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SVS2-16: Gift Exchange by Corbeau, Part 2
Two days later, Jim was just shutting the door of his truck in the visitor parking lot at Rainier when his cell rang. "Ellison." "Megan said you two finally got to testify this morning. How did it go?" "Pretty good, Simon, but if the perp wants to appeal his conviction I'll be forced to testify for the defense. The guy had an idiot for a lawyer." "Funny, Megan called him a 'bloody dill'. I think it means the same thing in Australian. Do you know where Blair is? Lau was looking for him earlier but he's not answering his cell." "Patel down in records said he rushed over to Rainier to look up something in the library. If that's where he is, he's probably got it turned off. Sounds like he might have discovered something." "Well, tell him to call Lau if you find him. Before you two go to lunch." "Yes, Sir." Jim smiled as he pocketed the phone. Lunch was indeed one of the reasons he'd come looking for Blair, but he was planning to suggest raiding the fridge at the loft, after they'd worked up an appetite. A sensory sweep of the first two campus libraries that Blair was likely to go to yielded nothing. At the Social Science Library he lucked out. One of the librarians recognized Jim and let him know Blair had headed off to the Political Science Department about ten minutes ago. Jim's vision of a nooner was quickly being replaced by one of the drive-through window at Wonderburger. When he finally reached the right building, he sighed mightily. There were recent scent traces of his partner, but no familiar heartbeat. He could scan the entire campus and risk zoning, or he could try the departmental office first and see if anyone had seen Blair and knew where he was headed next. Deciding on the less risky course, Jim marveled at the unaccustomed quiet until he remembered that the semester was over and summer school hadn't started yet. He was just about to enter the corridor that led to the Political Science office when a snatch of conversation made his hearing sit up and take notice. "...Sandburg is so cute, don't you think? Is he going to teach summer school? I'd take a class from him any day." The snort from the other person in the room would have been audible without Sentinel hearing. "Honestly, I wonder sometimes what you young people use for brains. His doctorate is in anthropology, not political science. Even if he were teaching summer school, it wouldn't be in our department." "So why is he here? Come on, Mrs. Childers, I'll bet you know. You know everything. You're an absolute marvel." Jim leaned against the wall, folded his arms, and focused. Voice number two sounded much younger. Maybe she wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but she sure knew how to flatter the old battle-axe. "Well... Dr. Kelso did mention that Dr. Sandburg might be by yesterday or today to pick up a recommendation. He wanted to make sure someone would be in the office in case he came by during the lunch hour." "Recommendation? You mean like a job recommendation? Why didn't he just mail it?" "I don't know. Perhaps Dr. Kelso was hoping they could meet, since he's a good friend of Dr. Sandburg. And why must you put 'like' in such inappropriate places? When I was your age we were capable of talking properly." "Sorry, M'am. What job is he looking for? I thought Dr. Sandburg already had a job, working for the police." "As a consultant, part-time. You can hardly expect someone with a doctorate, not to mention an impressive publication record, to consider something like law enforcement as a career. One doesn't even need a B.A. for that." A sniff this time, not a snort. "But why would an anthropologist want a recommendation from a political scientist?" "Now that, at last, is an intelligent question. I don't actually know, of course..." "But I'll bet you have a good guess." Mrs. Childers' voice dropped to a more confidential timbre. "The interdisciplinary Latin American Studies program at Berkeley is looking for a tenure-track anthropologist. Dr. Kelso knows the Director well from their days in -- that is, when they both worked for the Government. Dr. Sandburg has done a lot of fieldwork in South America and is quite fluent in both Spanish and Portuguese. It would be an excellent position for him." "I guess. It'll seem funny not to have him at Rainier any more, though. He's been here like, forever. I mean, he's been here a long time, hasn't he?" The battle-axe's voice went all soft. "Almost half his life, poor dear. He was only sixteen when he started. Mrs. Beutler was the secretary in Anthropology then. You wouldn't know her, she retired before you came to work here. She used to mother the students excessively, I thought, but in his case... better her than his own mother, I should think." "You knew Dr. Sandburg's mother?" "Actually, I never met the woman, but Mrs. Beutler did. She could rarely bring herself to speak negatively about anyone, but reading between the lines, as it were... for one thing she was much too young to be his mother, if you know what I mean." "Oh. I get it." "Flighty, too. The poor child was moved around constantly when he was younger. I remember Mrs. Beutler telling me one time that Rainier was his first real home. He's certainly lived in Cascade longer than anywhere else." "California's a big change from Cascade, at least as far as weather goes." "Actually, he'll probably like it a great deal better. Dr. Sandburg seems to feel the cold and damp more than some of us. I always expected him to go someplace warm when he was ready to move on. A young man with his qualifications should have plenty of choices." A chair creaked. "Now I must be off, I'm meeting someone for lunch. I'll expect that report to be finished when I get back." "Yes, Ma'm." Footsteps and the soft clicking of a computer keyboard replaced the voices. Jim closed his eyes briefly, then pushed off from the wall and headed back to his truck. He seemed to have lost his appetite for lunch.
Jim was hunched over his keyboard, actually writing a report himself, when Blair breezed in. He was obviously bursting with news and looking obscenely pleased with himself. Jim tore his eyes from Blair after a quick recon and went back to staring at his monitor. This time, however, nothing on it seemed to make sense. "Hey, Jim, is Simon around? I think I may have identified our vic." Henri's head shot up from his desk. "Already? I thought you'd be at it for days." Blair bounced onto his toes. "I thought so too. You have no idea how many women disappeared from Cascade and environs within a couple of years. Pretty sad, really. It would've taken me forever to go through those files looking for addresses and ages." Joel wandered over. "It was the sixties, after all," he reminded his younger colleagues. "A lot of people wandered off to 'find themselves' or just plain ran away. Most were younger than our vic is supposed to be, though." "So tell us, Sandy, how did you narrow it down?" Blair grinned a shit-eating grin. "I utilized one of the most effective research tools known to humankind -- a librarian's brain." "Hope it was still in her head at the time," Jim grumbled. Blair ignored him. "The woman in charge of periodicals at Rainier's Social Science Library is amazing. Not only does she know her newspaper collection inside and out, but she grew up in Cascade and she's in her fifties. I thought she might remember something, so I took a chance and went over there." "Why not just call?" Megan wondered. Jim raised his head. He was rather interested in Blair's answer to that one himself. "I figured if she did remember something good, I could check the older newspapers while I was at it. They've got the most extensive selection around." Blair looked at his shoes. "Besides, I had ... some stuff to pick up." "Is this a party or a police station?" Simon's bellow made everyone around Blair jump, except Jim. "Simon, I think I know who the vic was." Somewhat mollified, Simon began chewing his cigar. "Give," he mumbled around it.
