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His ceiling had a crack. He grinned, suddenly seeing the ceiling collapsing and Jim falling through and landing on him - face down. He suppressed a laugh.

Unfortunately, visions of tomorrow's return to Rainier interrupted the more erotic vision of Jim, face buried in Blair's groin.

Damn.

He put his hands behind his head and thought back over his years at Rainier.

Early on, it had been very difficult. Too young, too inexperienced. But as he'd grown, taken command so to speak, he'd found his life at Rainier to be heaven. Working, teaching, his research, the expeditions, stubbornly sticking with his dissertation subject, writing articles, making a name for himself...

...of course, he'd known he was a bit of a puzzle to his fellow scientists and the University. On the one hand, he was admittedly searching for something most believed to be a myth, but on the other hand, he was a kind of a prodigy, an asset to the University, to any expedition. He had published early, was a good teacher, he was -- in short -- everything the University wanted.

Had wanted.

He was also first to admit that university life had never been his goal, nor had teaching. In the last years, he'd grown away from it, found only disappointment in the politics, the behind-the-scenes machinations of promotions, assignments and tenure.

How was it possible that a life that involved the criminal element was more honest than life within the walls of a respected university?

For all that had happened to him, for all the decisions he'd happily made, Blair Sandburg did have one regret: the loss of any chance at his doctorate. He hated leaving anything unfinished, incomplete.

And he -- wanted it. Wanted his doctorate.

He turned over and tried to sleep. Tomorrow would be a big day, what with the interview with Jamison and -- Wiseman. He'd need all the rest he could get.

He failed miserably.

The next morning, two bleary-eyed men sat glumly at the kitchen table, coffee in front of them along with a plate of cold toast. Jim looked a bit gray around the gills, prompting Blair to ask, "Haven't you been able to dial it down, Jim?"

"What?"

"The pain. The dials?"

"Oh, yeah. The dials. No."

"No? Just like that, no? Why not? What's wrong? Did you do too much yesterday? And why didn't you say anything?"

"Jeesh, relax, Chief. You'll stroke out on me."

"Well? Answer."

"Just -- hasn't been working, okay?"

 Blair angrily knuckled back some hair and regarded Jim impatiently. "So? Try right now." He rose, walked up behind Ellison and placed his hands on Jim's shoulders. As he began to gently knead the tight, twisted muscles, he said softly, "Go on, try. Close your eyes and let's do this right."

Jim started to protest, but damn, Sandburg's fingers felt - too good. He closed his eyes and stamped down the urge to rest his head back and against the man behind him.

"Now, drift. You're in that safe place, your place. When you're comfortable, picture the dials we've talked about."

Jim's breathing deepened as Blair's fingers and voice worked their magic.

"You've got the dial?"

Jim nodded slowly.

"What number do you see?"

"Nine," he breathed out.

"Move - it - down - slowly."

He waited and listened, fingers kneading. He felt the body relax, the shoulders slump forward.

"What does it say now?"

"Two."

"Can you bring it comfortably up a couple of notches, to protect from further injury?"

Jim nodded again and a moment later said, "Four."

"Great. Now just relax for a few more minutes and let me finish this massage."

Blair worked his thumbs in a circular motion just behind Jim's ears, watching as the man's head automatically dropped forward. Five minutes later, there were no tight spots left, no corded muscles, just one pudding-like detective. Blair moved back to his seat and sat down.

"Wow."

"Feel better?"

Pale blues opened and groggily regarded his new masseur. "Anyone ever tell you that you have great hands?"

"You know, Ellison, I do believe that's come up on occasion." Blair smiled broadly as Jim realized just what he'd asked. The man actually went crimson. Blair took pity on him and took the coffee cups into the kitchen. From the sink, he said, "So what time do we meet Jamison?"

"Joel is arranging that -- in the Commissioner's name. He'll call. We're meeting Wiseman at ten." Jim turned in his chair, draping his arm over the back and asked, "You sure you're up to this, Chief?"

"Stop worrying. Other than Wiseman, no one will even know who I am."

It wasn't true, but Jim let it go. If that's what Blair needed to think, so be it.

On the other side of town, another man sat at his breakfast table. His maid poured him a glass of juice, then scurried back to the kitchen. As she disappeared, he picked up the mobile phone.

