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SVS2-05: The Iceman Cometh by alyjude, Part 2

Blair moved the cursor to the print icon and clicked. He had enough to make the interview with Wendt very interesting. He got up and walked over to the printer, but with a frown, noted that nothing had printed. The light was green, nothing was in the queue, nothing appeared to be stuck...

He started back to the computer, but the sound of paper moving through the printer turned him around. Thank God, it was coming out.

And come out, it did. As Blair neared the machine, paper began to spew forth, increasing in speed until the stuff was almost dangerous.

And -- it was -- cold.

Very cold.

As paper swirled around him, Blair froze.

Joel Taggert walked down the hall, whistling and nodding to other officers as he passed. He was in a good mood, had just had a great lunch and he was back before the squad room would fill, which meant a bit of peace and quiet. Life was good.

Until he entered the bullpen.

He couldn't, later, remember what hit him first; the cold or the papers flying in a strange circle around the one lone occupant of the office, but whichever it was -- it stopped him in his tracks. For maybe eight seconds. Then awareness crawled back into his brain and a single thought took over...

Those papers are gonna kill Sandburg.

Joel dove for the young man. He hit Blair hard and drove him to the ground and as their bodies slammed into linoleum, there was yelling and thumping and frantic footsteps and -- the papers slowly floated down to land softly, with a delicate swoosh on the floor.

"So what exactly are you telling me, Jim?"

"I think we have a new suspect, unrelated to the Conovers, but I'll know more after Sandburg wields his computer magic."

"So what exactly aren't you telling me, Jim?"

"If I tell you, then I'm no longer not telling you, sir."

"Speak now, or work the next three Saturdays."

Jim grinned and setting his cup of coffee on Simon's desk, said, "Yes, well, guess I'd better tell you then. I think Sam is protecting his sister."

Simon sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. His expression was harmless, which meant he was ready to bite.

"You have a new suspect, not a Conover, yet Sam Conover is protecting his sister? Care to explain?"

At the question, Jim frowned, his mood suddenly less than jovial.

"I think..."

Jim paused, suddenly uncertain how much to tell Simon without more than his senses to back him up. Simon saved him any further uncertainty.

"This is based on what your senses have told you, right, Jim?"

"Yeah, in a way. Along with good old-fashioned gut instinct. I think Tricia found Bartlett -- dead."

"And Sam Conover thinks..."

Jim held up a hand as he shook his head. He glanced to his left and through the slats of Simon's window, spotting his partner standing by the printer. "Sir, let me finish this up today, confirm some details, then Sandburg and I..."

But he got no further as outside, in the bullpen, two things happened almost simultaneously; paper began to shoot out of the printer at breakneck speed and Joel Taggert entered, froze, then tackled Sandburg.

Jim was up and with Simon close on his heels, had the door thrown open and was rushing to the two fallen men, Simon's bellow in his ears...

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Jim was on his knees, Joel was pushing himself up and Simon was standing over them muttering, "How the hell did it get so cold in here?"

Blair rolled over the moment he felt the weight of his friend shift, but he didn't sit up. Instead, he lay on his back, eyes closed, and tried to figure out what had happened...

Cold. Papers flying...

"Chief, you okay? And what the fuck happened to your face?"

Blair opened his eyes and found himself staring up into Jim's worried eyes.

"Face?"

"Yeah, Chief, face. Here, let me..."

"Jim, bring him into my office, let's take this out of the bullpen, the others are starting to return."

"Right, Simon."

As Jim answered Simon, he slipped an arm around Blair, and with assistance from Joel, who was still looking a bit shell-shocked, they got the younger man to his feet and inside their captain's office.

Jim kicked the door shut -- effectively shutting out the cold.

There -- but not. And he couldn't seem to move past that door...

So he'd wait.

Joel was ridiculously glad that the cold didn't follow them inside Simon's office. Which was silly, because how could cold follow? Breathing hard, he sat down at the conference table and closed his eyes. This wasn't -- normal.

"Jeesh, Jim, his face..."

"I know, sir, I know. Can you get some water and..."

"On my way."

Joel's eyes opened fast and he turned his head to see Blair next to him and Jim kneeling in front of the younger man's chair, his hand holding Blair's face and turning it right, then left.

"The paper," Joel said, his voice odd. When Jim glanced over at him, Joel added, "The paper. Those are paper cuts. Didn't you see the stuff? Shooting out, so damn fast, then... then... it kind of -- circled around him..."

The hall entrance to Simon's office opened and Simon rushed in, Rhonda behind him, carrying first aid supplies. The young woman set everything down on the table and Jim reached, but Simon was faster.

"I'll get these open," he said, his fingers tearing and ripping. Then he handed the soft, antiseptic-drenched gauze to Jim, who began to dab at the several small cuts that graced Blair's cheeks and forehead.

And Blair said his first words.

"Mom always used Bactine. This is better. Doesn't stink."

Coffee had been poured, and Rhonda, once assured that Blair and Joel were fine, left, her intentions being to immediately call the Canon guy.

Now the four men sat around the table but three pairs of eyes were trained on Blair, who was sipping coffee like it was going out of style. "Chief? Can you tell us what happened?"

Blair glanced up from his mug and waggled his eyebrows at Jim, who quickly glanced away and said a lame, "Oh."

"Uh, Jim?" Simon inquired, puzzled.

"Sir, maybe you don't want to know what happened. And in case you need more assistance, let me say one word: Molly."