"One of the librarians at Rainier, Jane Kowalczyk, remembered a case of a thirty-four-year-old woman whose husband reported her missing early in 1969. There was a lot of media coverage at the time, and she remembered it particularly well because her cousins lived on the next block. The same neighborhood where H's house is." Henri got up and joined the group. "Don't keep me in suspense, Blair." "We looked up the newspaper accounts, and the vic was indeed living at 336 Azalea, with her husband and kids, when she disappeared. Her name was Eileen Parker. She was never found." Henri sighed. Simon pulled out his cigar and contemplated it. "Did you tell Lau about this?" Blair nodded. "She'd already found the records for that period. The Parkers lived in the house for a few years after Eileen disappeared but then sold up and moved out. There's no record of Mr. Parker -- Ronald was his first name -- buying another property in Cascade. The next owners were an older couple who lived in it until both died. Since then it's been short-term owners, most of whom rented it out." Lau walked in just as Blair was finishing. "Sandburg, Lau, bring all your paperwork to Conference Room B. Let's see what we can put together."
"So, do you think the husband did it?" Jim looked up from peeling potatoes to see Blair's familiar butt in the air. Unfortunately he was only putting the meat loaf in the oven this time. "Aren't you jumping the gun a little, Sandburg? We haven't even identified the victim for sure." Blair shut the oven door and leaned on the counter. "Well, not technically, no. Too bad she had such perfect teeth... no dental records. On the other hand, it's the enamel that protects the pulp, so it does make it a little more likely that we'll get usable DNA. Serena thought so, anyway." Jim put the cut-up potatoes in a pot and added water, then started slicing carrots. "I admit it's likely. It usually is the husband, and who else is in a position to bury a body in the backyard?" "Besides which, Elena said the angle and depth of cut marks on the bones suggested somebody at least five feet ten and strong." "And Ron Parker was a beefy five eleven. But the DA is picky about little things like actual evidence. Not a good idea to hassle the family until you actually know who the victim is... not to mention a waste of resources." Blair stole a piece of carrot. "Tell that to poor H. I've never seen him so eager to do the boring stuff. He was on the phone or the computer all afternoon, trying to track down the remaining Parker family. If we can find the kids we might be able to compare mitochondrial DNA." "Let's hope they haven't moved too far from Cascade. They all could have traveled a long way in thirty years." Blair picked up the Tupperware container next to Jim and peeked under the lid. "Brown sugar? You're kidding me! Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots -- when did you turn into June Cleaver? I'd say all this focus on the past has gotten you nostalgic, but your time machine didn't brake soon enough. This menu is more fifties than sixties." "Just as well. If I made the kind of brownies your mother did I'd have to arrest myself." "Hey, don't ask, don't tell. That's my motto where Naomi's early years are concerned. And don't change the subject. What's with the comfort food wallow? You OK?" "Fine. Just decided we needed a break from the usual chicken/pasta/takeout routine. I liked this kind of food when I was a kid. Nothing wrong with it. I even let you put ground turkey in the meat loaf." "Sure, in addition to pork and beef, not instead of. That has to cook a while before we start the veggies. Want a beer?" Jim took off his apron, folded it, and set it on the counter. "Sure, why not?" They watched the news, discovering that one of the TV reporters had tracked down the Parker connection -- maybe she knew the right librarians too -- and was engaging in the usual wild speculation and innuendo just this side of libel. Or was it slander on TV? Jim swore. "Hey, Jim, look on the bright side. Maybe the media attention will bring some of the Parker family out of the woodwork and we can get our ID." "And maybe it'll warn the perp and he'll leave the country." "Maybe you really need that comfort food." Blair turned all his attention to Jim. "Did you make some old-fashioned and near-lethal dessert?" Jim attempted to look self-righteous. "No." Blair kept looking. Jim tried to ignore him and watch the rest of the news. It was like trying to ignore the Spanish Inquisition when you were snugly tied to the rack. "Bought it. Boston cream pie."
Two mornings later, Blair and Jim were waiting for the elevator in the CPD lobby. Jim turned to his partner, intending to make some crack about the slowness of this elevator versus the unreliability of the one at home. Blair was staring in the direction of the front door. Jim looked in the same direction, but everything looked like it did any other day... except for a slight, fortyish man standing near the entry, impeding the flow of traffic and looking lost. "You can look as long as you don't touch." Blair turned to Jim, obviously confused. "What?" "Come on, I caught you staring at that guy. I guess you're bored with tall and buff already..." "Asshole. Guess you've forgotten last night. Did I act bored? No, there's just something weirdly familiar about that guy. I'm sure I never met him, but -- holy shit! It can't be... Jim, come on."
Jim found himself being hauled along towards the entrance. Too bad Blair hadn't tried out for the Academy; he would have aced the 150-pound drag for sure. He was doing pretty well at the 180-pound drag right now. Blair walked up to the man and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Excuse me -- is your name Parker, by any chance?"
