file he'd barely been able to concentrate long enough to think in full sentences. The Chief wasn't here, so what was the point in just hanging around?

Maybe he should go home. Ed gave another long sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. He didn't want to go back to his apartment, but it was better than being here. With a shrug, he scrawled a short note to the Chief to say he was going home and put it down beside his statement.

"Gone home". Yeah, he could do that.

He would go back to his house, try and relax, and get some more sleep. After doing so much work recently, he could afford to take a night off. The idea of it made him feel edgy, the same kind of distracted, vague nervousness he had felt all day since waking up. Even so, home would be better than here. This place had walls that were slowly crushing him, and he hated the feeling of being trapped with no way out.

The sun was going down, the last light was in the sky to the west. He'd spend most of the afternoon here. Alone. He was uncomfortable about that as well. Where was everyone? Why had they sidelined him here? He should be getting on with his job not kicking his heels here in the office, doing nothing.

Ed glanced back to the statement, still uncertain.

He should try to do less, go home and have some rest. But he wanted to keep working, keep pushing himself to be better, to keep his guard up, not to give anyone the chance to take him by surprise. And the Chief would expect him to do more, he always did, he always pushed. But Bob wasn't here, was he?

The conflict made him feel torn in two, unable to make a decision. Stay, go home? Work, or rest? Trust his boss, or… He tried to stop the thought, but he failed: It's not the first time I've been left behind.

Ed screwed his eyes shut. That was not helping. That was not the problem tonight.

Bob had said to stay put and wait. Ed didn't want to wait. With every passing minute this place felt more and more unsafe, and he became increasingly indecisive.

He could go home.

He should stay here.

Bob would want him to keep pushing, keep working.

Those three things were incompatible. What was he going to do?

The phone rang, shattering the silence and making Ed jump in shock, his hand twitched toward the gun on his belt. It kept ringing, and Ed stared at it for a few seconds, thinking to just let it ring off.

But that was never going to work, was it?

With a small shake of his head, he picked up the receiver.

'Bo-R-Robert Ironside's office.' Ed's voice was slightly slurred, and the Chief wasn't exactly sure of the first word Ed had used when he answered the telephone.

'Hello, Sergeant,' Ironside said. 'What kept you?'

There was a thoughtful pause before Ed answered.

'Oh, you know, it's always busy in your office.'

The man sounded tired, so Ironside wondered if he'd been taking a rest and had been woken from a deep sleep. He frowned at the thought, Ed needed as much rest as he could get, and waiting around at the department would be dull, even with the filing that was always left to do. Was it a surprise that he'd taken so long?

'I'm glad to see you are still at my office,' the Chief said, wishing he hadn't mentioned the delay. 'Look, Ed, we're still here at the hospital. It's all taking a lot longer than I thought.'

'Hmm.'

'We will be back before soon. Mark's finally persuaded a doctor to talk to us.'

'Good.'

'When we get there we'll bring you up to speed with what's happened.'

'Okay, Chief.'

Ironside waited for his sergeant to say something else, but after a moment just said: 'See you, Ed.'

There was a click from the other end. Ironside paused just before hanging up the phone, feeling uneasy, but he was at a loss to say why. That conversation was slightly closer to perfunctory than he'd expected. Ed hadn't even asked any questions. It was odd. But at least he was still there. And perhaps he had just woken up and was feeling disoriented.

Out of the corner of his eye Ironside saw a doctor walking up the hallway. From his stern face and the brisk step of his walk, the Chief guessed that this was the gentlemen that Mark had persuaded to come and give them an update.

At last! he thought. With an effort, Ironside pushed thoughts of his sergeant away, raising his hand in greeting to the doctor.

The man introduced himself as Dr Moran, and they joined Fran, Mark and Tim in the tiny waiting room.

Dr Moran gave Tim a very dubious look, then turned the same look to the Chief, wanting an explanation.

'He's here at my discretion, Doctor.'

The man shook his head, annoyance the most obvious emotion.

'I'm not happy about this, Chief Ironside,' he said. 'I'm not happy about it at all. I feel pressured into this.'

Mark shifted at the corner of Ironside vision. Maybe he had been a little overenthusiastic, but they still needed the answers.

'This is a criminal investigation,' Ironside began to say. The doctor waved his hand impatiently.

'I understand that,' he said. 'And I know what you've done to help Miss Marshall, but she's in no condition to talk to anyone. We can't get hold of her parents, or any next of kin.' The doctor folded his arms across his chest, a frown on his face. 'I feel this is unethical.'

Ironside looked carefully at the man, seeing sincerity not deliberate obstruction. This was one of those awkward time where the two needs, personal and public, pulled in opposite directions. They were at an impasse.

'And I'm especially unhappy with others being present. I'm sorry, Chief Ironside. I understand, and I understand your need to ask questions, to do your job, but I must do mine.'

For a few moments, Ironside thoughtfully stared to the side. Then he looked at the other three people in the room.

'Would you please excuse us for a few moments. Fran, Mark? Tim?'

The three of them agreed and left the room, Tim grumbling under his breath. After the door closed, Ironside looked back to the doctor.

'We're not talking about all of the police,' said Ironside shaking his head. 'Just me.'

'It's still unethical, you know. And I would easily lose my job.' The man was still highly agitated, but Ironside noted than he had not said a definite "no". There was maybe still a way.

Dr Moran stood abruptly, walking round the room, taking short, nervous steps. Ironside watched him, both anxious and slightly envious. Getting up and just taking a walk around to help clear the head. He'd never even thought about it until he couldn't do it anymore. Just as abruptly, Moran sat once more, and gave a sigh.

'Very well, Chief Ironside,' he said. 'Where would you like to start?'

'How is she?'

The doctor arched his eyebrows.

'She's a mess.' He drew a quick, uncomfortable-sounding breath. 'That's an understatement.'

'Can you be more specific?' he asked gently. 'The answers are important, Doctor.'

'I know, I know. I know what happened at the Kingston Building this afternoon, they told us she tripped out.'

The man stopped again, and in spite of the sense of urgency, Ironside waited patiently.

'If you spoke to her, who knows what sort of answers she might give. They might be the truth, or incriminating, or even complete garbage.'

'But they might give me something I don't have already. That's why I need this,' Ironside said. The man was right, of course he was right but still, they needed some sort of insight into what was going on. Katie might have information that no one else could give them. 'So we still need to talk to her.'

'This young lady has experienced something very traumatic,' he said. 'She's exhausted, irrational, confused, paranoid. And frightened. I've never seen anyone so frightened.'

Ironside searched the man's face, feeling increasingly anxious. There was more, that was why it had all taken so long, there was something more.

'What else is there, doctor? What else is wrong?'

Moran looked up, his face drawn and lined.

'We don't know what she's taken,' he admitted. 'Physically, it looked like she's done a line or two of something. The back of her nose and throat are a mess. You get it sometimes if the junk has been cut with something acidic. Damages the lining, making it bleed when you breathe it in.'

'Someone said she took cannabis,' Ironside said, unable to hide the disapproval from his voice. The doctor nodded slowly, but still had a frown on his face.

'No, she's taken something else,' he said. 'As well.'

Ironside looked up sharply at the other man.

'What do you mean?'

'We get a lot of young people who're tripping out coming through here,' the doctor said sadly. 'You get to tell the difference.'

Ironside thought back to the conversation with Todd Chadwick. The boy was arrogant and self-opinionated, but he hadn't sensed a lie when he'd said what he given Katie. Tim also had given him a similar story.

'So?'

'I don't recognise these symptoms. No one around here has seen anything quite like it. Maybe she took a mixture of things, or it is a new cut of something. I don't know. She keeps saying she's scared, people are coming to get her and are following her, a persecution complex. And it's getting worse. It shouldn't be getting worse.'

'How so?'

'These drugs, we know how they cycle through the body, the Lord knows we get enough examples coming through the emergency rooms to know. You come down from drugs. That's what causes the addiction, the trips don't last and you have to come back for more. But she's not coming down. She might even still be on her way up. Or she might not even be going up. This might be the way she is now.'

Ironside frowned, confused, but the doctor kept talking.

'That's why this is taking so long. This girl is a mess.' The doctor was shaking his head rapidly, clearly upset. 'I'm sorry, Chief Ironside. It's just, these kids that come through here, they don't understand they're playing Russian roulette every time they take something. Drugs interact. That's what they do. They interact with our bodies, they interact with each other. My professional intuition is that something she's taken or something she's been exposed to is causing a cascade of interactions that her body and brain just can't cope with.'

'And?'

'If she took that new "something" with the junk, if it's really new, or untested, it could do anything to her. Who knows how it interacts, with the body or anything else. It could cause a crisis, a psychosis, it could cause her reality to collapse completely, in the end. And if we don't know what it is, we can't start to get it out of her. There are tests, but it all takes time. And I don't think we have time. Her mind, her memory, she struggles to remember recent events, but has a recall of the past that is almost unnatural.'

The doctor sagged at the shoulders. Police work could be hard, seeing the social struggle to survive and the casualties it caused. But the doctors had it no easier. Moran was still sitting on the edge of the chair. He looked to the ground, rubbing the edge of his white coat between finger and thumb. When he next spoke, it was in a quiet, restrained tone.

'I know who you are, Chief Ironside,' he said. 'And your reputation is the only reason I'm even countenancing this course of action. And I trust your word.'

Ironside waited.

'I will speak to one of my colleagues,' Moran continued. 'You might be able to see her for a few minutes. Only you. And only briefly. And by God, you must promise me to respect her privacy and her mental state.'

The Chief gave a solemn nod.

'I will, doctor. And thank you.'

'Right. I'll return in a moment.'

The girl was in much more of a desperate condition than he'd thought. Ed might have rescued her from the basement of the Kingston Building, but maybe she was already beyond the help of anyone else. And they had no idea what caused this.

Moran stood to go, and Ironside asked suddenly:

'What can you do for her?'

The doctor gave a despairing shrug.

'We've taken blood samples, and it will take time, as I said. Right now, I'm not sure if there's anything we can do to help. And there might be no way back.'

Ed Brown walked briskly out of the police department, taking long rolling strides, his hands clenched in his jacket pockets, his head tipped forward as if deep in thought, so no one would talk to him. The department had been loud and full of people as he'd left, but everyone was taken up with their own business. The few officers who had acknowledged him, he'd waved at then ignored. That worked out fine.

Outside, he turned left, not heading anywhere in particular, wanting to get away from the department as cleanly as he could.

His three choices had now narrowed down to two. He wasn't staying in that repressive little office prison for a moment longer than he had to. Not after that damn phone call.

So he could go home or he could work.

When it came down to the choice, he didn't want to go home. It felt too obvious. Bob was bound to think of looking for him there and he had no desire for any contact with anyone tonight, least of all a boss who would likely bawl him out for not doing his job properly or endangering cases with his work obsession. Besides, although he was exhausted, all that coffee had made him jittery, he could feel himself trembling every time he stopped moving. There was a prickling, scratchy feeling under his skin, and he would never be able to get any rest.

So not going home.

That left just the one choice. Work.

But he couldn't stay here and work. Where would he go? Where in the city could he do any work?

The Internal Affairs file weighed on his mind. He couldn't just do whatever he liked. He was now off-duty, but he wasn't going to go looking for trouble or pushing his nose into any other division's cases. So that just left work for the Chief.

The only case the Chief was taking an interest in was the explosion at the Kingston Building. That was the very last case Ed wanted to think about tonight.

However.

There was a however. It would kill two birds with one stone. He could work on his own time, on one of Ironside's cases, while not getting in the way and he might be able to fill some of those infuriating gaps in his memory.

If he went back to the Kingston Building.

Ed frowned at his own logic. He didn't want to go back there. There were few places he wanted to go to less than that place. But of his current options, it was the best of a bad lot.

He crossed the street, glancing along the road, noticing how many people were out in the evening. It was busy, he was surprised it was so busy. After spending a day locked up in Bob's office, being out around so many people made him nervous again. It was hard to define why he felt like that. He didn't like being so exposed out here. Anything could happen. But if he was going to do any work, he should just get on with it.

With a brisk shake of his head, Ed took the next side street left, heading for the Kingston Building.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Imaginary Friends

Dr Moran stood outside a door, his hand on the handle, looking solemnly down at the Chief. Ironside had spoken to the others, Tim had been very annoyed but he'd agreed to wait with Fran and Mark while Ironside went to speak to Katie alone. It wasn't the ideal situation for any of them, and the Chief hoped Mark and Fran could keep him company. But the truth was that no one could be sure of how Katie would react.

'Chief Ironside,' said Dr Moran. 'Are you ready?'

Ironside nodded.

'Good. We've taken some blood, and given her a transfusion. I think that's helped her feel more calm. We're considering dialysis but until the tests come back, we're not sure what we should be trying to get out. It's my hope you can find out something that will help us help her.'

'I understand, Doctor.'

'You might be surprised by what you see,' Moran continued. 'She might be lucid, or she might not speak to you at all, I can't predict it. She was wary of us, saying she didn't feel safe. If you can find a way to reassure her, she might be more cooperative. But if she can't remember or won't answer your questions, you must not push her. She will be fragile and easily frightened. And please, this is a confidential meeting. I doubt she will remember it, but I trust you will respect her privacy.'

Ironside nodded, the mix of worry and professionalism spoke volumes for Dr Moran's compassion for his patient. Katie was in the best hands she could be in, that was at least something to be grateful for.

Moran opened the door and held it for the Chief as he rolled in. Ironside looked around the room in surprise. It wasn't what he expected.

Katie was on the bed, lying on her side with her knees drawn up towards her chin, her arms wrapped tightly around them. The blood on her face was gone but she was still very pale. The gown she'd been given swamped her, making it look like she was wrapped in a great, grey thundercloud. She had a hospital towel wrapped around one hand, and she was chewing on the corner of it, staring blankly at the floor in front of her.

She didn't react as he entered, or as he came forward, and for a few moments Ironside was at a loss as to how he should start this conversation. As he sat there, she gave a forced blink, changing the direction of her gaze suddenly and giving the Chief a slight surprise. Her eyes were bloodshot, she looked like she had been crying for weeks. The effect was disturbing enough, without the hard stare she was giving him.

The Chief held her gaze, trying to figure out what she was thinking. Her expression gave nothing away, but her eyes were wide, as if she was trying to look right into him. He had to be very careful what he said.

'Hello, Katie.' She acknowledged her name with a nervous lick of her lips. 'Can I talk to you?'

She nodded slowly, and when she spoke it was in a soft voice with little intonation.

'I saw you. You were with the nice policeman.'

She could only mean Ed Brown. That description of his sergeant made Ironside smile. He nodded.

'Yes, I was. He's a friend.'

'He said you were a friend. He told me I'd be safe.'

'Are you?' he asked. 'Are you safe?'

She gave a girlish pout, but nodded.

'Safe. Yes. If I keep the towel on my hand I'm safe. You have to know where your towel is.'

Ironside nodded, relieved she was talking to him. He had to make the best use of his time, no matter how hard it was to ask these questions.

'I need your help, Katie,' he said gently. 'I want to ask you some questions. Can you try to answer them?'

She didn't react.

'I need your help,' he repeated. She still didn't react. She hadn't said yes. But she hadn't said no. 'I need to know what you remember from earlier. Can you tell me?'

The pout changed into the look a child gives after they've been told off and they don't understand why.

'I can't say,' she replied quietly. 'I can't tell you. I don't know what was wrong. You'll arrest me.'

'I'm not going to arrest you,' he told her, thinking about what Fran had said in the van, how she had been so upset at the thought. 'I'm not here as a policemen. I'm here as someone who needs your help. As a friend.'

'The nice policeman is my friend.' She pursed her lips and frowned, as if she was confused about something.

'The nice policeman is my friend too. That's something we have in common. But I need your help.' He waited for a moment, but she didn't speak. 'What can you remember?'

Her eyes grew wide with a sudden glee and she looked past him, lost in her own memories.

'I can remember everything about my sixteenth birthday party. Everything is right here. I can see it all. It's beautiful.' She stared off to the side, her expression bordering on transcendent joy, and she was quiet for a long time.

Ironside waited.

'It's my special day,' she said at last. 'Most important day of my life. My party. I can stay here forever. I want to. It's perfect.'

'What do you remember, Katie?' he asked, wanting to encourage her to keep talking to him. 'Can you tell me that?'

'I can see everything. I can smell. I can taste. It's all here. And it's all perfect. I can see it all. Things I didn't know I'd forgotten. Mom's dress caught in the gap between the cushions, it pulled to the left as she stood up. She didn't notice. I didn't know I noticed. I can remember it all so clearly.' She gave a wistful sigh. 'It's all perfect and I want to stay here forever.'

Ironside paused. He didn't want to upset her, but he had to push, he had to find out what she knew.

'How about something more recent?' he asked gently. 'How about the Kingston Building?'

She gave him a scared, threatened look, tucking her chin further into her towel-covered hand. She shook her head.

'I'm your friend,' Ironside said. 'I know you were there. The nice policeman said he'd seen you there.'

The look faded to a vague, vacant gaze.

'He told me I'd be safe. He was there with his gun.'

Ironside leaned forward. That wasn't what Fran had told him about this afternoon, Ed hadn't drawn his gun then. So Katie must be meaning the morning of the explosion. When Ed had gone into the Kingston Building to look around, he'd have been expecting to encounter trouble, of course he would have gone in armed. Ironside have a thin smile. It was a small start. Maybe Katie could give him more.

'Where did you see him?'

She blinked rapidly, her breathing shallow.

'By the wall. In the dark. Near the door.'

'And?'

Katie closed her eyes.

'It's so hot.'

The way she said the phrase was nearly identical to how the Chief remembered Ed describing it. The similarity was eerie. Again, the Chief felt like he was making headway. She was speaking about the first morning. The heat was something Ed had told him and Fran hadn't mentioned it this afternoon.

As he was thinking, Katie's eyes flicked unexpectedly open again. She looked at him.

'My nose hurts,' she said.

'Why?'

She didn't answer. Ironside felt a stab of frustration.

'Why does it hurt, Katie?' he asked.

'Hot.'

She rubbed her nose, then held it briefly and puffed out her cheeks as if she was about to jump into a swimming pool.

'What else do you feel, apart from hot?'

'Scared,' she whispered. 'I feel very scared.'

He could see by the way she pulled herself tighter into a ball that she meant what she said.

'Are you still scared?'

Katie nodded.

'I called, I screamed as loudly as I could. I shouted for them to come and help. They promised someone would help.'

'You called the police?' he asked gently. She nodded.

'I screamed and screamed so that they would come.' The report of the emergency call had said the caller sounded hysterical and frightened. That fitted in as well. 'I can't open the door. I can't get out. I try everything I can think of. I do anything I can. I can't stand the smell. And it's so hot. I'm scared. Scared.' Katie drew a shuddering breath, her eyes staring blankly in front of her. 'He broke the door. He heard me crying. He said I'd be safe.'

'Who? Ed? The nice policeman?'

'I'm too scared to move,' she said, not appearing to be listening. She kept staring past him. 'It's so hot. I hurt, and it's so hot.'

'And the nice policeman?' Ironside asked, feeling suddenly anxious. 'What happened?'

Katie didn't say anything, but she looked more frightened. Then her eyes went wide.

'Katie?'

'I have to get out now.'

'Katie!'

'He tells me to run,' she said, ignoring his attempt to say something. 'I'm so scared. So, so scared.'

Katie gulped down a number of breaths, and started rocking slightly back and forward.

'I want to go back to my party now,' she whispered. 'I don't want to be here. I want to go back to my birthday party.'

Ironside watched her in silence, hoping she would grow calmer, and using that time to think through what she'd told him. There wasn't much more detail. She had called the police and Ed had broken down a door to get to her. It's so hot. Ironside frowned. Why had it been so hot? Where had Ed found her? Why had the door been locked? The Chief thought about what had happened earlier, Fran had said that Katie hid in the basement of the Kingston Building, and that's where Ed had immediately gone to find her.

'What were you doing at the Kingston Building, Katie?' he asked as gently as he could, not wanting to upset her. But her reaction surprised him. She suddenly looked furious.

'I waited. I didn't see what happened.'

She glared at him and he waited to see if she would say more. When she didn't, he asked:

'What about the basement?'

Katie pulled back from him, shaking her head rapidly. She tried to put her hands over her ears, but the towel got in the way.

'The nice policeman found you there,' Ironside said. 'What happened?'

She shook her head again. Ironside leaned forward.

'What happened before that, Katie? What do you remember?'

This time, Katie looked to the ground, her forehead furrowed in a deep frown. She started to shake her head again, as rapidly as before. Then she closed her eyes and tears leaked out from underneath.

'I didn't do anything,' Katie whispered. 'I hid, and I waited. That's all. I don't understand why.'

It was the Chief's turn to frown. It sounded like she was telling the truth. He wanted to push and demand answers, but he was acutely aware of what Dr Moran had said. If he pushed too hard now she might stop speaking altogether. And who knew how much long term damage it might do to her. He'd thought he'd do anything for answers, but now he wasn't sure.

'Katie?'

'It's so hot,' she whispered. 'I can't breathe, it burns each time I try. I hate the feeling of choking and the smell. I don't understand what's happened. I can't get out, the door's shut and I can't get out. No matter what I try, what I twist and turn, I can't open the door. Nothing works.'

She opened her eyes and gazed blankly at him, then gave a soft sigh of relief.

'But the nice policeman found me. He tells me I'll be safe.'

Ironside stopped himself getting angry or frustrated, but they were back where they started, and he'd learned very little. Again he wanted to push, but instead he smiled at Katie. She looked down to the floor with another soft sigh.

'He said I should go. Get out, be safe.'

'The nice policeman?'

She nodded, her expression miserable.

'And he stayed. Policemen do.'

That made some sort of sense. If Ed had been worried about the safety of the building, or if he'd missed something, then he'd have told the girl to get out and stayed to keep checking.

Or would he? Ed Brown wasn't a man prone to taking dangerous risks. Ironside gave a mental shake of his head. Ed wasn't usually like that, no, but he went into that situation sleep-deprived and completely overworked. The Chief could just imagine Ed having second thoughts, needing to make sure he was right, unable to trust his judgement. The girl was safe, Ed might have thought she wasn't alone, or there was something else he should do. That made a lot more sense. Ed was always thorough.

She left, he stayed. Then the front of the building blew off. But he doesn't remember the explosion, he thought. A concussion from a high-powered explosion was the obvious explanation for that, but somehow it still didn't fit in the clean way it should. But the missing twenty minutes were filling up with some details. Ed had spent some time down in the basement, he'd forced the door and helped Katie. Then he'd stayed while she had left.

Katie was watching him with that distant, disconcerting stare. There were still more questions to ask, before she stopped being willing or able to answer them.

'Did you take anything, Katie? Before? Did you take something to help you keep calm?'

She scowled.

'He was cross. He was scared. He gave me what he had.'

'Todd?' She gave a tiny nod.

'He's always got some mellow. He gave me what he had.'

'Did you take anything else?'

'Cake.'

Ironside waited, unsure. It wasn't a slang term he'd heard before.

'Birthday cake,' she continued, as if she was having to explain something ridiculously obvious. 'Mom makes it for my birthday. She always makes it for my birthday.'

'Did you take something else? Any pills?'

Katie shook her head.

'He gave me what he had.'

She lay there, starting to rock slowly back and forward on the bed, whispering birthday cake over and over again. He tried to ask her something else, but she ignored him, acting as if he wasn't there.

Looking at her, Ironside was filled with a terrible, sad compassion. What had done this to her? There was so much more he wanted to find out, to ask her, but he didn't. It was time to stop and respect the promise he'd made to Doctor Moran.

'Can I come and see you again soon?' he asked her. She stopped whispering to herself, and nodded.

'They're singing happy birthday to me,' she said seriously.

He nodded, unsure for a moment how to respond.

'Well, I'm sure they're singing it beautifully,' he told her.

Katie smiled, for the only time in the whole interview, she gave a wonderful smile that lit up the room, and he thought about the picture Fran had shown him. A young woman with pretty, fun-loving smile and her whole future ahead of her. Not anymore.

He made a move to turn, and she grabbed suddenly at the chair. He waited.

'The nice policeman,' she said. 'He said I'd be safe. Where is he?'

The Chief smiled once again at the description of Ed. "The nice policeman who said she'd be safe". It suited him.

'It's alright Katie,' Ironside said. 'I know where he is, and he's fine.'

The evening was warm, and the streets were filled with movement. It wasn't as busy as a Friday but there were plenty of people out on the town enjoying the nightlife, the clubs and bars and restaurants.

Ed kept moving too, but was feeling increasingly agitated, recognising the familiar chill of panic. He'd made a mistake, yet another mistake. Why had he thought walking to the Kingston Building was a good idea? Why were so many people looking at him? His eyes were sore, and people stared at him as he wiped the blood from his nose. It was taking him too long to get there and he hated being out in the open like this.

At first, no one had given him a second glance. Slowly, he'd started to sense other people watching him. And now, though he'd no idea how long he'd been walking, it felt as if everyone on the whole street glared at him behind his back. The feeling made his skin crawl.

Then a much more worrying thought occurred to him. People could be following him. That might be why he felt unsettled and vulnerable.

Ed didn't like feeling so disoriented. His recent memories might be a mess, but all the time he felt the weight of what had happened six months before, images circling like sharks at the fringes of his consciousness. Keeping it all pushed away was getting more difficult. Every so often some detail would flash into his mind, catching him off-guard and each time it did it was more difficult to control his reaction. He didn't want to think about that ever again, and certainly not tonight. He couldn't let himself get distracted as there was so much more to be worried about right now.

It didn't help that he was so strung out and exhausted, so far below his best that he couldn't remember what best felt like anymore. If Bob saw him now he'd be fired in an instant. He'd felt like this all day, from the moment he'd been woken by that phone call. When he'd heard Katie was in trouble he'd pushed it aside, forcing himself to help, desperate to make sure she was safe. He kept on losing people.

But now, after those interminable hours stuck in the office, he was feeling terrible, worse than being drunk, worse than anything else he could compare it to. He'd never taken any junk, at least not willingly. Only that one time a few years ago, when he'd been grabbed off the street and had to fight for his life, then he'd had uppers forced down his throat to get him standing. That was a experience he never wanted to repeat.

There was good reason to avoid them, not counting the fact they were illegal. He'd seen what they could do to a person, how they could strip away reality, leaving only vacant darkness and terror behind. How many addicts and pushers had he dragged into the department over the years? How many junkies had he seen on the streets, high on coke or H, uppers, hash, mellow, and all the other variations.

Each step was taking up more of his concentration, the road felt as if it was continuously sloping upwards. But Ed kept going, staggering on through the streets, his progress slow, but always heading in the rough direction of the Kingston Building.

As the time passed, he grew more sure he was being followed, trusting his instincts in spite of the tiredness, the coffee and the painkillers. He'd had that uncomfortable, unpleasant, spied-on feeling since he'd left the Department. The more he tried to ignore it, the more acute and irritating it became, like an itch he couldn't scratch or a fly that wouldn't leave him alone.

Why had he left the office? This was a bad idea. It was a mistake, another mistake, and last time his mistake had caused… No!

No, he was not going to think about that. He had to concentrate on getting to the Kingston Building. It was too late to change his mind. Besides, where else could he go?

Glancing behind, Ed stopped, looking at the dull, grey faces of the people, searching for answers that he couldn't find. There was nothing out of the ordinary, no one gave any obvious sign that they were interested in who he was. But that wasn't what his instincts were telling him. They were telling him loud and clear that someone was there behind him, following him, watching him, spying on him. And no one was coming to help.

Without warning, a detailed memory dredged itself up from his subconscious, pushing forward. With it came a feeling of being helpless and abandoned to his fate, of being a disgrace to his boss and everything Ironside stood for. He could virtually hear Richards' malicious laughter and see his wicked, gloating smile.

Ed staggered, the sharpness of the images left him gasping for breath. His pulse sped up and there was a sudden sheen of sweat on his forehead. He couldn't stay here. He had to keep going no matter what.

He had to get to the Kingston Building sooner rather than later.

Mark steered the van out of the hospital parking lot, and on to the street, finally heading back to the office. Fran was next to Mark in the passenger side and she turned to look back at Ironside.

'Well, Chief?' she said. 'What was Katie like?'

That was a difficult question and Ironside shook his head sadly. Doctor Moran was right, these kids played Russian Roulette. All drugs interact, no one could predict every interaction, every possibility. There might be no way back. He had a horrible, horrible feeling that was true.

'Not a happy picture,' he said heavily. 'And they don't know why. I'm not sure they can help.'

'We guessed,' Mark said from the front. 'Tim wasn't pleased about being left on the bench either.'

'I know, Mark. But I told him what I could, that she's safe, and she's calm. And that she's with doctors who care enough to help her.'

'But can you tell us anything more about what she said?' Fran asked. 'Did she say anything that helped the investigation?'

'The nice policeman who said she'd be safe,' Ironside murmured.

'Ed?' Fran asked, surprised.

'A good description, don't you think?'

Fran paused, and Ironside was pleased to see that she didn't immediately say "No!". Perhaps there had been other benefits from Ed's rescue of Katie in the basement, maybe Fran had seen a glimpse of the kind of man Ed was. It had been a better display of honest police work than storming off, intimidating students and upsetting his colleagues.

'It's okay, I suppose,' she said. 'But I don't think "nice" is much of a compliment.'

Well, you couldn't hope for miracles. Even so, he gave a gruff smile.

'Katie was able to give me a few details.'

'Ed's missing minutes?' Mark asked. 'Any more information?'

'Maybe,' Ironside said thoughtfully. What Katie had told him was surprisingly unsurprising. Somehow he had expected something more dramatic. 'Somehow she got trapped in that basement. Ed got her out, he broke down the door. He told her to leave, but then he stayed.'

'So why didn't he get out too?' Fran asked, sounding exasperated. 'If it was that dangerous he wouldn't have stuck around.'

Ironside paused, not wanting to follow Fran further down that line of thought. Tired, overworked, anxious, Ed had stayed to make sure he got the job done properly. Flamin' typical!

'He must have thought it was necessary,' Ironside replied carefully. Fran accepted that explanation with a nod.

'Well, what about the rest of it?' she asked. 'Why was Katie there? Why was she worried about being arrested? What about the drugs?'

Again, Ironside paused, trying to organise the information in his mind and see the patterns. He smiled at Fran, grateful for her listening ear and for asking good questions.

'Let's do those one at a time,' he said. 'Why was she there? I still don't know for sure. I'm not even sure she knows any more. I think we'll have to accept what Tim said, that she went there to find evidence of something illegal.' He arched his eyebrows. 'But what that means in reality, I don't know.'

'Do you think she found evidence?' Fran asked. 'Do think someone attacked her? To stop her telling anyone else?'

Ironside saw Mark nod, but he waited for a few moments before replying, wanting to be sure of his answer.

'No I don't, Fran,' he said, noting her look of surprise. 'There was nothing she said that indicated she'd seen anyone else but Ed.'

I didn't do anything, Katie had said. I don't understand why. Ironside gave a huff. That made two of them.

'She got stuck in the basement. She said she couldn't get out and Ed broke down the door.' Ironside narrowed his eyes, trying to remember exactly what Katie had told him. 'Ed heard her crying.'

'Why was she crying?'

Ironside thought for a moment.

'She was frightened. It was hot and uncomfortable. She couldn't get out of the basement.' He shook his head, frustrated at the vagueness of the answers, knowing that there was no way to find out more. 'I don't know.'

'That's not much to go on,' said Fran with a sigh.

'Anything else?' asked Mark. 'What about being arrested?'

'Well, she called 9-1-1,' Ironside said. 'What do you remember of the transcript, Mark?'

Mark was silent for a few moments, concentrating on the traffic and the question.

'Loud,' he said. 'Hysterical I think was in the description. Mentioned something missing?' Mark shook his head. 'It wasn't very clear. Control called it as a robbery.'

Ironside nodded. Control had thought Katie had meant something was missing. He thought back to the transcript.

'She might have meant she was missing something. She didn't understand something. "I didn't do anything. I don't understand why", that's what she said to me earlier.'

'So it might not be a robbery?' Fran asked. 'That would explain the lights, and the doors.'

'But if it's not a robbery, then what was going on?' Mark asked in an exasperated tone. 'I think it might even make less sense now than before.' Ironside agreed.

'And we still don't know why she called the police,' Fran put in. 'Do you call 9-1-1 if you think you'll get arrested?'

'And if she called the police, she would have expected a policeman,' Mark added.

Ironside nodded. Mark had made an astute point, as always. They were all silent for a few moments, the Chief thinking once more through the details of what Katie had told him. She was trapped. Ed broke the door. It was hot, so hot. She called the police but was afraid of being arrested.

'She called the police and was afraid of being arrested,' he murmured, repeating the thought out loud. 'Afraid of getting the blame. But the blame for what?'

'The explosion?'

Ironside shook his head.

'That hadn't happened. And she couldn't have known.'

'But why not?'

'She'd been hiding and crying,' Ironside said slowly. 'She left and Ed stayed.' He stayed, policemen always do. He looked at Fran. 'I don't believe she would have let Ed stay if she'd known he was in danger. No, I don't believe that at all.'

'Why?' Fran asked. Ironside struggled to reply. The way Katie had spoken about Ed, the comfort she'd taken from his presence and his help, was clear in what she'd said. The nice policeman who said she'd be safe. She wouldn't have left him if she'd known what was going to happen.

'She was scared.' He heard her say I'm so scared in the back of his mind, the terror was real to her, but it wasn't just a fear of arrest and getting the blame, it was a fear of something else. Was that what she didn't understand? Something had happened she didn't understand, but she was afraid of it. And, if she had somehow implied that to Ed, then that could be another reason he'd stayed. He would have had no idea the building was rigged to go.

Something had happened. But what? It must have been something before Ed had arrived on the scene. Something that had happened before she called the police.

Ironside pursed his lips. Without questioning Katie more, they had few opportunities to find out.

'We are still going round in circles,' he said gruffly. 'Just different ones now.'

Fran gave a disgruntled sigh.

'But what about the drugs?' Mark glanced round as he spoke, his eyebrows raised in a questioning way.

'That is another good question, Mr Sanger,' he said. 'Did you both read the statement from Chadwick?'

Mark shook his head.

'Not really,' Fran replied. 'I just skimmed it. There didn't look to be anything new. He sticks to his story of some mellow. That would certainly have calmed her down.'

Ironside was thinking that she didn't look very mellow any more, but didn't share his thoughts.

'So the question becomes, if that was what she took, how come she ended up in the hospital?'

'Cut with something?' suggested Mark. 'Whatever it was sure made a mess of her face. Looked like a girl with a pretty major drug habit. What did the hospital think it was?'

Ironside shrugged once more, thinking.

'They don't know. I think that's the big problem.'

'Something new?'

'Maybe. Or something mixed in.'

'Can we test?' asked Mark eagerly.

Ironside shook his head.

'Mr Chadwick helpfully flushed the remainder.'

'But hadn't he taken some? Maybe not all of it was cut.'

'Maybe,' repeated the Chief. 'Maybe.'

'Or,' said Mark. 'He's telling the truth, and she took the "something else" while she was at the Kingston Building.'

'She found something?' Fran asked. She sounded incredulous. 'And she took it? Do you take something you find in a lab, when you think they are performing illegal experiments for the government?'

'You have a point,' Mark said, smiling. 'But what else do you suggest?'

Fran had no answer, and frowned at the ground.

'And more to the point,' Ironside put in, 'she said she didn't when I asked.'

'Could she have been lying?'

'I don't think so,' the Chief replied. For a moment he thought about Katie and how she had wanted birthday cake, and to be safe back in her party, lost to the real world for who knew how long. 'I think she told the truth.'

'Maybe she didn't know what it was when she took it,' Fran suggested.

He nodded, conceding the point.

'But there's still no way for us to find out.'

Fran sat back in her seat with a sigh.

'This is hopeless,' she said. 'You're right. Each time I think we are making some progress, we just end up going in circles.'

Ironside smiled at her, nodding.

'Just like usual,' he said. 'But we always find our way out in the end.'

His words got a grudging smile from Fran.

'And we're almost back,' Mark said. 'What's our next move, Chief?'

A good question. First on his agenda was to speak to Ed, to make sure the man had done what he'd been asked and written out a statement. It was a long shot, but it might have a few new details to help them. Then they had to go through the other statements again, and he needed to make notes of his conversation with Katie and the meagre conclusions they had come to. Then dinner. Then sleep. Then the start to a new day.

'Ed and paperwork,' he replied. Mark groaned at the last word.

A few moments later, the van pulled into the police garage under the Department of Justice, and Mark guided it to their usual parking space with practised skill. Once it had come to a stop, the Chief smiled, please to finally be back. Both Mark and Fran turned to look at him.

'Fran, you should go home,' Ironside said. 'It's been a long day for everyone.'

'I know, Chief,' she replied. 'But you're still working, so why can't I. And I want to check up on Ed.'

'He's not going to appreciate anyone checking up on him,' said the Chief, with a pointed look.

'You know what I mean.'

'Yes, I do know, but Sergeant Brown might not see it that way.'

'But we're working.'

'As long as you don't say "checking up" I think you'll be fine.'

'And what about dinner?' she asked. Ironside's smile grew wider at the thought of a big bowl of chili. That would help his mind sort through all the facts. Chili, as hot as he could get it. But it would take time to make, and to get it just right. Maybe he should save it until tomorrow, when they could let the spice infuse properly.

'Do you think Ed's made dinner?' Fran asked. Ironside thought back to the perfunctory conversation he'd had with his sergeant before he'd spoken to Dr Moran. It was unlikely that Ed was still awake.

'He might have done,' Mark said, but the slight hesitation in his voice indicated he thought the answer was no. 'I think it's happened before. 1968, maybe.'

Ironside shook his head, watching Mark's amused expression. He gave a short laugh.

