Back to Part 2 SVS-22: Fall From Grace by Alyjude, Part 3 "Hey, do you mind if I run some errands this afternoon?" They'd just pulled in front of 852 and Jim, still euphoric after the successful breakfast with his mother, said, "No, not at all. Want some company?" "Jim? Which of us enjoys watching grown men chase a small, white ball around acres of ruined nature's wonderland?" "Um, that would be me." "And what's on today in about," he checked his watch, "ten minutes?" "You know, you should go, do those errands. I'll stay home and... keep the homefires burning." Shaking his head, he slid over as Jim climbed out of the truck. "You do that, Jim." "Uh, Sandburg?" Blair looked at Jim out the window of the now-closed truck door and said innocently, "Yeah?" "The Volvo?" "Gee, what about it, Jim?" Resigned, Jim said, "Nothing, nothing at all. Go. Hurry back." Snickering, Blair, as he shifted into drive, said, "Enjoy your golf." Grace knocked again. Nothing. "Lisette? Come on, honey, it's me, Grace. Open up." Finally the lock turned and the door slowly opened. "Lizzie? Are you all right?" "Someone -- someone was here, they tried the door.... What have I done, Gracie?" Grace threw the few items of clothing into the bag, tucked them in and zipped it up. "Look, Lizzie, it's simple. It's not safe for you here. It was probably nothing, a drunk mistaking this room for his own, but still, you're staying with me. Then tomorrow, we go to the police." Lisette stood quietly to the side, moving from one foot to the other, her eyes fastened on Grace and what she was doing. At Grace's words, she came to life. "I can't do that to you, Gracie. I should never have told you." "But you did. The milk is spilled, okay? You're coming to my place. Period. Tomorrow, we'll hit an AA meeting, then the police." For the first time in days, Lisette Cordell smiled. "Some people would say your priorities are skewed, Grace." Grace Ellison gave a little giggle as she regarded her friend. Shrugging, she lifted the bag from the bed, indicated Lisette's coat and purse, then said, "Hey, we'll both need the comfort and security of a meeting before we face the police. Right?" Lisette, still smiling, nodded as she slipped into her coat. "Let's go." "Damn." Jim looked over his shoulder at his partner, who'd just walked in. "Damn? Usually you're glad to come home. Now I'm a damn?" "Damn errands. Damn useless errands. Damn bookstores." "Ah. You struck out." "Yes, I struck out. No books. Hector said they'd probably be in tomorrow so I get to go back. Lucky me." Blair dropped down beside his partner and sighed heavily. A sigh designed to bring forth sympathy from said partner. It didn't work. The golf match was still on. He sighed again. "Sandburg, they're on eighteen. We're talking five minutes, tops. Sigh when he sinks the putt." "Well, fuck. I'm a sports widow. With a dick." "Chief, that would make you a sports widower, you dick." Blair smiled, looked at the screen, then Jim, then back to the screen. "I have a nice dick." Without taking his eyes from the television, Jim agreed, "Yes, you do." "Not too thick, just the right length, cut, a trifle needy perhaps..." The corner of Jim's mouth turned up. "A trifle needy, Chief?" "But picky. My dick is very picky. Choosy, even," Blair said, ignoring Jim. Pale blue eyes were turned away from CBS golf... "Choosy?" "Very. Only one mouth has been known to satisfy my dick. Thirty years old, this dick, and still, only one mouth..." "Would I know this mouth?" "Oh, yeah." Jim grinned slyly, slipped to his knees on the floor, spread Blair's thighs and reached for Sandburg's zipper. As he pulled slowly, he said huskily, "You know the problem with sports widows, Chief?" "um, er, no -- what?" "They don't have -- dicks." The golf match was forgotten. "So what's first on the agenda, Jim?" Monday morning and Blair was feeling chipper. He'd been awakened by the smell of Jim's famous breakfast casserole, and while it couldn't replace a Jim in his bed, it came a close second. Now thoroughly stuffed, both men were ready for the day. "The station -- we meet with Megan and Joel." "City Lights." "Yep. And you, Mr. Sandburg, are going to use your magic fingers and see what you can find on the net." "I knew I was good for something." Jim opened the door, patted Blair on the top of his head, and said, "Let's go, Toto." Sandburg bit the hand that fed him. "So how could he block it? There's been no vote of the city council." Everyone looked at Joel, then back at the paperwork. They were all in Simon's office, crowded around the far end of the conference table, huddled over a large city planning map. At the other end, Sandburg sat hunched over his laptop, searching for more clues to the City Lights project. "Maybe a few interviews with other city council members?" Megan suggested. Simon glanced at Jim, who shrugged. Megan slapped Joel on the back and said, "Hey, partner, you up