Simon and Jim watched through the one-way glass as Lau questioned Nathaniel Parker, middle child of Ronald and Eileen Parker. "You trying to tell me Sandburg recognized this guy as a Parker because he had the right skull?" "Well, not exactly, sir," Jim answered. "There were photographs in the papers and in the old case file, although they weren't good ones. Apparently he looks a lot like his mother. The thing is --" The door of the observation room opened and Dr. Sandburg breezed in. "Sorry, I just had to call Joe Uchida. What a gas! Did Jim tell you how I recognized the guy?" "He was about to," Simon replied, "but I'd rather hear it from you." "Well, Elena gave Joe several casts of the vic's skull, because he's a visiting prof for this special summer training institute Rainier is sponsoring on forensic anthro. It's never been one of Rainier's specialties, but this is a joint program with Pacific Tech and --" Simon sighed. "Anytime this year, Sandburg." "Right. Short version. OK. Uchida is a specialist in forensic reconstruction, and he was going to use the skull in his class. He'd do a reconstruction ahead of time, then compare his with the students' at the end. Elena thought it might be useful for us if the DNA thing didn't pan out, and it would be a freebie for the CPD, which Warren --" "You should hear the long version," Jim commented to Simon over Blair's head. "Ha, ha. The point is, I just saw Uchida's reconstruction last night, so it was fresh in my mind. Then it walked into the lobby this morning, albeit with a different hairdo. I think the poor guy was a little freaked." All three turned to the window. Simon folded his arms. "Lau's just finished explaining the situation, so Parker probably doesn't think you're a witch anymore. Now shut up and listen." "...was living in the house when your mother disappeared?" Jim admired Lau's technique as an interrogator. She sounded sympathetic, concerned. Parker slowly began to relax. "Besides my mom and dad, there was my brother and sister. I was ten and Becca was eight. Jerry -- Jerome -- was fifteen." "How did your parents get along?" "They fought a lot, I admit, but just yelling. I never saw my dad hit my mom or anything like that." "Where is your father now? Is he still alive?" "I... I don't know." "That's unusual, Mr. Parker. Did you and your father have a falling-out?" Jim could hear the man's heart rate increase. His discomfiture was obvious to anyone. "Look, I have to admit my father was not a nice guy. He was what you now call emotionally abusive. Sometimes I think getting beat up would have been easier. He was always criticizing my mom, telling her she was stupid, clumsy, unattractive. Nothing she did was good enough to suit him. They didn't go out much, because he'd always end up yelling at her for being such a slut, accusing her of throwing herself at guys." "Did she?" Parker ran his hands through his hair. "Hell, I was ten, what did I know? But I do know she was a good mother to me. It broke my heart when she left." He raised his face to look Lau in the eye. "Can you imagine what it's like to be ten years old and believe your mother's walked out on you? Abandoned you?" Jim winced like he'd been punched in the gut. He felt Blair move closer and slip an arm around his waist. Simon pointedly ignored what was going on next to him. "Finding out that she was dead, murdered -- that would be hard, but at least I'd know she hadn't left us kids on purpose." "So you wouldn't object to giving us a blood sample for DNA comparison?" "I'd welcome the chance. Anything to find out for sure." Lau looked at her notes. "So you don't know the whereabouts of your father. What about your brother and sister?" "Detective Lau, what you have to understand is, my mother's disappearance pretty well destroyed my family. I wasn't that close to my brother. He took after my father, and it didn't seem to me he got half as much grief afterwards as my sister and I did. I always assumed it was because Becca and I looked so much like my mother. Frankly, our lives were hell for the next ten years." "So you didn't get along with your brother?" "More like we didn't live on the same planet, even though we were in the same house. Five years seems like a big gulf at that age... but losing my mom must have been harder on him than I realized. He ran away from home at sixteen, got arrested for drugs, petty theft, assault, you name it. Spent some time in juvie, then graduated to grown-up prison. He died at twenty-five of a drug overdose. I found out when an old school friend read about it in the Cascade Sentinel and called me up." "So you were already living in Seattle then?" "I'd just moved there. As soon as Becca turned eighteen I was out of Cascade. I had to wait until she was old enough to take with me. I'd be damned if I'd leave her with our father. He'd already done enough damage to her." Lau's head snapped up. "What do you mean?" "Not what you're thinking. The same kind he inflicted on me and my mother. He never laid a finger on either one of us, but that mouth of his was worse. Becca..." He slumped down in his chair. "She's had some problems with the wrong kind of guys, with drugs. It was the only way she could figure out to escape, I guess." "You seem to be the only one of your siblings who did escape." "No thanks to me. I was going down the same road myself when I first got to Seattle. I got lucky." "How?" "I was washing dishes in a restaurant when I met Sheila. She was one of the waitresses. I was a piece of work then, I can tell you... but she saw something worthwhile in me that nobody else did, including myself. Convinced me I wasn't the worthless piece of shit my father always told me I was. Bottom line, that woman saved my life." Jim slipped his arm around Blair's shoulders and pulled him close. He didn't give a fuck if Simon was watching or not.
"God, I need another beer. This sounds like a soap opera." Henri reached for the pitcher in the middle of the table. A good chunk of Major Crime had taken over one of the large tables in the back of the bar, and were obsessively discussing the case that was foremost on their minds. Blair elbowed Jim in the ribs. "Told you the media coverage wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It flushed out Nat Parker." Megan drained her glass and reached for the pitcher. "He check out OK?" Henri nodded. "Some juvie stuff, minor possession, DUI-then a model citizen since he turned twenty-one. Not even a parking ticket. Got an AS degree at a community college as some kind of chemistry technician; steadily employed since graduation; good work record." "Sounds like he wasn't kidding about Sheila turning him around," Rafe remarked. "Did you say they got married?" "Right after he graduated," Lau sighed. "House in the suburbs, two kids. The sister used to live with them a lot when she wasn't in rehab. She's been clean for the last eight years, though. Confirmed everything her brother told us." "And neither one of them remembered anything important about the night their mother disappeared?"