'Ed's not employed to make my dinner, Mr Sanger, that vital task belongs to someone else.'

It was Mark's turn to laugh.

'Well, how about we pick up some sandwiches to keep us going,' Fran suggested.

'I'll give you a hand,' added Mark. 'It will be good to get outside after another long day at the hospital.'

It was said with a slight sigh, and though Ironside would have liked Mark to come up with him to the office right away, he knew that this time the other man needed a short break. Waiting in hospitals was never easy, in spite of all the practice they'd had.

'We have work to do,' he reminded them. 'So don't take long.'

'Sure.'

'Okay, Chief!'

As Fran and Mark walked off towards the other exit, Ironside made his way inside, and upstairs to his rooms. Manoeuvring around in the department on his own was more time consuming than awkward, he wasn't quite as fast pushing himself as he was when being pushed.

It was dark in the office when he came in, the main lights were out, only the three tables lamps on the desk near the kitchen were switched on.

He could make out the silhouette of a man sitting in the seat at the table, back towards the door. His head tipped slightly to the side and resting on his hand, as if he was asleep. Ironside gave a relived sigh. At least his sergeant was still here.

'Evening, Ed,' he called. 'Fran's gone to find some dinner, if you can… stay… awake…'

The man in the chair turned as Ironside was speaking, and by the time he'd reached the end of the sentence the Chief was shocked to see Frank, not Sergeant Brown. Where devil was Ed?

'Frank? What are you doing here?'

'I know it's a bit late for a social call,' he said.

'Most people are doing it these days,' the Chief replied caustically, moving himself closer to the table.

'You're a hard man to track down. Do you know how long I've been waiting?'

Warily, Ironside shook his head.

'Over half an hour. They said downstairs you were on your way back from the hospital.'

The Chief was hardly listening. Instead, he was looking around the office.

'Chief? Wh-'

'And you didn't see anyone else?' Frank shook his head firmly, looking at the Chief as if he was asking a stupid question. 'No one?'

'No one, Chief.'

Ironside felt a swift rush of fear that he pushed away. That didn't mean anything. Ed might have borrowed the couch in the den, taken some of the painkillers and gone back to sleep.

'Give me a minute,' Ironside said, leaving a confused-looking Frank at the table. Ironside took a quick look around in the private rooms, half-expecting to see Sergeant Brown sound asleep on his bed. No one else was there. He rolled back through, silently looking around to see what, if anything, was different from when he'd left after lunch.

A few files had moved, there was a pad of paper on the far desk. He took a moment to go over. He glanced at it, registering it was Ed's statement. Beside it was a scrawled note in Ed's handwriting that said "gone home", and that attracted his attention more. Ironside picked the note up, frowning, rolling back over to Frank.

"Gone home": At least that was something. He had told Brown to stay put, but they had been so long at the hospital. Maybe that was okay, the man was allowed to go off duty. After all, he certainly needed the rest.

Still, the Chief couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Ed didn't usually leave notes. He could have called the van, left a message at the hospital, even told him on the phone when they'd spoken earlier.

Maybe it was a snap decision. Ironside frowned more deeply, not liking the way he was starting to make excuses for Ed. Ed didn't need excuses, he needed…

'Chief?' Frank interrupted his worry. 'I'm sorry, but this is urgent.'

Too many demands on his attention tonight. Ironside frowned once more and put the note down on the table.

Gone home. He would check up later.

A/N - Accidental H2G2 quote no 1 - "you have to know where your towel is". Which is also good advice!

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Graveyard Shift

Perhaps the Kingston Building wasn't the best place to go. It was another mistake, and with every step Ed took it felt like he was getting in deeper and deeper to something he didn't understand.

It had sounded like a good idea to get out of the office and into a public space. But it wasn't. It was a bad idea. He felt more vulnerable out on the streets. There were too many people, too many risks, too many strangers with dead-eye stares. And it would have been easy to follow him like this.

And worse, Bob might still figure it out, he was a very smart man. Certainly clever enough to think that Ed could have gone to find some answers. He didn't want to be found, not by Bob, not by Mark or Fran. Not by anyone. Ever. He had to keep away from the people following him.

Trying to keep calm, Ed wiped the blood from his face again and took a deep breath. But he knew he was in deep trouble. He needed a new plan. Unsure of what else to do, Ed kept walking, pulling his jacket tight around him, focusing on trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

At last, he came round a corner and the damaged remains of the Kingston Building were right in front of him. The wave of relief that washed through him was like being dropped in a river, it left him gasping for breath. He'd arrived safely, thank God for that!

But now he was here, the fear of being found grew stronger. The Kingston Building was an obvious place for Bob, or anyone, to look. Somehow, he had to outwit the people that were following him. He had to stay one step ahead of them all. How was he going to do that from here, in the middle of the city?

He had to find a way. He had to make a new plan. He had to make a better plan. He had to stop making mistakes.

Ed noticed the police cordon near the bottom of the street, and frowned in confusion. At the side of the barrier, next to a patrol car, was a blond and familiar-looking cop, who looked extremely bored. When they looked at each other, an expression of recognition passed over the other man's face. For a second Ed stared at the cop, and the cop stared back.

Then the other man scowled. Ed remembered why, and felt a sudden stab of guilt. Even so, he offered up a heartfelt prayer for unexpectedly finding Officer Guy Erikson, the traffic cop he'd tricked into taking him back to the office the day before.

As Ed stared, a new plan came into his mind, fully-formed. It could work. And it was perfect. No one else in the office knew he'd met Erikson. No one would check. Now if only he could persuade the other man to help, it might all work out.

Erikson could help him. People would stop following him, once he was with a cop. They wouldn't risk it getting out of hand. And as long as Erikson didn't tell Bob, Mark or Fran, then he could go somewhere and hide. That meant pulling the radio in the patrol car, but he could do that. He could do that on the way. It was late, and dark, but there would be a good opportunity, considering how bad Erikson was at keeping an eye on everything at once.

And Erikson wouldn't be suspicious. He wouldn't think it odd. No. Because it wasn't suspicious. None of this was in any way suspicious. He just needed a favour. Another favour. It would be cool. Yes.

But where could he go?

It had to be somewhere no one would think he would go. So not home. And not some random bar or nightclub either. Too many people, too difficult to keep an eye out for the men following him. He wanted to go somewhere quiet, somewhere without anyone else.

Ed shuddered. The ideal place had been haunting the edge his mind for days, maybe weeks. He would go back to the warehouse in the old marina.

No one would think of looking for him there. No one else knew what Richards and McArthur had done to him. Only Bob and a couple of others knew anything about it, and they wouldn't think he'd go back there. Because he'd have to be out of his mind to go back to the place he'd been tortured, the place he'd been carved up like a slab of beef in an abattoir.

His stomach clenched and Ed was almost sick at the memory as it flashed before his eyes, the details as sharp as the day it had happened. He didn't know if he'd be able to stand being back there again. He'd spent the worst night of his life there, in unending agony, and thinking Bob had left him to that well-deserved fate.

But that's what made it perfect. No one would ever find him if he hid there, and not being found was Ed's top priority. The people following him would never find him. Bob would never find him either.

So that was settled. He'd go to the old marina. All he had to do was hold his nerve and it would all work out.

Pushing the images of blood and pain to the back of his mind, Ed forced himself as upright as he could get and waved to the other cop.

Yes. Just keep cool. Erikson wouldn't suspect a thing.

It would be perfect. It was all going to work out just perfectly.

Bored, bored, bored, was what Guy Erikson had been thinking. I am so fucking bored!

What a terrible week he was having. That asshole Lieutenant Donally had ground him into the carpet for the best part of an hour over the fuck-up with Brown. He was lucky to still have a job after that fiasco.

Now he was stuck out here all alone on the least fun job of the night, in the least fun place in the world, landed with keeping an eye on the meaningless cordon until someone came to rescue him at seven in the morning. And this was the second night in a row.

Nothing happened. No one cared. No one was here, not even the students were bothered anymore. It was cold, compared to the usual So-Cal heat, and he was more bored than when he had been doing something really boring. Or thinking about something really boring. Like watching paint dry. Or repainting the Golden Gate. Or anything to do with paint. He hated paint. He'd tried being a painter after dropping out of med school, helping out his brother-in-law. Now that had been boring. He thought he'd never be that bored again. How wrong could one man get?

At the start of his shift, he'd spent a while sitting in the car, like he was supposed to, listening to the chatter on the radio from the other police officers who had actual work to do. That helped, but then the chatter petered out, and Guy turned the radio down. After an hour or so he'd got out of the car to stretch his legs. He never strayed far and stood around, looking at the destroyed building, then looking up at the blank, misty sky, and looking at the car lights as they moved around. Was police work always going to be so, so, so boring? Fuck, he was bored. Bored, bored, bo-

Guy looked up, and in front of him, looking right at him from across the other side of the street, was Sergeant Ed Brown. The man gave a nervous wave.

Erikson felt a stab of anger. That fucking sergeant was the last person in the world he wanted to speak to, the source of all his current problems. But as the other man staggered over, Guy's anger transformed into annoyance, then curiosity, then confusion.

He might not be much of a cop, but Guy could recognise a man in trouble when he saw one, especially someone with such a straight-laced and universally wholesome reputation as Ed Brown, who was the only man in the whole police department that Chief Robert Ironside thought was good enough to be on his staff. Sergeant Brown was having an even worse day than Guy. His eyes were still red, much more so than yesterday morning. He looked like he'd done three all-night shifts in a row, with no sleep in between. There was blood on his top lip that had streaked down his shirt, and he had the kind of dishevelled, jittery manner of a man trying not to look like he'd just been beaten up.

But none of those worried Guy the most. Pre-med had sucked. Or he had sucked at pre-med. Maybe both, Guy was willing to admit that. One of the afternoons, he'd been with some classmates in ER when a big drugs bust had come in. They hadn't stayed, the senior registrar had shooed them out so as not to get in the way, but not before Guy has seen some of the junkies on a bad trip.

On the outside, Brown might not have been physically writhing and screaming at the demons in the shadows, but that was exactly what it looked like he was doing on the inside. The effect was both frightening and heart-wrenching at the same time.

Guy stared as Brown walked over. The sergeant stopped near the front of Guy's car, head slightly to one side, looking at Guy in a vaguely threatening way. More than the concern for a man who was in trouble, Guy sensed Brown was close to a tipping point. One misstep and he'd freak out.

Act natural, Guy thought. Don't panic. Just be yourself. So he scowled, and pointed a finger at Brown.

'I'm on the shit list thanks to you, Sergeant,' he said.

Brown looked thoroughly embarrassed, so much so that Guy wondered if he'd overdone it.

'Yeah, it was a low trick to pull,' Brown said quietly, running his hand through his hair and looking down at the ground. Man, this was bad, bad, bad. Brown's words were slurring together. Maybe he had the shakes as well, that would be even worse, but at the moment Guy couldn't tell. 'I just didn't wanna go home.'

'Well, yeah. I know that now!' Guy couldn't help sounding annoyed. 'Maybe you should have just said so!'

'I'm sorry Guy. I didn't mean to land you in the graveyard shift.'

Erikson gave a huff and glared at Brown for a few seconds, looking at his red eyes, the blood on his face and thinking that somehow he had to string this conversation out and find a way of helping. He gave another, louder huff, crossing his arms.

'Oh, forget it,' he said at last.

'Thanks.'

There was a strained pause. Guy felt obliged to say something.

'Look, it's not that I don't like it when my buddies come to keep me company on a dull shift,' he said, noting the smile Brown gave him, 'but what are you doing here?'

'I just wanted to get to the right place.'

Guy raised his eyebrows. That made no sense. He began to edge towards the door of his car but Brown started forward. He was a tall man, he had at least three inches on Guy and was physically much stronger. There was nothing outwardly threatening about the movement, but Erikson still felt uncomfortable.

'I need your help, Guy,' Brown said in a hushed tone.

'That's the understatement of the fucking decade,' was what Guy almost said, but the words were caught just in time. There was a time for being flippant, and a time for being serious. One teeny tiny push the wrong way and Brown might have flipped out there and then. He looked like he was on the very edge of something terrible. In spite of the trouble Brown had caused him yesterday, Guy wanted to help, if he could.

'What do you want me to do?'

'How'd you like to be owed two favours?' Brown asked, his expression on the desperate side of polite. Well, Guy thought, they were going to be two fucking huge favours.

'What sort of favour?' he asked, genuinely suspicious.

'I need another lift.'

Guy gave Brown a sarcastic look, unable to help himself.

'Because the last time I gave you a lift worked out so well.' Brown smiled that regretful, guilty smile again, but Guy continued. 'Look man, it's not that I don't wanna help, but if I leave this cordon I think Donally might sell my soul to the Syndicate as punishment.'

Unexpectedly, Brown gave a warm laugh.

'Donally's such an asshole,' he said with a snort. 'Bob thinks he's an asshole. Dennis thinks he's an asshole too.'

Guy kept a straight face. "Bob" must have been Chief Robert T. Ironside, special consultant with the SFPD. "Dennis" would be Commissioner Dennis Randall, head of the police force. Was it normal for detective sergeants in San Francisco to refer to some of the top city officials by their first names to the new-kid-on-the-beat? And was it normal to relate the private opinions of those senior officers to said new-kid-on-the-beat? This was insane. Whatever Brown was on, it was really… really… bad.

'Well, when did you last have a run in with Donally?' Guy asked, curious in spite of the situation.

Brown was still smiling, now in a suspiciously happy way.

'I've written off a few police cars,' he said with a grin.

'A few?'

'Three. Last time I counted.'

'No shit!' Guy had no chance to stop his exclamation. 'No wonder Donally doesn't like you.'

'The feeling is very mutual,' Brown replied.

'And does that score count the Ford round the corner?' Guy asked. 'You know, the one at the Kingston Building.' There was a flicker of bewilderment on the other man's face and Guy felt the need to clarify further. 'The one you left outside the Kingston Building a couple of mornings ago? The one with the concrete block embedded in the hood, and the large dent in the roof?'

The frown stayed on Brown's face for a moment, then it slowly changed to a wide grin.

'Bet Donally was pissed off about that!' he said.

That was another candidate for understatement of the fucking decade. It was a good job that Brown had friends in high places or he'd have been suspended. But at least now Guy understood why Donally had been so infuriated. Four cars was a lot for just one policeman.

Brown was still smiling, lost in a memory.

'I hope that's all,' Guy said.

'I blew up Bob's paddy wagon too. But that one wasn't all my fault.'

Did that mean the other ones were? Guy pursed his lips to stop himself speaking despite being intrigued about the details. Now wasn't the time to ask, and maybe some questions were just not worth the answers.

'C'mon Guy, haven't you crashed a patrol car?' Brown asked casually, as if crashing patrol cars was something that happened all the time.

Guy shrugged, shaking his head.

'I have had a couple of bumps in my own one, does that count?'

'Nope!'

Guy had a sudden flash of inspiration. On impulse, he grabbed Brown's hand and shook it briskly.

'Then let me shake you by the hand, as winner of the San Francisco Police Department car destroying competition.'

Brown laughed that same warm laugh again and Guy smiled back. But inside, he was feeling anything but happy. Brown's hand was icy cold, and Guy could feel a slight but unmistakable shake.

Do something to help! he told himself. Anything, just do it. And do it fast!

'Oh, get in,' he said with a fake huff. 'I never wanted to work during the day anyway. You'll just have to be my new best buddy as down-payment on all those favours.'

Brown looked so relieved at the offer it was scary. Had a ride really been so important?

'Daytime work, who needs it,' Guy continued, just talking while he tried to think of how to help, and what was wrong. 'I mean, who needs daylight? Who needs sleep when you can drive around at night and be awake.'

Brown slumped down in the passenger side at an awkward angle, his knee thumping against the side of the radio. Guy turned the engine over and slowly rolled the car forward. Brown was shifting around in the seat, trying to get himself comfortable, not watching where they were going. With no instructions for a destination, Guy picked the Department as his first choice, that was where Brown had been so desperate to go last time. Maybe if he got him into the building he could get him up to Chief Ironside's office and get him some help.

There wasn't much traffic, for which Guy was very grateful, and even though he wanted to put his foot down and put on the sirens, he decided that taking their time and keeping everything smooth and calm was a better idea. Brown said nothing, and kept on shifting around restlessly in his seat.

They paused at a red light and Guy risked a longer, more critical look, still trying to figure out what had gone wrong with his passenger. It made no sense. What had happened to him?

Obviously, it was to do with the explosion. It had to be. It would be a safe bet that Ed Brown did not behave like this on a usual night on the town. Brown's rep with the other cops in all the other divisions, at least the cops who weren't "assholes", was up there with Bob's, and Dennis'. Guy had never met him before yesterday, and had thought the stories about Brown were pretty unlikely. But now, having talked to the man, and considering who he worked for, Guy reckoned they were right on the money.

So, remembering what Brown was like yesterday, the same nose bleeds, the same red eyes and slightly confused manner, the explosion was the only candidate.

It could have been a concussion. That made people do weird things. The nosebleeds could be a sign that the hospital had missed something, but taken with Brown's other symptoms, Guy thought that straightforward concussion was unlikely. Concussions didn't usually make you trip out, at least not that far. But if it wasn't that, then what were the other options?

He frowned. Med-school had been hard, as well as being a couple of years in the past, and he was struggling to remember what he'd learnt. Because if you discounted concussion you were pretty much left with drugs as sole cause. It did look like Brown was tripping out on something that took you up dangerously high then smashed out all your common sense with a large brick. And that must have been accidental, because a man hand-picked to be on Chief Ironside's personal staff would not end up like this deliberately.

So where did that leave Brown? How could there be a link? Drugs and something to do with the explosion? How?

Although Guy had been doing his lowly traffic duty in the proper and dutiful way, he had been listening to the gossip around the coffee machine in the office, on the few occasions he made it to the coffee machine and wasn't stuck out at the cordon kicking his heals. Wild theories were raging through the department like H through the ghetto.

Everyone had heard that Frank was unhappy about the explosion. And most people had also heard that Frank and his team had been testing samples from the nearby streets for signs of any contaminants that would help identify which explosive was used, because so far no one had any idea.

It was a reasonable guess that somehow Brown had been exposed to whatever strung him out while inside the Kingston Building. What if the two were linked? What if either the explosive itself or something that formed in the explosion was toxic? What was the term for that? Toxicant? Contaminant? Intoxicant? Or was that a psychotic?

Erikson frowned. Those weren't the right words. And besides, that theory made no sense. No usable explosive would do anything like that. You couldn't have explosives that made people go tripping out. It was too dangerous.

The lights changed, and Guy pulled off, the car jerked as he almost stalled it, and Brown banged carelessly against the radio. He looked apologetically at Guy.

'Um, sorry,' he said. 'It's just, um… just that…'

It was obvious what Brown was thinking, and equally obvious that he didn't have a good way of saying it. With a rueful grin, Guy decided to help the man out. Again.

'It's okay, you don't have to be polite,' said Guy. Brown was awful at this, he tried to look innocently confused, but ended up looking strung out. 'My driving sucks. I know it does. No point in trying to lie.'

Brown pursed his lips, looking at Guy, then gave a small nod.

'You are a terrible driver,' he said. The tone made Guy laugh, in spite of everything. It was the nicest way anyone had agreed with him.

'And can you believe I ended up in traffic?' Guy continued. 'I was the only kid on the block who couldn't wire a car. Not even those lame ass old Fords that my grandmother could wire with a hat pin.' Brown was listening with his head tilted slightly to the side, giving him a gazed stare. 'I mean, don't get me wrong, I love cars. Especially those beautiful new rollers you see from time to time. The purr of a well-tuned vee-eight. Man, that's my kind of music. But it's all the rest of it, y'know.'

Brown nodded.

'I did my turn in traffic,' he said. 'If you keep being bad at it they'll have to reassign you eventually.'

'That can't happen fast enough for me,' Guy replied. 'Maybe I should crash more patrol cars.' He grinned, reminded of a question from earlier in the conversation. Curiosity got the better of him.

'Tell me how you totalled that wagon,' he said.

Brown gave a fond smile at the memory.

'I got myself into something because I was careless,' he said. 'Only the Chief can attract trouble while stopping off for some food. It was stupid, and I almost got myself killed.'

History repeating itself then? thought Guy.

'You?' he said. 'Do something stupid?'

Brown's smile turned into a grin.

'Yeah, who'd have thought! We were heading to a conference out of town, and the Chief wanted to stop and eat. There was a local man-hunt, it looked odd at the time, but we only got involved because DW had seen my gun.'

Guy nodded, only part-listening as Brown told the rest of the story. Mostly, he was back to thinking about the Kingston Building and what might have happened to Brown.

Everyone working near to the bomb site been complaining about the dust. It would have caused those eerie red eyes Brown had. And he would have inhaled a lot of it in the explosion. That would cause the nose bleeds if it was an irritant. It could also explain the rest of the symptoms if something in the dust had been absorbed and messed with his mind. That could happen. There was a special term for that too, he couldn't remember exactly what it was. All those stupid medical words were just too confusing, no wonder med school had been such a disaster.

Breathing in something made the most sense. It looks like you've got a bit of a drugs habit. That was what he'd said to Brown on their journey back from the hospital. Now he looked even more like he was on a trip to nowhere.

So, Brown had breathed something in. The dust was the only thing he could think of.

Guy shook his head. But that couldn't be right: if the dust did do something when inhaled, then wouldn't the whole lot of them be like this? They'd all been breathing it in while working at the scene.

The dust made the most sense as the cause, except it couldn't right. If there was a connection between Brown's symptoms and the explosion, and Guy was convinced there was, then he was missing something.

He frowned. Maybe he was wrong. What else was there? What about before the explosion? Something already in the Kingston Building? Did Brown find something that wasn't supposed to be there? But that couldn't be right either. The department grapevine had said that Brown responded to a emergency call. No cop on duty, responding to a volatile situation in a public place, would knowingly go poking around in anything dangerous.

With a huff of frustration, Guy shook his head. This was ridiculous. It made no sense, and he was back to square one. What the hell had happened to Brown?

It didn't matter, Guy reminded himself. The blood from his nose, the red eyes, the icy grip and the shakes were all like flashing red warning lights that something was very seriously wrong. And that was before you considered the memory problems, the confusion, and the fact that he sounded as high as a 7-4-7.

Brown needed help, and quickly. So Guy should be worrying about that, rather than the cause and any lingering confusion over fancy terminology. Brown needed to get back to the hospital, or the office at the very least. The trick was going to be getting him to agree. Guy had the definite impression that the sergeant was in no mood to go anywhere he didn't want to go.

What's the next move? thought Guy. I can't let him out of my sight.

While telling his tale of the exploding wagon, Brown had been shifting restlessly in the front of the car again. Guy hadn't paid much attention as he'd been too caught up in thinking, and trying not to let the car stall. But as he flicked the indicator and changed lanes, still intending to go to the department, Brown suddenly stopped halfway through a sentence.

'No, not this way,' said he.

So Brown was watching what was going on. Shit!

'You don't want to get back to your boss? I thought that's where you wanted to go?'

'No.'

'Not this time?'

'No.'

That didn't leave a lot of room for interpretation.

'Okay, so where do you wanna go?'

An unpleasant expression passed over Brown's face. It wasn't fear, it wasn't disgust, but Guy guessed Brown didn't like the place they were going to go. No, he didn't like it at all.

'I've gotta get somewhere quiet,' Brown said after a few moments. He turned to look intently at Guy, the redness of his eyes and the blood leaking slowly out of his nose making the statement feel more than a little threatening.

'Oh-kayee,' Guy said slowly.

'And you can't tell anyone about this,' Brown said. He leaned forward, knocking clumsily into the radio again. 'They're following me.'

Ah, and now paranoia to add to the list, Guy thought. High and paranoid, that was not a good combination.

'But where do you want to go?' he asked, running through some options in his mind. There were all sorts of strange places a man coul-

'The old marina.'

'Uh? There?'

Brown nodded, though he didn't look at all happy at the prospect of visiting. He offered no explanation, and looked out of the window for a few moments. Unable to think of a way of changing Brown's mind, Guy did as he was asked.

The atmosphere in the car had changed. Brown was a lot more tense now, sitting very still, his fists balled and pushed against his legs, his body hunched slightly forward. He was staring blankly out at the street ahead. He didn't speak, only occasionally turning to glance out of the rear window.

Lucky it's a quiet night, Guy thought. The radio was silent, and he was relieved no one had called him to check up on where he was because he would struggle to talk his way out of it in front of Brown.

Even with little traffic it still took them more than twenty minutes to get close to the old marina. As they drew near, Brown pointed the way and appeared to know the area well, giving instructions without any hesitation. At last they came to a neglected entrance and Brown told him to pull over. The car came to a stop, and Guy turned the engine off. There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

'Look, Guy,' Brown said. 'One last thing.'

Jesus, the man was stacking up the favours tonight. Guy could probably retire on the number of favours Brown owed him.

'What?'

Brown paused, looking uncomfortable about asking.

'You mustn't tell anyone where I am. I can't let them find me.'

The way it was said sent a shiver of fear across Erikson's back, a mix of threat and delusion that spoke volumes about Brown's current state of mind. From the outset, Guy had absolutely no intention of leaving Brown on his own, not for one single moment. It was clear that the trick now was going to be persuading Brown otherwise. Guy didn't think the sergeant would do anything violent against another officer, but he didn't want to test that theory, not with Brown so close to the edge. It was difficult to predict what he would do.

'Look, Sergeant…' he began. Brown leaned forward again, his expression both pleading and angry at the same time.

'You've got to promise me, Guy. It's important. It's very important. Please.'

For the first time Guy was properly frightened, not of Brown but for him.

'Look, Sergeant…'

'You can't tell anyone.' There was a quiet menace in the words this time. 'That's an order, Officer! And you've gotta swear it to me. Swear on your badge. Swear on your life.'

Now Guy was in trouble, because Brown worked for Ironside, and could probably smell a lie at hundred feet, let alone from a rookie whose track record for lying was a complete joke. Sure, he could talk fast and make a good show, but a look-you-in-the-eye-straight-up-lie like that? He'd never be able to pull it off.

There was one chance. It wasn't great, but what else was there?

'Okay, I swear,' promised Guy. 'I swear on the life on my best buddy.'

Brown didn't reply. For a moment, Guy thought he'd been caught out with his word games, wondering if Brown had been paying attention earlier when he'd joked about it and the owing of favours. But at least in that statement Guy could be sincere. He was risking all this for the life of his new best buddy. And it was the only thing he could come up with in the circumstances.

They stared at each other, Guy's heart thumping so loudly that he thought the whole neighbourhood would hear. At last, after who knew how long, Brown gave a sluggish nod.

'I knew I could count on you.' He gripped Guy's shoulder, the shaking he'd felt from earlier was much more pronounced. One final time Brown looked at Guy, his eyes so bloodshot that there was almost no white left.

'Thanks, Guy,' he said. 'For everything.' The tension, terror and raw emotion in those few words were almost too much to stand. Unable to respond, Guy just stared.

Brown struggled out of the car and staggered off into the gloom of the marina. Guy waited, hardly daring to breathe, watching him. Then a teeny tiny fraction of a second after he was out of sight round a corner, Guy grabbed the car radio. He'll call in then follow Brown, it would be easy enough to keep out of sight, it was a big marina.

'Control! Control?'

Nothing. Nothing at all.

'What the fuck?' he said out loud. He flicked the switches on the radio, but there was nothing, not a word, or hiss of white noise. For over ten seconds he sat and frowned at the radio, unable to figure out what was wrong. Then slowly he reached out and turned the set around, looking at the back, and at the bare wires that stuck out. Guy stared at them in disbelief.

Brown must have pulled the wires on the drive over, while he was concentrating on the traffic and the stupid, fancy medical terms. He had no radio.

'Shit!' he snarled, thumping the wheel of his car. He should have seen it! Of course, he should have seen this coming! Brown had never intended to take his word. He was terrified out of his mind, of course he wouldn't have trusted him.

How could he have been so, so, so fucking stupid? Brown had faked him out. Again!

Guy felt the strong, choking grip of rising panic. What the hell was he going to do now? Not only had he disobeyed a direct order, twice in a row; not only had he left his post and driven a paranoid, tripped-out manic with a gun out to the cheap end of the marina, he got his radio trashed for his trouble.

Donally wouldn't sell his soul, he'd just kill him. He was in big trouble.

Guy looked in the direction that Brown had staggered off, thinking if anyone around here was in big trouble, it was Ed Brown. That was the only thing he should be worrying about at the moment. Maybe they weren't really best buddies, but Guy was all he had tonight.

Think, he told himself. Just calm down and think like a cop.

He needed to get in touch with HQ and someone who could help Brown. Now with no radio, there was one option. Call the department and get an urgent message to Chief Ironside or one of his team. He couldn't follow Brown, but at least he could get in touch with someone who might know what the fuck was going on.

Guy shot a last quick glance in the direction his new best buddy had gone, his heart heavy with worry. Or he could just run after him… and get his lights punched out. Because now he was sure that was exactly what Brown would do. He wanted to be left alone, he was paranoid about being followed and wouldn't listen, that much had been clear from the car ride and the fact that he'd trashed the radio. So Guy had done all he could. Now Brown needed a friend, an actual friend that knew him, someone he could talk to without being afraid.

With that thought, Guy turned the engine on and jammed the car into reverse, screeching backwards, narrowly avoiding another car that had just pulled over at the end of the street.

More carefully, wary of stalling and flooding the engine, Guy put the car into drive and started his search for a phone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Total Internal Reflection Part I

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The Chief glared at the phone, surprised and immediately on his guard. He didn't have time for social calls now, they had to find Ed. Fran picked up the receiver.

'Chief Ironside's office?'

Fran listened for a moment, confused, then handed the phone to the Chief. He looked questioningly at her.

'It's the operator. An urgent call for you.'

Ironside pressed the speaker button.

'Chief Ironside?'

'Thank fu- goodness! At last!' It was a young man's voice that he didn't recognise, sounding breathless, almost excited. Ironside's anger rose. If this was a prank he was going to get the man arrested.

'If-'

'Brown's in trouble.'

'Ed? What?'

'He pulled my radio so I couldn't call it in. He's in trouble.'

Even in the few words that had been spoken, Ironside could recognise the panic in the other man's voice.

'Who are you? What happened?'

'Officer Erikson, Traffic Division,' the man said. He gulped a breath, then the next words came out in a rush. 'I was on duty at the cordon over by the Kingston Building when Brown just shows up. He looked like hell, red eyes, bloody nose. He was strung out, really strung out. He needed a ride.'

'Bloody nose?' The looks on the faces of Fran and Mark expressed what he was feeling exactly. So much for coincidences. But he had to keep his composure and figure out what was going on. Why was this Erikson calling him? What had happened?

'A ride? So where did you take him?' the Chief demanded.

'The old marina.'

For a second Ironside couldn't talk, a sudden spear of ice went through his heart. Why there of all places? It wasn't possible! Another possibility struck him: was this some sort of a joke by Erikson? His anger at the thought almost made him slam his hand on the speaker.

'What!' he roared. He heard the other man take a sharp breath.

'He begged me. It was weird, man. I mean, sir.'

'What about a hospital?' Ironside continued, just as furiously.

'You didn't see him, Chief.' There was a conviction and desperation in Erikson's voice that struck home. 'He was right on the edge. Probably already over it. He told me to go to the old marina and wasn't gonna take no for an answer. So I did. I dropped him off then called in, but he wrecked my radio. Please, please get down there. He needs help.'

The last word sent another chill through Ironside. He prided himself on being a good judge of men, and this Erikson did sound sincere, however strange his story. The Chief paused. Did he end the call now and leave immediately, getting Erikson to meet him there? Or did he listen now and get as much information as he could. He decided on the second option.

'Tell me. The shortest version you can.'

'Right,' said Erikson with a gulp that was obvious even down a telephone wire. 'Right. I gave Sergeant Brown a ride back from the hospital yesterday. And tonight, he shows up while I'm on duty at the Kingston Building cordon, and he looks even worse. His nose is bleeding, he has the shakes, red eyes. In the car, we talk. He insists people are following him, and he looks real scared. He tells me to take him to the old marina, so he can hide from them, even though it looks like the place makes him feel sick. I take him there, and he begs me, and I mean begs me not to tell anyone. I say, yeah, and he leaves. As soon as he's out of sight, I try my radio and he's fu- um, pulled the wires out at the back. It's dead. And he's gone. I have no radio, no way to tell anyone. I found a phone, and tried to get through to you.'

A clear, concise account, just like Ed would have made himself. Ironside had a better idea of what had happened. He remembered how Katie had been, and what Tim and Fran had said, before the hospital. She'd been scared, she'd wanted to hide and be alone, people were following her. It was just the same with Ed.

But why the old marina? It was insane, wasn't it?

No. There was a cleverness about it that bordered on brutal cunning, and showed how much Ed hadn't wanted to be found. In the old marina, Ed would go back to that warehouse and, like Erikson had said, he looked sick at the thought. Only a few people knew about Richards, and it was honestly the last place on God's green Earth that Ironside would have thought of looking. He never wanted to go near there again.

But what did that say about Ed's state of mind? How desperate and afraid of the world did Ed have to be to go back there? Ironside tried and failed to suppress a shudder at that thought. He took a deep breath.

'Thank you, Officer,' he said, his tone much more reasonable.

'Chief, how can I help?'

Ironside was touched by the sincerity in his voice. Now he knew where Ed would be, Erikson couldn't do any more there. But he still had information that may be important in the bigger case, once they found Ed and got him to the hospital.

'Get yourself back to the department, Erikson,' he said. 'I want a full statement on my desk in this office immediately.'

'Um, right, but…?'

'You worry about the statement, I'll worry about Sergeant Brown.'

There was an audible sigh of relief.

'And you know where he'l-?'

'It's in hand, Officer,' he interrupted sternly, beginning to lose his patience.

'Okay. Um, sir!'

The phone clicked.

Ironside looked up and saw two different expressions on the faces of his staff: One bewildered from Fran, one indescribable from Mark.

'The warehouse. Let's go.' It was all he could say at that moment, and Mark stood up, grabbing the handles of the chair to help push him forward. It was just as well, as he felt light-headed and unexpectedly nervous. Fran collected her jacket and followed them towards the door.

'But how do you know?' Fran asked warily. 'That patrolman said the old marina. How do you know where Ed is?'

He looked at Fran as she paused at the door. Mark already pressing the button for the elevator, pulling the van keys out of his pocket. Fran was young, idealistic, maybe she wasn't ready for this. Who would be? If she came along there would be no turning back. But he needed her help. They all did.

'You asked why Ed was at the Kingston Building so early in the morning. If you want me to give you the answer, you should come with us.'

The Chief watched as the confusion mixed with worry and fear, but she managed a tiny nod. She hesitated for a second longer at the door, then followed them.

It was straightforward enough to break into the warehouse. The door was locked but a couple of kicks in the right place worked as well as a key. Hesitating at the threshold, Ed looked around. The building was dark, he couldn't see the details very well, so he jammed the door open to let some light in. It looked vaguely familiar, and there was a lingering smell of gasoline.

Ed took a few steps, then had to stop, breathing heavily. It took a moment to calm the feeling of dread that made his stomach turn, and to push back against the memories. Only then could he keep going. Somewhere around here he'd find a place to sit down, and try to get a little rest. Slowly, Ed made his way to the back corner, beside some crates, having to push a few out of the way. Then, when he could get no further, he lent against the wall and let himself slide down to the floor.

Leaning back, Ed drew his knees up in front of him. Then he sat as still as he could for a few minutes. He couldn't describe how he felt. He didn't know if he was feeling anything, except tired and strung out. And uncomfortable. The gun was digging into the scars yet again. So he took it off his belt and pushed it to one side, then struggled out of his jacket and rolled it up, putting it behind his head. That was better. He was safe.

Safe. Ed gave a snort of cynical laughter at the thought, the irony not lost on him. Safe, in the only place he'd thought he'd never be safe in. A place he'd never wanted to think about again. He'd spoken about it only once before, he'd given a statement to Lieutenant Reese in the hospital. Just the barest of details, as at the time he couldn't think about anything more. Dealing with the guilt and the remorse that had been dragged up was difficult enough, especially with the Chief sitting, glowering in the corner as witness to all his mistakes. Just thinking about what his own carelessness and lack of good sense had landed them all in was too painful. He should have been better. He should have been on his guard.

He could remember what he said that day in terrifying detail. He could remember what he felt when he'd tried to explain, watching Carl scribble away in his notebook. He could remember sitting in the hospital bed forming the words and staring at the chipped paint on the windowsill. It felt so vivid and intense, with a depth and intricacy he hadn't realised was there.

Ed's breathing started to speed up and he could feel himself trembling. He tried to remind himself he was safe, but that didn't help. He didn't have to think about what had happened. He didn't want to. He wanted to keep it hidden forever, crushed under a lead weight of overwork, force of will and terror, all the barriers he'd put up in the past few months. He had to keep it hidden.

He couldn't bear to think of it. Not here. Not now.

No.

No!

Ed recognised blind panic as the memories rushed towards him, but as he tried to force it all back down, he realised that it was futile. Too much had happened, he was too exhausted and strung out to keep control. His breath froze suddenly and a shudder went through him, eyes going wide. Then the full Technicolor flashback roared out to consume him.

The van moved off with a jerk. Ironside had been silent as they'd rushed down to the garage, turning words over in his mind. How was he going to begin? This was a conversation he dreaded, never wanting to voice what had happened. He'd been there when Carl had taken Ed's full statement, the details that looked so terrible on paper had been no easier to hear from the mouth of the man who'd experienced them, every emotion raw and unfiltered. Worse were the things he didn't say, the details that he missed, the personal things that weren't needed in a police statement that were glaringly obvious by their omission: the pain, the terror, but above all the guilt.

Ed was always like that, Mark had said so only yesterday. He always took it all so personally. It was what made him such an exceptional officer, and such a good man. But it also meant he would sometimes struggle to let go.