for a few hours at City Hall?" "No need," came the voice from the end of the table. "It's all right here -- minutes of the last five meetings." Eyes glued to the screen, his right hand working the mouse, Blair said, "Apparently he stalled out the vote, claimed there was a problem with some environmental issues." "So there is going to be a vote?" Simon asked. "Well," Blair peered at the screen, then went on, "there certainly should be. But the council received a request to appear by," Blair whistled low, then added, "Gregory Walters." "Gregory Walters?!" Both Simon and Jim exclaimed in unison. Megan looked from one to the other, and puzzled asked, "And we should know this man?" Blair glanced up from his laptop and said, "He owns the largest chain of movie theaters in the nation. He specializes in buying chunks of low-rent property, property usually ripe for rebirth, and with the knowledge of his successful theaters going in, gets restaurants, upscale shops etc, to rent or buy. The next thing you know, you have..." "Something like City Lights," Jim finished for him. "Yep." Joel sat down heavily. "And ideas like McGrath Park go flying out the window." Blair took off his glasses and nodded. "I'm afraid so, Joel. Affordable housing projects don't quite capture the attention of the movers and shakers like a money-making, upscale tourist attraction." Megan, still puzzled, asked, "But the city council's vote was a done deal. How could this Walters bloke change that? The city would scream bloody murder, right?" "And how does this translate into murder?" Simon added. "All of this information is well and good, but I don't see a motive yet. If Cordell was in Walters' hip pocket..." Joel threw in his comment. "Walters would hardly kill his passport into Cascade. So where does all this leave us?" "Um, an interview with Walters?" Blair suggested. Surprised, Simon said, "Walters is here, in Cascade? Now?" "According to this news article, yes. He's here. Has been," Blair looked up, his expression one of I told you so, "since Tuesday." He waited a beat, then added, "And can anyone guess where he's been staying?" Joel chimed in first. "My crystal ball says -- The Livingston." Blair touched the tip of his nose, then pointed at Joel. "Got it in one." "Well, people, you have your work cut out for you. And find Mrs. Cordell. She's still our best bet. And since I value my ass, do it today. I can duck the Mayor for a few hours, but then, my ass is grass. Go. Solve. Make me proud." "Jim, as long as you're not tackling Walters until this afternoon, I'm gonna go pick up those books, okay? I'll bring back lunch?" Ellison checked out Megan and Joel, listened briefly -- and satisfied that they were still working on the AA element, nodded. "No problem. The great Walters has deigned to see us at two." "Great, then I'm off." "Aren't you going to ask what I want for lunch?" "No, I'll surprise you." "Sandburg, your idea of a surprise, well, you bring back any tofu disguised as a hamburger, and you'll be dead meat. And don't let that bookstore capture you so that you forget the time!" "Tsk, tsk." "Sandburg..." His warning was no use. Sandburg was already gone. Blair juggled his two packages as he tried to open the door of the Volvo. The keys slipped from his fingers and hit the gutter. With a muttered curse, Blair stooped down and fished them out of the dirty water that ran downhill. Swell. As he stood back up, a flash of red hair across the street caught his attention. He squinted in the glare of the afternoon sun -- and his eyes widened... Grace Ellison. He got the door opened, dumped his stuff and started to wave, to call out, but Grace wasn't alone. She was walking away from him, a smaller woman beside her. A woman he recognized. Lisette Cordell. Stunned, he watched as the two women got into a car -- and before he could move, yell, wave or do anything, Grace Ellison drove off with Lisette Cordell. "Well, shit." The problem with being stunned and surprised was that it blinded a guy. One thought, and only one, wove its way through Blair Sandburg's brain as he watched Grace Ellison and Lisette Cordell drive off: he needed to follow them. What he should have been thinking and doing was calling Jim, and watching over his shoulder. But he didn't. Instead, he jumped in, started up the Volvo and drove off, completely oblivious of the dark two-door sedan that had pulled into traffic and had been forced to jam on its brakes when Blair pulled out in front of it. Jim checked his watch again. Late. They were going to be late. "Ellison? Not here yet?" He glanced up into Megan's worried face and shook his head. "Nope. And no call either." "Cell phone?" Jim gave a disgusted look as he jerked a thumb to the corner of his desk -- where Blair's cell phone sat. "Well, Joel is tracking down a couple of AA meetings that sound promising. Why don't I tag along with you to meet with Walters?" Figuring