(P.S.: Jody Andriano, if you are reading this, I apologize for the run-on I used. Please find it in your heart to forgive me. -L.V.)

Dead Ringer

By Amaroq Wolf and Black Magic Woman

Series: SHAKING UP THE PRECINCT

Allusions to "Victoria's Secret" and "Juliet Is Bleeding" Special mention: "The Mexican Pet" by Jan Harold Brunvand, the major domo of urban legends

WARNING: Rated PG for strong language.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

It was another typical day at the 27th precinct. The detectives--and Mountie--were aghast with the recent crime streak going on. Lately, the number of young women in Chicago had been taking a nosedive--in short, someone was on a murderous rampage. The precinct was so disturbed by it that, on the collective break, it was all that they could do to tune it out.

Detective Ray Vecchio was trying to ignore the pining of his best friend's wolf, Diefenbaker, for a piece of his cherry Danish. His sister Francesca was getting her ear chewed off by Stanley Kowalski for neglecting her duties in favor of her dreams about her brother's best friend, Constable Benton Fraser, who was telling an Inuit tale to a deeply immersed Jack Huey.

Ray smiled as he realized how much he had missed everything while going undercover in the mob. The FBI had done its best to hurry the trial of Armando Langostini--Ray's alter ego in the mob--but it still had seemed like an eternity to him. He remembered Welsh telling him about the rescue operation in Canada, where Stanley--the cop who had covered for him--and his buddy Fraser had fallen down a mineshaft while searching for the Northwest Passage. While waiting for the rescue team to get them out, the two had had some weird dreams--Francesca had six immaculate conceptions in one, Ray and Stella Kowalski--Stanley's ex-wife--had run off to Florida together, and quite a few other doozies. Fortunately, they were rescued and brought back to Chicago to recover before Ray came back. Ray was shaken from his reverie by Dief's pleading.

Ray finally broke under Dief's whines and slipped him part of his Danish. "You can't let Benny know I'm giving you this or he'll ruin another one of my suits."

Dief was appeased. He let out with a single, low "Woof."

Stanley finally snapped and stalked over to Ray. "Man, I give up!" He was beyond frustrated. "Your sister is impossible! All she gives a damn about is drooling all over Fraser!"

Ray smiled, aware of Francesca's crush on his Canadian buddy. He just played it in stride. "He doesn't even notice. I mean, he used Frannie's keyboard once and she hasn't even cleaned it off since. It's like a shrine to her!"

"You got that right." Stanley's terse response provoked a laugh from Ray, distracting him from the fact that Fraser was coming up behind them.

"What are you two laughing about?" Fraser was very direct, getting to the point. He was polite about it though, as he didn't swear at them.

"Nothing, why?" Stanley asked.

Fraser shrugged his broad shoulders. "Just curious."

Ray took this moment to break the ice. "Speaking of curiosity, fellas, there's something that I've been wanting to ask you for a while."

Fraser nodded his head. "Yes, Ray?"

Stanley suddenly looked extremely nervous as he anticipated the question that was about to pop. Ray was more than likely going to ask about his green 1971 Buick Riviera, which at that moment was sitting in a charred heap at the bottom of Lake Michigan, thanks to a serial arsonist--and Fraser.

Ray confirmed Stanley's suspicion right off the bat. "What the hell happened to my car?"

Stanley decided to face his impending disembowelment with dignity. "Uh, I honked the horn."

Ray was unimpressed. "And?"

Fraser jumped in to save his partner from his hotheaded Italian friend. "And it kind of caught fire."

"And?"

Stanley jumped in. "And we sort of had to drive it into Lake Michigan." He was well aware of the veins throbbing on Ray's forehead.

Fraser jumped in as a last-ditch attempt to save Stanley. "And if you want it back, you're going to have to dive pretty deep to get it back."

Ray turned away from the two, trying to digest what he had just heard. Had Fraser managed to destroy his beloved Riv again? No, not again. Ray slowly turned around and managed to get a good look at both of them. He suddenly hauled off and belted Stanley in the face. The clamor of Stanley's stunned body hitting the floor brought Lieutenant Harding Welsh out of his office with the ferocity of a hurricane.

"What the hell is going on out here?" The lieutenant was livid.

Francesca spoke up. "My arrogant older brother decided that he needed to punch someone, so he punched Kowalski."

"And what reason did you have for punching Kowalski?" Welsh asked.

"He just found out what happened to his car," said Francesca.

Welsh took a look at Stanley's unconscious frame. "Is he going to be okay?"

Ray winced at the pain that had resulted from the blow he had delivered. "I don't know about him, but my hand sure as hell hurts."

Welsh gave Ray a look that would have frozen the sun. "That didn't answer my question."

Fraser jumped in, eager to save his friend. "It's my conclusion, Leftenant, that the contusion that Vecchio delivered did not have any permanent adverse effect on Kowalski."

"English, Constable?"

"He'll be okay." As if to confirm Fraser's words, Dief trotted over to Stanley and began licking his face. The sensation of dog drool on the cheek woke Stanley out of his semicoma.

Stanley was aghast. "Get off of me, you big mutt!" Dief ignored his entreaties and continued to lick his face. "Damn it, Fraser, get your damn dog off me!"

As Fraser tried to pry his wolf off of Stanley, the phone rang in Welsh's office. Welsh stalked back into his office and picked up the phone. "Hello!"

"Is this Lieutenant Harding Welsh?" the voice asked.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"This is Lieutenant O'Neill of the New York Police Department, Precinct Twelve."

Welsh was taken by surprise. "How may I help you?"

O'Neill was brief. "About two weeks ago we discussed the possible transfer of one of my own men to your precinct. I'm calling to confirm that yes, it's a done deal."

Welsh sighed--it was the last thing he needed. "Who is it?"

"Her name is Allie Mitchell. She works in the Violent Crimes division. She has been assigned to your precinct as of tomorrow morning. Expect her then."

Although his mind was saying, "Damn" and other colorful metaphors, Welsh kept his cool. "Okay. Thank you for informing me."

