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SVS-19 Two Birds with One Stone by Rae Evans, Part 2

David Ashcroft was drinking in a bar. He considered himself very lucky. He had just made the easiest ten thousand dollars ever. He pondered the chain of events that had led him to this moment. It had all started with a phone call on Wednesday evening. David had been out of work for over two years. When the CEO of the parent company he worked for was jailed, the company had pretty much fallen apart. Parts of it were sold off to the highest bidder and the trucking company he worked for was a casualty of one of those sales. He had only been a driver, low down the pecking order and the word was that they had been bought out by a rival, only to be shut down.

The boss of the trucking company he worked for had contacted him. The man, Stefan Hildred, had started out life as a longshoreman. He was a bear of a man with close cropped white hair and a scar that ran from his ear to his neck. No one messed with Hildred; he had big fists and was happy to use them. Most of the men David worked with had been scared of their boss, but Hildred had always been good to David, stopping to talk to him, praising him for a job well done. So when Hildred had phoned him out of the blue two years after they had last spoken, David had willingly agreed to meet him. The job was an easy one; move into an apartment across town on Mason and when the police came to call, tell them what Hildred wanted them to hear.

The apartment hadn't been bad and it had cable and it wasn't as though he had anything else to do. In fact, all in all, it was slightly better than the one he was living in. He had found the five thousand dollars in the apartment on Mason when he arrived on Wednesday evening and he had taken some time on Thursday morning to take it home and hide it somewhere safe.

He had heard about the shooting. It was all over the TV news and the man from the Chinese restaurant in the building next to the new apartment was telling everyone about the man who had tried to kill him. Before lunchtime on Thursday a parcel had arrived. In it were photographs and one piece of paper with typing on it. David knew from his previous phone call with Hildred he had to memorise what was written on the piece of paper and be able to identify the man in the photographs. This was what he would tell the police when they came calling and the man was the one he would identify as the shooter. He knew that if he was convincing when the police questioned him, there would be another five thousand dollars to match the one he already had. David took to his task with gusto. He had no love for the cops. As a truck driver they made his job hell and a little payback was what they had coming. Of course, the money helped ease any qualms he might have had.

When the police did appear at the front door of the apartment David had trotted out his story word perfect. Later that evening Hildred had visited, handed over the second five thousand dollars and had sat and had a beer with David. Before he left Hildred had gathered up the photos and the statement and put a hand on David's shoulder thanking him for a job well done. David had been pumped that this strong scary man had called him friend and thanked him. After Hildred had left, David was still buzzed. Taking two $100 bills from the cash Hildred had left, he walked down Mason until he found a bar he liked.

So here he was drinking cold beer with tequila shots and because he was flush it was Silver Patron, a luxury he could rarely afford. Another luxury was sidling up to him, sitting on the stool next to his. He knew she was a hooker. He could see past the makeup and the expensive clothes. Why not, he thought, I deserve it for a job well done. He allowed the hooker to string him along until the deal was done and then he downed the last shot and headed to her room in the motel across the road. His unsteady gait was balanced by the hooker's steady arm. Ashcroft had drunk too much, he knew that, but he didn't care; he had ten thousand dollars to his name and a good looking girl on his arm.

Saturday

Blair went back to bed after Jim went off to work the next morning, but he couldn't sleep and decided to get up, strip the bed of its used sheets and do the laundry. He might as well do the chores and save Jim the trouble, he thought while he could. There were three loads to do and Blair spent most of the morning going up and downstairs to the basement. When he had finished he still felt frustrated, his skin itchy. The day was, for once in Cascade, sunny and he pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and made his way to the balcony. Settling himself he tried again to meditate. His attempt two days ago had not been particularly successful. Vaguely aware of the phone ringing inside the loft, Blair ignored it as he slowly quieted his thoughts, controlled his breathing and looked inside himself.

He was surprised to note that two hours had passed when he came back from that relaxed state. He felt calmer, more positive and throwing the afghan back on the couch he headed for the shower. He was dragged from under the spray of water by a pounding on the door. He took Jim's robe, wrapped a towel around his hair and called out as he reached the door.

"Who is it?"

"Blair Sandburg, this is Captain McCluskey, can I talk to you?"

Noting that his hands were shaking, Blair slid the chain back and unlocked the door.

"Come in."

McCluskey looked embarrassed.

"Just let me get changed."

Blair disappeared upstairs and came down five minutes later, dressed and with his damp curls combed out.

"What can I do for you, Captain?"

"I tried to reach you on the phone this morning. Where were you?"

"Here. Why?"

"Why didn't you answer your phone? What were you doing?"

Blair frowned. "Laundry, meditating, shower. Why?"

"Did you leave home?"

"No. Why?"

"Did anyone see you, call you on the phone?"

Blair crossed his arms. "No and would you please tell me why you are asking me these questions?"

"A man was killed this morning. Shot with a .38 police special. His body was found at the Starlight Motel, Room 42."

Blair was confused. "What has that got to do with me?"

"The dead man was the witness in your shooting, Sandburg."

It all clicked horribly into place.

"What! And you think I had something to do with it?" Blair was starting to get angry.

"You have a motive, Sandburg."

"And you don't have jack shit or you would have arrested me already instead of standing here making polite conversation."

"Watch your mouth, Sandburg. I'm still a superior officer."

"Fuck you; you're an asshole on a fishing expedition. Now get out of my home."

"Don't leave town," McCluskey snarled as he left.

"That is so fucking cliched," Blair shouted after the man, "and the elevator isn't working."

He slammed the door to the loft and turned to look inside, realising the enormity of what he had just done.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. He is going to nail my hide to the wall."

Blair ran upstairs and changed into sweats and then left the loft. He ran down Prospect, across the park and through the streets until he was blowing hard, standing across the road from Police HQ. The run had driven away some of his nervous energy. Taking his cell phone from his pocket, he hit speed dial. Jim answered on the fourth ring.

"Ellison."

"Hey, Jim, I'm outside across the street, feel like lunch?"

"Sure, give me ten minutes."

Blair was cold by the time Jim came down and they slipped into the nearest bar and grabbed a seat. There was a minor explosion when Blair told Jim what McCluskey had said. Blair had to physically restrain Jim from leaving the bar and beating the I.A. Captain until he was a bloody pulp. The other customers in the bar were taking an unusual interest in the two men, so Blair dragged Jim out of the bar and into the parking garage.

"Give me the keys to the truck."