that Blair had in fact been captured by the book store, he nodded and said, "Let's go, then." As Jim stood and took his jacket from the coat tree, Megan advised, "And you might reconsider your thoughts of killing Sandy, although only you would know all the advantages of keeping him alive." "I always knew police work wasn't your real forte, Connor. The next time you appear at the Comedy Club on Divine Street, let me know. I'll be there -- with bells on." Connor knew when to leave well enough alone. Just not with Ellison. "And those bells would be where, exactly?" she said as they stepped into the elevator. Joel stepped onto the sidewalk and swiped a hand over his face. Pulling healthy teeth would have been easier than getting information out of one Reginald Hooper. But at least he'd found the right meeting. He'd finally been successful in getting Reggie to divulge the fact that, yes, Lisette Cordell did attend meetings here in the backroom of the small cigar shop owned by Mr. Hooper. Taggert took out his cell and punched in Ellison's number. "Ellison." "Jim, I just found the AA meeting location that Mrs. Cordell frequents. It's run by her sponsor, a Mr. Reginald Hooper. Should I hang around? The next meeting is in thirty. She might make an appearance." "Do that, Joel. In fact, Connor and I will be joining you. The interview with Walters was a bust. He didn't show. His assistant made noises about a last minute something-or-other. We're re-scheduled for five." "Sounds good. I'm at 8382 Williams Avenue. The shop is called Stogie Heaven. It's just south of Lincoln." "Got it. We'll meet you in front in about twenty or so." As Joel hung up, he spotted the small cafe across the street. The rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten yet today. Checking traffic, he jogged over, figuring that he could at least grab a sandwich before Jim and Connor showed up. Why the hell hadn't he stopped them? Why hadn't he crawled out of his car like the bug he was and faced them down when they stopped at the drug store? Why had he just watched? But of course, he knew the answer. This was Jim's mother. And she was with their number one suspect in a murder case. And yes, he knew that in spite of the fact that the killer was supposedly six-four and weighed two-sixty-five, that didn't mean Mrs. Cordell couldn't have hired someone; so for Jim and the others, she was still it. And Grace -- well, she couldn't, wouldn't, have anything to do with anything, right? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did he have to leave his cell phone back at the station? Why did he have to be the one to spot them? Damn, they were slowing down. Blair checked the area he'd driven into and recognized it. He was on the south side of town. Up ahead, a small block of shops -- and it appeared as though Grace was looking for a place to park... he began to do the same. The dark brown Impala behind him also slowed, then sped up, went around Blair and Grace, and pulled into a parking spot. Grace swung her Volkswagen into another open slot. Blair cursed, realizing that the next spot was half a block up the street. He zipped past Grace, noted that neither she nor Mrs. Cordell was moving from the car, and with a sigh of relief, pulled into the last open space. Joel checked the time; Jim and Connor should be here shortly. He downed the last of his diet soda, dropped a few bills onto the table, then glanced over his shoulder, spotted the restroom, pushed back his chair and headed over. Grace shut down the engine and regarded her friend. Lisette looked tense, her features pinched. Her normally pale, almost translucent skin was now sheet-white, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. "Lizzie, it will be okay. I promise." Without turning her head, Lisette said quietly, "You can't really promise anything, Gracie. I know that and you know that." "I can't fight logic like that. So how's this sound -- I know everything will be all right. I just -- feel it." A small smile touched Lisette's lips. "Oh, that makes me feel much better, Gracie." "Come on, lady, let's get inside." At that point, several things occurred at once. Grace and Lisette got out of the car, as did three large men from the Impala. Blair was quick-walking toward Grace, just about to call out, when he noticed the three men -- and every alarm he possessed went off in triplicate. He started running. The three men stepped in front of Grace and Lisette; the largest of the three spoke up. "Ladies, if you'd be so kind as to follow us." Grace put out her hand, rested it on Lisette's arm, and faced down the men. "And why would we want to do that?" "Because of this." He held open his jacket just enough so that both women could see the gun. "Now, follow me, please." At that moment, Blair barreled into the three men like a bowling ball. Using his shoulders, he shoved them aside and grabbed both women. "LET'S GO!" There