Simon glanced from Jim, to Blair, and back to Jim. "Tell me you didn't just not say, what I think you didn't say?"

"He did, sir," Blair answered.

Simon frowned and asked, "He did not say what I thought he didn't say, or he did say what I thought he didn't say?"

Blair rolled his eyes, Jim stared up at the ceiling and Joel, well, Joel turned to look aghast at Sandburg and said, "Is Jim saying we have a ghost?"

Simon's mug crashed onto the table as he almost yelled, "Jim didn't say that, Taggert!"

"We have a ghost, Simon," Jim said, unnecessarily.

"I was afraid that's what you weren't saying." Simon sighed heavily.

Shaking his head, Joel said dispiritedly, "And this is not a nice ghost."

"I'll second that," Blair said, fingering one of the small cuts on his cheek.

Simon's gaze traveled from Joel, to Blair, to Jim, and remaining on Jim, he asked, "So what do we do? You two took care of Molly's problem, helped her, so what happens here? Or maybe I just call the Commissioner? Tell him we have a ghost and he needs to fix it?"

"Sir, right now, we have a murder to solve and Sandburg and I have a man to see. But as soon as we're done, I promise, the two of us will take care of the ghost."

Jim looked over at his partner for confirmation and when Blair nodded, they stood. Jim started to exit through the door into the squad room, but Blair gave a little ahem and the man immediately turned and both left through Simon's hall door.

Simon and Joel watched Jim and Blair talking outside, in the hall, and continued to drink their coffee, neither man making any move to get up and return to business.

"Tell me we don't have to go back into the squad room, Chief?"

"We don't. I found what we needed to make the interview with Wendt interesting, but it's all up here." Blair tapped his temple and grinned.

"So fill me in. Right now, I want normal."

"Oh, right. Murder, greed, yep, normal."

"Sandburg, talk."

So Blair did, all the way down to the truck.

"You're saying that Wendt Security is going bust?"

"Oh, yeah. Big time. And it's taking its partner, Grauman's, with it. I suspect some major hanky-panky with the books. That's one of the reasons for the sudden increase in pricing that Miss Conover mentioned. I looked at the rate schedules as published last year, then compared them to this year, and in the last several months, they've raised their prices by over twenty percent, and they're still climbing."

"So along comes Bartlett, branching out..."

"I think it's more than that, Jim. I think Bartlett was smelling blood. He's a cop, he has contacts, right?"

At Jim's nod, Blair went on. "So it wouldn't take much to become suspicious. Bartlett then sends out these portfolios and yes, Jim," Blair said, anticipating his partner's next question, "I did check up on which customers received these portfolios and yep, they were all Wendt regulars."

Jim whistled as he pulled the truck into a parking spot on Marguarite Parkway, just in front of the building that housed both Grauman's and Wendt Security.

"I think we have more than enough here, Chief. Good work."

"Unless Tricia Conover did kill Bartlett..."

"Chief, sometimes..."

Smiling, Blair jumped out and waited for his now slightly disgruntled partner. As Jim came up to him, he put a finger under Blair's chin and tilted his head up.

"You know, maybe a paper bag, Chief? Don't want to scare anyone..."

"You schmuck. And it's almost Halloween. I fit right in..."

"We're here to see Charles Wendt. And no, we don't have an appointment." As Jim spoke, he took out his badge and flashed it in front of the woman's eyes. Which popped wide.

"Um, oh, I see. Of course. Just one moment."

The woman picked up the phone and punched in one number.

"Ma'am? Yes, I have two gentlemen out here, from the -- Cascade Police Department? Oh, yes, immediately."

She put down the phone, stood and moved around from behind her desk. "Please, if you'd follow me?"

The woman led them down a long hall, passed several open offices where men and women worked at computers, then stopped at a door that simply said WENDT on it. She knocked and entered.

"Mrs. Wendt, these are the two men from the police."

Another woman, in her mid-thirties, attractive and clearly in charge, stood and nodding, said, "Thank you, Ruth."

Ruth made a quick exit and Jim stepped forward.

"Mrs. Wendt? I'm Detective Jim Ellison and this is my partner, Blair Sandburg. We'd like to have a few minutes of Mr. Wendt's time."

"My husband is on the phone right now, but he'll be finished shortly. But I'm curious. Why would the Cascade Police Department need to see Charlie?"

"I'm afraid..."

"Patty, I'll handle this."

The voice came from behind Blair, but Jim was already turning to face the man.

"Mr. Wendt?"

"Yes, I'm Charles Wendt. And you're?"

"Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade Police, Major Crime Division, and my partner, Blair Sandburg."

Blair couldn't fail to notice the way Jim stressed Major Crime. Nor could he fail to note how it worked on the man standing before them. Charles Wendt paled.

"Yes, well, please, come in. We can talk easier in my office." Then he looked over Blair's head to his wife and said, "Patty, hold my calls, please."

Before the woman could say anything, Wendt had ushered Jim and Blair inside and shut the door. Firmly.

"Now," he said, facing the two men, "what can I do for you?"

"We're investigating the death of Willis Bartlett. I believe you and he were in the same business. Rivals even?"

"Rivals? Not really. Bartlett Security is a young company, not well established yet. No, I wouldn't say we were rivals at all."

Charles Wendt was one cool customer, Blair had to concede. But how much was his body giving away to Jim?