Jim didn't even ask why, just handed them over. When they were seated Blair started the engine and turned up the heat. He started driving, heading in the direction of the loft. Blair could almost see the cogs whirring. Jim had finally stopped ranting as they had gotten into the parking garage which, given there were so many cops around and Blair probably wasn't even supposed to be on the premises, was no bad thing. Jim often teased Blair that he processed stuff, but right now Jim was processing what Blair had just told him at a rate of knots.

"You're right," Jim startled Blair from his own reverie. "If McCluskey had any hard evidence he would have arrested you. All he has at the moment is a dead body, lots of questions and no answers. Forensics won't have had time to report back, so he is probably hoping they are going to come up with something to tie you to the murder."

"Which they won't," Blair stated emphatically.

"Which they won't," Jim repeated. "Why are you driving?" he asked, surprised all of a sudden to learn he wasn't behind the wheel.

"Because you're thinking," smiled Blair.

"Smart ass," Jim smiled back.

Blair parked outside the loft and handed the keys to Jim.

"I guess I'll go finish my shower. Care to join me?"

"As much as I would love to, Chief, I think I have to go and see Dan Wolfe about a new case I'm working."

"Which one? You haven't mentioned a new case."

Jim looked innocent, which was always a bad sign.

"Oh." Blair realized what was happening. "Be careful, you don't want to join me on suspension."

"Yes, dad," Jim chuckled. "Now get out of my truck and let me go back to work."

Blair stuck out his tongue and exited the truck.

Jim went first to his office and grabbed a file before making his way down to Forensics. Listening, he waited until he knew the autopsy suite was empty. Going through the double doors he dropped his file on the technician's desk and made his way to Dan's office. He couldn't hear anyone inside the office and no one was approaching from the corridor. Dan's desk was its normal, neat self. Jim checked the pending tray first. None of the files there matched the details given to Blair. He tried the out tray next and there it was, third file down. Jim got a name, David Ashcroft and an address. The double doors opened and two men walked in. Jim returned the file to its place and walked out of the office and took the initiative.

"Dan, there you are. I've been waiting for the Cooper file. You said it would be ready this morning."

Dan narrowed his eyes and gave Jim a hard stare before he walked over to the technician's desk and picked up the file.

"Here it is, Jim. Sorry it took so long to get to you."

"Don't worry about it, Dan, I know you're busy. Thanks for putting a rush on this one for me. I owe you."

Jim heard Dan whisper to himself. "You owe me big time, Ellison."

The man who had been talking to Dan Woolf as he walked into the autopsy suite was the one person Jim had not wanted to bump into; McCluskey. He ignored the man, even though he wanted to punch him in the face. Jim left Forensics and walked to the stairs heading back to Major Crime.

"Ellison," a voice called after him.

Jim feigned deafness and walked into the stairwell.

"Detective Ellison." His rank was emphasized.

"What do you want, McCluskey?" Jim purposefully didn't give the I. A. captain his title.

"That's Captain McCluskey to you, detective."

"If we're getting into a pissing contest over rank, then it's Captain Ellison, McCluskey."

McCluskey flushed red and jabbed at Jim's chest with his finger.

"If I find out that your little visit to Dan Wolfe was anything other than innocent, I am going to have your hide."

"Are you on another fishing expedition, McCluskey? Hounding another innocent man without the evidence to back it up?"

Jim's anger threw caution to the wind and he was ready to take the I.A. captain on. Attack was always the best form of defence when you had nothing to lose. McCluskey backed down in the face of Jim's fury.

"Stay away from my investigation, Ellison, or you'll regret it," he snarled.

Turning on his heel the I.A. captain left the stairwell. Jim was left breathing heavily, the bang of the closing door reverberating around.

"Fuck, that was close," he muttered to himself.

On his way back to his desk Jim asked Rhonda to run a DMV check on David Ashcroft. Efficient as always, she had the results of that search on his desk within thirty minutes. Ashcroft had a licence issued in Cascade to drive the big rigs, but the check threw up a different address all the way across town. Things were fairly quiet in the bullpen at that moment and Jim was learning that there were definite advantages to being the Captain.

"Rhonda, I'm going out. Get me on the cell phone if you need me."

"Yes, Captain," she smiled as Jim left the bullpen, striding purposefully.

David Ashcroft's second address was in a run down area of old brownstone houses. The whole block was shabby and there was a derelict feel to the area; tired and dirty. Even with Ashcroft dead, Jim knew that McCluskey would check out this address. With a case to build against Blair, McCluskey wouldn't want to be surprised by anything the defence had to pull out of the hat. Jim didn't want to draw too much attention to himself. The last thing he needed was McCluskey getting wind of the fact that he had been sniffing around. He couldn't help Blair if they were both on suspension.

Walking up the steps to the front door of the building that housed Ashcroft's apartment, Jim checked the doorbells. Ashcroft's name was still marked against Apartment C. Jim left the building and walked the length of the block; first on one side of the road and then on the other. He had spotted Ashcroft's car early on. As he casually strolled past it, he noted that there was little to distinguish it from any other mid range sedan. There was however, a jacket on the back dash. A faded patch was visible on the right arm. Jim had to concentrate but he could make out 'Tech Know Trucking'. Getting back in his truck, Jim dialled quickly.

"Blair, do me a favor, see what you can find out about 'Tech Know Trucking'. Search the 'net, do what you do best, Chief, get that lap top working."

"What am I looking for, Jim?" Blair queried.

"I'm not sure, Chief, just call it a hunch. There's something about this Ashcroft guy that just doesn't add up. Maybe this will give us some answers."

"Okay."

"I should be home on time tonight."

"Love you, Jim."

"Love you, too, Chief."

Jim cut the connection and drove back to the station.

Blair got more and more frustrated with his surfing on the 'net. He had made a few notes but really he had come up with nothing he thought would help. McCluskey's visit that morning had rattled him more than he had admitted. He knew he was innocent; he had only killed Daniels as a last resort when he had been convinced that an innocent bystander was in imminent danger. He still felt guilty, though, and that grew doubt in his mind; could he have done more to stop Daniels before it had gotten to that last resort? Guilt warred with worry. It had taken Blair a long time to decide to become a cop, but once that decision was made, he knew it was the right one. He loved working with Jim and he was a good cop; passionate, diligent, brave. He and Jim made a good team. Now he knew he was close to losing all that. If McCluskey got enough evidence together to charge him, his career was over. He wouldn't be able to come back from that. After the dissertation fiasco, he had believed that his only course of action was to leave Cascade. He had truly believed that he would never be able to work with Jim again and his career in academia was well and truly over. Then Simon had thrown him a lifeline and although it had taken Blair a while to reel in the line, he had done it; he had gone to the Academy and become a cop. Now all that was at risk and Blair knew there would be no coming back from this. He took a deep breath, trying to still his worries and doubts.