"Madison."

"You blew it."

"I doubt it."

"Really? Then perhaps you'd care to explain why the Cascade Police Department, in the form of one Detective Ellison, is scheduled to meet with me at two this afternoon?"

"That means nothing. May not be related."

"Get real, Madison."

"No, you get real. If anyone had the remotest clue, you'd be seeing a federal agent, not some foot soldier from the Cascade PD."

Jamison drummed his fingers on the faux marble tabletop. Madison had a point. If anyone believed there'd been a theft, the Feds would be crawling all over the University and he'd have received a warning call by now.

"You'd better be correct. I'd hate to see a talented man like yourself -- disappear." He hung up.

"So you don't know Eliot Jamison?"

Jim sat opposite Dr. Wiseman, Blair standing behind him. They were in the lab after belatedly hooking up with the scientist, who'd been in a last minute department meeting.

Wiseman rubbed his jaw, as he answered, "No, I don't know the man But I know of him. He's a major contributor to the University."

Blair groaned inwardly. Were there any honest contributors to Rainier? When had it suddenly become de rigueur for the rich, but highly criminal element of Cascade to fork money over to Rainier?

Jim leaned forward and asked, "A major contributor?"

"Yes. As you're undoubtedly aware," he looked up at Blair, then back to Ellison, "we're a private university and rely heavily on donations from alumni etc. Chancellor Edwards has done -- a commendable job of soliciting those donations. I'm constantly -- amazed."

Jim searched the doctor's face, so at odds with his tone. The man was obviously intimating something.

"So who might have a connection with the man? Someone who would also know how your lab works? Would know where the safe is located?"

"I couldn't begin to guess, Detective. I certainly don't move in the same circles as Jamison and to my knowledge, neither do any of my contemporaries. As to the safe, my assistant, of course. Our government liaison, Agent Watkins, who was responsible for the set-up, and of course, Chancellor Edwards."

Of course -- Chancellor Edwards. Why did everything seem to come back to her? Or was he simply overly sensitive regarding the woman since the fiasco between Sandburg and Ventriss, not to mention the dissertation disaster?

Ellison stood and extended his hand. As Wiseman took it, he said, "Thank you, Dr. Wiseman. You'll call if you think of anything else?"

"I will. But I must admit, I'm stunned by the idea that Jamison might have anything to do with this."

"And yet," Blair interjected, "he's actually quite a likely suspect."

"I suppose you're right, Blair. If one considers that the majority of major crime is committed by the white, wealthy male, he could be considered the most likely suspect."

The two men smiled at one another and Jim had the feeling this was part of an old discussion between the two. He also had a hunch Dr. Wiseman was most definitely on Blair Sandburg's side -- in spite of the press conference.

There was hope in this world yet.

As the two men walked down the hall toward the exit doors, Jim asked, "Care to tell me about Wiseman's last remark?"

"Nothing much. Wiseman was fascinated by my work with you and we'd had some pretty lengthy talks about the criminal nature of man. Basically we both decided that the more money a man had, the more likely he was to indulge in criminal activities and thus the more likely he would be to erase any line perceived as existing between himself and the street criminal."

"Which led you to extrapolate that the majority of crimes in America..."

"Were scripted by wealthy, white males. Yeah."

Jim gazed thoughtfully around him, taking in the so-called hallowed halls of Rainier. "Um, really shouldn't be so politically incorrect, Chief. We mustn't leave out the wealthy, white females, should we?"

They caught each other's looks and Blair grinned. "No, Jim, we shouldn't."

Jim dropped his arm across his partner's and said with a grin, "You up to a visit with the Gorgon of Rainier?"

That caught him by surprise and he tried to bite back a chuckle. "I think I can handle that, Jim. In fact, I might even be looking forward to it."

Ellison gave Sandburg a small smirk and quipped, "Getting a little back?"

Blue eyes widened innocently as Sandburg's hands came up in a gesture that said, who, me? "Why, Detective Ellison, I'm surprised at you. How could you think I'd be capable of such..."

"Joy at the thought of the misery of another?"

"Yes."

"I know. I'm a fool. I tend to judge everyone by my own standards. Asshole that I am."