If anyone ever asked, Blair could honestly say that this was his favorite part of working with Jim Ellison. The interview. The questions. And knowing that Jim was cataloguing every single response...

"Our information indicates differently, Mr. Wendt."

Cataloguing responses to simple, baited questions like that one. Oh, yeah, working with a sentinel was pretty nifty.

"Information, Detective Ellison?"

"Both Wendt Security and Bartlett Security were vying for the same job. The gala sponsored by Conover Industries for the American Cancer Society. A real coup for Bartlett, if he landed it. Major breakthrough into your customer base."

Wendt moved to the large corner window and stood with his back to the two men, hands clasped behind him.

"I would be a fool to say that the idea that Wendt Security wouldn't be doing a Conover charity event wasn't... strange, but we would hardly be in trouble. Just more competitive in the future. Losing one bid can shake a company up, for the good, but it's hardly worth killing over, Detective. And I assume that's why you're here?"

"Yes, that's why I'm here. And losing this gala would have been bad. Very bad. Surely you realize we have access to financial information, Mr. Wendt. We know how much trouble this company is in. And we know that you arranged a meeting between yourself, Willis Bartlett and Tricia Conover. We know that you cancelled that meeting. And what we're now wondering, is whether you cancelled with Bartlett."

"Of course I did. I spoke to him myself."

"Not his secretary? A receptionist?"

"No, I have a direct number to the man."

"That's too bad, Mr. Wendt."

Wendt turned to gaze at Jim, a frown marring his otherwise calm countenance. "Why is that too bad?"

"Simply that if you'd spoken with a receptionist, there'd be some corroboration of your story."

The man's face smoothed over and he smiled. "Nonsense. What could have been cancelled with a receptionist, could later have been reinstated with Bartlett."

"True. But either way -- there are phone records, Mr. Wendt."

"I'm sure. And what you'll find is his number, dialed at approximately four-thirty and lasting for about one minute. Or less."

For the first time, Blair spoke up. "Yes, I'd imagine we would, Mr. Wendt. You'd need to phone him in order to tell him to meet you in the garage, on the back side, by the private entrance, for which you have a card..."

He let his voice trail off, let the words sink in and was pretty sure that the small tic at the man's left eye was not the only sign of discomfiture. He could only imagine what Jim could sense that wasn't visible to anyone else.

"I didn't..."

But Blair went on as if he hadn't heard the man...

"You'd need to tell him that so there'd be no reason to go in through the lobby entrance, to sign in. You'd already cancelled the appointment..."

"But, he'd have cancelled it, in his books!"

"Why?" Blair asked innocently. "I suspect the records will show only one phone call. The one you needed to make in order to get Bartlett there.

"When he arrived, you took him up in the private elevator, guided him into the suite, picked up the statue, and killed him. Then you left as quietly and unobtrusively as you and Bartlett had arrived."

"Video cameras..."

"There aren't any, Mr. Wendt, not at the back entrance. The family entrance," Jim told him.

Charles Wendt turned back around to stare out the window, but this time, his hands fell to his sides as his shoulders slumped.

"It was the perfect crime. You're right. He was trying to steal my business. And he'd found out -- things. He was an ex-cop, he had sources. But with him out of the way -- my firm was protected."

"Mr. Wendt, we're cops. We have sources. Why would you think that what he'd found, we wouldn't also find?"

Wendt turned and held out his hands, palms up and said, "Because it was the perfect crime, see? Because I did it. I could have hired someone, nearly did hire a hit man, but then, well, then there'd be that one other person who knew, you know?"

"Charles Wendt, you're under arrest for the murder of Willis Bartlett. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford one, one will be..."

"Miss Conover, thank you for coming back. I understand you tried to visit your brother earlier?"

"Yes. But... he wouldn't see me." Tricia Conover lifted anguished eyes to Jim and repeated, "He wouldn't see me, Detective."

"I know. Please, take a seat." Jim pulled out a chair in the small room and almost painfully, Tricia Conover sat down, then placed her hands on the table and folded them together.

"We're bringing your brother up, Miss Conover. I'm hoping we can clear up a few things. Would you like some coffee while we wait?"

"I... yes, please. Strong, black, if possible?"

Blair nodded and said, "One black, coming right up. And strong is the only way we make it around here," he finished, with a gentle smile. A few moments later, he returned and handed one coffee to Tricia Conover and one to Jim.

"Thought you could use this too."

"Thanks, Chief."

As both Jim and Tricia took sips, the door opened and Sam Conover was once again escorted in, hands cuffed. Addressing the officer, Jim said, "You can take those off, Washington."

Hesitating only slightly, the man did as told and then exited quietly.

"Why am I here? And why have you dragged my sister down here?"

"Mr. Conover, we didn't drag your sister anywhere. She tried to see you earlier. We're just -- making that possible now. And we're hoping to get the truth out of you two."

Eyes flashing in anger, Sam Conover nearly exploded. "THERE'S NOTHING TO GET FROM US. I CONFESSED, GOD DAMN IT!"

"Yes, you did. To a murder you didn't commit," Blair said gently, then he added, "To a murder that neither of you committed."

Tricia Conover stared at her older brother, eyes wide with understanding. "That's why you confessed? Because you thought I did it?"

She was up and moving to her brother's side, reaching out, taking his hand and with a sigh, she brought the shaking hand to her cheek. "Aw, God, Sam. I told you that I didn't..."

"I know, sis, I know. But..."

"I should be mad..."