"Not a problem." O'Neill killed the connection.

Welsh hung up the phone and stared out into the bullpen. Stanley was caught up in an attempt to hold a can of soda to his injury and ward off Dief at the same time. Ray looked like a cat that had eaten a canary, and Fraser loomed over them like a mother hen whose chicks had just hatched.

-----

Later that night, Ray and Fraser had dinner in a cozy little Chinese restaurant. Usually they ordered takeout, but Ray didn't want to have to drive any more than he had to without relaxing. Sitting in a booth and talking over green tea, chow mein, and fortune cookies was a good way to relax after the hectic day's events.

"So did you hear about my sister?" Ray asked Fraser as he fumbled with his chopsticks.

"What, did she find another Mountie to drool over?" Fraser jokingly asked.

Ray nodded his head with a serious expression on his face. "Yeah, Turnbull."

Fraser scrutinized the Italian detective for a minute, not sure as to whether or not he should believe him.

Ray noticed the expression on Fraser's face. "Just kidding, Frase." He took a bite of his Hunan chicken before speaking again. "What I was getting at was ---okay. I never told you this, but Frannie has been interested in joining the National Guard Military Police for a long time."

Fraser looked at him incredulously. "Dose this have anything to do with why she was absent from work for a week last month?"

"Yeah. She was off at Fort Jackson taking the physical fitness test for her candidacy."

"So the results are in?"

Ray nodded. "She made it. Good thing too, because I'd hate to have to hear the rumors flying around that she was spending that week with a pimp. At least I have proof she wasn't."

"When is she leaving?" Fraser asked through a mouthful of fried rice.

"Day after tomorrow." Ray sighed. "We're throwing her a party tomorrow."

"That soon?"

Ray nodded, sensing the void that would soon exist in his close-knit household. "I'm taking her to the airport the morning after the party."

"Is there going to be a replacement for her?" Fraser asked.

Ray shook his head. "I don't know. But we have a new body coming into Violent Crimes."

"Good." Fraser chuckled. "He'll be at home with the rest of the bodies."

Ray laughed. "Wrong on both counts, Benny. One, he's a she. Two, she is very much alive."

Fraser nodded. "Ah. Where is she from?"

"North side of Chicago." Ray took a bite of his sweet and sour pork and a sip of his tea. "Precinct 211."

"What's she like?"

"Think Frannie, only a bit taller and a bit more like me."

Fraser reached for a fortune cookie. "This should be interesting."

Ray looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I just think it's interesting that there's a female version of you."

Ray turned a bit red. "Oh! So what you're saying is that you think it might be...interesting that there might be a female me!"

Fraser broke his fortune cookie in half. "You could say that, Ray.

"I just did."

-----

The next morning, Fraser and Stanley left the precinct at eight-thirty to go to Francesca's farewell party. They got into Stanley's GTO and just started to back out when they felt a sudden shock in the back, along with the sound of crunched metal.

The two of them got out of the car immediately. They were confronted by the rather irate driver of the other car, which was a black 1973 Dodge Charger. The driver was female, clad in pair of jeans, a tee shirt, a knee-length leather jacket, and a pair of biker boots--all the color of her car. Her hair was black, pulled into a ponytail and stuffed under a New York Yankees cap.

"Oh, damn!" The vexation she felt was present in her voice.

Stanley and Fraser looked at the damage done to the bumper. "Looks like the taillight is shot," observed Fraser.

"No kidding, Fraser." Stanley was not at all happy about the crash. He turned on the other driver. "Who the hell do you think you are? This car is a classic, a 1973 Pontiac GTO. Do you know how hard it is going to be to try to find a new part?"

The other driver matched Stanley's ferocity. "Yeah, well you hit me! And how the hell do you think I feel about my car?"

"You don't feel much for cars considering--"

"Considering what?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Don't you think I have a hard time finding parts for this car?"

Stanley was on the edge of losing it. "YOU hit ME, you teenage nitwit, and I bet the car ain't even covered. I could haul your ass in just for hitting me. Do you know what I do?"

The girl spoke sarcastically. "Collect garbage?"

Stanley finally lost it. He grabbed the girl's arm and said, "No, I'm a cop."

"So nice for ya!" The girl clenched her teeth. "Now let go of me before I kick you so hard your first son is born with a high-pitched voice!"

Stanley took the threat seriously and let her go. "Who the hell are you?"

The girl pulled out her wallet and, to Kowalski's considerable shock, displayed a police identification card. "Detective Allie Mitchell." She paused. "And you are...?"

"Detective Stanley Raymond Kowalski."

Mitchell was taken aback. "You're joking, right? I mean, Stanley Raymond Kowalski? Come on, who's kidding who here?"

Fraser finally spoke up. "His dad was a big Marlon Brando fan."

Mitchell noticed Fraser for the first time. She raised her eyebrows derisively at his red serge. "Who's Big Red?"

Stanley knew what was coming. "You shouldn't have asked that."

Fraser confirmed Stanley's suspicion right off the bat. "I am Constable Benton Fraser. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I have stayed on attached as liaison to the Canadian Consulate."

Mitchell was dumbfounded. "Okay, yeah. Sure."

Stanley shrugged. "Told you not to ask."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out by yourself." Stanley turned and looked at where the two cars collided. "Oh, man! Couldn't you have looked where you were going?"

Mitchell jumped back on the defensive. "I did not hit you! You hit me!"

"Bullshit! You hit me!"

Mitchell got into Stanley's face so that he could smell the toothpaste still on her breath. "I did not hit you, and if you say I did one more time, I'm gonna deck ya one. So let's just fill out the goddamned reports so I can go to work."

It took a long, drawn-out fifteen minutes to fill out the necessary paper work. When they were through, Stanley and Fraser got back into the GTO.

"Nice to meet ya," Mitchell said coldly.

"Yeah," Stanley retorted as he pulled away. "Not so nice to meet you!" He drove off, leaving Mitchell shaking her head.

"Some people," she muttered. She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and walked into the precinct.

