The bullpen buzzed with its usual hurried activity. Captain Banks looked out to see the arrival of Major Crimes' best addition. A man he liked to believe was his friend. Though some days he wondered if anyone could claim that privilege.
The long haired man strode over to the desk, pulled out the second drawer down, and leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on the improvised ottoman. Snagging a file out of the 'in' box he started reading, leaving the pictures inside the non-standard closed envelope. As he skimmed through, his features hardened, and his feet sank to the floor. It was simply too much of a coincidence for him to believe no one had noticed it before now. Grasping the file he walked to Banks' office.
"Did anyone check out the 911 tapes?"
Simon looked up at the denim-encased man before him. "Blair, which tapes?" While Sandburg probably could keep track of all of the cases that came in for a month, complete with names and evidence, Simon didn't believe in taxing his memory that way.
"The Green murders." Which was a pretty ironic name, considering the only green in that area were the switched street signs and the tagged buildings. Of course, it spoke of an earlier time, before the factories had replaced houses only to be abandoned in turn. "Look at this. These are all placed on pay phones."
"And?" Simon continued to look over his paperwork.
Blair rolled his eyes. "A pay phone that works in that area?"
*He is a sharp one.* "Pursue it. You know where the paperwork is."
Blair looked around where the trail had ended. The phone company records had pointed him to several phones, which were mostly easy to locate. The final one, the one that most of the calls were placed on, almost eluded him until he stumbled across it, tucked in an awkward corner of a bookstore come cafe and coffeehouse. Somehow, this tidy Bohemia of shops and warehouses wasn't what the detective had expected.
Okay. He had two basic possibilities. One was somebody knew too much and these happened to be the closest phones. The last probably was true enough, as there was an uneasy strip of nondescript businesses between this area and the Green. The other, which unfortunately made more sense, was someone "exploring new creative outlets".
"We'll discuss Chapters 10 through 15 next session. If you haven't seen me about paper topics, sign up for office hours with the secretary." The professor stopped when clearly none of his students could hear him over the rustle and zips as backpacks were reloaded. Gathering his own papers to put in the leather satchel on the table, he looked up at the approach of some of his students.
After an amiable exchange of a few dangling points, Professor Ellison was able to make his way to his office. Recently, his good humor had been slipping. Everything was getting to him just a little more than it should. *Like the sound of the refrigerator at night.* In the neat, though jammed office, Jim sat down and opened the day's paper. Scanning the pages, he slapped the newsprint across the desk. Still no mention. He got up from the chair and paced the free space in the room. How could it not be making the paper? *Maybe you're imagining it.*
In a way, he hoped he was. The thought that people were being hurt so close to his home, twisted Jim's gut. Yet the possibility that he was sending emergency personnel on a red herring didn't set well with him either. The noises and smells were just too much to ignore. *Everybody else seems to.*
There was a knock and a pretty young woman peered in the door. "Are you going to stay late again? I was about to shut down the office..."
"It's okay, Penny. I was just leaving. Should I walk you to your car?" He quickly gathered together his things for the night, grabbing his coffee mug. *When did it get so late?*
"Thanks." She checked the doors as the professor washed out his coffee mug and hung it on the rack. Once he was out of the main office she locked that door. "I'm in the back lot."
Jim figured as much. Cransing Hall was a charming building, with two parking lots. The side one was small, and reserved for faculty and visitors. The back one was larger, hemmed in by a steep embankment and lacked lights. Walking out the rear entrance, they looped out and back along the path skirting the building.
"Okay, you've done your good deed of the day." Penny fumbled with her keys, finally getting the right one into her lock. Opening the door she got in and started the car. "See you tomorrow."
"Right." As the little car made its way towards the street, Ellison cut over to his own vehicle. The teal Jeep Cherokee stood out among the generally older cars yet in the parking lot. Maybe he would head out of town this weekend, get in some camping. *That should calm things down.* Exercise and sleep. That was the answer.
Blair hated these affairs. He avoided the temptation to pull at his tie by plunging his hands into the jacket pockets. *I've got murderers running loose, and here I am at a City meet-and-greet.* Next thing he knew the Mayor would be trying to play nice-nice in front of the cameras.
"Detective, you sure clean up well." She looked him over, noting the ponytail binder.
*Or the press.* "Jessica."
"Don't be like that. You know we serve the public too. Cute Sandburg. That nose-wrinkle must be murder when playing poker." She glided away.
*Calm. Calm. I'm calm.* It worked just long enough for him to lose sight of the reporter in the crowd. Fortunately, they had short attention spans. And it certainly wasn't like he was the biggest fish here.
Most of the 'right' people of Cascade were here. Politicians, celebrities, business people. Hoping for a photo-op with the 'boys in blue'. *Or at least us detectives.*
Sandburg headed off to confer with some of his colleagues.
It took Blair a moment it register the import of the tingling in his pocket. *Beeper.* He looked nonchalantly away from the stage, picking out half a dozen journalists. *Got to be at least two or three for every one I can see.* That didn't even count the rags' bathroom attendants.
*Nothing for it.* He needed to check his beeper. Just get out of here without making a scene. *Right.* Blair wished he knew whose brilliant idea it was to seat the detectives scattered through the crowd. While it had been entertaining up to now, the sparkling ladies to either side were going to be liability as he crossed one of them. *Then again.* He leaned over to the one, whispering in her ear before doing the same with the other. Excusing himself he took the shortest way out of the row.
Looking around and not seeing anyone, especially not a janitor or other forgotten functionary, he checked the beeper. *Address.* He went out to his car.
"What have we got here?" He asked the nearest uniform as he slipped under the yellow tape.
"Didn't need to dress for us. But it is nice." The cop led the younger detective further in. "We were chasing a perp that did a snatch and grab right in front of us." A snort escaped beside him. "Never said he was smart." He let the detective compose himself. "Anyway, he ducked in here. We thought we'd lost him."
"Until..."
"He saw that." The officer pointed to where forensics was cataloging a bloody mass that was at best vaguely human. "If only he'd remembered his commandments as well..." The uniform wandered away, leaving Sandburg to observe the scene.
Hours later, Blair stumbled out of the warehouse. Straight into a volley of flashbulbs.
*Damn it.* Detective Sandburg slapped the paper against his leg again. So far, they had kept the killings out of the paper. So only the killer and/911 man knew any details. *Rotten luck.* Blair paced around the Bullpen, still in his better clothes, his hair now free. That was the trouble with being well-known. When he was undercover and then in Vice, if he slipped out of a function to respond to a call, he did not attract reporters.