was no time to think, no chance to get to a car, and Sandburg certainly couldn't fight off three bulldozers who looked as though they belonged on Smackdown, so he did the only thing he could, he took Grace and Lisette and ran. Keeping the women just in front of him, pushing them along, he searched for a way out, a place to hide, to duck into... The three men were up, and in a few seconds, after their quarry. Across the street, Joel stepped out of the restroom and headed to the door. As he glanced out the window, he spotted what looked like an altercation on the opposite sidewalk. An altercation that appeared to involve... Blair Sandburg. Without hesitation, Joel rushed out in time to see Blair take off down the street, pushing two women ahead of him. And even from this distance, Joel could see that one of those women was their number one suspect in the murder of Roger Cordell. Joel Taggert took off. Jim turned the corner onto Williams and slammed on the brakes. "Whoa, mate, what's u..." She didn't have to go any further; she'd spotted the Volvo. "Well, I'll be damned." She looked at Jim and asked, "There couldn't be two such Volvos, could there?" Without answering, Jim quickly pulled the truck parallel to the parked cars -- and before Megan could blink, Jim was out of the truck. "Uh, Jim? Ellison?" Before taking off on a run, Jim threw over his shoulder, "They're down there, get the lead out!" Muttering obscenities, Megan jumped out and followed. As Jim ran, he concentrated his hearing on one thing: Blair's voice. "Down here, quick!" Blair pushed again and the ladies turned into the alley. Blair knew the men were about a block behind them, but this alley looked good. Dark, long, and with several doors. If they were lucky, one of them would be open. As they ran, Blair stopped every few feet, tried a door, then cursed when it failed to open. So much for that idea. They kept running... Into a dead-end. "Fuck!" Blair searched frantically for a weapon, spotted an empty wine bottle and snatched it up. He shoved the two women into the dark corner on his right, smashed the bottle against the wall, and took his stance. Pounding footsteps, heavy breathing, and seconds later, the three men ran into the alley. They paused, then started making their way cautiously down the dark corridor, spreading out, making any escape nearly impossible. In the corner, Grace stepped in front of Lisette, her own eyes searching for something, anything, to use to protect them. She spotted a large piece of jagged wood and hefted it up. She glanced at the broken bottle in Blair's hand, compared it to the wood in hers... Softly, she said, "blair, take this." She grabbed his hand, stuck the wood into it, and took the bottle. Blair let the exchange happen, felt the heaviness of the wood, and nodded in satisfaction. He tossed it from hand to hand and got ready. For Grace's part, she held the bottle to her side, planning to use it in close quarters, praying it wouldn't be needed. A deep voice penetrated the end of the alley. "There's no way out, Mrs. Cordell. We only have a few questions, need a couple of things your husband had. Help us out, and we're gone." The three men continued their journey, closing in. They rounded the final corner and spotted Sandburg. The man in the middle, in a dark grey suit, spoke up. "Well, well, our good samaritan. Listen, buddy," the bigger man said, "Clear out and no harm, no foul." Blair said nothing, just stared unflinchingly. The big man's eyes searched the area, spotted the corner and said, "Mrs. Cordell? Come on out. We're not going to hurt anyone, we're businessmen." "Strange businessmen, in my opinion. Chasing people into an alley? With guns?" Two of the three "businessmen" turned to face the new voice. Joel Taggert stood there, gun out and trained on the back of the largest man. "Cascade PD. I suggest you drop your weapons, then put your hands behind your head!" The businessmen didn't like Joel's suggestion. The guy on the right went down on one knee and fired just as the man on the left lunged to the side and also fired. Joel Taggert's reactions, honed after years on the bomb squad, were just as quick. He dove for cover but couldn't shoot, not with Blair in the line of fire. Blair, facing down the last standing man, seeing the gun pointed at his chest, reacted instinctively -- he threw the piece of wood with all his strength and followed it. As soon as Joel caught Blair's dive for the middle guy, he opened fire on the kneeling man. Taggert's bullet caught the man high in the shoulder and he went down. The third man took a bead on Taggert, but another gun cracked in the alley and that man went down. Joel, certain that he'd been about to bite the bullet, stood and turned. Jim Ellison, gun still held out in front of him, was moving quickly toward him, closely followed by Megan. Joel didn't have to ask how Jim had been able to hit his target