The precinct was almost empty, with the exception of Ray, who was having a hard time dealing with letting go of his kid sister, and a few others. Without knocking, she walked into Lt. Welsh's office, where he was putting together yet another of his infamous sandwiches. He was surprised to see her standing there when he looked up.

"Can I help you?'' Welsh was rather gruff with his question.

"I'm Detective Mitchell. I transferred from--"

"New York, right?" Welsh asked.

Mitchell nodded.

"Okay. Uh, I don't know if Vecchio is here but I'll just see." He stood up, walked to the door of his office, and spotted Ray getting a cup of the police station's infamously revolting coffee. "Vecchio, get in here NOW!"

Ray gave a start, nearly spilling the coffee on his suit. He walked into the lieutenant's office with amazing speed. "Yes, sir?"

Welsh cut to the chase. "I'm assigning you a partner as of today. Vecchio, meet Detective Allie Mitchell."

Ray was quick to protest. "But sir, I already have a partner."

Welsh cut in. "Fraser is unofficial, Vecchio." He pointed a pickle spear in Ray's direction as he spoke. "He can come in here and liaison his ass off, but he is not a real Chicago detective. So you can either take your new partner, or you can turn in your shield."

"What?" Mitchell asked. "You mean if he don't take me, I'm just gonna lay here and rot?"

"Yes, sir." Ray walked out of Welsh's office, Mitchell trailing not far behind. He sat down at his desk and put his head in his hands. "Oh, great! First my kid sister is leaving, and now Welsh is saddling me with a rookie!"

Mitchell did a double take. "What the hell do you mean by 'rookie?'"

"Listen!" Ray snapped. "I don't need this any more than the next guy does, so you shut up and I'll handle everything!"

"We'll just see about that, hotshot!"

"What the hell is going on?" The authoritative female voice startled both of them.

Ray was expecting his nemesis, Inspector Margaret Thatcher, a.k.a. The Dragon Lady. What he saw startled him. He realized he recognized the young woman as one of the officers that Welsh had secretly contacted in the Victoria Metcalf case--Detective Elizabeth Walker, or Libby to her colleagues. Her attire was not the red serge that Thatcher and Fraser wore, but a pair of jeans, a khaki dress shirt, and a pair of Nike running shoes, much to his relief. Her hair was dark brown, curly, and shoulder-length. Her presence radiated defiance and confidence--slightly cocky, yet laid-back.

"Detective Walker..." Ray was at a loss for words.

"Detective Armani." Walker's manner was succinct, almost cold. For a split second she almost reminded Ray of Victoria, but the wry smile she wore told him she was pulling his leg.

"Haven't lost your sense of humor yet." Ray nodded his head.

"Is Hardass Harding in?"

"That's Lt. Welsh to you."

"I know, but he isn't my boss till tomorrow morning. That gives me the rest of today to call him whatever the heck I feel like calling him."

"I just got my ass chewed out by him. He's in his office." Ray pointed to the door of Welsh's office.

"Thanks." Walker strode over to the lieutenant's office and pounded on the door. "Hello in there!"

"Come in!" Welsh bellowed.

Walker was not intimidated at all. She walked into the office, rolling her eyes at the sight of the makeshift deli on Welsh's desk. "Well, well, well. Hardass Harding. Still putting together those mile-high sandwiches of yours, eh?"

Welsh looked up at the blunt character assessment of himself, taking in the sight before him. "Well, I'll be damned. Detective Elizabeth Janett Walker." He picked up a file he had on his desk and looked through it. "We were expecting you tomorrow afternoon."

"They finished the paperwork early and I had my crap moved out of my office yesterday, so I decided to case the joint of my new precinct." She paused. "It's not always this empty here, is it?"

"Hardly. The civilian aid is celebrating her last day on this force in this area--probably at Kowalski's pad."

"Who's Kowalski?"

"Your new partner."

"You're giving me a partner already?"

"Yeah, but he'll be here tomorrow. Give him a chance to sleep off that hangover."

"Great. I get to work with a party animal. When's he coming back?"

"Tomorrow. I told everyone to report back by one-thirty, but Kowalski's probably going to be hung over like you wouldn't believe."

"Okay, I guess I'll see you later." Walker strode out into the bullpen, where Mitchell and Ray were waiting.

"So what do you think?" Ray asked Walker.

Walker gave Ray a lopsided smile. "He's the same hardass I knew before."

-----

That afternoon, Fraser and Ray were hacking away at some paperwork, while thinking of Francesca, who was at that moment packing her bags to go to boot camp.

Fraser broke the silence. "I'm going for some coffee. You want some?"

Ray looked up. "Revolting as it is, yes." He paused. "Say, how was Kowalski when you left?"

"He looked horrible."

"Serves him right for driving my Riv into Lake Michigan, but I still worry about him."

"I'll be back." He got up and walked to the break room.

Fraser watched the dark, revolting brew trickle into the cups that he had retrieved. He was about to walk back when he spotted a young woman standing near the window with an ice cream sandwich.

It was Walker.

Fraser was awestruck by how she looked--tall, lean, fierce, strong, and healthy. Thoroughly impressed, he let out a low whistle. When Walker heard this, she set her sandwich down, walked over to Fraser, and belted him on the left side of the face, knocking him down.

"Just who do you think you were impressing?" Walker demanded.

"Ouch!" Fraser was stunned. "What was that all about?" As Fraser got up, Walker was taken aback by the sight of his red serge.

She was hesitant to speak. "Look, Dudley Do-Right. I believe that women deserve the same respect that men get all the time, which set me up for a lot of crap at my old precinct. I swore to myself that the next person who wolf-whistled in my direction would receive a knuckle sandwich."

"I didn't mean to offend you," said Fraser. "I was just impressed by the strength you seem to have. You resemble a military hero."

"Don't I wish." Walker sounded tired. "My days at my old precinct were hell. I couldn't turn anywhere without someone calling me 'baby cakes' or 'hot stuff.' I got next to no respect there."

