Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jim faced into the darkness that was the Cascade skyline, lights sparkling in the night. The air on the balcony was chilly, the rain from another of Cascade's unending storm fronts creating a background of sound. Despite his best efforts, Jim's senses careened off into near zone outs. First his sight drifted to the neon of a café blocks away, then touch slid into the cold, wet feel of the beer he held and didn't really want. Rhythmic drips from the gutters pulled at his hearing. He struggled to rein in his senses. Fatigue muddled his thoughts as badly as his wayward senses. Nearly 40 hours without sleep, since a very average day had spiraled into a nightmare. A nightmare without an end, and apparently, without a guide. He willed the phone to ring, but only the rain answered.

He forced his mind back over the last two days, trying to harness his thoughts. Thursday? Was it Thursday? Wednesday hadn't started badly. A normal shift, Sandburg at his side. Blair, still easing into the role of full time cop, trying so hard to do everything right. The frantic pace of police work followed by grinding paperwork. They skipped lunch and dinner; stretched an 8-hour shift into 10 and then 14. Finally, an exhausted dash to WonderBurger.

Sandburg had spotted the discarded paper with the movie ads. Why not? Not a bad part of town. The late showing was still do-able. They were too wound up to sleep - too tired to go back to work or do anything productive. It sounded good, well, maybe sounded okay. A mildly amused Jim had allowed his enthusiastic partner to convince him that the foreign film across town would be the perfect midweek distraction. Why hadn't they just come home?

The truck had crawled through the side streets, looking for a place to park. They were a little late, and the spots near the hole-in-the wall theater were taken. Few pedestrians were out, but that wasn't unusual, considering the time and the drippy weather. The pavement glistened with the dim light that reflected off the wet pavement. So they had to hike a few blocks, it wasn't pouring. No problem. Jim had settled comfortably into Blair's monologue about the demonic copier in Major Crime that ate everything he fed into it. He snickered as Blair considered the viability of some African curing ceremony. It would only require some minor participation from Jim and a teensy little fire, maybe a goat...

Then the edges of his hearing had picked up voices, just out of normal range. An intense, angry argument, by the sound of it. One young voice, one older. Both male, and getting angrier. Threats, accusations, money not delivered, and then the soft sound of metal on metal that Jim identified as the clip of a firearm and a round being chambered. He'd grasped Blair's forearm and shushed the copier diatribe. Sandburg, so skilled at reading Jim in Sentinel mode, followed as Jim dragged him in the direction of a darkened alley and the staccato conversation.

They fell into familiar patterns, Jim on point, Blair, watchful and behind. Two figures, dimly backlit, had been barely visible down the alley. Weapons? One for sure, that was clear. Jim dialed up his vision. The larger man held a high caliber handgun. The second participant, much smaller, didn't seem intimidated. His hands were buried in a down coat. The coat moved as he gestured with his hands still in the pockets. Threat matched threat. The words, the body language... Jim was sure another weapon lurked in those pockets. Two, he signaled back to Blair. He had been so sure.

The argument had escalated - they had no more time to wait. Jim committed them and moved down the alley. He had been dimly aware of Blair as he moved carefully behind him in a defensive position. Jim had just shouted the required, "Cascade PD - freeze" when a shot rang out. The larger figure threw himself back and out of sight behind the cluttered dark of the alley. Then sound. Crashing, roaring sound. Jim, ready for a firefight, was not prepared for an explosion in a narrow brick canyon. Blackness claimed him.

Blair watched Jim crumple and assumed that a shot had found its mark. Later, he'd spoken of what he thought were bullet impacts all around. Though Jim couldn't claim to be an eyewitness at that point, in his opinion, Blair had done everything right. His partner had dashed forward, returned fire, and apparently, taken them a fateful step through the looking glass.

Blair reached Jim, certain he was wounded. Instead, Jim was dazed and barely conscious, but not bleeding. Blair took the lead and moved down the alley. The larger participant was gone. Carefully, Blair had prodded the other figure down on the pavement. There was no response. Jim had struggled to his side when Blair turned the body and, with horror, looked into the face of a now dead teenager. With Jim's condition as a major consideration, no pursuit seemed possible. They had backed off. Blair slumped on a curb, with his head in his hands. Jim could say nothing as his partner faced any cop's greatest fear, the possibility that he had killed a human being in the line of duty. His frustration increased as he sat helpless. Without corroboration, Jim couldn't work alone on a crime scene that he and his partner were so intimately involved with. Accusations of planted evidence were just too easy to make. They might blow the case, if there was a case.

The next hours were a blur. Backup had arrived. The crime scene was sealed. Units were sent out in search of the missing man. Lights were brought in and forensics began their work. Simon had arrived. All normal, but the story that unfolded worsened through the night and into the dawn.

Jim could think of no publicly acceptable explanation to offer for blacking out. A wallet was the only item recovered from the dead teen. More importantly, he had no weapon. The alley was searched and searched again as Detective Ellison repeated his assertion that another weapon was involved. The hail of bullets Blair adamantly reported had no explanation. As Blair agonized over the death of a child, the young victim was traced to a prominent, wealthy family with political connections.

In violation of every procedural consideration, the boy's father appeared at the crime scene, loudly insisting that independent investigators be brought in. Media began to stream in. Over Jim's protests that he and Blair needed to work the crime scene with Simon as an independent observer, in desperation, Simon finally herded them off to a squad car and returned to the station.

With Simon taking the role of lead investigator, they had given their statements. As dawn approached, the forensics evidence began to trickle in. Said evidence did not support their stories. By 8 AM Internal Affairs was interviewing the partners separately. By 9AM, Norman Tripple, the boy's father had conducted a press conference. The bereaved father accused Cascade PD of a cover-up; spotlighting Blair as an unreliable rookie with a questionable past. He even hinted at a possible conspiracy intended to damage him personally. In short, a public relations nightmare for the department, and a disaster in the making for Detective Sandburg.

By 10AM IA questioned them again. The ballistics information revealed that Blair's weapon had delivered the killing shot. No other bullet was located in the immediate area. Blair, distraught over the shooting anyway, could hardly give coherent answers after being told.

Jim's temper frayed. Rafe and Brown, discretely contacted by Rhonda, came in on their day off. Megan attempted to coordinate the evidence, but Major Crime was a madhouse. By 11 AM, Simon was handling a steady stream of brass from the mayor's office, IA, and other departments. Rumors flew. Jim was dismissed, but Blair was retained for further questioning. A heated confrontation ensued. NO, Detective Ellison could not speak with Sandburg. NO, Sandburg would not be released from interrogation. NO, it was not in the interests of the investigation to release the 'additional confidential information', whatever that was, that only IA had access to. Simon was instructed to place Jim on leave with pay and Sandburg on suspension.

In shock, Jim had gone to Simon's office, locked the door and called his father. Sandburg needed the best legal representation money could buy and Jim was determined to get that representation to Cascade PD immediately. A second call to Stephen placed all of Jim Ellison's assets in his brother's hands, with the intention of making as much cash available as possible.

By early afternoon all the players were in place. Simon tried to direct the investigation and run damage control at the same time. Sandburg's counsel emerged briefly. Blair was the sole focus of the investigation. Shaking his head, he explained that 'other factors' were still being hinted at, but were as yet unspecified. An arrest wasn't out of the question.

Jim had gone ballistic, and headed toward the interrogation room. Angry words were exchanged. In desperation, Brown and two uniforms tackled Jim to keep him from conducting his own little in-house investigation. Simon threw him out of the station at that point, and threatened to drag him out in restraints before he made matters worse. As Megan shepherded him to the car, Simon promised to call. Jim had retreated to his balcony, to wait.

So, here he was, still on the balcony and waiting. Megan had stayed, but he finally sent her back. Afternoon slipped into evening, evening into night. No word from Simon. No Blair. His father called. Stephen called. Still Jim waited, and watched the night.

He heard Simon's voice in the hallway and hustled to the door. Banks shook his head as he entered, and turned to gently direct Blair into the loft. Forget macho - Jim grabbed Blair by the shoulders and pulled him into a bear hug.

"What happened? You didn't call. Blair?"

Blair moved back a step, then headed for the couch, eyes downcast. He was silent.

"Jim, maybe we could get him something to eat. Jim, come on." Simon murmured as he pulled him across the loft.

Moving on autopilot, Jim put water on for tea and made Blair a sandwich. Simon explained softly as he worked. "There will be a hearing alleging that Sandburg discharged his weapon incorrectly; that as a rookie he panicked and gunned down an unarmed kid. At worst, he'll be brought up on criminal charges. If the criminal charges don't stick, it's highly likely that the board will suspend him permanently. You can testify, but the evidence is the real problem."

"I know what I saw, Simon," Jim answered, trying to keep his voice down. "I've seen IA do some dumb things, but this is nuts. I want to.."

"I know what you want, Jim. Everyone in the station knows after the scene this afternoon. I'm telling you, as your superior and your friend, for Sandburg's sake, back off. Everyone in Major Crime is pulling double shifts tracking down leads. I'll keep you informed, but we need you to maintain some distance. It's a conflict of interest and it won't do him any good."

"Simon, this is ridiculous."

"Hear me out, Jim. There's more. I can't tell you how all the pieces fit together, but Tripple is maintaining that this was the equivalent of a political execution. He's lobbying the mayor to have the DA prosecute this as a premeditated murder. Even if he can't succeed, he's stirring up enough controversy to damage Blair's reputation beyond repair. He's rehashing the whole dissertation mess - he'll destroy him."

"So what's the motive for this witch hunt, Simon? Why would Tripple even know Sandburg? Why do Blair and I care about this kid? Why would we want to kill him? How did an unplanned trip to a foreign film become a premeditated anything?" Jim sputtered, remembering to lower his voice after nearly shouting, although Sandburg didn't seem to be paying attention. "This cannot be happening. I will not let this happen! Blair's not going as a lamb to the slaughter again. I'll hold my own press conference, fight back..."

"Jim, listen to me." Simon took a deep breath before he continued. "We can't fight what we don't understand. Give it a couple of days. Work with the lawyer. Try to put Sandburg back together emotionally so he's functional. Let everyone work on poking some holes in these allegations before you crash in on your own. Find out who's really involved here. Blair's a mess. He needs you in other ways more than for your police work."

Jim cast another careful look over to the couch. Blair hadn't moved. He seemed unaware of the conversation or even where he was. Jim had seen better-looking cases of battle fatigue.

Simon shook Jim's arm gently. "Look, I'm going back to the station to meet with the Chief and the Mayor. I'll do what damage control I can. The lawyer is coming here tomorrow morning early. I made the appointment before he left. We'll do it discretely, but I'll send someone over with everything I can pull together. No one believes Blair would be party to a killing or crack under pressure. We've seen the kid in action too many other times. If you can get Blair to talk to you, I think that would help. I need you to go over the crime scene, but I'm assuming you need Blair to do it." Before moving to the door, he stopped at Blair's side and squeezed his shoulder. "Don't give up on us, Blair," and then he was gone, closing the door gently behind him.

Jim threw the lock, and joined Blair on the couch. "Try the tea even if you can't manage the food. Want an aspirin?"

Blair sipped at the tea, and shook his head. Struggling with the words, he finally spoke. "Jim, I can't do this. Not again. Please try to understand."

This wasn't exactly what Jim was expecting. "What do you mean? Internal Affairs doesn't have to ask our permission to push this. Come on, Blair. We both know none of these things are true. We can beat this. Just hang in there."

Blair struggled to form the words. "Jim, listen...I thought I was okay with this, but I'm not. Don't take this wrong. I'm not blaming you, but I've been publicly dismissed from one career. I can't face the humiliation again. I just can't. I need to stop this before it goes any further."

"How? Confess to something you didn't do? You're a great cop. You did everything by the book. We just have to prove it."

Blair rubbed his forehead, either in pain or distress. "Jim, its not a matter of proof or not. I can't do the inquisition again. Sometime during all the questioning today I realized it. My life won't bear that level of examination a second time around. I can't endure the scorn of everyone around me, justified or not. It's just too painful. Don't hate me for..."

Panic dawned in Jim's eyes. "You're not think of ...of hurting yourself? You wouldn't, would you? Oh, God, no...don't even think it."

Blair grabbed Jim's wrist and tried to soothe him. "I didn't mean that ...didn't mean to scare you. I meant, I could disappear and just put a stop to it. I could get to Canada and be out to a third world country before anyone knew I was gone. I've been all over the world. I can hide in places people have never even heard of. I would be okay. I'm not proud of running, but the thought of defending my reputation, such as it is, is just too much." He slumped back and closed his eyes, letting his hands drop back into his lap.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" Blair answered wearily. "It's not your decision, Jim."