If that wasn't bad enough, 911 never made his call. Whether or not he was their killer, he was their best lead so far. *Don't go shifting MO on me, now.* Okay. They didn't have to be one and the same. But why would someone on the Green use a bookstore phone? And how could anybody else, other than the killer, know to call?
"Nice threads. In my office." Simon held his ground until Blair moved in the right direction. He watched the younger man plop into the chair. *Great. Like I don't see enough of that off my son.* "This is going to look like a cover up. You have a theory yet?" He looked through a drawer for a cigar.
"No, I don't." Sandburg propelled himself up and out of the chair. "If I did, I'd have been pursuing it, instead of at that damn party, and the reporter would never had a chance to spot me checking my beeper."
"You're just mad she was wasn't more interested in checking something else out. Get out of here, grab some sleep and break this case tomorrow. Today. In that order." He watched as the detective tried to argue, only to be sabotaged by a yawn. He resisted the temptation to say more. Five years undercover in high schools followed by a couple in Vice made Blair sensitive about his age.
*Yeah, daddy-o.* Smiling at his own joke, Sandburg went home.
Jim pulled into the parking lot, the normally gleaming car caked with mud. *Good thing I took the papers with me.* Unfortunately, he couldn't say the same about a change of clothes. Still in jeans and a light flannel shirt, he grabbed his satchel off the opposite seat. "Well, it won't be a first at Rainier." With that he jumped out of the truck, and headed for his first class.
"Excuse me, but..." Penny cut off her words. "Sorry, Professor Ellison. I didn't recognize you for a moment." She blinked a few times and took in the figure before her. *That ain't the body of an Literature prof.* Apparently the loose slacks, and suit coats had been committing a sin as opposed to hiding one.
"It's okay." He opened the door to his office and slipped inside, closing it behind him. *I've got to have a jacket in here.* At first he had thought it was just the shock of seeing their prof dressed 'normal', instead of, well, like a professor. When his first class didn't die down after a few minutes, he started to worry. *I'm forty, and I've got coeds giving me the eye.* Just because his camping trip ran long. Looking in the closet, he pulled out a corduroy jacket with elbow patches. "Hope that takes care of it." Checking his watch, he ran off to his next class.
Penny glanced up from her filing just as the professor rushed past. She glanced at the next semester's room assignments, finding Ellison's name and dialed the registrar. American Writers of the 20th Century was bound to be much larger than ten people.
Blair looked up from the file held before him. "Ashley, I could kiss you." He waited as the older woman tinted pink. "What do you want? Name it. It's yours."
"Your first born. Barring that, triple fudge marbled brownies." As she left, she figured either would be good, though the brownies would cause less trouble with her husband. *Unless he tries to get one.*
*Yes, yes, yes.* They had put a name to 911. Tentatively, of course. *James J. Ellison.* And wouldn't you know that he lived above the bookstore with the hidden pay phone? Not very bright if he was their killer.
*Finally.* Ellison slipped behind the wheel and pulled away from Cransing Hall. He hoped, optimistically, that tomorrow the students would settle down. Going through another day of attentions from the coeds and not a few of the male students simply was not an option. Pulling into the parking lot behind 'The Bindery', he sighed with relief. *Home.*
He unlocked a door and wound through the back area, exiting by the register. The clerk handed over the evening paper and took the exact change. Glancing at the paper, he was shocked by the headlines.
"Terrible, isn't? So close and never knew anything was happening."
Murder. *How could nobody else have heard?* It had been so loud, even from this distance. He read dumbfounded as he walked back towards the rear and mounted the stairs. The story pointed to a number of deaths, though the reporter had been able to get confirmation on a exact total. He unlocked his door and stepped inside. Dropping his keys into the basket by the door, he untied his boots and placed them on the mat. He headed towards the metal spiral staircase, putting the paper down on the table behind the couch.
Blair took the steps quickly. It hadn't been too difficult to get past the clerks; now to get the professor down to the Station for questioning. This part of the building had not been remodeled as heavily. Here and there bits of paper still clung to the rough bricks.
At the door, he paused a moment before knocking hard.
Ellison stretched in the shower, letting the suds and hot water wash away the day. Lathering his hair, he heard a knocking. *Who the?* Scrubbing his scalp a moment more he rinsed off and stepped out of the shower. Toweling down, he pulled on boxers and pants, and strode to the door, switching on the exhaust fan as he left the bathroom.
"Yes?" He took in the denim and flannel-clad man at his door. Probably a canvasser, from the look of him, long hair, earrings and all.
"Are you James Ellison?" Sandburg barreled on, despite the surprise of the powerfully built professor. Who was still dripping, water limming the muscular torso.
"Yes... Who are you?"
"Detective Sandburg." He pulled out his badge and flashed it authoritatively. "You are wanted for questioning regarding several murders. Come with me quietly." He moved to step forward, inside the door.
"No." Jim held up his hand, well within his own personal space. "Do you have a warrant? I didn't think so." With that, he closed the door.
"Ellison!" Blair's fist pounded the door.
This time the professor slid open a small window in the door, leaning down slightly to look out. "I'm not being paraded out of here shirtless and shoeless. You want to talk to me, you'll wait for me to get dressed. And stop beating the door." With that he shot the panel shut.
"You expect me to believe you heard the death struggles from nearly two miles away?" Blair had to give the guy points for brazen lying. "And if, as you say, you were just concerned, why did you make anonymous 911 calls?" *Good. You don't know how to answer that one.*
He couldn't be serious. *Don't count on that.* "From my previous complaints, I had no way of telling whether there actually was an emergency."
"Oh, there were emergencies all right. Do you know their names? Do you? How many? Tell me right now. How many!" Forensics still had questions as to the total. "Why. Tell me that. Why." As Sandburg started pushing the seated man, the door opened and a large black man entered.
"That's enough!" Simon glared at his detective. "Excuse us." He nodded at the other man as he herded his officer out. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"
"Trying to solve this case. Like you wanted."
"By bullying a college professor? Who very probably has at least one well-placed friend from the look of him?" Noticing the crowd gathering, he glared at the other cops and herded Blair into the observation room. "Bring me up to speed."
"Well, he says he went camping. But that isn't much of an alibi and"
"Give me one reason I don't have to go in there and suck ass before putting you on administrative leave."
"He admitted to placing the 911 calls." *Thanks, Simon. That got your attention.* "We connected him to some other complaints in the area, ones he made from his own phone. They were overlooked as they weren't emergency calls. I have officers checking them out now."