"You found him, didn't you, Miss Conover?"

Without taking her eyes from her brother, Tricia Conover nodded. "Yes, Detective Ellison, I found him. I'd left some important paperwork behind and the door to the suite was open, and it shouldn't have been. I stepped inside and there he was, and the statue, Sam's statue, was on the floor, and I knelt down and felt for a pulse -- and that's when Sam walked in."

Sam Conover took over then by saying, "I was checking on a fax that was supposed to come to my home, but when it didn't, I came back here, thinking that Paul had forgotten and simply sent it to my office. As I walked by, the door was open and Tricia was on her knees and she gazed up at me when I stepped in and said, 'He's dead. He's dead.' That's when I decided -- so I got her up, sat her down in my office, went back, wiped everything down, put my fingerprints on the statue and got her out of there."

Jim shook his head and looked over at his partner, who shrugged. Jim turned back to the Conovers and said, "Mr. Conover, you're free to go."

"What?"

"You and your sister can go home. Well, once you get through the paperwork. We have the killer."

Looking as confused as he should, Sam Conover sputtered out, "But...but... who, who did it?"

"Charles Wendt."

Sam closed his eyes and took his sister into his arms.

"They did obstruct justice, Jim."

"No kidding."

"You think they'll be charged for it?"

"Not our call, Chief."

"I guess not." Blair sighed. "So, now all we have to do -- is solve the mystery of the ghost that haunts Major Crime."

"Aw God -- did you have to remind me?"

"Yes, I did. It's a dirty job, but like your laundry, someone's gotta do it."

"Sandburg, I think you have our laundry mixed up."

"Always do, Jim. Always do. What, you expect me to separate out the Sandburg stuff from the Ellison stuff, like separating the whites from the colors? I don't think so."

"Considering that you still can't separate the whites from the colors and I still find myself getting pink boxers -- I'd say..."

"Jim, you're stalling. Get out of the elevator."

"Damn."

Jim hit the door open button and did as his partner told him -- which he'd been doing now for quite some time -- and stood in the hall staring at the doors to Major Crime.

"We could go home, tackle this tomorrow. See," Jim pointed, "Simon's gone home. His door is closed."

"Anybody ever call you a chicken?"

"Not to my face."

"Chicken."

"Yep. Can we go home and try this tomorrow?"

Blair fingered one of the cuts on his chin. Considering that he'd been getting the short end of this ghost thing -- well, maybe Jim was on the right track. Maybe they should go home -- come back tomorrow with a fresh perspective... and body armor...

"You know what I think? I think we should go home and try this tomorrow, Jim."

Jim stuck a finger in his ear, made a motion as if to clean it out, then said, "Is there an echo in here?"

Slapping Jim on the back of the head, Blair said, "Come on, let's go. How 'bout we stop for dinner at Mama Leoni's?"

"Now you're talking."

Midge Killian put the plastic cover over her keyboard, turned out the small light over her desk, made sure everything else was off, put on her coat and grabbed her purse. If she hurried, she could get to the store, get home, have a bath and all before The Watchman came on...

In her hurry, Midge forgot the necklace.

The darkness was forever, his travels, following the same path, forever.

Quiet -- few bodies -- no voices to give him strength.

Endless cold.

Endless hate.

Blair twisted the fork around a bunch of noodles, and raising the implement, stuck the whole thing in his mouth. He chewed, sighed and swallowed. Jim watched -- grinning.

"Watching you eat spaghetti is the thrill of a lifetime, Sandburg."

Blair swirled another mass of noodles, stuck that mess in his mouth, allowing one strand to dangle, which he promptly sucked up in a move that would do a porn movie proud. It was also working wonders on Jim's libido.

"You done yet, Chief?" Jim asked, slightly worse for lack of blood to his brain and air in his lungs.

"Dessert. Tiramisu."

"Dessert. Jim Ellison."

Blair threw down his napkin, rested his fork on the edge of his plate and said cheekily, "Done. You pay."

"Duh."

"You're not sleeping."

"Nope."

"You are, in fact, thinking. And it's keeping me awake."

Blair lay on his back, hands behind his head. Jim lay half on Blair, half on his side of the bed.

"My thinking keeps you awake?"

"You think loud, Chief."

"I could think downstairs."

"Move -- and you're dead meat."

"Then you're just gonna have to live with my loud thinking. Besides, I more than make up for loud thinking by great and sexy spaghetti eating."

"True. But for tonight, try and think more quietly. For me."

"Jim, Jim, Jim. I do everything for you."

Jim grinned and as he ran his hand lovingly up and down Blair's thigh, he said, "Ditto."

"Any ideas, Chief?"

"Nope."

Blair buttered another piece of toast, added some honey, dipped the corner into his coffee and then munched down. Opposite, Jim piled some scrambled eggs on his toast and did his own munching.

Reaching for their coffees at the same time, gulping and swallowing in unison, Jim said, as he put his mug down, "All that loud thinking, and this morning -- nothing?"

"That's about it, Jim."

"Well, swell."

They finished breakfast and together, carried the dishes in and while Blair washed, Jim tidied up and wiped down the table.

"You heading to the U today for more research?"

"Nope. You have me all day. One ghost -- going down."

"Sounds good. How's the research going, by the way?"

"Actually, mostly done. With the diss being halfway finished, I'm just doing some double checking. This puppy is really coming together, Jim."

"I get to read?"

"Of course, and don't worry -- you'll get first dibs."