A knock at the door startled him.

"Detective Sandburg, it's Captain McCluskey. Open the door please."

Blair's heart sank. Switching off the laptop Blair opened the door. McCluskey stood there holding a document in his hands. The paper was slapped into Blair's hands.

"That's a warrant. It gives me permission to search this place and your car and take a DNA sample. Please comply with the warrant or I will be forced to arrest you."

Blair was stunned.

"You didn't need to get a warrant. I would have let you search the place if you had just asked."

McCluskey ignored him.

"The Crime Scene Tech will take your sample, Sandburg."

A pale faced young woman stood in the hall outside the loft; behind her two more detectives from I.A. They all entered the loft and Blair shut the door.

"What do you expect to find, McCluskey?"

"The dead man didn't go quietly. Material was recovered from under his nails. We want a sample to match it against."

"I told you I was here all this morning."

"We are looking for blood stained clothing, anything with GSR."

"Are you even listening to me, McCluskey?"

"Start the search," McCluskey ordered.

Once again Blair found himself losing his temper with the arrogant prick. A quiet voice cut through his anger.

"Detective Sandburg, could you open your mouth please?"

Blair stared down at the technician and complied with her request. The swab felt dry and foreign as she wiped it round the inside of his cheek. Snapping the protective cover over the swab she placed it carefully in her case and stood to one side waiting for McCluskey to call her into action. Blair stood next to her, not trusting himself to follow McCluskey or his men around. If he kept away from them, there was less chance of him saying or doing something he would regret. Eventually they finished. Cupboard doors were left open, drawers had been emptied and the covers stripped off the beds. One of the two detectives had said something to the other while they were upstairs in the bedroom and both men had laughed. Blair cringed. While his old futon was still in the spare room it was obviously not used as a place for sleeping, piled high as it was with books and the rest of the paraphernalia that gathered in spare bedrooms everywhere. Blair knew it would be all over I.A. that there was only one bed in the Ellison-Sandburg household. Blair groaned and stormed to the couch, replacing cushions so that he could sit down.

"Car keys?"

McCluskey stood in front of Blair with his hand out.

"In the basket by the door."

Blair didn't feel inclined to be anymore helpful.

"Car?"

"Volvo."

Blair was interrupted, "I know what sort it is, Sandburg. Where is it?"

"Out front."

One of the two detectives took the keys and left the loft. Blair grabbed his jacket and followed reluctantly. By the time Blair got downstairs, the detective was scraping something from one of the Volvo's tires. The clear plastic bag with its slivers of something white was handed to the technician, who once again secured the sample in her case. Blair waited, leaning against the door jamb until the two younger men had finished searching his car. The keys were handed back without a word. The four invaders got back into one car and as it pulled away, it slowed down. McCluskey rolled down the window and leaned out as they passed Blair.

"I'll be in touch," he smirked.

"I bet you will," said Blair through gritted teeth.

Jim was surprised to see Blair outside checking his tires when he pulled into a convenient place outside 852 Prospect.

"Going somewhere, Chief?" he asked as he approached the younger man.

"What do you make of this, Jim?"

Blair moved aside and Jim could see something white on the tread. Jim squatted down using his senses to identify the substance.

"It's paint," he declared.

"McCluskey took a sample with him."

"He was here again?" Jim asked.

Blair sighed as he walked back into 852. "He turned up with a warrant, searched the loft and took some DNA."

"Why did he want the DNA?"

"They lifted something from underneath the dead guy's fingernails."

"Good," Jim smiled.

Blair look confused.

"When they check both DNA samples they'll know you were not involved," Jim explained.

Blair didn't look convinced. As Jim opened the door to the loft he pulled Blair inside.

"Listen to me, Chief, this is going to be sorted out. You did nothing wrong and we are going to prove it."

Jim put as much confidence and certainty into his voice as he could and it seemed to work. Blair smiled at Jim.

"Thanks, man, I needed that."

"You're welcome, Chief."

Over dinner Jim explained what he had found out about the dead man, David Ashcroft. The name meant nothing to Blair and he in turn told Jim what his search of the 'net had revealed, which wasn't much. As Jim took his second helping of the chicken parmegan Blair had cooked, he started to plan in his mind.

"The way I see it, we need to come at this from three ways. You need to get back to the laptop, dig deeper into 'Tech Know Trucking'. Meanwhile I need to get into that motel where Ashcroft died. There might be something I can sense in the room that McCluskey will have missed. We need to get into Ashcroft's other address, talk to the neighbors, find out when Ashcroft left and why."

"Jim, it's not that I don't agree with the plan of attack, but if you or I get involved in this McCluskey is going to hang us both out to dry."

"I know," said Jim with his mouth full of garlic bread, "which is why you are going to stay here in the loft and I am going to be very careful."

"Jim, this isn't going to work. McCluskey will find out and then you won't be captain anymore. In fact, you'll be lucky if you are still on the force."

Blair paused and Jim looked into those determined blue eyes.

"I won't have you sacrifice your career for me."

"Hey, I can be very discreet," Jim exhorted.

Blair raised a single eyebrow and Jim was forced to laugh. "One way or another, we will manage."

Blair nodded unconvincingly. They finished their meal and cleaned up still going over Jim's plans. Their discussions were interrupted by a knock.

"Not McCluskey again!" sighed Blair.

"Nope, it's Brown and Rafe."

Jim opened the door.

"Hey guys, come on in. What can we do for you?"

The big black man and his smartly dressed partner looked embarrassed. Neither spoke as they looked at each other.

"Want a beer?" asked Blair.

"Yeah," said Henri Brown.

"Sure," said Brian Rafe.

They both spoke at the same time. Settled on the couches, Rafe opened the conversation.

"H and I were talking and we want to help."

Once the statement was out in the open both men relaxed.

Henri went on, "We know Blair's shooting was justified, but I.A. seems to want to push the envelope. We want to help you prove your innocence."

Rafe nodded in agreement. Jim stood up. The two visitors braced themselves as though ready to brave an onslaught.

"Gentlemen, if you're serious about this, then your timing is perfect."

"Do you guys realize what you're risking?" Blair insisted.

"We realize, hairboy, and we know you would do the same for us. So tell us what you want us to do."

The four men spent the next hour planning. By the time the two visitors left the loft, Jim was grinning.

"Thanks, guys," he repeated as the elevator doors closed.

Returning to his lover, Jim placed a hand on each shoulder.

"Feel better now that I'm not on the case?" he asked.

"You are always on my case," Blair laughed.