"Okay. You can complete questioning him. For now, it isn't an interrogation. Got that?"
Blair gave a firm nod.
"Good. And Sandburg." He waited for the detective to turn from the door. "Good work."
"You can't tell me he is walking?" Blair paced the office.
"For the moment he is a potential witness. Not a suspect." The captain leaned forward. "Sandburg, listen for a change. Do this by the book. Get me evidence before the press goes on a feeding frenzy. Professor Hounded by Police is not good for my blood pressure." They'd be damn lucky if it stayed that favorable.
"Yes, sir." Blair left the office.
Simon lit his cigar. The kid was going to take this one hard. Everything pointed to at least some of the victims being runaways. And barring prints coming up, they'd go unnamed. He looked at the picture of his son. *I really need to get a more recent shot.* With that he dialed the phone. "Daryl, hi. It's dad."
Jim stopped in front of a shop window. Maybe he was a little paranoid after his adventure with the brash detective. *And then again.* Who should he see in the reflection? He walked forward, stopped at the door to the bookstore and turned.
"Detective, is that the best you can do?" Jim watched as the younger man appeared, trying to hide his annoyance. "If you are going to follow someone, you should be less obtrusive." Jim shifted the sack of groceries and changed grip on the satchel.
"You think you are smart, Ellison. But you will screw up. They always do. I don't know what game you are playing, but I'm going to stop you."
"If only you'd direct that fervor to finding the killers." Who with any sense had left. "I'll call you if I hear anything."
"I know where to find you." With that, he pushed ahead and ordered coffee at The Grind.
Jim shook his head and went upstairs. The detective was nothing if not tenacious. Not a bad trait, properly focused. *Wonder when I picked up my shadow?* Probably on campus. Certainly there he wouldn't have looked out of place. He unlocked the door, setting down his burdens and removed his shoes. "Hope you enjoyed the tour." He thought about what to do first and decided supper was the most pressing.
*Okay, he knows you are following him.* Sandburg worked on quelling his impatience. He'd spent weeks, months undercover. What was a few days of surveillance? If this cat and mouse didn't end soon, he would know every bookstore in Cascade. The tour of small groceries was somewhat more welcome. He was been played. *Fine.* While the professor waited for Blair to select fresh fruit, Ellison couldn't be finding new victims.
He hurriedly pulled out his ringing phone to the stares of the surrounding Bindery patrons. "Sandburg."
Jim opened his eyes. Waited. There was the sound again. "Shit." He scrambled out of bed, grabbing the phone. "I want to speak to a detective. No, Sandburg Blair. Yes, I'm sure. He's on the Green murders. Fine, Detective Sandburg. Just put him on the line." If he focused, he thought he could smell blood and worse. *Power of suggestion.* Finally the detective was on the line. "Whomever it is is back at work. I can hear it." He held out the phone. About to put it back to his ear, he abruptly hung up and pulled on a pair of pants.
Blair snapped the phone shut. *How did he sneak out?* And what was this nonsense about being able to hear? It was a little early to be planning his defense.
"You're about a mile off." Jim started out the door, shirttails fluttering.
*What the?* How had he stormed directly over? There were half a dozen seating areas scattered among the maze of high, loaded, shelves. *Guess he wants to show me his handy work.* With that thought Blair followed.
Jim strained to hear. Silence. Rather, noise, but none out of the ordinary. Cars, the buzz of streetlights, clicks of the traffic signals, a far-off train.
"You're directing this dance macabre, so lead on." *Great. I bring him in and he gets sentenced to basket weaving.* Ellison was standing stark still in the middle of the sidewalk, staring into space. Blair slapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, you wanted to show me something."
"I don't hear anything more." He looked for the car that had followed him to the station.
"Get in." Blair stood at the driver's side of a forest green Checker. Under way, he placed a call to the Station, telling them he was investigating a call. "How are you going to play this? Direct or drawn out?" He passed a low building with a group of smokers in the dumpster blind. As he slowed for the turn into the Green, he noticed Ellison rolling down the window.
"Turn left!" He strained against the shoulder strap at the sudden change. "Can't you smell it?" He rolled up the window. He winced at the odor. *Too late.* If anything, the still air intensified the stink.
Blair stopped the car. "Where are they? Where are they this time?" Saying this wasn't just a head game. He was unprepared for the sudden lurch from the car Ellison made.
*Nice touch.* Sandburg followed as the taller man stumbled off toward a poorly boarded-up building. *So much for originality.* It was the very scene the reporter had followed him to. "Didn't gloat and goad enough about this one?"
Jim turned around at that. "I've had enough of your wise-ass technique. Distance yourself all you want, but don't believe you have this sewn up." He was gathering steam as the detective went pale.
*I shouldn't be able to smell anything.* Not from the previous victim. Yet he could distinctly smell fresh blood and another scent that could only be described as death. He called in for immediate assistance. Clearly, something had happened here again. "You, stand over there." Taking a look at the door, he pulled his gun from the holster at the small of his back and cocked it. He nudged the door open, and went inside.
*Shit.* Inside it was dark except for the faint moonlight vainly mottling the dirty cement. Part of him pointed out he should wait for the uniforms; worse than being alone, he had the prime suspect outside. His instincts instead pushed him further into the abandoned building.
Ellison stood outside. *What am I doing?* The young detective was looking to railroad him, and here he was at the scene of a crime. He jammed his hands into his jeans' pockets. *Wish I'd grabbed a jacket.* While it was warm enough during the day, when it wasn't raining, night was still chill this time of year in Cascade. The contemplation of the wait fled as he heard gunshots. Inexplicably, he dashed towards them, entering the building.
Sandburg spun hearing the footsteps, gun raised. He lowered it only slightly when he recognized Ellison. The older man looked around, seeking a target. Blair pointed to two brown lumps. "Rats."
As Jim focused he thought he could see red around the muzzles. *They were shot.* Of course there would be blood. "Moonlighting?" The joke died as he noticed the dark pool spreading from a shadow that steadily got lighter until the maroon color was obvious.
Blair almost jumped at the blare of the police sirens as his backup shone light through the busted out windows and other cracks. Quickly the warehouse was flooded with people as personnel set up lights and went to work cataloging the scene.
After directing some of the action, Sandburg turned back to the professor. "Ellison?" *What the hell?* He waved his hand in front of the taller man's eyes and hopped up and down. *What the hell.* He thought for a second. "Hand me a blood tracer kit."