The Chief folded his hands in front of him, elbows digging into the arms of the wheelchair, and he looked downward, this time unable to meet Fran's gaze.

'There was a case, a few months ago,' he said. 'The McDonald case.'

'I heard about it,' she said. 'The whole department heard about it, and worked on it as well.'

Ironside nodded, not looking up, staring at a spot of dirt on the floor of the van.

'Eve was still working, she'd become engaged, but she hadn't told us. We'd all guessed.'

A sad, but indulgent smile spread over his face as he thought about how she'd tried to hide it from him, as if he hadn't been able to tell from the way she'd been after she'd accepted. The smile faded and he pursed his lips, trying to form the next sentence correctly.

'A few hours before the McDonald case came to trial, someone tried to sabotage it.'

Fran gave a gasp of surprise.

'I didn't know…' she started to say, but he held up his hand.

'There aren't many people on the force who know the whole truth,' he said, sounding too stern, unable to say this in the way he wanted to. 'Dennis, Murray from Internal Affairs. Carl Reese. Mark and I.' He paused. 'Ed.'

She pulled back warily as he said the list of names.

'What happened?' she whispered.

'Someone from my past, a man called Anthony Richards, used the McDonald case to try to take revenge for what I did to his family. Eve and Ed. They were-' again he found it hard to say the next words, but he steadied himself. 'They were kidnapped. Ed was blackmailed into stealing state's evidence for the McDonald case, into making a call for extortion money. One of the officers who was in on it was murdered with Ed's gun. The evidence against him looked irrefutable. Iron-clad.'

There was a momentary pause before Fran spoke, as if she struggled to ask a question that she didn't want to know the answer to.

'Why would he do that?'

'Richards' companion was a felon from Texas. A string of brutal murders, physical assaults, violent knife attacks against women. Someone highly skilled in causing pain with a blade. Ed did whatever he was told, just to keep Eve safe. He did what Tony ordered him to. The first rule of kidnapping is to keep the victim safe.'

Fran was watching him, he could feel her horrified stare without needing to see it. He kept looking at the floor.

'Then I made a mistake,' Ironside said. 'I jumped to a wrong conclusion, and Eve was left behind in a burning building. Mark saved her, but-' he took another slow breath, 'but Richards got away and took the evidence. And Ed. They vanished, leaving us no leads.'

It took a few seconds for him to begin the next sentence.

'All we could do was wait for Tony to tell us where the drop was going to be. So we waited. We did nothing. All that time, all those hours, we sat and we waited.'

Ed is handcuffed, the chain over a roof beam so he is stretched out his full length, trapped and unable to get away. Earlier, he struck his temple on a metal bar hard enough to cause a concussion. His head is still ringing, his vision blurred. He's just been beaten, and the punch to his face moments earlier caused enough damage to his mouth to make him spit blood.

Lonnie McArthur steps into Ed's line of sight with a smile. It's not the smile of an evil man, it's the smile of a man meeting an old friend, long-lost and desperately-missed.

Ed's heart rate speeds up as Lonnie dabs at the blood on Ed's lips and chin. Under other circumstances Ed would have pulled his head away but he's fixed in place by Lonnie's look of utter fascination and intensity. It's like watching an expert defusing a bomb, or the anticipation of a first kiss.

After staring at the blood, Lonnie reaches down, slowly and deliberately undoing Ed's tie, and then his shirt buttons, one by one, all the way to the bottom. He pulls at Ed's shirt, carefully folding it round and pushing back his collar to expose as much skin as possible. Lonnie's eyes are bright with a terrible hunger, all his attention focused on what's directly in front of him.

Ed is shaking uncontrollably. An excruciating dread is crushing down, making it hard to breathe, and hard to think of anything but Richards' description of Lonnie's skill with a knife, the gruesome details that he'd been told with delight the day before. Ed is about to find out for himself if it's accurate.

Lonnie's hand feels like sandpaper on his ribcage, and he examines Ed's torso like a master sculptor with a fresh slab of stone that's ready to be carved. He searches for weaknesses, faults and flaws, poking the bruises and scratches, and in spite of wanting to stay silent, Ed hisses with pain. Lonnie doesn't react, Ed's not sure he's even noticed.

His breathing rate keeps speeding up, just like his heart rate, fight or flight response in full swing. Every moment stretches out, every sensation magnified. He can't help himself, although his shoulders and back muscles are aching, Ed now tries to pull away, twisting his wrists against the handcuffs, not registering any pain even though he feels more blood trickle down his forearms.

Then Lonnie steps back. There is no laugher, no attempt to mock or to gloat. Instead, there is the unmistakable snick of a switchblade.

Ed closes his eyes. He knows what comes next.

It starts with a soft pressure just below his rib, the point of the knife resting against him, like the prick of a pin. He tries to get away, but the knife follows him. Ed's feet have little purchase on the floor, but he pushes himself as far back as he can, his arms stretching past usual limits. Lonnie suddenly grabs the back of his hair with his other hand, bunching in it tightly, sending a sheet of pain though Ed's head and neck. He's forced to stay still. All he can hear is his own ragged, panting breath and his racing heartbeat thundering in his ears.

The pain by his rib grows as more pressure is applied, enough to break the skin, but the blade doesn't go deeply in. It's a biting, stabbing pain that swells, growing more acute with every passing moment. Ed clamps his mouth shut, his jaw rigid, eyes screwed up, feeling himself shaking and almost at the edge of losing all control.

The knife starts to move ever so slowly following the line of his ribcage, with a sharp ripping sensation as it glides along, splitting him open. All his muscles are tensed against the continuous pain. His throat is tight and he can barely breathe, but a soft whimper escapes.

Time stretches out and the knife keeps going, slowly, slowly, and he feels this is never going to end. He's hyperventilating and can't stop. It's all going grey. The room is fading. The sensation is warm and welcoming, a comforting oblivion where he can escape reality and be safe.

Then the knife is gone.

The acute pain stops, and the abrupt change jerks Ed back to a higher awareness. Fantasy is ripped away. He gasps in shock, feeling blood seeping out of the wound, trickling over his side.

Lonnie gave a hum of pleasure, letting go of Ed's hair, and Ed's eyes flicker open. Lonnie has been watching him, waiting for the right moment, not wanting to let him retreat into the safety of unconsciousness. The reality of what's happening hits him again. Ed's stomach clenches and he gives a dry retch, sending yet another excruciating shock through his body.

A moment later, the knife is back in the open cut, Lonnie wields it like a surgeon and a terrible, sharp pain lances over Ed's torso. The knife twists and digs in, and the pain intensifies, filling his head so there's no room for anything else. Blood pours out, Lonnie pushes his fingers into the flow, probing and exploring, squeezing it out and letting it run over his hand. There was an awed whisper from the man, like a prayer.

Then Lonnie suddenly pulls the knife along once again with one quick, smooth flick of his wrist, slicing more deeply into an already painful wound. Ed cries out, his whole body arches back, recoiling in agony.

'We had no other leads,' the Chief said. 'Once Mark rescued Eve, we thought Ed might still have been in the warehouse. The roof collapsed, and for a while we thought…'

He shook his head at the memory, the few hours he'd spend thinking his friend had been left to burn to death in a collapsed building. How strange to remember the feeling, to think that was the worst thing that could have happened.

'Wh-what did you? I mean, how? How did you find out?'

'Eve spoke to us,' the Chief said. He could clearly remember her lying in the hospital looking pale and tired, and scared. Frightened for her colleague, a man who treated her with the affection of a big brother, and respected her as a trusted friend.

'She told us how Richards had caught them, and what he'd said to her. He'd told her that everyone had a price, and convinced her he meant money. Tony could be very persuasive and Ed just did everything he was asked without question.'

He didn't want to share the confidences of his former staff member, the private things she'd told him that afternoon in the hospital, but he found himself saying it anyway.

'She was shocked, angry, betrayed. Ed had tried to talk to her, and she rejected his explanation, unaware of who McArthur was, and what he would do if Ed stepped out of line. There was a struggle, Eve said she would have been hurt, but Ed took the punch meant for her. He struck his head.'

Fran made a small noise, but didn't say anything, the tears in her eyes making them shine.

'Then McArthur mentioned Tony's name, and she realised what she'd done.'

He was silent again for a few moments, wondering what would have happened if Eve hadn't found out who was behind it. Could he have kept his belief in Ed? Could she? Would he have planned the ransom drop differently? Would he have put in place the safeguards to get Ed out? Of course, he would have discovered the truth before the end anyway, the moment Tony had spoken to him on the phone he'd have recognised his voice.

How would he have felt then, if that had been the moment which confirmed Ed as a victim too?

The knife digs in again, opening a new wound. Ed has tried to keep count of the times Lonnie has cut into him, two, five, ten, twenty, but now it's become a blur. He can hardly keep himself standing, gravity pulling him relentlessly down so he's stretched out by his own weight. His mind can't concentrate on any details for long, sensations of pain are bombarding him. Everything hurts. The blood from all the open cuts trail over his torso. And his back. And his upper arms.

The knife keeps moving. Breathing only makes the pain worse, so Ed tries to stop himself gulping in air. His hair is plastered down. He feels sweat bead on his forehead, run down his face. Every so often there is the soft drip of his blood onto the wooden boards beneath him.

The pattern is the same and the knife is pulled away, moments before he loses consciousness. It isn't taking as long now, he's lasting a shorter and shorter time with each attack. Again Lonnie smears the blood over Ed's skin, relishing the sensation. The man's hand is slick with it. For a second, Ed thinks Lonnie might actually lick his fingers and, revolted, bile rises to the back of his mouth. But instead Lonnie is transfixed, tenderly rubbing the blood until it turns sticky.

Ed swallows the sickness, choking and coughing as he does. His throat is burning with acid, making it even more difficult to breathe. He looks up for the first time in what might have been hours but feels like forever. Although his vision is still distorted, he can see Anthony Richards casually leaning against the table opposite, watching his accomplice work. When he notices Ed's gaze he gives a slight, disinterested smile; a professional smile from someone who had seen this all before.

Ed stares, a wave of something rising in his chest. It's that cold smile more than anything else that pushes him from fear into uncontrollable and overwhelming panic. It leaves him stunned, as impotent as a butterfly impaled on a pin, as the future snaps into focus. They're going to leave him hanging here forever, his life dripping away onto the floor. He's going to bleed to death in unbearable pain.

He has no way out. There's nothing he can do to stop it.

And in his panic, Ed slips into the despair he's struggled against, asking the question that has been at the back of his mind for hours. Where was the Chief?

Why didn't Ironside help him?

In all the years they'd known each other, the Chief had never failed to come to the aid of a friend. Time after time, with amazing tenacity and cleverness, Ironside had always been there, to solve and to rescue, to help and to protect. Even after he'd lost the use of his legs and was confined to a wheelchair Ironside had never, ever turned his back on one of his friends.

So why wasn't he here, now, to make this stop?

There's only one answer. At that moment, the truth of it hurts him more the slice of the knife, bringing fresh tears in the corners of his eyes.

He's pushed the Chief too far away, he's destroyed their friendship completely. The Chief could only think that he's crossed the fence and taken bribes, that he's done it for the money. And Eve is dead in that fire, Ironside will think it is his fault.

Because it is his fault. This whole stupid, terrible mess is his own fault for not being more on his guard, for making so many mistakes, for not seeing the trouble, for not being a better cop, for not figuring out a way to save Eve before she died. Shouldn't he had done something more? Now, no one is coming to help. He's on his own.

Panic grips him again, not the fleeting flash it had been earlier, but the kind that took your breath away, made your head spin, your heart thump and you could never forget. The Chief isn't going to do anything. He isn't going to help. There would be no second chance, no last minute rescue. Not this time. He's stopped any possibility with the phone call to demand money. With all the evidence he's left scattered around, no one will question his guilt.

He's alone. He's going to face a slow, agonising, degrading death hanging from a roof beam like an animal, and face it alone. He's pushed them all away. Even Ironside. He's failed the Chief, caused Eve's death, sold his soul and there was nothing left to save. No one will ever know otherwise. He's failed them all.

This is never going to end. And he's done this to himself.

Ed hears Lonnie move closer, and he gives a choking gasp of pain and panic.

Oh God, please. Not again.

He squeezes his eyes shut, the tears leaking out from underneath. Ed feels the knife press against the latest cut. No one is going to come and help him. Not even Ironside.

The blade of the knife presses into him.

Oh God, please, please, please. Not again.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Total Internal Reflection Part II

'The drop started at a public phone,' the Chief said. 'I'm sure Tony thought he'd done enough. That I believed Ed had been bought. I knew that he would want to hurt me as much as he could. To make the big reveal of the truth just before the end. I banked on it. That was my plan. So I let Richards lure me on. He knew I'd want both Ed and the evidence.'

Ironside stopped. What happened next had been absolutely necessary. If Richards had thought for one minute anything was amiss, he would have backtracked, killed Ed and vanished with the drugs.

The van bumped on, each second moving closer to the warehouse, and closer to the scene of their showdown. Mark was driving quickly, the Chief couldn't see the expression on his face, but could guess how he must be feeling, hearing this terrible tale described out loud, having to relive those memories.

Fran had stopped looking at him minutes ago, her lips were pressed tightly together, trying in vain to hide the tears by staring out of the side window. She could hardly speak. Ironside couldn't stop. Now he had started it would have to go through to the end.

'When Tony called I behaved as if Eve was dead, trying to help with the illusion that I believed what I was shown.' He shook his head. 'We talked about the evidence. We talked about the money.'

'Ed?' murmured Fran. Her lips twitched, wanting to say more but the words didn't come out of her mouth.

Ironside shook his head again, this time turning slightly away from her.

'And I called Ed a disgrace. I know he heard me.'

It was the right thing to do. Tony had to believe it or the plan wouldn't have worked. In the circumstances, it was the only thing he could do, even if he was filled with remorse at the memory.

'Chief,' said Fran in a small voice. 'He must have kn-'

'No!' Ironside said, thumping his hand on the arm of his wheelchair. 'The first rule of kidnapping isn't to make the victim feel good about themselves.'

Fran drew a short, stunned breath, and shrank back into the seat.

They stayed like that for a few moments, the van still rumbling along to their destination. There wasn't much more time, and he had to get it done before they got there. He'd never be able to start this up again.

The Chief reached forward to take her hand briefly.

'I'm sorry, Fran. I shouldn't have said that.' He took a shaking breath. 'I lied, to save him. He believed me. He had to. They both had to.'

His mind is spinning and lurching, Ed barely has any understanding of where he is. He longs to escape to the dark, but every time he slips towards the comforting black of unconsciousness, something tugs him back. He tries to stand straight, to ease the pain in his wrists and hands, but it's getting harder to keep upright. Each breath takes an hour, each tiny movement fills his whole body with agony.

The crescendo of panic has passed. It's bled away onto the floor, and now he feels utterly drained and exhausted. Warm dribbles of blood prickle over his skin and his sodden, blood-soaked shirt clings to his side. Everything hurts in a way he's never experienced before. But it is all too far away to care about. How long has he been here like this? Does it matter? What does any of it matter?

Ed hears talking, indistinct but loud enough to get his attention. His muscles tense involuntarily, and the ragged, burning pain from all those open cuts sweeps through him. It's then he realises that Lonnie has stopped and the knife has gone. Lonnie isn't nearby. That helps him to focus and a hazy sense of time and place comes back to him. Richards is speaking on the telephone. It takes Ed a few moments to make sense of any words, then he hears someone familiar.

'Just me and my team,' Ironside says from the receiver, his voice crackling and distorted. There is a businesslike tone to his voice; cool, collected, calm. In control.

'Team? Your team of one?' Richards replies. He's looking at Ed, the disinterest has gone and his smile is brimming with malice.

'My team. Now let's get on with it.'

There's a moment of silence and Ed feels a tiny spark of something in his heart. It's so small and delicate that he almost can't bear to think about it. But it's there and he can feel it. A tiny spark of hope that this nightmare has an end.

'Fine. Do you have my money?' Richards asks, always watching Ed, and Ed is like a rabbit in the headlights, unable to look away.

'Do you have my evidence?'

'I have your Sergeant Brown, isn't that what you really mean?' Richards gives a triumphant, wicked smile.

'I'm hardly going to pay two million dollars of taxpayer's money for a disgraced sergeant.'

Ed hears the words, and feels as if he's been pole-axed. He can't draw breath. He hadn't believed he could feel any worse, and that statement hits him like a train. There isn't any doubt, but he'd almost begun to…

But no.

He's a disgrace. That is what the Chief thinks of him. That's the truth of who he is. He's a disgraced sergeant, and that's what he'll always be. No one is ever going to find out what really happened, his legacy is one of bitter disappointment and disloyalty.

Richards laughs. Ed can see the genuine pleasure the man is taking in doing this to the Chief, knowing how hard Ironside would take this very personal betrayal. Ed wants to move and to struggle, to say something but when he tries nothing happens. Richards keeps on laughing.

'I want to speak to him,' demands the Chief suddenly.

For a second, Ed doesn't understand what he means. But Richards looks at him, the contempt and amusement clear to see. He holds out the phone, waiting.

'What do you have to say to your old friend?' Richards asks his voice so quiet that at first Ed isn't sure that he's heard him.

Ed tries to speak, he opens his mouth but there's nothing, there's no air left to make a sound, no ability left in him to form the words. But Richards suddenly looks angry. Ed doesn't see Lonnie, and the fear of that knife makes him try harder. He chokes out the sounds, hoping to make sense.

'Ch-Chief? Don't…' The next words stick in his throat. He's not even sure what he was going to say. "Don't come here", "Don't leave me here", "Don't believe them". Or was it just "Don't", because it's already too late?

'Ed?' The single word is all Ironside says. Ed can't even make out any emotion at all in the Chief's voice. A veil of black is falling in from the edges of his vision, and he's desperate to slip away. But the pain is too much and all he can do is hang there as Richards talks.

Then afterwards, once it's quiet, Lonnie steps out of the shadows, and it starts all over again.

'The old marina was where Tony had gone to ground,' Ironside said. 'A warehouse near the yard.'

Fran was staring at him, her eyes wide, her tears dry, shaking softly.

'I went there, for the evidence, with the money. Just as Tony wanted me to. McArthur had… Ed had been…' Ironside stopped, unable to continue that sentence as each time he tried to explain the words petered out. But Fran needed to know the truth. He had to tell the whole story, so the Chief took a deep breath and forced the words to come out.

'When I got there, Ed was still conscious. McArthur had known exactly what he was doing. Shallow cuts to limit the blood loss and make sure he didn't black out or go into shock.'

Fran was still staring at him. The Chief sat there as the van sped on, his memory of the sight as clear as it had been the moment he'd gone through the warehouse door. The horror of the scene had left him speechless, and the smell and the blood had made him almost sick. Seeing Ed like that, hanging like a bloody corpse left out for the crows, was one of the most disgusting things he'd witnessed in a long career in the police.

But that wasn't the worst thing. Not the dried blood smeared on Ed's face, or the pool of it on the floor. Not the obvious agony his friend had endured during the time they'd left him there alone.

It was the look Ed had given him the moment their eyes had first met, a look that told him that Ed had given up on ever seeing anyone else again. In his heart, the Chief knew Ed had thought that his friends believed the twisted truth that Tony had created, and that he was alone. That no one cared enough to help.

And Ironside let him keep believing it.

What sort of man would do that to his friend? The question doesn't need an answer.

The sound of wheels crunching over the wooden boards pulls him back to awful reality, almost unable to focus on anything beyond the sensations that are wracking his body. Some of the blood had dried, he can feel the pull of it against his skin. Every inch of his torso screams with the pain of severed nerve endings. He can't feel his hands properly, there's only an eternal, numbed ache where they should have been. His shoulders feel as if they've been pulled out of their sockets, dislocated, twisted and then shoved back in again.

Wheels on wooden boards. There's that sound again, screeching through his head, stabbing red hot pins behind his eyes with every squeak and creak. He knows that sound. Only one thing in the world makes that sound.

Ed lets out a weak sigh, lifting his head as much as he dared, the nausea so acute that he's seconds away from being sick. Prying open his eyelids, glued shut with sweat and tears, his vision is still blurry, but he can see Ironside sitting right in front of him.

They look at each other.

The world shudders to a stop. The feeling that sweeps through Ed at that moment is something that he can never put into words, an emotion of such black and bitter remorse that it eclipsed a thousand times the hours of pain that he'd just experienced.

This was what he'd prayed for, this was the help he'd hoped would come. But seeing the Chief now, the full magnitude of what Ed has done to the other man is too much. He's betrayed his friend, not deliberately, but by not being good enough to stop this, by failing to stop Richards from stealing the evidence, from murdering Eve, and finally from dragging the Chief into this hideous hell hole to die.

What sort of man would do that to his friend? The question doesn't need an answer.

Once again, Ironside couldn't find the right words. The image from that evening was as fresh at that moment as when it had happened. The smell of blood, the sight of his friend strung up like a butchered animal, tortured and alone.

'I couldn't help him,' Ironside said bitterly. 'His hands were handcuffed over a roof beam. That was the way Tony had planned it all along. That I would go there, see Ed like that and understand how I'd been deceived.' His voice dropped to a whisper. 'I couldn't stand up to help get him down. They'd tortured him with a knife for hours, and I couldn't even help get him free.'

"When I heard you were a cripple, well the plan made itself". That's what Richards had said. That was the whole point of his plan, making sure Ed was out of Ironside's reach. A trusted friend, broken down then left there as a demonstration of what Ironside could never do, and what was always going to be out of his reach.

Tony's laughter had been obscene, "How much more satisfying to ensure you felt the frustration and the rage, knowing you could have helped him, if only you could stand up and walk." How often before that had he longed to walk, to run and move, or even stretch out his legs at the end of a hard day. At that moment, the loss had been so acute that he had almost lost control, desperate to do something.

Fran leaned over, gripping the closest of his hand between both of her own. It was warm and reassuring. He held her hand tightly, as grateful for her composure as her company.

'I had to go on,' he said hoarsely. 'I had to see it through and give Carl enough time to reach us. I had to play along, for a long as possible. Eve…'

When he stopped talking, Fran's grip grew tighter, holding and helping.

'I lied about Eve,' he said. 'I let Ed think she was gone, knowing that was the only way I could win.'

Ironside took a small breath, struggling with long-hidden emotions. That had almost been as bad as being taunted about losing the ability to walk. For a moment, he could see clearly the crushed, anguished expression on his friend's face. Ed had been at the end of the line, close to collapsing into a place from which there was no return. Anyone could have seen that.

He knew then that Ed had heard the whole conversation earlier, and believed that Ironside thought he was a disgrace. But the Chief didn't dare do anything else. No matter how badly Ironside had wanted to reassure Ed, he didn't. He did the opposite, hiding the truth beneath a layer of cold fury and indifference.

Ed had to believe she was gone. If the Chief had given a hint of anything to the contrary, it would have been over for them all.

The room is swaying, objects don't stay focused. But there's a glint from the Chief's hand: the handcuff key. Ed doesn't even react. It didn't matter. Even if the Chief had wanted to, he couldn't stand up and reach the cuffs. He's hours too late, and it's already over. Ed doesn't think he can feel anything anymore, he's got nothing left inside.

But he's wrong.

Eve's purse is on the table close by, and when Ironside sees it Ed flinches in spite of everything else, anguish and remorse overwhelming the physical pain. The look on Ironside's face said it all, loss and a terrible, haunting disappointment. Ed knows how the Chief felt about Eve. If there was anyone Ironside should have been able to trust with her life, it was him. Eve's gone. It feels to Ed that he struck the match himself.

He can imagine her, memories of their friendship bombard him, each one more painful to see: The day they met in the club, the way she'd smiled at the Chief, the challenge she'd given him that day his partner died, the grief they'd shared when the Chief was shot, undercover together who knew how many times, the trip to the antique shop where she'd been injured, seeing her afterwards pale and exhausted in hospital.

The images speed up, random flashes of her smile and her anger, her compassion and her friendship; sipping coffee primly at the desk, answering the phone and working quietly on the reports. It's all been destroyed. Yet another woman he's failed to save.

The pain reaches a crushing peak and then the guilt vanishes as fast as it swept over him. Despair is all Ed has left, he can't feel anything else. He's slipping away.

He's desperate to leave, at the very edge of what he can withstand. Because Ed can see what Ironside is thinking, it's clear on his face. It doesn't matter what's happened, or what Lonnie put him through. All that matters is that he's failed to save her.

Eve's dead, and Ironside holds Ed responsible.

Ironside drew a deep breath, gripping Fran's hand as tightly as he dared. It was almost over, his confession.

This was it.

This was the moment.

McArthur had found Mark beside the van and dragged him to the warehouse. Now Mark was on his knees, a gun at his head, McArthur about to pull the trigger. Tony had lifted his gun, pointing it directly at Ed, but Ed was too far gone to care.

This was it.

This was the moment.

This was the point where it was all going to turn.

Eve.

The gun in Tony's hand moves closer and Ed reacts sluggishly, by instinct rather than in fear. He's slipping. He can't think and doesn't want to know.

Mark is kneeling on the floor, tricked and trapped as well. Lonnie's Colt is positioned by his temple, ready to fire. Ed can't watch. He's dragged Mark into this too, another friend he's betrayed, another life he's destroyed with his carelessness.

He can see the gun in Richards' hand and Ed hopes it will be fired first, so he doesn't have to see any more or feel anything else. But that's not what Richards wants.

'I'm going to shoot your friend here and let him bleed to death while you watch, knowing there's nothing you can do to help.'

Richards shoves the gun at Ed's side, hitting one of the deeper cuts, and Ed lets out a faint gasp of pain in spite of himself. There are more words, but Ed can't understand. He's reached the end and all he wants is a way out. Then there is a gunshot, and when Ed hears it he's glad, praying for the sudden, sharp sting of a bullet to set him free and finally make this all stop.

But instead Lonnie topples over and everything goes crazy.

'Eve,' Ironside said.

'Eve?'

Thank God for Eve. Thank God she was there, and thank God she did her job, even though it was the last time she would. They'd all be dead if it wasn't for Eve.

He was almost at the end, they were still at least ten minutes away from the marina entrance. He had to get through this in one sitting, and bring the story to an end. He would never be able to say this again.

'I made Eve hide in the van. Tony would never suspect, he knew I'd never trust anyone but my own team. She called Carl once Mark and I had gone, then followed us to the warehouse. In the end, she killed McArthur.'

The look on Fran's face was a mix of anger and relief. Then the look turned icy cold, bloodless and merciless with fury.

'Good,' she spat, her voice shaking.

The Chief was almost surprised at her reaction, but he didn't respond. He had no right to judge when, at the time, he'd felt such relief that McArthur was gone. He was an evil, vicious man who was about to murder Mark in cold blood and had tortured Ed to the edge of sanity. Now McArthur couldn't hurt Ed, or anyone, ever again.

'With McArthur dead, Mark attacked Tony,' Ironside said eventually. 'Eve ran to guide Carl, Ed…' Still stuck there, tied to the roof beam, hanging like a broken puppet. 'I used a gun.'

Ed can't understand. The gunshot has echoed away, but Lonnie is the one lying motionless on the floor.

He sees the people, he recognises them, but nothing makes sense. Mark should be dead. But he's not. He's attacking, punching, fighting hard and Ed gets a fleeting impression of the raw ferocity that the man could unleash.

Ed still can't understand.

Then there's shouting and Ed manages to look up. He shudders, unable to believe what he's seeing. He must be hallucinating, because Eve's there. She's right there. She's standing beside the Chief, she's white-faced and shaking but it's definitely Eve.

Eve? Ed keeps staring. She's not dead. She survived. She's still alive and they lied…

It takes a few moments for Ed to understand what those words mean, and then there's the sharp stab of deep hurt and betrayal as he realises what Ironside has done. The Chief let him believe Eve was dead. Deliberately.

But she's not dead and Ed wants to be grateful, but the bitterness and despair that has haunted him for the previous few hours surges back too powerfully. They knew she was alive and they lied. They knew she was alive and they left him here anyway. They knew what had happened and they did nothing.

Ed desperately pushes the feeling of betrayal away as he forces himself to look at her, and slowly it's replaced by a numbed and twisted kind of joy. Eve's alive. That's the only thing he should care about. The rest doesn't matter. She's safe, and she survived the fire. She's alive.

Suddenly, Eve turns to look directly at him, and the expression on her face shocks him like a slap. He's never seen her so relieved or grateful to see him. It is only a moment, then she's gone, hurrying out. The fight around him continues, Mark and the Chief struggling to get the upper hand against Tony Richards.

Then it finally dawns on Ed why the others are here and what they planned. They had known what had happened, but had no way to find him. So the Chief did the only thing he could. He lied and played along with Richards' game in the hope that they could reach him. They had done all this, and risked their lives, in the hope that they could save him.

Save him? Ed can't think further than those words. At that moment, he isn't sure he deserves to be saved.

Unexpectedly, he feels the vibration of gunshots in quick succession, close to his hands. The final one breaks the chain of the cuffs that hold him up and he's free from the roof beam.

Ed crumples to the floor.

'Tony wouldn't give up,' the Chief said. 'I couldn't stop him, neither could Mark, though he tried. Tony had nothing to lose, not anymore.'

'What did you do?' Fran asked. Her voice was calmer and steadier than it had been before.

'I couldn't get a clear shot at him. Mark tried to take him down, but he couldn't.'

She was looking at him steadily. She was still shaking, he could feel it, but she was taking this a lot better than he'd thought she would.

'Tony had rigged the place to burn,' Ironside said. 'He was only a few seconds away from doing it, setting fire to everything. To me.' There had been the crack of shattering glass and the smell of gas, and then the soft flick of a lighter.

In those last few seconds, Ironside had thought he'd lost everything and everyone. The place was soaked in gasoline, Mark was on the floor, winded from a brutal fight. Ironside himself was stuck in his metal prison, unable to stop Tony. Eve had gone, Carl was still a minute away.

There had been no one else. Or so he'd thought.

Ed is face down on the floor of the warehouse, in a puddle of his own blood mixed with dirt. He's blacked out for a few moments. Around him is a swirl of confusion, there are noises of a fight, shouts and gunfire.

In his confused, exhausted state, Ed starts to put together what's happened. But blended with the joy of seeing Eve is the piercing, shattering shame he feels for thinking Ironside would abandon a friend. He's misjudged the Chief, a man he's trusted with his life many, many times. He's given in and given up. How could he have thought Ironside would let it go? All the time the Chief was out there, trying to help him.

That thought washes through Ed, rising up to drown him. How could he have doubted that his friend would care enough to come, and would trust him, even though all the evidence said otherwise? Ironside had never let him down before.

Richards is shouting something and though Ed doesn't make out the words he understands the intent. Ironside needs his help. The least he could do after doubting his boss is to try and make it up to him. He has to try, even if it kills him. And he has to succeed, because there's no other choice.

Get to the gun.

McArthur's gun, the one he'd almost used against Mark. It's lying nearby, and Ed can just make out the handle glinting in the dim light. Getting close enough to pick it up is nearly impossible. It takes everything he has left to cross those few feet. The pain is overwhelming, as the slightest movement makes each and every cut grate and burn. At the edge of collapse, desperation forces Ed to keep going.

Somehow, he heaves the gun off the floor, struggling to control his own muscles. He pulls himself to his knees, and uses a crate to steady the gun. Finally, he leans against the wall to help keep upright, taking aim at Anthony Richards.

There's no one else who can help, Eve's outside, Mark is on the floor. Ironside is alone. Ed is the only one left and that fact makes him all the more terrified. His hands are shaking. He can't aim straight, he can barely see straight. He can't keep himself like this for long. He's moments away from blacking out again.

But he has to help, that's his only option. Ed pushes away the fear and agony of the past few hours, pounding it down as far away as it could go, concentrating on what was happening in the here and now. The sudden sound of breaking glass is like a drill through his head, the smell of the gasoline makes his empty stomach clench. He sways, but the gun doesn't fall.

There is the scrape of flint, followed by a tiny tongue of flame. All Ed can see is Richards, his hand tipping down towards the gas-soaked wood on the floor.

This is the man who had kidnapped him, blackmailed him and smiled as he'd been tortured. Ed knows he's only going to get one chance, a last chance to do his job to protect. In a place doused in fuel, he can't risk anything else. But he's not sure of what he's doing. He's not convinced he's going to get this right. He can't make any more mistakes and he can't let Richards hurt the Chief. He has to shoot to kill.

Ed fires, and the recoil sends an unspeakable wave of agony along his arms and back. It feels as though someone had taken a hammer to his wrists, elbows and shoulders, shattering what little resolve is left.

It's over.

It doesn't matter if he's missed, there's nothing left he can do. Ed doesn't even know if it's worked. He has nothing left to sacrifice, it's been used up in the past few hours of pain, panic and despair.

It's over.

His eyes close, and Ed feels the world spin sideways, not even aware of hitting the floor.

'How did you escape?' Fran asked, surprised. 'Who?'

He could see on her face she'd guessed the name he was about to say.

'Ed. I don't know how he managed it. I don't know how he was still able to move. McArthur's gun, Ed got to it. And he used it. He stopped Tony before he set fire to everything. He saved me, us all.'

Ironside was silent again.

'And?' Fran asked

That was all there was. Carl had arrived, Mark and Eve helped get Ed to safety. Suddenly, he had survived and so had everyone else and the task at hand came back into focus. Drugs, court-case, money. Police work.

'And then it was over.'

Ed came too with a sudden jerk, gasping for short, shallow breaths. What-? Where-?

Sprawled face-down on the wooden floor, he was half-lying on his side, drained and numbed beyond everything he could understand. Too confused to think or react, he lay still, vaguely aware of the dust and the sharp but faint smell of gasoline. He was shivering and he couldn't stop, even though he was drenched in sweat. His heartbeat was racing, his head felt light. It was almost impossible to think. He couldn't understand where he was or why he was feeling so overwhelmingly terrible.

What happened?

Slowly, Ed tried to take a few deeper breaths and that helped make him feel less faint. Then he pushed himself up on his elbows, but his head only moved a few inches off the floor when there was a sickening rush of heat. Everything went blurry and he was within moments of throwing up mouthfuls of partially digested coffee. Instinctively, he slumped back down and rolled onto his back, looking up to the fuzzy black of a faraway ceiling. The nausea faded and Ed gave a quiet sigh of relief. He wasn't going to try that again for a while.

What was going on? Where was he? Apart from the dull ache in his stomach, he didn't hurt anymore. There was no pain, or much of anything, as his body felt as if it wasn't attached to the rest of him.

There was a noise from outside. Footsteps? Ed twitched in fear, not quite able to coordinate a better response. There were people out there, waiting for him, following him. They'd found him. He had to do something, even if it made him sick. He couldn't let anyone find him. He would do anything to stop that. He had to fight back and keep them away.

Ed held his breath for a few seconds, expecting to hear more, but there was nothing. It was quiet. He'd imagined it. There was no sound. He gave another sigh of relief. No one was there. No one knew where he was. No one would find him. No one would come to help.

There was a sharp spike of panic at that thought, and a flash of memory: There would be no second chance, no last minute rescue. No one could find him. He couldn't let anyone find him.

Fragments from earlier came back to him. He'd been back at the warehouse. He'd had a flashback so intense that he'd felt as if he was reliving the experience, moment by moment. And then…? Then what had happened?

The panic grew, Ed couldn't stop it. With it came more perfect, pain-filled memories. He's handcuffed to a roof beam. The recent memory of his attack had been bursting with more detail than he thought he could know. He is stretched out his full length. Ed could feel the images pressing down on him, grinding him against the floor. His head is still ringing, his vision blurred. He couldn't help himself. He couldn't even cry out. He's just been beaten, and the punch to his face moments earlier caused enough damage to his mouth to make him spit blood.

And with a sickening jolt Ed realised with utter horror that it was going to happen, he was going to go through that all over again. Lonnie McArthur steps into Ed's line of sight with a smile.

There was nothing he could do to stop it happening.

Oh, God. Please, please, please not again.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

Diffusion

'And then it was over.'

Fran heard the Chief's words, the worry and fear in his voice had been obvious, but she couldn't speak. She was shivering, unable to make herself stop.

At first, she had been confused, but she hadn't questioned what was happening, trusting that the Chief knew what he was doing. Ironside had been confident in their destination, and he wasn't a man prone to mistakes. Fran had wondered how he could have been so sure, but after hearing what had happened, she had no more doubts. It was the perfect place for Ed to hide. The thought made her shudder again, and pray in her heart they would find him quickly. They had to.

They were almost at the old Marina and from there they'd go to the warehouse, the place where Ed had been… held. She couldn't bring herself to think of the correct word for what had been done to him. The Chief hadn't been specific with the details, but she knew enough about knife crime to understand what McArthur had done. Shallow cuts to make sure he didn't black out. Ed had been conscious through the whole ordeal. The thought made her feel sick.

She'd had no idea. No one else in the department knew or understood. It was obvious why they'd buried it, the Chief and his staff always attracted gossip, usually in a good way. But something like this would have been incendiary at the coffee machine. It had been the correct decision, but that was also the problem now, she'd not known how each of them had been suffering since that case.

I suppose that explains a lot, Fran thought. Her cool detachment was a surprise. Having listened to what the Chief had to say, most of her was screaming and shouting and raging and terrified, filled with a mass of unstable emotions, each pulling her in a different direction. She wasn't sure how she felt at any one moment, no emotion stayed for long. Nauseated by the thought of what Ed had suffered; scared of knowing what had happened; relieved to be finally told the truth; afraid of what she should say to the Chief and Ed; bitterly angry at the evil men who had put all of them through so much pain just for the chance at revenge.

All these things were there. But the rest of her wasn't like that. She was calm and rational, with a profound sadness and compassion for two men who had struggled through an impossible situation and come out of the other side as different people.