"I mean no, it's not going to happen, Sandburg. What kind of life is that? On the run, no home, leave everyone who cares about you behind. Always wondering if today is the day they find you? You're an honorable person. It's just so wrong."

"Will you stop me?" Blair opened his eyes and stared into Jim's.

Jim hesitated. The quiet desperation in Blair's face frightened him. He'd seen wounded men on the battlefield do this, when they gave up and were ready to die. "No. No - I won't stop you. I'll do anything you ask, but I wish you would choose differently. Please think about this. At least meet with the lawyer tomorrow before you decide it's hopeless."

"My best chance is to leave tonight. You know this. I'm not officially in custody. You could say I slipped out without your knowledge."

"You're exhausted. Would you at least rest a couple of hours? If you're still determined to go, I'll help. I have some expertise in this covert movement stuff. Please."

"I have your word on this?"

Jim nodded his head slowly. "Yes, you have my word." He picked up the remains of Blair's meager dinner. "Go on - crash - I'll wake you."

As Blair drifted to sleep, Jim heard him whisper, "Why is this happening?"

Jim roused his roommate long enough to drag him into his room and dump him under a quilt. The loft was quickly closed and darkened for the night. Painfully aware of his promise, Jim set an alarm before he collapsed on the couch. The stairs seemed far too much trouble, coupled with the fear that, despite sentinel senses, Blair would somehow slip out without waking him. As his own fatigue swept over him, Jim wracked his brain for the argument that would keep Blair in Cascade. Even if he could come up with one, was it truly the correct choice? Was he putting his own self-interest ahead of what was best for Blair? How many times could he justify putting his own desires ahead of Blair's?

Shortly after midnight, the alarm jolted them out of an exhausted sleep. Jim stood pensively at the French doors and watched Blair stuff various essentials into his backpack, then unpack them again and grab something else. He'd kept up a steady stream of Sandburgese, no doubt to avoid any real conversation. Jim took a deep breath. Time for the performance of a lifetime.

"Uh, Jim, maybe I could catch one of the ferries to B.C. That'll work. You could be back by morning. If anyone asks you could just say I ditched while you were asleep and you were driving around town looking for me. I need to get some cash from the ATM...by the time they think of looking, it won't matter much. Could you see if my gloves are around somewhere? Glasses, I need my glasses..."

"Chief, couldn't we discuss this for a minute? There are other alternatives. We haven't taken time to think this through."

"I meant what I said earlier, Jim. We are not thinking through anything. If I'm gonna go, it has got to be now. Hey, man, I can understand if you don't want to get involved with illegal flight. I can take the Volvo and then ditch it en-route. Its okay, you know. I can do this. Not like I haven't moved on in a rush enough times with Naomi."

"Sandburg, shut up for a minute." Blair looked up startled. "Take it easy, Chief. I'm not mad at you. Just have some coffee. We can talk long enough for that. You're not awake yet. Look at you." Jim gestured toward his clumsily dressed friend. You just packed only one shoe. You're wearing your glasses on the top of your head." Jim almost laughed as his partner grabbed for the glasses. "We're talking ten minutes here. And I will take you where you think you need to go. You're my partner. How can I not be involved?"

With Blair slumped in one of the kitchen chairs, Jim started coffee. His mind raced ahead. Maybe the direct approach. Just tie him up and talk sense into him, or maybe skip the talking and just tie him up. "Blair, I know you feel bad, but we both know that wasn't some innocent, unarmed kid that went down. I heard the conversation. We know there was nothing planned about our jaunt last night." Blair stared silently at his coffee mug, as if it would be providing all the answers. "We've got two issues to sort out. Why I blacked out, and why you thought there was more gunfire. You didn't panic and you didn't imagine this. Second, why the victim's father suddenly thinks we're a hit squad. If you ask me, this is not the reaction of your typical grieving parent. We don't know anything about the kid, the other guy in the alley, or the father, for that matter, other than he's a prominent local. We haven't even started, since those idiots from IA kept us captive all day. If you leave now, nothing will convince those vultures that you aren't culpable somehow. Please wait. I give you my word, this will not go down like the dissertation and Rainier."

Blair finally gave up on the mug. "Jim, you mean well, but you just can't make that promise. I know I look out of it, and maybe I am, but I can figure out where this is going. Shooting a civilian without justification, maybe even murder charges. I won't be able to start over again. Never. We can't prove anything."

Jim slid into the chair next to his partner. At least Blair was still there, listening to what he had to say. "We haven't even had a chance to talk, much less produce proof. Chief, with the diss, you were alone and I pretty much dumped the resolution on your shoulders. You've got the important people in your corner this time. No university administration waiting for an excuse. Simon knows the score. It looks really bad, and I know you have every reason to be pessimistic, but please give your friends a chance. Give me a chance."

"Man, this is just too hard. Is it really that different? Just swap Chancellor Edwards for IA. You and Simon can't really shield me here. I'm a fraud in most people's eyes to begin with. I'm toast, and this doesn't have anything to do with trusting you." Blair vaulted out of his chair and across to the balcony. He kept his back turned toward Jim. Nice try, Blair, Jim thought. I don't have to see your face to know what's going through your mind.

"Sandburg, Simon's sending the cavalry in the morning. Review what evidence there is with me. We can go back to the scene. I hate lawyers, but Tony Radson is a good one. He'll buy us some time so we can get some work done. Either that or we both get on that ferry."

Blair exploded, whirling around to face his friend. "Don't be dumb, Jim! That suggestion is beyond dumb. Forget driving me. Forget the ferry. As of right now, you don't know anything about my plans." He stomped off in the direction of his backpack.

Jim grabbed him as he tried to storm past. Blair tried to jerk away, but Jim persisted. "I gave you my word that I wouldn't stop you. I meant it. So what's it going to be? Are you going to try and stop me from going with you? Don't I have the right?"

"Ellison, this is blackmail and I won't have it!" Blair tried to wriggle out of Jim's grip. "Both of us down the tubes is not my version of improving the situation. Don't try to pull this with me. Like I said, I may be out of it, but I'm not that out of it."

"Tough. Here are your choices. You can sit down, have another coffee, and be quiet while I pack. You can leave now and see if you can lose me." Jim released his arm, but stayed in Blair's face, arms crossed. "Fat chance. With your sense of direction, you'll probably end up in Spokane and I'll be right by your side. Or you can stay here and try to fight. Three guesses what my first choice is."

"You make me so mad - you promised!" Blair was angry, but he wasn't moving.

"Good. Mad is better than defeated. What's it gonna be? Maybe I can find your other shoe before we leave. I'll try to smell it." Jim hoped his teasing grin would be answered, but Blair remained grim.

"Forget the shoe. I'll go barefoot if you'll forget this little scheme." The anger melted into pleading. "Can't we do it my way? You can still try to clear me - I could come back."

"Won't work, Chief," Jim answered, shaking his head. "You're right, it will be an uphill battle even with you here. Our best chance is as a team. If you decide to go, I think it's a lost cause. We're doing this together, one way or the other. Now, do I pack, handcuff our sweet selves together or go back to bed?"

"Stupid. Stubborn, sneaky, stupid. I'll..."

"...make a decision right now." Jim finished and met Blair's gaze. "Come on, Blair. Make the right call."

Blair sighed. Jim could briefly see him flirt with the idea of appealing to Jim's sense of guilt or protective instincts, or try to lose him somehow. He could almost see the wheels turning. This could be Blair at his most devious. "Well?"

Blair 's shoulders sagged and gave up. "What time is the ambassador from Major Crime coming? You're going to regret this, Jim. I'm going to regret this." Blair turned in the direction of his room.

Jim snagged the back of his shirt before he got very far. "Oh no, you don't. Upstairs, rookie. I'm beat. I'm not putting my senses on alert to make sure you don't try for the great escape. You get the bed."

"Come on, Jim. I don't need a guard or house arrest."

"You most certainly do. You gave up too easily."

"Talk about trust! Don't you trust me?"

"No dice, Sandburg. We're not talking trust here, we're talking predictable. Now get up there." Jim detoured quickly to grab some bedding from Blair's room to throw on the floor. "You're my partner and my best friend and I know how you think. House arrest is exactly what you're going to get. We're wasting perfectly good snoozing time." He started herding Blair up the stairs. "Go on - go on. Not another word."

Jim flipped the covers back on the bed and stared sternly until Blair started to peel off layers. "Hey, I'll take the floor," Blair protested. "Don't make me feel guilty on top of being hopeless."

"Not a chance. You're just trying to get closer to the door. Bed. Now. No more arguments." Jim continued to push Blair gently onto the bed. "Morning will be here soon enough."

As Blair's head hit the pillow, he turned. "Jim, I don't know about this....

"It'll be okay, Sandburg. We just need to get started. Now go to sleep." As Jim's eyes finally closed, he was painfully aware that the lump in his throat seemed a lot harder than the floor at that moment.

*****

"Hey, Ellison. You holding up okay? How's Hairboy?" Brown spoke in hushed tones as he and Rafe entered the loft, loaded with files and computer printouts. "Sorry about getting physical yesterday. Believe me, I would have been happy to pull those turkeys limb from limb if it would help. No hard feelings?"

"You did the right thing...I shouldn't have lost it." Jim clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Is Simon coming? You guys look like you could use coffee. We're short on groceries, but..."

"Not to worry, Jim," answered Rafe, displaying two white bags. "We brought bagels and the trimmings, but the coffee sounds good. Simon might be along later. He said he'd catch you at the station if he didn't get here."

"Well, come on, show me what you've got."

In short order, files, ballistics reports and evidence summaries were scattered across the coffee table and reviewed. Blair joined them a few minutes later, dressed in sweats, looking decidedly rumpled. He nodded to his colleagues, but sat quietly, almost detached.

"Our big problem with IA right now is the lack of the weapon. We've been back to the crime scene twice. No bullet fragments, no ballistics evidence. We took your description of the second subject and canvassed the neighborhood. No leads." Brown sighed, fiddling with the forensics report. "Can you guys think of anything else that might help?"

Jim shook his head; Blair just looked down at the floor.

Finally, Blair whispered, "I know I heard something, more than one something. I didn't make this up. I was sure Jim was going to be full of bullet holes by the time I got to him. Man, I just couldn't have screwed up that bad and killed a kid for nothing." He ran his hands through his hair and rocked backed and forth in the chair.

"Come on, Sandburg. We'll get it figured out." Rafe picked up another file. "This is the info on the kid." He halted as he saw Blair shudder.

"Go on, Rafe. I can't make it go away by hiding from the ugly realities." Blair cast a despairing look across the room at Jim.

Rafe hesitated a moment and continued. "Drew Tripple was 18. We've got a couple of pictures." Jim picked them up, studying the face. "Senior at Evergreen Prep, high profile athlete, the works. Star player on the basketball team that's contending for the city championship."

Jim nodded as he made the connection. "Okay, I remember reading about this team. It's a big deal, if you follow local athletics." Although he rarely thought about it, he had once moved in that world. "So what else? Any trouble? Grades?"

Rafe snorted. "According to what the media is spouting, from his dad, he was the perfect child and the future architect of world peace."

"Don't be sarcastic, Rafe," Blair snapped. "He's dead."

"I didn't mean anything, Blair." A frown of frustration crossed Rafe's face. "It's just that we got a lot of hassle when we tried to get anything confirmed yesterday. The kid had all the trappings of a spoiled brat rich kid. If circumstances were a little less crazy, people would be thinking more along the lines of obstruction. We went by his school yesterday afternoon, to talk to his teachers or friends. You know, try to figure why he was down in that part of town in the first place. It was weird. For someone supposedly that popular, the other kids just didn't seem to be real grief stricken.

Henri chimed in. "I had the same impression. No one wanted to contradict Daddy, and I think they were hedging. Something about this just doesn't ring true. School administrators didn't want to give us anything. Dad's a big contributor to the school and they don't want to offend. Of course, they don't come out and say that. We just got a lot of smoke about confidentiality and how privacy was what their patrons were paying for. I guess we'll have to get a court order, but Simon was having trouble convincing anyone that this was normal procedure to check out everyone involved."

"As if they don't know," groused Rafe. "Raises my red flags to be warned off that way."