*What?* Jim was confused by all the people and the bright lights. Lab coated personnel swarmed the far corner over by the, once was. He picked up snatches of what was said but didn't really process it.
"Don't leave town." The words tasted hollow in his mouth. The swab for blood had turned out clean. *Banks would have had my ass.* Just because Ellison had gone catatonic, didn't abrogate his 4th amendment rights. The thought the professor could have worn gloves surfaced and was batted away. The remains were too fresh.
*Not bodies. Remains.* Somewhere there was a very bloody set of clothes. "Somebody escort this man home." He was going to have some answers.
"Sir?" The young officer turned back to the man sitting in the back seat of the squad car. "Are you sure this is the right place?" That someone would be sent to a bookstore after being a witness to a particularly grizzly crime scene seemed wrong.
Ellison roused from his contemplation and noticed he was back outside The Bindery. "I live upstairs." He waited for the young lady to open his door. "I'm okay, really." He gave her a smile for her concern, and was only moderately off-balance as he headed into the building.
Though late, the bookstore was still humming along with people perusing the shelves. Suddenly too weary to pull himself up the stairs he dropped into one of the wing chairs. The night washed back over him.
He paled as he thought about the bloody pool spreading across the dirty concrete. He could still almost taste the coppery tang in his mouth
"Professor?" One of the stock clerks sat down a pile of books on a table. "You need some help there?"
*Um.* Ellison focused on the man inquiring. "Just something disagreeing with me." He felt he must look truly piteous when the fellow beelined to The Grind and went directly behind the counter. Jim closed his eyes trying to shut out the clink-clanking.
He opened his eyes to a tray with two glasses, a full tea steeper and a mug placed on the table right next to his chair. The two men exchanged smiles and the clerk returned to his shelving. Picking up the bubbling glass, he sipped cautiously. The almond masked the taste in his mouth, allowing Jim to consider the water.
"I've got some good news, and some bad news." The large coroner handed a file to the shorter detective. "The victims didn't feel anything."
"The bad news?" Sandburg avoided looking past the open door to the actual autopsy room. From the sight at the scene he could visualize all too well what the tables looked like. *Caffeine. I'll just stay up.*
"They were alive for most of it. Also, we don't have much of the bodies." He pulled a clipboard off the wall. "We were attributing that to scavengers before. Rats, dogs, what have you." He gestured with the board towards the file. "But you'll notice that tonight's were barely touched." Dan noticed Detective Blair was looking a little worse for wear. "It's in the file."
"Thanks." Blair beat a hasty retreat outside.
The cool air was comforting. *Get it together.* He wasn't some greenhorn. He had seen more than a few corpses in his time. "Too many." But generally they were recognizable. *Even that kid without a face looked better than this.* He forced himself to open the file, and began to read.
"Professor Ellison." Penny tried to warn him before he entered his office. He passed by her without a word, jaw jumping. *You have a visitor.* She hoped he didn't trash the young man's project. Of course, that she hadn't seen the student before didn't speak well for him. *Still, he is pretty cute.* And no one really deserved the brunt of the professor's rarely shown temper.
Jim stormed to his desk, only to spin at the feeling that he wasn't alone. "What are you doing here? You got a warrant for my office, now?"
"Do I need one?" The detective pulled himself from his slouch. "Actually, I'm here to get some answers." He stood from the chair, only to sit on a corner of the desk. "What did you hear before you called me?"
"It was a wailing whine." He could hear the noise so vividly. "And cracking. Wet sounds." Ellison couldn't put the rest into words.
*Shit.* The older man was trembling. "Open your eyes. You're in your office. See?" He let out a sigh as the professor looked around. "Okay. I've been thinking. Maybe there is something about your loft that is concentrating sounds." Ellison looked at him blankly. "Got any other explanations?" *Didn't think you did.*
*I did not agree to this.* But Ellison had. He stopped outside of his door, almost knocking Blair down. "You do not have permission to search my home."
"Got something to hide?" He lost the bravado at the stare the taller man gave him. "Right. I'm just checking the acoustics."
"Just so we're both clear." He unlocked the door to his home, waving the younger man through. A random thought on gothic novels burbled by. "Um, I heard it from my room."
"Need to straighten up first?" He looked around; he hadn't been able to see much around the damp chest that had blocked the door. Off to the right of the door was the kitchen, judging from the empty pot wheel. The main room's furniture consisted of two unmated arm chairs, one with a lamp table, flanking a couch. Shelves. And lots of shelves.
Jim headed for the staircase. "So, how do you plan to test this?"
"Got a squad car in the Green." Blair followed the professor up the metal stairs. He took a look at his watch. Any minute they should be starting up the equipment.
Ellison looked out the garret window. He was drifting on the strutting pigeons when he jumped at a sudden grring noise. Realizing it was a car buffer he smiled sheepishly at the detective. "So, Sandburg, how do we tell which sounds are theirs?"
Blair pulled out his cell phone and waggled it. "Actually, I'm going to check on them now." He speed-dialed the officer. As it was answered he heard a little grr before it stopped.
"Sorry. Thought I'd polish the car while I was out here. Reggie, start up the saw, won't you?" The growl of a radial saw could be heard through the phone.
Blair snapped the phone shut. He couldn't hear anything. He looked over at Ellison. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. It's pretty close, that's all. What I heard that night. Now I can hear that it's just wood. It isn't as high-pitched either."
*He can't be hearing it.* "I don't hear anything." *Maybe he overheard the phone call.* "Can you tell me where it is coming from?"
Jim shifted his head. "They're close to the warehouse... But to the left, I think." He heard a rasping sound with a thrumming motor. "Portable wood shop, out there?" He listened closer. "I think he is starting with too fine a grit."
*Okay, I deserve this.* He still wondered how the professor could have known about the bodies. He no longer considered Ellison the prime suspect, regardless. "I'll check with them." He phoned them again. "Guess you two can go back in. What were you doing anyway?"
"Oh, Reggie has a bunch of uncompleted projects he thought he could get a bit more done on." The next part was whispered. "Great tools but no skill. Think he would have more than one sanding belt." She instructed the other cop to get the car loaded as she closed the phone.
Blair was toying with pencils on his desk. It had to be a coincidence. A throw-away comment. *I couldn't hear anything.* Still, Ellison had reported hearing things. *Even called for me the last time.* He snagged the growing case file and pulled out the subfile. Bypassing the 911 calls, he looked at the disturbance reports. Stench. That was the complaint. The addendum, as a result of Sandburg ordering follow up, was the discovery of further remains. *Unlikely we'll identify them.* Just a collection of cracked and gnawed bones. A few hair samples.