from back there, let alone in the murky light. Before he could say anything, a scream brought everyone's attention to the fight still going on... Blair was on his back, fighting off the man in the grey suit. As large fingers closed around Sandburg's neck, Lisette Cordell screamed -- and Grace Ellison swooped up the piece of wood that Blair had thrown and swung it back. She brought it down hard -- and the man grunted and fell forward. For several minutes, controlled chaos reigned. A coughing, sputtering Sandburg was assisted to his feet by Taggert as Jim holstered his gun. Grace stood protectively by Lisette, her eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and regret. Back-up, as called for by Connor, arrived, along with two ambulances. The alley was soon crawling with officers and medical personnel. The three "businessmen" were attended to, their rights read and all three were bundled off, two to the hospital and one to the station. As the alley emptied and quiet descended, six people remained. Jim was staring at the tall, red-haired woman, his expression unreadable, his granite jaw clenching. Sandburg, still coughing, had one hand on Jim's arm, while Taggert and Connor watched, helpless and uncertain, but waiting to take their clues from Ellison. Jim tore his eyes from his mother and turned the glacial stare to Lisette Cordell. "You are Mrs. Cordell, aren't you?" She stepped around Grace, chin held high. "Yes, I'm Lisette Cordell. I know I should have contacted you the moment I heard of my husband's murder, but... lately... I haven't been thinking too -- clearly. But I'll tell you everything I know." Pulling slightly away from Blair, Jim jerked his head and said, "Then let's go, Mrs. Cordell." Ignoring his mother and his partner, Jim took Mrs. Cordell's arm and led her from the alley. Grace watched her son's back, watched as he handed Lisette over to Taggert for the ride back to the station. "Blair?" Throat burning, Blair said with a voice filled with pain, "it'll be okay. let's go." But he didn't believe it for a minute. He took Grace's arm, and together they left the alley. Blair drove slowly, Grace following. His heart seemed to have moved. It no longer beat in his chest, but rather seemed to have taken up residence in his gut. Several minutes earlier, he'd finally lost sight of Jim's truck -- and rather than speed up, he'd taken his foot from the accelerator. He'd blown it. Somehow he'd blown it again. As he crawled closer to the station, he reviewed everything that had happened that afternoon, tried to see where he could have done something differently, and suddenly -- he grinned. A lopsided, humorless grin, but a grin nonetheless. Because of course, what he should have done, was to not have gone on that stupid errand. A couple of historical books on early police forces could have waited. Funny how once again a dissertation had somehow gotten him into trouble. All his promises not to hurt Jim again -- not to let Jim be hurt again -- useless. Up ahead, the station rose above him. He checked his rear-view mirror, assured himself that Grace was still there, then pulled to the curb and parked. He got out and waited for Jim's mother. As she came up beside him, she said, "He won't understand, will he?" "Why don't you fill me in, then let me try to talk to him?" As they walked in, Grace told him everything. As Taggert and Connor were about to take Grey Suit into one of the interrogation rooms, Jim stopped them. Looking at the man's cuffed hands, he said, "Gee, you appear to have lost a stone from your ring. I'll see what I can do about that." Then with a grin, he let Taggert and Connor take the man away while he escorted Mrs. Cordell into Simon's office. Rafe and Brown were sent to the hospital to interview the other two suits. As Lisette stepped into Simon's office, she said, "Do I need my lawyer?" Simon exchanged glances with Jim, then answered, "Right now, we just want to ask a few questions. If you feel the need to have him present, than by all means, we'll get him here." He held out a chair, and she gratefully took it, sinking down with a sigh. With a half-smile, she said, "He's a divorce lawyer, anyway. Probably wouldn't be able to help me here, right?" Simon shrugged and repeated, "If you feel..." "No, no. Let me just... talk, okay?" "That's fine, Mrs. Cordell." "Are my children all right?" "They're with your mother," Jim offered. "Good, good." She lowered her head, twisted her wedding ring a few times, then in a soft voice, she began. "I don't know if Roger was ever a good man. I must have thought so, in the beginning. But over the years, well, Roger wasn't a good man. Money, power, position -- all meant more to him than me or his family. I'm not making excuses for my drinking, for what I became, I'm just -- explaining." She paused and glanced up, meeting Simon's eyes. She must have approved of what she found there, because