Brown continued. "We talked to his basketball coach and sort of met his teammates. They weren't real talkative. You know how hard it is to get kids that age to tell you the truth. Anyway, there was one kid, real young, just a sophomore. Got brought up to varsity a couple of games ago, real suddenly. Definitely doesn't fit in with the group. Looked real uncomfortable. He hung back a little, as if he wanted to talk, but didn't want to be seen. We're going to follow up with him. Maybe we'll get some kind of a break."

"I want to come along when you go back," Jim stated flatly. He wasn't taking "no" for an answer.

"Ellison, you're officially on leave. You can't be that visible in the investigation," protested Henri. "Simon will kill us."

"So Rafe and I will go watch a little practice, play it low key," Jim retorted.

"Jim Ellison and low-key do not belong in the same sentence," Henri responded sarcastically.

"I'll leave the tough stuff to you. If we can't find the other suspect, the kid's the only angle. I'll just be another face." The other two detectives looked unconvinced. " Come on guys," Jim wheedled. "I'll be good. Besides, there's something else. You guys have been detectives long enough not to be put off by people not wanting to talk to you. What else is bugging you."

"Yeah, well don't get your hopes up. It might be nothing." Brown pulled out some computer printouts. "It took us a while to run down. Came as a shock considering the public performance his father is putting on. Turns out Norman Tripple is not the boy's real father."

That got a rise out of Blair, but he didn't speak. Jim knew this was an issue he was sensitive about. "What do you mean?" Jim asked.

"Drew was the son of Tripple's first wife. We haven't tracked the father listed on the birth certificate. They were married when Drew was a toddler, and we haven't located any formal adoption paperwork either. The new Mrs. Tripple isn't much older than her stepson. The boy apparently has no blood relatives that were part of his life. Kind of interesting when you consider that his death has been turned into a media moment by said 'loving father'. The guy strikes me as being a barracuda, not a devoted dad, especially to someone else's kid."

After another twenty minutes of serious review, Jim had to admit that despite the myriad of folders scattered around them, they weren't any closer to clearing up this mess. Blair looked increasingly more depressed. Jim could read his thoughts. He was regretting not taking off last night when he had the chance.

A call from Simon broke up the meeting. The two on-duty detectives were needed back at the station to prepare for a meeting with the DA. Jim asked permission to attend; a request Simon turned down. Seething, Jim hung up the phone. "H, I need you to call me if anything takes a turn for the worse."

Brown cast a sympathetic look in Blair's direction. "Sure. Honestly, I can't see the DA pressing this. We haven't uncovered a shred of evidence to support any of Tripple's accusations. We even interviewed the kids working at WonderBurger. One of them remembers the two of you joking about the movie. The time logs and everything objective jives with your story. If we tried to make an arrest under normal circumstances, they would be having a fit about insufficient evidence. The guy may have pull with the powers that be, but wild claims from the grieving parent don't make a case. Even if the jerk can get it printed on the front page of the morning paper."

Blair's head shot up. "This crap is in the paper? On the front page? How much? How bad is it?" He stared at Jim, betrayal written all over his face. "Jim, did you know this?" He surged toward the door.

Jim dragged him back, shooting an icy stare at Brown. "No, I didn't know. I haven't gone to get the paper, and you're not either. I'll go down and get it, and walk them out. Now stay put, Sandburg." He pointed Blair back in the direction of the kitchen and firmly shut the door behind the three of them, locking it as well. Just outside the door, Jim couldn't stop himself from venting at Brown. "Great. Just great. He could have done without that, you know."

"I'm sorry, Jim. It just didn't occur to me..."

"Well, it should have!"

"Come on, Ellison, lay off. Henri didn't mean anything by it. How long did you think you could keep this from Sandburg? He would have found out, and it would have been worse if he thought you were trying to keep him in the dark."

"In case you didn't notice, I think he already does," snapped Jim.

"I hate to break the news to you, but he would have known as soon as you set foot outside this place. You've got reporters staked out in the parking lot. The only reason we got through is because they didn't connect us with you and Sandburg right off."

"Damn. Where is the chopper on the roof when I need it?" growled Jim. He shrugged in disgust when the elevator never made an appearance and the three men trooped down the stairs.

They heard the commotion before they hit the last landing. Fighting his way through the media crush was a slim, dark-haired man in his early forties. The divergent groups crushed together at the entrance to the building. Rafe and Brown shoved their way out, creating a serious roadblock to the oncoming media. Jim retreated with the new arrival and hit the stairs running. Together they dashed up the stairs, two at a time, hoping to keep some distance between themselves and the reporters.

The newcomer made the introductions. "Hey," he panted, "I'm Tony Radson, Blair's lawyer. You must be Ellison. You look like your father."

"Sorry - we didn't really have a proper introduction yesterday. One more flight."

"You were more interested in wringing a few necks, if I recall. You got another way out of here? I hate to drag my client through that mess."

Jim finally got the key into the lock while he sized up his fellow stair-climber. "Thanks for coming. We can try the fire escape on the way out. I don't suppose they'll get bored and go away?"

"Not a chance. How's my client today? Yesterday was a tough one."

Jim shook his head. "Come on in and ask him."

Blair was flaked out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He seemed a bit startled as they entered, but composed himself quickly. He stood to greet his lawyer, looking embarrassed and flustered. "Hi, Tony. I guess I forgot you were coming. I can't seem to concentrate on anything. What do we need to do today?"

Tony Radson shrugged out of his suit coat and crossed the room to shake Blair's hand. "Don't apologize. It's perfectly normal to be distracted. You've had a huge shock. I've had clients who couldn't answer the simplest things because of the stress." Jim listened in silence, relieved by Radson's easy competence and acutely aware of how different it was to be a bystander in an investigation, especially one he cared about. "I've notified both the District Attorney and Internal Affairs that you will submit to further questions only in my presence," Radson continued. "It's courtesy that they should route any further requests through me. We'll see IA again at one. No word from the DA, but I'm expecting some sort of contact." He joined Blair on the couch and spread a jumble of papers and notes on the coffee table. His next question was directed at Jim. "Captain Banks said you would have the current evidence. Anything that helps us?"

Blair sat back and let Jim carry the ball. Jim's summary was concise and professional, and he ventured quickly into conducting a little impromptu investigation of his own.

"Tell me what you know about Norman Tripple. He's the wild card I just can't figure out here."

Tony Radson didn't seem surprised by the question. "I agree. His reaction has complicated Blair's situation immensely. I know of him, rather than personally. Norman Tripple moves in the power circles of Cascade, of the whole Northwest actually. His money is a little bit of a mystery, and the family hasn't always been prominent. Appeared on the scene in the mid-eighties. Made a well-documented killing in real estate and junk bonds. I know through other sources that he has money in shipping and international commerce. Most people speculate that he makes his money behind the scenes, very private and very discrete. His financial interests are apparently well away from the spotlight."

"Legal?" Jim's eyes narrowed.

"Can't say," Radson answered with a shrug. "He's very visible at charity and cultural events. Always at all the right social occasions, donates generously and very publicly. Has a beautiful trophy wife who's a champion spender, but those are the only parts of his life that are public. Everything else isn't common knowledge. He might have aspirations for public office, or he may just want to have lots of influence over those in public office. He's cultivated all the right contacts. It's hard to tell. He's positioned himself to go either way."

"Sandburg's paying the price for those contacts." Jim's concern grew. "The reports said a first wife died in a car crash."

Radson gave him a sly grin. "If you talk to the right Cascade matron, you can hear some whispers that it wasn't an accident. Nothing came of it at the time, and the guy was the most sought after eligible bachelor until a few years ago when he picked up the most recent Mrs. Tripple. A real piece of work, that one."

Jim started to pace. "So why the media blitz? I can understand why he might blame the PD, but this business with Sandburg is a complete fabrication. What is he gaining? Why does a guy that keeps most of his affairs under wraps suddenly float this one on the open market?"

Radson studied Jim carefully before he answered. "Inconsistent, isn't it? All I can tell you is that the guy does nothing without a reason. For all the sophisticated patina, I wouldn't want to cross him. I was hoping you could shed some light on his motivation. As we already know, he has very close connections to our current mayor. He's using that relationship to create quite a stir, and the mayor doesn't seem to object much to being swayed. I give Banks credit. He stood firm in the path of a real maelstrom yesterday. He obviously thinks a lot of both of you. In my experience, most people in his position would have found a reason to cooperate a little more fully. I was impressed."

Jim made a mental note to thank Simon again. He had been so preoccupied he hadn't really considered that angle. Simon's position wasn't above pressure from above. "It just doesn't add up - we're missing something."

"Maybe that's the point." Jim and Radson had almost forgotten the third party in the room.

Jim stopped his pacing, totally focused on Blair. "What are you thinking, Chief. You got an angle?"

"We've been looking for a connection, you know, something that makes sense." Blair's voice was quiet and detached, but Jim knew the look. His partner's legendary curiosity had finally been tweaked, which was an encouraging sign. "Maybe it doesn't connect at all, and that's the point."

Radson interrupted. "Far be it from me to critique your theories, since I don't have any, but I have to anticipate the opposition's next move, and you're losing me here. He could make a fuss from a straight police brutality angle. Why drag in premeditation and conspiracy theories? Why make this about you personally?" He watched Blair, fidgeting. Jim could see his intensity. This guy was made for the courtroom. His father had made a sound recommendation. Another thank you Jim needed to attend to in short order.

The ghost of a smile flashed across Blair's face. "Someone once said, 'If you're going to lie, lie outrageously'...so while we're wasting our energy chasing after something that can't be true, what are we missing in the process? What if the point is what we aren't looking for?"

The statement took Jim's breath away. "Damn, Sandburg. A diversion. I spend years in covert ops, and miss a simple diversion when it smacks me in the face. That's got to be it." He looked triumphantly at Radson. "There is something he doesn't want uncovered by the investigation of his son's death. He needs the publicity to stifle the investigation. Every move Rafe and Brown made yesterday, he had someone stonewalling, claiming cover-up, invasion of privacy, and harassment of the victim's family. So what if we have a new question? What is this guy trying to steer the investigation away from?" Inwardly, he marveled. He knew firsthand how shaken Blair was by this whole thing, and then he turns around and makes the intellectual leap that eluded all the rest of them.

Radson seemed impressed, but still worried. "Well, I'm glad you're pleased detective, but in the short run, it doesn't help me. We have to go through another round of questioning with IA, and Blair and I need to prep his responses. Yesterday was just minimal damage control. It couldn't be helped, considering the sudden nature of the situation, but we were on the defensive. Today I want to put Blair on a more assertive footing with his questioners." He paused, focusing on Jim again. "I take it there's no change in your stories. Anything you want to add? It's important for Blair's sake that I know the real story in every detail." Jim heard his partner's heartbeat spike. Now wasn't that a question that they really didn't want to answer in full.

"No, other than I support my partner's actions completely." Jim's voice was firm. "I don't think there is anything new in the evidence that they will spring on you. If there is, don't let Blair answer until we can check it out." Realizing his pacing was making Blair uncomfortable, he settled back into a chair.

"We're still in the preliminaries, not the formal hearing. They'll be pressuring you to make a confession, Blair. That you panicked, that it was all a rookie mistake. They'll probably offer dismissal with minor charges and a sentencing recommendation if you'll get them out of this mess. It might look pretty tempting." Radson watched Blair for a reaction, but when there was none he continued, "Don't be surprised if they drag Jim back into it."

"But he was unconscious," Blair protested, obviously upset by the possibility. "You can't let that happen. They can't..."

Radson interrupted. "Yes they can. They let him off too easily. I think Jim is their trump card. It won't be their first choice, but at some point they may threaten to take disciplinary action against Jim and use him to leverage your decisions. It's dirty, but it depends on how desperate they are. That's where Tripple's pressure can hurt us. They just might be that desperate. You both need to be prepared for the possibility."

"I won't let them ruin Jim's career, too," Blair answered firmly. "I'll agree to anything if it comes to that."

"No you won't!" Jim shouted, coming out of his seat. "You just forget that, Chief. Radson, you make sure it doesn't happen. I mean it, Blair. Not again. Not again!" He choked on the words.

Radson sat silent. He was savvy enough to realize this was a very private argument, one that went far beyond the current situation. Maybe he'd need a little additional research about these two. He watched Ellison, trying to analyze this relationship. For all practical purposes, he was no longer in the room as the two partners confronted each other.

"Blair, you give me your word, just like I gave you mine. You know what I'm talking about. Look me in the eye and promise me."