*So.* He had a trophy-mad serial killer and a professor with hyperactive ears. No witnesses, poor physical remains. *It was easier when Ellison was a prime suspect.* He was still fiddling with the pencils when a file dropped on the desk scattered his game. He looked up.
"Thought you might be interested in the final report." Dan looked down at the detective. *Pick-em ups?* "No internal organs, except the gastrointestinal tract. What is really odd is that the stomachs were empty."
Blair looked up. "You said they didn't feel much. What did the toxicology report find?"
"What didn't it? We have one well-supplied sicko out there."
*Wailing whine. Cracking sounds. Wet noises.* Blair ran out of the office.
"Stop right there." Penny looked up from her typing. *Who are you, good-looking?* "You don't have an appointment."
Sandburg walked over to her, swinging one leg around and ahead after the other. He'd perfected the approachable yet dangerous walk on the hardest critics. High school girls. "And you are?" *Probably about my age.* And onto him. Like most office help, she wasn't going to appreciate being outmaneuvered.
*He's no student.* She smiled and waited to see what he had. Any further response was preempted by the arrival of another party.
*Didn't anybody teach those kids less is more?* Eyes still watering, Ellison had kept almost sneezing for the entire class, in response to a lecture hall of overpowering colognes. Sneezing actually would have been preferable to the slow drip that he'd had to keep dabbing with his hanky. Maybe he could just lock himself in his office until the evening seminar. That thought left as he entered the department office. "Chief, what are you doing here?" *Besides putting the moves on Penny.*
Blair spun around. "You always sneak around like that? I needed to talk to you again." He turned to face the professor's office door.
He gave the detective a glinty look and then put on a smile as he turned. "It's okay, Penny." Jim heard the young woman halt in getting up and resume typing. "After you, Chief."
Ellison pulled books and papers out of his briefcase, and dispersed them into the various shelves and cubbies. Similarly, he collected his materials for the graduate class from around the packed office. He even pulled out the next three tasks for the afternoon and arranged his pens and other supplies. Only when he finished did he give the detective his attention. "What did you want to say, Sandburg?" *You need to cultivate patience.* The detective was sitting like one of those bouncing novelties, after a hand tried stilling it.
"I need your help. Look, I don't know how you do it." He jumped out of the chair and paced in a tight figure eight. "But you're our only witness." *Who we won't be able to put on the stand.* "I think you know more."
"First, you think I'm your killer. Now, you accuse me of obstructing justice. Why shouldn't I throw you out of here?" The jaw kept jumping after he finished speaking.
"You want this bastard as bad as I do."
Blair opened the door to his apartment. He couldn't believe that Ellison wanted to do this here instead of on his own turf. "Grab a seat. Want some coffee?" Sandburg headed past the sitting area towards the fridge.
"Let's just get this started." Jim looked around the sparse room with a stack of wicker chests, a futon couch with a trunk-as-coffee table, a folding slouch chair and a few crates with books. "New apartment?" He perched on one end of the futon.
"No." Blair popped the cap off the beer and turned back to the main room. "Okay. I figure that you may have heard something that you didn't think was important. That didn't register consciously. Start with the first call you made." He sat on the trunk, taking another drink from the bottle.
With an askance look at the detective, Jim closed his eyes. "I'd been walking back to The Bindery, enjoying the beginnings of spring." It had been early evening. "Then there was this horrid smell, faint but like a stockyard. I looked around, and no one seemed to notice it. The more I tried to push it away, the stronger it got. By the time I got inside, I was sick to my stomach. When it didn't dissipate, I called in the complaint."
Blair watched in fascination as the professor continued his running commentary. He could almost smell the fetid stank clinging to the gentle breezes himself. It was like Ellison was completely under, as if he was reliving it all. Sandburg drifted with the recitation until he was caught by something unexpected.
"There is a beeping, and a whoosh sound. It's kind of calming, slow and regular, almost a happy sound. Slurping is sporadic. People are talking softly, other sounds, then wet ones. It keeps like that for some time. The beeping changes, faster, more insistent and then clanks off, the whoosh stops. Footsteps leave. Then there is a high whine..." Jim started breathing faster, clutching his hands over his ears. "Snapping, cracking..."
"Open your eyes. Now." Blair pushed of from the trunk as the older man looked around and sagged back into the futon. The detective waited by his side while Jim collected himself. They fell into a shared rhythm of breaths. "A lot of that was news to you."
"Just seems more real now." He tried to push away the images of people being rendered into shredded glop like at the warehouse. "I didn't recall the regular sounds. They seem sort of familiar." He sat still for a moment. "There's more than one killer."
Sandburg drained the last of his beer. His case had just taken a surprising turn. From one well-supplied serial killer taking extensive trophies, it had gone to an orchestrated group endeavor. "Shit."
"You think what?!" Simon glared at the shorter detective, coffee pot in mid-pour. He sat the pot back down and eased himself into his large chair, waving Sandburg to close the office door. "You have got to have something more than supposition before we start searching transplant patients for stolen organs." *Mayor would love that in the AP feed.*
"There's nothing saying the organs are still in the state, Simon." Blair put down a folder of photocopies. "There are time limits involved with the transport, so I've got officers working the airports, including any private flights."
Simon looked through the papers. "You think this is a moonlighting operation?" There were writs to check the inventories of the local hospitals and research facilities, primarily for drugs.
"Why stay in Cascade? No, there is too much support needed to pull this off. Probably slipping equipment back to work for disposal." Blair twisted his face in thought. "I'm just having problems seeing that warehouse as an operating room."
"You'd be surprised what people will make do with." He pressed a hand to his temples. "Much less killers in the pursuit of money."
"But the chance of infection... The recipients would have so many anti-rejection drugs coursing" Blair stopped, the thoughts coming together clear on his face. He stood up, quickly making for the door.
*What leap has his mind made now?* Grabbing his coffee mug, Simon flipped through the folder, taking a sip from the nearly empty cup. A small fond smile surfaced briefly before being wiped away by the file's contents.
*A very late student?* Ellison let his focus drift somewhat from the discussion of motifs as the footfalls neared the classroom. As they stilled outside the door, he looked around the small hall. *Somebody that's skipped enough meetings not to know the right room?* Waiting for the inevitable interruption, Ellison was somewhat distracted as the conversation continued on parallels between different Victorian novels.