Robert Ironside, a man haunted by a responsibility for something out of his control. He was the one Anthony Richards had tried to punish and destroy by pulling apart his family. Though the Chief had made the correct choices, his decisions had left Ed with McArthur and ended with the confrontation in that warehouse. The guilt for the consequences clearly weighed on his mind, that was frighteningly obvious from the way he'd told her what happened. She'd known him for years but had never seen anything that had hurt him so badly.

Then there was Ed Brown, a man she had impulsively dismissed as aloof and cold was struggling with an experience she prayed she'd never have to understand. How much had it cost him to protect Eve like that? To be forced to go against everything that his personal code told him? To steal evidence and to extort money from one of his closest friends, all the time thinking that Ironside believed Ed would stab him in the back and betray their friendship? And that was before he was viciously attacked by McArthur. For hours. He'd been conscious for the whole time. She shuddered again at the thought. Then somehow at the end, after everything Ed had gone through, he still was a tough enough cop and a good enough man to pull himself together and stop Richards before he killed the Chief.

At that final thought she felt a surge of unspeakable anger, directed at the men who'd put them through such horrors: Richards and McArthur.

As a person on the outside looking in, she could see that the Chief and Ed had both been trapped and manipulated by an expert. Anthony Richards, and only Anthony Richard, had put them in that position: to rise to his challenge or to fail. She saw the hand of an evil man and his twisted desire for revenge, trying to pull Ironside apart.

Richards was dead, but six months on, they were on the verge of letting him win.

That thought made her even more angry. Fran wasn't going to let that happen to people she cared about. Maybe Richards hadn't known what would happen, he might never know how close he'd come to winning. But he'd put them through so much that even if he'd failed that day he would have been sure that somehow the legacy of his actions would live on.

Fran had known of the Chief's team, they were highly respected in the department, and they had always been close. Ironside had always spoken of Mark, Ed and Eve with the fondness of a father. Richards might have died, but he'd still managed to destroy something the Chief had valued beyond price. And he might still hurt the Chief more, if they couldn't help Ed tonight.

They had sat in silence as the van sped along the roads to the harbour. Fortunately there were few cars and Mark drove as fast as he dared. With every second they drew closer to the marina and the warehouse. And Ed. The Chief was looking at the floor again, hands clasped in front of him, thinking. Fran couldn't see Mark's expression, but he was fully focused on driving.

On an impulse, she leaned forward and gripped the Chief's hand again, as tightly as she could. It was improper, an imposition on someone who was very careful about his own space. But she did it anyway as the man clearly needed the support.

'Chief?' she said quietly.

Ironside lifted his head. He looked exhausted, she'd never seen him look so crushed, not even those times she and her father had visited him in hospital after the sniper. Then, he'd had a fire and a determination, a deep conviction that he was needed and he still had work to do. Being confined to a wheelchair was only a mild inconvenience, and it was not going to stop him doing what he believed he had to do.

Fran looked intently at him, not shying away from the pain in his eyes. She wanted to help him find that fire again. She wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but she knew that wouldn't work. He knew that the safety of his staff was his responsibility. And in the end, he'd done the only thing he could have to save Ed.

'You did what you had to do,' she said. 'And so did Ed. And so did Mark.'

The Chief didn't react for a few moment, but she kept looking at him, waiting. They had all done all they could in an impossible situation and each one of them was trapped in the aftermath of those choices.

'I know, Fran,' he said, his tone flat. 'That doesn't make it any easier.'

'I don't think anything will make it easier,' she said honestly. That got a small smile from Ironside. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

His gaze dropped towards the floor again, but he didn't let go of her hand.

She wanted to help them, but she wasn't sure what might work. She hardly knew them and as the previous few minutes had shown, there was a lot she didn't know about their lives and their friendship. But she was part of their team now and she wanted to do what she could. The Chief was like her father, a man she could look up to and admire, a man she would take guidance from and help when she could. Ed was like an impossible, annoying elder brother who made her mad and got in her way, but would defend her until the end.

And what about Mark? The one forgotten in this, who had watched his closest friends almost be destroyed. How must he be feeling now? She looked around at him again as he drove the van. He was as calm and sure of himself as always, and she marvelled at his composure. She knew they were close friends as well as colleagues, but she hadn't realised just how much the three men meant to each other. Ironside's plan to save Ed had been dangerous for both of them. Mark had been within a second of getting a bullet in his head and he had kept trusting the Chief. Then he had fought to save both Ed and Ironside and done everything he could.

Eve had been just as loyal, a part of a team that would risk their lives for each other. But now she was gone. That was no surprise, it would have been too much for almost anyone, let alone someone newly engaged to be married.

Suddenly, Fran understood her part in this team. She hadn't taken over from Eve, to stand in her shadow and always try and fail to live up to her reputation. She was a member in her own right, and now she was needed in the aftermath of something terrible. There was no other help available, no one else was here. If she fell apart, it might be over for them all. They needed her as much as she needed them.

That insight prompted another as she thought about what the Chief had told her about that case. There was one thing Fran had to ask. She already knew the answer, seeing the friendship the three men shared. But she asked anyway, to make the Chief say it out loud.

'Did you believe Ed was guilty?' she asked. 'At the start, with all the evidence against him. Did you think he would do that, destroy a case, any case, just for money?'

That was the real question, wasn't it? Because that's where it had all gone wrong. The Chief's answer was given instantly, and sincerely.

'No. Never,' he said. 'Ed would never do that.'

There was a look of terrible remorse on Ironside's face and Fran almost regretted asking. Almost.

'Chief?'

'I was too slow that day,' he said, glaring at the floor. 'I reacted as a policeman when I should have followed my gut and got on with it. As soon as Carl stepped into the office that first morning and told me what had been reported, I knew Ed had done it under duress. I knew it. There was never any question in my mind of Ed's loyalty. But I followed procedure instead of trusting my sergeant. Instead of trusting the man I know. If I had been quicker it would have ended before the fire. There would have been no need for…' He stopped for a moment. 'There would have been no need for the rest.'

'Chief-'

'I should have helped him,' Ironside said. 'And I should have seen what he's doing to himself. I should have stepped in before. All he's done is work and it's killing him.'

Yes, that made sense now. Ed had thought himself a disgrace, he'd felt the Chief blamed him for Eve's death. Even though it was a feint to keep Richards blind to the true plan, that must have hurt. Ed's confidence must have been in pieces, and his actions and attitude made more sense now. The obsessive devotion to duty, as well as the early morning attendance at the Kingston Building, and the constant, exhausting, impossible push to do things better all the time. He could never have hoped to keep it up. That he did manage it for the best part of six months was more of a testament to his willpower than his good sense. No wonder he had seemed so aloof.

'No one's infallible,' she said. Ironside opened his mouth to reply, but Fran got there first. 'Not even you, Chief.'

He looked sadly at her for a long moment, then nodded. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand.

'Thank you, Fran,' he said. 'And thank you for coming with us.'

She gave him tiny smile, the best one she could, as she had never felt less like smiling before.

'We won't be long,' Mark said suddenly. 'Just a few minutes.'

Her stomach dropped as she thought about where they were going and what they might find there. What was Ed going to be like? Katie had been a mess, confused and terrified and covered in blood. Ed might be the same. In the basement, she'd seen Ed talk to Katie and try to get her out to safety. It felt like such a long time ago, she could hardly remember the details, except the expression of total concentration on his face. Ed had pushed whatever else he was feeling aside, utterly focused on helping. She should be like that, keep her cool under pressure instead of losing her temper, and make helping Ed her priority.

It was the least she could do. They were colleagues, after all. At the start, his attitude had grated and it was easy to use him as target practice in her grief and anger. She'd often found him unfriendly and disinterested, and had kept him at a distance in the way she hadn't with Mark and the Chief.

Now that she'd heard what happened and knew the truth, was she finally prepared to trust him? Eve Whitfield had trusted him, and what had happened? He had protected her with his life, probably part of his soul as well, knowing the whole time they'd been moments away from a wicked and painful death if anything had gone wrong. And then it had gone wrong and he'd spent hours alone. Tears welled in her eyes again as she thought of what Ed had been through.

She had said something to the Chief, but that still left Ed. What was she going to say to him? Few of their conversations had been easy. During the investigation into her father's death she had been particularly cutting and he had responded in kind. Over the past few weeks she'd barely had a good word to say about him, at least until he'd helped Katie.

And then she heard her own voice, from yesterday as they faced each other in fury on the stairs: "You don't have to stick the knife in".

Fran drew in a sharp breath suddenly, pressing her lips together. She could picture his reaction perfectly. She'd thought he was tired of her naivety and inexperience, when he'd really been unable to cope with an unexpected reminder of something so painful. No wonder he had looked so shaken. She'd blurted it out in irrational anger without thinking. Was there anything more unkind or hurtful she could have said?

She had been so used to treating him as the lightning rod that maybe she'd forgotten that he had feelings too. She wasn't eight years old any more, just like the Chief had told her. No one is infallible. None of them were.

Somehow she was going to make it up to him. They worked together, and Ed deserved better than to have his newest colleague give up on him. He deserved better than to be left to struggle through this on his own. From what she knew about him from the department grapevine, as well as some of her own experience, Ed Brown was a good man who pushed himself to be the best, following in the footsteps of Ironside. He was a man who would not want to let such a terrible experience define him or destroy him. But that was what he was doing, as Ed hadn't confided in his closest friends. Mark and the Chief knew him the best and he'd deliberately hidden it from them.

It was probable that Ed would never confide in her, but now she knew she had to find a way of making sure she supported him. She would start by helping to find him in the warehouse and getting him to hospital.

The van made a left turn off the main street and they passed another car going the other way, almost the only car they'd seen. A minute later, the entrance to the old marina came into view. They were here. They were at the place where Ed had been tortured.

The Chief looked up suddenly. His expression was different and Fran recognised her own feelings mirrored on his face. They were here. The horrific story she'd been told was real, and it made her so unreasonably angry she could hardly breathe. But this time she didn't lash out, as she would have done before.

Somewhere in the darkness in front of them was a man in desperate need of her help. She was going to find a way to help Ed. She would do whatever the Chief needed her to do.

The van screeched to a halt and the Chief turned to glare out of the front window. They had arrived at the old marina. Ahead, somewhere in the gloomy mist, was the warehouse and his sergeant.

The dark night of confession was over. They had to concentrate on the present. Right here and right now. No one was infallible, just as Fran had said, but that wasn't going to stop him being as damned near to infallible as he could be. Mistakes were in the past, he had to learn from them. They were here and Ed needed them to be at their best and help him get thought the aftermath of the explosion as well as the kidnapping.

From the dash, Mark grabbed a torch, flicking it on and off to make sure it still worked. They got out of the van, and the Chief eagerly rolled himself forward, Mark having to jog a few steps to catch up. The street outside the entrance was empty, but the Chief could see the rubber marks from tires where a car had reversed at speed and turned.

They knew where they were going and the Chief lead the way with Mark pushing him. Fran followed behind, a little unsteady on her feet, but her face was like a mask of furious determination. He gave a grim smile. He'd known she wouldn't let him down.

It took almost five minutes to get from the van across to the warehouse at the end. It was more difficult to move along the bumpy wooden boards than it had been last time. Ironside felt a sense of rising anticipation as well as the unpleasant and unwelcome memories.

Telling Fran had been harder than he'd thought it would be, but also it was a relief to share the truth with someone else. Burying it in Internal Affairs was the right thing to do, Murray and the Commissioner had both agreed without hesitation, knowing what it would be like for the officer in question to be dogged by gossip for the rest of their career.

When he'd asked Fran to join his team, he'd almost told her there and then. But there was his operation to consider, as well as Ed's feelings on the matter, not to mention the fact that Fran was still grieving for the loss of her father. The longer he'd delayed, the more difficult and the less necessary it became. Ed had appeared to put it behind him, and though their working relationship was tense, he and Fran were slowly coming to some sort of equilibrium. But it was still the wrong choice. She should have known sooner. It would have helped Ed as well, maybe he wouldn't have been so inclined to overwork if he knew Fran understood. She might even have seen the signs that he was struggling as she could look at the situation with fresh eyes.

They reached the door. It was closed, but someone had clearly broken in, there were scuff marks on the paintwork, and the wood of the frame had splintered by the lock. Mark pushed down on the handle, gave it a firm shove and the door opened. This was it. They had to go through with this. But it was going to be different this time.

'Fran, help me,' the Chief said. 'Mark, go in first and check it out. Find him but don't say anything unless he speaks first. And Mark?' The other man looked around. 'Be careful.'

Mark gave a quick nod, his face as calm as always, then vanished inside. Fran helped guide the chair over the last few loose boards and through the doorway. The building was just like he remembered it, a little bit more battered, but basically the same place they'd been before, and he was still searching for his friend. He shivered.

What now? he wondered. The time in the van had been spent talking to Fran, not worrying about what they were going to find. Now he had to decide on the best way to help his sergeant. How would he get to Ed and convince him that he was here to help? Fran had told them Katie wanted to be safe. Ed might want the same, or he might also respond to the need to help. That was his moral compass, to help and not be helped. "The nice policeman who said I'd be safe". Yes, that was a perfect description of Ed Brown.

Ironside moved slowly, nervous about the state of the flooring as well as what he was going to find. But otherwise it wasn't as difficult to go in as he thought it would be. They were back to the warehouse where Ed had been held by Tony R. There was still a faint smell of gasoline, or was it his imagination?

He could hear Mark moving somewhere inside and see the light flicking left and right, Fran scrabbled inside her bag for a small flashlight.

'All policewomen carry a torch, Chief,' she said, when she saw his surprised expression.

There was no other sound or movement. The Chief moved forward again, and felt the same terrible sinking feeling that he'd had in the office when Erikson had called and told him what had happened. Something was wrong.

'Chief?' It was Mark, and Ironside jerked round to look at the direction the voice had come from, close to the back wall.

'Mark?'

'Chief, get over here!'

Ironside heard the tension in his voice and pushed himself as fast as he could, helped by Fran. Maybe they should have brought an ambulance instead of rushing in. Maybe Ed was in a much worse condition than they've thought, already passed out on the ground and…

Ironside rounded a corner of a box and stopped abruptly, making Fran stumble into the wheelchair. He stared.

In front of him were some crates, some had been moved recently judging by the scrapes on the ground. But others were lying scattered over the floor, smashed into planks. Splinters were everywhere and it looked like there had been a fight. Mark's torch beam moved to the back wall, and Ironside's breath caught in his chest. There was a thick, vertical streak of fresh blood smeared down it.

'There's no one,' Mark said.

No one. The warehouse was empty.

Ed wasn't here.

He had expected the anger, but not the shock, and Ironside suddenly found he had nothing to say, not even about the bloodstain on the wall. What had gone wrong? What had he missed? Was it a hoax, a bluff. Had that Erikson got it wrong? Had Ed even been here at all? Had he misjudge the situation and made another terrible mistake?

'Chief, look!' Mark was pointing to something dark on the floor. Nervously, he picked it up. A dark blue jacket uncurled as he did. They all recognised it. It was Ed's.

Mark handed it over to the Chief. Ed's the wallet and badge were still in the inside pocket. In the outside pocket was a bottle of pills with Ed's name on it from the hospital dispensary. Morphine, and a strong dose as well, and it looked like Ed had taken a few. The Chief looked to his friends, the confusion he felt written all over their faces.

'What's that?' Fran asked, pointing to something in the shadow. Mark was closest and reached down. He gave a gasp, and turned back, lifting the object into the light. Ed's gun, still in the holster.

Desperately, the Chief looked around for something more. But that was it. There was nothing else.

Ed had gone.

An impotent fury stunned him for a moment longer, then he swore bitterly under his breath, words that he usually would never say in front of a lady. He'd missed Ed again! History was repeating itself. How did that man keep getting into these things?

Ironside looked left and right, hoping to see something, anything that would give him an idea of where Ed had gone and what had happened. Mark shone his torch around, the light dancing in circles. Suddenly, just when he was about to give up hope, something embedded in the back wall glittered in the uneven light. Something at shoulder height, metal, just about the start of the bloody line.

Ironside pointed, and Fran moved forward, shining her torch intently at the hole.

'I think it's a bullet,' she said quietly.

Shock and fear can do many things to a man. The Chief had lived his life fearlessly and with a focused determination that had given him the strength to keep going, no matter what. A second of doubt was all he allowed himself. If Ed had been shot, then he was probably dead. There was no reason to keep him alive. He'd left him to die here alone. He'd let him down again.

No! Ironside told himself. He couldn't let himself give up. Nothing around here said that the shot had been fatal. The blood on the wall was from a superficial wound, not the pools of blood from anything more. With no jacket, and only wearing a thin shirt, a small nick on the arm would be enough to cause that blood stain.

Fran scrambled in her bag again, pulling out a pen and an evidence bag, then stabbed at the wall with the pen until Mark handed her a small penknife. A moment later, she passed Ironside the bag, and he recognised a .357 bullet inside.

Ironside drew a long, slow breath. Ed had been here, the jacket and the revolver told them so. Now he'd gone, and they had to figure out what had happened so they could find him.

'Look around,' he said. 'But be careful. Make sure we haven't missed anything else.'

As his friends searched, Ironside watched blankly, not seeing the movement, but trying to imagine what had happened here.

He had seen so many crime scenes over the decades, all different and yet all the same. What had happened? The information was all here for him to see, if he could only bring it all together. What was he looking at?

Ed had left Erikson and come here, kicking in the door to get inside. Then he had made his way over to this corner and taken off his jacket. What had happened next? He narrowed his eyes, trying to imagine his friend here, maybe sitting against the wall, alone in the dark with just his memories for company. He remembered the look of transcendent joy on Katie's face as she described her birthday party. Maybe Ed had had a similar experience. If that had happened, he could only pray that it had been a good memory.

Ironside shuddered at the thought, but didn't let himself follow that line of reasoning further. It would just be speculation. He had to keep his mind on what was here and now. Ed had been here, and had rolled up his jacket like he'd been using it as a headrest. That would make sense. And if he had been sitting on the floor, his gun would have been uncomfortable, Ironside had noticed the way Ed now shifted it around when he was sitting down for long periods. So he'd taken off his gun, left it on the ground beside him.

All that indicated that Ed hadn't been expecting any trouble. He must have thought he was safe, at least for the time being.

The Chief looked at the splintered crates, feeling slightly sick. Had Ed done this by himself? Maybe, faced with the memories of Richards and McArthur, he'd lashed out in fear. Ironside shook his head. No, the bullet and the blood told them that someone else had been here as well.

And that someone had caused Ed to panic and try to get away. He was looking at the remains of a fight. At some point they'd fired at him, and the bullet had clipped his arm, it was roughly at shoulder height for Ed. He could have staggered back against the wall, and slid down to the ground, leaving the line of blood on the wall. After that, he would have been easier to subdue.

'I can't see anything more,' Mark said bitterly. 'Unless you want me to move that wood?'

'No,' said the Chief. 'No, leave it. It's still a crime scene.'

'What happened to the crates?' Fran asked. 'It looks like a fight.'

'Must have been,' Mark replied.

'But why?' Fran asked.

Why was the wrong question at the moment. Who was the right one.

Who else would know he was here? It can't have been blind chance, he refused to believe that. So who knew Ed was here other than them?

Officer Erikson was the only one. But that was crazy, the traffic cop wouldn't have attacked Ed. He had sounded genuinely worried for his friend and, more importantly, Erikson wouldn't have been stupid enough to disobey a direct order from the Chief. Ironside was certain Erikson would do exactly as he'd been asked.

So who? Who would know Ed was here? A phrase from the call from Erikson came back to him along with sudden understanding. "He says people are following him." Ironside jerked his head up.

'Ed thought he was being followed, didn't he?' he asked Fran. She nodded warily.

'Erikson said that he was paranoid,' she replied.

That was it. It had to be. Ed thought he was being followed, Erikson had put it down to paranoia, but there was another possibility. Ed really had been followed. Whoever it was wanted to make sure he was out of the way. Ironside gave a dry gulp. That didn't bode well for Ed's current health.

'Torch!' he said, holding out his hand. Mark handed him the flashlight.

Sitting around worrying about it was of no help. With a firm twist of his wheels, the Chief turned to go back towards the door, looking carefully at the ground as he did. He moved forward, slowly searching for the small clues to what might have happened. Mark and Fran followed.

The wooden floor itself was old and full of scrapes and notches, but to Ironside there were a few that looked like they were very recent. There were also a couple of places where the splinters appeared the have caught fabric. He couldn't get out of the chair to look closely at them, but from where he was sitting they looked dark blue as well. He didn't ask either of his friends to move them, mindful that this was a crime scene and they had to be careful.

The scratches on the floor led to the door, and the Chief flicked the light around some of the rest of the warehouse, not seeing anything similar anywhere else. So it looked like something had been dragged from the place where Ed had been to the doorway.

The logic was inescapable.

He didn't let himself think any further at that moment. Instead, he pushed himself out of the door and started back along the path, towards the entrance to the marina. There were similar scuff marks on the ground.

Eventually, he turned to look at Mark and Fran, who had followed him outside.

'It looks like something heavy was dragged out,' he said calmly. 'Towards a waiting car.'

'A body?' asked Mark.

Ironside nodded.

'A dead body?' whispered Fran.

'There's no way to tell,' Ironside said bluntly. Unconscious man, or dead body? There was no way to know from the evidence he could see. But he was flamin' well going to assume unconscious man until he was proved otherwise. Besides, if you were going to kill a man somewhere so out of the way, why not just leave him here afterwards?

'Chief?'

'Do you kill someone somewhere so quiet and then move the body?' Ironside demanded.

Neither Mark nor Fran spoke and the Chief continued, relentless in his logic.

'Ed was surprised by someone who had followed him to his hideout.' He pointed back toward the warehouse. 'They had a fight, a hard one by the look of it. They pulled a gun on him.'

'Someone else?' said Fran.

'Yes. Ed's gun was still in the holster on the ground, that bullet is too big for a police issue revolver. The blood on the wall by the bullet is likely Ed's.' He looked back to the warehouse in the misty distance. 'Whoever it was hadn't shot to kill. In the confusion, they took him down, then dragged him back to the car.'

There was a moment's pause.

'Then what?' asked Mark impatiently. He stared at Ironside, furious. 'Then what!'

'I don't know.'

Mark gave an incoherent snarl, slamming a fierce kick into one of the wooden supports at the side of the path, then striding off back towards the warehouse for a few steps. The Chief could see his shoulders shaking.

'Chief?' asked Fran. 'What are we going to do? How are we going to find him?'

Ironside didn't reply, trying to push his personal feelings aside once again and focus on the next step. As much as he wanted to let his anger rip, he knew that would only stop him thinking with the precision he needed to get to the bottom of this.

He had to figure it out. And he had to do it right now. He couldn't waste time, that was his problem. The police team would tell him eventually, he had no doubt that the department would get there in the end, but time was running out. These events were happening too quickly, whoever had executed this was acting and reacting much faster than he was. He was already three steps behind, and wasting more time would only result in Ed being further away.

And he was not going to fall into that same trap again, as he had done last time against Richards. There was a time for careful, considered police work. And there was a time for getting on with it. He had to bring this together now. Ed needed him to figure it out and get it right first time. He couldn't lose Ed too. Not like this. Not after everything. He wasn't going to let that happen.

The smart way, the police way was to follow procedure and to get forensics to go over it, then take it from there. To work the details until they got their man. But he knew they wouldn't be able to tell him anything quickly enough to help. Instinct? What was his instinct telling him?

Now he thought about it, his instinct was screaming the answer at him.

Ironside scowled.

'It all leads back to that explosion,' he said. 'We figure that out, we'll find Ed.'

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

Convergence

The office was dark and quiet when they arrived and the Chief rolled himself forward down the ramp, trying to gather his thoughts. They were back where they had been a few hours earlier, back in the same place but everything was different. The sandwiches were still sitting, uneaten, on the table. It felt like years since they'd sat there with the Commissioner. The Chief had thought they would have days to sort this out, but they were down to just a few hours at most.

It was nearly one a.m. and though they were all exhausted, they had to keep going. The more Ironside thought about it, the more convinced he became that time was running out for Ed. Whoever had him wasn't going to keep him alive for long, it would be too much of a risk. They would take what they needed from him, whatever it was, and get rid of him. The thought made him feel sick. He had to use all his powers of imagination and intelligence to make sense of this, and get to Ed quickly.

In the van, he'd been acutely aware of every second as the clock ticked. He could almost hear time rushing past. They'd left the marina having called the department and told them to send a forensics team there immediately. But he knew that any answers that would give would be too late to be of any use. The Chief had made two more calls on the way back. The first was to Lieutenant Reese, asking him to get as many men ready to be at his disposal, using the Commissioner's name freely and calling in favours to get what he wanted. Then he called Frank, who was still working in the lab, asking him to get a rough report over here on the double, and all the information on the original plans and front of the building, the structure, anything and everything he could find.

They'd gone as far as they could at the marina and the warehouse. Right now, in the office, they had to figure it out, and get it right first time. The answers were in the statements and what they'd learnt over the past few days. He was certain.

Still looking distinctly pale, Fran sat down at the main table. She had an expression of steely determination that replaced the fury she'd shown earlier. Mark took a seat next to her, more anxious than Ironside had seen him look for years. He was taking this harder than he was letting on. Slowly, Mark lifted up what he was carrying, Ed's jacket and gun. He put them down on the table and stared at them.

More than anything the Chief wanted to reassure his friends, to tell them that everything would be okay and that Ed would be fine. But he knew they would see through any shallow words of comfort. Even if -no, when- they found him, there was still the very large possibility that Ed was in the same distressed and confused condition as Katie was. The longer it took to find him, the less positive the outcome was going to be. They all knew that. The best way to help was solve the puzzle and find Ed.

'Okay then, Mark, Fran,' he said. 'Let's go through it from the top. Facts only.'

Fran took a deep breath and spoke first.

'Katie Marshall got a tip off about secrets in the Kingston Building,' she said. 'And she went there to find out what was going on.'

'She hid and waited,' Mark added. 'But something went wrong. At some point she called the police.'

Ironside nodded.

'And they think she meant there's been a robbery,' he said. 'But I think she meant she was missing something. There was something there she didn't understand.'

'Ed responded to the call,' said Fran. 'He went there to help, but-' She shook her head. 'The doors were unlocked. The lights were on. Do you think he knew that it wasn't a robbery?'

'Facts, Fran,' Ironside said firmly. 'We'll speculate later. Let's stick to the facts for now.'

She nodded.

'Then Ed looked around.'

'He remembered the foyer, he mentioned chairs and tables.'

'But not much else after that,' Fran observed.

Ironside thought about that statement for a moment. Ed's memory was off from the moment he set foot inside the place. That was odd, and not like Ed at all. He was always very thorough and observant, just like he'd been taught.

Why? He had no clear answer and guessing wasn't going to help. They had to keep going.

'He heard Katie crying in the basement,' Mark said. 'He broke open the door and helped her get out.'

'He stayed on,' Fran said. 'He was caught in the explosion.'

Mark started to say something, but the Chief interrupted.

'That's not what he said. He couldn't remember the explosion.'

'But he was there,' Mark said, clearly not liking the implication. 'We saw where he was, he was covered in dust. He was there, man!'

'Yes, Mark,' the Chief said, 'but he doesn't remember the explosion.'

'I suppose that is a little odd,' Fran said. 'Not that I've been close to one, but surely you'd remember something.'

Mark was scowling at the Chief.

'Mark, there has to be a reason Ed doesn't remember it,' Ironside pointed out. Mark sat back in his chair with a huff, crossing his arms.

'So what about the explosion,' the Chief continued, ignoring the look Mark gave him. 'What do we know? Again, facts only.'

'Frank thought it was deliberate,' Fran said. 'Not an accident.'

'Agreed. And Frank's an expert.'

'And if we believe Ed's version of events,' Mark added in an acerbic tone 'and if we agree with Frank, then it must be some sort of complex explosion.'

Ironside nodded, so did Fran. There was a short, cold pause.

'And you do believe Ed, don't you?' asked Mark harshly, glaring at the Chief, challenging him. Ironside could feel Mark's anger very close to the surface. He didn't want to fight with Mark, even though it was obvious that Mark was wanting to fight with him. Ironside couldn't blame him, he felt exactly the same about what had happened to Ed.

'Yes, Mark, I believe Ed,' Ironside said, watching the other man closely, feeling the tension rise.

'But?' Mark stared straight back. 'But?'

The Chief glared, recognising that they had to test and explore every possibility, even if Mark didn't like it.

'But can we prove he was?' Ironside said. He held Mark's gaze for a moment. 'We have to try and prove it Mark. You know we do.'

Mark looked away but didn't disagree. Fran looked nervously between the two men, her lips pursed, the steely determination beginning to falter.

'But Ed couldn't remember, Chief,' she said.

'What did he tell us about it?' Ironside asked.

Fran stood and went over to the far table. She brought back a piece of paper; the notes she'd taken yesterday morning when Ed had explained what had happened.

'He said he came round beside the wall,' she said

'And he pointed it out to the first responders,' Mark added. 'They all said he was clear about where he was. And the hospital had checked for concussion, so he didn't hit his head.' Mark gave Ironside a cold look. 'So he's on the level.'

'San Francisco has some of the best doctors in the world,' Ironside said, forcing himself not to match Mark's anger. 'Let's assume they knew what they were doing.'

'But he was in an explosion,' said Fran. 'That's bound to knock you off your feet and shake you up.'

Ironside frowned at the logic. There was something wrong, he'd felt it from the first moment he'd seen the rubble at the Kingston Building. And if he assumed that Ed was telling the truth, then there was something else.

'Get me that photograph,' he asked Mark. 'The one of where Ed came round.'

As Mark moved, Ironside wheeled himself over to the piles of statements and he flicked through them, looking for one in particular.

'The first medic on the scene,' he said, running his finger down the page, looking for the phrase he remembered. 'Brown was dazed, he kept dusting the ash on his left side.'

'His left?' Fran said.

'So he was over on his right side?' Mark said, returning to the table. Ironside looked at the photograph Mark held out. He forced himself to imagine his friend lying there, dazed from the explosion, thrown back by the force of the blast. But Ed wouldn't have left a shadow in the dust like that. Being caught in the pressure wave of an explosion was like being in a tornado, a swirl of chaos, and there should be dirt and debris everywhere. That wasn't what the photograph was showing him. He had seen the aftermath of explosions before. This almost looked too neat.

Ironside frowned, not liking this train of thought but unable to find a flaw in his logic. The simplest explanation was that Ed had been unconscious before the blast and lying on the floor beside the wall. A tightly controlled explosion, maybe with the ground-zero being at a higher level of the building, and the front would blow off sending a shower of dust over that hallway and anything lying in it, including Ed Brown. That would explain the facts perfectly.

His frown deepened. That would explain the facts as they saw them, but how could Ed be unconscious before the blast. Didn't that just raise more questions with no answers? He had to be wrong.

He looked at the photograph again, hoping to find some other way of explaining it. What had Ed told them that first day?

'Fran, your notes of Ed's statement. What exactly did he say about coming round? Word for word.'

She glanced down at the notes and read out Ed's words from that morning. As she spoke, Ironside didn't hear her voice but Ed's, recalling the intonation and the cadence of his voice: 'I-I was curled up beside the wall, covered in dust and glass, the front was just gone and there was sky where there should have been a roof. I couldn't believe it. It was just gone.'

Ed had been surprised by his own recollection, suddenly finding the front and the roof had vanished. If he'd just lived through an explosion, he wouldn't have been so surprised. At the time, the Chief had put it down to the after-effects of the blast, but that wasn't the only explanation. Ironside's discomfort grew deeper. Fran looked up.

'Those were his exact words?' Ironside asked. She nodded.

'That doesn't sound like someone who's been thrown backward by an explosion,' Mark said. 'Or knocked off his feet.'

'He could have been on the floor already,' Fran said, but from the way she said it, Ironside thought she didn't like that solution any more than he did. 'He might have collapsed. That would work.'

'And so he had no memory of the explosion,' added Mark.

'That's why he had no bruising or concussion,' said Fran. 'He hadn't been thrown anywhere.'

There was a pause. Ironside looked at his staff, seeing their hope at making progress. But he himself didn't feel like that. He had a sinking feeling as they followed the logic. He knew he wasn't going to like where this was leading.

Ironside watched as Fran suddenly frowned and shook her head.

'But what made him collapse?' she asked, sounding very frustrated. 'Could someone have hit him?'

The way she said the words reminded Ironside of that moment in the van and her fury at McArthur. He'd warned her about the impulsiveness and the anger, but he wasn't sure she would be able to stop herself. If -no when, definitely when- they found Ed, whoever had kidnapped him this time had better beware of Officer Frances Belding.

'The doctors were thorough,' Mark said. 'He didn't hit his head.'

Fran shook her head, angry and upset.

'But if he didn't hit his head, then what happened?'

The Chief made no reply, trying and failing to find a flaw in their reasoning. Another question with no answer and that didn't fit in. Another why? Why was Ed unconscious before the blast? They had to keep going.

'Let's move on,' he said at last. 'Let's get back to the facts.'

'So Ed's unconscious before the explosion,' Fran said. 'Did it happen after Katie left?'

Ironside nodded, remembering the conversation with Katie and the one afterwards with Fran. If Ed had collapsed before Katie had left, he was certain she would have tried to help him.

'Katie leaves,' Mark said. 'Ed stays and collapses before the explosion.'

'But we're still back where we started,' Fran said despondently. 'We still don't know what happened. Neither of the two witnesses remember!'

'We keep going,' Ironside said firmly. 'We start with the facts, and keep working our way forward.'

Fran sighed and didn't reply, but Mark spoke.

'Something else did happened,' he said. Both Ironside and Fran looked at him. 'Whatever caused Katie and Ed to trip out happened to them before the explosion.'

'Before?' asked Fran.

Ironside nodded slowly, grateful to Mark for adding that point.

'Yes, it had to be,' he said. 'Katie left before the explosion, she said she did. Only Ed was in the building. So they must have been exposed to something before she left.'

He thought back to the minutes before Erikson's telephone call. Finding the tissues in the garbage and the unexpected realisation that whatever had affected Katie had affected Ed too. At the time he'd been too concerned with how to find Ed and help him, and then with getting to the warehouse.

'Before the explosion, they were both exposed to something that caused memory loss, bloodshot eyes, nosebleeds.'

'And sent them on one nightmare trip,' Mark added sombrely.

For a moment, Ironside thought about Katie Marshall lying in her hospital bed, hiding from reality in a dream of her birthday. Not only did they not know where Ed was, they had no idea what condition he was in. Erikson's description of Ed's mental state on the telephone was not encouraging: "He was right on the edge. Probably already over it." The thought was chilling. He looked at Mark, who was staring blankly into the middle distance.

It felt as if history was repeating itself. For the second time in six months they were chasing after Ed. That time, they had sat for hours overnight and waited for Tony to contact them, knowing what Ed was going through. They were the ones who'd fought for Ed against Richards, they were the ones who'd waited with Eve in the hospital, and they were the ones who'd done what they could to support him afterwards.

Mark noticed his gaze and looked back. He didn't speak but Ironside knew exactly what he was thinking: If you'd stopped him when I suggested it, none of this would have happened.

Ironside shook his head at Mark's unspoken admonishment. Maybe that was true, but it was too late to change it, and wallowing in self-pity and recrimination was not going to get Ed back. They had to keep going.

'What could they have been exposed to?' Fran asked.

Dr Moran had said that Katie had taken something else, a new drug and that was the likely cause of her symptoms. And if it was new, then they had even less chance of figuring this out.

'We don't know. The tests could take days.'

Ironside heard Mark sigh.

'Could it be the same thing that caused Ed to pass out?' Fran asked.

'It might be, there's no way of telling,' said the Chief.

This time it was Fran's turn to sigh, and he watched with a heavy heart as she rubbed her eyes.

They had reached another dead end of not-knowing. Mark scowled at him, the anger from before showing through. For a few moments the two men stared at each other, then Mark gave a long breath out.

'Okay, Chief,' he said. 'What next?'

'The explosion itself.'

'But no one knows much about it,' Fran said heavily. 'Isn't that our problem?'

'But we do know a few things,' Ironside said.

'You tell us,' Mark said, his attitude still shaded by anger. 'You spoke to Frank.'

Ironside frowned at Mark, feeling his own impatience rising, but pushed it aside once again.

'Frank and his team can't identify what was used,' he said. 'He spoke of high power and low power explosives, but couldn't decide which was the cause.'

'Ed was there,' Fran said quietly. 'He was passed out on the floor. If it was a high powered explosion, could he have survived it?'

'But why bother to make it look so complicated in the first place,' put in Mark.

Both of his staff made excellent points. But he needed more information.

'Where is Frank?' Ironside growled. 'We need his report, whatever state it's in.'

This was exactly the point when they needed Frank to tell them how he was getting on. Where was he?

'I'll try and reach him,' Fran said, picking up the telephone.

The Chief shook his head, only half-listening as Fran spoke to the operator. He sighed, thinking back to their dead-end leads, trying to make sense of what they knew.

Ed's memory was affected from almost the moment he'd set foot inside the Kingston Building. He most likely collapsed before the explosion. And something in the building tripped them out, again before the explosion. The most simple solution was to assume it was just one agent, so Ed and Katie had been exposed to something that did all these things. They had either absorbed it through their skin, inhaled it or eaten it. Eating it seemed unlikely. So did inhaling it as, even though the idea of a gas was the one he liked the best, the Chief also knew that gases were notoriously difficult to control.

Ironside thought back to his conversation with Dr Moran. Maybe they weren't looking at the agent itself, but the effect it had when it reacted with different chemicals. Moran had said, "Drugs interact. That's what they do. They interact with our bodies, they interact with each other." If that was the case, then how were they going to figure out what was the cause and what was the effect? Russian Roulette, more like hide and seek with the whole world to hide in.

He glanced up at the clock. Seconds ticked passed and the Chief knew he had to keep pushing and find the right answer.