The silence stretched between them. "Okay, Jim. Fair is fair. I'll work with Tony, and I'll do what you two say." Blair sighed. "When do we have to go before Internal Affairs? Do you want to go straight from here?"

"That was my plan." Radson smiled reassuringly. "Let me do my job for you, Blair. The battle has just begun, and we're not out of it. Not even close."

Jim crossed the room, and grabbed his coat and keys. "Then I'll leave you two to get on with it. I need to talk to Brown and Rafe again. I'll be in touch. I'll be at the station before you go in to IA - I'll meet you in Simon's office."

"You can't go hanging around the station, Jim. It'll look bad." Blair looked worried. He had heard how close Jim had come to ending the previous day in lock up.

"I'm not going to the station right away - I'm going to check out our new best friend Norman Tripple, and I know just where to start."

"And just out of curiosity, detective, where might that be?" Radson asked. "We don't need any additional complications right now."

"To the best source of information about cutthroat business dealings and ruthless social climbing a man could have - my father. See you in a few."

***

Jim pulled the truck up to the curb in front of his father's home and sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts. As much as he tried not to, his stomach was always in knots coming here. One look and he reverted back to the old emotions of childhood, defensive and bitter. Even Blair had remarked on the continuing reconciliation within the Ellison family, never hesitating to encourage Jim along. It should be a turning point in the relationship that he had turned to his father and brother for help when he and Blair needed help. They hadn't hesitated for even a moment. So why was Jim sitting here, half dreading this conversation? So stupid. If you can handle terrorists, shootouts, and Sentinel senses, talking to your father should be a piece of cake.

Sally was already at the door, giving him a hug and fussing as usual. Some things don't change, thought Jim. We could have done this scene when I was 10. He forced a smile at William Ellison as he made his way down the stairway, waving the morning paper in his hand.

"Jimmy, can't Tony do anything about this trash? I nearly called his office and demanded an explanation. Don't our public servants get any deference from the press? What's he doing, anyway?"

"Dad, calm down." Jim smiled. His father was the picture of righteous outrage, ready to take the world on in his slippers. "I totally agree, but the Cascade Herald is the least of our worries."

"Well, I thought by now he'd have a better handle on this," his father blustered. Now that sounded more like the old William Ellison, expecting the impossible and chewing out the underlings. At least it was for a good cause.

"Dad, Tony did a great job yesterday under very extenuating circumstances. He's getting Blair ready for another round of questioning." The two men met at the bottom of the stairs. "I think you made an excellent choice recommending him. I didn't even ask you how you got him there on such short notice or how you know him, but I appreciate what ever you did to make it happen."

William Ellison motioned his son toward the study. "We've hired the firm for years. Tony is the best and brightest of the second generation. Now about the papers...."

"Dad, I haven't even read it, but I can imagine. That's not why I'm here. I need information and I need it fast."

They settled down into two overstuffed chairs. Jim was painfully aware that most of his previous visits to this room were for full-blown inquisitions. William Ellison would give Internal Affairs stiff competition in the interrogation department. "Dad, there's more than one thing going on here, and stuff isn't very clear yet. Do you know Norman Tripple? Met him, done business with him, whatever? I need info that I can't get from official channels."

Jim watched as his father shifted into executive mode for real. This was the parent he remembered from his childhood. It chilled him to watch the transformation. "Business, no. Socially, yes. We've been introduced at several social functions. He's a member of the country club. I've played a round or two of golf with him. Knows what he wants, wastes no time in getting it. The man's very confident and extremely astute. On the surface I would have welcomed him in a joint venture, but I would have worried about him as a partner - I can't say he left me with a feeling of trust. He's the kind of guy you need to watch your back with, or you'd turn around and find out it wasn't your company anymore."

"Okay, that's a good start. What does he talk about? What are his goals? Would he worry about the legality of a situation?"

William Ellison frowned, and shifted uncomfortably. "It's hard to say this, Jimmy. The man reminds me of me. He mentions his wife and his son, but only when they reflect positively on him. Like trophies." He looked at a few photos on the wall of Jim and Stephen, his mood tinged with sadness. "I'm ashamed to say I used to look at my boys that way. I wanted to brag about them, but not spend time with them." His voice trailed off, lost in thought.

Jim sat in stunned silence. His dad had regrets. What a shock. "Dad?" he said softly.

William Ellison snapped back to the present. "Right. Sorry about that. Anyway, he talks about his son's winning ways, but not what they do together. Actually, I remember being in a foursome and holding a bet over one of his son's football games - $500 if I recall correctly." He paused and munched on one of the cookies Sally had sent for them. "I'll bet he could tell you the score of every game and the boy's stats, but not his birthday or what ice cream he liked. Mrs. Tripple - well, I don't think anyone sees this as the love match of the century. He barely mentions her; I'd say she's irrelevant other than being a gracious hostess and available for display. My guess is he buys both of them off with what ever it takes. Most of members have their teenage sons at the course at some point; play a round with them, show them off. I've never seen his boy." Jim nodded. He could remember a few of those afternoons on parade. They weren't among his fondest memories. The anger that always welled up cooled as he looked at the older man. The person that found Blair the best lawyer in town wasn't the dad of his memories. Time to let it go.

Jim leaned forward in his chair. "Would he cross the line into illegal? If my hunches about what he's doing to Blair are right, we're way beyond unethical or opportunistic. Tell me what your gut says, Dad. We may have had a lousy relationship most of the time, but I know you can judge men. Would he orchestrate the destruction of Blair's life to serve his own ends? How far would he go?"

"How far, eh Jimmy? I think he'd sell his grandmother with the right motivation. He understands power, Jimmy. He desires to be with powerful people, to influence them, to own them. Grief over a son he didn't really know wouldn't keep him from taking advantage of an easy opportunity. I don't think you fully realize this, Jimmy, and I'm just beginning to understand what's between the two of you, but Sandburg is an easy mark. All truly honorable men are. God help me, I hate to admit I just said that. What kind of a person does that make me? I think I need a drink. Is the sun over the yardarm?"

Jim traced the pattern of the brocaded upholstery with his finger. It was a start, but he really needed something more specific "Don't beat yourself up, Dad. You told me exactly what I needed to know. Could you ask some discrete questions about his business dealings? Would Stephen know anything?"

"He might, and I will ask. People will tell you things at the 19^th hole that would never leave their lips at the office. Should I call - or come over?" The last question sounded almost wistful. Jim almost winced. He'd spent most of his childhood hoping for some genuine interest from his father. Now the roles were reversed.

"Don't come!" he answered sharply, and then regretted it. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out right. It's just that we had reporters camped outside the loft, and I don't want you or Stephen caught up in the feeding frenzy. Why don't I call you in the evening and we can compare notes?" Jim stood and looked around the familiar room. "Look, I need to get to the station before Blair goes back in with IA. You really have been a help - with everything."

William stopped in the entry. "Jimmy, I know this is serious trouble for Blair. Will it be the same for you? Forgive the worries of an old man..."

"I can't give you any guarantees, Dad, but I think you know I won't let Sandburg go down alone on this. I'll do whatever is necessary." Jim's thoughts flashed back to his midnight confrontation with Blair. Promises had been made, promises that would need to be kept. "I won't leave you out of the loop. That much I can promise. I'll call."

"You do that, Jimmy. Be safe." As Jim drove the truck down the quiet residential street, he realized his father stayed on the porch for a long time, watching the retreating vehicle.

Jim's next stop was the Taggert home. He needed a quiet, very unofficial session with the former bomb squad captain.

"Jim, come in... you're the last person I expected on my doorstep. I just got back in last night, but I saw the papers and just got off the phone with Simon. Give me your coat. Same lousy Cascade weather - I should have stayed on vacation."

Jim smiled as he was ushered into a comfortably warm kitchen. He gratefully accepted a cup of coffee. Taggert slipped into the chair next to him. "Jim, I need you to level with me about Sandburg. How is he? I really want to see him. This must be hell for him, and I owe him; you know that. Of all people, why did it have to be Sandburg?"

Warmed by the concern, Jim truly wanted to level with him. "He's having a tough time, especially last night. It kills me to see him hurt this way. I'd be grateful if you could stay with him at the loft later this afternoon. He has another session with IA, and I'd rather he wasn't alone for too long afterwards. He's always been comfortable with you, Joel. You made a place for him before the rest of us got past the hair and the clothes. I think it would do him some good."

"Of course I'll go - it's the least I can do. I wish there was more..."

"Actually, there is." Jim fiddled with his coffee mug. "Think it through before you say yes."

Joel's expression didn't change a bit. "Go on, Jim. I don't have to think too long."

Jim couldn't help but smile. "You want to know some of the details?"

"Minimally. Simon hit the high points when I talked to him. IA views it as excessive force, since the victim was unarmed."

"Actually, that's where you come in. Joel, I watched this guy. I'm the one who thought the kid was carrying, that the weapon was in his clothing. Everything in his body language said he could counter the gun I could see. The kid wasn't scared. How much sense does that make? An eighteen-year-old kid staring down a guy with a gun, and he escalates the argument. I told Sandburg two weapons, and I'm still sure of it."

"But they didn't find anything?" protested Taggert. "The area must have been searched a dozen times by now. I don't know, Jim. That's going to be tough for a review board to get past."

Jim shook his head in denial. "Something did happen in that alley. Like an explosion - the sound was huge. My first thought was a flash-bang grenade, and I was just too close. The kid could have that in his pocket."

"But that would have left traces, Jim. Forensics would have been all over it. End of story."

"Exactly, that's the point. I know something went off; Blair heard the aftermath as continued gunfire. So if not a flash-bang, then what? That's where you come in." Jim wavered a moment, as if considering whether he was making the right choice. Finally, he produced a strip of paper with a phone number, followed by a string of numbers and letters.

"So I keep asking myself, what fits with what Sandburg and I remember, but doesn't leave a trace, or at least nothing we recognize? If I could answer that, it would go a long way toward getting Sandburg off the hook. This needs digging, and I don't have the time or the energy to deal with it. Your specialty wasn't ordnance, but you know enough about the materials and the lingo to interpret what you hear. You're still on vacation, and ...well, I hoped you cared enough about Blair to take this on for me." He pushed the strip of paper along the smooth tabletop. "That number will get you in contact with people I used to know in covert ops; people who need very discrete handling. They just might know what's out on the street that fits the bill - maybe it something home grown, I don't know. God knows, you can get anything off the Internet."

Taggert gave Jim a searching gaze. He looked like he hadn't slept in days - and he probably hadn't. He fingered the paper. "I'm not supposed to ever see numbers like this, am I?"

"No. That's why you need to be sure." Jim hesitated again. "I shouldn't have asked, but I have to tell you, we need a miracle right now. This thing is like an avalanche and there are some very high profile people pushing it. Sandburg is highly expendable to them, if you know what I mean."

Joel stood. "Don't give it another thought. I'll do this, and gladly. 'Cause the kid isn't expendable. Not to you and not to me."

*****

Tony Radson shoved the door to his office open, arms loaded with his Pepsi, an armful of files and his raincoat. Damn rain. Three o'clock already. Where had the day gone? He settled in at his desk. Blair Sandburg. An odd, if interesting, match for Ellison senior and his son. Not that the case wasn't intriguing on its own merits. There was something special about the young man. Obviously overwhelmed at the thought of having killed someone. Defending himself but not defensive. His closest co-workers were clearly attached to him. They had nearly been smothered when they had entered the Major Crime area to check in with Banks.

The afternoon's sessions had gone fairly well. Blair had followed his instructions, and Tony had correctly anticipated some of the opposition's new tactics and deflected them, at least temporarily. Jim had spoken with them briefly but was on his way out with one of the other detectives. An older black man had corralled Blair and had taken charge of his transportation back to the loft. At least the guy had looked big enough to run interference through the media vultures that were still camped out in front of the loft. Blair seemed to be holding together. Almost a surprise considering how he looked the day before. Even a little flash of what must be his normal brilliance back at the loft.

Radson dug through the stack of files, searching for the one just produced by his assistant, Lisa. His curiosity had been piqued at his morning meeting with Ellison and Sandburg. A quick phone call had sent Lisa to work, and the results...well this could be interesting reading. Apparently, there was a lot to know. As he settled back to do his research, he idly wondered if Ellison junior had any inkling of the check written by Ellison senior, or of its size. Curioser and curioser.