"I didn't know--"

"It's okay, it's not your fault." Walker paused. "I know your name isn't Dudley Do-Right, 'cause if it is, then I have reason to be scared. So could you please do me a favor and tell me your real name?"

Fraser extended his hand. "Constable Benton Fraser."

Walker took his hand and shook it. "Libby Walker. Detective, First Class." She paused. "What's a Mountie like you doing here in Chicago?"

Fraser was surprised. "You actually want to know?"

Walker nodded. "But please fill me in before my ice cream melts, okay?"

The two sat down, and Fraser spilled his guts.

-----

The next morning, Stanley walked into the bullpen carrying his patented hangover cure--a cup of coffee and a package of chewy Sprees. As he walked over to his desk, he noticed Mitchell sitting there, feet on the desk, playing with a baseball.

The two suddenly noticed each other. "YOU!" they shouted in unison.

"What the hell are you doing here, and especially at my desk?" Stanley demanded.

"I work here!" Mitchell shot back.

"Well, this is my desk, so get your goddamned feet off of it!"

"With pleasure!" Mitchell slammed her feet to the floor. "Is that better, SIR?"

"Get away from my desk before you screw something up!" Stanley shouted.

Mitchell stood up. "Listen, okay? You ain't my boss, I sure as hell don't like you, and I sure as hell ain't going to let a scrawny little--"

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY DESK!" Stanley roared. The effort drained him, though; he held his head afterwards.

"My pleasure!" shouted Mitchell as she threw the baseball at Stanley and stalked away. She shoved past Fraser into the break room, where Walker was sitting. Walker jumped as Mitchell punched the soda machine.

"Damn, and I thought I was ticked yesterday," said Walker.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Mitchell snapped.

"I had a little run-in with Fraser yesterday. It was just a misunderstanding, though."

"Oh. Big Red." Mitchell slugged the machine again.

Walker smiled. "Works if you put money into it. What's the matter?"

"I ain't thirsty, and my problem is that god damned detective Kowalski!"

"Yep, our man Kowalski is something else. I mean, coffee and Sprees to cure a hangover? I didn't ingest that much sugar during my Academy days!" Walker paused. "Maybe that's why I came that close to losing it."

"Hmph!" Mitchell grabbed a chair, sat, down, and put her feet on the table.

"Well, I gotta hand it to you, you sure know how to relax! Now, back to Kowalski."

"Don't get me started on that jerk!" Mitchell was furious. "He ran into my car and then he insulted me! I just want to pound him!"

"At least you're not his partner."

"You're not saying?"

"I am. He didn't come in yesterday because he had what could possibly be the world's most horrendous hangover on record."

"So what you're saying...is that he was drunk off his ass."

"From what I heard, but I only came in late that morning. I didn't witness anything."

"What's there to witness? He's an arrogant asshole!"

Walker shrugged. "I haven't witnessed him in action. We haven't been assigned yet."

Welsh suddenly stuck his head inside the break room. "Walker, in my office! You and Kowalski got your first assignment together!"

"Speak of the devil." Walker stood up. "I gotta go. Meet me at Starbucks after our shifts. Coffee's on me."

"Later." Mitchell stared blankly at the door as Walker left.

-----

Walker was silent as she and Stanley rode in his GTO to the crime scene on Windsor Street. She had been aware of the lady-killer case before she transferred to the 27th, but she hadn't been asked to play an active part in the investigation. Now that she was going to get her hands dirty, she was a bit unsure about how she would perform.

As she and Stanley got out of the GTO, she took a look at her surroundings. The street was sealed off to ward off intruders. Two medical examiners were going into the apartment building with a body bag. A man was waiting outside the building. Jack Huey and Thomas Dewey were walking out with the clipboard that bore the data on the corpse. Fraser was sitting on the curb with his head in his hands, Dief right next to him. The latter struck Walker as odd.

As Walker was taking in her surroundings, Stanley was already interrogating the man outside. "I didn't hear any signs of forced entry or struggle," the man was saying. "I was just cleaning out my fridge when I heard the tumult of something falling down the stairs. I got there as fast as I could, but it was too late. The poor girl was already beyond help."

As Stanley was taking down the witness's testimony, Walker was discussing Huey and Dewey's findings with them.

"Who was the victim, Detective Dewey?"

Dewey looked at his clipboard. "The victim was identified as Victoria Metcalf, age thirty-one. She was a resident in the uppermost apartment in the building."

"Victoria Metcalf." The name rang a clear bell in Walker's mind. The Canadian bank robbery, the murder of Julian Chardeux in the park, the shooting of--Fraser! "My God--she came back." She shook her head rapidly to set herself straight. "Cause of death, please."

Dewey checked the clipboard again. "The victim--"

"We know her name, Detective Dewey!"

Dewey was taken aback. "Okay, Victoria apparently was forced down a stairwell. She must have snapped her neck in the fall."

"Oh, jeez." The sarcasm was present in Walker's voice. "That's a great way to die. Fast but scared." As she looked around, she saw Fraser looking utterly destroyed. "What's Fraser doing over there? She was the reason he got shot, so why is he sad?"

Huey took a deep breath. "Here's the story. Okay, you already know about the bank robbery. Well, Fraser trailed her into Fortitude Pass, where they got stuck in a blizzard. It was here that they fell in love, but he turned her in regardless at the end, making her somewhat bitter. Anyway, two years ago, she showed up in Chicago and somewhere down the line she shot Dief. She killed a man--"

"Julian Chardeux, her surviving accomplice in the robbery, I know."

"Right. Then, she tried to get Fraser to come with her and, in doing so, caused Vecchio to shoot him. It's probably shorter than the version that Fraser's gonna give."

"My God." Walker looked for Stanley. "Hey Kowalski! Get over here!"

Stanley rushed over to Walker, his emotions detached. "Did you know the dead body--"

"Fraser's doomed romance. Huey told me." Walker paused. "You tie up the loose ends of this while I go talk to Fraser, okay?"

"Okay."

Walker headed over to Fraser, whose face was tear-splotched and red faced from crying. She put her arm around him. "Are you going to be okay?"