she gave a small nod and went on. "We separated, you know. He moved out, moved into the Livingston. I was sober. I thought, maybe, everything would work out. We'd divorce, I could be a plain old, everyday mother and he could be king of the world. But something happened. Something changed. He showed up, angry, threatening, told me I had to leave, that it was his home and that if I gave him any trouble, I'd never see the children." The direction of her talk started to worry Simon and he leaned forward. "Mrs. Cordell, maybe you do need your lawyer." She shook her head. "No, no, I didn't kill him. But you have to understand what I did do. See, while I was packing, I realized I had to call people; I picked up the phone and Roger was on, he was talking and I listened... and I knew, he was doing something bad. He talked about some emails, and some letters, and he assured the man on the other end that they were safe..." "Mrs. Cordell," Jim interrupted, "Did you catch the name of the man your husband was speaking with?" "Yes, it was Walters. He called him Walters. Anyway, he assured him they were safe -- and I was angry and hurt and I wanted to hurt him, so when he left, after yelling that I'd better not be there when he got back, I went down to his study and I found them. The folders. And the email copies and letters inside. I... stole them. Do you see?" She glanced from one to the other and said, "I guess, in a way, I did kill him, didn't I?" "Where are the folders now, Mrs. Cordell?" Simon asked gently. "Right here." She pulled two folded items from her bag and handed them to Simon. "He found someone else. Not unusual, I suppose. That's what changed. And all I wanted to do was hurt him. I can't even say that I was acting out of any nobility, or any desire to undo what he was trying to do, I just wanted to hurt him." While Simon thumbed through the papers, Jim asked, "The woman you were with..." "Grace. Yes. She's my only true friend. We go to the same AA meetings. Odd, isn't it? Her ex-husband has actually done business with Roger. Her family and mine were friends. Yet we meet after so many years -- at an AA meeting. She wanted me to come to you, to tell you, but I was so afraid, and I'd started... drinking... again. I made her promise to give me until today. We were going to come in right after our meeting. We both needed the courage." Then with a hitch of her breath, Lisette Cordell looked at the man questioning her. "You're -- I mean, of course, you said you were Detective Ellison... so you're..." "Yes." "Of course." "One more question, Mrs. Cordell. Were you at the house the day your husband died?" "No. I was in my motel room, drunk." Simon watched Jim read. He'd seen Blair arrive while they'd been in the middle of their interview with Lisette Cordell, and he'd been expecting Sandburg to barge in. He'd been disappointed. Instead, the young man had led a tall redhead to Jim's desk. And there they'd both stayed while he and Jim had talked with Mrs. Cordell. Now Blair still sat out in the bullpen. Something was wrong. Mrs. Cordell had finished talking, telling her story, they'd asked a few more questions -- and then, with a nod from Jim, Simon'd had her escorted out and taken home. He'd again watched while she stopped in front of the woman at Jim's desk -- they'd hugged, and then Lisette was taken out by Detective Hogan. "This is incredible, Simon. We have Walters cold." "Not for murder." "Not yet, no. But Grey Suit fits Dan's description of the man who wielded the bat and smashed in Cordell's head, and we can place him in Cordell's house. He's missing a stone from his ring and I'm betting the one I found at the scene will be a perfect match. Maybe we should head down to the interrogation room, see how it's going?" Simon stayed where he was. Jerking his head toward the bullpen, he said, "Jim, who's the lady?" Jim followed Simon's gaze. With no emotion in his voice, he answered, "That's Grace Ellison." "Excuse me?" "You heard me, Simon. Grace Ellison. My mother." "I see." He didn't, at all, but Jim was already heading out the door. Jim approached his mother and partner. Blair had been sitting on the edge of the desk, and as soon as Simon's door had opened, he'd jumped to his feet. "Jim, look..." "Not now, Sandburg. Why don't you take... Mrs. Ellison... home. We still have a lot to do here to clear this up." He was being dismissed. Not hardly. As Jim started past him, Blair snagged his shirt. "Yes, Jim. Now." "No, Blair," Grace pleaded, "it's all right. We can all talk later. Please." Sandburg glanced from Jim to Grace, then back to Jim. In a voice still hoarse, he said, "No, we need to talk now. Do you want to do it here, Jim, or in private?" Eyes narrowing dangerously, Jim started to speak, but Simon interrupted. "I'll head down to interrogation one. You can have my office." It was not a suggestion. Jim turned on his heel and walked back to Simon's