*****

Jim and Rafe made their way through the halls of Evergreen Prep. They had discretely watched a bit of practice. It didn't take Jim long to spot the kid Rafe wanted to speak with a second time. He was very young and very good. He was also very much resented by his older teammates. The kid was doing everything he could; passing up easy shots in favor of feeding the ball to someone else, but the others were giving him a really hard time. It almost made Jim cringe to watch.

A young, blond haired man, apparently the assistant coach, had slipped over to speak with them. They had adjourned to the hallway and gone through the usual formalities. He introduced himself as Terry Krane. Rafe had explained who he wanted to talk with and why.

"That's Dustin Smithson. He was my best JV player until a week ago. Drew Tripple got sick right before the game with South Cascade. Dustin plays point guard and the JV hadn't played yet. Coach pulled him up to varsity and he scored 22. Thank God, the other regulars played like dogs that night. Maybe they just couldn't get on track without Drew. I have just one request. Let me bring him out to you where the other kids can't see. They've been hard on him as it is, and he's such a nice kid."

Jim nodded. "We noticed. If they knock him down like that every day he'll be walking wounded before game time. I was kind of surprised the coach didn't say anything."

Krane scowled angrily. "Well, he should. I came here to learn from the best, but I'd like to think I'd do a better job integrating a kid like Dustin."

Jim decided to take a shot. "Did you know Drew well?" Jim asked, hoping for a little glimmer of truth.

"Look, detective, I'll be honest. I'm not in a real viable position here. I want to leave after this year. I care about my teaching. I want to go to a smaller school and run my own program someplace where a kid's value isn't measured by the size of Mom & Dad's yearly donation. I need Coach's recommendation. I think you understand what I'm telling you."

Rafe chimed in. "We do. Here's my card. If you want to visit with us in a more private setting, just call."

Krane took a deep breath. "Let me think about it, okay? Why don't you wait over by the library commons. The players don't ever go that way when they leave after practice. I'll grab Dustin. I've been going over the varsity offense with him after practice, so the kids won't notice anything unusual. They're running lines now. Practice will be over soon."

Rafe shook his hand. "Great. Thanks for your help, and think about talking to us."

Krane only nodded and started back toward the gym. Rafe gave Jim a nudge. "Ellison, lets hit the library. Jim? Hey, Jim! What's wrong?"

Jim was staring intently down the darkened main corridor. At the far end, two figures were in deep conversation. Jim dialed up his hearing. Something about the stance, the height, the voice. He grabbed at Rafe's arm.

"Get Krane back here. Now!" As Rafe darted off, Jim continued to stare at the man silhouetted by the fading afternoon light. "It's you," Jim whispered to himself. "Our missing guy with the gun - and you are not going to lose me this time."

*****

Joel surveyed the scene outside the loft with disgust. Blair had warned him the media might be in attendance, but this was ridiculous. He looked over at Blair, who seemed more numb than anything else. "Blair, we could just go back to my place and wait for Jim. They haven't spotted us. Is there another way in? Through the basement or something?"

The younger man shook his head. "There's a fire escape, but let's just do this. All I need to make the day perfect is to have a news crew fall a couple of stories trying to get a 'film at 11' shot."

"Well, I think we're going to have to walk from here. I don't see anywhere else to park, with all the news vehicles around. Just keep moving, and stay together. You don't have to talk to them, Blair. I'm bigger than anyone milling around down there. We'll just put those 5 extra pounds I put on over vacation to good use and barrel on through." They climbed out of Joel's sedan. "Cheer up," Joel joked. "Pretend you're a rock star. Be imperious."

Blair laughed at that one. "Imperious, huh? Can someone my height do imperious?" As they crossed the parking lot together, the crush turned their direction. "Oh, man. This is gonna be bad, Joel. Where's the riot gear when we need it?"

"You mean bulldozer. Get behind me. Thirty yards, that's all we need."

Joel did indeed clear an impressive path through the human crush. Shouted questions began to roll off in waves as they were pushed and bumped. Taggert plowed doggedly forward. At one point, Blair had to go for a handhold on the back of his belt to keep from going down. They were at the entrance to the building when a question rang out that penetrated through the melee. Joel felt Blair freeze. He turned with a sick heart as he heard the question repeated.

"Sandburg, you're the teacher that killed the kid. How does it feel to betray your former calling?"

One look at Blair's face was all the answer needed. No anger, no defense. Just horror, and guilt. So much guilt. Tape rolled. Joel wanted to vaporize the entire group. "That's enough! Enough!" he thundered. He hoped his size made him look very, very scary. He stepped back a few paces to retrieve Blair. He pulled the young man inside and up the stairs, cursing himself for not preventing this scene somehow. "Keys, Blair. I need the keys. No more of this. Come on, buddy. We're almost in." Joel slammed the door in the face of the oncoming rush and bolted everything in sight. He turned to see Blair, with his head bowed, his arms braced on the back of the couch.

"I can't just be the cop that kills innocent kids. No, I'm the teacher that kills innocent kids. How did this happen?" He looked up at Joel. "Its true. What can I say? I shot him and he's dead. How could he have done anything to deserve to be dead? How can I defend myself when everything they say is true?"

Joel moved across the room and stood behind Blair. Expendable. He remembered Jim's words. Jim was right. It was agony to watch Blair deal with this. His large, capable hands settled on Blair's shoulders. He rubbed at the knots as he spoke. Suddenly disarming a bomb seemed like child's play.

"What they said is accurate, but it is not the truth. The truth is that you returned, I repeat, returned fire to protect your partner in a dangerous situation. He had a weapon. We just don't have it in our hands at the moment. A child with a weapon is no longer a child. Whoever was in the alley when this went down didn't have the label of young or old. The only label at that moment is armed and dangerous. Don't you forget it. That is the truth, Blair Sandburg."

Neither man spoke. Physical comfort would have to do what words could not. Joel's thoughts ran to the tiny slip of paper that now resided in his wallet and the contacts made at Jim's request earlier that morning. There had to be an answer somewhere. He needed to get home and wait for those calls, but no way was he leaving before Ellison returned to the loft. Blair would not be left alone.

*****

Jim watched his new quarry move down the corridor, laughing and joking with an older man in a suit. They had moved into a lighted area near the main administrative offices, and had paused near a series of double doors. Rafe came skittering back, clearly confused, with Terry Krane in tow.

"Who is that guy down there?" barked Jim. Krane peered down the hall, clearly baffled by the fuss. "Our Dean of Students. Do you need to talk to him, too?"

"No, not him," Jim answered impatiently. "The young one, in the fancy clothes. Do you know him?"

"Him? Rick Peters." Jim didn't have to be a Sentinel to recognize the scorn in that reply. Whatever reticence Terry Krane may have had concerning Drew Tripple and the basketball team didn't extend to this guy. "He graduated from here, he's around a lot. Maybe five years older than I am. Calls himself a sports agent, whatever that means. Always has tickets to the Jags or to stuff at Rainier. Knows all the players. He doesn't spend a lot of time at what most people would call work. He played for coach, so he has his blessing to drop in whenever."

"Come on, Terry. Give." It wasn't Jim's longest interrogation, but Krane got the point.

"Another sore spot. I wouldn't let him hang around, if it were up to me. He invites kids to parties they shouldn't be at, stuff like that. I don't trust him. He could screw up their eligibility. Coach doesn't see what he doesn't want to see." He dug out his wallet and produced a business card, handing it to Rafe. "He gives every varsity kid one of these at the beginning of the season. Coach thinks it's a harmless gesture."

"And you don't," finished Rafe. "Say what you really mean. This is important."

"I think...I think there's an implied promise that they can call if they need something. Kids this age think they need a lot, and not all of it is good for them. Coach is playing with fire. I can't prove anything, but I don't think you'd have to dig very deep. Another reason I want to get of here." He recoiled. "I've said more than I should. This is a dream job for someone who wants to coach as a career."

"Jim, the guy's on the move. Do we need him? What now?" Rafe looked expectantly at Jim. He might be on leave, but clearly Ellison was the one to make the decision.

"Terry, go get Dustin. Just like we planned." Krane nodded, and moved back towards the gym. "Rafe, tail that guy. He's the missing man from the alley. I'm sure of it."

"What?" Rafe stared at Jim in shock. "You're sure? Why don't we grab him? We all but tore up asphalt looking for that guy."

"Rafe, I'm sure he's one of the pieces we're missing. We need to talk to the boy, and I can't take a PD car and go chasing after this guy Peters when I'm officially on leave. We can pull him in later. Right now, I think he'll give us more information if he's unawares. Go...and don't lose him! Call Brown when you're on the move and see if he can get any info on this guy. Call me at the loft."

With a nod, the two men separated. Jim followed the signs to the library. "Ah, Blair," he thought. "what weren't we looking for, indeed."

Almost twenty minutes went by before Terry Krane walked into the commons with Dustin Smithson. Apparently he hadn't showered or changed. The boy was still in his practice clothes. Jim could smell the fear pouring off the boy.

"Dustin, this is Detective Ellison. He needs to speak to you. I'll go pick up some papers from my classroom so the two of you can have some privacy."

"Actually, Coach Krane, I'd like you to stay." Jim sat down, hoping the boy would do the same. "Dustin, let me make something clear. You're not in trouble, and you don't have to talk to me. I really need your help, but say the word and we stop. Okay?"

"Okay, Detective." The boy shifted his weight from side to side, holding his gear bag. Jim pulled a chair out, and Dustin sank down, perched on the edge of the seat.

Jim smiled. Roll back the clock 20 years and this was Jimmy Ellison, having a session with his dad. "Relax. It's not a court martial. No firing squad." He took a deep breath. A lot was riding on the next few minutes. Part of the answer was here, if he just had the wisdom to find it. "You looked good in practice tonight. Are the seniors always so hard on you?"

Dustin jumped like he had been stung. This wasn't what he was expecting. He looked at Terry Krane, who nodded in encouragement. "Well, yeah, I guess they don't like me much. My mom says it happens when you get moved up like I did. I didn't mean to do anything to make 'em mad."

Jim heard the boy's heartbeat spike. There was more to this. "Son, you might need to tell us what's going on before we branch off into other things. Coach Krane cares a lot about you. This is a safe place, and we'll be careful with what we hear." Time to follow his instincts. He wished again that Blair were by his side. Sandburg would have had an instant rapport with this young man. Blair had spent enough of his young life as an outsider trying to fit in with new faces. Dustin shivered a bit; cooling down from practice. Odd. He hadn't told Terry to hustle the kid along or anything. "Why didn't you change?" Jim asked. The boy said nothing, but Jim could hear his heart rate increase beat by beat. "Has this moved off the floor? Are they hassling you off the court?"

Dustin's face dropped. He tried to control his expression, but his eyes told the answer. The proverbial cat out of the bag, whether he meant to let on or not. Krane swore under his breath. "Why didn't you tell me, D? What did they do?"

"Someone took my clothes out and peed on them. I didn't have anything else to change into, and getting naked just then didn't seem like a good choice. I just left 'em there. My mom's gonna be so mad. Those were new jeans." Krane surged to his feet. "I'll take care of this. Don't worry about your clothes. I'll make sure you get new ones." He started for the door.

Dustin panicked. "Coach, don't! Please don't. It's Okay. I'll go get the jeans when everyone clears out."

Jim interrupted. "What else did they threaten you with?" The boy shook his head. "I can make a pretty good guess, but I want you to tell me. Come on, Dustin. You don't need to do this alone."

They waited. Dustin was tried for a poker face and failed miserably. After one last look at his coach, the words tumbled out. "They want me off the team. They trashed my locker, my clothes. If I didn't carry my books with me all the time those would be gone, too. I've been giving stuff to friends so they can't get to it." He struggled to keep his composure. "It's not just the team. I took a test to get into this place - I'm on scholarship. It's a great school academically. My mom could never afford to send me here. It's just the two of us. The best chance I have for college money is to go to a place like this and ace everything I take. They can have the basketball. I want to be a doctor, and I don't want to be one blown knee away from not making it. I can't let my mom down. They can do anything they want. I don't care."

"So what's the threat?" Jim asked? "That if you complain to anyone, that they'll turn it back on you? Get you kicked out anyway?"

"I told my mom I wanted to quit basketball and she had a fit. She might actually agree with me, but I don't want to tell her the rest. I know she would come right down here and demand to see God Himself. She wouldn't see that these guys could trash our car or our apartment, and we couldn't afford to replace it." Jim could see the pride and love in his eyes. "You don't know my mom. You can't even imagine. If she knew, she'd just walk into the fire anyway."