'Frank's on his way,' Fran said. 'He won't be long.'

Ironside grunted, annoyed that they had to wait, but still gave her a nod of thanks.

'Frank made a few suggestions for the explosive,' the Chief said. 'None of them would work.'

'A complex set of explosives,' Fran said. 'Charges throughout the building. He liked that one.'

'If we are going to assume that it affected Katie and Ed, then that's out,' Mark said despondently.

Ironside nodded. That idea didn't fit the facts.

'A liquid sprayed on the walls,' Fran said. 'Or a gas.'

'Or something else,' Mark added, still scowling off into the distance. 'Something new that could be easily hidden.'

'A liquid sprayed on the wall. That would be easy to control.' Fran looked between the two men. 'If they touched it, it could get on their skin. Something toxic, something poisonous. And quick acting.'

'That won't work,' Mark pointed out. 'Frank's been all over it. About four times, according to the word downstairs. They can't find anything. Anywhere.'

'Anywhere?' Fran was surprised.

'Not a trace,' Mark added.

'There's usually some sort of residue with a solid or liquid,' Ironside said thoughtfully. 'It doesn't all burn.'

'So a gas?' said Fran.

'Yeah,' said Mark. 'They could have breathed it in. The smell, the red eyes, the bleeding nose.'

'And they can't find any residue as it blew away,' added Fran.

A gas. Ironside thought through that idea again. Dr Moran had said something acidic had caused Katie's nosebleed, he thought she'd done a line or two. But Ed definitely hadn't, and he was in the same state, according to the tissues in the garbage and what Erikson had told him on the phone. Breathing in a reactive gas would cause the same sort of damage. That was assuming Erikson had been accurate.

'Where's Erikson's statement,' he said, holding out his hand. After a moment or two of searching papers, Mark handed it over. The Chief skimmed down it, with a passing admiration for such neat, copperplate handwriting.

'He says Ed had a nosebleed on the way back from the hospital.'

They glanced at each other, and Ironside felt a stab of worry and fear. Ed had known since then he was probably not fit for duty. But he'd kept going anyway. If only he'd stayed put in the hospital, or at home, then he might be safe at the moment. But they would never have found Katie Marshall. He didn't like that thought, that they might have traded Katie's life for Ed's. He looked back at Fran, who was trying to look hopeful, and pushed that thought away.

'An explosive gas,' Fran said, sounding a lot more excited about the idea than the Chief felt. 'Ed breathed it in. Katie breathed it in.'

Ironside shook his head, frustrated.

'No, that's not going to work either. It would spread through the whole place. It wouldn't just take the front off, and we're back to square one. Frank said "They are a devil to handle, tricky to ignite, and awkward to use." How would you control it?'

That was the problem with a gas, even though a gas would fit perfectly with the rest of the details. Of all the options that felt like the correct one. Mark huffed, annoyed.

'Back to square one? Again. We don't have time for this.' He shook his head. 'Maybe we're dead wrong. Maybe we've missed something obvious. This is just guesswork, not facts.'

There was a chilly pause, then Mark stood suddenly, pushing the chair back with an unpleasant screech, and walked to the kitchen. He stood for a moment, looking down at the counter, then turned and leaned against the worktop, scowling at the ground. Knowing there was nothing he could say to help, Ironside watched him, trying to balance the cool logic with acknowledging how painful this was for all of them. The clock was ticking, each of them felt it. But his instinct was telling him that this was all pointing the correct way, that they were moving in the right direction.

Yes, it was an assumption that the explosive was a gas, and highly toxic, but it did fit the facts even if there was no proof. He knew they should be sticking to the facts, but Ironside was convinced he was correct. Somehow he had to find a way of proving it, to himself but mostly to Mark.

In the silence, the Chief looked back at Erikson's statement, reading it properly for the first time and was very surprised to see that the young cop had come to a very similar conclusion. He too had linked the explosion and Ed's strange behaviour. He'd thought Ed had breathed in toxic dust, and it had caused Ed to trip out. Ironside had to read the whole thing again before he understood why that was so surprising.

Erikson never mentioned Katie Marshall. As far as Erikson was concerned, it was just Ed Brown that had been effected. He'd had no idea anyone else had been there and had based his idea solely on his two short interactions with Ed. Erikson knew he was missing something, a way to connect it all. He hadn't thought of a gas as the link.

Coming to the facts from two different perspectives, they had reached almost the same conclusion. That gave the Chief more confidence in their assumptions. And his instinct was telling him that somehow they were right. If they found Ed in time -when they found him, definitely when- they'd be able to get more information.

'We're close and getting closer,' the Chief said firmly. Mark turned and looked at him, confused. 'Whatever caused Ed and Katie to trip out was in that building, and just before it blew up. The explosive itself is the most logical explanation.'

'How are we going to find out?' Mark snapped. 'Frank's tests all came up dry, one of the witnesses is in hospital out of her mind, and the other is-' He stopped abruptly. 'We're back to square one. We don't have time for this.'

'The explo-'

'The explosion is impossible,' Mark snapped, his voice rising in volume. 'It can't be a complex rig, that wouldn't affect Ed and Katie. It can't be a liquid on the walls or in the building because they would find traces. A gas fits with everything, but it can't be a gas because you can't control it. You have just said that yourself! This is an impossible explosion.'

And once again they were back where they started. That was exactly what Frank had come up against. It was impossible, but somehow it had still happened. That meant they were missing something else.

Ironside shared Mark's frustration, annoyed as much by going in circles as the still unanswerable question: why? Maybe there were no more clues and they would never know. Maybe they would be too late to help Ed. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't see what they were doing wrong. And they were running out of time.

'Chief?' Mark asked suddenly, coming back to the table and sitting down. 'Are you okay?'

Ironside shook his head. If they didn't figure this out, then they were going to be too late. The possibility sent a shock through him. He'd been wrong before, many times, but never when so much was at stake. With Richards, he'd been sure Ed would be alive until the final confrontation. There was no guarantees this time around. For Ed's sake, he had to get this right.

'It's wrong, it's all wrong,' he murmured. 'I don't understand why.'

I don't understand why. Someone else had said that to him recently: Katie Marshall. She didn't understand what was wrong. She was frightened of being arrested for something and wanted assured that she would be safe. Being safe was something that Katie had appeared to be obsessed with, even before Ed had helped talk her down this afternoon. It had been almost the first thing she'd said. "The nice policeman who said she'd be safe". Safe from what? Safe from being arrested, for something that wasn't her fault? For something she had no control over? From something that was wrong?

Was that the problem? Had something gone wrong, and that was why this whole situation looked so impossible? Because, as both Frank and Mark had pointed out before, why make it so complicated?

'Chief, are you okay?' Mark repeated.

'Let's look at this another way,' he said slowly. 'Let's start from somewhere different.'

'Like?'

'Like what might have happened if Katie hadn't been there.'

Mark and Fran exchanged a look.

'Isn't that impossible to know?' Fran said. 'And it assumes she knew nothing about the explosion.'

'But she didn't,' Ironside reminded her. 'She would never have let Ed stay behind in the building if she had known. I'm convinced she wouldn't.'

'Yes, but-' began Mark.

'But if she hadn't been there,' Ironside insisted, pushing on, 'she wouldn't have been exposed to whatever she was exposed to. Neither would Ed. The building would have blown and…'

He looked at his staff, the idea running through his mind wasn't one he liked at all.

'It was Ed's presence that made it impossible, wasn't it?' Fran said slowly. 'It would have looked like an accident.'

'A gas main,' Mark continued. 'Or even a deliberate blast. But it wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary.' Ironside almost pointed out that all explosions in the middle of a city were out of the ordinary, but he knew what Mark meant.

'Frank and Mark are both right,' Ironside said slowly. 'Why make it so complicated. No one would deliberately set out to make a complex, puzzling explosion that would attract the attention of the police.'

'The more complicated and puzzling, the more attention it would get,' Fran said.

'So something went wrong,' Ironside said. 'Whoever it was set the place to blow, and then something went wrong.'

'Katie?' suggested Fran.

'No matter what I try,' Ironside said, quoting the words Katie had said to him in the hospital, 'what I twist and turn, I can't open the door.'

'What I twist and turn?' said Fran. 'She might mean anything in that room, not just the door.'

Ironside nodded.

'That must be it,' Fran continued. 'She must have done something to upset the original plan, even if she doesn't know what it was. And she calls the police, Ed appears, and helps her get out. And then he collapses. The front blows off.' She drew a long, slow breath. 'The explosion looks impossible because the plan has gone wrong!'

Mark gave an angry snort, glaring at Fran then turning his scowl to Ironside.

'We are still going round in circles,' he growled. 'Because this is just a guess. So what if it's a change of plan? So what if she did something? We still have the same problem because you can't control it!'

Ironside's anger flared as Mark was speaking, but he swallowed the cutting comeback, knowing he couldn't let his fear for Ed turn into a fight with Mark. The two men looked at each other.

'Chief, please,' said Mark, suddenly very quiet. 'We have got to find him.'

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

An Invitation to the Dark

Waking up from a deep, heavy sleep, that's what it felt like to Ed. He was pulling himself free from somewhere grey and hazy, as if he had been in a dark tunnel and was slowly finding his way out. Little by little, he was starting to feel more like himself. The sensation was different and familiar at the same time, and the disconnection between the two ideas was unnerving. He couldn't explain it. He couldn't even understand it. Nothing around him made sense. It felt like a dream, but it was also real.

The best idea was to go back to sleep and sort it all out in the morning. That was very tempting. He felt a deep longing to just let it all go and slip away in to the black of unconsciousness. It was a difficult feeling to fight against.

As he lay there, Ed could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the air going in and out through his nose. It was an awkward sensation as his body felt twisted out of shape. There was a faint nipping feeling at the top of his right arm. His back ached, his arms, stomach and head were all vaguely sore; not painful, more like he'd been in a fight recently and he was still feeling the after-affects. It was familiar, as getting beaten up or knocked out had happened more times than he cared to think about. Being on the Chief's staff it was the norm rather than the exception.

He didn't know how long he lay there, regaining some sort of wakefulness, aware of his breathing, listening to his heart steadily thudding away and slowly becoming more alert and more interested in what was going on. When he tried to move, it didn't work. That was disconcerting, but for the moment he wasn't too worried. That happened when waking up from a deep sleep sometimes, eventually his body would catch up with his mind. It would be easier if he was warmer.

As Ed lay there, he tried to pick up the thread of what had been going on, and why he was feeling like this. Uncomfortable. That was the best way to describe it. He was reminded of the times he'd fallen asleep in his car and awoken feeling like he'd spent the night lying on rocks. And as a detective, he'd spent hours on stake-out sitting in cars too small for his height. It was similar: crushed, cramped, uncomfortable. He hadn't fallen asleep outside his house again, had he?

Ed gave a mental groan, he didn't want to have to rush inside to shower, shave and throw on some new clothes. He couldn't face that. He couldn't remember why he couldn't face that at the moment, but he knew it was the last thing he wanted to do. Move, he never wanted to move again. If he hadn't been aware of the growing discomfort, then he would have just let go and gone back to sleep.

But as Ed became more mindful he decided that he wasn't in the front of his car. Other than the squashed-up sensation, he was cold. He wasn't shivering, but he could feel the occasional chill pass through him. His left arm, his back and across his shoulders, that was where it was worst, as if he was leaning against something that sucked the heat out of him. Just thinking about the fact that it was cold made him feel more cold.

What was going on? Where was he?

Ed tried to open his eyes and though they moved slightly, it felt like too much effort. He tried once more and the same thing happened. Maybe he should just go back to sleep. It would be much easier to slip away and escape into the dark, but he didn't. He didn't like feeling so uncomfortable and cold. Maybe if he turned over he could ease the ache in his arm and shoulders and get a bit warmer. Then maybe he could finally get back to sleep.

When he tried nothing happened. His muscles didn't do what he wanted them to do, they tensed but didn't move. He felt stuck, glued into place. He tried to shift around and, though he felt the occasional twitch, all it did was make him feel more uncomfortable and more cold. This wasn't what usually happened. He didn't like that thought. He felt trapped. He didn't like that thought either.

A twinge of panic rushed through him, Ed was very familiar with the feeling of panic, but it didn't last. He still had to think this through. First, he had to figure out what was going on. Then he could think about everything else. He could panic later.

The panic subsided but led to other feelings. Familiar, terrifying images started to edge in at the sides of his mind, and the emotions they brought were like old friends. He didn't push back this time, or ignore or try to avoid them, it was too much to keep hidden and he didn't have enough strength left to try.

The images rushed past with the roar of a freight train, and then they were gone leaving him shaken and drained. He felt sweat on his forehead, but he tried not to let himself get caught up in what he was remembering. There was no need to. It was there, it was always going to be there, he was never going to forget. He didn't have the strength to keep it all locked away. Maybe the best he could do was ride it out each time and trust that it would get easier. Ed didn't like that idea at all, but it was glaringly obvious now that hiding from the past had not proved to be a success.

It was a bitter admission to make, but it was all Ed had left. Over the previous six months he'd done anything and everything to avoid the memories, but pushing them away had only made it increasingly unpleasant and painful on the occasions he had remembered.

At first, ignoring it had been easy, he'd had work to keep his mind off what had happened. Pretending to be okay had slowly become more complicated, and he'd had to work longer hours to keep himself busy. The looming presence of his memories had started to overshadow everything. And when the Chief and Mark had tried to help, he'd avoided and bluffed his way around them, knowing exactly what to say to deflect questions, deliberately not wanting to let them know how he was feeling. Their obvious concern was one of the most painful parts of the whole experience. Especially Ironside.

The compassion, and increasing worry, in the Chief's eyes every time he'd tried to start that conversation had felt more and more accusatory as the months had gone by. How could Ironside trust him after what had happened, he couldn't trust himself not to break down, and he couldn't trust himself not to make the same mistakes all over again.

Eventually, he'd almost stopped sleeping, as the nightmares steadily grew more frequent. Flashbacks had become an ever present threat, and he'd kept covering up the cracks with even more work, pushing himself harder in an effort to smother them. Ironside had finally stopped asking, but Fran had joined the team and that had somehow thrown everything even further out of balance. Work had taken over, he could feel the pressure of having to keep an eye on an impulsive rookie as well as keeping up with his new, self-imposed workload. Life had spun out of control, his self-confidence had plummeted, and he'd sunk under the weight of what he was trying to do. And now he'd ended up God-knows-where, still unable to face the past without nearly fainting.

He had to accept the truth: Hiding it hadn't worked. Hiding it had, in all likelihood, brought him right here, wherever here was. Admitting the mistakes of the previous few months hurt deeply. But not as much as trying to suppress the memories.

Besides, right now he had much more urgent problems to deal with than what had happened six months ago. What was happening now? Where was he now? He couldn't give in to panic until he'd figured out what was going on.

What had happened?

Ed had no clues, other than feeling cold, and the faint smell of damp and machinery oil, a little like the police garage after a long spell of rain. Even so, he wasn't about to give up again just yet. And if he couldn't figure out where here was, he should try to understand how he got here. What had happened before? What could he remember?

He went back to a strong, positive memory from the recent past. Somewhere familiar. Ironside's office, with Fran, Mark and the Chief. The three of them had been in the kitchen. He'd been working at the far table finishing off some reports while the others chatted and the chili bubbled away on the stove like a pool of lava. Was that last night? A few nights before? He couldn't tell how much time had passed.

What had he done? They'd asked him to stay and eat, and asked oblique questions about his date, even though Ed knew "she" was imaginary. The only thing he had a date with was the police radio. He started at the thought. Yes! He'd gone out all night again. Yet again. Then a call from Control. An explosion. The Kingston Building. He gave a mental huff. He hated that damn place.

He fought to find memories of being inside the Kingston Building but there was nothing. It was infuriating, no it was worse than infuriating, it made him so angry with himself. He could remember some hours with the perfect sharpness of a photograph, but others were missing, just gone. The flash of anger passed through him like a lightning bolt. Big, black blanks in his memory, or an evening at a horror show, that was the story of his life at the moment. Why couldn't he catch a goddamn break?

It took Ed a minute to calm down. Getting annoyed wasn't going to help any more than pushing it all away, so he let the anger slowly subside, thinking about the time after the explosion. The hospital. Getting back to the office with the traffic cop who could barely drive straight. Being stared at by that woman doctor, feeling like a little lab rat. Mark driving him home to an empty apartment. Whiskey and pills. A call from the Chief. Finding Katie…

Katie Marshall! His heart gave a sudden lurch of joy as he remembered seeing her in the basement. That felt like years ago. How much time had passed since then? It could have been days. Though he could remember other fragments, he immediately focused on helping her at the Kingston Building. And he had helped her. He'd held out his hand and guided her up the stairs, past a shell-shocked Fran who'd stood there with her mouth open, to the Chief and Mark who were waiting for him by the broken entrance. He'd found her, and remembered the tremendous, sweeping sense of relief he'd felt when they'd reached the Chief. She was safe at last and he'd kept his word. That had been in the early afternoon, he could remember the light shining off the windows opposite, the sun still high enough in the sky. Then what had he done?

Well, what should have happened after that? They should have gone to the hospital and spoken to Katie. But he hadn't. The Chief had gone, Mark and Fran, but he hadn't. So what had he done? The Chief, he'd said: 'Write a statement before anything else gets forgotten. And stay put until we get back, Sergeant Brown. Understand?'

The memory came back suddenly. Yes, he'd gone back to the Chief's office and tried to write a statement. It had been hard, difficult to concentrate. He remembered drinking coffee with his feet up on the desk, and blood streaming from his nose. And glancing at the stack of witness statements. And reading the Internal Affairs complaints and hitting his hand off the desk in frustration. Had he drunk even more coffee? Had he done anything else but have a bleeding nose and drink cup, after cup, after cup of coffee? He must have drunk all the coffee in the office during the afternoon. The Chief would be furious if he'd done that. No coffee would be like having no chili. That would be a disaster.

Was he still there, in the office? Had he fallen asleep in the den while waiting for them to get back? It was a tempting thought, but Ed dismissed it. He didn't feel like he was still at the office, not even if he'd passed out on the floor. It was too cold for the office. It smelled wrong. There must have been something else.

The memories were becoming hazy and distorted. The walls of the office had been pressing in on him. He didn't like the sensation. He'd felt trapped, and alone.

Once again, Ed felt a surge of panic, and once more he let it rise and die away, although it was more difficult this time. He waited, nervous more than uncomfortable, not liking where this was leading. He didn't want to remember if it was just going to drag him back down into darkness, he never wanted to feel like that again.

More minutes passed, and the nervousness was replaced with another sort of emotion, of needing to know. He could lie here doing nothing, or he could keep trying to push forward and figure it out. After a while of internal debate, Ed decided that knowing was going to be more helpful than giving up. Giving up wouldn't help him figure out why he was feeling so uncomfortable.

With a slow, even breath in, he let himself take the time to think through the details. He hadn't spoken to anyone at the department. And he didn't stay there in spite of the Chief's instructions. He'd walked. It had been a busy night, with lots of people milling around, out for a good time. Some of them were like grey zombies, long faces and dulled eyes always staring at him, following him everywhere.

Ed shuddered. That sensation made his skin crawl. He remembered it very clearly now. He'd kept going as fast as he could managed, he had to get to…?

The Kingston Building. Was it to the Kingston Building? What had possess him to go there? To see if he could remember anything more of the explosion, that must have been the reason. But now he was beginning to suspect that those memories weren't there to be remembered.

He sighed. Then what had happened? He'd reached the cordon at the Kingston Building and it had been quiet, more than he'd expected. He had seen someone, and felt an intense, panicky relief at finding Guy Erikson. The young traffic cop had helped him. Did he owe him yet another favour? This was getting out of hand.

It was becoming harder to focus. His memories had become a blur of random snatches of conversations, his emotions narrowing to a continuous sickening dread. He had felt overwhelmingly frightened, beyond anything he could ever remember before, and sick to his stomach about something. He'd kept bumping the radio. No one must come after him, Bob couldn't know what had happened.

Wait? "Bob"? Oh. He couldn't remember any more details, but he hoped Erikson was better at being discrete than he was at driving. He tried to follow back through the conversation in his mind. Crashing cars. The old van. Erikson had asked where they were going.

Suddenly he remembered the marina, and the warehouse. He started to shake, his breathing getting quicker, a hot flush of fear passing through him. He'd gone back. He'd been in there.

Was he out of his mind?

There was a sudden and clear image of being alone in the marina warehouse, with distorted sounds and darkness, his arms around his knees as he'd sat shaking. Then another memory, collapsed on the floor, numbed and nauseated, unable to stop thinking about the attack by McArthur, at the mercy of all the perfect, intricate details that he'd never wanted to remember.

And that was all. No matter how hard he tried to find more, that was all there was.

Still shaking, now almost unable to stop, Ed felt panic rising through him again. His throat tightened and he felt sick at the sudden kaleidoscope of memories that the panic dredged up.

For a few minutes, Ed was frozen with fear, unable to think clearly, convinced he was back at the warehouse, that he was stuck back there again, helpless against the knives and the pain and the terror and the guilt. Very slowly, the memories grew less intense and Ed tried to reassure himself that he was somewhere else. It didn't feel like the same place. It smelled different, not the heavy salted scent of the sea and old weathered wood with the underlying hint of gasoline. It wasn't the same place. He knew it wasn't.

He repeated the phrases over and over again, challenging himself to find anything that would say otherwise. There wasn't. Eventually, Ed's breathing slowed, his racing heartbeat slowed as well. He concentrated on the words and the feeling around him. He wasn't at the marina. He was somewhere else. He knew it. He should trust that he knew it.

It took Ed minutes to think straight. Afterwards, he felt a little light headed, but there was a strange sense of peace that he hadn't felt for a long time. He'd felt the cold, clammy hand of panic tapping him on the shoulder, but he didn't give in. No, he wasn't going to give in to that again. He wasn't going to slip into disconnected oblivion just yet. Not this time. It wasn't that he didn't feel the seductive pleasure of letting it all go. But he couldn't do that again. He'd fallen so far before, he didn't feel that he would ever be able to climb back out if it happened again.

He'd been at the marina but he wasn't there now and his memories had taken him as far as they could. Now he was somewhere else, somewhere different.

Out of other options, Ed decided he had to try and find out.

First thing to do was move, his muscles responded when he tensed them, but most of them wouldn't move when he told them too. He could shift his head left to right, and his right arm lifted slightly, and when it did it sent a stab of unexpected, stinging pain just below his shoulder.

No luck with that. He still had something else to try.

Steeling himself, Ed screwed up his eyes as tightly as he could then tried to force them open. He did that a couple of times, each one more successful. The third time it worked, and slowly he opened his eyes.

At first everything was a blur of dark and light patches that made no sense. Ed blinked slowly a few times, and after each one his vision grew more clear until he was starting to make out the details of the room. He could see light at the edge of his vision. It wasn't soft enough to be sunlight, there was a harsh, artificial whiteness to it. The rest of the room was in shades of grey. He couldn't see a great deal, but what he did see convinced him he was somewhere without windows.

More details slotted into focus as he looked around, and Ed slowly pieced together where he was. He was lying on his back looking straight up at a plain, unpainted ceiling. The floor of the room was hard, bare concrete, so it was little wonder he was so cold.

As he looked he had a vague feeling of familiarity, but he couldn't figure out where he was. The wall to his left was very very close, as if he was lying against it, and covered in a confusing network of interconnected pipes. The rest of the room was too dark to make out clear details. Just beside him was a small pile of what looked like old white rags with red paint on them. A roll of duct tape and a small swiss army knife were lying just beside it.

Surprised, Ed tried to open his mouth, but discovered he couldn't. He shuddered, swallowing hard, recognising that the tug around his face was caused by tape. Now he thought about it, he could taste the glue and feel it pull on his skin. How hadn't he noticed that before? Had he been too caught up in the rest to pay attention? Or maybe he hadn't expected to be gagged.

It felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach as he thought about what he'd just learnt. Alone? Yes. Hurt? Probably. In trouble? Why was he even surprised anymore?

But gagged? That was a whole new level of trouble.

Gagged and unable to move. This wasn't even the first time he'd ended up like this. But that time, after those art thieves had grabbed him, at least he'd had a bed to stay on, and it was reasonably comfortable and warm, even if he had had to endure the humiliation of Mark pulling the gag out and cutting the ropes round his wrists and ankles, while the Chief had sat at the door, looking faintly amused by the whole scene.

This wasn't the same. It was definitely a whole new level of trouble.

It took him a few moments to get his panicked breathing under control. With every new piece of information it was getting harder to keep his cool and to stop the headlong drop into the dark. But he had to know, he had to find out and go all the way. He could panic if he needed to, once he knew. But until then, he had to keep going. He couldn't give up just yet.

Carefully, Ed tensed the muscles of his neck, ignoring the growing ache round the middle of his back and shoulders, and lifting his head to look down at the rest of him.

The dim light made it difficult to see, but he saw that his legs were taped at the ankles and knees, over his trousers. He tried to move, but it was impossible. Worse, wound around his ankles, on top of the tape, was a thick chain padlocked securely to a nearby bracket. It was about an inch thick, with shiny new metal rivets attaching it to the wall. There was no way to move. He knew it even before he tried. Nothing happened.

His left arm was jammed between his body and the wall. His right arm was pulled over his torso, towards his left hip, at an uncomfortable angle that made the middle of his back sore. His hands were also taped together at his wrists, another chain wrapped around them and padlocked to another bracket slightly higher up. He could move his head slightly, though it was painful to do so, and he could lift his right arm up and down by a few inches, but he couldn't flex it at either the shoulder, elbow or wrist. Someone had made sure he was well and truly stuck.

Ed could feel his breath speeding up more, his heartbeat become faster and harder, thumping in his ears. Once more, he tried to steady himself, trying not to slip back into panic. He knew he was getting closer to the edge with every moment. It wasn't that he didn't want to give in to the feeling, but he was tired of being so out of control. There was no need to panic just yet. He could panic when he really needed to, and not before, he promised himself.

Lifting his head once more, Ed looked again, seeing the padlocks and the tape, and he flexed his arm, feeling the pain in his elbow and the sting at his shoulder.

Ed looked more carefully, and saw something that he hadn't expected. Someone had cut the right shirt sleeve up to his shoulder and pulled it back. He saw a bandage around his bicep and underneath was the stinging pain.

It took him a few moments to figure out what could have caused it, then he recognised the sensation as a shallow bullet wound. Someone had shot him.

There was a rush of heat though Ed's body, he was sweating and his breathing kept speeding up. He was starting to hyperventilate, the dizzy, floating feeling was getting stronger. He couldn't panic just yet. He had to try and hold on. He had to try and keep calm. He mustn't panic. Not now. There was more he had to know. He knew it wasn't finished. He had to get to the end. The very end. The dread of earlier returned, mixed with a heavy kind of certainty that crushed down making it harder to breathe. He had to take this all the way.

Ed looked back at his right arm one last time. A hospital cannula was attached in the middle of his forearm, he could see a tube snaking past him. With a sinking, frantic feeling he followed it over the floor. Just beyond the rag pile it rose sharply and he looked up. There was a short metal stand holding a bag filled with something dark and red. It was about a quarter full.

And as Ed stared, his blood dripped out into the bag, one small drop every few seconds. He watched it drip, stunned and frozen, trying in vain to think of a reason someone would do this to him. But he didn't understand because it made no sense, and a familiar feeling of runaway panic and disgust was rising inside him, making it impossible to think. This was the same. This was just the same as before.

The feeling of helplessness flooded through him, not just raw panic but everything beyond as well. He felt as if he was hurtling down a cliff face. Why couldn't he make it stop? Oh God, please, please, please. Not again.

The emotions and memories crashed through him one more time in a suffocating wave. Guilt, pain, fear, remorse, the emotions from before all crushed down into one spike of darkness. It left Ed feeling like he'd a knife through his heart, struggling for breath, struggling to focus on anything but the all-consuming panic. He was tipping over the edge into the dark and he was never going to get back out.

Ed had never felt so broken and alone. Only one memory came close, when he'd given in to despair as McArthur had tortured him. Now that black shadow had returned and was about to consume him. He'd been left behind to bleed to death. Again. Just like last time. No one cared, no one knew, no one would help. It was just like last time, and no one was going to come and help him.

Wasn't there anything that could make this stop?

"You underestimated me, Sergeant Brown."

Ed remembered the words and felt a painful surge of confusion and hope.

That's what Ironside had said to him. That's what he'd said six months ago, in the hospital, the first time they'd spoken to each other afterwards. The Chief had been there to help him, to make sure that there was an afterwards.

Desperate, Ed tried to focus on what had happened in the hospital that day. The Chief had been there, so had Mark and Eve. They had sat with him, Eve holding his hand, Ironside and Mark beside her. When he'd come round, they'd all been there for him. They had risked their lives to save him because they trusted him.

The thought had the sharpness of an electric shock. The Chief trusted him.

In spite of all that had gone wrong and all the mistakes, Ironside had done whatever he had to do to save him from Richards, even if that did mean lying. The Chief, Mark and Eve had risked so much to help him. The despair at the time was only a memory. Ironside would come to help him, if there was any possible chance he would take it and to hell with the danger. He had before, even when Ed had thought he'd pushed his boss past all the limits of friendship and responsibility.

The memories of the knife attack started to creep back across his mind, but this time the power had lessened. Ed knew hopeless despair, the true fear of being left behind to die alone in the dark.

But that wasn't going to happen this time. Because it hadn't happened last time. Because, in spite of it all, the Chief still trusted him.

Ed knew what it was like to believe he was past saving, but Ironside had come to help him anyway, even with the mistakes and the betrayal. He didn't have to panic. Ironside would come through for him, if there was any way at all. The Chief was the strongest man he knew, and the smartest, and if anyone could figure this out, it would be Chief Ironside.

The trust in their friendship helped Ed let go of the panic and despair, and keep himself from slipping into a darkness from which he'd never get free. The Chief would never let him down, just as he would never let the Chief down. He had to trust the Chief would be out there trying to help, figuring out where he was. He would get here in time to help. He had before. He would again. If there was any way in the world, the Chief would come to help him. He had to trust.

Alone, helpless, and constantly at the edge of despair, Ed closed his eyes to block out the surroundings, repeating to himself: The Chief is on his way.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

A Renaissance Imagination

We have got to find him. That summed up what Ironside was feeling exactly. They were running out of time. Mark was right about that, even if he was wrong about other things.

'There is no way to control a gas,' Mark repeated. 'You said so yourself!'

'But it fits the facts,' Ironside insisted.

'And what if you're wrong?' Mark demanded. 'Again.'

The last word hurt the Chief like a punch in the gut, but Mark didn't back down.

'You trusted me before,' the Chief said quietly. Mark didn't like that statement, Ironside could see the conflict and anger clearly on his face. He fumed in silence for what felt like minutes, his lips pursed, his arms crossed. But when Mark next spoke it was much more calm.

'None of this is helping us find Ed.'

'But it will,' Ironside insisted. He knew they were on the right track, his instincts were shouting it at him. They would find out what had happened at the Kingston Building, and then they would find out who was behind it. Then they would find Ed. They had to.

There was silence for a moment again. Mark had looked away, but Fran was staring at the Chief, confused and worried.

'Do you think so?' she asked.

He was about to nod when there was the sound of the elevator from the corridor. Ironside glared at the door.

'It had better be Frank or I'm going to cause an earthquake!' he snapped.

The door opened, and Frank appeared. His face was blank and he didn't give his usual greeting. There was a distinct droop to his shoulders. He was carrying a large file under his arm.

'Frank, I was about to call the National Guard!'

'Chief,' Frank said tightly.

It was hard to tell who was the more annoyed, Frank or the Chief. As Frank came to the table, Ironside watched him with a frown. There was nothing to suggest that the investigation was any further on from earlier.

'Well, Frank? What do you have for us?'

Frank didn't smile. He thumped the paperwork down onto the desk and took a seat opposite the Chief.

'It's impossible,' he said, an icy and unpleasant look in his eye. 'I don't know how they rigged it to blow and not kill Brown. I know you don't want to hear it, Chief, but maybe Brown is lyin-'

'NO!' Ironside snarled, aware that the other three people at the table recoiled in shock at the rage in his voice. 'No! And it's vital for this investigation that you do not finish that sentence!' He gave Frank a glare that could have stripped paint. The stand-off held for longer than he thought it would, before Frank gave way.

'It… it is just not possible,' Frank said. 'Not with the data I have. And I've checked. Five times.'

Mark handed Frank the photograph of the hallway that they'd looked at earlier.

'He was unconscious before it went,' Mark said coldly, and quickly explained their reasoning. Ironside watched in growing annoyance as Frank's expression stayed as angry as before.

'It makes no difference to the rest of it,' Frank said once he'd finished, giving a dismissive shrug. 'Everything in the blast area is telling me that Brown couldn't have been there.' He flicked his hand at the picture. 'A clear patch in the dust. It means very little compared to everything else.'

'But what if-' Fran started to say, but Frank rudely cut her off mid-sentence.

'I have half a building and a whole parking lot that is telling me Brown shouldn't have been alive after the explosion. If he's on the floor and not standing up? It's one small change and there's still a very, very long way to get to where you want to be!'

The noise Mark made was almost a growl, but Frank rounded on him.

'I know what you want me to say, but the evidence does not justify that conclusion. I can't see how it can work with Brown there.'

Again no one spoke. Ironside could feel the hostility rising off his friends in thick waves. Both Mark and Fran were no less furious at the suggestion than he was, but Frank was the expert.

'Look,' Frank said, 'the solution is simple. Why don't you ask him? Just ask him straight up and… What?'

Frank looked from Fran to Mark and back to the Chief, his expression becoming increasingly anxious.

'What's happened?' he asked. 'Chief?'

'Someone's attacked him,' Ironside said. 'And we don't know where they've taken him.'

It was blunt, possibly unkind, and definitely an unfair way of telling Frank what had happened to Ed, but the Chief was in no mood to play nice anymore. The other man looked so shocked that Ironside regretted the outburst.

'Attacked?' he said quietly. He looked around again at the three people at the table, and rubbed his hand over his eyes. 'Jesus, Chief, I'm sorry. You know I'll do what I can to help. Brown's a good man. What happened?'

Very quickly, the Chief outlined what they had found at the warehouse, the fight and the blood from a gunshot wound, but deliberately didn't give any reason for Ed to have been there in the first place.

'And we think that something already in the Kingston Building affected the memory and mental state of the girl and Sergeant Brown,' Ironside said. 'It probably caused him to collapse as well. Could an explosive do that?'

Frank shook his head, and Ironside's heart sank even lower than it had been before Frank arrived.

'No,' he said firmly.

So much for his instinct, and their only working theory. Mark had said as much, and he'd persisted in-

'Well,' added Frank suddenly, 'not a known explosive.'

'Known? Explain!' the Chief demanded.

'If it was new, and untested, then who knows,' Frank said. 'Some of these things are biologically active. After all, I use nitroglycerin for my high blood pressure. Overdose on that and you get headaches, dizziness, cyanosis.'

Ironside said nothing and stared at him. Mark and Fran did exactly the same.

'It's in a diluted form,' Frank clarified helpfully.

Ironside still said nothing and stared at him.

'But Chief, the point is, these sort of chemicals could have an effect, beyond blowing things up. No known ones do, I mean, no one would use an explosive that messed up your brain chemistry, that's far too dangerous. But something new, and illegal, and untested, might.'

'And if it was a gas, then it would fit with almost all of the other facts,' Ironside said, his hopes finally starting to rise again. But Frank was shaking his head, and the Chief's hopes sank back down again.

'I said before about gases. They are a nightmare to use. And especially to control.'

Mark gave a surly humph, and gave the Chief an I-told-you-so look, and Ironside yet again smothered the desire to get into an argument.

'But why?' Fran asked. 'What's wrong with a gas?'

You can't control a gas in a building like that. Too much space. It's one big, open-plan maze. It needs the right air-to-fuel ratio. It needs the right ignition temperature. In the Kingston Building, it would just get everywhere and at random. They are incredibly tricky things to get right. Tell me how you control it.'

There was a short silence then Mark got up and stormed off to the kitchen again. Ironside didn't blame him. He would have loved to get up, stretch his legs and move around. It would help him think. These were the moments that the loss of his legs hurt the most, when he needed to think and clear his head. He was tense, he wanted to stretch out, to move on his own without help and support. Instead, he was trapped by his chair. The familiar anger at his condition came and went, leaving his mood even lower than before. No matter what else was going on, they had to keep going.

'But only a gas makes any sense,' Fran said, sounding just as weary and frustrated as the Chief did himself.

Frank was shaking his head but the Chief wasn't going to let it go. He started marking points off on his fingers.

'They breathe it in,' Ironside said. 'At the maximum dose, it makes Ed collapse before he can get out. It's an irritant and makes their eyes red. And that would explain the nose bleeds. A gas is the most logical way of explaining all these things at the same time.'

'What about the rest?' Frank asked.

'You said it yourself, chemicals have an effect. Once absorbed it causes memory problems. That get worse over time.' Ironside thought back to the conversation with Dr Moran about drugs and interactions. 'And it has different effects if it interacts with different things. Fear, paranoia, confusion. They trip out.' He looked steadily at Frank. 'One compound can cause all of those.'

'But-'

'Just ask any addict,' the Chief said sourly. 'LSD. DMT. And there are many more.'

Frank frowned, but didn't push that point.

'Okay,' he said. 'I'll admit that a gas could do all these things. Could, mind you. Why does it have to be the explosive? Why not after? A byproduct would cover it. Lots of gases could be made, lots of opportunity for something nasty to form.'

Fran sighed and Ironside shook his head.

'No,' he said firmly. 'Not if it affected both Ed Brown and Katie Marshall. It has to be before the explosion.'

'Chief, I know what you want me to say.'

'What is your problem with a gas?' Ironside asked. 'Tell me!'