"You said it, Jim, not me."

A hand thwopping the side of his head was Jim's only response.

"I'm afraid Chancellor Edwards can't see you right now. Maybe you could..."

Jim took out his badge. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear? This is official police business."

The young woman let her eyes just skirt over to Sandburg before flicking back nervously to Ellison. She stood quickly and excusing herself, backed into the Chancellor's office.

A minute later, she opened the door and indicated that Jim should follow her. The door started to close before Sandburg could follow and Jim had to put out his hand and block its closing. "He's with me." She had the grace to blush.

Edwards was clearly angry and remained seated as Jim and Blair approached her desk. She also made it a point not to offer either man a chair, in spite of Jim's cane. Of course, offering a chair to Sandburg would have been ridiculous, since she refused to acknowledge his presence.

"Detective Ellison? How can I assist the Cascade Police Department?" Her words were polite, cordial, but her eyes were cold and forbidding. Jim wondered how Blair Sandburg had ever worked with her.

"There was a break-in last night, Ms. Edwards." No one missed Jim's refusal to use the woman's title. Cold and forbidding? She couldn't touch Ellison.

"A break-in? Here? Ridiculous. We have security, alarms, and I would have been immediately notified."

"The intruder used very sophisticated equipment and was armed with inside information. And you are being informed - by me. I'm afraid one of the University's government projects has been compromised."

Only Jim noticed the slight contraction of her pupils. And only Jim sensed the increase of her heart rate.

"You have proof of this, Mr. Ellison?"

Blair had to bite back his explosive laughter. The gorgon was in rare form today. But she would never be able to keep up with Ellison.

"Yes, we even have a suspect, Ms. Edwards. What I need to know from you, is how well you know Eliot Jamison."

She finally stood, resting both hands on her desk as she asked, stunned, "You're not seriously considering Eliot a suspect? And what proof?"

Neither man missed the use of Jamison's first name.

"The proof is of no concern at the moment, Ms. Edwards. And right now, the Department is simply interviewing anyone who might have knowledge of a new wonder drug. Rumors in the pharmaceutical industry are common, almost legendary, as is theft. And no matter how jealously guarded, these things slip out. As you're well aware, I'm sure. Mr. Jamison is just one -- of many interviews scheduled."

Jim shrugged and smiled as he continued, "Of course, he is the only pharmaceutical executive we're interviewing who also has ties to the University. He has made some heavy donations, I believe?"

"Elio... Mr. Jamison is an alumni, but I'd have to look it up to make any confirmation regarding donations."

"Really?" Blair stepped slightly ahead of Jim. "There have been several fund raisers in the past, and I distinctly recall on several occasions your publicly announcing Eliot's generous donations."

Her eyes narrowed but never left Ellison and the man could tell she was actually considering the idea of pretending Blair hadn't spoken at all. Her next words confirmed her choice.

"Of course, Detective. I don't see what a man's donations would have to do with any theft?"

Jim had to give the woman credit. She'd managed to ignore Sandburg while at the same time trying to put Jim on the spot and solicit more information. And she'd used his rank. He was tempted to applaud.

"There may be no connection. But you know the police," he shrugged again, "no stone left unturned. And of course, this was clearly," he fixed her with his best stony stare, "an inside job."

"Now you're accusing Dr. Wiseman?"

"Not at all. In fact, Dr. Wiseman is the only person who isn't a suspect -- which of course, narrows the field a bit." Jim raised his left hand and with slow exaggeration, ticked off the suspects. "There is Michael Moreno, Dr. Wiseman's assistant, Agent Watkins and," he turned to Blair and asked, "Sandburg, who else did Dr. Wiseman mention as having knowledge of the safe and the lab's precautions?"

Blair dropped his eyes while pretending to find his notebook. God, Jim was good. He finally pulled out a small, spiral-bound pad he happened to have in his jacket pocket and made a bit of a show flipping pages over and making a few mmm sounds. But he finally glanced up at his partner and said, "That would be -- well, actually -- Chancellor Edwards."

"Ah, yes." He turned back to the woman and smiled coldly. "And as you just heard, you. Rather limited list, grant you. We're naturally running extensive background checks on all of you, but let's face it. Agent Watkins is highly unlikely, which narrows the field to -- two."