Finally, class was over, with a few harried instructions regarding the next session delivered over the packing of books. Jim excused himself from an approaching student to check outside the room.
"Inspector." Apparently, the young detective found Rainier hard to resist. *He's dressed to fit in. Maybe he should enroll next term.* Today, thermal shirt sleeves stuck out past the folded cuffs of a soft looking flannel shirt. Imagining some of his fellow professors dealing with Sandburg brought a smile to his face. "Social call or looking for reading recommendations?"
Blair looked around. Students were still milling about, both in the room and in the halls. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"
They were back in the crowded office, Ellison in his chair, and the detective standing at his side. *What am I thinking?* Blair still had no idea how the professor could possibly know what he did. No reason to trust Ellison. "I want to find the original scene. Listen. Did you hear anything after the cracking noises?"
"How should I know? I tried to mask out everything; I could still hear it through the earphones." Recollection flowed across Jim's face. A tick appeared under his eye as clenched them shut, nostrils flaring.
"So, you might have. Like you not recalling the beeping." He had a theory about that. Outside a hospital, the noise would normally be coming from a TV show. *How much would you have to filter out to not be driven mad?*
Jim stood up, pressing into the shorter man's space. "Why do you keep coming back?" He twisted around and then faced Sandburg again. "I can't believe you're taking this in stride." He spread his hands wide, almost beseechingly. "You didn't hear your officers from the Green. Shouldn't you be more skeptical?"
"I don't have time. I've got a human chop-shop running. Anything that gets me closer, I'll take. Right now, that's you." Blair looked at the older man. Ellison didn't look so good. Breathing heavy, clammy sweat, wide eyes. *Idiot.* "Um. Can you try to recall after you made the call? You're still hearing the noises, you don't want to, but they continue."
The professor breathed deeply. "While I'm talking, I think it stops."
Blair had to strain to hear, the muted sound so different from the tones so recently leveled at him.
"Why shouldn't it? Everything around me is so loud; people talking, footsteps, noise from the bistros. Better than the other. It filters through though. All the other sounds fade into background. I make my way home. I'm sure people must have wondered why I was in such a hurry. It's so insistent, there are soft splat sounds too. They get wetter, like mud dropping into growing puddles. I'm almost sick hearing a searing sound until I realize it's coming from the Grind's kitchen. I can hear all the voices but not what anyone is saying. There is a wet vac running somewhere as I unlock the door." Blue eyes opened with a haunted look. "I didn't hear anything else suspicious that night, but I think maybe I did hear things being rolled away other times. When I got back to the loft sooner."
The chirp of a cell phone cut through the silence. "Sandburg." He nodded slowly. Finally he said, "I'm on my way." He folded the phone shut.
Simon looked around the emptying crime scene, picking out Blair from the milling uniforms and technical support staff. It took him a moment to place the professor. "What the hell." It ground out in a rumble. "Detective Sandburg." Banks nodded with a patented 'smile' towards the professor as he pulled his officer aside. "I thought you had gotten off this kick with the campus. Next time the mayor wants to put you on the spit..."
"I'm here voluntarily. So to speak."
Simon glanced towards the interruption and back to his detective. Someday he'd be treated for whiplash from following Sandburg's reasoning. "Why is he here?" *How do you make these shifts? And get people to go along with them?* "What's the situation?"
"Same as before. The victims are being examined back at the lab." He muttered under his breath. "What's left." Pushing that roiling thought away, he continued. "We do have some tire tracks this time." Blair looked over to Ellison. Who had frozen in place, looking like the RCA mascot. "I'll have the report to you in the morning."
Banks looked in disbelief as Blair walked away.
"Find something?" He peered out, trying to match the professor's line of sight, frowning as he tried to pin down what had caught the other man's undivided attention. *Please, no body parts.* This case was dragging up levels of squeamishness Sandburg thought he'd lost long ago. He had to put a hand on the older man's shoulder blade before Ellison responded. "What is it?"
His eyes blinked. "Footprint." He pointed to the faintly reflective pattern. "Can't you see it? It is faint, but..."
"Bring one of those lights over here. Keep about thirty feet away from me all the way around." He held still as the people dragged the equipment into place, skirting around him.
Blair stood in the lab the next day. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night and it wasn't just from the stacks of paperwork he'd filled in after the scene. It had taken several sweeps with the lights before anybody else had seen the footprints. Most of them were badly smeared. Except the one Ellison had pointed to. It was perfect.
"Reflective sand." The attractive dark haired woman looked up from a microscope, sliding an assessing glance over the detective's compact body while he seemed to mull over the evidence. A suggestive smile spread across her lips as she considered what material evidence she'd like to examine more closely. She brought her gaze up to face level, the heat in her eyes belied by the clinical voice. "The greasy concrete grabbed the spheres as the blood dried." Almost as an afterthought, she added, "How did you even find the footprint in the dark?"
"One of the lights swept across it. Guess that's why they use it on the road. Thanks for the quick work, Sam." He quickly exited the lab, unaware of the gaze firmly attached to his tush.
Where would somebody track reflective sand from? Maybe from road work. *In the Green?* He'd have someone look into that. He pushed through the door in Major Crimes. The OR/abattoir had to be somewhere close by, and the sand somewhere in between.
Jim dropped the well-read paper back onto his desk as he picked up his mug. He scowled as the tepid fluid washed over his tongue, setting the tea down abruptly. It swished around and almost out, but stayed contained. Still no more news on the Green case, beyond the usual 'investigative' opinion pieces. It had been days since the detective had last come around. *Guess it was time for him to get back to procedure.* Then again, the professor hadn't woke in some while from rendering sounds. He shook away the well-worn catch phrase 'anyway you slice it.' He could only hope the operation hadn't moved on. That there was still a chance for justice.
Sandburg combed his hands through his hair and fell back in his chair. They were missing something, and the longer they went between murders the colder the case got. "What, you couldn't wait on that summer home?" *Don't tell me you stopped gambling on your own.* He snagged some files as he plopped his feet on the desk. While they had conducted their search as unobtrusively as possible, enough so some of the papers were casting aspersions on the police, it was all too possible they had scared away their killers. *Maybe they put two and two together when we were checking the hospitals.* Though from the surge of arrests on unrelated drug theft charges , maybe not. *Narcotics must be on a feeding frenzy.*
Banks entered, walking towards his office. His eyes landed on the disheveled form. *Blair...* Didn't the detective ever go home? He stopped in front of the heavy laden desk. "How many nights have you been on stake-out? Go. Home." He entered his office, nearly shutting his door on Sandburg.