'It's very simple,' Frank said. 'Control. It's all about control with explosions. The moment of ignition,' he clicked his fingers, and the sound echoed around the office, 'it's fixed. Once it's blown there is nothing you can do to change what it looks like afterwards, as it all happens too fast. The patterns, the shapes, the debris. And what's left behind gives you clues to the cause.'

'So?' demanded Mark interrupting.

'The debris is telling me that this was a highly-controlled explosion. Tight. Exact. Very well-thought out. Gas-based explosive are a nightmare to work with at the best of times. They get everywhere, the concentration varies from place to place and you get patchy ignition. If it reacts with oxygen, how do you stop it burning too soon, before it's all in place? And how do you heat it? How do you get it to do what you want it to do? It must be controlled.'

As he'd spoken, Frank was getting increasingly loud and annoyed. He drew a deep breath.

'I'm sorry Chief,' Frank looked at Ironside and shook his head. 'Your theory fits everything, but it doesn't matter if you can't control it!'

Ironside closed his eyes, knowing Frank made sense, but also sure that they were on the right track as well, a gas fitted so perfectly with everything else. There had to be something that they had missed.

They had to find the way it was controlled.

'What about your report?' Ironside asked Frank at last, gesturing at the well-filled file on the desk. 'Anything new?'

Frank shook his head.

There was a longer silence, and the Chief could hear Mark muttering from the kitchen. They had just gone round in circles to get back to the same conclusion as before. It was impossible. And it was all taking time. Time they didn't have, time Ed didn't have either.

He looked up at Mark, watching him as he stood in the kitchen. Mark looked up and returned his gaze. The Chief had never seen him like this before. Usually so trusting, Mark looked as if he was about to leave and start searching on his own. That was the last thing Ironside wanted or needed this morning. He needed Mark by his side, and Fran. And Ed. His hand clenched into a fist, furious first and foremost with their inability to see what was missing.

Something was missing. He knew it. The explosive was a gas, new and toxic. It had caused Ed to trip out, and go to hide in the warehouse. Whoever had cause the explosion had needed to get to Ed before anyone else did. They needed something from him, or he'd seen something he shouldn't have.

Ironside mentally shook his head at that last thought. No. If he'd just seen something they would have killed him there and then. They needed something from Ed. That thought made him extremely uncomfortable. They would take what they needed and then…?

Shuddering, the Chief looked to the ground, aware that time was slipping away, taking Ed with it. This panic and worry wasn't helping him think. It wasn't getting them closer to a solution.

Maybe there was nothing more to find. Maybe he had been wrong about Ed, maybe he'd lied and this was about something completely different. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he was wrong. Ed would never do anything like that. If there was one thing in this whole stupid mess he could trust, he could trust Ed Brown. His sergeant needed him, more than he ever had before. More than after Anne's death, more than after Richards' attack. Ed needed him to figure this all out now. He couldn't give up. He couldn't throw up his hands in defeat and roll himself away. He could never abandon Ed. He would never let Ed down, just as Ed would never let him down.

There had to be a way of controlling the explosive. He had to find it.

'Just talk at me,' Ironside said heavily. 'Say something, anything.' He shook his head. 'Tell me about the building.'

'Good old-fashion San Francisco stonework,' Frank said. 'Just like any of the older ones downtown. Built after the 1906.'

'What about the renovations? Anything out of the ordinary.' Ironside didn't hold out much hope.

'Those were all out of the ordinary,' Frank replied. 'A very unusual building. What a waste of money!'

Ironside felt a stab of annoyance.

'Can you be a bit more specific?' he demanded.

'You met Kingston,' Frank said, rolling his eyes. 'You name it, he put it in there.'

Ironside nodded, thinking back to his interview with Curtis Kingston a few mornings ago, trying to recall it word for word.

'My building is the future of construction. We will be able to rescue older buildings, make them stronger, and better. We will get the building to work for us, designed to be as efficient as possible. The water system, the heating systems, even the make of the glass and the strength of the steel frame have been reinvented and optimised. This is not the old way of making buildings. This is something completely new. This is using the latest cutting-edge technology to make life better. We are making advances in materials science and thermal engineering that amaze even me. And I'm not easily amazed.'

'The man might be a wizard at business,' said Frank sourly, 'but he knows nothing about anything else, including buildings and explosions. A gas main! Huh!'

'Why couldn't he be right?' Ironside asked, suddenly curious. He had no reason to ask, but somehow it was important to know.

'But he's not right,' Frank insisted.

'Okay, but what's wrong with that theory.'

'I told you, not enough boom!' Frank replied, using his hands to show the boom he was meaning.

'And how far off was the boom?'

Frank shrugged.

'No much I suppose,' he admitted grudgingly. 'But enough. The debris is wrong. And the pressure front. And too high brisance.'

'Brisance?' asked Fran. 'I don't-'

'The whole glass front was shattered like someone had pounded it with a hammer and ground it back into sand. A gas main explosion does not do that.'

'But say it had been meant to look like a gas main,' insisted Ironside. 'How…'

Frank was shaking his head.

'Gas mains are underground. They connect to boilers. If they leak, it's at a low level. You might get away with a bit in the ventilation shafts and the cladding, but that's not going to shatter glass or throw chucks of stone forty feet onto the parking lot. It just doesn't. It would need to get much further into the building structure to do that. And they are designed so that can't happen.'

'If…' Fran started.

'Look,' interrupted Frank. 'You still have to find a way of controlling it. It has to be controlled or your sergeant is- he's-' Frank stopped, looking embarrassed.

'More circles,' muttered Mark. 'More wasting time!'

Yes, they were still going in circles, but they were getting closer, the Chief could feel it. Each time they circled round they found something else. He had to keep going and not give up. What else was there? What else had Ed told them, and Katie? They were the only ones who were there, they were the only link.

He picked up the notes Fran had made from the first morning and skimmed down them, thinking what have I missed? They had gone through it all, everything they'd said. There was nothing else…

The words suddenly jumped out at him from the page: It's so hot.

He could hear the way Ed had said it, a perfect imitation of how Katie Marshall spoke. That was the other thing both Ed and Katie had said consistently about the environment of the Kingston Building. That and the smell. If it was a new gas explosive, an unusual smell could be a clue to what it was. But what about the heat?

'How hot would it have to get?' Ironside asked suddenly.

'You're still sticking to the gaseous explosive? After everything I've said?'

Ironside nodded firmly. Damn it, he was right, even if he didn't know how.

'If you're talking about something new, and a gas, then I don't know,' said Frank with a sigh. 'Ignition temperatures can be anything from under freezing to thousands of degrees.'

'They both talked about how hot it was,' Ironside said. 'And hot implies heating.'

'You know what I'm going to say, Chief,' Frank said, sagging back in the chair.

'I'm trying to think of a way to control it,' the Chief replied. 'But however you do it, it needs to be hot enough.'

'The ignition temperature.'

'That's what I said. So how do you get it hot enough?'

Frank just shrugged. Ironside thought about the logic, letting the facts fit in around the idea. A gas that needed to be controlled, and to be heated. There was one way…

'What about the heating system,' he said to Frank. The other man raised his eyebrows.

'That's heating systems,' he corrected. 'Plural. There are two of them.'

'Two?'

Frank nodded.

'That man likes his little backup plans,' he said. 'A conventional heat exchanger and one of those new fancy models that are supposed to use less energy.'

'How could it do that?'

'All heating systems cycle,' Frank said, sounding a little bored. 'The fancy one used the environment. Take the water. Heated by the sun, both with pipes and directly from the sunlight. The air was heated in a similar way. Very clever. It could have been a revolution, if it had worked.'

'If it had worked?' the Chief asked, his interest piqued even more.

'All these systems had a few teething problems, judging by the engineering logs,' Frank said. He rummaged in his folder, pulling out a few sheets of paper and a notebook.

'Sabotage?'

The man gave a short, derisive shake of his head.

'Bad design! I told you, Kingston knows nothing about how to build buildings. Even I know you don't put so much strain on such a complex system.' Ironside was staring at him, and Frank must have decided the Chief wanted him to continue. 'A clever enough idea, as I said. No other building had anything like it installed. Here in sunny San Francisco it might have been okay, and if the building was facing the right way, like the Kingston Building. Not so great if you were in a shadow, or it rained a lot like New York, or it was usually cold. But that's academic.'

'Why?' Fran asked. 'Didn't it work?'

'Not exactly. It kept going wrong.'

'Going wrong?' the Chief asked carefully. 'How?'

'It's complicated,' Frank started, looking back down at his files. Ironside was about to give a sharp reply, when he saw that Frank was looking for something. He waited, again feeling the tick of the clock and the rush of time passing. He didn't dare look at Mark in case the other man lost his cool and said something unfortunate.

'Ah!' Frank said, pulling out some more papers. He ran his finger down the sheet. 'Here we are. He gave it a fancy name, but the problem was with the heat exchanger in the main system. The one that uses the environment as its source.'

In silence Ironside watched as Frank silently read a few lines from the report to himself.

'Cycles,' Frank murmured. 'Cycling, cycling, Ah! Here! The air was heated up, between the glass sheets, then cycled through the rest of the building. There was a pump in the basement. Hmm. That's odd.'

Ironside let Frank read in silence for a moment, then his patience ran out.

'Frank?' he demanded. 'Hmm, what?'

Frank had a deep frown on his face.

'This makes no sense,' he said. 'I mean, it's been done before, with fluorocarbons mostly, the ones with good heat capacity, like the stuff they use for fridges and freezers. Very good at capturing heat.'

'Could they have exploded?' asked Mark, interrupting eagerly. 'Are they toxic?'

Frank shook his head vigorously, giving Mark a very doubtful look.

'Oh no, you need more than just heat capacity for an explosion. They're non-toxic, non-flammable. A joy to work with, actually. But that doesn't matter.'

'Doesn't matter…? Why?'

'Bad design,' Frank repeated. 'I told you. It was hideously inefficient. What a waste of money, the man's an idiot!'

Frank handed him the engineering reports and Ironside glanced through them as Frank continued.

'How?' Ironside asked, his voice quiet as he began to understand. The facts were all sorting themselves into a clear picture, and what he saw sent a devastating chill all the way down his spine to the place where all feeling stopped.

'It leaked,' Frank said with a snort. 'All the time, according to that report. Especially the main heating system that warmed the rooms. It was like a drafty old barn at higher pressures. There were complaints every few days and the engineers couldn't stop it. Everyone was still warm enough you understand because the backup kicked in, but the efficiency was miserable as you tried to scale it up, it was never going to be economically viable in that state.'

Ironside was only partly listening.

'Leaks?'

'They told him that the pumping system was far too complicated,' Frank continued, looking down at his notes. 'It didn't need all that extra pipework. It just needed a simple system, like the secondary boiler. It didn't need to thread through all the steel framework at the front as well. The man was determined to waste money on it.'

Ironside listened with a feeling of dread. How better to control a gas than the heating system? All the pipes are already in place, all it would need was the gas to be introduced and the heat turned up. If Katie had inadvertently changed something, it would have upset the whole system.

'That must be it!' Mark said suddenly, voicing the Chief's thoughts. 'It could be controlled with the heating system, blowing out the front but leaving the rest. The gas, the pipes.'

He looked to Frank who was looking thoughtful, almost eager, his previous annoyance gone.

'And saving Ed,' Fran added.

'Yeah,' Mark said, warming to his topic. 'What's there not to like? It fits what we know, it fits what Frank said.'

The Chief could see it in his mind's eye. An explosive introduced to the heating system. It would build up slowly in the pipework, then blow. That was what should have happened.

But instead, Katie Marshall was there, twisting and turning things in a desperate effort to get out. Perhaps she had tried to turn it off, damaged the heating system, maybe broken the valves or left it fully open. The heat went up, making it too hot too quickly. The pressure built up too much as well, and the leaks let the poison out into the main building, possibly reacting with the air inside as well.

And the moment Ed had stepped through the doors, he'd breathed it in. The longer he stayed, the more he'd been exposed. He imagined Ed, walking into that place, thinking about doing his job and unaware of the growing and invisible danger.

That solved their problem with control, and it also helped with the missing twenty minutes, because Ed didn't have to do anything except breathe and keep on trying to do his job. Once the explosive was in the air, all it needed was time. As the pressure went up, and Ed breathed more in, it could easily have knocked him out. Ironside shivered. By staying, Ed had only breathed in more and more, until it had overwhelmed him and he collapsed.

The heating system? But that could only mean…

A comment from yesterday came to his attention: It had been a very expensive project. That memory brought his thoughts to a shuddering stop as he finally understood.

'So what's the problem?' continued Mark, frowning at Ironside's expression. 'Chief? Chief?'

He could hardly speak for the anger. There wasn't a problem, he was already three steps ahead. The rest of it followed on. Katie, then Ed, breathed it in and it made them ill. And with Katie having taken drugs and been so unwell everyone focused on that, leaving Ed as the only witness left, and they took steps to make sure he wouldn't incriminate them.

And there was the answer to the question that he had kept having problems with. Why? Now the why was obvious. It was the same as always: Money.

And if that was the "why", then it also told him "who". Because it all pointed to one person.

There was a cold, nasty, revolted feeling in the pit of the Chief's stomach as he followed his thoughts though to their logical conclusion. It had been an expensive project, and underwritten for many, many millions. He looked at his colleagues.

'There's only one way for this to work,' he said, his eyes narrowing, a feeling of cold fury and inexpressible disgust making it difficult to speak clearly. 'Only one person could arrange it.'

Yes, there was only one person who could make this happen. Understanding dawned on the faces of his colleagues as he spat out the next two words.

'Curtis Kingston.'

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter 21

The Madness of Kings

This was the last place a man in a wheelchair should go. The Chief was sitting, waiting for the elevator in a building that has recently had its front blown off.

Frank had been beyond incredulous when he'd told him what they were going to do. A man in a wheelchair, in a building that recently had structural damage? It was like wheeling himself through a minefield with a roof that could have fallen on his head at any moment. But the Chief was not going to be dissuaded. He was well aware of the danger in the building, not to mention the fact that Kingston would have the upper hand.

There had been no need to ask Mark and Fran to help. They would have insisted. Ed would have done the same for either of them.

Dennis would have a heart attack, if he knew, and that was the exact reason Ironside had declined to call him at home and wake him up. Besides, though the Chief rarely backed down from an argument, he didn't want to have to fight to get his own way about this. They had little enough time as it was. There was no way that he was going to delegate this task, not to any man alive. He was not going to sit this one out, even though it was difficult to sneak up on someone in a wheelchair. But he wasn't going to sneak anywhere.

Brazen, that was exactly what he was going to be. And he had to push and alter the balance somehow. It was unlikely that Kingston would expect something like this, he had been working in the background. He was not the kind of man who liked his plans being upset, and not getting his own way. It was time to push him into having to deal with the Chief directly.

Although officers had also been sent to Kingston's house and to his club, Ironside was certain Ed was being held here at the Kingston Building. Currently abandoned and quiet, it was a place that Kingston knew well, somewhere no one would challenge him. It was his building, after all.

While Ironside was sure Ed was in the Kingston Building, he couldn't be sure of where. As they'd travelled over, he'd mulled the possibilities. There were only a few rooms in the building which would be out of the way enough to hide a man for a while, and one that was also tucked away at the back, perfect for getting in and out of without drawing much attention.

When they had gone inside, he decided that there was one logical place to start: The basement, with the heating system. The place where Ed had found Katie. Unfortunately for the Chief, the basement was a difficult place to get to. Which was why they were currently waiting for the elevator.

Fran and Mark were silent. There wasn't much to say just then. They knew what they had to do. Ironside could only pray that they were both able to hold it together long enough to get to Ed. He was worried about Fran's temper, but he was also worried about Mark. This had been tough on the man, he'd always been so calm and reliable under pressure, but the way they had skirted around an argument earlier had the Chief on edge. But it was just something to worry about, a distraction, because he knew that Mark would never do anything to endanger Ed.

There was a friendly ting noise and the elevator door opened. Mark helped the Chief inside and Fran pressed the B button.

The lift descended. It would only take a few seconds and Ironside drew a deep breath, hunching forward in his chair, aware of the gun by his side. Kingston would undoubtedly be armed, but he needed to get Ed rather than let it descend into more violence. Getting his friend to safety was the only thing that mattered.

Ironside felt a hand on his shoulder, and Mark leaned over.

'You cool, Chief?' he asked.

Ironside nodded.

'I hope you both are too,' he said.

'Yes.'

'We both are,' Fran added. He could hear the tension in her voice.

'Then let's challenge the tiger in his den.'

It was having to bluff with an off-suit hand, a hand so bad he would have thrown it in and started again. But these were the cards he had, and he would be as infallible as he could be.

Again, there was a pleasant ting and the elevator door opened.

The basement was dark, but not pitch black. Every third light was on. He looked left and right, then Fran pointed to a room at the end of the corridor. The scene of the crime.

They walked up to the doorway and went though. Inside, the room was lit by a couple of lights at the side, muting the details. The walls were lined with pipes, and a couple of tall cylinders were at the right hand wall, just the sort of set-up a heating system would have. The smell was of machine oil and warm metal.

At the right side of the room, a person he didn't recognise was kneeling, their back to them, just beside…

Ed.

He was lying on his back on the bare, concrete floor, wrists and ankles taped together, and chained to the pipework. His head was tipped towards the door, his eyes closed, with a thick stripe of tape across his mouth. There were scuff marks on his once-white shirt and a dark stain at the top of his right shoulder.

It was too dark to make out much more, or if he was still conscious. He hadn't reacted to the noise, but as Ironside stared, he saw the slight, slow rise and fall of Ed's chest. He felt a sharp chill of relief. Ed was still alive.

Beside him, Fran gave a shocked gasp, and he sensed Mark take a threatening step forward.

'I don't think there's any need for that,' Curtis Kingston said calmly.

He stepped out of the dark shadows from the other side of the room, a gun pointing at them. No one moved for a long moment, then the person next to Ed stood up, brushing the dust off their hands. Ironside recognised her immediately as Dr Julia Wright.

Ironside showed no surprise that she was here, because Kingston needed an accomplice and it could only be Julia Wright. She was with Kingston that first day in the rubble, being unfriendly and was the only staff member who had shown even the slightest bit of interest in the investigation, or had an opinion on the cause. Ed had mentioned how persistent she had been when he had looked at those records. "Lab rat" was the expression he had used. She was also Katie Marshall's tutor. She was clearly close to Curtis Kingston. And from the background he had read about her, she was a brilliant and under-appreciated chemist, more than capable of designing something deadly if she put her mind to it. She moved to stand next to Kingston.

'Dr Wright,' he said calmly, greeting her with a nod. 'A pleasure to meet you again.' She just glared at him.

'I would be grateful if you would all put your hands where I can see them,' Kingston told them. Ironside moved his hands on top of the arms of the chair, and assumed Mark and Fran did something similar. Kingston cocked his head to one side, a slight frown on his face giving the Chief a thoughtful look.

'Well,' he said slowly. 'You might be armed, but-' He gave a quick glance towards Ed, lying on the floor, and gave a decidedly smug smile. 'Yes. Yes, I think I understand. In that case, you can give your radio to the lovely Officer Belding and she can place it on the floor in front of you.'

Surprised and suspicious at Kingston's reaction, Ironside still did as he was asked and pulled his radio out from his jacket pocket, handing it to Fran. The look on her face told him how angry and scared she was, and Ironside felt a sudden shudder of worry. It was a look he'd seen many times in the past, usually just before she hit someone.

For a moment, it looked as if she was going to lose control of her temper and take a step toward Kingston and the gun, her right hand forming into a fist. But Ironside saw her flick a tiny glance towards Ed. Then the moment passed and she stood back, just beside the Chief.

Kingston stood looking relaxed, with a gun in one hand and his other in his pocket. He was calm, always calm, but Ironside didn't like the way he was smiling, and he didn't like the way Kingston had assumed they were unarmed. He was far too cool about all of this. His own words from earlier passed through his mind: Curtis Kingston always has a backup plan. The Chief's backup plan involved more officers arriving. It was now all about time. The longer he could string this out, the more men would arrive. A whole department full of competent police officers were slowly gathering outside. What could go wrong?

'So here we are at last, Chief Ironside,' Kingston said casually.

'Here we are.'

'Are you here to arrest us?'

'No. I'm here for my sergeant. There are plenty of other police officers who are available to arrest you.'

That same, deeply unpleasant, smug smile spread over Kingston's face and he nodded again.

'I'm not sure I can let you have him just yet,' he said. 'After all, he is a bargaining chip now.'

The statement made Ironside scowl and Kingston's smile grew wider. The Chief grew even more convinced Kingston was planning something nasty.

'Do you know what I think, Chief Ironside?' the other man said, leaning forward slightly. 'I think you are gathering the whole of the San Francisco Police Department upstairs and you are playing for time and trying to delay me. Why else would you be here?'

'I'm here for my Sergeant,' Ironside repeated. 'Is he alive?'

'Yes. At the moment.' Kingston gave a soft snort. 'I never thought you were sentimental, Chief Ironside.'

The Chief took a long slow breath in. This might work, as long as they cooperated. The thought made him pause. Why? Kingston kept looking at them in a way that reminded Ironside of a conman or a magician, someone ready to pull a rabbit out of the hat but waltz off with his wallet. It didn't matter, as he was now out of options. Ed was his sole priority. He had to push.

'Would you care to explain why my Sergeant is here?'

'Do you really want to know?' Kingston asked. 'Are you sure?'

Ironside looked at Dr Wright, who was still glaring at him. The Chief thought of what Fran had told him about her. If either of them could be pushed into playing along, the easiest would be Julia Wright.

'Or maybe I should tell you?' he suggested, looking at her with derision. It worked, her eyes flashed at the implied insult.

'Rea-lly?' said Dr Wright, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 'So you're going to tell me you figured it out all on your own? I doubt you know anything about what happened here.'

He hunched forward, his elbows leaning on the side bars of the chair. He peered up at her.

'I'm here, am I not? And I am a police detective.'

'Oh let him enjoy his moment, Julia,' Kingston said.

The Chief sensed something was wrong. The man was far too calm. Always have a backup plan. But what was it this time? It could be anything, it was his building.

'You discovered a new explosive,' the Chief said. 'A gas. You found something, maybe to do with government work?'

She snorted, unable to stop herself correcting him.

'I didn't do anything for the government,' she said in a withering tone. 'Those idiotic children just assumed. All my work was for commercial clients. Most was for Curtis.'

'And?'

'I wouldn't expect anyone like you to understand.'

'So help us understand,' Ironside suggested, hoping that his assessment of the woman was correct. She gave him even more of a patronising smile and Ironside knew he was right on the money. Just like Todd Chadwick, she was desperate for everyone to know what she'd done and how clever she was, an unfulfilled need for recognition. He would use that to keep the conversation going as long as he could. They needed all the time they could get.

'That night, Curtis came here and changed the gas in the heating system. It was supposed to build up slowly, then explode at just the optimal concentration, with the optimal energy. And look like a gas main. I worked it all out perfectly. To the very last molecule. Perfectly.'

'Very clever,' the Chief said, in a slightly more patronising way than usual. 'So which came first? The building? Or the explosive?'

'The explosive,' Kingston said calmly. 'Dr Wright is an exceptional scientist. Her work should have been recognised by the scientific community years ago, and it wasn't. So I helped her get some sort of recognition. In a sense.'

'Recognition?'

'Or money, as it's also known.' Kingston grinned. 'It was an ingenious plan.'

'But something went wrong.'

Again, Wright's eyes narrowed in anger at the implied insult.

'Then tell me, Mr-brilliant-police-detective, since you are so clever?' she said. 'Can you explain it?'

Ironside considered for a moment, thinking about what they had learnt and how to keep the conversation going. The longer he kept this going, the more police officers would arrive.

'The explosion built too quickly,' he said. 'Too much heat, and too small a space. The explosion was in the wrong place.' Dr Wright was watching him, the patronising look had changed to a look of surprise. 'Someone changed the plan.'

'I'd done all the calculations, worked it all out to the last molecule,' she said again. 'Then Curtis has to go and tip off that group, and that girl broke in.' She glared at Ironside, her expression suddenly one of venomous fury and the next words were spoken in a rush. 'And then your ridiculous, idiotic sergeant has to go in and try to help. There shouldn't have been anyone there! Why didn't he just leave? He should have just left! The longer he was there, the more he was exposed, the stronger the reaction, the less oxygen to breathe. He might even have been hypoxic as well and passed out before the end. And then… and then…'

'Then the illusion was broken,' Ironside finished.

He sat back comfortably in his seat. He watched the two people in front of him, and out of the corner of his eye he was aware of Ed lying helpless on the floor. He could sense something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on what. It was all too clinical and calm. Cooperative. Why? He was even more aware of time, and how many seconds were passing. Should he push now or try to string this out? And why was Kingston so flamin' calm? The man obviously had a backup plan, what was it?

'Yes,' Julia said, her voice holding none of the derision it had earlier, now she just sounded tired. 'Yes. It was never going to look like a gas main. It might have looked like a deliberate explosion, sabotage, but that stupid man was too close to the foyer for anyone to believe that. I realised the moment I saw where he'd come round. He was far too close to the front. And I knew. Right then. We could try and discredit him, cast doubt on his word, make him seem incompetent. But that didn't work.'

'And that was only the start of things going wrong,' the Chief said. 'Wasn't it?'

'No one was supposed to breathe it in,' she said sadly. 'That was the whole point. It would take the front off, and the residual would just blow away.'

'They both breathed it in,' the Chief said. 'And they both had a reaction.'

"Reaction" was a massive understatement. He had no idea the shape his unconscious sergeant was in at the moment, but Katie was a mess. Her memory was in pieces, her mind was hanging on to reality by the barest thread. Ed might even be worse, considering the report they'd had from Erikson. All this, on top of everything else that Ed had gone through recently.

A feeling of great sorrow gripped the Chief's chest, an unwanted emotion that he'd tried to forget, and it pressed down on him. He couldn't lose Ed, not after all of what they'd gone through together. Ed didn't deserve an ending like this.

He was a good cop, and a good man, the best the Chief had served with, the constant friend who had taken all the misery and the anger Ironside could dish out after the shooting had stripped away his future. Ed and Eve were the only ones from the force that had been willing and able to take the heat. They were the ones who had helped him keep working.

Mark was different, the way he'd helped was personal, even social, keeping him mobile and able to live. But Ed was a cop, he acted as the Chief's eyes, ears and legs doing all the dirty, difficult and dangerous jobs that the Chief needed doing, getting into places and doing the things that Ironside couldn't do any more. Ed helped keep him able to work, to give something back to the city he loved and not just fade away into crippled obscurity. There were no words to describe how grateful the Chief was for that chance.

He realised the doctor was staring at him, waiting for him to speak.

'They both breathed it in,' he said. 'What did it do to them?'

'It might have been more reactive than I thought it would be,' Dr Wright admitted. 'I'm not a pharmacologist. I didn't try to get it to react with other compounds. Certainly not any biomolecules or additives. There was no need. It was just supposed to explode.'

'You had no idea what it would do?'

'How was I supposed to know what would happen if you inhaled it?' she snapped, an edge of hysteria in her voice. 'I wasn't stupid enough to go around breathing it in! No one should have been there.'

'But one of you told Katie Marshall something was going to happen that night,' he said suddenly.

Kingston gave a gracious smile, too calm and relaxed for Ironside's liking. He was up to something. He had to figure it out and help Ed. That was all he cared about. Help Ed, just like Ed always helped him. There were other police officers to take care of the rest.

'I didn't tell her anything like that,' he retorted. 'Not directly. I don't know where she got that idea. I just maybe let it slip that the Kingston Building was maybe a little bit dangerous. That was all. I never imagined that she would actually go there, that night, to see what she could dig up.'

Maybe you have a limited imagination, Ironside thought, remembering thinking the exact same thing before about Kingston. For all his remarkable ingenuity, the man had a very blinkered view of the intelligence of the rest of mankind. Everyone else was beneath him, in his own mind Curtis Kingston was a god among insects.

'What if she had come to us?' Ironside asked. 'We might have believed her.'

This time, Kingston snorted loudly.

'No one was ever going to believe a silly, little girl,' he said, the dismissive edge in his voice was like nails down a blackboard.

Maybe Katie had thought that too. Maybe that's why she was there, finding proof so that someone would believe her.

'Besides,' Kingston continued, 'there was nothing for her to find. There was no government conspiracy. And she wouldn't have believed the real reason.'

Ironside paused again, thinking.

'The letters? She had nothing to do with those, did she?'

There was yet another scornful snort from Kingston, who was clearly enjoying this immensely.

'I needed something to attract your attention, at least for a few hours.'

'You faked them?'

'Not exactly,' Kingston admitted. 'I really do get garbage like that all the time, I just embellished what was already there. It wasn't difficult to keep you occupied.'

Kingston gave a wide, knowing smile, the gun still held steadily, aimed directly at the Chief.

'But you didn't think of everything,' Ironside snapped. 'You still managed to make a mess of the cover up.'

Dr Wright scowled even harder at him, but Kingston just shrugged.

'We got there in the end,' he replied, 'and we got to him before you did. It's a pity you didn't pay more attention to him earlier. He was right here when it happened, and you should have kept a better eye on him.'

Ironside felt a thrill of bitter anger, and tried not to react. But Kingston kept on going, a malicious edge to his voice.

'You've let him down, very badly, Chief. He was a witness, you should at least have made more of an effort, made sure he didn't go wandering off. You had all that time to help him! You didn't think that perhaps whoever had orchestrated the explosion might not want any witnesses, or any loose ends?' Kingston sighed. 'You've let him down, Chief. One of your own men. One of your own staff, as well.'

Ironside knew he was being deliberately mocked, as if Kingston was trying to goad him into action. The words hurt, but not as much as Kingston might have thought. These were all things he'd said to himself over the previous few hours.

'I'm here now,' he managed to say.

'Better late than never? Or maybe that choice is already academic.'

Kingston let the sentence hang, and once again the Chief forced himself not to react. He had to push the man into doing something else, other than mock him and try to get someone to do something stupid. Beside him, neither of his other staff had moved, but he didn't know how much longer he or they could keep this up. He had to do something to upset the balance.

He sat back in his chair, looking between Kingston and Dr Wright.

'But he is still alive,' the Chief said.

'I'll concede that point,' Kingston said with a shrug. 'At least for the moment.'

Ironside suppressed a shudder.

'I don't like killing people,' the other man continued. 'But if it's a choice between his life or my money, then there's only one option. Death before bankruptcy!'

'You're not going to get the insurance now,' the Chief said. 'And there won't be many opportunities for making money behind bars.'

'You seem very sure of yourself, Chief Ironside. Money is the only important thing there is. Why do you think I did all of this?'

'It was all for the insurance money?' Ironside asked in an incredulous tone. 'All of it just for the money? Not for the fame? Your name on a new building? A revolution, I think you called it.'

'Oh, please!' Kingston said, the utter contempt obvious. 'Of course it was for the money. What else is there? A new building style? Renovating them? Using the sun to heat them? No one is ever going to do anything so stupid!' His eyes gleamed. 'The whole thing was a scam. It was easy, everyone thought it was so big that it had to be true. And the funding I got! And all the equipment was very expensive. People were lining up to pour money into this ridiculous scheme. I could hardly believe my luck. So I organised it, put a few millions in, made a big thing of it and then waited for the right time to bring it all crashing down.'

'You put millions in?'

'You need to speculate to accumulate,' Kingston said in such a business like tone that had Ironside been close enough he would have punched him. He felt a shudder through the chair as Mark's grip on the handles tightened in anger, presumably he was thinking exactly the same thing.

'I spent, maybe two or three million dollars,' Kingston continued. 'Not counting the money I made back again running the campus, of course.'

'Of course,' snarled Ironside.

'The whole thing was insured for just under forty million dollars,' he said. 'After settling it all up I would probably have cleared twenty-five, maybe thirty million. Before tax, of course. That's quite a good return on my investment.'

Ironside stared, hearing a spoilt child who gets what he wants and to Hell with the consequences, willing to cause any kind of destruction just for more money. A cold fear gripped him. This wasn't going to work. Something was very wrong with this whole situation. Because Curtis Kingston would do anything, anything at all, for money. At the moment, Kingston was trapped in a corner with only one "bargaining chip", and he would play to win with no morals to stop him.

And he always had a backup plan.

'What have you done to Ed?' Ironside asked suddenly, ashen-faced, dreading the answer but having to ask anyway.

For a moment, Kingston looked furious at the question, as if he'd finally been caught out. Then he gave a vicious, wolfish smile, and glanced down at his watch. Ironside sensed the mood change.

'It's not been as long as I would have liked,' Kingston said. He shook his head. 'You are a very clever man, Chief Ironside. An almost-worthy opponent.'

'What have you done?!' the Chief demanded.

'I always have a backup plan.' Kingston held up his hand to stop Ironside's next question, his cold smile never faltering. 'Julia? Perhaps you like to explain to Chief Ironside what's happened to his friend since he's been our guest?'

Ironside's stomach contracted at the words, and the mocking way they were said. Dr Wright's face lit up, and from behind them, by the wall, she drew out a small bag. He recognised it as one used to collect blood. It was plump and full to bursting. The Chief stared in horror, and behind him Mark and Fran both gasped.

'I've been trying to get the remnants of my explosive back,' she said. 'Or at least as much of it as I could. There are more upstairs.'

Ironside looked up sharply at Kingston, angry and shocked, but the man held the gun out, pointing it directly at the Chief's face.

'Getting yourself shot is not going to help him, is it? You don't believe I'll do it? What's the point in going on if I don't get what I want?'

Ironside shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Because he saw what the whole backup plan was. And it made him sick.

'I don't like violence,' Kingston said. 'But I also don't like the idea of prison. This place is surrounded by police, I'm sure. As I said earlier, I imagine you came down here to play for time so more officers can arrive. Well, time can work for or against you, Chief Ironside.'

The Chief stared. Julia lifted the tube still attached to the bag, her face expressionless. It ended abruptly beneath the value used to control the flow.

The end was open. The other end would be too, the end still attached to his friend.

Ed was bleeding out. They had no more time.

Ironside's breath caught in his throat, his worse fears realised, understanding what they'd done. Every moment they'd been talking Ed was losing more and more blood, with nothing to stop it. His plan to stall for time had been turned around on him. The Chief stared in horrified fury then turned to look at Ed, lying on the ground. There was a dark stain on the right side of his shirt that hadn't been there when they'd arrived.

'That's his blood all over the floor,' Kingston said. 'Maybe it's not been very long, but considering what he's lost already, I'm not sure how much more he can take.'

Ironside looked back at the other man, unable to voice how furious and disgusted he was.

'I'll admit,' Kingston was saying, 'as backup plan's go it's not one of my best. Short notice. I knew you would figure out what was going on and come here to make an arrest and help your sergeant. The question was when. You were a lot quicker than I thought. Do not move!'

Behind Ironside, both Fran and Mark had taken small steps forward.

'Mark, do as he asks,' Ironside said, his voice sounding choked and low. 'And you, Fran.'

He'd never know how much effort it cost either of his friends to do as he asked, but they both stayed still.

'I think you're bluffing,' Ironside managed to say. He had to keep pushing and find a way to help.

'I might be. But does it look like I'm bluffing?'

'Yes.'

Curtis Kingston gave a slow laugh.

'And are you going to risk another man's life on that?' He stared at the Chief. 'I don't know much about your sergeant, but I do know a bit about you. You're loyal. So I'll ask you a different question, are you going to risk a friend's life on that bet? Because every second that passes, he loses more blood. It's just flowing out all over the floor.'

Ironside took a deep breath, forcing the words out of his mouth.

'What do you want?'

'I want to leave. You want to get your man to hospital, fast. Isn't there some sort of arrangement?

Time was indeed running out for Ed. He could see that very clearly. He had to get Ed out of there immediately. That was his only goal. And if that meant letting Curtis Kingston run, then that was what he had to do. There was a whole San Francisco Police Department that could chase down Kingston. That's what Dennis kept on telling him, there was a whole department of trained and competent policemen waiting to go after Curtis Kingston. Not to mention the FBI, and probably the IRS. And every other flamin' police force in the country from the New York cops to the deputies in Alaska.

'A deal?'

'I lose something. You lose something. I gain something.' Kingston flicked a brief glance at Ed. 'You gain something.'

'It's as simple as that?'

'I'm sure you can see my problem, can't use him as a hostage, he's dead weight.' Kingston smiled at his own choice of words. 'You don't have time for anything else. Because I'm not bluffing. I cut the tube when I heard the elevator. That was over ten minutes ago.'

After everything, the Chief knew he'd been out-manoeuvred this time. And he'd underestimated the utter ruthlessness of Curtis Kingston. But this time he wasn't going to let more harm come to his friends because of his shortcomings.

Somehow, Ironside nodded.

'Thank you, Chief Ironside. You're going to use your radio and tell the men outside to stand down. The faster they do it, the quicker you can get your man the help he desperately needs.'

Fran reached down and passed the radio to him, he saw how badly her hand was shaking and the furious, red-hot anger she had towards Kingston was very clear in her expression.

The Chief clicked the radio on.

'Carl?'

'Chi-?'

'Stand down immediately. Back past the cordon as far as you can. You have thirty seconds!'

He had expected Carl to argue, but instead he said:

'Right away!'

The Chief glared at Kingston as they waited.

Thirty seconds.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Thirty seconds before anything else could happen.

Thirty more seconds of Ed's life trickling away.

Who knew how fast he was losing blood? Who knew how much he'd lost already? Ironside understood enough about medicine to know that losing too much would bring unconsciousness, and then Ed's heart would eventually stop, and never beat again.

Thirty seconds had never felt so long.

'Clear, Chief!'

Ironside continued to stare, waiting, holding his nerve, praying that he had been quick enough.

'Thank you, Chief Ironside,' Kingston said with a polite nod. 'It's been a pleasure to do business with you.'