Edward's eyes glittered dangerously. "I believe," she said, controlled, white-hot fury in her voice, "this meeting is over. And the Commissioner will be hearing from me within the hour."

"I'm happy to hear that, Ms. Edwards. He's very concerned about Dr. Wiseman. They're related by marriage, you know."

As he ushered Blair out, he threw out his last parting shot, "We'll be back, Ms. Edwards."

"That was -- interesting."

"She knows something, Chief."

"No, really? I'd never have guessed."

"Sarcasm does not become you, Sandburg."

"But I do it so well."

"Umph."

"What now, Kemosabe?"

"Now, the Lone Ranger, along with his faithful companion, Toto, will try to intimidate Eliot Jamison."

"Uh, Jim? That's Tonto."

Ellison looked pointedly down at his partner, one eyebrow arched.

Blair rolled his eyes, as he said with a trace of patient humor, "Right. Giddyup and woof."

Eliot Jamison lived in the Marina District of Cascade, his home a two story art deco structure with its own boat slip. As Blair parked on Seacliff he gazed up at the home and whistled. "Pretty good digs, Jim."

Ellison shrugged as he stepped out, his cane supporting him. "Nothing less than I'd expect, given everything we know about him. He's what, the fifth richest man in Cascade?"

Blair walked around to the front of the truck and waited for Jim to join him. "Yeah, and the eighth richest man in Washington."

They walked across the quiet, sun-dappled street, the fresh scent of ocean air filling them.

When they reached the front door, before knocking, Jim looked down at his partner and said, "I need you to do most of the talking, Chief."

Blue eyes widened in surprise. "Excuse me? You want me to conduct this interview?"

"That's right." He pulled his hand from his pocket to wiggle Wiseman's flashlight. "I need a little distraction, namely you talking with Jamison."

Understanding flooded his eyes as he nodded enthusiastically. "Gotcha Jim. But if you do find traces of the powder?"

Jim tapped his jacket pocket. "I have the search warrant right here, Chief. Just get him talking, okay?"

"She has to have called him, Jim."

Jim smiled as he raised his hand and knocked. "I sure hope so, Chief. I sure hope so."

Neither man was surprised to be greeted by a butler, an aged and very formal butler at that. As they were shown to Eliot Jamison's study, Sandburg couldn't help the soft whisper, "just tell me the butler did it, jim."

The man, who'd identified himself as "Hawkins" turned as Jim suddenly started coughing.

"Sir?"

"Nothing, I'm fine, go on."

The butler missed the murderous look Jim bestowed on his partner.

They were still alone, Jamison yet to show.

Blair watched as Jim played the beam around the room, over the desk, the floor, and finally the wall.

"Bingo, Chief. Residue at nine o'clock."

Before either man could investigate, Eliot Jamison walked in, hand extended, a large, welcoming smile on his handsome face.

"Detective Ellison, it's an honor to meet Cascade's Detective of the Year."

The two men shook, as Jim introduced Blair. Jamison indicated both men should take a seat, then walked calmly around to his desk and sat down. Letting the chair tip back, he asked, "How can I help you this afternoon, Detective?"

The fact that they'd been left alone in the man's study made stalling unnecessary. Jim took out the search warrant.

"Mr. Jamison, I have a warrant here to search the premises."

The man was cool, no doubt about it. One eyebrow rose lazily as he smiled. "You want to search my home? What on earth for, Detective? What could I possible be suspected of?"

"Theft, Mr. Jamison. Theft of government property from Rainier University. Would you mind opening the safe behind that Delacroix?"

The only clue that Jim had hit Jamison where it hurt was the slight clenching of the man's jaw. Jamison rose slowly, his eyes never leaving Ellison's face.

"Is this some kind of joke, Detective?"

"Mr. Jamison, the Cascade Police Department is not in the habit of entering the homes of its citizens armed with search warrants as a joke even if they are suspected of theft. This will go much easier if you simply comply with my request."

"I think I deserve an explanation."

Jim simply regarded the CEO impassively.

Eyes narrowing, Jamison walked to the picture, pulled it away from the wall and quickly opened it, then stepped back.