"Detective Lau, my parents fought all the time. I remember they were yelling at each other the last night I saw her, but it wouldn't have been anything unusual in the Parker household. It really upset Becca, though, and I'd try to do something to keep her occupied, as far away from the kitchen as I could. Most of the yelling seemed to happen in the kitchen, for some reason." "Where would you and Becca go?" "Usually her bedroom. It was the farthest away, and there was plenty there to distract her. We'd play records or listen to the radio -- she was nuts about the Beatles -- it helped drown out the noise downstairs." "What about your older brother?" "Sometimes he'd join in the yelling for awhile, but he'd usually get disgusted and storm out of the house. He tried to spend as much time away from home as possible, actually. Unfortunately, he wasn't too good at picking friends. That's how he got into trouble." "So that last evening was SOP for your family, and the next morning your mother was gone." "My dad said she was sleeping in and not feeling well. He was the one who got us ready for school. Could be she was already gone and he just didn't want us getting all freaked out, I don't know. All I do know is that when we got home from school that day, no one was there. The house was all locked up and we couldn't get in. We went to our next-door neighbor for help, and she called the police." "The police? Not your father?"
Jim dug into the garlic fries. He wasn't drinking, since they'd taken the truck, so he had to have some indulgence. "The neighbor was suspicious, anyway." "Sure sounds like it, from her statement. Too bad she died five years ago; I'd love to interview her. She was a rather prickly left-wing feminist, and my guess is her opinion may not have been given much weight back then." "Still -- how did the husband avoid getting charged? He was the most obvious suspect." "No real, concrete evidence to charge him with anything. No indication of foul play. He was very cooperative about allowing a search of his house. Forensics seems to have gone over the kitchen, in particular, with a fine-tooth comb. There was no evidence of violence." Lau contemplated a nacho. "Remember, our vic was stabbed multiple times with considerable force. It would have been hard to hide evidence of that, even thirty years ago." "Nat Parker said Eileen was a good mother," Blair said. "Didn't people think it was pretty fishy that a woman like that would walk out on three kids?" "Statements from the couple's friends -- who, by the way, seemed to be more his friends than hers -- indicated she'd done a bunk more than once before. Always came back after a day or two." Blair frowned. "Did they really know that for a fact, or believe it because Ron Parker told them so?" "Why, Sandy, you suspicious little devil. That's cop-think for sure." "He's right, though," Lau replied, licking sour cream from her fingers. "If you read between the lines of those statements, that's exactly what's going on. There's no solid evidence she ever did any such thing. Just a lot of assumptions and innuendo." "What about her friends?" Joel asked. "Especially women friends. They'd be more likely to know that kind of thing." "Aye, there's the rub. She didn't seem to have any friends." "Whoa!" Megan sputtered beer over the table. "There's a red flag, mates." Lau nodded. "Classic symptom of spousal abuse. Isolate the woman from any friends the husband doesn't approve of. But thirty years ago nobody noticed that little detail. Our brothers in blue -- and I emphasize brothers -- didn't catch it. You guys would have been on it like a dog on a dead raccoon --" "Geez, Lau, some of us are eating here..." "-- but in the absence of any real evidence to the contrary, the husband's version seems to have been accepted fairly quickly in 1969. The case stayed listed as a missing person, not a homicide." "One thing we're forgetting..." H thumped his glass on the table for emphasis, sloshing beer in the process. "Somebody buried a goddam body in my backyard. Dontcha think somebody shoulda fucking noticed?"
Pat Lau leaned closer to Nathaniel Parker, resting her elbows on the battered table. "If the body buried in the yard of 336 Azalea does turn out to be that of your mother, it would have been buried right about the time she disappeared. Did you notice any unusual activity in the back yard at that time?"
Parker stared at Lau but she saw no awareness of her in his eyes. His face was an open book, shifting and changing as decades-old memories made their sluggish way up from the deep place where he'd buried them. "Can you describe the sound?" Parker closed his eyes. "I'm not even sure I really heard anything... I remember now, it was raining when I woke up. Raining pretty hard... God, I'd forgotten all about that. I didn't remember it back then, I think I told the police I was asleep all night." "Yes you did, according to your statement in the case file. You didn't notice anything unusual about the back yard the next day?" "I don't think so... not that I really looked at it the next morning. But the police were all over the house, they would have noticed something, wouldn't they?" "Did you spend much time in the yard afterwards?" "That's funny... now that you mention it, not as much as usual. It rained a lot that spring -- heck, it was Cascade, after all. My dad said he didn't want us tracking in mud, since my mom had just run off, not caring about leaving him to worry about raising us and keeping the house clean. After a while he said we could go out, but to keep us from getting dirty he only let us play... oh God." "Are you all right, Mr. Parker?" The man's face went so white all of a sudden Lau was afraid he was going to pass out. "He only let us play on the patio... the patio he built only weeks after my mother disappeared."