"And what a pretty case it is," Jim whispered, as he leaned forward for a kiss.

Sunday

Blair got up at the same time as Jim the next morning.

"I thought you'd sleep in, Chief."

Blair shook his head, his mouth full of waffle. "Nope, I want to get over to the Library, check on our trucking company. I don't think the Internet is going to do it this time. I thought I might try the newspaper archives. It means reading microfiche, but I have plenty of Dramamine handy. "

"Okay, Chief, but be careful. McCluskey could be watching you."

"I'll leave the Volvo and go by bus if you think that's necessary. It would give me time to spot anything."

"Be careful," Jim mumbled as he left the loft pushing one arm into the sleeve of his jacket while holding a piece of toast in his mouth.

It was a two bus journey to the Library and a short walk between buses. Blair was pretty certain he wasn't being followed. He hadn't really believed that I.A. would go to the lengths of following him despite what Jim said, although they were sneaky bastards. He spent all day digging through back issues of the business section of the Cascade Herald. Finally one name fell into place and Blair sat back in his chair, stunned. If his stomach hadn't already been queasy from watching too much microfiche he would have felt like puking. Wasn't it enough that this guy's son had tried to do him some serious harm, twice? Now dad was getting in on the act too? Packing up and leaving the Library, Blair took a deep breath of fresh air as soon as he got outside. Taking out his cell phone, he called Jim to give him the news. At least they knew now who was behind this and why it was being done – revenge.

Henri Brown had spent the morning at work and while that wore at his patience, he was still fairly relaxed as he reached the brownstone where David Ashcroft had a second residence. He wanted to get inside Apartment C if he could, but he wanted to do it without pulling out his badge and demanding that the building Superintendent let him in. It wasn't going to be easy. Forcing the lock had been an option he had considered and discounted, it might make McCluskey suspicious. Instead, he decided to start with the neighbors. It soon became apparent that this second residence was Ashcroft's main home. According to Mrs. Dhaliwal, who lived in the same building, Ashcroft was 'a nice man, quiet but a bit simple'. He had lived in Apartment C for nearly six years. He wasn't married, had no girlfriends, didn't throw wild parties and about two years ago had lost his job. Since then he had done a few driving jobs here and there, but nothing long term and apparently not well paid. Mrs. Dhaliwal went to pains to explain that he hadn't changed his car since he had lost his job and his clothes had got a little shabby, but he had behaved himself. While a mine of information on some matters, she had no idea where he had been for the last few days. Further inquiries added small pieces to the puzzle, but nothing that could explain why this man, who had been settled for the last six years would suddenly get up and leave. He had never done anything like it before; he was a simple man, everyone agreed.

As the sun started to drop in the sky Brown walked back to his car, which was parked outside Ashcroft's building. Sitting on the stoop was a young Asian boy, playing on a Game Boy.

"You're the policeman who spoke to my nana," he blurted out as Brown drew level.

Stopping, the detective stuck out his hand and smiled, "Henri Brown, and you would be?"

"Sabrag Dhaliwal," he replied his eyes not leaving the screen of the Game Boy.

Henri withdrew his hand. "What ya playing?" he asked.

He was a fan of games himself and while he didn't own a Game Boy, he had a well used X Box at home.

"Pokemon Greenleaf," the boy replied.

"I hear that's good," Henri responded.

The boy nodded.

"You've been asking about Mr. Ashcroft," the boy said simply.

Henri didn't miss that the boy had cast a quick glance at him to judge his reaction to the statement.

"I know where he went to." Sabrag said quietly.

The boy's thumbs played on but now he was giving Henri at least half of his attention.

"You do, huh?"

Henri could play cagey when he needed and he knew this young boy would need careful handling if he was going to willingly give up all that he knew. The boy nodded at the question. Henri looked at the boy, as though sizing him up.

"And what would it cost me to get that information?"

The boy smiled cleverly and Henri knew he had him hooked. Ten dollars later, Henri Brown was sitting on the stoop next to young Sabrag Dhaliwal being talked through the various levels of Pokemon Greenleaf. Henri wasn't doing too well and Sabrag had little sympathy. Eventually, after he had failed again, he turned off the Game Boy and asked the question he had paid for.

"So where did Mr. Ashcroft go, Sabrag?"

"He went across town."

The boy was still being cautious.

"Do you know why?" Henri pushed on.

"Uh huh," the boy nodded.

"Gonna tell me?"

"This guy came to visit him, someone he used to work with. The guy asked him to go live in this other apartment. He paid him loads of money. Mr Ashcroft said I could help him pick out his new car that he was going to buy with his money."

"That must have been a lot of money."

"Do you know when Mr Ashcroft will be coming back? I miss him." The boy picked at a hole in the knee of his jeans.

"I don't know, Sabrag," Henri lied.

He believed if told this young man that Ashcroft was dead then he would lose his source of information. Cruel but true. The boy dug underneath his jacket and pulled out a key on a chain.

"He gave me the spare key to his place."

The boy stared at the key. Henri's heart beat fast.

"Why don't we go check and make sure everything is ok?"

Sabrag looked doubtful.

"I'm a police officer so you wouldn't be doing anything wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

"OK."

The boy jumped up and led the way up the steps. Henri soon found himself inside David Ashcroft's apartment. Small, neat, but shabby. Just like the rest of his life, thought Henri. Sabrag had gone over and sat on the couch as soon as he had opened the door. Henri was relieved he wasn't forced to come up with an excuse to get the boy out of the way while he searched the place. Henri hit pay dirt in the small bedroom. Underneath the mattress was five thousand dollars in cash. It was all new bills, still with the wrapping on. Henri couldn't find anything else. He took the top bill from one of the bundles and carefully slipped it inside an envelope from his pocket. As he walked back into the living room the boy looked up. His face was sad.

"Mr Ashcroft's not coming back, is he?"

"I don't think so, Sabrag."

"Thought so."

Henri watched the boy lock the door to the apartment.

"I guess I better give the key to the Super," Sabrag said sadly.

"That would be a good idea," Henri replied.

Back on the stoop, Henri shook hands with the young Asian lad and walked off to his car. Taking one last look back, he saw the boy, head bent over the Game Boy, thumbs twitching. Henri hurried to report back to Jim and Blair on what he had found.