Blair held the door ajar, entering when Simon sighed his admittance.
Simon turned as the door shut. "Didn't you hear me?" *Of course not.* He turned around. "Let me guess. You have to catch them and you're worried they've moved on. Blair, you've taken a rusted out van and turned it into a high tech surveillance unit. Found the only Rottweiler with police training to do the canine search." Officer Chang as a gangbanger wasn't an image Simon would ever forget. "You've covered your bases. If you had slept somewhere other than your desk naps, you'd realize they are laying low and probably waiting for a match."
Blair let out a breath. "Okay. Point taken. But I want that van to stay."
"Hey, I don't want that wreck in the garage. Get out of here." He waved Sandburg away. Simon kept an eye on the detective until he was at the elevator, chatting one of the file clerks.
Jim looked out the garret window into the street-light smeared darkness. Had they ever used names? Why hadn't he known what he was hearing? "How did I hear anything?" With an unusual weariness, Ellison got into bed. Slowly close-by sounds fell away, leaving him with the roll of tires and the sodden sounds of damp wind against empty buildings.
He wondered where the detective was at this hour. If Blair was at that moment about to make an arrest. Maybe on this case, maybe on some other case, maybe just a random convenience store robbery gone sour. He tried to push such bleak thoughts out of mind.
*What the?* Jim looked around the crowded bookstore until he found what was out of place. *There you are, Chief.* Draped over the large ottoman and slumped in the wing chair, he looked like some slumbering elf prince the Pre-Raphaelites were always painting. Maybe more like a full-lipped goatherd. A thin, mostly good-natured, smile formed. Walking softly, Jim made his way to the lounging figure.
Blair jolted awake, knocking the open book from his lap, and shifting the small pile on the ottoman. He pulled up in the chair, legs dropping onto the floor.
"Quiet, there." Ellison stabilized the stack before leaning over to rescue the dropped book. *No wonder you drifted off.* The tome had to be pretty esoteric. It appeared to be a bound volume of excavation notes and procedures. "How far into it did you get?" He was startled as the younger man shoved in a bookmark a quarter of the way through. Handing the book over, he started to head upstairs.
"Thought maybe I'd buy dinner. You know, as a thank you. Unless you already have plans."
Jim watched the cascade of expressions across the detective. Too fleeting to pin down. "Sure. Let me just throw this stuff upstairs."
The two men were wrapping up a pleasant meal of Chinese and conversation. At the end, Jim broached the one subject they had in common, which they had carefully avoided.
"Any closer?" Most likely the detective wouldn't say anything. Still, Jim wanted to know and even the way he was told 'no comment', would tell him something.
"Not close enough." They still hadn't matched the reflective sand with an origin point. Part of him was ready to dismiss it as a fluke. "I know a lot more about road maintenance." Other than some sign replacement, none had happened in the Green recently. *But that print was so clear.* "If only we could find those boots... Hear anything?"
"No." He could see the faint sliver of hope slip from the younger man's face.
Blair hadn't expected to be disappointed. After all, Ellison would have called if he had heard something. Right? "I'd better get going." There was no reason to impose any longer. He stood with his hands on the table. "Next thing I know, I'll be on a tabloid cover. 'Detective Dines while Denizens Dismembered.'"
"How's it going?" Sandburg crawled between the front seats, through the opaque curtain into the surveillance center.
"What did they do, fish this out of the river?" Brown knew about cover, but this was a bit much.
"Think it would smell better." Rafe kept his eyes on the equipment.
"Think it might be you wedged in here?" Compared to the usual vans, this was cramped; Blair didn't envy the much larger men the detail.
"Funny. No, other than the usual activity, nothing. Good thing you didn't cut Vice in on this."
"Why do you think I picked this van?" Blair waited for the snorts to die down. "You haven't been getting noticed?"
"Negative. Hell, this is the worst looking wreck. Okay, there is one burnt out shell, but anything with an engine block..."
"Vanity, your name is detective." With that, Blair finished taking his post at the headphones.
"What do you mean I'm off the case?!" Blair spun around in Simon's office, to burn off frustration more than anything else.
"Sandburg, that isn't what I said. The FBI is going to oversee the case, as of the end of the week. 'Murder with intent to distribute across state lines' falls under their jurisdiction. You are still on the case. Think you can handle a few Feds?" Simon understood his detective's antagonism; a careful investigation was about to be blown to hell. Eventually, some of the responsible parties would be caught.
"Sure." Blair made the correct assuring sounds as he made his way out of the office. He was simply going to have to break this case before the Feds showed. So far, they hadn't found the actual crime scene, despite checking just about every abandoned factory and run-down warehouse. *Like one dog can take care of an area that size.* Most importantly, they had to presume the site was being well-cleaned. Too bad they didn't have a dog trained for antiseptics.
Halfway to Rainier, with a seriously flawed idea of how to find their scene, Blair got a call from Ellison. Quickly turning the large car around, he headed towards the Bindery. "Jim? Jim? Where do I need to send a car?"
Ellison spoke, as if coming out of a daze. "I can't tell where. Right now I'm hearing metal on metal, like silverware..."
*Or scalpels on a tray.* Blair stepped on the gas, loathe to turn on the lights. "What do you hear now?" He slammed on the brakes as a play group bounced across the intersection. "Ellison?"
"This is crazy. I can't be hearing a delivery truck from over a mile away. They're muttering about hauling things back and forth."
Blair let out a breath and pushed back his hair as he took another corner. Somehow, the professor had caught them setting up. *How long does that take?* "Where are they in relation to the warehouse? Do what you did for the test."
"It sounds different. More muffled." The frustration was bleeding into his voice.
"I'm nearly there. Meet me out front." Hitting the buttons, he called the surveillance team. "Do you have a delivery van out there, a UPS or anything?"
"Think they deliver out here? Henry says he saw a Public Works truck at the warehouse coming in. Did you get a tip or something?"
"Warehouse? Did you say Public Works?" Blair neared the bookstore, just a few more traffic lights to go.
"Who else would still store stuff down here?"
"Get into position without being seen." Unwilling to go into further explanation, he shut off the phone as he pulled the Checker as close to the sidewalk as he could. The professor slid into the seat as the car popped a u-turn and Blair switched on the siren, light rotating.