Jim watched his partner watch a National Geographic special on the Amazon. The Amazon... that river in Latin America, the place where Blair did so much fieldwork. Wasn't it Angie Ferris's daughter who was so jazzed at the idea of Blair boating up the Amazon? He turned back to the screen, pretending to watch, but he didn't want to think about Latin America. His thoughts drifted to Nat Parker and his sister. What must it feel like to believe for thirty years that your mother had abandoned you, then find out she'd been dead all along and buried under your feet? What would be worse? God knows his own mother's actions had fucked him up royally for a long time, probably were still fucking him up in ways he didn't recognize. Blair could probably give him chapter and verse, but no way was he going to ask. And his father... sure, one of the reasons he didn't get along with his father was that he blamed the old man for driving his mother away, directly or indirectly. You didn't have to be Sigmund Freud to figure that one out. But to wonder if your father had actually killed your mother... and Jim knew Nat Parker must have feared that more than once over the last thirty years. His insistence that his father wasn't physically abusive sounded like protesting too much. Maybe he'd never actually seen the old man do it, but Jim was sure Nat Parker believed his father was capable of physical violence. The fact that he'd gotten away as soon as he could and had nothing to do with his father for twenty years spoke volumes. If there was one thing that Jim Ellison was an expert on, it was avoidance behavior. That and repression. At least he never thought that William Ellison had murdered anybody. How could he stand to be in the same room with him if he had? Jim was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost jumped out of his skin when a loud smack suddenly impacted his left cheek. "Jesus, Sandburg, warn a guy, willya?" Blair just licked the offending lips and planted another one, this time on Jim's mouth. "How soon we forget... kiss, good. Blair, good. Get sex." Jim's body ceased complaining and surrendered, but his mouth insisted on a fruitless rear-guard action. "You should never startle someone who's been trained to kill." "Bullshit, at least applied to us. Your senses know it's me even when your higher brain functions are busy obsessing." "I wasn't obsessing, I was thinking." Blair slid a hand southward along his partner's torso. "Well, cut it out. Sometimes it's not good for you. Come upstairs and I'll explain why, using no recognizable words whatsoever." Jim opened his mouth to protest but the wandering hand chose that moment to squeeze something important, and only a groan came out. Maybe there was something to be said for nonverbal communication after all. Blair stood and held out a hand. Jim belatedly realized the TV was off, and he hadn't even noticed when it happened. Levering himself off the sofa, he followed Blair upstairs. Jim could recognize a "Blair in charge" moment when he saw one, so he got out of his clothes and onto the bed in record time. Blair joined him, smiling, and loomed above, entwining their hands. He then proceeded to kiss, lick and nibble every inch of the willing body beneath him. Starting with a chaste kiss to Jim's forehead, he moved slowly inward in a spiral pattern, but slowly, so slowly. Some spots were treated to extended attention -- lips, ears, the hollow of the throat, the inside of the thigh, those sensitive places behind the knee. Jim's cock was screaming for attention, weeping with need. Inarticulate sounds had turned to pleas and back to moans again before the incredible Sandburg mouth finally zeroed in and engulfed the organ with such suddenness that Jim's back arched off the bed. Blair pushed Jim back down -- God, he must be spending serious time in the weight room -- and concentrated all his attention on his task. Mouth, hands, even hair got into the act. When Jim finally came, he thought for a moment he might die of it, the sensation was so intense. Sentinel though he was, he barely registered the sound and motion of Blair quickly bringing himself off, or the smell and feel of come peppering his chest and belly. He slid into oblivion. When he came to, more or less, the loft was dark, the comforter had been pulled over his cleaned-up body, and a relaxed but sleepy Blair was curled around him. "Welcome back, Jim. Good to know I won't have to make up creative explanations for the paramedics. Now go back to sleep. Love you." "Love you too." Couldn't live without you. Couldn't bear it. Sleep for Jim Ellison was a long time coming.
"Found him!" Henri Brown triumphantly waved the first page of a computer printout over his head. Lau leaped out of her desk chair and ran over to grab it. "You mean Ronald Parker, right? You really found him?" Other members of Major Crime clustered around as Henri read off the address. "He's in Spokane, thank God; we can go interview him without totally breaking the budget. Odd address, though; might not be a private residence. Someplace called Bridge House... maybe it's a halfway house or something." Blair elbowed his way between his taller colleagues and peered over Henri's shoulder. "I know a Bridge House in Spokane. It's a hospice." Simon shook his head. "How do you come up with this stuff, Sandburg?" "A guy who started the grad program at Rainier when I did used them as one of the sites for his dissertation research on ritual aspects of contemporary death customs." "Sounds like we better move quickly if we're going to interview him," Lau interrupted. Simon glared at her. "Lau, what do you mean 'we'?" "Well, sir, I thought I could take Ellison and Sandburg with me." "They're not a single entity, Lau." "If you say so, sir." "And why should I authorize three people to go all the way to the other end of the state to interview a guy who's almost seventy and probably at death's door?" "Well, sir, from what I've heard Detective Ellison has a real gift for knowing whether or not someone is lying." "Quick on the uptake," Megan mumbled in Jim's ear. "Must be the X chromosomes." "If this guy is really sick, it might be difficult to conduct the interview and difficult to interpret his responses in the usual way. And since Sandburg is familiar with the institution he might be able to smooth the way for us. Medical personnel can be difficult when you want to question someone in their care. Sandburg's interpersonal skills could be invaluable." Rafe grinned. "Meaning you could use a good bullshit artist." Jim and Blair looked at Henri, then at each other. "Sir, if it's a problem we'd be happy to go along on our own." Simon threw up his hands. "Normally I wouldn't authorize it, but in the interests of eventually adding another venue to the barbecue rotation, I'll make an exception. I want to clear this up ASAP so H can start on that damn deck."
The atmosphere in Conference Room B was more dismal than the rain outside. Simon stared at his cigar like he'd never seen one before. "You think Ronald Parker is innocent? I sent you all the way to Spokane so you could knock this case back to square one?" Jim shook his head. "I didn't exactly say he was innocent, Simon, but I don't think he killed his wife. I'd swear he lied when he said his wife ran off -- but he was also telling the truth when he said he didn't kill her." "Lau? Sandburg?" Lau squirmed in her seat. "I can't be quite as definite as that, sir, but I don't think he killed her either. I'd be hard put to tell you why, exactly... cop intuition, I guess." "You know," Blair volunteered, "studies have shown that many veteran cops are as accurate as a polygraph. A lot of what people call intuition is simply the application of subtle skills learned through experience. You know, but you can't really tell anyone how or why because the process doesn't operate on a conscious level. I didn't think he was guilty either." Simon glowered. "Aren't you a little new to this to have developed cop intuition? Aside from the fact that you're not a cop?" "But I've been an anthropologist for quite awhile. In the field, anthropologists get lied to a lot by their subjects. You have to develop similar skills to know when somebody's misleading you or maybe just keeping something back." "So how come your love life was such a disaster? I can think of at least two women you dated who turned out to be felons." "Ah, Simon, the limbic system always trumps the cortex." Megan drained her coffee. "I'm not sure what that means, but my guess is, it's something about making