Fraser could barely choke out a response. "I can't believe this happened. I didn't care that she was a criminal, I loved her. She was the first--and possibly the only--woman I felt that way about in my life, and now she's gone." He let out a sob-ridden sigh. "When I accompanied Huey and Dewey here, I knew something was wrong. But even after I saw her body, I still refused to believe it. Why her?"

Walker could think of a million reasons why it could be Victoria. Her criminal record set her up for the potential of numerous visceral enemies who wanted her dead. On the other hand, she could have been just another random victim in the series of killings that had been going on. But Walker knew that what was on her mind was not what Fraser needed to hear. She, like Fraser, knew how love could hurt. She had fallen for so many jerks during her years in high school, college, and the police force that sometimes she didn't think she had the capacity to love. On the other hand though, she had a small handful of friends whose love helped her to overcome the hell of her turbulent romantic life. The love that they had showed her was the love that Fraser needed right then.

She put her arms around Fraser and held him close to her, rocking him gently. "I understand," she whispered as she felt the wetness of Fraser's tears penetrate the shoulder fabric on her shirt. "I know what you are going through."

-----

The next day at noon, Ray, Fraser, and Walker sat around Ray's desk going over the evidence taken from the crime scene. The bullpen was virtually deserted due to the lunch hour; Huey and Dewey had even persuaded Welsh to eat out for once.

Fraser looked up from the piece of paper he was holding. "The witness said he heard no struggling or screaming. Was it possible that the killer made his move in the apartment before throwing Victoria down the stairs?"

Ray shook his head. "If that was so, there would have been a significant difference in the way her neck was broken. I mean, you can usually tell when a neck has been broken by hand, and when a neck has been broken by other means."

"I get it," said Walker. " If the killer broke Victoria's neck by hand, the spinal cord would have been twisted badly. No, we got a clean rupture. Damn thing snapped right in half."

"Any theories, Lib--Walker?" Fraser asked, while sneaking shy glances at her.

"No. I was gonna suggest that a blunt object was used, but there would have been severe bruising in that case, so I don't have a clue."

"What about you, Ray? Do you have anything?" Fraser asked Ray, even though he was still looking at Walker.

"The only way I think it could have happened was that the killer was already in the apartment when Victoria came in," stated Ray. "He somehow rendered her totally immobile, and then he tossed her down the stairs."

"So what you're saying is that you think someone used a taser gun on her?" asked Fraser.

Ray grinned. "Bingo!"

"Damn, this place is too quiet," said Walker. "Where is everybody?"

"At lunch," Ray replied. "Speaking of which, I'm kind of hungry myself. I thought I'd go and get us some sandwiches. What do you like on yours?"

"Doesn't matter to me," said Fraser.

Walker laughed. "Anything but mayo."

"Okay," said Ray. "I'll get some chips and pop, too." He got up from his desk and left the bullpen for the nearest sandwich shop.

Walker crossed over and sat at Ray's desk. "Nice desk," she said. "Doesn't have all the scratches and graffiti that my old desk had on it."

She opened Ray's big drawer, where she proceeded to gawk in amazement and pull out a spare Armani shirt. "Jeez Louise!" she exclaimed. "Like he doesn't have enough of these at home!"

A light suddenly came into Walker's eyes. She put the shirt on and moved her eyebrows rapidly.

"What are you doing, Walker?" Fraser asked.

"What am I doing?" Walker was imitating Ray. "I could ask you the same thing about that uniform of yours. I'll tell you one thing--you better not wear that to the United Center. The Bulls play there--they'll rip you apart with that big red thing you're wearing!"

"What?"

"They better not do it around me, though." She was milking the performance with everything she had. "I don't want your blood ruining this shirt--you've ruined too many of my suits already."

"Now I get it." Fraser caught on. "You're Vecchio."

Walker rolled her eyes in jest. "Charlie, tell Dudley Do-Right what he's won."

"A rather good impersonation, but there's only one thing wrong."

"What's that?" Walker's curiosity was roused.

Fraser smiled. "I wouldn't do this with Vecchio." As he said it, Fraser walked over to where Walker was sitting, removed his Stetson and set it on Ray's desk. He came up behind her, leaned forward, and very gently kissed her on the eyebrow.

Walker froze for a minute before getting up and walking to the other side of Ray's desk as Fraser sat down in the vacated chair. When she spoke, her voice was shaky. "Constable Fraser, I appreciate your affection, but I have to tell you something. Here in the U.S., we have a concept called the professional relationship. This is usually applied in places of work--"

Fraser cut her off. "I know what a professional relationship is. For the most part, they're the only kind of relationships I've had." He was silent for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice carried a sense of innocent seduction that even Ray would have argued wasn't characteristic of him. "Come here, Walker, if you want to."

Walker hesitated for a second as she looked down. When she mustered up the courage to look up, she found herself staring into Fraser's eyes. Her eyes showed a faint glimmer brightening by the second, while his eyes were already blazing hot. She slowly walked toward Fraser in a trance, toward the chair, and right next to him, where she leaned forward and kissed him on the exact same spot where she had punched him.

Fraser's eyes brightened. "You were saying about a professional relationship?"

Walker fumbled for her voice. "I was going to say, when other people are in the workplace, but it appears that even Welsh is off stuffing his face--"

Fraser cut her off again. "Exactly my point, Libby."

Walker was startled at being addressed by her first name. "Okay, forget I said anything." Her voice suddenly dropped. "Is there anyplace I can sit?"

"How about here?" In a very un-Benton-ly manner, Fraser gestured toward his lap. Walker opened her mouth to protest, but Fraser tugged on her wrist insistently. His strength pulled Walker toward him, so that it was impossible not to end up sitting on his lap.

Walker chuckled. "You're new at this, aren't you?"

"What gives you that idea?" Fraser asked softly.

"Your face is redder than your serge."

"It is not," said Fraser as he put his arms around Walker.

"Yes, it is." Walker brought her hand to Fraser's face. The two looked into each other's eyes for a few minutes.

"Libby..." Fraser's voice was almost inaudible.