office, Blair and Grace following. As the door closed behind Grace Ellison, Blair jumped in with both feet. "It happened too fast, Jim. I came out of the bookstore, spotted Grace and Mrs. Cordell, there was no time to call out so I followed them. I had no plan, just knew I needed to follow. There was no time to call you and I'd left my..." "I know, you left your cell phone here. I get it, Sandburg. No time." "Don't you dare call me Sandburg. I didn't know, Jim." Grace Ellison had lived for years in the shadow of others. She'd learned early to be, not to speak, to defer and to beautify, not to rock the boat. But alcoholism and Alcoholics Anonymous had changed all of that. She'd become pretty good at saying what needed saying. "We'd probably be dead now if Blair hadn't been there, hadn't instinctively followed us." In a voice cold with anger and disappointment, Jim bit out, "Blair wouldn't have been in danger at all, nor you, if you'd told me, told us, immediately." "I know, Jimmy. I know. But she was frightened. I made a decision, a promise. You have to understand the relationships you forge in AA, how fragile we all are. I could sense that her very sanity was on the line." She stepped into Jim's space, took his arm, shook it a bit, and pleaded, "This wasn't about us, Jimmy." "Wasn't it? I'm a cop, investigating a murder -- where our number one suspect was your friend and confidante. When did you know, Mother?" "Only this weekend, son. Look, maybe you'll never understand, but are we going to be able to get past this? Does this ruin it for us? No more chances?" The words... so similar to words spoken by... Jim closed his eyes and groaned. Damn it. He wasn't going to lose anyone again. He wasn't going to let his stubbornness... He opened his eyes and stared into a pair so like his own... "No, Mom," he said, his voice gentle and human. "We both get as many chances as we need. But do go home. We'll talk later, I promise. And Mrs. Cordell is no longer a suspect. She could probably use a friend right about now." Something inside Grace relaxed. They did still have a chance. "I love you, Jimmy. Don't ever forget that." She leaned up and kissed Jim's cheek, then took her purse, squeezed Blair's hand, and headed out. "You okay?" Blair asked as the elevator doors closed on Grace Ellison. "I'm fine." "O-kay. Are we fine?" "Like you said, it happened fast. Too fast." "I'm so reassured." "Look," Jim faced his partner and in a weary voice, continued, "right now we have a case to close. We can finish this at home." The murder investigation of Councilman Roger Cordell closed with a whimper. While Robert Woods -- Grey Suit -- was refusing to answer questions in interrogation room one, two detectives were going through his car and apartment with a search warrant and a fine tooth comb. But a comb wasn't needed to find the baseball bat. Seemed that Woods liked to keep mementos. The bat was wrapped in plastic and standing in the corner of a closet. Once faced with the bat and the stone Jim had found, Walters cut a deal. Jim and Taggert had the pleasure of arresting Walters while the man was in the middle of a meeting with investors for his City Lights project. While the media surrounded both the Cordell home and City Hall, Jim, Connor, Taggert and Simon sat in his office, reviewing the case against Walters. "So the conversation she overheard was..." "Blackmail gone wrong," Jim finished for Simon. "Evidently," he went on, "Cordell started feeling a little too powerful, got a little too greedy and wanted a larger slice of the pie. With copies of the emails between the two men, plus copies of the blackmail letters written by Walters to members of the planning committee, he figured he had all the marbles." "So Woods was sent to retrieve the paperwork," Megan added. Joel nodded and said, "I can only imagine Cordell's face when he went for those folders and they weren't there." "I don't think he went for them," Jim interjected. "I don't think he ever knew that his wife had taken them. That's why he's dead. Even faced with Woods' threats, he figured he was safe, that he was too important to Walters. He was wrong." "Makes sense," Simon agreed. He turned to Joel and said, "Looks like that affordable housing will go through now. The vote is set for next Thursday." "Yep, it's a done deal. The council wouldn't dare do anything else now." "Well, people, good job. Go home, relax, we start over again tomorrow." This relationship shit was tricky. Maybe his mother had the right idea -- love 'em and leave 'em. No. She didn't. Blair was sitting at the table, his fingers playing with a can of soda. He didn't like soda. An unaccustomed rage swelled up -- and before he could stop himself, he'd hurled the can across the room. It was empty. He watched it clatter against the side of the television, then fall to the floor. He stayed where he was. As far as he was concerned, that can could