Jim held out Blair's jacket and as the younger man took it, Jim said, "You know, I'm getting excited about it. I can't wait, Chief."

"Love you too."

"Does it seem weird to you that we're about to try to bring down a ghost on -- Halloween?"

"Blair, weird is our life."

"Yeah, I don't think it's weird either."

They stepped into the station and headed upstairs. As they entered Major Crime, they were glad to see that everything looked normal -- if strange Halloween decorations could be called normal.

As the two men were about sit down, Simon stepped out and waved them into his office. Before the door was even shut, he started in...

"Complaints all morning, Jim. All morning."

"Sir? It's only nine o'clock."

"Sandburg, don't get on my bad side today."

"Sorry, sir."

"Officers complaining about cold spots, Homicide accusing us of a huge Halloween joke, Burglary accusing Homicide, Arson accusing Vice and Vice accusing everyone."

"Sir, are you saying that the cold is being felt all over the station?"

"Not at all. The sixth floor still has the distinction of being the only haunted floor. But it's a popular floor, gentlemen." Simon then turned to Blair and said in a tone that brooked no argument, "Fix it, Sandburg."

As the door shut behind them, Blair looked up at his partner and asked, "Fix it, Sandburg? How did this become fix it, Sandburg?"

Jim was about to come back with a snappy reply when Blair snapped his fingers and turned back to Simon's office. He knocked, then pushed in without waiting for an answer.

"Sir?" He peeked around the door and at Simon's frown, he walked back in. "Has anyone -- logged the cold spots?"

"Logged the cold spots?" Simon asked incredulously.

"Yeah, you know. Write down all the spots that people have reported as being cold? Like by Jim's desk, Rafe's desk, the printer..."

Simon held up one hand, saying, "I get it. Well, lucky you, Connor has been doing something along those lines. See her, solve this, end this."

"Yes sir. And thank you sir, for the kind words yesterday."

Simon looked back up, surprised to see Sandburg still in his office. "Yesterday?"

"Why, yes sir. You know, all those gushing sentiments about what a good job Jim and I did in solving the Bartlett murder. Those kind words."

Brown eyes narrowed dangerously and Blair scurried out. As he shut the door, Jim said, "Man, you do have a death wish, Chief."

Floating aimlessly, same path, back and forth, forth and back...

The voices.

Freedom.

Strength.

Midge opened her drawer, looking for her letter opener, and there it was -- her brother's gift. Of course, the jewelry store. She quickly scooped the thing up and dropped it into her coat pocket. That was far enough away.

As she turned back to her desk, she felt a sharp pain in her back. Obviously not a kick. Could you feel a baby kick in your back? Maybe she'd better call her mom...

Blair moved about the office -- slowly, his objective unclear to anyone looking -- and everyone was looking. Covertly, but they were looking. Finally, he moved back to Jim's desk.

"No cold spots."

"Try the other spots on Connor's list -- the halls."

"Gee, thanks, Jim."

Smiling wickedly, Jim said, "You're welcome."

Blair headed out. And found nothing. Until he went down the main corridor, toward the large set of doors that proclaimed Major Crime. Then he froze -- because it was -- cold.

Back in the squad room, Jim cocked his head and seconds later he was moving fast, Connor right behind him. Jim tore down the eastern hall and skidded to a stop behind his partner, who was standing by the doors, unmoving.

"Blair?"

"Cold."

Jim reached out and laid a hand on one cold shoulder. "Blair?"

The cold moved. Through Blair. He shivered, turned, and watched Jim's face change as the cold moved through him. Then it was gone.

"Wow."

Blair took Jim's arm and pulled him back to the bull pen. Connor, who'd felt only the edge of the cold, followed quietly.

"What did you feel, Jim?" Blair asked, once they were back at their desks, Megan perched on Blair's.

Jim rubbed his face, then glanced up at his partner, who was hovering over him like a mother hen. Unsuccessfully trying to stem the sarcasm, he asked, "What did you feel?"

"Well -- cold."

"Yeah, that about covers it, Sandburg."

"Aw, come on, Jim. You know you felt more. Just tell me."

"Cold-er. And... that... sense of familiar again. And -- there was this -- scent, I think."

"You think?"

"There was. Yeah, this strange, but familiar scent."

"Can you pin it down, Jim?"

"Well, it could have just been you, Sandburg."

"Hey, I showered this morning!"

"You used my gel again, didn't you?"

"Hey..."

"Gentlemen?" Connor asked politely. "Do you think we could concentrate on the poltergeist that doesn't exist?"

Looking only marginally cowed, Jim tried to sort through all the odors around him, trying to find, to isolate, that one -- scent. But no luck.

"It's gone, can't even call it back up."

At that moment, the glass in Simon's door -- shattered. Everyone could now see Simon, jaw open, cigar falling... then he was up and standing, gazing down at his broken window.

"What the hell?"

Jim started to stand, but as he did, he heard Joel's voice, except -- Joel wasn't anywhere around. Then items began to pop up all over the squad room. Papers, calendars, rolodexes, and they jumped up as if... as if...

More glass shattered, in succession, behind them, to the side, the windows that separated the bullpen from the halls that surrounded it...

The staccato sounds, the flying glass, detectives bounding over or under their desks, trying to avoid the glass, Jim's body hurtling toward Blair, taking them both to the ground, Connor down, thanks to Simon and ... as quickly as it started, it ended.