As Jim slipped on his gloves, he indicated that Jamison should move back to his desk, then he stepped up to the safe. Once Jamison was in place, the detective turned to the contents with the flashlight.

The powder, so faint as to be almost invisible to even sentinel eyes, lingered on a small manila envelope. He pulled it out, enjoying the sudden perspiration that had suddenly popped up on Jamison's forehead.

Jim bent the prongs of the envelope, then upended it and watched with satisfaction as black film canister dropped into his gloved hand. A canister with yellow powder dusting its surface. Jim pulled out an evidence bag and dropped the canister inside.

"Well, Mr. Jamison, it seems we've found what we were looking for. You have the right to remain..."

Knowing it was over the moment the manila envelope was picked up, Jamison's mind had begun to churn. Behind him, French doors leading to his patio, and beyond that, his dock. And tied to his dock, his speedboat.

As Ellison read him his rights, he let his face show only shock and surprise even as his fingers closed around the small bronze bust of Albert Einstein that rested on the corner of his desk. With lightening speed, he threw it hard, fast, and with amazing accuracy.

From the corner of his eye, Sandburg saw the object take flight and yelled, "JIM! LOOK OUT!" just as Jamison whirled and pushed his way out onto the patio.

Ellison ducked, and the statue crashed into the wall behind him. He started to thrust the evidence into Sandburg's hands and was surprised when the younger man said, "Call for back-up, Ellison." With a quick, downward glance at Jim's cane, Sandburg took off in pursuit of Jamison.

He burst through the doors, spotted Jamison heading for the dock, and dashed toward the man at an angle, hoping to cut him off.

Jamison was in good shape for a man his age, but no match for Blair. As the man thudded down the wooden dock, Blair raced across the lawn, and just as Jamison was about to jump aboard, Sandburg tackled him and both tumbled into the water. 

Jim reached the dock just as Blair was dragging a flailing Jamison to safety. Sirens could be heard in the distance. With Jim's awkward assistance, Jamison was rolled onto the deck.

As police stormed the property, a soggy Sandburg hauled himself from the water in time to see Jim cuff the man and finish reading his rights.

Brown was first down to the dock and immediately handed Jamison off to a uniform, then smiling, said, "Gee, Hairboy, you're all wet."

Making a show of wringing out his shirt, Blair responded, "Well, H, water will do that to a man, you know?" He turned to Jim. "Man, you call a mean back-up, Jim. Thanks."

Jim couldn't resist. "You're welcome." He raised both hands in a warding gesture. "Just don't -- touch me."

Jamison sat in an interrogation room, a well-dressed man beside him. As Jim limped in, followed by Taggart, the man stood.

"I don't know what you're pulling here, but you have nothing on which to hold my client. Mr. Jamison is an upstanding..."

"Thief. And you would be?" Joel finished.

"John Carstairs, Mr. Jamison's attorney. And I must insist you allow my client to leave."

"Mr. Carstairs -- sit down. We have enough on your client to put him away for quite some time. It's over and the best thing you can do is advise your client to come clean and answer our questions."

Jim pulled out a chair and sank down next to Jamison. "We have the film, a gym bag filled with interesting devices that we found in the trunk of your car and the prints on the film tube will undoubtedly be yours."

"In addition," Jim went on, "we have a drawing of the man you met at Colette's and will have an identification any moment. Things could go easier on you, however, if you save us the time and effort and turn him over to us, along with your inside source at the University."

Jamison never blinked. In a cold, unemotional voice, he said, "Go to hell, Detective."

Four men sat in Simon's office, mulling over their options. Banks, eager to get out of the house, had rolled in about an hour after Jim and Taggart had attempted their interrogation of Jamison. He sat in his wheelchair, his coffee cup on the conference table in front of him. Joel sat beside him, Jim and Blair opposite.

For Ellison and Sandburg, there was no doubt Edwards was the insider in Jamison's theft, but proving it was a whole different ballgame.

A dry and changed Sandburg took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee, then mused out loud, "You know, ever since the Brad Ventriss case, I've wondered about her, about Edwards." He put his cup down and sat forward. "I walked into that office and the war was over, I never had a chance. Now, I'm thinking -- she was..."

"Bought and paid for, Chief?"