Brian Rafe was dressed as he normally would; suave and smart. He knew people joked about the way he dressed; he had heard the comments; Mr GQ, Armani Man. He didn't mind. He liked looking good at work and even though he was fussy about what he wore, spending his money on clothes instead of the normal 'guy' things, he didn't let the comments get to him. He stood out like a sore thumb now, though. Standing outside the Starlight Motel there were very few clothes to be seen, smart or otherwise. The Starlight was a hang out for hookers. If Ashcroft was in Room 42, it was a good bet he was with a whore. Rafe wanted to find her. So here he was, in the unflattering light of day, chatting up the less than lovely ladies of the night that frequented that flea-bitten establishment. One of his difficulties was the poor photo. They had all agreed accessing police records to get a decent photo would send off klaxons that McCluskey could not fail to hear so they worked with the one from the driver's licence.

He got his first break just after 3pm. A tall, black woman with a gold miniskirt and matching high heeled pumps that had her towering over Rafe, had suggested that he try asking Jody. Apparently Jody often picked up johns in the bar and brought them back to that particular room in the motel. Jody was not out yet. Rafe passed the time talking to the tall, black woman who was, appropriately enough, called Candy. She was like many other women working the streets; stoical about the risks of the job, but retaining a wry sense of humour despite that. She called Rafe 'Sugar', but he got the impression she maybe called all the johns by the same name. He didn't mind, it passed the time. About ninety minutes later, Candy pointed out a white woman wearing a small black slip of a dress with a short pink cardigan. Pink high heeled pumps clip clopped on the sidewalk as she hurried to the bar across the street. Slipping Candy a twenty dollar bill for her trouble, Rafe crossed the street, following Jody.

"You come back, Sugar, real soon," Candy called.

Rafe smiled to himself. He had fended off Candy's amorous advances for about an hour and it had become something of a joke with the two of them. Rafe had finally shown her his badge.

"Sugar, you think I didn't know. You just scream pig."

"And you just scream hooker," Rafe had laughed. "How about we call it quits?"

They had called an amicable truce.

Rafe headed into the bar, and ignoring Jody, but noting where she was, he headed to the bar and ordered a beer. Taking a gulp from the bottle, he swivelled around, reading the room. Jody sat in a booth to one side. As Rafe turned back to the bar he made sure she noticed that he had looked at her. Rafe had made sure that the seat next to him at the bar was vacant when he sat down and it was only a few minutes before Jody squeezed on to it. As he lifted his beer bottle to his lips, she jostled his arm causing him to spill some of his beer. She was profuse in her apologies, taking out a hankie to pat down the spill on his shirt. Their fist interaction ended up with Rafe getting a second beer and Jody getting a gin sling, which she sipped slowly. Rafe had decided not to confront her in the bar. It would be easier and attract a lot less attention to do it in the motel room they were inevitably heading for. Ten minutes later they made their move and Jody led her mark straight to Room 42, unaware that the day was going to take a decidedly unusual turn.

Entering the room, Jody did what any good working girl did, and asked for her money up front. Rafe reached into his inside pocket as though he was going for his wallet. It wasn't money he took out of his wallet, but his badge. The sweet little thing that had been Jody disappeared in a foul mouthed tirade against 'fucking pigs' in general and Rafe in particular.

"Sit down and shut up."

His voice was hard.

"Friday night you brought a mark to this room. His name was David Ashcroft." Rafe showed her the driver's licence photo. Jody shrugged. "He was found dead yesterday morning."

Jody squirmed. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking like she might bolt any second.

"I didn't kill him."

"I didn't say you did, but I want to know what you know about David Ashcroft."

"What's to know? He was a mark."

"Do you want me to take you downtown and question you about the murder?" Rafe's voice was cold.

Jody didn't answer, watching her pink shoes closely.

"Tell me what he told you" The words were almost shouted.

"Okay, okay, what do you want to know?"

"What was he doing here on Mason?"

"He said he was doing a favor for a friend."

"What was the friend's name?"

"I don't remember. But he was a big spender, said he had been paid ten thousand dollars for a job. I figured it was true, he had two brand new one hundred dollar bills with him in the bar."

"Think again. Did he mention a name?"

"Maybe. It was something odd. Foreign sounding... like Steven... but different."

"Stefan?" Rafe suggested.

"Maybe, yeah. I think so."

Rafe continued questioning Jody, establishing that she had taken one of the two one hundred dollar bills and left David Ashcroft sleeping on the dubious sheets of the Starlight Motel at about 2am, very much alive. He left the woman in the room. She came to the doorway, shouting after him.

"Hey, what about paying me for my time?"

"You got paid Friday night."

Rafe walked to his car and drove to the loft to report in.

When Rafe arrived, Jim and Henri were already there.

"Where's Blair?" he asked.

"We don't know," Henri replied. "He rang Jim earlier today, giving him a name, saying he was going straight home. Jim got in an hour ago and there's no sign of him."

"Shit! Who's Jim talking to?"

"Custody Sergeant. He thinks McCluskey may have got wind of our inquiries and pulled Blair in."

Jim slammed the phone down and the younger man winced.

"Blair hasn't been booked in and McCluskey hasn't been seen at the station since two pm."

"So where the hell is he?" Rafe demanded.

"That bastard McCluskey has him, I know it." Jim looked ready to explode.

Henri took on the role of pacifier.

"Jim, sit down. Let's hear what Rafe has to say, see if it gives us anymore to go on. It may not be McCluskey."

Jim glared at him. Rafe thought Jim was going to blast past the two of them, but he took a deep breath instead and reluctantly nodded. With all the information, pieces started to slip into place. David Ashcroft was a patsy hired by 'Stefan' to give a false statement, which would frame Blair for an unlawful killing. Ashcroft then winds up dead, presumably killed by Stefan, which cuts the link to him and makes Blair look as guilty as sin of two murders now, and behind it all was the ex CEO of Viewscape Industries, Norman Ventriss.

The puzzle was far from complete, and was only held together with imagination and a faith in Blair's innocence. As solid as that was among the three men sitting at the table in the loft, it wouldn't sway a jury and it certainly wouldn't convince McCluskey. More plans were made; Henri would see if there were any prints on the money he had liberated from Ashcroft's place and Rafe would find out what both Ventriss senior had been up to since he and his son had been brought down about eighteen months previously. Jim was going to turn Cascade upside down looking for his guide and lover and woe betide anyone who got in his way.

Blair had gone only a few paces after finishing his phone call when McCluskey had stopped him with a hand on his arm. Turning around to see who it was that had touched him, Blair realised immediately what was happening. McCluskey hadn't come alone; two IA clones were backing him up, no doubt itching for Blair to resist. As McCluskey recited the Miranda warning, Blair stood quietly. He didn't fight them and answered yes to the Miranda questions. To do otherwise was to play into McCluskey's hands. Blair waited for his turn, his phone call to bring in the cavalry.