Jim clamped both hands over his ears, wincing in pain. His eyes were still squeezed shut when Blair reached over after turning off the noise. Opening them, he saw concern on the other man's face. "I... I can't hear them." He tried to find the the truck, but couldn't.
*Shit.* Before he could truly kick his own ass for stupidity, he realized he needed to calm down his passenger. First. "What did you hear before..." He gestured to the light.
"Wheels... Heavily burdened." As he gave the account, Jim noticed the echo in his ears bleed off. "Turn here. Stop!" Jim looked down the shadowed alley to a truck pulling away. He caught the city license number as it headed off.
"What do you see?" Sandburg punched at the cell phone, barking into it. "Where are you?" He looked over at Ellison, looking for some sign of whether there was a victim inside.
"Two blocks from where we started. We have an unmarked car coming to assist." The detective was looking between the steaming hood and the blown-out tires.
"Have them put Public Works Warehouse Depot..." He looked for a number or a street sign. "Hell, the one near my stripped down car, behind a cordon. I'm going in. Out." With that he pushed the phone into his pocket and pulled the car closer, still keeping it out of sight of the few windows.
"What are you going to do?"
Blair looked over in surprise to the other seat. *Okay, so maybe my car won't be stripped.* "I'm going to go assess the situation. When the cavalry shows, tell them what's going on, okay?" Checking his gun and tucking it into his back holster, he opened the door. Outside of the car, he saw Ellison getting out too. Whispering he waved him back at the car. "Where do you think you are going?"
The professor drew closer, bending down somewhat. "They have the monitors on-line. How fast can you find them?"
Hesitating a split moment, Sandburg flipped back "Stay behind me" as he sauntered towards the building, dropping into a crouch as he reached the door.
Inside, the wide hallway was dark, the feeble glow of the exit sign just deepening the shadows. Turning on his pocket mag-lite, he looked around for the obvious so he could send the professor back out. *No luck.* He turned at the tap on his shoulder.
Jim pointed at the staircase down an alley of lock-up cages.
Blair crept down the aisle, flashlight in one hand, gun in the other. If he was lucky, Simon would just suspend him for allowing a civilian... *No, he'll send me to the department shrink.* Blair froze at the tap on his shoulder. On the second tap, he noticed the ladder next to the freight elevator. Turning around, he whispered. "Which floor? Get back to the car."
Jim shrugged, pointed to his ear and fluttered his hand side to side. Standing there, he waited until Sandburg started up the ladder, following.
As they neared the next landing, Blair was grabbed by the shoulder. Moments later, a distinctly bored man walked past. They hanged from the ladder until he was gone. "Which way?"
"Scalpel." The instrument pressed into hand, the surgeon made the first incision. Blood welled up red along the shiny metal. This would be the final transaction.
"Freeze!" Blair stood in the doorway, wearing a particle mask, gun trained firmly on the scalpel-wielding gowned figure.
"Do something." The figure hissed out to the others in the impromptu OR. "You seem to have miscalculated." He cut further into the body on the table. "If you shoot me, you'll cause a rupture, puncture or something else that you simply can't handle." Whispered orders returned the scrub nurse to assisting.
"You're assuming I can tell the difference between surgery and butchery." The detective advanced, gun focused, keeping an eye on the other figures in the room. Masked, and gowned over scrubs, it was hard to tell much about them. "Considering you can't, it's a stretch."
"Reduced to psychological games. Makes you wish you had your backup, I bet." The next barb was preempted as a burst of air assaulted the man's eyes. Hands brought up, the scalpel was knocked to the floor by a blurred projectile.
"Step away from the table." Blair gestured with the gun, as the figure backed away. The other occupants of the room were either cowering on the sidelines, or trying to slip away. Apparently, they'd picked off all the muscle on the way in. Or, they'd left like the vermin they were.
Suddenly, the surgeon splashed Sandburg with the contents of a kidney basin, before flinging it at the gun hand. Reaching among the instruments on the table, he selected a heavy device, the sharp edge glinting.
Blair blinked, trying to see his gun in the long shadows beyond the bright operating circle. His eyes still burned from whatever was in the pan, and all he could hear was the whining of the monitors and the whisper of shoe booties on concrete. The attack with the large bladed implement caught him unaware but not off guard. He was able first block the arm and then to swipe a foot out to knock the doctor off-balance. Grabbing an instrument off the table, Blair faced off.
Unable to properly focus on his opponent, Detective Sandburg couldn't press too hard. It was feints to keep the doctor away, and other delaying tactics. As the fight continued, swarming emergency personnel provided a distraction, trying to stabilize the patient. Having worn out the doctor, his temper more than his body, Blair was able to get a good punch in to end the struggle.
"Professor Ellison. Come on." Sandburg wondered if the older man had a history of seizures. But the trance-like state explained why Jim hadn't been more help. He'd found him behind one of the screens; rather, he'd been notified as his eyes were rinsed.
"Sandburg!" Captain Banks surveyed the swarming chaos as forensics tried to record an increasingly compromised crime scene. *Thank G-d.* Any time they had a potential survivor, Simon took it as a gift. The gurney raced out, uniforms being pressed into service with rolling the monitors. Right now, though, he needed to sort out the details.
The detective turned around as yet another EMT fussed over him. "I'm sure they're flushed out enough." As he blinked the extra liquid away he saw a formidable hulk approaching. Which if he wasn't mistaken, was Simon. He scrambled to come up with an explanation.
"What the hell happened here?!"
Definitely Banks. "Funny you should say that..." He avoided looking up, shielding his abused eyes ostensibly from the operating lights.
Simon finally noticed the one piece that didn't belong. "What is the professor doing here?" He looked groggy. He hoped the academic hadn't been hit or injected.
A forensics person walked by with two bags. One contained the bloody scalpel while the other had an amber warning light inside.
"So that's what hit him." He'd wondered what the blur was. Hearing the warning that his Captain was not taking well to being ignored, Blair brought himself back to task. "He noticed something was going down and contacted me. With the surveillance van out of action, and further backup some time away, I had to act quickly."
"What's wrong with your eyes? Did they do something to him?" He looked to the perplexed Ellison.
"Got hit with a pan of antiseptic wash. Professor?"
Blair walked down the hospital corridor. The case paperwork had taken some time, especially coming up with explicable substitutes for Ellison's prescient senses. Sandburg still wondered about them, and the resourceful professor. Few people would have thought to use a welding tank of oxygen as a weapon. Yet the blast of air had been effective in halting the harvest without harming the victim. Who looked to be making a full recovery.
Sometimes the good guys won.
fin