Sandburg smiled wryly and nodded slowly. "Well, yeah. It would fit. My absenteeism was logged, noted and accepted until that day. I just chalked them up to research. There'd never been any complaints or even a suggestion of censure -- until that day."

Simon fingered his cup and twisted it around absently. "I always felt you had a -- suit, Sandburg. Not to mention -- later."

Blair's eyes widened in surprise. He leaned over and pinched Simon, who yelped and rubbing his arm, gritted out, "Watch it, kid!"

"Sorry, Sir. Just checking. Needed to make sure the pod people hadn't taken over your body while you were in the hospital."

"You're a laugh a minute, Sandburg."

Something passed between the two men, something that eased an ache inside Blair. Simon wasn't known for his apologies, but Blair was pretty sure he'd just heard one.

"Not to interrupt this tender moment, Sir, but we still have to prove Chancellor Edwards is our accessory."

"You really worried, Jim?" Simon asked.

"In a word? Yes. If we can't identify..." Jim paused as Blair stood abruptly.

"Uh, Jim? The inside of the gloves? From the gym bag?" 

The three policemen looked at each other, then at their anthropologist.

Joel spoke first. "Gee, he's good." Then he picked up the phone, dialed Forensics and when they answered, gave Jeff Cowell the new instructions. Hanging up, he asked, "Sandburg, care to go over with me to check the results?"

Blair, with a quick glance at Jim, nodded. The two men left, Joel dropping a fatherly arm across Sandburg's shoulders.

"More coffee, Simon?"

"No thanks, I'm floating as it is."

Jim poured himself another cup and mused out loud. "Think our guy was clumsy enough?"

"Possible, Jim, possible." As Ellison took his seat, Simon wheeled his chair out so that he could face his detective. "I've some possible good news, Jim."

One eyebrow rose as Ellison took a sip.

"Since we have such a long wait until the next possible class for Sandburg, I've had a couple of conversations with the Commissioner and well, we might be able to offer Sandburg a kind of - consultant's fee." At Jim's surprised expression, he hastily added, "It's not unheard of, Ellison. And let's face it, as you yourself said, he's been a cop in all but title for three years. He deserves it. He'll have to document his time and we can set up a contract, but other than that, it can be a done deal."

"Simon, you can't begin to know how worried he's been about his finances. He's tried to hide it, but damn, this is like an answer to a prayer. I don't pretend to know how you swung it, but I owe you big time."

"Jim, trust me, you don't want to know. However, be aware, your Captain isn't above the fine art of blackmail."

Even the best were fallible. Like Carl Madison; aka, Cliff Martins; aka, Carlos Marquez. He'd been too cocky and thus careless. One nice, round thumb print on the inside rim of the right latex glove.

Their reports written, Jamison behind bars and Madison a few short hours from joining the CEO, left Jim and Blair heading wearily home.

As they sat in front of the balcony window, nursing beers, Jim said quietly, "You did a good job today, Chief."

"Thanks, Jim. But I guess it's not really over yet, uh?"

"No, but once Madison is in custody, we should be able to unravel this mess."

"Do you think Edwards is going down?"

"Honestly?" At Blair's nod, he continued, "Yeah, yeah I do. And I suspect once we open this can of worms, we're going to discover a great deal more about Chancellor Edwards."

Blair turned his attention back to the view. "I should feel -- vindicated, somehow, but I don't. I just feel -- sad."

"Please tell me you're not wasting any emotion on Edwards?"

"No, Jim. The sadness is for Rainier. For Rainier," he finished softly.

Ellison turned slightly, easing his leg over and fixing his gaze on his partner, his friend. Voice little more than a whisper, he asked, "Regrets, Chief?"

Blair brought his beer up and after taking a swig, answered, "No, Jim. Not really."

"But?"

"I hate -- things -- unfinished, you know?"

"But your dissertation was finished. Do you mean you wish you could still publish?"

"God, no. Somehow, in spite of what I said that day about figuring how to hide your identity, I really, subconsciously knew I could never publish. No, my only -- regret, if you want to call it that, is in not finishing my doctorate. It feels like -- failure to me."

Both men brought their beers up and swallowed, then gazed back out over their city, each deep in his own thoughts.