Watching streets pass by from the back seat of McCluskey's car, Blair shifted, trying to get comfortable. His hands cuffed behind him was just another humiliation the IA captain had inflicted on him after a very public arrest.

"Hey, McCluskey, you missed the turn," Blair called out.

There was no reply. Blair kept his own counsel as they headed south. Eventually they pulled up outside the 29th Precinct station house, commonly known as Ladywood. Blair was pulled from the car and roughly manhandled into the foyer and past the desk sergeant, who merely nodded at McCluskey, acknowledging him by name.

"Dave."

"Where the hell are you taking me?" Blair was getting angry.

Stopping in the booking suite in front of the duty sergeant's desk, McCluskey finally gave Blair his attention.

"I'm a very busy man, Sandburg. I don't have time to take you all the way uptown for booking, so the kind cops here at Ladywood have agreed to process you and keep you here until you are arraigned in the morning."

"That is so out of order, man," Blair argued.

McCluskey laughed. "Didn't I tell you that I used to be stationed here before I went to IA? A lot of people here know me, and a few owe me favors. Favors I am calling in. And believe me, you little cocksucker," McCluskey practically spat in Blair's face, "it has been worth every one to see you brought down."

Blair wanted to retort angrily, but at that moment the duty sergeant appeared and announced his presence with a cough.

"Hey, Sydney. How you doing?" McCluskey smiled and held out his hand, which Sydney shook warmly.

"This is the guy I was telling you about. Can you book him and hold him on two counts of murder?"

"Sure, Dave, no problem."

Blair's protestations were ignored. He knew the process of booking someone; he had covered it from a legal point of view at the Academy and he had experienced it when someone at Headquarters thought it would be fun to fingerprint and photograph him after his little adventure with Iris. Sydney, like most duty sergeants Blair had come across, was a stickler for following the rules, so Blair was fingerprinted, photographed and then strip searched. Blair knew that McCluskey was heaping humiliation upon humiliation on his head and he was trying to bear it stoically, not giving his tormentor the pleasure of seeing how much it was hurting him, but the strip search was way too much. To be forced to remove all his clothes and stand naked in front of these men was a gross indignity. McCluskey stood leaning against a wall, watching everything. Blair felt his stare and covered his genitals with his hands.

"I can see why Ellison keeps you in his bed, Sandburg. That's a sweet piece of ass there."

"Fuck you," Blair spat back.

"No thanks, Sandburg, I prefer a real woman, not some kind of long haired wannabe."

Further retort from Blair was cut off by the technician who snapped on a pair of latex gloves and ordered Blair to get up on the examination table.

"Do they have to be here?" he asked, meaning McCluskey and the duty sergeant.

A cold latex covered hand was placed on his hip and he flinched.

"Carry on," Sydney said firmly.

"Just relax," the technician said quietly.

Blair was used to being fingered and more by Jim, but this invasion was painful and degrading. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through it. It was soon over and Blair stood, reaching for his clothes to get redressed.

"Wait," Sydney stated. "I need to search those clothes."

The duty sergeant took his time, letting Blair stand naked. McCluskey sniggered at Blair's discomfort. Blair wanted to kill the man. He closed his eyes, gripped his hands into fists and tried to control the urge to put those same hands around McCluskey's throat and squeeze slowly. Eventually Blair's clothes were returned to him, minus his belt, his shoelaces and the contents of his pockets.

"Right, Mr. Sandburg, let's find you somewhere comfy for the evening."

Sydney led Blair out of the examination room and back out into the booking suite. Blair tried to make his way to the bank of payphones, thinking his call to Jim would have to be collect, as they had taken all his money. Sydney's hand on his arm stopped him and steered him to the door that led to the cells.

"What about my phone call?" he asked.

"Sorry, Sandburg, all the phones are out of order," McCluskey gloated.

Blair had taken enough, breaking free of Sydney's grasp, he tore across the room grabbing McCluskey's lapels and pushing him up against the wall.

"You fucking asshole. What stupid fucking game are you playing? You know I'm not guilty. You're breaking every fucking rule in the book. It doesn't matter what evidence you've got, you are blowing yourself out of the water."

McCluskey smiled maliciously and leant forward so that his lips were close to Blair's right ear.

"You always were a bright boy, Sandburg."

Blair's head snapped back as he stared wide eyed at the man he had pinned against the wall. He released his grip as Sydney grabbed him from behind and dragged him off, cuffing his hands behind his back.

"What have you done, McCluskey?" Blair shouted as he was dragged away by the duty sergeant.

"Let's add assaulting a police officer to the charges, shall we, Sydney?" McCluskey smirked.

Manhandled through the door and down a corridor, Blair was unceremoniously dumped in a cell. In the dark and alone Blair manoeuvred himself up from where he had landed, to stand shivering. Breathing deeply, he knew it wasn't just the cold that caused his tremors.

Rafe found Serena hunched over a microscope as he rushed into forensics. She looked up raising an eyebrow at his hurried entrance. The eyebrow went higher as Rafe strode purposefully towards her, his hands holding the one hundred dollar bill. Handing Serena the clear evidence bag the young detective spoke quietly but urgently to the black haired woman.

"Serena, this is a rush job. I need you to check this for fingerprints."

"Okay," she nodded. "Just let me finish this."

"No," Rafe said sharply. He breathed deep, "I need you to do this now. It's for Blair," he explained. "So I need it done now and I need it done quietly."

Serena sat back on her stool, holding the evidence bag in her lap. Slowly she nodded.

"Where will you be?"

"At my desk. You have my number." It wasn't a question.

Serena nodded again and opened the evidence bag, As Rafe made his way back to Major Crime, he was confident that if there was even half a print on that money Serena would find it.

Meanwhile, upstairs in Major Crime, Henri Brown was in the depths of a long and difficult conversation with the secretary of the Governor of Cascade Prison.

"Yes ma'am, I know it's late and I really do appreciate that you have a life, but this is very important."

Henri rubbed his hand over his head as he listened to the voice at the other end of the phone.

"Yes ma'am, you did mention that your shift ended ten minutes ago, but as I have said," numerous times Henri said silently to himself. "This is very important."

Henri looked up at his partner as he entered the bullpen and sat in the chair next to his desk. At Rafe's questioning look, he shook his head and shrugged.

"Yes ma'am, Brad Ventriss and Norman Ventriss. All visitors for, say, the last three months."

Henri pulled the phone away from his ear and grimaced. Rafe smiled as he heard the raised voice at the other end.

"Yes ma'am, three months." He paused, listening. "No ma'am, I will hold."