decisions based on advice from the wrong body part." Henri had been silent, slumped in his chair. "Now what?" Simon rose. "Now you all go back to square one. Review everything we've got. There has to be something we're missing. Ronald Parker may not have killed his wife, but it sounds like he knows something. Is he protecting someone?" Lau tapped her fingers on the table. "He didn't strike me as the kind of guy who would do that. He really was a nasty old bastard. I can't imagine him caring about anyone enough to lie to protect him." "What about fear?" H suggested. "That's another good reason to keep your mouth shut." "What's he got to be afraid of?" Blair countered. "He's dying, painfully. Even if someone found out Parker'd dropped the dime on him, he'd be lucky if he could manage to knock him off before nature beat him to it. If he did manage to kill him, he'd be doing the old guy a favor at this point." "Let me know when you've figured it out." Simon closed the door behind him and left his detectives to their fate. With sighs and curses, they reached for the massive piles of paper once more. Hours later, Henri threw down the case file in disgust. "We're never gonna solve this. Maybe aliens abducted her, killed her, and buried her in the back yard. Maybe they had a cloaking device." Megan sighed. "It's a poser and no mistake. The poor woman didn't seem to have any friends close enough to want to murder her. Her kids were a bit on the young side to have done the kind of damage that killed her. If for some strange reason one of the husband's friends did her in, I can't see the charming Mr. Ronald Parker doing anything but turning him in for the reward." "There wasn't any reward," Rafe pointed out. "Figure of speech. There was insurance, wasn't there?" Lau nodded. "Not a lot, but not a negligible amount, either. I agree, if he knew for sure she was dead he'd rat, instead of waiting seven years, or never, to collect." Everyone around the table fell silent. Jim was watching Blair -- because he liked to look at Blair whenever he had the chance -- and was the first to notice the change that came over his features. It was like watching the sun rise... gradual illumination leading to a sudden shaft of brilliance. The others were too exhausted, or depressed, or both, to be paying attention. Jim watched as his partner fished out the case file, then the pile of photocopied newspaper articles he'd brought back from Rainier. Watching the Sandburg mind at work was a matter of endless fascination, even from outside and in relative silence. Jim began monitoring Blair's heart and respiration rates, and noted both were increasing gradually as he flipped from one set of papers to another, clearly looking for something specific. The spike in Blair's vital signs coincided with a brilliant grin, one that was just a little bit feral. Wolf-like, even. "You've got something." All eyes turned to Jim, then followed his gaze to stare at Blair. "Think Simon will spring for another trip to Spokane? I think we weren't asking quite the right questions."
This time they had to drive, not fly, but Jim figured Blair was probably enjoying that. Once they got over the mountains, the rain disappeared. A drive across Washington State from west to east wasn't the worst way to spend a summer day. Jim was sure that if asked, Blair could give the difference in annual rainfall between coastal Washington and the interior. So he didn't ask. Instead, he reluctantly let Lau talk him into conducting the interview. "Go for it, Jim," Blair encouraged. "This guy just doesn't take women seriously enough. He has nothing but contempt for them." "Only thinly veiled last time," Lau agreed. "And my guess is, he's not too crazy about long-haired Ph.D.s either." "Ya think?" Blair grinned. Jim sighed. He wasn't thrilled at the prospect, but he couldn't fault their arguments. Besides, if Blair was right, it would be a short interview. The weather was perfect when they pulled up in front of Bridge House Hospice... dry, sunny, full of the scent of flowers. The atmosphere inside the large sunroom where they had arranged to do the interview was almost as pleasant. The only dark cloud was the man hunched in the wheelchair, the man they had come to see. Powerful in his prime, he was now shrunken inside a skin too big for him, his muscles eaten away by the disease that would soon claim his life. He looked closer to ninety than seventy. What life remained was concentrated in his pale eyes. They regarded the three from Major Crime with concentrated malevolence. "You again? Got nothing better to do than bother the dying?" Jim pulled a chair over to place it forcefully in front of Parker's wheelchair. Blair and Pat Lau sat further back. The old man paid them no more attention than he did the potted plants. "We won't be bothering you for long, Mr. Parker. We know you lied to us last time. Not about murdering your wife; we don't believe you did that. But you did bury her and build a patio over her. Didn't you?" Jim lightly touched the old man's arm. "You're crazy." The voice was calm, almost without inflection. But everything else went haywire -- heart rate, respiration. Jim even tried some biofeedback techniques Blair had come up with to train him to sense differences in galvanic skin response. "Get your goddam hand off me." Seemed to be working. Jim would have been hard put to articulate exactly how, but the feel of the papery skin had changed subtly. Jim leaned back in his chair. "Rather than ask you questions, I'd like to propose a scenario to you. The evidence of your wife's body suggests she was stabbed repeatedly by someone of substantial strength. Someone like you were some thirty years ago. But if you didn't do it... "Then one of my colleagues here remembered reading something in the paper. A mother of three children disappearing under mysterious circumstances... that's the sort of human-interest angle that sells papers. So there was a lot of coverage of your family, despite your lack of cooperation with the media. A good reporter can dig up quite a bit from public sources. Such as the fact that your older son was quite a football player. Played fullback for Robert Gray High, as I recall. He was good enough that there was speculation about a college football scholarship." A hit, a palpable hit. Heart beating like triphammer. "A little more digging in some of the more obscure Cascade newspapers, including the Gray High Bugle, gave us quite a lot of information on Jerry. We've met Nathaniel and Rebecca. They're short and slight, and resemble your wife quite a bit. Nathaniel mentioned in passing that Jerry took after you, but we didn't realize how much. At fifteen he was only an inch shorter than you and weighed as much. Big and strong enough to kill his mother. Did he help you bury her, or did you do it alone? How did you manage to clean up that much blood, by the way?" "Didn't have to. Sonofabitch, you're not as dumb as you look." "Didn't have to?" "She was mouthin' off at me but didn't like what I was callin' her. Don't dish it out if you can't take it, I always say. Back door was open; it was a warm night. She put her hands over her ears, ran out the kitchen door into the back yard." "Jerry killed her in the back yard?" "Surprised the hell outta me, I can tell you. Grabbed a knife from the counter and was out there hackin' at her before I knew what hit me. Guess he didn't like her mouthin' off neither." "And nobody heard this? She didn't scream?" "It was windy, and there were fewer houses around. Neighbors weren't that close. Besides, I think she was too damn surprised to scream at first. Then he grabbed her throat and kept stabbin'." Jim heard a soft sigh behind him, not sure whether it came from Lau or Blair. "So there was no blood to clean up because Eileen was murdered outside. The heavy rain washed away any traces, including any on Jerry." "Stupid kid took off. Had to bury her myself. Didn't come back until morning." "So why did you help cover up the murder? Somehow I find it hard to believe that parental love was the reason." Ronald Parker snorted. "Hah! The kid was a damn good player, good enough to go pro, even. He was gonna be my ticket outta that crappy burg. Then he goes and throws it all away. Good for nothin' just like the rest." Jim looked the old man right in his pale, dying eyes. "Would you be willing to sign a statement of what you've just told us? Set the record straight while you still can?" Ronald Parker smiled at Jim, the first smile that had ever crossed his face. "Fuck off."