In the hall, officers, clerks and suspects stood staring as the men and women of Major Crime stood back up, brushed themselves off and looked about them -- stunned.

A scream ripped through the halls and Corrine Butler, one of the clerks in Public Relations, yelled, "MIDGE IS HAVING THE BABY!"

A crowd had gathered around the small office and Jim had to shoulder his way through to get to Midge's side. Her fellow clerks already had her on the ground, a jacket bunched up and under her head. For a moment at least, ghosts, cold spots and weird happenings were forgotten.

He knelt down beside her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Midge, you okay?"

As she turned her head towards his voice and opened her eyes, Blair dropped down on the other side and brushed hair from her forehead.

"Hey, guys, looks like I won't make that performance after all."

Smiling gently, the detective placed his other hand on her stomach, then grinned even more broadly. "Oh, I don't know," he said softly, "You have this baby in the next hour or so, and you'll still be able to make it."

Midge scrunched up her face, panted a bit, then gasped out, "I think I'm having it here and now, Jim!"

"No, no you're not. Don't worry, Junior Killian will not be born on the floor of the Cascade Police Department. You have time."

"The paramedics are on their way up, Jim," Simon added. Then to Midge, "Although, this wouldn't be the first baby to be delivered here. Of course, then you'd have to name the tyke, PD Killian."

She scrunched up her face again, but this time, not in pain. "Oooh, bad one, Captain Banks."

Voices telling others to move aside heralded the arrival of the paramedics and a gurney. Two men in blue dropped down next to the pregnant woman as Jim and Blair moved out of the way. Several minutes later, with a stabilized Midge safely loaded onto the gurney, they headed out. Before they reached the door, Midge's hand struck out as she pleaded, "Jim? Please?"

Taking her hand, Jim smiled and moved with the gurney out into the hall. Watching his partner leave, Blair glanced down and spotted Midge's jacket still on the floor. He bent over, picked it up, and drapping it over his arm, headed out into the hall.

In the crush of bodies in the hall, Blair found himself separated from Jim, but before he could catch up, something -- strange happened...

He'd waited, hovering just outside the voices, but allowing the sound to feed his hate, to give him more strength than ever before. As the power swelled, he could hear his own voice yelling, "I WANT BARTLEY!" and he moved and found the ability to destroy...

Bullets flying. He could see the bullets flying and men diving for cover and Joel's voice yelling for Jim, asking if he was all right, puzzled, concerned -- and he, Blair, squatting down, head moving as his eyes searched, seeing Joel rise, catching a glimpse of Zoeller, then tackling Joel...

Zoeller.

And it was cold -- ice cold -- and Blair reached out with his mind, tried to reach out, but felt only hard, unforgiving, unrelenting cold. Insane cold, unreasoning cold.

Jim stepped back from the ambulance, gave the door a pat and watched as it moved slowly away. Several officers had searched for Jeff Killian, only to find that his city work here at the construction site was completed, but they'd managed to get word to the man so at least Midge knew her husband was on his way.

Turning from the street and stepping back up onto the sidewalk, Jim smiled at Simon. "Well, we almost had an official Cascade PD baby, Simon."

"Yeah, too close for comfort." Then the answering smile faded as memory of the events that preceeded Midge's emergency surfaced. "Shit, Ellison, what the hell happened up there?"

"I don't know, sir, but it seemed -- well, I had this sense of deja vu, like it had happened before... and Simon, I could have sworn that I heard Joel's voice..."

"Joel? But he's in court this morning. You couldn't have heard..."

But Simon didn't finish. Couldn't finish. The look on Jim's face, combined with the man's next words, stopped him.

"Oh, God. Of course." Then Jim's head whipped around and with panic tinging his voice, he asked, "Where's Blair? Where's Sandburg?"

Puzzled, Simon turned, saying, "He's right here..."

Except -- he wasn't.

"Jim?"

"The scent, what happened upstairs, it's Zoeller. He's our ghost."

With those words, Jim was running back inside, Simon close on his heels. He didn't have a clue what Jim was talking about, but after four years, he trusted him.

The cold was moving and Blair followed. He was completely unaware that he was still holding Midge's jacket. After a few moments, he was running, not walking -- and Blair understood that he was following Zoeller's moves on that fateful day.

Down the hall, running from something and that something had to be Jim because Zoeller was escaping and then Blair was pushing through the door marked stairs and he wondered, would he be able to stop this, if he wanted to? Who was in charge? Himself or Zoeller? But then he was climbing up to the roof, charging through the door and a curtain lifted between the present and the past and he could see Zoeller run out into the middle of the roof, heard Jim crash through the door behind him, gunshots thundered in his mind and he heard Jim gasp in pain and knew he was hearing Jim as he'd been shot but he couldn't go to the man, because, of course, Jim wasn't really here...

Something burning... his hand, his arm and Blair looked down at the jacket and he frowned. How? What? But damn, the cold was even worse now, and Blair thought his blood would actually congeal, but he was in control, not the Iceman, so he touched the coat, slipped his hand into the pocket, felt the chain, wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it out...

The medallion glittered in the sunlight, flickered in his eyes, almost blinding him and he squinted and something... a vision... came back to him and he could hear his own voice saying, All right, what are we going to do? Pull him up or knock him off? and then he saw Zoeller fire, hit the cable and start to fall...

And something shiny around his neck, breaking free long before the body hit the patrol car and that glittering object...