Walker tried to mouth the word "Benton," but she was halted by the pressure of Fraser's lips on her own. The two sat in Ray's chair, holding each other tightly and kissing each other passionately. They were so caught up in their strong emotion that neither one noticed Ray walking into the bullpen with three each of subs, bags of chips, and sodas.

Ray froze dead when he saw the scene in front of him. Fraser and Walker were sitting in his chair, Fraser's Stetson on the desk next to Walker's feet, Walker wearing his spare Armani shirt, Fraser gently planting a kiss on her Adam's apple, the two of them in a tight embrace.

Ray wasn't sure what to be more shocked about--the fact that Walker had found--and was wearing--his spare Armani, or the fact that Fraser was apparently in love with someone other than Victoria. At any rate, his surprise was made apparent. "Oh, my God!"

Fraser and Walker pulled away, both red in the face. Ray couldn't tell if it was from newfound love or embarrassment at his having walked in on them.

"Fraser, you finally found yourself a girl!"

Walker smiled. "Hey Benton, I guess we can split the third sandwich because Vecchio looks like he's lost his appetite!" She got up off of Fraser's lap.

Ray spread the food on his desk. "Nice try, Walker. Now can you two put on the appearance of a professional relationship so we can discuss this case?"

"Sure." Fraser was nonchalant. "What do you have?"

"I thought about how the body was found." Ray pulled up two more chairs for Fraser and Walker. "Aside from the bruises, Victoria sustained no severe trauma to the head, which would normally knock someone out cold."

"So it was a taser gun!" Walker exclaimed.

"You know, I think we might have something." Ray, Fraser, and Walker sat down to eat.

-----

As Ray, Fraser, and Walker were discussing the case over lunch, Stanley and Mitchell were walking down to the morgue. Both felt rather uneasy, Stanley especially.

Stanley's uneasiness showed in his voice. "How the hell did I get roped into accompanying you to the morgue?"

"What's the matter, Kowalski?" Mitchell asked derisively. "Can't stand to be around a few dead bodies?"

"Where's Vecchio? He's your partner, I'm not!"

"How the hell should I know? I'm not his babysitter!"

They continued fighting as they entered the morgue. The morgue attendant, Mort, was humming, ironically, Copland's "Appalachian Spring" as he was investigating a nearby body. Another body lay not far away and was covered by a white sheet.

Stanley turned deathly pale, almost the color of the sheet. "Aw man, I can't take this!" he said under his breath.

Mitchell walked over to the lonely body and smirked as she ripped away the sheet. "Oh, come on, Kowalski. It's just a dead body. What, you think it's going to jump up and grab you?"

Stanley was now the color of the sheet. "No!"

Mort's humming could no longer be heard. "So what is it that we're looking for?" Mitchell asked.

"I don't know." Stanley tried to keep his nerves in check. "What kind of marks does a taser leave?"

"Burn marks, I guess." Mitchell paused. "Something's wrong."

"What?"

"It's awfully quiet in here."

Stanley listened for a minute, then walked over to the door and tried it. "Damn!"

"What?" asked Mitchell.

Stanley tried the door again, and then he turned to Mitchell with a look of utter shock and dismay. "It's locked!"

"You're kidding."

Stanley shook his head. "No, I'm not."

Mitchell ran to the door and pulled on it. When that didn't work, she began pounding on it. "Hey! Let us out! God damn it, let us out of here!"

Stanley shook his head. "They can't hear us."

"What?" Mitchell was incredulous.

Stanley gestured toward the walls. "Soundproof."

-----

As Stanley and Mitchell were trying to beat their way out of the morgue, Ray, Fraser, and Walker were still sitting at Ray's desk, reexamining the evidence and finishing their lunch. Unknown to Ray, Fraser and Walker were holding hands under the desk, and unknown to Fraser, Ray was slipping Dief the remains of his sandwich.

Dief was appeased. He let out with a single, low "Woof."

"So what do we do now?" Ray asked.

Fraser was a bit hesitant to speak, but he said, "Do you think we should go down to the morgue and check the body?"

"Kowalski and Mitchell are down there already," said Ray.

"Another reason for us to go down there," said Walker. "If we don't, we'll have two more dead bodies down there."

"We're probably too late for that," Ray retorted.

Fraser sighed. "With any luck, Kowalski probably passed out the minute he walked in."

"Is he afraid of dead bodies?" Walker asked.

Fraser nodded. "Very much afraid."

"I bet Mitchell is eating that up," Walker retorted. The three then heard the phone ring in Welsh's office.

Ray got up. "I'll get that." He immediately darted for the phone, leaving Walker and Fraser alone.

Walker took the time to voice a rather deep concern. "Fraser, you were practically devastated at the crime scene yesterday. What happened between then and now?"

Fraser thought for a minute before he spoke. "I had a chance to think things over last night when I got home. The thing was, I did love her, but I..." His voice faltered a bit before he moved on. "It was disconcerting even when I was with her, because I knew that I had to turn her in." He paused. "When she killed Jolly for blackmailing her, I was torn, as I was at the train-having to decide whether to go with her or after her. I was still torn as I was lying in the hospital--thanks to Ray. I just...I don't know--I was sad when I heard of her death, but in a way, I guess I was relieved that she wouldn't ever haunt me again." Another pause followed. "I went out last night and threw a rose into Lake Michigan for her as a testament to whatever love existed between us. I loved her, but it's time for me to move on and start fresh."

"Wise thing for you to do," said Walker. "But of all the women here at the precinct and at the Consulate, why did you decide on me?"

"Like I said, you seemed like a strong woman, and everything I've seen of you so far proves it," said Fraser. "You also were willing to listen to my life story without yawning or fidgeting as if you wanted to leave."

Walker smiled briefly, then resumed a straight face. "Don't flip when I ask you this, but will going to the morgue bother you?"

Fraser shifted uncomfortably. "Probably. I was one of the first ones out there. You were talking to the medical examiner."

"You mentioned that you saw her body already."

"I did," said Fraser, "but I think it would be totally horrifying in the morgue. It would make the reality of her death seem too..."