A few minutes later Brown started scribbling furiously. Rafe got up and walked round so he could read over the black man's shoulder. Brad Ventriss had not had many visitors, none more than twice and no names that rang any bells with either detective. His father on the other hand, had consistently received one visitor, Stefan Hildred. Brown whispered to Rafe. "That has to be our guy." Rafe headed to his own desk, turned on his computer and waited for it to warm up. Henri was being effusive in his thanks to the officious woman on the end of the phone.

"I really do appreciate your help, ma'am, and I will be sure to mention it to my captain. Yes, thank you, ma'am."

Brown put the receiver down and muttered at it, "Like hell."

He turned to his partner. "Anything?"

Rafe was talking to his computer. "Come on, come on."

The minutes ticked by as fingers flew across the keyboard. There was a cry of "Yes!" as Rafe hit the print button. Both men rushed to the printer.

"I'll put out the APB, you call Jim," Brown suggested, but Rafe was already picking up the phone and dialling.

Jim hadn't been sure what he hoped to achieve by heading out in the truck to scour Cascade. Actually, that wasn't true. He knew what he wanted, Blair safely back with him. What he didn't know was what point there was in driving round aimlessly. It was better than being in the office, though. There he would be inundated with paperwork, bureaucracy and phone calls. He didn't know how Simon put up with it day after day. Jim's admiration for the man had gone up in leaps and bounds since his promotion, and the day he could hand it back to Simon couldn't come soon enough. Jim felt guilty about not having seen much of his captain since he had been hospitalized but things had gotten a little bit crazy around Major Crime and now, well now, he had something far more important on his mind. The phone interrupted his thoughts.

"Ellison."

"Jim, we have a name and address."

Jim could hear the smile in Rafe's voice.

"Well done, Rafe. Let me pull over."

Jim jotted down the address. As luck would have it he wasn't far away.

"I can be there in ten minutes."

"Jim, it will take at least thirty minutes to get the warrant to you. Wait for us to get there. Don't go after him on your own."

Jim wasn't about to wait. "Get there as soon as you can Rafe."

It actually took Jim twelve minutes to reach his destination, a well-appointed two story house with a veranda running around three sides. It was neat and tidy, painted blue and white. There was no car in the drive and no light showing. Jim wasn't taking any chances, though, as he listened for any sign of life inside the building. Even though he couldn't hear any heartbeats, Jim proceeded carefully, his gun in both hands, ready. Neither the front door nor the rear door off the garden were open, but a small window had not been properly latched and Jim was able to force it open, reach in and unlock the window below, which was big enough for him to climb through. He managed to avoid putting his foot into the toilet bowl as he climbed into the bathroom. Slowly exploring the downstairs rooms, Jim was about to go upstairs when he heard car doors slam. Concentrating he recognised Brown and Rafe walking up the front path. He opened the front door and let the two detectives enter.

"Find anything?" Brown asked.

"Nope, but I was just about to go upstairs."

"We'll do that," Brown said as he and Rafe started up the steps.

Jim stood in the middle of the large downstairs room. Something was bothering him but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and listened. It was an electric hum, very low level, but definitely there. Jim tried to locate the source. Taking each section of the room in turn, he listened. The sound was coming from behind a wall or inside a wall. Jim stared hard at the wall and as his enhanced sense of sight expanded his vision, faintly he could see the outline of a door obscured by a book case and photographs hung on the wall. His fingers skimmed over the wall, searching for a catch, some way of opening the door. Whatever was hidden so carefully behind that wall was something Jim wanted to see.

There was nothing on the wall itself, so he started on the book case. Every book and ornament was removed, but still there was nothing. Jim was subliminally aware of the two detectives watching him from the stairs, but it didn't distract him. Standing up and stepping back, Jim surveyed the wall again. There were small smear marks at one corner of one of the photographs. Just like the sort of marks you get on a door where hands are used to push it open regularly, or where kids' hands catch a wall as they turn a corner, a sort of oily film. The photograph was carefully removed from the wall, and underneath was a small quarter sized depression. Jim pressed and a click signalled the unlatching of a door.

Inside the hidden room a computer had a screen saver running, but what made Jim stare was the rest of the room. Photographs and plans covered the walls, and files and folders littered the large table that stood in the middle of the room. It reminded Jim of briefing rooms he had been in during his Ranger days. That was just what this was; a centre of operations, a headquarters for the planned downfall of his best friend and lover. He stood silently for a few seconds, taking it all in. Turning to Brown, he gave orders in a quiet contained voice.

"Get forensics over here. I want everything tagged, bagged and documented and I want it done by the book. When they are done it's all to be escorted back to headquarters by the two of you. There is to be no opportunity at all for IA to interfere in this. Are you clear?"

Brown nodded silently. Jim walked to the front door.

"Where are you going?" asked Rafe.

"I'm going to talk to McCluskey," Jim said coldly.

As he crossed the front lawn, he heard Rafe speak.

"I wouldn't want to be in McCluskey's shoes."

Jim smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it.

McCluskey was sitting at his desk when Jim strode in without knocking. Making his way from the garage, Jim had been aware that people in front of him had stepped aside as if he were Moses at the parting of the Red Sea, but he had ignored it. He had one goal, he wanted the bastard who had taken Blair from him and if McCluskey wasn't the one, then he would know who it was and Jim would get that information out of him. There was no doubt in his mind about that.

"What do you want, Ellison?" McCluskey asked.

The greeting was far from friendly. Jim had barged into the office of the IA Captain, without observing any of the niceties of knocking or closing doors. Jim was stonily furious.

"I want you to tell me why you have done nothing to investigate the Ashcroft shooting."

"I don't know what you are talking about. Get out of my office."

McCluskey was trying to ignore Jim, but the fine tremors that ran through his body were all the proof Jim needed to confirm his theory.

"I'm not leaving until I get the truth out of you." Jim paused, moved forward to McCluskey's desk and leaned over, resting his hands on the wooden surface. "One way or another."

The implication hung in the air, a tangible threat.

McCluskey bluffed again, "I told you to get out."

Jim stood his ground, leaning further forward, enjoying the smell of fear that oozed from the man in front of him. McCluskey eased his chair back from his desk, trying to increase the space between himself and the intimidating man before him.

"You know what I think, McCluskey? I think you have deliberately failed to investigate the case properly. You have ignored anything that doesn't implicate Sandburg, building a case on circumstantial evidence."

"Ridiculous," countered McCluskey, standing up to get away from Jim.

Continuing, Jim moved away from the desk and with a nonchalance that was frighteningly false, he leaned against the door, barring McCluskey's exit.

"I think you are on the take." With a glint in his eye, Jim dropped his bombshell. "I think Ventriss is paying you off."