stay there for the rest of his life. Or until Jim came home and picked it up after taking off his jacket, hanging up his gun and grabbing a beer. Maybe Jim would pick it up first. Blair reached for his wallet, took out a five dollar bill, and set it on the table. He was betting Jim would spot the can first, pick it up, throw it in the recycle bin, then do his usual. If he lost, Jim could have the five. He pushed back the chair and stood up. He stretched, then wandered into the kitchen to look for something to eat. He opened the fridge, spotted the leftover spaghetti, pulled it out, grabbed the only utensil handy -- a large wooden spoon -- and took a sloppy bite. Blair walked into the living room, spoon in mouth. He veered left, around the can, and sat down on the yellow chair, then leaned forward, bowl in one hand, spoon in the other. Holding the wooden utensil up to his mouth like a microphone, he intoned, "And just to recap, the relationship between Detective James Joseph Ellison and his estranged mother, Grace Ellison, appears to be back on track. But this reporter is sad to announce that the relationship between said Detective and his partner, Blair Sandburg, appears to be floundering. Again." The front door opened and Jim stepped in. He stopped, stared at Blair, spotted the can, walked over, picked it up, tossed it in the recycle bin -- then as he took off his jacket and hung up his gun, he said, "You are so damn dramatic." Blair stood, took another spoonful of spaghetti, then walked over and pocketed the five dollar bill. "Can I have some?" Blair shoved the bowl across the table. Jim took it, picked up the spoon, and dug in. "Not exactly what I had in mind for dinner," he said after he swallowed. "It works for me." Jim nodded, took another bite, then passed the bowl back to his partner. "I'm sorry, Chief." "Uh, huh." "It hit me hard and I just..." "Jumped to the usual conclusions, which entailed being betrayed, once again, by yours truly." "Sandburg, that's not..." "Don't use Sandburg. Use Chief, or Blair, or dickwad, or Harry, or anything, but right now, don't use Sandburg." "Look, Harry, what was I supposed to think? There you are, right in the middle of it all, my mother, Lisette Cordell, and you." The bowl was passed back to Jim as Blair said angrily, "This is what you're supposed to think. Gee, I bet Blair was just in the right spot at the right time. Because I *know* he would have called if he could." "There's just one problem with that thought, Chief." The bowl went back to Blair. "And that would be?" "Even if you'd had the cell phone, you wouldn't have called." "Damn, I hate you." "Am I wrong, Chief?" "no, god damn it." "Well, here's the good news. I get it now. I know why you wouldn't have called." "You do?" "Yes. You would have been protecting me and my mother." Blair shoved the bowl back to Jim and a smile crept up. "Yeah, yeah. Exactly. So are we okay now?" "No, we're out of spaghetti." The rest of the evening was better, but Blair felt the strain. Not Jim's -- his. At the station, he'd been dismissed, told to leave, cut out of the end of the case. Because Jim had been mad. Because... he wasn't real. Not a real cop, not Jim's real partner. If Jim felt any of Blair's strain, he didn't show it. They watched television. Jim tried to reach Stephen again, finally connected, and Blair listened as Jim explained about Grace and arranged the dinner. A smiling Jim returned to the couch. "So Stephen is all right with this?" "Yeah, almost... excited. He sounded, well, like a kid." Blair didn't bother to mention that Stephen didn't have the same issues as his older brother. "Well, that's good. So Wednesday is on?" "Yep, seems so. I'll call Mom tomorrow and let her know." "Great." "You ready for bed?" "Guess so." They closed up together, then headed upstairs. As they both undressed, Blair waited, but Jim never once mentioned the case or its closure. Feeling somewhat leaden, he crawled under the covers. Hands behind his head, he stared up at the skylight. The bed dipped and Jim was next to him. "How's your throat?" "Fine." Jim reached out and traced the bruising that only he could see. Blair didn't move. "I'm fine, really. Sheesh." "Sorry." Jim lay back, his own hands behind his head. After five minutes, he reached over and turned out the light.

Jim groaned softly. He rolled over and checked the clock. It was after two. It had taken Sandburg over an hour before he'd fallen asleep. An hour of Jim trying to find the right words to say. Any words. But no words had come. Jim lifted the covers and quietly slid out of bed. He didn't have to unwrap himself this time. He slipped on his jeans and crept downstairs. Half way down, his legs seemed to give out and he suddenly sat. The only vision in front of him was of Blair -- on the ground in that alley, Woods' hands around his neck. He had the sudden idea of calling his mother, but -- Jim didn't move.