Blair stared at the item in his hand, and it was cold, not burning -- except, cold could burn, couldn't it? And he could hear laughter now, surrounding him, and maybe he wasn't in so much control after all, and maybe he should -- leave...

Something clattered behind him and he turned and saw a circle of black cable and it hadn't been there only moments before...

"All right, I know who you are, Zoeller. And I'm thinking I know what you want too. Revenge. And you're feeding off your hate, aren't you? Well, I got news for you -- you failed then and you're going to fail now. It's over, you destroyed yourself last year. It's over."

More laughter and damn, that was a chilly and chilling sound. Jim was right, Brackett and Kincaid were looking good right about now. Hell, so was David Lash.

Blair didn't see the cable behind him start to move...

Jim rushed out of the elevator and froze. He frowned, looked left, then right...

Simon managed to stop his own forward movement in time to avoid hitting his friend. "Jim? What is it?"

"I don't -- know. Something..."

There was nothing to see for Jim. He knew that. And smell wouldn't really work, not by itself, so Jim closed his eyes. He was frantic with worry, but he knew he had to be calm, had to do this the right way...

Cold and heat warring with each other. Zoeller's cold and Blair's body heat. All Jim had to do -- was follow it.

Down the hall to the door that led to the stairs and that was all that Jim needed. He knew where they were.

"The roof, Simon. The roof."

"ARGGH!"

The cable wound itself around Blair's leg and began to move -- toward the roof edge. Blair went down heavily, unbalanced by the tugging of the black wire. He flipped over and struggled to move the other way, back towards the door, towards safety, and it was a tug-o-war, and somehow, the chain slipped over Blair's hand and down his wrist...

Aw, man, he thought, I'm a fucking shaman, right? And Zoeller is a crazy assassin. I should be able to beat him with my hands tied behind my back!

But he wasn't. Beating Zoeller. His body was being inexorably drawn toward the roof edge, and there were no incantations he could use, and his spirit animal seemed to be conspicious by its absence, and where the hell was Jim, anyway?

A crashing sound off to his right and Jim was there, with Simon, and they were grabbing at the cable, but Blair thought it was too late as his body thudded into the cement border and started up and really, no way could Zoeller be stronger than one shaman, one sentinel and one really pissed off captain.

Come to think of it, Blair was pretty pissed too. And sore.

He put out his hands, to brace himself and give him leverage to push away from the wall, and he saw the chain and how it had wound itself around his wrist, tighter and tighter, and he didn't like that one bit, and he could hear Jim and Simon and wondered what on earth this must look like to them...

Jim burst through the door much as he had a year before, and the sight that greeted him nearly froze his blood.

Blair, with a cable line wrapped around his body, was being, somehow, pulled to the edge of the roof, and he was fighting it, fingers grappling at anything, face angry and red and disgusted... Jim moved as he'd never moved before -- or maybe -- as he'd moved once before, and he could hear Simon beside him, heard his expletive, and they both grabbed at the cable, at the end by the winch and it was the same cable that Zoeller had used to launch himself over the edge and off the roof to what he'd believed would be freedom.

Two men, one a strapping six foot five, the other six-one, both strong, used to lifting weights, and they weren't making a bit of difference. They weren't stopping the cable.

When Blair's body hit the cement and started up and over, Jim yelled, "HOLD ON TO HIM, SIMON!" Then he dove for his partner, latched onto him, to the jacket that seemed to be around Blair's arm, and it slipped off and Jim found himself with an armful of nothing.

"TRY AGAIN, JIM!"

Jim did. He pounced, grabbed, and this time, he had Blair. He wrapped both arms around the man's waist and braced his feet against the cement and pulled back with all his strength and...

Blair felt Jim and Simon's strength and realized they were trying to stop him from going over, then he heard Jim yell, felt him grab hold, but it was Midge's jacket and it slipped from his arm, and there was another yell, this time from Simon, and Jim tried again and this time, Blair felt those wonderful, strong arms wrap around him.

But Jim was losing. As impossible as that sounded, even to Blair, it was true. Jim was losing. Blair was going over...

Simon made a giant leap forward and grabbed his detective before he could go over with Blair. There was a lurching feeling and he closed his eyes against the inevitable because he couldn't watch Blair Sandburg die again, especially since there could be no miracle this time...

Simon didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't Blair's voice saying, All right, what are we going to do? Pull him up or knock him off?

He opened his eyes and realized that while he still had Jim -- Jim still had Blair, at least by one arm.

"JIM, THE CHAIN AROUND MY WRIST! GET IT OFF OF ME, NOW!"

Blair was flailing about in the air, the only thing between him and the street below being Jim's hands around his wrist. And now, Simon could see what Blair was talking about and he knew he had to give Jim more room, so he let his arms slide down to the man's waist, but Jim was yelling back at him, "NO, SIMON, NO! I'VE GOT BLAIR, BUT YOU'VE GOT TO TAKE THAT THING OFF OF HIM!"

Simon was worried. If he let go of Jim, could the man hold onto Blair? Simon peered over Jim's shoulder and straight into Blair's eyes.

Yes, he could.

Simon let go, took his place next to the Sentinel and reached out, fingers itching to touch the chain, finally succeeding -- and he struggled and he felt the cold and he froze.

"No, Simon, don't feel it. Let it go..."

Blair's voice. No fear, no panic. Trusting him, guiding him -- and Simon closed his eyes and listened...