"Real." Walker finished.

"Yes."

"I'll understand if you don't want to come." Walker reached over and hugged Fraser. Fraser returned the hug as Ray came back into the bullpen.

Ray was incredulous. "Can't you guys carry on a professional relationship for at least five seconds?"

Walker rolled her eyes. "Take a class in sensitivity, Vecchio," she muttered under her breath as she kissed Fraser's cheek to spite him.

Fraser chuckled as the two separated. "Who was that on the phone?"

"Welsh's wife," said Ray. "She was calling about a possible night at the opera." He rolled his eyes as he said it. He paused. "Kowalski and Mitchell back yet?"

"No," said Fraser.

It was Walker's turn to roll her eyes. "They probably killed each other."

Ray took charge. "I'm going down there."

"Ditto," said Walker. She turned to Fraser. "I'll be back in a few minutes. We can talk when I do." She grabbed Fraser's shoulder and kissed him quickly on the corner of the mouth. "Till then." She patted him on the shoulder before she followed Ray out of the bullpen.

-----

In the morgue, a storm was brewing. Stanley and Mitchell were having it out verbally, and it had gotten to the point where Mitchell had Stanley by the collar and was getting ready to punch his lights out.

As Mitchell was about to deliver the first punch, the lock to the door clicked. Ray and Walker flung it open to reveal the trapped detectives in a rather unprofessional position.

"Who the hell locked the door?" Ray asked.

"I don't know," said Mitchell. "I'm just glad you're here."

"Why is that?" Walker asked.

"So I can get the hell out of here and away from this idiot."

"Idiot?!" Stanley was incredulous. "You're calling me an idiot? Who's the one who kept banging on the doors after I said they were soundproof?"

"Shut up!"

"No, you shut up!"

Ray shook his head and laughed as Stanley and Mitchell engaged in yet another verbal battle.

"What's so funny?" asked Walker.

"They remind me of my sisters."

Walker managed a wry smile. "This is minor league compared to what my two brothers engaged in, combat-wise."

Ray looked down and noticed that Walker was still wearing his spare Armani. He tugged on the tail of it gently. "Can I have this back?"

Walker took the shirt off. "Here you go." She tried to hand Ray the shirt, but he suddenly waved her aside.

"I'm going to break this scuffle up." Ray walked over to Mitchell and Stanley, only to see that the former had the latter by the shirt collar. "Hey, come on, let's break this up!"

Mitchell dropped Stanley and belted Ray on the side of the nose.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!"

"Maybe you shouldn't have stuck your nose in!" said Mitchell.

"Bad choice of words, considering that Vecchio's nose is bleeding," said Walker.

Ray brought his hand to his nose and touched it gently, only to find that Walker was telling the truth. "Damn!"

"Mitchell! Ray!" Fraser's voice could be heard outside the entrance to the morgue. When Walker heard his voice, she turned her attention to the uncovered body she was standing next to. As she looked at it, she recognized it as Victoria Metcalf, Fraser's ex-lover. Walker immediately positioned herself so Fraser didn't see her face, and she proceeded to investigate Victoria's body.

Fraser entered the immediate area from which Stanley left. Upon looking at Ray, he said, "Ray, what the heck happened to you?"

"You don't want to know." Ray's response was clipped, terse, and tight.

"Leftenant Welsh just got back," said Fraser. "He wants to see you and Mitchell now."

"Damn." Ray brought a hand to his bleeding nose. He glared at Mitchell. "Let's go."

Walker came out of the morgue as Ray and Mitchell left. "You guys are going to be happy when I tell you what I found," she said. She suddenly noticed Stanley looking deathly pale. "Hello in there! You okay?"

"I need some coffee," said Stanley.

"Better get some Sprees while you're at it," Walker pointed out. Stanley looked at her in confusion before he left.

Once Fraser and Walker were alone, Fraser asked, "What did you find?"

"I was looking over Victoria as you were sending Vecchio and Mitchell out of here." Walker paused. "Upon closer inspection, I found a pair of raised bumps on her lower back."

"Taser marks?" Fraser asked.

"I'd bet my life on it.

Fraser reached over and touched Walker's cheek. "You're cold."

Walker shivered and knew she couldn't deny it. "I guess I am."

"Here." Fraser carefully unbuttoned his red serge jacket and took it off. "This should help," he said as he placed the serge on Walker's shoulders.

"Thanks." Walker looked down and noticed that she was still holding Ray's spare shirt. "Is Vecchio ever going to get this back?"

Fraser shrugged his shoulders. "At least he wasn't bleeding on it."

-----

Ray and Mitchell walked into Welsh's office very slowly. Ray's nose was still bleeding, and Mitchell's hands were bruised and bloody from when she was beating on the doors to the morgue.

Welsh spoke up. "What the hell happened to your nose, Vecchio?"

"Let's just say I met up with fate and fate didn't like me."

Welsh grabbed a tissue off the box on his desk and handed it to Ray. "Here," he said as Ray took it. "I don't want you bleeding all over my office."

"Gee, thanks," Ray muttered as he applied the appropriate pressure to his bleeding nose.

Welsh then noticed Mitchell's beaten up hands. "Mitchell, what the hell happened to your hands?"

"I met up with a door." Mitchell's voice carried the message, "Pry any further and I'll show you how I did!"

Welsh held up his hands. "I won't even ask." He paused, then continued. "Here's why I called you in here--we got more bad news."

"You mean what by that?" Mitchell asked.

"Our lady killer has struck again. Another stiff."

Ray took a moment to soak this in, then asked, "Who was it?"

"They don't know." Welsh wrung his hands as he spoke. "We do know it was female. She was floating face down in the Chicago River. We couldn't identify her at the scene because she was nude. She didn't have anything on her in the way of identification."

"Damn." Mitchell looked down at her shoes.

"Do they know whether or not it was a suicide?" Ray asked.

"Highly unlikely. Someone would have noticed a nudist jumping off a bridge. It had to be a homicide."

"Was a description given?" Ray asked.