Jim was starving when he got home to the loft. Fortunately something smelled not only good but almost done. Blair came out of his office. "Long day today. Anything new?" "Nah, just cleaning up a lot of old stuff. Wrapping up. You know." "Yeah. Right." Blair was twitchy, worked up about something. "Uh, Jim... I was gonna wait until after dinner to tell you this, but... damn, I won't be able to eat if I don't get it off my chest. Have a seat. Have a beer. I'll be right back." Shit. This must be it. He thinks I need to sit down and have alcohol. Jim got a beer from the fridge and sat at the dining table. He needed something to lean on. Blair came out holding a piece of paper. Nice paper, the kind that universities used for letters that started out "We are pleased to inform you..." Jim got up suddenly. "Look, Blair, I need to show you something first, OK?" "Aw, Jim, don't tell me you figured it out. I tried hard to keep this a surprise, too. Did Simon let something slip?" "Simon knew about it?" "He vowed you'd never hear about it until I was ready to spring it on you... but I had to get a recommendation letter from him. Would have been crazy not to." "Right, I get it. He's been your boss for the past year. Well, for a part-time position, but still." Jim pulled his own letter-sized piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Blair. He watched the changing emotions flow over his partner's face as he read it. When Blair raised his face he looked like he'd been whacked with a two-by-four. "Jim, what the hell -- this is a letter of resignation!" "Look, I'm sorry I spoiled your surprise. I went to Rainier the other day looking for you, so we could have lunch. Before I got to the Poli Sci office, I heard the secretary talking with some girl... clerk, student assistant, whatever. I know about the recommendation letter you requested from Jack Kelso and about the position at Berkeley." "Berkeley." "It sounds perfect for you. Latin American Studies would be great, you might even be able to find out more about Sentinels, on the q.t., of course. And you'll love an interdisciplinary program, not to mention the weather." Blair took a deep breath and let it out. He set the letter on the table, slowly, never taking his eyes off it. Then he closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. "So --" The word came out sounding strange, like it had to push through a wall to escape. Blair cleared his throat. "So you resigned from the PD in anticipation of me getting this position? Kind of risky, don't you think?" "Even if it weren't this one -- and they'd be crazy not to snap you up -- there'd be another one. You've got your doctorate now and your reputation back. That old battle-axe in Poli Sci said somebody with your qualifications was wasted in law enforcement, and she's right. Not to mention that the position Simon got you at the CPD is only part-time and pays shit. You need more than a make-do job, you deserve a career. Something you really love." Blair reached out a hand, touched Jim's letter, sliding his fingers over it like he was reading Braille. "I really love you," he said huskily. His fingers slid off the letter to touch Jim's hand where it lay on the table between them. Jim took Blair's hand between his own. "Yeah, well... you need a second career. One that pays better than the Guide gig." "Jim, you really love being a cop. I know some days are better than others, but you still really love it. I know you do." "Look, it's not like this is a surprise to you. We talked about it before, when you found out about Natalie and Jesse. Berkeley's right across the Bay from San Francisco. You can see Jesse a lot more." "What about you? You wouldn't get retirement; you haven't put in anywhere near twenty years yet." "If we move to Berkeley, we can sell the loft. It's worth a lot more than I paid for it. I can probably get another job there easy enough. There are more jobs for cops these days than people to fill them. Besides, a gay cop -- in Berkeley? They'll be knocking on my politically correct door." "I see. Is this a draft or have you actually turned in the letter?" "Turned it in to Simon before I left. Left it on his desk, actually, he was at a meeting. It was a long day, and I didn't feel like arguing." Blair closed his eyes, and Jim was amazed to see that the ends of his lashes were pearled with little beads of moisture. "Then what you've given me, love of my life, is a set of tortoiseshell hair combs... and I've gone and sold my hair." "Huh?" Blair handed his letter over to Jim. "Here's your platinum watch chain. I hope we can get the watch back." Jim just stared at Blair, mouth hanging open. Blair gently shut it for him and tilted his head down. "Read." Jim read. The letterhead was not U. C. Berkeley's, though it did begin, "We are pleased to inform you...". It was a short letter. Jim blinked, then read it again. It still said the same thing. "You've been accepted by the Police Academy?" "Just can't stop going to school, I guess." Blair grinned. "But the letter from Jack Kelso..." "Jack Kelso has an excellent reputation in the law enforcement community. He was happy to recommend me for the Academy." "But I thought you didn't want to be a cop. A year ago... you said you didn't want to do this then." "I didn't want to... then. You shouldn't pick a career on the rebound. Then it was a consolation prize. Now it's a choice. I was a fraud then, a potential danger to you as a partner. Now I'm a guy who was screwed over by a Chancellor who's a felon." Jim stared at the letter again, but the familiar CPD seal began to swim before his eyes. "I want you to be happy at what you do, you know that. But I can't help but think about what you've been through already because of me. You've been shot, beaten, kidnapped. Damn it, you've even been killed." Jim blinked and raised his head. "Thinking you were taking a job that would keep you safe in an office or a classroom was pretty good consolation for not having you by my side at work. Now you tell me you want one of the most dangerous jobs there is." Blair dragged his chair over closer. Jim felt familiar hands rest on either side of his face, but the blue of Blair's eyes, surrounded by the glittering lashes, held his attention like a magnet. "First of all, getting killed had nothing to do with me being a police observer and everything to do with me being a Guide. I'll always be that, no matter what I do. Then let me remind you that all those other things happened to me when I was not a cop. Maybe being a cop will help. Make me more alert. Substitute an aura of 'don't try it' for that 'kidnap me' vibe I apparently project." Jim closed his eyes against the almost painful intensity of that loving gaze. "You loved the University. Mrs. Childers said Rainier was your first real home."