The chair shook once more, as Mark tensed against the handles. Ironside felt exactly the same. He didn't speak, just waited.

'Move in further, away from the door,' Kingston said. Mark pushed the wheelchair, and Fran followed. All the time Ironside watched Kingston and the gun in his hand, his temper growing at the same rate as his worry for Ed.

'Julia,' Kingston gestured to the door. The gun was trained on Ironside the whole time as they both moved backward towards the exit.

For a second, they all stayed perfectly still. Kingston was half-out of the door, gun aimed directly at Ironside. Julia Wright was close beside him, still clutching the bag as if it was the most precious thing in the world. The Chief didn't move. Getting himself, or Fran or Mark, injured wasn't going to help Ed.

Kingston was staring at him, a snide, mocking look on his face. That expression almost dared him to take a shot. You have a gun, Kingston was saying to him, I know you do, because you're not a fool. I've just tried to murder your best friend. Are you going to just let me walk away, vanish into thin air? With no consequence? Shoot me, if you can. If you dare.

Ironside wasn't going to rise to that challenge, he didn't need to endanger anyone else. There was a fleeting expression of unbridled fury that crossed Kingston's face. Then he deliberately looked towards Ed as he lay by the wall, and suddenly smiled, a smile that was as cold and empty as any that Ironside had ever seen.

Later, the Chief would try to remember the sequence of events, each person moved at a slightly different time.

Kingston stepped back, turning away, letting his guard down for the first time as the gun stopped being aimed at the Chief. He turned, his arm moving down and round, taking aim towards Ed. The safety clicked off. His finger tensed on the trigger.

The Chief had no other choice and reached for his hidden gun, tucked just beside his leg. He lifted it, intending to fire directly at Curtis Kingston, as open a shot as he was ever going to get. But Kingston didn't fire, instead he pushed Julia Wright forward with his other hand, in front of the doorway, so she moved between them. The woman staggered, taken by complete surprise by what had happened, twisting slightly as she fell. When the Chief fired, she was directly in line.

The sound of the shot echoed away and she fell face forward to the ground. Behind her, the doorway was empty.

Curtis Kingston had gone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22

Of Consequence

A woman lying in a wide pool of blood. Fran had never seen so much blood. The room was swimming with it. Ed had been soaked in blood as well, she could still feel it on her hands and her clothes were covered in it. The smell was overwhelming, blood and cordite. There was blood everywhere.

Each time Fran closed her eyes, she could see the woman lying dead on the floor, face down in a lake of red. She didn't dare close them for more than a few seconds, even though she was exhausted, she didn't want to think about what had happened.

They were at the hospital, but she had no idea if they'd gotten here in time for it to matter. Fran felt a small shudder run through her and glanced at her watch. They had been waiting for half an hour, Ed's ambulance had arrived only minutes before the van. Now they had to wait.

Her eyes drifted shut, seeing the scene again.

The gunshot. The blood. Mark grabbing her hand a fraction of a second before she ran after that man, pulling her towards Ed. The frantic minutes trying to get him free from the chains and the tape. The way his eyelids flickered slightly when she touched his face. Easing the gag off Ed's mouth, whispering "I'm sorry, Ed. I'm so, so sorry".

Her eyes opened again suddenly as the memory sent a chill down her spine. As she and Mark had struggled to help Ed, the Chief had been giving orders to Lieutenant Reese over the radio. He had stared down at them with an expression she couldn't describe but could never forget.

The Chief had been stuck in his chair, there was nothing he could do to help and Fran had seen how hard that was. It struck her then how much he relied on the other members of his team, and how much he also relied on Ed. He was always the one the Chief turned to. There was no one else Ironside trusted to get the job done more than his sergeant.

The look on the Chief's face was going to haunt her. The guilt for killing a defenceless woman, and the fear for one of his best friends.

But they were at the hospital, she reminded herself. They had done what the Chief wanted. She hadn't forgotten her job, she had done what she needed to do, what the Chief had wanted her to do. So why did she feel so bad?

Beside her, Mark was sitting very still and in silence. He had barely spoken since the basement, he had just gotten on with the task in hand, skilfully picking the locks and cutting the tape. He was covered in blood too. Fran looked up at him and for the first time in what felt like hours, Mark gave her a tiny nod of acknowledgement. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. After a moment, Mark shifted and put his arm around her.

Somewhere outside the door to the waiting room she could her the Chief's voice, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. It hadn't looked good at all for Ed. After everything they had done, there was the very real possibility that they were too late.

Her breath gave a hitch, and she thought she might cry, but she didn't. Instead, Mark tightened his grip around her shoulder.

'It's gonna be okay,' he said. 'It'll be okay.'

She leaned into him, wanting to believe what he said.

'How can you be sure?' she asked. 'How do you know that-'

'We were in time,' Mark replied. She marvelled at his composure.

'How do you do that?' she asked, amazed. 'How can you be so calm?'

She looked up at him. Mark didn't smile, but his expression gave her hope that he knew what he was talking about.

'I trust the Chief,' he said. He looked away from her up towards the ceiling. There was a long pause and when he spoke again his voice was very quiet. 'Five years ago, my life was very different. Ed Brown dragged me to up an office in the police department and then the Chief offered me a job. I had no idea what that would mean or how I would change. It was just gonna be work, y'know. Just a steady paycheck.' He let his breath out very slowly. 'I never guessed then how much those two people would trust me. Or how much I would trust them. I never thought I'd end up best friends with the fuzz.'

'You'd do anything for him, for either of them,' she said. Mark nodded.

'They'd do the same for me. And they have.'

'You're lucky to have such nice friends,' she said with a sigh.

'They're your friends too, Fran,' he reminded her. 'You know they are.'

Fran shifted, uncomfortable with the feelings that statement brought up. She didn't reply for a few seconds, unsure if she wanted to say what was on her mind. Then she decided that Mark knew anyway and there was nothing to be gained by bottling it all up.

'I, well, I haven't been very nice to him.'

She didn't need to explain who she was talking about.

'He knows why,' Mark said. 'Ed isn't the sort of man to hold it against you.'

That just made her feel worse.

'Besides, you've helped save his life. I'm sure he'll buy us all some dinner for that.'

In spite of herself, Fran gave a tiny laugh.

'Thank you, Mark,' she said. He squeezed her shoulders again. But whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the sound of wheels on the floor outside. They both looked up.

The hospital. Again. It was beginning to feel like a second home to the Chief.

Ironside had left Carl in charge at the crime scene, needing to get here as soon as he could. He couldn't think about what he'd left behind in that devastated building, and the woman dead on the floor. The woman he had just shot.

He wheeled himself forward into the small waiting room where Fran and Mark were sitting, side by side at the back, exhausted, their clothes stained with their friend's blood. Fran was resting her head on Mark's shoulder and Mark had his arm around her.

They'd both come through for him, and made sure that by the time the medics had arrived Ed was free to be moved and the blood flow had stopped. He wasn't sure what he would have done without them, doing any of that from his wheelchair would have been impossible.

They looked up as he entered, but at the moment he had no more news to share. He wheeled himself across to beside Fran, and the three of them sat in a tense but supportive silence.

Dog-tired and worried, Ironside couldn't concentrate. He let his mind wander, thinking about the hospital, the doctors and nurses rushing around, all the other people here tonight who were waiting for news of the people they cared about. How many times since the sniper had he done this now? Eve, Mark, Ed had all been hurt while working on his staff. Both Ed and Eve had been injured in the line of duty before as well; Ed was always particularly good at attracting trouble. Did all policemen end up beaten, broken or burned-out on a ward at some point?

Minutes passed, then there was the sound of footsteps outside. Ironside turned as Dr Moran opened the door and came straight in. The Chief tried to guess what the man was thinking, what he was going to say. It didn't look like awful news, but considering how bad the bad news could be, he wasn't looking happy.

'Doctor?' said Ironside.

The man gave a sigh, the tiniest ghost of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

'Chief Ironside. Lieutenant Reese called ahead, so we had everything set up. Your sergeant is doing okay. For now.'

As a prognosis it wasn't glowing, but at least they'd gotten Ed here in time for something to help. Ironside gave a long exhale, relived beyond words.

'It was close,' the doctor said. 'Even a few minutes later and it would have been a lot more difficult, maybe impossible.'

A few minutes? If he hadn't realised Kingston's plan when he had, they might be having a very different conversation. That was not a pleasant thought.

'He's on oxygen,' Moran continued. 'And getting an immediate transfusion, though we have to do it slow or he might go into cardiac arrest. His system has been through too much already. But every minute that passes improves his chances enormously.' There was a nervous pause. 'At least with the blood loss.'

Ironside looked up sharply.

'You'd better tell me the rest, doctor.'

Moran nodded, looking more sombre.

'At the moment we don't know how much toxin he was exposed to. I don't want to give you all a false hope, as we can't be sure. We don't know how much is left or how it reacted with anything he drank or ate.' He took a deep breath. 'However, the good news is that losing so much blood this evening was probably the most helpful thing that could have happened. It was an unspeakably horrible and dangerous way of doing it, but from a toxicological point of view, the less he had in his body, the better the probable outcome in the long-term.'

'Even if he had less blood?' Ironside asked, looking extremely doubtful. Moran saw the expression and gave a grim nod.

'Yes Chief. Any lowering of the concentration in his system would have helped him feel better immediately. That chemical is nasty.'

'How nasty?'

Moran was quiet for a few seconds.

'Are you sure you want to know?' he asked.

Ironside gave a firm nod, unable to trust himself not to say something unprofessional about such a flamin' ridiculous question. He had to know, and he had to know it all. Moran gave a very heavy sigh.

'They both experienced an extreme psychosis, one of the worst I've seen. The toxin affects the mind, as it mimics the actions of some neurochemicals. It appears to destroy a patient's understand of reality and distort memory. And it does it fast. Both patients were affected approximately two days ago. The results of Miss Marshall's cognitive and psychological tests are terrifying. There are people locked up in institutions with a firmer grasp of what's happening. We can't be sure which pathways it affects, so we can't be sure what they have experienced.'

'Do you have any ideas?' Ironside asked, although he was dreading the answer.

'Best case scenario? Maybe something similar to a very bad acid trip combined with prolonged, extensive panic attacks.'

'That's the best case?'

Moran pursed his lips and nodded.

'I did say it was nasty.'

That was clearly an understatement. Ironside suppressed another shudder.

'But there is good news,' the doctor said. 'Our hope is that the severity of the symptoms are proportional to the concentration. So as soon as Mr Brown started losing blood this morning, the better he would have felt. And the less intense the symptoms.'

Ironside was silent, taking note of the word "hope".

'As more is removed, the better both Miss Marshall and Mr Brown should get. But that is a tricky business. We also hope that none of the physical structures have been damaged, which would be more good news. But we can't be sure at the moment. So getting it out of Mr Brown is our priority. We'll replace the blood he's lost and then see what we're left with.'

'And then?'

The doctor gave a weary smile.

'We don't have much of a treatment, but first we'll sedate him. Miss Marshall has responded well, and I'm hopeful that it will buy us some time to get the rest of that toxin out, without causing Mr Brown more distress. At least that way we can make sure that he's not exposed to anything that might cause problems.' Moran shrugged. 'A medically induced coma is not ideal, but I think it will work.'

'And then?' Ironside repeated. If he was going to know, he wanted to know all of it. Dr Moran gave a sigh.

'Again, we're not sure, but we will have access to some of the details of what the toxin was. That will help. I can't be sure of anything else. We just don't know.'

As he paused, Dr Moran gave the Chief a warm, kindly, compassionate look that sent a terrible chill straight though him.

'And when Mr Brown wakes up afterwards, he might not be the same.'

At those words, Ironside went very still. He heard the muffled gasps from his friends behind him. That made the next question all the more important. Ironside pursed his lips, wanting to ask the question that he really wanted to ask.

'Can I speak to him?' The Chief recognised a look that said absolutely not! but he cut in before the doctor spoke. 'Just a minute.'

Moran scowled.

'At the moment we have no idea of the concentration of the toxin. It's impossible to predict what he might be like,' Moran said. 'You spoke to Miss Marshall. Sergeant Brown will be the same. He might sound lucid, he might even be able to form whole sentences and hold a conversation, but I'm not sure he knows what's going on. He probably wouldn't remember.'

'I have to see him,' Ironside said quietly. 'I just need one minute. If I don't get another chance, I have to speak to him. We have to know all we can. Please.'

True, there were still questions that needed answers, but that was just a thin excuse to see Ed and to get some sort of hint as to how he was holding up. Dr Moran looked to the ground, rubbing the edge of his white coat between finger and thumb as he thought. He gave a sigh.

'Let's give him the best chance we can at being awake,' the doctor said. 'Wait for a few more minutes. We'll change the transfusion. Then you can see him.'

Ironside nodded, relieved to have a chance.

Dr Moran left and Ironside resigned himself to more waiting, at least for a little while longer. Beside him, Mark and Fran had watched the exchange in silence, they both looked drained and exhausted and afraid. He looked at his staff, thinking about how they had helped him save Ed, how they had both stood beside him facing down Kingston, how they had both done their jobs beyond duty and friendship. In the basement, as Ironside had been frantically calling Carl for backup, Mark had easily dealt with the locks and removed the tape that held his friend. Fran had stopped the bleeding, and eased the gag off Ed's mouth, all the while gently trying to brush the dry blood off his face.

Once more, the Chief stared blankly at the bland walls of the waiting room, thinking back to the events of the past few days. The visit from Murray felt like a different lifetime. He wasn't worrying about excessive overtime now, he was worrying about whether his friend would ever be the same again.

The explosion, the mess at the Kingston Building, talking to Katie Marshall, telling Fran what had happened with Tony Richards, then the panic at the warehouse and the struggle to figure out what had affected both Katie and Ed. He thought through it all, wondering how he had managed to get it all the way to the end. Wasn't there something he should have done differently? Could he have stopped Ed before any of this started? If he had, what would they be doing now instead?

He looked at the floor. He had done what he thought was right, and it was pointless trying to second guess these choices. They were here, now. This is what they had to deal with, and Ed was getting the best care he could.

At least he was alive could be helped. Not everyone involved had made it through the night. Ironside wasn't sure how he felt about Dr Wright's death. It had been a long time since he'd killed anyone in the line of duty, and the fact that she was defenceless made him feel worse. She had, however, just tried to murder Ed Brown in a slow and unpleasant way, and the conflicting emotions sat at odds within him. Ultimately, he bore some responsibility for her death, even if he had been forced into taking the shot. Kingston had sacrificed his partner to get away. What kind of man could do that to another person?

There was a simmering anger as Ironside thought about what had happened. Curtis Kingston, the man responsible for the all the destruction over the past few days, hadn't been seen since the basement. Ironside could only pray that the men left at the scene would find him quickly, before he had the chance to do more damage.

At last, Doctor Moran reappeared.

'We're almost ready,' the doctor said. 'And we're starting to put him under. If you come through now you'll have a few minutes with Mr Brown as he goes to sleep.'

It might be the last chance he got to speak with him. Who knew if Ed would ever be the same?

He glanced at Fran and Mark, wanting to say something to reassure them. But there was nothing he could say.

'Give him our love,' said Fran sadly. Mark nodded.

'I will,' the Chief replied.

Ed had no idea where he was, but it was too much effort to care. He felt warm and comfortable, and strangely safe. He couldn't explain the sensation and he didn't want to think too deeply about it. Being warm and comfortable was good enough at the moment. Ed knew that recently he had been a whole lot less warm and comfortable, but the details of the experience were beginning to fade into a disagreeable haze.

He was tired, but it was a less consuming kind of tired than he'd felt before. It was a relaxing kind of tiredness, as if any moment he would finally tip over the edge and drift away. But he couldn't, as disjointed memories kept him on the cusp of being awake. He couldn't string the ideas together in a way that made sense, every time he thought he had it figured out, he would remember some other details and have to start all over again from the beginning. There were images of events and places jumbled up and back to front, and he felt as if he was continually struggling against an unseen enemy.

Random thoughts and snippets of conversation came and went, all unattached to their context in time and space, people were talking to him and about him, but he couldn't fix the order of events or even who was speaking.

'Don't play games with me, pig. You want me to grass on them.'

'I won't stop half way through.'

'Get out of the building!'

'Are you cool? Cause you don't look cool.'

'I'm here to help you.'

Lab rat.

'Two feet closer to the entrance, and you would have been in the market for a new Sergeant.'

'Thanks for being my backup.'

'Oh God, please, please, please. Not again.'

'Anything for a living legend.'

'I'm sorry, Ed. I'm so, so sorry.'

'You woke me at six just to ask that?'

In trouble? Why was he even surprised anymore?

'And stay put until we get back, Sergeant Brown. Understand?'

'It's all over the campus that someone was in there. And someone survived.'

'I think he heard you.'

The unmistakable snick of a switchblade.

'It was so hot.'

'I don't need help to ask questions!'

'Then let me shake you by the hand, as winner of the San Francisco Police Department car destroying competition.'

'I couldn't believe it. It was just gone.'

Safe, in the only place he'd thought he'd never be safe in.

'Then maybe you can go home straight afterwards.'

'You look like you've just done a line.'

'He'll be unconscious. It won't hurt. Probably.'

He must have drunk all the coffee in the office during the afternoon.

The images kept cycling. It was out of his control, just beyond his reach and all Ed could do was lie there and let it happen. He was too tired to react. He felt the tiredness creeping slowly closer. The images were getting fainter. He should turn over and go back to sleep and sort it all out in the morning.

'Ed?'

At the sound of his name, Ed forced his eyes open. It was brighter than he thought it would be, a little blurry and indistinct. It looked like a hospital. He gave a groan. He hated the hospital.

There was a dark shape sitting next to his bed. A person. A man. In a wheelchair. The Chief? He opened his mouth to say something, but there was an oxygen mask over his face. Slowly, Ed reached up to pull it to one side.

The Chief was sitting next to him. It was a little clearer to see him, now the mask was out of the way. Ed stared at him for a moment, wondering why he was here. But they were in the hospital, weren't they? Something must have gone wrong. Somehow it always ended up like this.

'Ed,' Ironside repeated.

'Hey, Bob,' he said hoarsely. The Chief looked bemused for a moment, then gave a small smile.

'Hello, Ed.'

The Chief sounded sad. Ed didn't understand why his boss would sound so sad. He frowned. There was so much to say, so much to explain and so much to tell him. It was important. Really, really important. Ed tried to turn onto his side, to see his boss more clearly.

'I think-' he started. 'I think I drank all your coffee.'

The Chief looked surprised, but Ed sagged back against the pillow, exhausted and relieved to have that confession off is chest. At least the Chief didn't look cross. Just surprised, very surprised.

'Well,' Ironside said quietly. 'I'll be sure to get some more on the way back.'

'Thank goodness,' Ed muttered. The Chief had taken that much more calmly than he'd expected. He let out a deep sigh. That was one thing less thing to worry about. What would have happened to the office if they ran out of coffee? That would be like running out of chili. It would be a catastrophe.

'How are you feeling now?' the Chief asked.

'Like a lab rat,' he said, but not exactly sure why. There was a vague feeling of being trapped and experimented on, held against his will. He didn't like it and couldn't immediately link the feeling to a memory. Ed tried to think back, to a sensation of being cold, chained to heating pipes, with detached voices discussing his life and his death with no compassion. As he remembered more details, his breathing began to speed up and there was a flush of heat. He tried to twist away fro-

There was the touch of a warm hand on his arm.

'Take it easy, Ed,' the Chief said. 'Just take it easy.'

'Chief,' he murmured, his heart still racing. 'Don't-'

Now he was focusing on it, he could remember quite a lot about what had happened earlier in that dark basement. From coming round confused and disoriented, through the growing waves of panic and despair as he tried to figure out what had happened; and the rest, right up until the point where he was staring into a killer's eyes. Then there was only the sensation of warmth creeping slowly over his side and chest, and then everything faded to black.

It struck him that if he tried to concentrate he could remember more, but he didn't want to do that. Not yet. The idea made him feel like he was stuck on a nightmare trip, that there was no way to come back down. He could be trapped like this forever.

'You look tired,' prompted the Chief. Ed nodded.

'Very tired,' he said. 'Might need a few days off. Again.'

'That's all taken care of,' Ironside said with a slight, sorrowful sigh.

For a second, Ed worried that he'd been suspended, but the Chief didn't look annoyed with him. And now he'd told him about the coffee, that shouldn't be a problem. What else could make the Chief sound so sad?

'What's happened?' Ed asked, anxiously half-trying to push himself up. It was obvious that something had gone wrong somewhere along the line. 'Mark? Fran?'

'They're okay, Ed,' the Chief said. 'You can take it easy. Everyone else is okay.'

Ed breathed a heavy sigh of relief, relaxing back on the bed. The Chief, Mark and Fran were safe. At least no one got hurt. That was an improvement over last time.

'Mark and Fran send you their love.'

Ed frowned, confused. Again, he let his head tip to the side so he could see his boss.

'Fran?' he asked doubtfully. Ironside nodded. Ed waited for an explanation, not completely convinced at that moment they were talking about the same person. But the Chief didn't add anything. Maybe he'd figure it out later. After a short rest.

'Ed, do you know what's happening to you?' He wasn't sure what the Chief was meaning so he didn't reply. 'What do you remember?'

Ed frowned at the question. His memories from the past few days were all jumbled up, they felt real but not coherent enough to be explained. Some of them were too disturbing to think about, but there were a few he could see clearly and that probably wouldn't bring him out in a cold sweat. Slowly, he tried to form the sentences to describe those images.

'I broke another car,' Ed told him, thinking of his nice new Galaxie with a block of concrete in the hood. 'Tell Guy I'm still four cars up.'

'I didn't know it was a competition,' Ironside said.

'I should count the old wagon as two,' Ed murmured, smiling faintly at the memory, something safe and not as terrifying as the more recent ones. Besides, he'd been pretty pleased that stunt with the cliff had worked so well. And they'd gotten a new van out of it too. 'That one blew up.'

'The old wagon?'

'Concrete shocks,' he said lazily, 'two hundred miles to the gallon.'

There was a soft snort of laughter from the Chief.

'I think it was a little less.'

Ed tried to disagree, but he was getting more tired, it was pulling him down into the dark. Already? There was still so much he wanted to say.

'Do you remember the basement?' the Chief asked.

Ed did remember the basement. Those cold voices talking about him as if he was just a soulless, disposable piece of meat. He shuddered. That had happened before, six months ago: Richards, the warehouse, thinking Eve was dead and that the Chief had left him behind.

Ed shuddered again. It was the attack by McArthur that weighed on his mind, shading everything else in red. He hadn't been able to admit it to himself before, but that was the source of his terror, as well as the endless striving to keep control. There was the physical pain, and the feeling of being helpless and alone. But also the feeling of being let down and left behind, not trusted by his friend, not being good enough to have stopped it before it went so far, and of letting the Chief down.

He'd known Ironside for almost the whole of his career: from when he was a green rookie getting in the way of a murder investigation; crashing patrol cars in the rain; their first few dangerous and awkward cases when he'd proved himself to the Chief; his own promotion to sergeant and the sniper shooting; then the painful days afterwards when the Chief had no one else to take his frustration out on but him and Eve and Mark.

After the shooting they had kept working together. There were charges of brutality, suspensions, a murder rap and who knows how many last minute rescues, as well as destroying the old wagon. And finally all the day-to-day cases they had worked on together, murders and robberies and bunko fraud, drugs and firearms busts, looking after dogs and saving babies. His career was built on one friendship, and now he understood that their friendship had been tested to its limit by Richards.

Ed could also remember something else from the basement tonight, hanging on in desperation to the thought that the Chief would help him. That thought, and only that thought, had kept him from the endless abyss that was true despair, somewhere so terrible that he would never be able to get himself out. He'd given up before, with Richards, but he hadn't given up this time.

He had to say it now, before he stopped himself and let it slip away again. He had to make himself say it, because if he tried to hold it alone any longer he'd never be free of the doubt.

'The warehouse,' he said. He heard a sharp intake of breath from the other man.

'Do you remember going back there?' Ironside asked gently. 'Do you know what happened?'

Ed considered the question, not sure if the Chief was being serious. Why would he do that? He'd have to be out of his mind to go back there. But he had, hadn't he? He had wanted to hide and be safe. He had gone back to that warehouse.

'I-'

There were more images, ideas and feelings, but keeping hold of any of them for any length of time was too much trouble. The images sped up, the places and people he'd seen, randomly ordered with no pattern. Ed blankly at the Chief, too tired to react to the feelings of panic and confusion.

He could remember the doubt and fear from earlier, indistinct now but real nevertheless, always centred on what had happened with Richards. There was only one thing about that mess six months ago that still hurt to think about: the feeling of being utterly alone. He had to keep going and say it out loud, now, and be sure. Before it destroyed him.

'I-I thought you didn't trust me,' he whispered, turning again to look directly at the Chief. 'All that time on your staff and as your friend. All the cases, all the work, all the hours. After everything. Did you honestly think I could do that to you?'

Slowly, the Chief shook his head, a solemn, troubled expression on his face.

'No, Ed. Never,' he said. 'But Tony had to believe it, and to think you believed it too, so that we could come and help you. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for putting you through that. Because there is no one I trust more than you.'

Ed tried to smile, but instead he closed his eyes for a moment. A shudder went through him.

'I heard you say I was a… d-disgrace,' he said at last, stumbling slightly over the last word. 'I thought Eve was dead. I didn't help her. And I never thought you would help me.'

There was no mistaking that memory. And though it had all worked out and they'd all survived, that was the hardest to come to terms with. The nagging feeling, always in the background, that he'd let Ironside down, and the Chief couldn't trust him anymore.

'I doubted you,' Ed admitted in a whisper. 'When I was alone, when McA-' He stopped, struggling and failing to find the words to finish the sentence.

'I know, Ed,' Ironside replied, his hand tightening reassuringly on Ed's arm. 'I saw it in your eyes.'

Ed frowned. Even knowing, the Chief was still here, wasn't he? He'd always help him, if he could. Sluggishly, another memory rose up again, of being alone and trapped, repeating to himself that he knew the Chief would help him, if he possibly could. The Chief would be there. And now, here he was. Whatever trouble was behind them, the Chief was still here at his side as his friend.

'I didn't doubt you tonight,' Ed murmured. 'This time, I knew you'd come to help me.'

'And I know that too,' Ironside said with a soft smile. 'And I also know you would do the same for me in a heartbeat. And for Mark. And for Eve and Fran.'

He was right, of course. Ed had always known it, but hearing the Chief say it out loud somehow helped it feel more like the truth.

'I keep thinking, I should have done something more,' Ed whispered. 'I made too many mistakes and-'

'No, Ed,' Ironside said firmly. 'You didn't fail anyone, not me and not yourself. Because after everything they did to you, and all the darkness and despair, you still came through for us. You saved my life, and Mark's. No compromise. No second best. You did everything you could. Because you always do.'

Ed blinked slowly, unable to think of a way of countering that statement. Instead, he stared at the Chief, amazed at the conviction in his friend's voice.

'No one's infallible,' Ironside continued. 'Not you, not me. We all have to do what we can for each other. And we always will, whatever happens next. You can be sure of that.'

Ed still wanted to reply, but he was finding it hard to make his mouth move. He turned to stare blankly up at the ceiling, aware of the sounds from the corridor outside. He felt as if he could sleep for a long, long time, and started to drift away. He could feel his breathing, his heart beating, the weight of his clothes and the pull of the mask around his neck. It was all slowing down. He was falling asleep, it was a struggle to keep his eyes open. But there was still one more thing to say, he was finding it difficult to make the words come out.

The Chief lifted his hand, and started to roll the chair back as if going to leave. Ed tried to put his arm out to stop him. There was one more thing to say, and the most important. Even more important that the coffee. He focused on saying the words. Somehow, he had to try and express how grateful he was for their friendship. He tipped his head to the side, looking directly at Ironside.

'Thank you, Chief,' he said quietly. 'Thank you for everything.'

Ironside smiled warmly, but there was a sadness that Ed hadn't seen for a long, long time, from the days of the sniper case, those first days after Ironside had been injured, the days when the Chief had been the one in the hospital. Why was he looking so sad? It didn't make any sense. They hadn't lost anyone this time.

'It's always my pleasure, Ed.'

Ed tried to smile but he was exhausted now. How come talking for such a short time was so draining? He felt like he could sleep forever. He let his eyes close, and felt a hand on his arm once more.

'Dream well, my friend,' he heard Ironside say. 'I hope I see you again soon.'

Chapter Text

Chapter 23

Full Circle

There is a big, bright, glass-fronted building with doors that swing easily open. No one else is here. Ed has his gun in his hand, looking left and right.

Inside, the first thing that he feels is the heat, stuffy and dry, like the heating has been left on full blast for hours. The second is the smell. It isn't strong to begin with, just a little distracting, but as he moves further inside to look about, it becomes more pronounced. It is difficult to describe; bitter, a little like vinegar, vaguely familiar in a chemical kind of way, and unpleasant. The more Ed breathes it in, the less pleasant it becomes. After a few minutes the back of his nose is beginning to sting. His eyes feel dry and sore, and he rubs them with the heel of his hand and tries to blink away the discomfort.

The building looks empty, but the lights are on and the doors were open. It's early, too early to expect either students or staff to be working. Ed frowns, thinking back to the muddled details of the call to Control. They had almost dismissed it as a prank, as if someone was trying to get the police involved in something for a joke. But the caller had also sounded frightened and scared, maybe even a touch hysterical. Ed frowns more deeply, feeling ill at ease, sensing that something is not right about this place.

Near to the front desk, he pauses, trying to figure out what is going on and if there is someone here. There's no sound and the building feels very still and quiet. He looks back toward the entrance, looking at the huge glass-panelled front. The light from the building is strong enough to let him see the details of the parking lot outside, and he can see his Galaxie, discretely parked off to one side. The chrome glints with reflected light and Ed looks at it, his sense of unease growing.

Backup is minutes away, maybe even as much as half an hour. When he'd responded to the call they'd been pleased and relieved that a more senior officer was in the area. It had been a busy night and getting a black and white here quickly would have been a problem. As Ed looks at his car, he shivers in spite of the growing heat. It feels like he's made a mistake, yet another mistake in coming here without backup. He shivers again. He's here now. He has to get on with his job.

So Ed keeps searching, looking around in the foyer and towards the back of the room. He takes his time, making sure he has it all covered and hasn't missed anything. He knows he can't afford to make any more mistakes. The silence is unnerving, it reminds him of somewhere and for a moment he can't quite place where. Then he does and it sends yet another shiver through him. This place feels like the morgue at the hospital. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the sobering image of the cold, clinical rooms filled with the dead. It only partially works.

At last, he gets to a door that has steps leading down to a basement. Gun still drawn, Ed pauses again, unable to shake the feeling that he is getting in too deep to something he doesn't understand. But he can also sense there is something amiss here this morning. In the previous few months his instinct, along with all of the rest of him, has come under heavy fire, but he knows that there is definitely something wrong, and it is his job to help.

There's still no sign of backup and he's wary of getting in deeper without some sort of cover. This place is dangerous, his instinct is screaming it at him. There is something very wrong and he's getting himself in too deep. He knows he is. He could stop, right now, and go back to the car, where it wasn't so hot and stuffy, somewhere he could clear his head and maybe think a little straighter. But he doesn't move. He's suddenly caught between the two opposing forces, he could go, get out of here while he still could, or he could keep going and do his job. For a few seconds the decision is balanced on the edge of a knife, and he doesn't know what to do. Then his sense of duty wins through. It was always going to win, he knows that. He has a job to do and he has to keep going. Somewhere around here someone is in trouble. It's his job to help, if he could. And he's not going to leave with a job half done.

With a deep breath, one that makes him cough, he goes down the stairs. It's much darker down here, and it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the difference. He holds on to the railing as he looks around, his head feeling more sore across his temples as the smell gets even stronger. He lets out a slow huff, trying to tell himself to relax. It works well enough and Ed looks around again, able to pick out a few more details. There are strip lights on the roof, but only a few are working. The place looks very bare, with a concrete floor and undecorated walls. It almost looks unfinished and Ed half-expects the sound of builders and workmen. But there's nothing. Or is there? He listens, holding his breath, trying to make out the quietest sounds, but all he can hear is the faint hum of the lights.

Nevertheless, Ed frowns again. There is something here. He's sure that there's the sound of something. He has to make certain. So he starts checking the rooms off the corridor, one by one. They are all filled with boxes and old equipment. It feels more like a junk shop than storage, like the owner could never part with anything and had it all stored away for a rainy day, just in case. Curious, Ed looks into a few of the boxes. It's a random, and fairly comprehensive, selection of scientific equipment, some of it old and some of it looks very new, not even out of all the packaging, as if whoever had ordered it had grown bored of the idea before it had even arrived.

He keeps searching, and near the end, a door is jammed shut. It takes Ed by surprise as all the others opened easily. As he pushes against it, he hears a noise from inside the room. Although muffled, it sounds like someone is crying. He leans against the door, trying to hear more clearly, but it doesn't help. There's no response when he tries to get their attention, so Ed puts his shoulder to the door and forces it open.

It's dark, but Ed quickly takes in the scene, trying to concentrate on the details even though he finds it difficult to focus. His eyes start to water and he rubs them again. The chemical smell is much more intense and taking in air makes his nose and throat burn. He wants to reach up and loosen his tie, but he doesn't.

This is a boiler room, maybe for the heating system, as there are cylinders and a whole lot of piping. The walls and floor are bare concrete, just like the rest of the basement. There isn't much light.

He sees all of that in an instant, but his attention is drawn to the young woman sitting slumped on the floor next to the main boiler controls. She's not more than about twenty, and Ed thinks she's probably a student here. And she's crying. The sight of someone so upset makes Ed want to rush forward, his natural instinct to help someone in trouble almost overwhelming all his police training. Instead, he smiles reassuringly at her.

When she sees him, she gives a stilted half-gasp, then starts crying harder, shrinking back from him, pulling her knees up and trying to lean away. Ed lowers his gun slightly, but doesn't approach, wary as well as concerned. One glance tells him this young woman was scared, dead scared, but not of him. She's looking up at him with wide, terrified eyes, as if he was going to hit her. They stare at each other for a few seconds, Ed doesn't want to frighten her any more, but she is clearly in trouble and they can't stay here for long.

'Police,' he tells her, surprised as the distorted sound of his voice in the thick air. It's hotter now, each breath feels like he's breathing in fire and it's painful to speak. The word makes her look more nervous. Ed still doesn't move towards her, but lowers his gun slightly more.

'D-Don't arrest me,' she says miserably. 'Please. I-I don't know what I did.'

'Wh-'

'Promise me!' she says, her voice strained and shaking with terror. 'Please. Please. Tell me I'll be safe. Promise me!'

Ed has no idea what she was talking about, but he can recognise a person in trouble when he sees one. He nods.

'I promise you'll be safe,' he says, hoping that it is true. He doesn't like this situation. He can tell there is something wrong.

When he speaks, a look of hopeful joy spreads over her face. Ed takes a step forward, intending to help her stand up, but he wobbles, unsteady on his feet. He realises his vision is beginning to blur, and he tries to blink away the confusion. It doesn't help. His head feels very heavy, there is a growing pressure behind his nose and round his eyes and it's a struggle to concentrate.

The student holds out her hand in a desperate gesture. He tucks his gun back into the holster on his belt, needing both hands free to make sure he doesn't fall.

'We have to go,' he manages to say. He staggers over to her, using the walls to help keep himself steady, grabbing her hand and helping her to stand. He can feel her shaking. It's then he realises that he is shaking too. He looks down to the floor where he's standing and it feels very far away, as if he's floating high above the ground. He has a sensation of vertigo, as if he was falling from the top of the sky. He suddenly can't move, his head starts to spin and the room lurches from side to side. He's about to be sick, and grabs for the wall and the pipes to try and stop himself toppling over. It only just works.

'Get out,' she gasps. 'We've gotta get out of the building.'

Ed couldn't agree more, but moving is becoming more of a problem. Somehow, they stagger slowly out of the room and along the corridor and up the stairs together. All the time it feels like he's about to be sick, the walls are swaying so violently. Each breath in needs a deliberate effort. He's surrounded by thick, cloying air and it feels as if he has to fight his way through.

At the top of the stairs, back at the foyer, Ed stops, leaning against the wall next to the open door. It's even worse up here. He can hardly see straight, let along think straight. What was going on?

Ed looks to the front doors, confused, trying to decide what to do. The woman tugs on his hand, pulling him towards the back, but Ed doesn't move. He has a job to do. He can't make more mistakes. But he's lost his focus, and can't be sure of what he should do next.

'It's so hot,' she whispers to him incredulously. 'Why's it so hot?

The heat is suffocating, almost overwhelming and the air burns like acid. In spite of everything Ed blinks in surprise, looking around the foyer in amazement. How could anything here be giving off so much heat? Where does it come from? It doesn't smell like a fire, and he doesn't see any flames, but that was the only explanation. It's far too hot. What has gone wrong here?

The woman tugs at his hand again, trying to make him move, but he doesn't. The feeling that he's about to make another huge mistake weighs him down and he's frozen with indecision. Ed feels he should keep checking, making sure he's not done something else wrong. He lets go of her hand.

'You should get out,' he tells her, the words coming out in short, painful gasps. 'Be safe.'

He wants to say more, but the effort of just those few words is almost too much. She looks at him, confused, then does what he asks, backing away from him, looking more terrified than before.

Ed watches her leave, still leaning against the closest wall. Once she's gone, he tries to move forward, dragging himself along the wall, using it as support. Everything is going grey around the edges of his vision. Is it his imagination or is it getting even hotter? And even more difficult to breathe?

Abruptly, he stops moving. A wave of fear suddenly sweeps over him, as he thinks about the danger of his current situation. It's too hot. He can barely breathe. He can hardly think. He's not sure he can get himself out of this. The fear changes to panic and that feeling brings up unwanted memories that swamp whatever else Ed was trying to think about.