"You can do it, you can unwrap it. You're stronger, he couldn't defeat you last time, even with a teflon bullet, and he can't defeat you now..."

Blair's voice went on as his body stilled and Jim grunted, both his hands gripping tightly and Simon's fingers worked at the chain just below Jim's hands. The cold was all around them, but Blair's voice seemed to be keeping it from actually touching them.

And just when Jim thought he'd fail his partner, another set of arms wrapped around him and he heard Connor's voice...

"I've got you, just keep holding him..."

At that moment, Simon, in a surge of cold anger -- in the rising memory of a bullet striking him in the back and of later hearing that Megan Connor had been hit by that same bullet -- simply pulled the chain apart.

"Let it drop, Simon. Just let go..."

Blair's words again and with eyes still closed, Simon did as he was told. The medallion dropped and the cable fell...

And with it, a scream tore through the cold October air...

"NOOOOOOO!"

"Uh, Jim? Could you, like, pull me up now? Please?"

At the words, Simon opened his eyes in time to see Jim pulling and he quickly reached over, took a hold, and together, with Connor still giving Jim the help he needed, they got Blair safely up and on their side.

Blair slumped against the cement and breathed deeply. Jim fell in beside him, as did Simon and Megan. Slowly, all four allowed their bodies to slide down until they were sitting on the cold, hard concrete.

Finally, Simon couldn't keep quiet. He had to ask. "So. What, exactly, did we just do?"

Blair hauled himself up, just enough to peer over the edge, then slid back down and said, "Apparently, we've consigned Zoeller to a new cement grave. They were pouring the new sidewalk when you let go of that chain, Simon."

Simon glanced over the younger man's head at Jim and arched an eyebrow. "Jim?"

But Jim was still trying to catch his breath and was in the process of wiping the sweat from his face. He just shrugged and said, "Let's ask him -- downstairs, okay?"

"There's nothing to it really, Jim. It's so easy," Blair offered as he immediately went into his lecture mode.

Simon, Jim and Megan were too tired to move yet -- they were a captive audience.

"I suspect that when the city work crew tore up the sidewalk, they unearthed that medallion, which belonged to Klaus Zoeller. See, he lost it when he shot the cable and ended up killing himself. While he landed on Officer Boatwright's patrol car, his necklace ended up embedded in the sidewalk."

Blair took a deep breath, but the pause wasn't enough to save the other three.

"Then, deductive reasoning says that Jeff Killian found it when he tore up the sidewalk, and he gave it to Midge, who obviously had it in her office. Which is on the sixth floor, as you all know. The floor that Zoeller invaded to get to Bartley. Now as I see it, once that chain was up on our floor, Zoeller's spirit, if you will, was freed. Now I'm just guessing here, but it's an educated guess and the facts fit.

"I think Jim's voice and my voice? Well, it really triggered the guy, you know? And he got stronger. Then, today, he let it all out. He kind of recreated the day he shot up the department. And when Midge went into labor and I took her coat, which had the medallion in it, well, Zoeller really had some power then. And you know the rest. When you dropped the chain, Simon -- well, Zoeller went with it."

Damn, Simon thought, that was really interesting. I should listen to the guy more often. Or maybe -- go for a root canal...

Jim turned to look at his partner and asked, "So you're saying -- it's over?"

"Oh, yeah. Way over."

"No more cold spots, Sandy?"

"Nope. Well, other than the normal ones, like when Simon yells at us, or when the heater goes out in the dead of winter."

"No more paper flying all over the place?" Jim asked.

"Only when Rafe loses something and throws his files all over everywhere."

"No more people going over the roof?" Megan asked, a grin on her face.

"Only when Sandburg tells us one of his stories," Simon offered.

"I am so unappreciated."

Jim threw his arm over Blair's shoulders and said quietly, "Not by me, Sandburg, not by me."

"What happens if that thing is unearthed again, Sandburg?"

Blair glanced over at Simon and frowning, said, "Gee, Simon, how the hell should I know? But I can promise you this; the next time they tear up the sidewalk? I'm going to Fiji."

Laughing, Megan stood and held out a hand to her boss, who took it and hiked himself up. Jim and Blair soon followed, and as all four brushed themselves off, Megan said, "Did I happen to tell you guys, Happy Halloween?"

With narrowed eyes, Simon said, "No, you didn't. And don't. And did I happen to mention that all three of you, along with Rafe, Brown and Taggert, are working the Halloween fair tonight? At St. Marks?"

A chorus of Aw, Simon met his pronouncement and smiling, he headed toward the door. Blair, never one to let well enough alone, yelled out, "Happy Halloween, Simon!"

Before disappearing on the other side of the door, Simon's voice bellowed out, "And did I mention that you, Sandburg, are working the dunking booth? You're the dunkee, and no matter what it costs me -- I'm gonna be the dunker."

Turning to his partner, Blair asked innocently, "Gee, Jim, what did I say?"

Grabbing Blair's arm, Jim said, "Come on, Chief. We've got to get you a wet suit before tonight and then find out whether Midge had a boy or a girl."

"She had a girl, Jim. About ten minutes ago."

Jim Ellison and Megan Connor stopped in their tracks and turned to face Blair Sandburg.

"Uh, Chief?"

"Uh, Sandy?"

Shrugging happily, Blair pushed his way between them and headed to the door -- whistling.

The theme from the Twilight Zone.

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Author's E-mail: alyjude@webtv.net
Author's Webpage: http://www.skeeter63.org/k9kennel