"Was, Jim. Was. Now I'm detaching with love. Besides, Childers exaggerates; she never liked my mom -- or the idea of my mom, they never even met. Jim felt the soft touch of lips on one eyelid, then the other. "Don't you understand, Jim? You're my last home. You're my home for the rest of my life." "God, Blair..." Jim sank to his knees, wrapped his arms around Blair, and buried his face in the man's chest. He felt the arms that wrapped around him just as tightly; the weight of the cheek that rested on the top of his head. Perhaps the cheek in question even had a little moisture on it. Jim held on, afraid to trust himself to speak or even look at the man he held. He was holding himself together as much as he was holding Blair. It wouldn't take much to push him over the line, cause him to engage in behavior that would be embarrassingly emotional for a rough, tough ex-Ranger. A rough, tough cop. Suddenly his head rose, and he looked into Blair's suspiciously bright eyes as he swiped a hand across his own. "Shit, I hope Simon's office isn't locked. He'll never let me forget this."
Nathaniel Parker shook Henri Brown's hand. "That was a really nice thing to do. I admit now I was worried about coming back here after all these years, but I'm glad I did." "We can't thank you enough," Sheila Parker added. "It's beautiful." Henri shook his head. "I can't take much credit for it. It was Blair's idea. Cecilia Deveraux designed it, and a lot of people pitched in both with money and labor." "I'm still amazed you got it done in such a short time." The spot where Nathaniel's mother had lain for thirty years was now a memorial. A rose arbor arched over a cedar bench surrounded by perennial flowers and shrubs; a decorative rock fountain added a soothing sound. At its base was a plaque that read: In memory of Eileen Parker, 1935-1969, and of all victims of violence whose resting place is unknown. "I know it looks pretty scrawny now," Henri apologized. "Cecilia said those plants will grow fast, though. I hope you'll come back and see it next year. Or as often as you like." The Parkers nodded. "We'd like. Thank you. This is even nicer than the cemetery where we put her to rest." Nathaniel took one last look. "I hate to leave, but we need to get on the road. These kids have school tomorrow. At least they'll be quiet on the ride home, after all the activity -- not to mention eating you out of house and home." After the Parker children were reluctantly dragged away from a vigorous game of tag with Blair and Megan, and Cecilia Deveraux said her own goodbyes, the members of Major Crime gathered around the arbor. "You did good, people," Simon said quietly. "With this, and on the case. I can't think of a better team." "Well, it was really Sandburg who solved the case," Lau pointed out, "and had the idea for this memorial. For a 'consultant,' he's a helluva detective." "Actually, Jim and I got a little present for Sandburg," Simon announced as Jim handed him the large plastic bag just retrieved from its hiding place. "And Blair has an important announcement. It seems he's decided what he wants to be when he grows up." "Sandy, you've got a job? One that pays you real money?" Blair stared at the bag dubiously. "Yeah... not as much at first, while I'm being trained. But then my salary goes up in six months." "Training?" Rafe exclaimed. "Hard to imagine what you need training for, after going to school for over a quarter of a century." Simon handed over the bag. Blair removed an oddly shaped object, swathed in gift wrap. He tore open the paper to reveal -- a large and very pink stuffed pig. It was dressed in a police uniform and sported a very realistic cop hat and accoutrements. Everyone immediately demanded that Blair's "going-away present" be passed around for a better look. "Damn, Sandy, it won't be the same without you. Please tell us you're not leaving Cascade." "Hope you'll still have time to consult once in a while," Henri added. "We're sure to have more cases that need the Sandburg touch." "So what are you going to do?" Rafe demanded. "Don't keep us in suspense." A huge smile broke out over Joel's face as he examined the pig. "Some detectives you all are." Blair met Joel's eyes and nodded, matching his grin. "Excuse me?" Lau said. "Am I missing something?" "Didn't any of you notice," Joel asked, "that our little piggy here is wearing a cadet uniform?" A few seconds of confused mumbling were silenced by a window-shattering shriek from Megan. "Sandy -- you're going to the Police Academy?!" "Guilty as charged." Pandemonium.
The long summer daylight of the Pacific Northwest was finally fading. Simon was helping Henri clean up. Joel was driving home various members of Major Crime whose celebration of Blair's decision had rendered them unfit to operate a motor vehicle. Jim and Blair sat on the bench under the new arbor. "Chief, I still keep thinking I'm going to wake up and find this was all a dream." "If you say that one more time I'm going to bop you. Speaking of dreams, did I tell you I figured out what that dream meant, the archeological site with all the people disappearing? It was telling me that was no longer my place, no longer my path. Which I'd pretty well figured out on my own by then anyway." Jim took Blair's hand. "I just hope it makes you happy. I don't want to belabor the point, but it's not the safest job in the world. And it can really get you down." "Ditto for teaching. I have two words for you: Brad Ventriss." "Still..." "Jim, shut up." With the hand that wasn't entwined with Jim's, Blair flipped open the leather case that held the detective's shield that might soon be his. "It's important work. And I can't think of better people to be doing it with. I just hope I can get through the Academy all right. Something tells me arguing with the teachers is frowned upon there... not that all of my profs at Rainier were crazy about it either." "You'll make it. We've all been through it, we'll give you pointers." Blair chuckled. "It takes a village to raise a cop?" "This one, probably." Jim leaned over and gave Blair a sweet, slow kiss. "Come on, partner. Let's go home."
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"They were still arguing when Becca fell asleep... then I went to bed... but I remember, I woke up in the night. I thought I heard something in the yard, but..."
Maybe in some respects she's right. It was my first home in some ways, the first I chose as an adult, or almost adult."