Jim had a brief vision of Naomi and a high school aged boy named Blair Sandburg. "Well, kid, you might be surprised. I get the picture, though. Were you just going to tough it out? Tell me exactly how it went down."

Dustin looked despairingly at the two older men. "I just didn't know. After the South Cascade game, well, that was Friday. We played Saturday, and they kinda got in my face, but I came late with Coach Krane, because they didn't decide about me until the last minute."

"That's right." Krane had returned to his seat, but was still upset. "Drew couldn't give Coach a straight answer about how he felt, so he sent me to get Dustin from home. We got there right before game time. Dustin played most of the first half, then Drew said he wanted to go back in. Since Dustin hadn't practiced anything but point, we kept him out most of the second half. When did they hassle you?"

"Right before we came out of the locker room at half time. They kind of pushed me around, but I was so confused it didn't really click in. I mean, I'd scored 10 points and we were winning. I could understand them getting hostile if I was messing up. Anyway, I didn't play a lot after that, so I blew it off."

Krane was clearly horrified. "I should have figured it out and stopped it right then. I'm so sorry, D."

"Well, I guess I should have paid attention, because stuff started happening Monday after coach announced I was moving up for good. Drew and two of the other guys followed me out of practice on Monday, but my mom came early to pick me up. She pulled up to the curb practically on Drew's toes, and they backed off. Mom thought they were just fooling around or something. Tuesday and Wednesday, every time I turned around, something else was happening. I was mad, then I got scared. Then Drew died, and things were kinda weird. No one said anything to me. It was like they forgot about me. Who knows? Then stuff started up again today. I'm sorry, Coach. I know you would have tried to help. I should have told you."

Jim sat back, considering the timing. Suggestive, but not conclusive. Maybe one gigantic coincidence, but maybe not. Where was the connection? "Dustin, did you have any contact with Drew before this? Meet him, talk to him, anything? Trip over his feet in the hall? Bump into him at practice?"

"No way. I'm a sophomore insect to those guys. I don't think I ever spoke to him until he followed me out of practice on Monday."

"Okay, Dustin. Let's hope we can get this straightened out before you come back to school on Monday. You take my card." Jim quickly scribbled some numbers on the back. "Those will reach either me or another Major Crime detective anytime, day or night. Don't be a hero. You even see a shadow, you call. Terry, what's the usual procedure before a game?"

"Varsity plays at eight. We usually meet here, dress, have a team meeting and bus over at about 6:30 or 7:00."

"Well, you make up whatever excuse you have to, but Dustin goes to the game just like he did last Saturday, with you and at the last minute. Okay, Dustin? Coach Krane is your shadow. Make it easy for him to keep track of you. Is this an important game, Terry?"

"Well, playoffs are next week, and we're already in. It wouldn't be a screaming disaster if we lost, but it would be better to win. We go back to high stakes next week. Now that I know what's going on, I can keep an eye on things." He looked at Dustin and smiled reassuringly, but Jim could tell he was seething.

"Alright, I will talk with both of you before Saturday night. If either of you think of anything else, call. We need every drop if information."

"Detective, would you stay here for a minute with Dustin while I see to his clothes? I don't want to drag him back in there, and I don't want to leave him alone. Was your mom coming tonight, D?"

"Uh, no. She works tonight. I was going to ride the 341 home."

"Well, forget that plan," said Krane firmly. "You're not making a 45 minute bus ride in sweaty shorts and a practice jersey. Go in the library office and call your mom. Tell her you're coming home with me and give her the address. It's on Highland, remember? Ask her to pick you up there after work. You and I can work out what to say to her about this situation so she doesn't go ballistic, and we have a chance to sort things out before she takes matters into her own hands. Like you said, D, your mom is a very capable lady." He patted the boy on the shoulder. "I'll be right back. Ellison told you the truth. You've spent your last day flying solo."

He glanced calmly back at Jim. "Ellison, our earlier conversation? Well, you can put that in the round file. Whatever you need from me, you'll get. Without reservation." The door shut softly behind him as he left.

While Dustin made his call, Jim produced his cell phone. He reached Simon between disasters, and arranged for him to pick him up. Jim wanted to sound optimistic. He badly needed to hear from Rafe and Brown about their mystery man, Peters. It was probably too soon to hear from Taggert. That little assignment was iffy. Joel would do his best, but it was a long shot. He checked his watch. He had hoped to go to the crime scene with Blair, but the light would be fading. He sat back to wait as Dustin reappeared. He sat on a long, padded bench, and fiddled with his bag. His heart rate had slowed, but Jim could sense the shivers that ran through his body. Jim said nothing, but gently draped his own jacket over the young man's shoulders and smiled. There was a lot to like about this kid. A murmured "thanks" was the only spoken conversation. Jim heard the hiss of the heat turning on.

"You know detective, I guess I did kinda run into Drew one other time. I don't know whether it really counts."

Jim's head snapped up. "Dustin, at this point, everything counts. Tell me."

"It was at the South Cascade game. I was so messed up and confused and nervous, I went out for the second half without my shoes."

Jim chuckled. "Well, look at the bright side. At least you didn't forget your shorts. Why did you have your shoes off?"

"I don't wear my game shoes outside. I have an old pair I wear to and from games and save the good ones. I got to the game so late, I played the first half in my old ones. I was trying to change at halftime, but I got so distracted, I ended up in the gym in my stocking feet. I had to go back to the locker room to get my shoes."

Jim almost laughed out loud. He could just imagine. Fifteen years old, playing your first varsity game and no shoes. Lifetime embarrassment came from moments like those - and great stories to tell at parties. "So how does Drew fit in here?"

"I ran back to the locker room to get my shoes. Drew was supposed to be sick with the flu, so he wasn't always on the bench. He was still in the locker room, and he and this other guy were really going at it. Keeping their voices down, but yelling all the same. I was running so fast, I didn't even clue in until I was practically in their laps. I grabbed my shoes and got out of Dodge. I wasn't welcome and I had somewhere else to be."

"Did Drew say anything to you?"

"No, but if looks could kill, I'd be long gone. I thought he was going to rip my head off. He didn't look like the guy who could barely drag himself around to throw up."

"Who was there with him?" Jim asked. "A coach? A friend?"

"I don't know the guy, but I've seen him around. He's not a student or anything, or a teacher."

"Think hard, Dustin. What were they saying? You said they seemed angry. Can you remember any phrases, anything?"

Dustin's eyes opened wide. "I think Drew said something like, 'It's not my fault' and 'this should have worked out.' The other guy...I think I heard him say something like, 'this is a big time problem.' I just wasn't paying attention, you know. I had to find my shoes."

Jim closed his eyes. He saw the alley, Blair a reassuring presence behind him, tuning up his hearing. He had heard the entire phrase. "It's a big time problem, with a big time price tag, and you're paying the bill, kid." He could replay it like the script from a movie. It was in his statement. The all-important connection they had been hoping for.

He took Dustin by the shoulders and faced him. "Dustin, I need to know who was in that locker room with Drew. A description - a name, anything. You've been a big help, and this is really important. Try to remember." Although Dustin couldn't see, Jim was aware that Krane had come back into the room.

"He's 'Fancy Man'. That's what I call him, anyway. Remember, I'm just a worm 10^th grader. All the seniors know him. He stops by practice and gives them tickets and stuff. You're in the big time if he pays attention to you."

Krane's eyes had gone cold when they met Jim's. "Peters - he's talking about Peters, the guy that should never be in our locker room. And he's there during a game? With our star, suddenly sick, senior point guard? Oh, no. Oh, God, no."

A decidedly cranky Simon pulled up outside of Evergreen Prep. "Ellison, you had better have a really good reason for being out on the street when you're on leave, and an even better reason for making me into a taxi driver. Tell me something that will brighten this day from hell."

"Did you see Blair after IA this afternoon? Was he okay?"

"I want answers, not more questions, detective. Blair was fine." Simon chewed on his cigar. "IA was not fine. Someone from higher up wants to bring Sandburg into custody."

"Custody!" Jim exploded. "For what?" As if you don't know, he thought. I may be swimming to Canada with him. "Come on, Simon. Rafe and Brown said our story was being corroborated on a couple of key points. There's got to be some justification for an arrest."

"Simple. Public relations. Someone thinks it makes the investigation look more evenhanded and less like a cover-up. This could be very damaging to the department. Any youth shooting can be. What we really need is a war or a major earthquake somewhere to buy us a break with the media. Strike me dead for saying that."

"We may have a break." Jim gave him a quick summary.

"Well, how am I supposed to explain that you took the statements from the kid and the coach? We need good, solid procedure here, Jim. We're in enough trouble as is."

"Couldn't be helped. It was better to send Rafe on pursuit. Besides, Rafe might never have recognized where the stories crossed over. We were lucky. Very, very lucky."

They drove in silence. As they approached the loft, Jim remembered the media. "Damn, I forgot about the press. We're just in time for news at 5. Great. I think I'm ready to pinch off a few heads. Come on, Simon. Make sure I don't kill any of our esteemed journalists in front of the cameras." Simon rolled his eyes as storm-cloud Ellison exited the vehicle. Maybe he should check into early retirement a bit more seriously.

Blair had rallied enough to order pizza. Brown was bringing Jim's truck from the station. Rafe was on his way. Only Joel seemed restless. After a brief conversation, Jim understood. Joel had stayed with Blair, talking him through the storm of doubts and guilt. In retrospect, it couldn't have worked out better. Joel's quiet steadiness had been a godsend. Had Jim been there, Blair would have jumped to his alternate plan, escape. Jim would not have refused him, but he now truly had a hope that they could unravel this mess.

Brown arrived first, with a few choice words for his second encounter with the thinning crowd at the building entrance. Rick Peters had no arrests, but his name was scattered through dozens of other investigation. No real pattern had emerged, with one exception. He seemed to have a lifestyle that didn't match any known pay checks. Folders were passed around along with pizza, checked and cross-checked.

"Hey, Jim. Rafe just pulled up. Want to help him run the gauntlet?" Brown sang out. He had been contemplating the skyline with Blair, trying to draw him out of his silence.

"Sure. I'm ready to work off some frustration. Why won't those guys get bored and go away?" Jim had been watching Blair with growing concern. Joel had taken the time to fill him in on the teacher - kid killer question. If Joel only knew the half of it. "All right, Brown. Let's go rescue the boy. Can't let him get his hair mussed." They disappeared out the door.

Blair pulled a plate out of the oven. He had saved pizza for Rafe when it first arrived, knowing the chances of a few pieces surviving were minimal. As much as he appreciated his friends' support, he wished they would leave. He needed to talk to Jim. Something in Jim's demeanor worried him, and he wanted to know the cause. You've got too many years of Ellison watching, Blair, old boy. Jim had bad news, and was waiting for a private moment to break it to him.

Tony had done his lawyerly best, but thinking back to the IA meeting still made the hair on the back of Blair's neck rise. Somehow, they were losing ground there, and he didn't know why. At first they seemed eager to trip him up, waiting for the slightest mis-statement or discrepancy, hanging on every word. Now, it seemed like they didn't care what he said. Like some decision had already been made, but not yet revealed. Inwardly, Blair could hardly control his mounting irritation. He was thoroughly sick of having critical decisions about his life being determined by surrounding circumstances and other people.

Jim, Henri and Rafe burst back into the loft, grinning from ear to ear. Whatever the joke was, they kept it to themselves. Rafe flipped open a small notebook. "The guy left the school. Nice car. Stopped at the McDonalds on 12^th. Had a Big Mac with two of the guys from the basketball team. Jenkins and...Brown, who was the post player with the shaved head? Naughty boys-didn't bus their tables. I got a fistful of napkins with doodles and scribbles I haven't had time to look at. Made a couple of stops at some very classy watering holes. Always slid into a table with two or three guys who seemed to be expecting him. Made notes in his car after each stop in a red leather notebook. Here's the kicker. Last stop was up in the Heights overlooking the Sound. And who do you suppose our boy pulls in to visit? Waved through the security gate like an old friend. Big George Fowler."

In a small voice, Blair asked, "Do we know this guy? Is this good news?"

"Oh, yeah, Sandburg." Simon smiled knowingly at Jim. "This is very significant news. The last piece to the puzzle. Big George runs all the high stakes gambling in Cascade. Has for years. I think we can connect all the dots in the picture."