Jim waited for McCluskey's reaction, expecting the IA captain's heart rate to go through the roof. He was disappointed and a little confused. McCluskey's vital signs had started to drop, he was showing signs of calming down, of relief, Jim thought. McCluskey even smiled and there was a confidence in it. Jim got it.

"You don't know, do you?"

Now it was Jim's turn to be confident. "You've been used. It was Hildred that paid you off, wasn't it?"

Now Jim could see McCluskey sweating, his pulse and respiration increased. Jim's chuckle was cold and ruthless and McCluskey paled.

"And you had no idea who he was working for, did you? But then, you didn't care, did you? A lot of money in your pocket, a chance to get at a man promoted straight from the Academy to Major Crime while you languish down here in IA. Getting a little payback on the side, were we, McCluskey?"

Jim's voice had become more strident as he had spoken. He moved from the door approaching McCluskey with fists clenched, backing the man into a corner.

"Where is Sandburg?" Jim hissed.

"I'll have your badge for this, Ellison." McCluskey had found some bravery from somewhere.

"You can have it willingly, but if Sandburg has been hurt, you are going down for it, McCluskey, believe me."

The last two words were spat out. McCluskey said nothing. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed with a dry throat. Jim invaded his personal space.

"What have you done with Sandburg?"

Each word was said quietly and slowly, emphasised for effect.

"Nothing," McCluskey whispered.

"Where is he?" Jim asked, equally as quietly.

McCluskey took the wrong option and said 'nothing' again. Jim moved with lightening speed. Between one breath and the next McCluskey was grabbed by the lapels and pushed up against his own filing cabinets, echoing one of Jim's first encounters with the man he loved.

"Ladywood," McCluskey squeaked out. "In the lock up. He's safe; he's just being kept there until he is arraigned tomorrow morning."

"You've charged him with murder?" Jim demanded.

"Two counts," McCluskey muttered, finally ashamed of his actions.

"You fucking bastard. You didn't have the evidence to do that and you know it."

Jim let go of the IA captain and wiped the palms of his hands on the man's jacket. Slowly he walked towards the door. Opening it, he stopped.

"Why Ladywood?" Jim asked.

"That's what he wanted."

"Hildred?" Jim asked.

McCluskey nodded.

Jim paled, realizing the significance, "How long ago?"

McCluskey checked his watch, "An hour, maybe two. Why?"

"You're a detective, work it out."

Jim left the room running. Stopping only to make sure the desk sergeant didn't let McCluskey leave the building, he headed to the garage.

Blair was pissed. Seriously pissed. Procedure dictated the removal of cuffs once a prisoner was placed in a cell. He had been left cuffed. The cell he had been thrown into smelled and it was cold and dark. He had shouted for attention and that had failed. He had kicked the door and that hadn't worked either. His throat hoarse and his toe throbbing, Blair had finally sat on the bed cursing his own bad luck. The handcuffs were on tight; pinching his skin, there was no way out of them. Blair leaned back against the wall, regaining control of his breath. He tried to think of a way out of his predicament, but he struck out on every option. He had to hope that Jim would track him down. After what seemed like hours, but was probably not even one Blair heard a door open and footsteps approached. He jumped up and shouted. He was ignored again. A door opened again and was closed and then the footsteps retreated. Twice more Blair shouted for release when the silence was broken. On the third occasion a night stick banged harshly on the door to his room and Blair jumped back in surprise. He was still locked away.

As time passed Blair's wrists grew more painful and then the numbness set in. The pain across his shoulders increased and nothing he could do relieved it; standing up, sitting down, it was all the same. A door opened and there were footsteps. Blair ignored them this time but they stopped outside the door to his room. Blair stood up, suddenly nervous. He heard keys and as the door swung open the light that exploded into the dark room blinded him. All he could make out was the shape of a large man who walked into his room and stood in front of him. For a second he thought it was Jim, but it wasn't. No words were spoken and Blair could hear a rhythmic tapping. He couldn't identify its source.

"At last. What the hell is going on here, man? You can't treat me like this. I want my phone call. I want these cuffs off and I want a piss, just not necessarily in that order."

Blair drew in a breath, blinking to clear his eyes. The man's face was still hidden from him and the gentle tapping continued.

"Turn round, then."

The words had an accent but Blair ignored that, relieved that the handcuffs would be coming off and this whole thing was going to be resolved. At the thought that he would soon be confronting McCluskey and the duty sergeant who had put him where he was, Blair happily presented the large man with his unprotected back. The tapping stopped and Blair was unprepared for the blow that struck him high on the back and pushed him face first into the wall. His forehead connected with a sharp pain over his left eye. Before he could voice his shock and anger, there was a second blow to his kidneys, which took his breath. Blair managed to stay on his feet, but only just. Something warm dripped down his face and he managed to splutter a wordless objection. The third blow was across the back of the knees and Blair collapsed, the pain, an agony made all the worse for its unexpectedness.

A hand grabbed his hair, pulling his head up. Something slipped past his face and was pulled tight around his throat. Blair gasped, the tightening continued and he couldn't breathe. Every fibre of his body tried to draw breath but there was no respite. Darkness seeped into his peripheral vision and he screamed inside his head for his sentinel. Suddenly the pressure stopped and Blair fell sideways, gasping like a fish out of water. He was vaguely aware of raised voices and harsh sounds before he let go of consciousness. A soft hand on his face brought him back and he tried to speak, to call Jim's name. Nothing came out and his throat burned excruciatingly.

"Shhhhh, try not to speak. The bastard tried to strangle you."

Blair opened his eyes to look up at his savior. His hands were free and he used them to grab Jim's arms as much for reassurance as in mute thanks. Jim understood.

"It's okay, Chief. Lie still, the paramedics are on the way."

Blair nodded and leaned back taking in what was going on behind Jim's back. Two or three police officers were squeezed into the small cell. One was picking up a long thin strand stained with blood. Blair recognised his bootlaces and swallowed, setting off the pain in his throat off again. Another officer handed Jim a bottle and it was put to Blair's lips.

"Just small sips, Chief. Take it easy."

It was icy cold and slipped down Blair's throat, soothing some of the pain. With the arrival of the paramedics, the small room was filled to capacity. Blair patiently withstood their ministrations but shook his head violently when they indicated their intention to remove him to hospital.

"You have to go, Chief," Jim explained gently.

Blair fixed him with a stare that promised retribution at a later date. Jim smiled at him and patted his shoulder as the stretcher was placed on the floor next to Blair.

"As soon as you are ready, Chief, it'll be a pleasure," Jim smiled, relieved beyond measure.