The flashback hits him hard, it's almost like a real punch, and he staggers against the wall, too shocked for a few moments to do anything. Slowly, Ed tries to focus on what's happening, it's difficult as he's drained and shaken by the memory, but he is also aware enough to understand that he's gotten himself into deep trouble. Yet again. He can't stay here. He has to get himself out.

Backup is on its way and Ed looks back in the direction the student has just gone. That's his exit. All he has to do was keep standing and it would all be okay.

He looks around once more, but this time he's less sure of himself. It feels as if he's missing something important, but when he tries to think what it might be, it slips away like water through his fingers. Something is not right here. He can feel it, but he can't understand what's gone wrong. It's a blur of half-formed memories and he's not entirely sure what he's doing here.

Screwing up his eyes, Ed tries to force himself to remember. There was a call from Control. A robbery. He left his car and came inside. And then…? What did he do then? It's too hard to think, and he looks around again, feeling deeply uneasy. It's time he left this place. Backup is on the way and… Ed frowns once more. Backup was on the way, wasn't it?

Unsettled, and becoming more worried and confused with every passing second, Ed takes a few unsteady steps towards the back of the building, but then he stumbles and leans against the wall, trying in vain to take a deep breath. Slowly he slides down so he's sitting on the floor. In front of him the air shimmers like a mirage. His head is thumping, the pressure around his eyes makes it hard to see and he can hardly breathe. He's drowning in the dead air. His fingertips are tingling as he tries push himself up off the floor. He's shivering in spite of all that heat.

This is bad. Ed knows he has to get out of here, even though he can't be sure of why that's so important. The young woman had told him to get out. But there's a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he is missing something again. He has to be sure he did his job right. He can't make a mistake. Not again. What if this is going to be another time he messes up and misses something important? He has a job to do, even though at that moment he hasn't a clue what he should be doing. But he can't keep making mistakes.

One final time, Ed tries to stand again but the effort is too much. He slumps down, feeling defeated and overwhelmed. It's confusing, too confusing to understand, and this is a confusion that will never lift, though Ed doesn't know it yet.

He looks down the central hall, wondering why it feels so important to go that way. There is a sudden stab of panic and confusion as Ed realises the grey wave of unconsciousness is about to overtake him. He's about to pass out. The floor is sliding up towards him as he tips to the side. That isn't supposed to happen. No, he has to keep going, he has a job to do. He has to keep-

A minute after that, the exploding front of the Kingston Building sends a shower of steel and glass fragments up into the San Franciscan morning.

Days of waiting, sitting in a private room at the hospital, just waiting. The Chief was used to waiting, but this was different. Each day the doctors said the same things: "slow improvement", "the tests are showing positive signs", "we'll see how he is tomorrow". The news was that Ed was going in the right direction, but they always stopped short of saying anything more. And so they were waiting, waiting, waiting.

Mark was with Ed today. They were only allowed in one at a time, the hospital staff were obsessively strict. Only one visitor at a time, and only for ten minutes. They had taken it in turns, but Ironside had been there every day regardless, keen to hear if there had been any change. Usually, Dr Moran came to speak to him, keeping him updated and he had come to know the doctor better and enjoy speaking with him. But today he was alone.

With no one else to talk to, the Chief sat and stared out of the hospital window, his thoughts drawn inevitably back to his sergeant, and the short, intense conversation they'd had just as Ed was going under.

Ed had been lying in a small room, the transfusion going in to his arm, and had stirred restlessly as if in the throes of a nightmare. He'd looked a mess, shirt covered in dirt and saturated with blood. There had been flecks of glue on his mouth, dry blood over his face, and a few scratches around his temple. They'd been in that position before, just six months ago, Ed lying in a similar state after Tony's attempt to destroy them. It had felt as if they'd gone around in one large circle, ending up back where they started.

Their conversation had been painful. Ed was confused, just like Katie, and had become distressed the more they'd spoken. The Chief wasn't sure what he had expected, but he'd hoped at the time Ed would be in better shape. He clearly didn't understand what had happened to him or how close his brush with death had been. Ironside gave a little smile, thinking how worried Ed had looked about the coffee and the car.

Then they'd spoken about the aftermath of the kidnapping, and what Richards and McArthur had put Ed through. The Chief had been surprised when Ed brought the subject up, as it was obvious how difficult he'd found speaking about it. The sorrow in Ed's eyes as he'd tried to explain was just as real in the Chief's memory as it had been that day in the warehouse. Ed had been caught in the middle, used by Richards to get to the Chief, and ultimately manipulated by both of them. Tony had needed Ed at the edge of despair to hurt Ironside; just as much as the Chief had needed to keep Ed in the dark about Eve, knowing that it was a cruel thing to do to anyone, let alone a friend and one in such a vulnerable position.

Yet again, a wave of deep regret washed over the Chief. In the circumstance it had been his only choice if he'd wanted to save Ed's life. They both knew it. They had been friends for many years, Ed had trusted him with his life, and vice versa, so many times. The battle against Richards had been a test of that friendship, one that Ed had thought he'd failed by giving in to despair and doubting the Chief would help him.

But in that situation there was no failure or success, there was only getting thought it alive, and with their friendship intact. Ed had finally found his own way through the doubts and confusion, and out of the other side.

"I didn't doubt you tonight. This time I knew you'd come to help me." Ironside smiled as he thought about those words. In spite of everything, their friendship was still intact, and stronger than before, the Chief was sure.

Now all he needed was Ed to wake up so they could find out how much he remembered. The thought was sobering. It was possible that Ed wouldn't remember much about anything. Dr Moran had been clear what the worst case scenario would be, even though he was very hopeful that wouldn't be the case.

There was a knock, bringing the Chief out of his own thoughts and back to the hospital. He turned as the door opened.

'Bob? May I come in?' the Commissioner asked.

The Chief looked at him in surprise. The hospital was not where one usually found Commissioner Randall. Ironside watched as the other man walked in and settled himself on a seat beside the wheelchair.

'How's Ed today?' Dennis asked politely.

'You know perfectly well how he is,' Ironside said. 'He's heavily sedated. Just like the previous day. And the day before that. In fact, he's been heavily sedated since he was admitted.'

The final word brought the memory of that first early morning back to the Chief once again. Ed lying there, covered in blood, confused and disorientated. He'd been through so much and there was always the possibility that he wouldn't recover. What would they do if that was the case? He had no answer.

Ironside realised he was staring at the floor, and the Commissioner was waiting silently for him. He looked up, frowning.

'In any case, Bob,' Dennis said slowly, 'I have some good news for you. And some bad news.'

'And which do I want first?'

'The good news,' the Commissioner said firmly.

'Which is?'

Dennis gave a warm smile.

'I've just had a long talk with the Chief Registrar. He says they're very pleased. They're going to start waking him up later today. I said I'd pass the news on so you would know right away.'

The corner of the Chief's mouth twitched into what might have been a fleeting smile.

'That soon? Are they sure?'

'May I remind you that San Francisco has highly competent medical staff. Who know what they're doing.'

'And what are they doing?'

Randall smiled more widely.

'Bob, he's going to be okay. They are very pleased. The latest blood tests and scans show that everything is almost back to the way it should be. There will only be a tiny amount of that explosive left. It will break down over the next few weeks.' Dennis nodded, perhaps trying to be reassuring, but as he wasn't a doctor it came across in a more patronising way than he'd probably intended. But Ironside didn't scowl. He was feeling too pleased to do that.

'And?' he asked.

'They say he'll be fine. If he's careful until given the all clear.'

In spite of his best effort, the Chief knew how relieved he looked. Dennis was wise not to mention it.

'But he'll need to be kept an eye on,' Dennis continued. 'They want him to stay here, to be safe, until they are sure that there isn't any left. But I know how much he hates being in hospital, what with all that's happened.'

Ironside nodded. Weeks in hospital would be another form of torture for Ed.

'Is there another way?' he asked, unable to keep the hopeful tone from his voice.

'Well, that depends.'

'On?'

'You.'

Immediately, Ironside was back on his guard.

'What does that mean?'

'I called in a couple of favours for you,' Dennis said, with a smile that was too close to smug for Ironside's liking. The Commissioner was clearly very pleased with himself about something. 'They might be willing to let him out, if he comes back regularly for tests.'

'Time off for good behaviour?'

'Perhaps. They are worried about a relapse, so he'll need someone to keep an eye on him. And to make sure he doesn't keep on working.' Dennis looked expectantly at Ironside, and the Chief knew exactly what he was meaning. 'And I mean a proper eye on him, while he's out of the hospital. He's not on duty, he can't go out on cases and you can't let him do any work.'

Ironside tried to look innocent.

'I wouldn't do that sort of thing.'

Dennis looked back, unamused.

'I mean it this time Bob,' he said seriously. 'This isn't like all those other times. If Ed isn't careful this could go very wrong. He drank coffee and had a couple of painkillers, and look what happened. Katie Marshall took a lot more, and they still don't know if she'll get a happy ending.'

That was below the belt, but Ironside knew what he was meaning.

'Is there any more news of her?'

Dennis shrugged.

'Maybe,' he said. 'They don't know. There was much more damage, with the drugs she took before…' The Commissioner gave a long sigh. 'They'll keep on going, and there is more hope than there was a few days ago. I spoke to her parents and they are very grateful for everything you and your staff did to help her. And that young man is staying with her too. But who knows what the long term effect will be for her.'

Not for the last time, the Chief thought about the picture of Katie that Fran had shown him, the young woman with a pretty, fun-loving smile. He looked to the floor and took a long breath in.

'And Ed? Long term damage?'

Dennis gave a small smile.

'They were very pleased with his tests and the scans, and they think he should be okay without that poison in his system. Except his memory of those few days will likely be bad to non-existent.'

Ironside didn't know whether to be pleased about that or not. Maybe it was a blessing, if Ed's experience was anything like Dr Moran's "best case scenario". But it also meant that they might never find out what had actually happened that morning at the Kingston Building, and that Ed would probably not remember the vague but intense conversation they'd had when he'd been admitted. Ironside shook his head slightly. There would be other opportunities to speak to Ed over the coming weeks, and he would make sure he took them.

'And in the future?' Ironside asked.

'With the poison out, it will improve. The Chief Registrar expects a full recovery with no long term problems.'

Ironside did smile that time, pleased beyond all measure that Ed would be okay. They only had to make sure he was careful until he was fully well. That shouldn't be too difficult.

'What do we have to do?'

'He will need company at all times until they're satisfied it's all gone, so that if he has an adverse reaction, or anything goes wrong, they can get help. If I can't get you to guarantee that you'll look after him, then he'll have to say here.'

'Well of course…'

'No, Bob. I mean it.' Dennis interrupted.

Ironside glared back at him.

'So do I. You have my solemn word.'

Ed hanging around the office, there were plus sides to that. It would be good to spend some time with the man, they had barely seen each other outside work. A few games of poker. Ed had a good poker face, even though he tended to play tight and minimise his losses. He was good at chess as well. He might even be well enough to answer the phone and do the filing if he got bored of watching other people work. The Chief found that he was looking forward to it.

'I suppose as bad news goes that's not so bad.'

'That's not the bad news,'

'Then what is?' he demanded.

Dennis paused, how well the Chief knew that look. How many times had he seen the pursed lips and the slight raise of the eyebrows? Any moment now he was going to take his glasses off and pretend to clean them. A moment later, Dennis did reach towards his glasses, and Ironside fought the irrational urge to slap his hand down.

'Curtis Kingston has gone.'

The bitter, furious stab of emotion the name caused in Ironside's chest was brief but intense.

'Gone?' he said. 'Gone?'

'Yes, Bob. Gone. As in vanished.'

'Vanished?'

Dennis scowled.

'You're not helping.'

Ironside glared right back.

'I'm not helping? What happened to "a whole department of competent police officers"?'

'I have everyone we can spare out looking.'

The Chief swallowed the next rude comment.

'So where is he?' he managed to ask.

Dennis just shrugged, with nothing to say. Mr Curtis Kingston, who always had a backup plan. It looked like that backup plan had panned out this time. Truthfully, the Chief wasn't sure how to respond. Was this yet another decision that was going to come back and haunt him? It was too late to worry about that.

The point was that Ed had survived, and was going to be okay. His sergeant's life was so much more important than an arrest. Curtis Kingston had his photo out to every police department in the country and a lot of other countries as well, and the FBI were looking for him. He would have to run forever.

'Sorry it's not better news.'

'The good news was good enough,' Ironside said. The handle of the door turned, and Mark appeared through the door, having been with Ed for the past ten minutes.

'I swear they're making it shorter each day,' Mark said, shaking his head. He nodded a greeting to the Commissioner.

'We have good news,' Ironside told him with a smile.

'We do?'

'In a few days' time we'll be having a guest to stay.'

Chapter Text

Chapter 24

A Favour for a Friend

Time to go home, Ed thought.

He was sitting nervously at the edge of the bed, already bored with being cooped up in the hospital, even though he'd only been fully awake for three days.

Doctor Moran had just left, after telling him for the fortieth time about the rules and the conditions of his discharge, and Ed felt he could recite them backwards. But that made him feel better, at least he wasn't forgetting as much anymore.

Two weeks of his life were as good as gone. As well as the fragments of memories, the others had mentioned bits and pieces to him, although he hadn't wanted to ask for the full details when he was still in hospital. He wanted to be clean and clear of this place first.

He was going to have plenty of time in the next few weeks to figure out the rough sequence. He had specific memories of some of the events, but it was jumbled up and confusing, hard to put it all in the right order. Sometimes, he would remember a new image or fragment of conversation that didn't fit in with the rest. He'd even wondered if he was making some of it up just to fill in the blanks. But once he read the report, and talked to the others, it should get a bit easier.

The only part Ed remembered with any clarity was a disjointed conversation he'd had with the Chief, while on the edge of going to sleep. He wasn't positive he didn't dream most of it, but even if he had, just the idea of it filled him with a renewed trust in the calm, steady friendship he shared with the Chief and Mark. He smiled at the thought. There was no one he trusted more than them.

He knew he had to talk to them. He'd been wrong to try and keep them in the dark about how much he'd been struggling over the past six months. The prospect made him feel nervous, he wasn't sure if he knew how to begin. And somehow he would have to figure out a sensitive way to tell Fran what had happened as well. In spite of their previous differences, he knew she was kind and loyal, and once she knew she would see the last few months in a very different way. It wasn't her fault he'd found it so hard.

Ed gently shook his head. If he ever got as far as talking. Often, just starting to form the words made him break out in a cold sweat. Then there were other times, he could hardly believe any of it had happened and he felt like it was just a dream, distant and blurry. Reminding himself that they understood and they cared just made it all the more difficult.

Once more he thought about Fran. He knew she had been with the Chief for the final confrontation. She'd come to the basement and gotten him away from… the thought stalled at the names… from those people. He owed her as much as he did Mark or the Chief. All of them deserved an apology and an explanation, as well as his grateful thanks.

There was a polite knock at the door and Ed grinned. Guy Erikson had volunteered to be his driver for a few days. Maybe "volunteered" wasn't exactly the right word, but Ed was happy to help the man to get out of traffic duty even if it did mean he had to endure more terrible driving. It was the very least he could do, considering how much Guy had done for him.

'Hey!' he called. 'Come in!'

The door opened, and Ed got the fleeting impression of blonde hair and a warm smile before realising it wasn't Guy Erikson.

It was Eve. Eve?

'Hey, Ed.'

He stared at her in shock, but she didn't hesitate, coming inside and closing the door behind her. She looked exactly like he thought she should, calm, assured and dressed immaculately in what was, Ed assumed, the latest fashion.

For a second Ed didn't know what to do. Then his instinct kicked in and he stood, gathering her in a close embrace, leaning into her and feeling her hug him back. God, he'd missed her. Ed found it hard to let go. But he was tired and still suffering from his ordeal, he felt himself sway and had to step back, very reluctantly. He sat heavily back down on the bed.

'You still know how to make dramatic entrance,' he said as she gave him a mischievous smile. 'It's so good to see you. It feels like forever.'

Her smile grew wider.

'Well, I've seen a lot of you,' Eve replied. 'But you were asleep.' She smiled again, but more softly. 'Did you think I wouldn't come and see you?'

Ed looked away from her, and closed his eyes, suddenly emotional in a way that was totally unexpected. Aware of his discomfort, Eve kept speaking.

'I asked that nice traffic cop if I could speak to you very quickly, before you head back to the office,' she said, sitting down beside him. 'He didn't mind. He said you owed him a few favours, and sneaking a beautiful woman into your room behind the Chief's back could be another.'

In spite of the tsunami of emotions Ed was feeling, he managed to look round at her.

'A beautiful, married woman,' he said. 'Did you miss that part out?'

'I might have done,' she said with a wider smile. 'But Officer Erikson wasn't paying much attention.'

Ed pursed his lips, understanding exactly what she meant, and feeling more than a little ashamed of taking advantage of Guy's open nature.

'It's not been that long since I left,' she said, 'and I'm not out of practice and I can still be very persuasive if I need to be.' For a moment, Eve hesitated, and when she next spoke, it was with a quiet assurance. 'Besides, look at the trouble you get yourself into without me.'

Ed looked round at her, frowning.

'What do you know?' he asked suspiciously, fearing he already knew the answer.

'Mark told me,' she said. 'All of it. The overwork. The complaints!' She shook her head in disbelief. 'The explosion. Going back to the warehouse. Finding you in the basement. The way they hurt you.'

She was watching him as she spoke, and even though he tried, he couldn't disguise the feelings that her words dredged up. He held his nerve, letting the memories come back, letting himself watch as they tried to get his attention, just waiting for them to go. Sometimes it was easier than others, but he thought he was getting better at it.

'Oh, Ed,' she said, reaching out to take his hand.

'I hate it when you say that,' he told her, his voice shaking slightly.

'You should have said something to me,' she continued ignoring his attempt to derail the conversation. 'Because I know you, Edward Brown. I know what you're like. I know you hate being at the centre of things like this and you hate admitting that you might need help. You're just like the Chief. But after everything you did for me, you should have told me. You should have trusted me. You don't have to do everything on your own.'

There was a gentle look of reproach on her face, but he didn't know what to say. Then she leaned over, kissing him chastely on the cheek.

'Please don't go down the same path again. As a favour to me, please promise me you won't. Because I owe you my life, not just because of Richards,' he saw the flash of utter disgust on her face as she said the name, 'but because of all the times before that as well.'

He looked at her, still unable to reply.

'Do you promise me?' she asked. 'Do you, Ed?'

What else was he going to say to one of his closest friends?

'Okay. I promise.'

She gave him a pretty smile and he felt the room light up. He'd missed her smile.

'That's what I came to say. And you can take me out to lunch when you're feeling better.'

Ed gave a soft laugh.

'I still can't afford to take you to Ernie's,' he said, shaking his head.

'I'll settle for a hot dog, just this once.'

'Deal!'

She looked directly into his eyes.

'And then you can tell me about it. All of it.' She gave him a look that meant she wasn't going to be argued with. Ed wasn't sure how he felt about her directness, apart from uncomfortable and strangely grateful. 'And after that, if you need to speak to me, even if you're busy and we can't meet up, there's such a thing as a telephone.'

Ed hesitated, not wanting to agree, but knowing she was right. Trying to get through it all on his own had only caused him more problems. He should have told her. And he should have been more open with the Chief and Mark. And Fran. If he had, maybe it wouldn't have been so hard each day to keep on going. She held his gaze a moment longer, and the more he looked at her, the more he felt like smiling back.

'Thank you,' he said, slipping his arm around her. 'Just, thank you.'

Eve leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, grateful for her friendship and her support. They sat side by side in silence for a while, both alone with their memories but with each other for company.

At last, Eve moved.

'Officer Erikson will be waiting for you,' she said. 'I said I'd only be a minute. It's time to go.'

Ed nodded. Together they stood up to leave, Ed picking up his bag from beside the door as she opened it. Guy was waiting for them in the corridor. He was sitting on a seat, slumped casually back as if he'd had a liquid lunch, his head against the wall, and he was staring at the ceiling. When he saw them, he jumped up, looking embarrassed.

'Oh! Hey!' he said.

Eve didn't even blink, just smiled at him.

'I said I wouldn't be too long,' she said. 'Didn't you believe me?'

Guy stared at her, mouth open like a fish in air, flushing red. He looked at Ed for support, and Ed felt obliged to help him out.

'Of course he did, Eve,' he said. 'And thanks for dropping in to say hi.'

Once more, Ed hugged her, feeling indescribably better for seeing her and speaking to her. Then she gave Guy a final, graceful smile and walked off down the corridor, swinging her bag slightly. Both men stared after her, Guy with a wistful, awed look on his face. Ed just smiled, grateful to have had a chance to talk to her.

After she was out of sight, Guy gave a quiet, appreciative whistle.

'She is beau-ti-ful,' he said. 'Girlfriend? Lucky man!'

'She's just a friend,' Ed replied. 'One of my best friends. I've missed her.' Guy opened his mouth, looking like he was going to add something smart and sarcastic.

'And married!' Ed told him. Guy frowned.

'The best ones always are,' he said with a huff. 'Still, you've got nice friends.'

Ed nodded, and clapped Guy gently on the shoulder.

'Yes. Yes, I do.'

At the sound of the elevator, the three people in the office all looked up expectantly towards the door. Both Mark and Fran were sitting at the near table, and the Chief was in the kitchen pretending to cook. They'd been on tenterhooks all morning, unable to get any work done. Time had moved slowly. Far too slowly for the Chief. Besides, how long did it take to drive a man from the hospital to this department?

The door opened and Ed walked inside, looking slightly unsteady. He was accompanied by a young, gangly, traffic cop with a tuft of blonde hair.

'Anybody home?' Ed asked.

Both Mark and Fran looked round at him, smiling widely. Ironside watched Ed for a moment, then hid his smile behind the usual frown.

'You're late!' he said seriously. It was a pantomime, but they all expected him to do it like this. The officer turned to Ed with a smirk.

'That was your fault, Brown.'

Ed ignored the comment. He was looking straight at Ironside.

'That's a nice way to greet a member of your staff,' he replied, risking a slight grin.

'But you're not a member of my staff, Mr Brown. You're not on active duty. Not until the medical officer says so. Until then you are a guest.'

Ironside transferred his steely gaze to the young policeman standing at Ed's side. The Chief saw the man gulp, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Ed gestured to his companion.

'Chief Ironside, this is Officer Erikson. Guy, this is the Chief.'

Ah! That explained a lot. No wonder they were late.

'A pleasure to meet you in person, Officer,' Ironside said. Erikson looked as if he was either going to faint or burst. Maybe both.

'Well, look at that,' Erikson muttered. 'Chief Robert Ironside.'

Erikson flicked a lightning-fast, knowing glance at Ed who visibly bristled. Was it his imagination, but did Erikson find something funny?

'So,' the Chief said. 'You're the young officer who helped Mr Brown? The same one Lieutenant Donally bawled out twice in two days for disobeying a direct order?'

That wiped the cheeky smirk of his face.

'Yeah, Chief. Um, yes sir! That's me. What can I say?' He turned to Ed. 'At least I didn't get bawled out for destruction of police property. My car is still in one piece.'

'Thanks for reminding me,' Ed muttered, looking uncomfortable.

'Yeah, well, what are friends for?'

'Friends?' said Ed, looking round at Erikson in mock seriousness. 'Being your friend must be dangerous.'

'No more dangerous than being one of yours!'

Ed frowned more deeply, his hands on his hips.

'Oh? Didn't you say you swore on the life of your best buddy not to do exactly what you turned around and did? Does your best buddy know his life was on the line?'

Erikson chirped a laugh, patting Ed gently on the shoulder.

'You are far too trusting, my friend,' he said. 'You should have checked exactly who my best buddy was first. Because maybe I could have been meaning an idiot sergeant who owes me at least two fu-, ah, huge favours? You think I have many people owing me any favours? Let alone huge ones? You're my best buddy until they're paid up in full, Sergeant Brown!'

Ed smiled, a slight but warm, relaxed smile that Ironside hadn't seen in what felt like a year. Then Ed held out his hand, and Erikson shook it, with the cheeky grin back on his face.

'I think I owe you five huge favours by now, Guy,' Ed replied ruefully. 'That might take a long time.'

'Well, yeah,' replied Erikson. 'Just don't end up back in the hospital and we'll call it four. Maybe four and a half. Actually, no. Five does sound about right. And a beer or two. Oh, wait, someone can't drink beer for a while.'

'Don't remind me!'

'You can still watch me drink, yeah?'

Ed chuckled, a sound that almost made Ironside smile. But he didn't, determined to at least pretend to look like he was annoyed at Ed for a while longer.

'That's a deal,' Ed replied.

'I better get gone back downstairs. Just let me know when you need a ride. And you're due back at the hospital this evening for a blood test.'

'I know!'

'A-huh?' Erikson gave him a scathingly sarcastic look, and turned to leave. 'You know which day it is yet?' he called over his shoulder.

Ed scowled after him, about to say something.

'Erikson!' called the Chief, interrupting. The young officer looked back around at him tentatively. 'You get thanks from me as well.'

Now that was a smile to remember. It beamed across the room, then Erikson practically floated off through the door. Ed watched him go, hands stuffed in his pockets, still with that slightly rueful look on his face.

'It's Tuesday,' Ed muttered under his breath. 'It is Tuesday, right?'

Everyone was still for a moment, then Fran stood and threw her arms around Ed, giving him a warm, tight hug. For a second Ed stood, not reacting, looking surprised and a touch embarrassed.

When she pulled back, her arms were still around his neck. She looked up at him. Fran had her back to the Chief so he didn't see her expression. He didn't need to, as a sad, troubled look of understanding crossed Ed's face. They stared at each other in silence before he spoke, Ed clearly struggling to find the right words.

'I see,' he said at last, not looking away from her. 'So it's like that is it? You know about what happened. I suppose it's hard to keep a secret in this place.'

At the words, Fran hugged him again, burying her face into his shoulder, and Ironside was pleased at the way Ed leaned into her this time, holding her in his arms. He returned the hug much more warmly than before, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

'You don't have to keep a secret like that from me,' Fran said, her voice muffled by Ed's shirt. 'You don't. Not anymore.'

They stood for a moment, then Ed carefully disentangled himself from Fran. He smiled back at her, one of those rare, full smiles that he reserved for only a very few occasions. Then he nodded.

'Thank you, Fran.'

'That goes for us too,' Ironside said.

Ed looked around at the three of them.

'And I need to thank all of you,' he said quietly. 'I'm owing everyone favours now.'

'Friends don't keep a score,' Mark told him. Then he grinned. 'Which is just as well as we're always bailing you out of something.'

Ed gave a soft laugh.

'You do it so well,' he said. 'I don't know what I'd do without you all.'

He looked at the Chief, still smiling. Ironside wasn't even sure that Ed remembered any of the things he'd said the first night in the hospital, or would remember any of it in the future. But there was a calmness in his gaze that filled Ironside with a genuine hope that they would get through all this in one piece.

Then he shook his head. What would they think if they knew how emotional he was getting in his old age? He frowned playfully at Ed, not able to fully disguise his own smile.

'And just why are you here anyway? Don't you have a home to go to?'

'That's real funny, Chief,' Ed replied, gently lowering himself into the seat opposite Ironside. 'Are the next few weeks going to be like this the whole time?'

'You'd better believe it,' Mark said, still grinning.

'Great,' Ed replied, with an exasperated sigh.

'Thinking of going somewhere else?'

Ed shrugged, then shook his head.

'Where else am I gonna go?'

'Hospital again?' Mark suggested helpfully. 'I think you have your own suite there, for when you need it.'

'I'll pass.' Ed gave a huff. 'They wanted to keep me practically under guard. If I didn't get out of that place, I was going to go stir crazy.'

'You still have to follow their rules when you're here,' Ironside said.

'I know,' Ed replied with a long sigh. 'No alcohol. Not even an aspirin. I'm on bread and water until they give me the all clear. Dr Moran told me. About a hundred times.'

'At least the coffee is safe for a few weeks!' Mark added, grinning widely at Ed's frown.

'And it's a good job we had the champagne before you arrived,' said Fran happily.

Ed's shoulders sagged and he gave a sigh.

'I'm missing all the good stuff,' he said.

'Yeah, that's a tough break,' said Mark. 'You allowed chili?'

'Nope! No chili. For weeks.'

Mark laughed.

'That's some silver cloud.'

Ironside looked horrified.

'No chili? Weeks!?'

'Not unless you want me to risk tripping out again?' Ed replied seriously. He glanced round the table. 'I didn't think so. Let's not take that chance.'

'It's that bad, huh?' asked Mark.

Ed nodded.

'Oh, yes. I only got out on a solemn promise to keep to the rules and not do anything stupid.' He looked at the Chief. 'This time I'm gonna stick to it.'

And since they were talking about "stupid", there was one more thing to get out of the way. The Chief fixed Ed with a steady stare, leaning slightly forward in his chair. Ed looked back and clearly knew what was coming. The innocent expression on his face was the same one he'd used before, usually when he'd been caught crashing cars.

'This was not the way I had intended to curtail your excess hours,' the Chief told him.

'Chief?' Ed kept the angelic, butter-wouldn't-melt look up for a few moments. Ironside continued to watch the other man. Ed sighed.

'So you know what I'm talking about?' Ironside asked. Ed nodded once again, his lips pursed, and he looked down at the floor.

'Yes, Chief,' he replied.

'There will be no more driving around at night getting into trouble. Will there?'

'No, Chief.'

'And we won't be doing any more unpaid overtime for a while, will we, Mister Brown?'

'No, Chief.'

'And in the future when we are needed to do overtime, we will know our limits. Am I clear?'

'Yes Chief.'

Well, that conversation was a lot easier than he'd thought it was going to be. He smiled.

'Good. I'm pleased that's over with.'

Ed frowned at the words, and Ironside paused, not continuing. Instead, he waited for his sergeant to speak. So did Mark and Fran. There was a tense silence.

'I'm not sure it is over with,' Ed told them, looking around at the others. 'There's a lot I should tell you. That I want to tell you.'

'And you'll have plenty of time while you're here,' the Chief said gently. 'And any time you need to.'

Ed accepted that with a tiny nod. He closed his eyes and when he spoke his voice was very quiet.

'Some of it I can't remember, but some of it I can't get away from.'

The Chief saw the way his friend shuddered as he spoke. But when Ed opened his eyes there was a steady look in his eye, and he smiled at the Chief.

'And there are still so many blanks and loose ends about the case,' he added.

'Always an enquiring police officer?' the Chief said.

'What do you expect,' Mark put in suddenly. 'You know where he's got that from.'

They all smiled, even the Chief.

'There may be gaps for you Ed, but not for this department,' Ironside said. They hadn't spoken of it at the hospital, Ed hadn't asked and the Chief was content to wait until he was ready to find out more. 'Most of the case work is filled in. The forensics from the marina. The arrest of the men hired to follow you. Those ridiculous letters. Frank's finished a full report, and he's very excited about it. You can read the files, and ask as many questions as you like.'

That was the easy part to describe. The rest wasn't so pleasant.

'Julia Wright's funeral will be in a few days. FBI has taken over that case, and they'll be investigating all her activities. They might need to talk to you.'

'That's not what I mean,' Ed replied, swallowing hard.

'Kingston?' The man who'd come within minutes of killing him. Ed nodded, but didn't say anything more.

Just the thought of the name ignited the fury inside the Chief once again. It was easy to blame himself for letting the man run. But he'd chosen Ed's life over the blind pursuit of justice, and he would have done the same all over again if he had to.

'He's gone, Ed. His picture is all over the wires from here to the Moon. He'll need to run forever.'

And Curtis Kingston had better not show his face in San Francisco again, Ironside thought bitterly. Because there would be Hell to pay if he did.

No one spoke. The Chief gave a silent sigh, looking at his staff, relieved that they were all going to be alright. It had been a mess, but somehow they were all out of the other side. He didn't want to let any of them sit, brooding on the past all day. It wasn't good to do that, and certainly not when they had work to do. A sense of normality was what they all needed, at least until dinner when they could relax.

'Well Mr Brown,' he said with a smile, 'if that's all for the moment, the rest of us are not on medical leave, and we have work to do.'

'Oh, Chi-ef!'

'You sure, man?'

'Yes, work,' he said firmly. 'Especially since we are shorted-handed for the moment.'

He looked between Fran, Mark and Ed, frowning on the outside, but smiling on the inside.

'Fran, Mark, let's get back to those files for homicide,' he said, gesturing at the long forgotten folders sitting alone on the far table. 'We've got real police work to do.'

Ed slowly raised his hand.

'Can I help? Just for a while? There's not a lot else to do at the moment.'

'What sort of help?' Ironside asked suspiciously. 'You're not meaning actual police work, are you? You don't want me to get into trouble with the Commissioner, do you?'

Ed gave his boss a little, hopeful smile.

'I'm good at filing,' he said. 'And I can still make coffee, even if I don't get to drink it.'

Ironside considered the request.

'A short while, maybe, Ed. A very, very short while. And then you can rest. You're only out on good behaviour.'

They all stood, Fran and Mark heading to the other table, already talking about the case work. Ironside rolled forward only to have Ed move into his path. They looked eye to eye.

'Thank you, Chief,' Ed said quietly. 'Thank you for everything.'

The way Ed spoke made Ironside pause, looking carefully up at his friend, wondering how much he remembered of their conversation in the hospital.

But maybe it didn't matter. They had to keep going forward, no matter how hard the past had been. They were all here, together, and all still alive. Perhaps they all had guardian angels that worked overtime.

The Chief gave a brusque nod and they smiled at each other.

'That's always my pleasure, Ed. Now let's get on with it.'

Epilogue

It's always rainy in this damn country, thought the man as he looked out of the cafe window to the dreary sight of a damp London road. The sky was grey with clouds, and people hurried around, hiding under their umbrellas, not looking at each other. I should have chosen somewhere warmer. And somewhere with less rain.

As he was staring, a nondescript man sat down at the table opposite to him, giving a subtle nod as he handed over an envelope and a newspaper.

'It's all taken care of, sir,' his contact spoke with a clipped English accent. 'It's all in the locker, waiting for you to collect it. Euston Station.'

He nodded, and his contact nodded back then sat still, waiting for his boss to be ready to leave. But the man was in no hurry. Instead, he opened the paper and flicked through it, skimming through the pages, until he found what he was looking for. On page five there was an article about the demolition of a damaged building, and a brief mention of the mysterious disappearance of its owner. He shook his head. It wasn't even front page news. Soon it would be forgotten and it would be safe to go back to his home country.

In the meantime, there was much to do, and money to be made. Opportunities were everywhere, even in this dreary little city, and he had the time to kill while he waited. That was one of the advantages of being into shady business deals and having friends in low places. It was the easiest thing in the world to make sure he had enough stashed away for just such an eventuality. This wasn't even the first time he'd had an impromptu change of career.

Still, it was a situation he would rather not have been in. Looking back, it was obvious what he'd done wrong. He'd overstretched himself, he could see that now. He'd taken it all a step too far. If he hadn't tried to implicate those students, no one would have been any the wiser to his scheme. He should have been able to scam many, many millions off the insurance. The thought that he'd missed all that money left a bitter taste in his mouth.

And it was a shame about Julia as well, but there had been no way to avoid it once Ironside had figured out what was going on. A distraction was what he'd needed, enough time to get through the door, and then to just vanish. He'd suspected Ironside would have been armed, the man would have to have been a fool to go in to that situation without a gun. And Chief Ironside was not a fool. Having been goaded and insulted for ten minutes, then baited with the immanent death of his pet sergeant, he'd been almost certain Ironside would have taken the shot.

Still, he missed Julia. She had been a good friend and a loyal collaborator, as well as a brilliant scientist. But he was enough of a realist to know that there were always some sacrifices to be made in the pursuit of money. The way it had worked out, it felt like he'd saved her, because she would have hated being in jail and being away from her beloved lab work. At least this way, her death had some sort of purpose. Maybe not a purpose she'd envisaged, but a purpose nonetheless.

It was pointless to dwell on the details. He had no intention of being maudlin, but he would learn his lesson and wouldn't overstretch himself again. He was still rich, but he couldn't afford to go changing names too many more times.

He thought about Chief Ironside, letting himself feel the simmering anger that had been there from the moment they had met. No one else had ever come close to stopping him before. Now a cripple in a wheelchair had almost caught him. The fact that Ironside had gotten so far was an insult. Worse, the man had backed him into a corner and if it hadn't been for Ironside's irrational and misplaced loyalty to his useless sergeant, he would have been in prison. With no money. He shuddered at the thought. Now that was truly a fate worse than death.

As he thought back to the confrontation in the basement, the anger grew more acute. The thought that Ironside had almost beaten him was infuriating beyond words.

How could he let the man get away with that?

For a few moments, he wallowed in the thought of what he would do to repay Ironside. Then he shook his head, and dismissed the idea. Revenge was a strong motivator, but making money was so much more important. It was always going to be more important. Chief Ironside and his staff had taught him an invaluable lesson: not to get so overconfident, not to let things get too complicated. Good old fashioned scams were the easiest to get away with, even on a grand scale like the dear, departed Kingston Building. In the rush from the risk, he had forgotten that. He wouldn't forget that again.

'Sir?'

He looked up, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was time to go. He took one last look at the paper before folding it up and tucking it under his arm.

Then he sighed. He wouldn't go looking for revenge. But maybe one day, if he was fortunate, he would find his way back to San Francisco. And then maybe he would find a way of paying Chief Ironside back, returning the favour so to speak, if the right opportunity presented itself.

Yes. Maybe. He might be in that position at some point, the future held many opportunities and possibilities. He would see what fate would throw his way.

With that final thought, the man once known as Curtis Kingston stood up, left a small tip on the table for the waitress, then walked out of the cafe and into the rain.

The End

IRONSIDE WILL RETURN!