Activity at 852 Prospect became very focused. After a few quiet words to Blair, Taggert slipped out. Despite his misgivings, Jim called his father, as promised. Without revealing much, he sent the elder Ellison to his country club with one and only one question to ask. As discretely as possible, he was to ask the head bartender who had showed a pattern of betting on high school games, and which games seemed to hold the greatest interest. William Ellison was confident that the man he had known for nearly forty years would trust him enough to give an accurate, honest answer.

Using a two month old Senior Spotlight section from the local paper, Megan and Rafe arranged surveillance on the team members who seemed most promising to watch, and disappeared into the night. Brown quietly made calls to anyone he knew in college and pro sports that could give them and insight into the role of Rick Peters in sports gambling. Simon left to visit with a counterpart in Vice who could tap informants for the specific information they needed about illegal gambling in Cascade. Simon seemed particularly shaken. These boys were the age of his son. The thought of Daryl, or any other high school student, sucked into the illegal gambling chilled him. Time for another one of those father-son chats.

Finally, the two partners faced each other, alone in the loft at last. Both men were physically and mentally exhausted. Jim steered Blair toward the couch and dropped into the soft cushions next to him. "I think we know what the diversion was all about. That was a very astute call on your part, Chief."

"Do you really think Drew's dad arranged the gambling? Knew about it all along? Or did he just find out?"

Jim wished he could wipe the guilt from his friend's face. "We might not ever know, and it doesn't rally matter. Personally, I think it's a lot more important to Tripple to have his son be a winner. He might know his son was gambling, but I don't think he'd want his son throwing a game. Either way, he sure wouldn't want his son to get caught, even after death. From that standpoint, a diversion does make sense."

"I'll never bet at the track again," Blair answered glumly.

"Don't get drastic, Sandburg." Jim smiled, remembering Blair gleefully counting his winnings after betting against Little Stogie. "Let's try to piece this together. The big money in gambling gets made when you get an unexpected result. Evergreen Prep was supposed to win last Friday. Drew comes up with a highly plausible way to lose the game. He gets the flu, at least for appearances. Then his coach does the unexpected. Calls up a skinny little sophomore guard who runs rings around his senior teammates."

"Couldn't the other guys just play badly, or not pass him the ball?" Blair laid his head back on the back of the couch with his eyes closed, but Jim could tell he was still in the conversation.

"He's a point guard. He automatically gets the ball. so they can't even freeze him out of the offense. While everyone stumbles around him, as planned, the new kid scores 22, and they can't stop it. The bottom line is they don't deliver the loss as intended. Someone loses a lot of money, maybe several someones. Drew ends up trying to straighten things out with his new best friend, Rick Peters. Did you hear Brown? Peters lives two blocks from the theater in a brand new town house. No wonder we couldn't find the guy. He was at home in bed before the backup arrived."

"So why go after Dustin this week?" Blair muttered. "What's done is done. How's it still going down if Drew Tripple is dead?"

"They either had another thrown game planned all along, or needed to arrange one to bail them out of the South Cascade mess. Dustin's a wild card. They can't control him. He's a straight arrow and too young to ever have bonded with the older guys. The only thing they can think to do is get rid of him. They haven't been very subtle and anyone asking the right questions can figure it out. This isn't a clean and simple operation anymore. They've left too many clues to follow. We'll get everything we need and then some."

"It still doesn't change the facts, Jim. I still shot him, and he's still dead." Blair shuddered, looking eye to eye with Jim. "Being involved with a gambling scheme doesn't mean you deserve to die."

"Chief, he wasn't there as a complete innocent either." Jim leaned forward, trying to make his point. Blair's eyes were his most expressive feature, and all he saw reflected in them was despair and remorse. "He put himself in jeopardy by the company he kept. It isn't any different than driving ninety miles an hour on a mountainside - don't be surprised when you crash. I'm not trying to make light of this, but you didn't put him in that situation."

Blair gave the barest of nods, as if he appreciated the gesture but didn't really buy it. "Do you really think something will happen at their next game? Are they supposed to win or lose, or does it matter? What did you think of this boy? Is he in a situation where he could get hurt?"

"It sure looks like something is in the works. We need to establish contact between the players and Peters. His observed behavior is significant. Simon thinks we can get a warrant to collect Peters' red book and search the car and townhouse. We're in much better shape if we can find some physical evidence to tie him to that alley and Drew. My identification only goes so far." Jim shifted on the couch. "To answer your question, if I were going to guess, I think the big payoff is planned for one of the playoff games next week. Terry said this game wasn't life or death. They'll use it to set up whatever is next on the list. After talking with Dustin, I'd say he was definitely in harms way. We need to stop it before it goes any farther."

"So what do we do next?" Blair desperately wanted to tell his partner his partially formed suspicions about IA. Now that he had the chance, it seemed so unsubstantial. He wasn't sure Jim would understand.

"We probably aren't going to do a thing. I really pushed the envelope today as it was." He paused - all his fears for his partner surging to the fore, including Simon's comments about there being a push for taking Blair into custody. He should really prepare him just in case. "Tell me the truth, you thought about leaving, didn't you?

Blair's eyes answered for him. "Is that why Taggert was my babysitter this afternoon? To keep an eye on me?"

"Partially. Mostly it was to have a friendly face near. Joel's a good listener, and he's been a cop a long time."

Blair fiddled with imaginary lint on the couch cushions for a bit. "So am I under house arrest again tonight, or can I sleep in my own bed?"

Jim folded his arms, and stared back into his partner's challenging gaze. Was this Sandburg the obfuscation superstar, or was this a test of Jim's trust? "I just don't want to wake up to find you gone, Chief. I meant what I said. We will finish this together, however it turns out. You decide."

The ghost of a grin flickered across Sandburg's face. "Downstairs. You can tie a cowbell around my neck if you want."

Jim tossed a pillow at an already moving target. "For that you get handcuffed to the bed, you turkey. Get some rest."

The phone woke Jim out of a dead sleep. The loft was still dark, but he sensed it was near dawn. "Ellison."

"Still in bed, you slug?"

"Taggert," Jim growled, "I could hurt you right now, but I assume you have a fabulous reason for calling at this hour."

"I've heard from our friends. Got a call and a package. I tell you, these guys are beyond spooky, but I think we have a winner. We need to go back to the scene. I figured first thing was best. Get your lazy butt out of bed. By the time you get there we'll have first light."

"On my way, and Joel..." Jim realized the phone was already buzzing a dial tone. "Thanks, big guy, " he whispered. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you."

Sandburg was unceremoniously dumped from a warm bed, grumbling all the way. Leaving nothing to chance, Jim started throwing clothes at him before his eyes were open. He looked like an aspiring refugee by the time Jim shoved a mug of coffee in his hand and steered him toward the door.

"Slow down.... What time zone are we in, anyway? Hey, Jim, I'm serious. Hold up." Blair had just one arm in his coat, but had put it on upside down. His shoes still weren't tied.

Something in his tone brought Jim up short. "Could you, like check, before we go down. Do we have company by the front door again?

Jim stretched out his hearing. "It's real quiet. They must have figured that Saturday morning was for cartoons. If anyone's down there, we'll just have to wade through."

"I should get over it, you know," Blair said, as he chased his partner down the stairs. They're just doing their job." Blair sat down on the stairs to deal with his Nikes. "What are we doing in such a big hurry?"

"I'll explain on the way." Jim pulled off the hopelessly tangled jacket and handed it back. "Finish dressing in the truck."

Without really intending to, Jim still had his hearing turned up as they drove away from the loft. They were stopped for traffic a few blocks west when he picked up the crackle or police radio. Several police radios. Distracting Blair briefly, his shut down his own radio in the truck and concentrated. There was a buzz of activity outside of 852 Prospect. Jim could pick out one voice in particular - the primary investigating officer from IA. Cursing silently, Jim realized what was going on. They were there to take Blair in, and must have cut Simon out of the loop. Under normal circumstances, they would still be at the loft. Blair would have been drug off before anyone could intervene. Bless Joel's early wakeup call. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Jim accelerated intent on putting some distance between his partner and the gathering crowd.

A light mist was falling when the Ford pulled up across from the fateful alley. Still marked as a crime scene, it was deserted except for Taggert's bulk, shielded against the rain. For a moment, Blair looked ready to bolt, but he joined Jim and crossed to where Taggert waited. He was holding a small cardboard box.

"Morning, gents." Taggert reached into the box and gently retrieved a black sphere about the size of a grapefruit. "Remember you joking about the Internet, Jim. Well, meet the newest latest rage, courtesy of the information superhighway."

Jim rolled the object in his hand. It looked for all the world like something you would play catch with. He caught the whiff of some chemicals he couldn't quite identify. The exterior looked like high impact plastic.

"Your guess about a flash bang grenade wasn't too far off. These aren't too common yet. They're being marketed to the survivalist/paint ball crowd. You throw it at a hard surface. The impact crushes an ampoule in the interior, setting off a chemical reaction. It's pressurized and blows to smithereens. The plastic is scored on the inside so it shatters into fragments, which are thrown in all directions. The chips are supposed to be harmless, but a kid on the East Coast lost an eye. The shock value is in the noise of the plastic shell splitting open. No actual explosives in it, so it sneaks under the radar of any firearms laws. Any ten year old with his parent's Visa number can get a box-full."

Blair took the sphere in his hands. "How do we make the jump from a ball of plastic to this disaster? Paint ball isn't exactly a gun fight."

"According to Mr. X, or whoever Jim's numbers connect too, said in an enclosed space the thing sounds like a hail of shotgun pellets." Blair shot an accusing, "... what have you done now look?" at Jim. "Said it scared the hell out of him when he first heard one go off. The test site was a small cinder block room. Not much different from an alley lined with two-story brick buildings. A copy of the lab results, with certification, I might add, came along with these things. He also said Jim here owes him a night on the town next time he sees him."

"So how did we miss this in the first place?" Jim let the question hang, with a quick look at Blair. Wouldn't his senses have picked up anything?

"The Taggert theory is we didn't know what to look for. There might have been some chemical traces, but it was raining, and forensics wasn't looking. There are no traditional traces we would connect to an explosive or ammunition. You guys were looking for a gun, right? Who would look for tiny pieces of black plastic. It's asphalt back there, old asphalt. Little gray chips and rocks all over. This stuff has a dull finish - I think it would blend right in."

"Okay," said Jim. "We start at opposite ends and work toward the center."

As the mist wormed its way down the backs of their necks, the three men began a slow, crawling journey through the alley. It was cold and miserable. Their pants were soaked from the knees down in short order. Joel was right; there were all kinds of debris on the ground. The dampness made everything look a uniform dark gray. Blair brushed some damp hair back out of his face. Jim's vision was going to have to do the work.

Resting his hand on Jim's arm, he whispered gently. "Dial up your vision."

A few minutes later Jim shook his head. "I'm not getting anything. Maybe we're in the wrong spot. He could have thrown it in any direction, even up against the walls."

"Try again. Discard color and shape. Concentrate on texture. Even broken, the fragments should have a smooth finish compared to gravel."

A few more creeping feet brought them to an area about halfway between where Jim had gone down and Blair had waited in the wings. "Here - Blair - hold an evidence bag open for me. Joel, get down here!"

Using tweezers, Jim carefully extracted a plastic sliver from the gravel, then another and another. Once they knew what to look for, Joel and Blair began to find larger pieces. They were scattered in a ten-foot circle. Jim even found some slivers embedded in the bricks nearby. There were literally hundreds of pieces. Joel quickly made a sketch of the positions they were discovering most of the chunks. A photograph would have been useless.

"Joel, call forensics. We need to get this searched systematically, and analyze the plastic in these fragments. Have you ever re-enacted an explosion for court?"

"Its routine to video tape detonations when we recover and disarm a bomb." Joel answered. "I think I see where you're going with this."

"We need some evidence to show IA that this was sufficiently similar to gunfire that it justifies our response to return fire." Jim noticed that a little bit of animation had returned to Blair's face. If only they could be certain this wasn't a false hope. "Could we set one of these off in an enclosed space and tape it?"

"I'll get help from forensics and the bomb squad. There are some areas at the training center that should be perfect. I know some guys down there pretty well."

"Soon, buddy." Jim clapped the former bomb squad captain on the back. "We need this yesterday. Blair, would you mind taking this address and timing the route to Peters place from here?" As soon as he was out of sight, Jim turned to Taggert. "I can't thank you enough. You must have done a world class job of convincing. This is way more information than I expected to get from this particular source. When you call this in, if you can avoid mentioning Sandburg's presence, I think that would be wise. Don't ask me how I know, but IA was right behind us. I'm sure they were planning to take him in to custody. Simon said something last night about it looking better to the press, and I suspect Blair sensed that something was up yesterday afternoon. Officially we don't know that, and I have a 'malfunction' in my car radio right now. Technically, I haven't violated any directives."

Joel's eyes darkened. "Those bastards. I know they have an important job to do, but sometimes... You know, I think my radio's on the fritz, too. I'll call this in on my cell phone. You and Sandburg had better beat feet out of here. Where do you plan on going?"

"Haven't gotten that far. I need to talk to Simon and still avoid being told to bring Sandburg in. The loft is out of the question. It would be safer for him if we get more to tie this all together nice and tight. You said you can get these off the net?"

"Yup. The web address is in the other documentation. Our source on information didn't sound too happy about it, either."

"Well, god knows how we could get a warrant, but I bet the right credit card records would tell us if Drew Tripple ever bought these. Somehow, I don't think his father will be particularly interested in cooperating. I would give anything to get my hands on something that would back IA off."

"Well, this is a start, and we'll run with it. I have another thought. There was one slug recovered from the brick that didn't come from your gun or Sandburg's. Wouldn't it just be delightful if we could find out that Rick Peters owns that weapon? We need to talk to a judge and see if there's reasonable cause for a search. Go on, get out of here. I'll handle things from this end. I'll call your cell phone."

Jim collected Blair and settled them for breakfast in an out-of-the-way spot that served great waffles. Sandburg was eating a real meal for the first time in days. Jim tried to manage conversation, but he was preoccupied with how to break the bad news to Sandburg.

"Chief, I need to drop you off somewhere. We have a little complication."

Blair raised his eyes over his last forkful of waffle and looked across the table. "What haven't you told me?" He sat back from his plate. "I hope you didn't do something stupid, Jim. You may as well tell me."

"Well, not exactly." Jim did an in-depth study of the smooth Formica surface, wishing he didn't have to tell Blair this. "I was listening when we drove away from the loft. We had company. They just missed us."

Blair's face paled. "Oh, God. They came to arrest me. I knew it yesterday. I knew it." Both men knew what words went unspoken. It was too late to disappear.

Jim tried to look more reassuring than he felt. "There wasn't much justification for criminal charges in the first place. This is just a response to pressure - makes it look like the department's not stonewalling. It's wrong, and everyone close to the investigation knows it. We might avoid it entirely if we get some breaks with the new evidence."

"So you're telling me I need to be unavailable for awhile - temporarily out of touch." Blair made no effort to hide the skepticism on his face. "And how long do you think they're gonna buy that, Jim? How many lies were you planning on telling for me? You know the first question Simon's going to ask." He tossed his napkin on the table. "I appreciate the thought, but you call Simon now and ask him to meet us at the station. I don't want those jerks from IA to book me. I want Simon to do it."

Jim closed his eyes, imagining the booking process. Blair had enough guilt and humiliation to deal with. This would be nothing short of torture, for both of them.

Blair slid over, and reached into Jim's inside coat pocket. He calmly put the cell phone on the table between them. Jim's vision could detect the slight tremble in his hand. "Make the call, Jim. You have to. Just don't leave me there very long. There's a lot of negative energy in a jail. Very bad for your karma."

Simon watched Jim pace across his office. If this went on much longer he would need to tie him to a chair. Part of Jim would never forget or forgive anyone who had a part in this fiasco. Despite the unfolding story surrounding the case, and the corroborating evidence that had been uncovered in the last 24 hours, the powers that be could not be dissuaded from their intentions. Simon had done what he could, but nothing could really soften the blow. Blair had been placed in special holding cell after booking. His final separation from Jim was seared into memory. Radson had arrived, and was rapidly giving everyone involved a reason to run for cover. In that respect, Blair was in good hands. If Jim Ellison was poised to be an 8 on the Richter scale, Radson wasn't far behind. Despite the normal tension between cop and defense lawyer, Simon was about ready to invite the guy for Christmas.

Now they had to wait. Surveillance on the ball players had not yet been productive, but Simon wasn't too concerned there. It was just 10 AM. What self-respecting high school boy rose before noon on a Saturday? Certainly not his son. Search warrants were pending, but wouldn't proceed without some suspicious behavior from one of the primary suspects. In a moment of desperation, Simon had pulled Rafe off surveillance, leaving Megan solo for awhile, and sent him to beg cooperation from the Tripple family. Not much chance there. Joel was hard at work with the mysterious plastic balls. Although Simon had his doubts, he gave his full endorsement to a taped trial of the exploding spheres. Fortunately, Taggert had enough pull from his bomb squad days to pull it off with very few people knowing. He hoped it turned out to be very impressive.

Jim stopped his personal parade. "Simon, Rafe is back. I can hear him talking to someone in the elevator. He's excited."

Rafe appeared in the doorway carrying three paper sacks, and a grin the size of the building. "We got lucky. Incredibly, phenomenally lucky. You won't believe this."

He dumped the sacks on Simon's desk, and Jim immediately attacked them.

"Visa records - you got Visa records from the guy that's been trying to crucify Sandburg?" Jim looked up at Rafe. "You did not get these from Norman Tripple," he stated with disbelief.

"No, I didn't. I got them from the lovely Mrs. Tripple, who just happens to think I might do nicely as an extracurricular activity. And you guys razz me about my clothes." He pulled at his shirt collar, preening for effect. "Apparently, I look pretty hot. Our young matron is decidedly peeved with her husband; something about canceling the party of the century because it wasn't seemly so close to a family funeral. She was in a complete rage. Not exactly the picture of the grieving stepmom. My guess is she and Drew hated each other's guts. Anyway, she was retaliating by tossing Drew's stuff into the trash. I'm sure the decorators will be there tomorrow. She kept handing me stuff and I kept taking it. When I asked her if he bought stuff off of the net, she really exploded. Apparently Drew had a bigger allowance than she did, and had his own credit card with no limit. She marched straight into hubby's office and handed me a file, going on about all his spending when she had to scrimp along without a major shopping trip for almost a month. What's a girl to do?"

Simon looked stunned. "You're sure she gave you this stuff - and she knew who you were?"

"Simon, I swear, I did everything by the book. There was a maid there when I flashed the badge. One second she was yelling about what a jerk the kid was and handing me stuff, the next second she was asking me to join her in the hot tub with a double martini. Man, it was crazy. I didn't check what she shoved at me. I was afraid Dad would come back and the gig would be over. I even printed out the bookmarks on his computer while she was asking me what I thought of teal as an accent color. Her husband's going to lose it when he figures out what happened."

"Simon, its here." Jim leaned over and showed the captain an entry on the Visa bill. "That's the name of the company with the website. His day-planner is in here." He flipped through the book. "God help us all, he has the initials RP written in on Wednesday night. That's one lady that should forget the shopping mall and book a plane ticket to Antarctica, one way. She has no idea what she's done."

Simon went to the door and bellowed to Rhonda. "Get someone in here to catalog these items. I want IA on the phone. Tell them Captain Banks will be arriving for an audience shortly." He grabbed a cigar off his desk before sailing out the door. "I'm going to enjoy this little séance."

Like water dripping on a stone, the end result was slow but inevitable. Radson fell on the Tripple material like a wolf on fresh meat. He made things very uncomfortable very quickly. Jim couldn't help but cheer him on, an odd reversal of roles for a man who didn't always see the legal profession in a friendly light. One of the surveillance teams caught an additional meeting with one of the players and Rick Peters on camera. A fistful of Jags tickets changed hands, their distinctive coloring easy to spot. That was enough to start movement on the other pending warrants.

Taggert turned out to be a prophet. Peters fulfilled their wildest dreams. Stuck under the driver's seat of his vehicle was a handgun with the proper caliber. They might not get enough to prosecute a gambling case, but they could build a clean scenario about the events which led up to the Wednesday night meeting and Drew Tripple's tragic death. And finally, Taggert's test of the plastic spheres on the shooting range scared a couple years life off all the participants. When confronted with the video record, even the most adamant of Blair's accusers were silenced. The entire Major Crime crew was there to greet Blair when he was released from his holding cell. Jim couldn't utter a single word. Blair rescued him with a giant hug and a request to just go home.

Dustin Smithson, with Terry Krane a constant hovering presence, led Evergreen Prep to a win with 15 points and 8 steals. Simon arranged a very private meeting with the head coach and the school administration. A day later, with minimal explanation, Evergreen Prep forfeited its first playoff game. Major Crime was content to leave the discipline of the older boys to their school.

Jim pulled the truck in behind the Volvo. The most recent rainstorm was moving on, clouds scudding across the sky. The huge evergreen trees were backed by patches of breathtakingly blue. For such a sad place, it was beautiful. Jim could see his partner off to the west, the afternoon sun brightening a spot through the trees. It didn't take a genius to guess why Blair was here.

"Hey, Chief." Blair jumped. "Sorry. Didn't want to startle you."

"You can't help it. You move like a cat even when you try to be noisy. Do you think it's dumb for me to be here?"

"No, I don't think it's dumb for you to be here. I know how you feel about shooting this boy." Jim moved to his partner's side. "Being cleared doesn't change that." Blair didn't reply, and Jim continued. "I was worried when I lost you after the hearing. Everyone wanted to celebrate. You've been exonerated completely."

Blair looked down at Drew Tripple's headstone. "I needed to say goodbye - to say I was sorry. You know, I think he died completely unloved. If he'd had longer maybe he would have found himself."

"Chief, I can tell you to let this go, but I know it sounds hollow. Joel told me about that afternoon, when someone asked you about being the teacher that killed kids. Something like that just eats a whole in your soul. I can see what it's doing to you - I just can't fix it."

"I feel like I've betrayed every value I ever cared about. That people really look at me and see the murderer of a child."

"Can you give it some time?"

"Yeah - time I've got plenty of." Blair gave one last look to the gravesite and started down the slope. Jim stayed by his side as the crossed the grass.

"Come on, I'm parked behind you. Let's go home. I'll pick up a pizza. We can shut the world out and watch the sunset." Jim didn't miss the weary look on his partner's face as both vehicles pulled into traffic.

Blair shut off the Volvo. The parking lot in front of the loft was mercifully vacant. If only the entire experience would disappear as easily. Lost in thought, he locked the car, turned, and nearly flattened a kid with short, sandy hair who had come up behind him.

Blair quickly regained his balance. The young man in front of him was about his height, but had the look of an adolescent that was due to hit a growth spurt any second. "Hey, I'm sorry. Didn't see you there. Do you need something?"

"Uh, you're Mr. Sandburg, right? I'm Dustin. I should have called."

"Dustin? Jim's Dustin? I'm glad to meet you." Blair shook the boy's hand. Jim said the kid looked young, and he did; almost fragile. "Jim will be here any second."

"I didn't come to see Detective Ellison. I wanted to talk to you. My mom and I went to the hearing. I asked her to take me."

Blair was shocked. "You were at the hearing today? Why on earth do you want to talk to me? You didn't have any reason to be involved in this mess. You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, I owe you a big thank you for being willing to tell the truth."

Dustin shuffled uncomfortably. "Actually, I felt the same way about you. You got stuck by accident, just like I did. What happened to you felt real personal to me. Uh, this is my mom." Blair greeted the newcomer. She was tiny, with the same sandy hair. Dustin had her eyes. "Anyway, I know you used to teach at the university and stuff. I wanted to ask you if you would tutor me for my SAT's and help me with some of my other classes. I can't pay you much, and I can't afford one of those fancy prep classes. It's probably rude of me to ask, but, it's like I kind of know you already."

"You want me to teach you? Me? I can't believe you would ask me, after all this."

"I mean, if you're too busy or don't want to or something....Mom, help me out here." The poor kid was blushing three shades of scarlet.

Dara Smithson slipped an arm around her son's waist. She hardly came to her son's chin. "Mr. Sandburg, I can't think of anyone I would rather have teach my son. I'm sorry. We shouldn't have sprung this on you, so soon and all. Dustin was just so determined to see you today. I just couldn't talk him out of it."

"I... I just don't know what to say."

"Say yes, Chief." Jim suddenly appeared behind Dustin. "Hey, Dustin. Mrs. Smithson, nice to see you again." He looked back to Blair. "You heard me - say yes."

"Well, then yes." Blair grinned. "I would love to tutor you. You don't even have to pay me. I'd consider it an honor and a pleasure."

Dustin, my friend, thought Jim, I'll pay you. I'll pay you ten times over. Let the healing begin. All he managed was a brilliant smile.

The End