Welsh nodded. "Five-six, skinny, blond hair, blue eyes." Welsh paused. "What's really disturbing is that she sounds like the State's Attorney."

Ray was incredulous. "Stella?"

"Who?" Mitchell was confused.

"State's Attorney Kowalski. Stanley's ex-wife."

Mitchell decided to speak. "Why don't you call her?"

"I did. Her secretary says she hasn't been in for a few days. I called her at home as well. No answer." Welsh paused. "It could be her."

"This isn't good." Ray's distress was apparent. "If it is, Kowalski's gonna lose his mind."

"Do we have the body yet?" Mitchell asked.

"It's still at the crime scene. They'll bring it in when they're done. In about half an hour."

"We'll meet them in the morgue."

-----

When Ray and Mitchell reached the morgue, they found Fraser and Walker already there. They appeared to be carrying on a professional discussion, but Ray could detect the reddish tint in their cheeks that suggested yet another round of tongue wrestling had taken place.

Ray rolled his eyes. "Never fails, does it? I leave you two alone--"

"Can it, Detective Armani." Walker's voice was cold.

"What the hell is going on?" asked Mitchell.

"Long story." Ray rolled his eyes. "They've been like this all day."

"This is the first time I've seen Big Red's face redder than his serge!" said Mitchell.

Ray turned to Fraser and Walker. "Did you two see a body coming in?"

"Yeah." Walker spoke up. "Two. You guys."

"Besides us." Ray ignored the glint in Walker's eye, not sure if it was from the round of tonsil-hockey that she had played with Fraser or her sense of humor.

Mort walked into the morgue, humming Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries." "Vat are you ladies and gentle men looking for?" he asked.

"Another body," said Ray. "They found it in the Chicago River."

"Ven vas zis?"

Ray cleared his throat. "Half an hour ago."

"Forty five minutes." This from Mitchell.

"Excuse me!" Ray glared at Mitchell again.

"Another one?" Fraser asked.

"Unfortunately, yes." Ray paused. "Welsh thinks it might be the State's Attorney."

"Oh, no," said Fraser.

"Why?" Walker's curiosity was roused. "Who's the State's Attorney?"

"Kowalski's ex-wife."

Mitchell raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know anybody could stand him long enough to be married to him." She paused. "So what's her name? Stella?"

"Actually, yes." Ray's voice was cold. "I mentioned that in Welsh's office."

"Oh, god." Mitchell was speechless. "Please tell me you're kidding."

Fraser opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the entrance of Huey, Dewey, and five or more morgue technicians. They were carrying a body with them.

"Where did you find this one, Jack?" Ray asked.

"The Chicago River." Huey glanced around. "This one looks like it could be Kowalski's ex."

"Damn." Ray cursed under his breath as the body was wheeled into the morgue. He turned to Mitchell. "Let's go." He then turned toward Fraser and Walker. "We'll do this ourselves. No offense, but the way you two have been, you wouldn't get anything done."

"We'll watch, just the same," said Walker as she and Fraser followed Ray and Mitchell into the morgue.

"Now what?" asked Mitchell.

"We take a look," said Dewey. He and Huey had stayed behind after all the morgue technicians had left.

Huey pulled back the sheet. Underneath was a female body that matched the given description. "My god," he mused. "It does look like Stella."

"I don't want to tell Kowalski if it is," said Dewey.

"Well, we don't know her from Eve, nor did we ever." Mitchell was growing impatient. "Let's start investigating this. Look for anything abnormal."

"I'll get her prints," Walker volunteered as she ran over to the equipment table and grabbed an inkpad and a sheet of paper. She ran over to the body and inked up its fingertips, then transferred them to the paper.

"Find anything unusual?" asked Huey.

"Not yet," said Mitchell as she searched for a few minutes. Suddenly, "What the hell is this?"

Ray walked over to her. "What did you find?"

"Two sets of welts on the lower back." Mitchell turned the body over and showed everyone the bumps on the girl's back. "Take a look."

The detectives crowded around for a closer look.

"Omigod," said Walker. "Victoria had those bumps on her back--"

"And so did the other victims!" exclaimed Ray.

"Taser marks," said Dewey. "This girl must have been stunned twice before she was thrown overboard. Once to remove her clothing and identification--"

"And again so she couldn't resist when she was tossed into the river!" said Mitchell.

"Like I said, that's a horrible way to die," said Walker. "I'm going to run these through the police computer. See what I can dig up."

"I'll come with you." Fraser joined Walker as she left the morgue.

"So from what I've heard, Fraser's gotten over Victoria," said Huey when Fraser and Walker had left.

"Yeah." Ray looked around. "He's spending more time playing tonsil-hockey with Walker than doing his job."

"Fraser??!" Dewey was incredulous. "Mister Dudley-Do-Right-Tuktoyaktuk-Thank-You-Kindly, Mister I'm-Scared-Of-Women-So-Please-Put-The-Gun-And-Lingerie-Away-Before-I-Scream-In-Sheer-Terror, making love to one of our own here?"

"For all I know, they could have gone that far," said Ray.

"Not Fraser." Huey was adamant. "He's too much of a gentleman."

Mitchell decided to jump in and change the subject. "So, do you guys think it's the same guy who's doing this, or does he have accomplices?"

"Probably the same guy," said Ray. "As for accomplices, I don't know."

"I don't have a clue as to who could be helping either," said Dewey. "I don't know who would want to participate in such a sick crime."

"I have to agree," said Huey. "I mean, only a real sick bastard would get any considerable amount of pleasure from throwing immobile women to a watery grave."

The four nodded in silent agreement. For five minutes, nobody said anything.

Ray finally stood up and said, "I'm going to see if Fraser and Walker are actually working."

"We were." The voice belonged to Walker. She and Fraser were standing in the doorway.

"What do you have?" asked Dewey.

"Good news and bad news," said Fraser.

Ray turned pale, but he swallowed his anxiety. "The good news?"

"We got a positive ID on the stiff," said Walker.

"And the bad news?" Dewey egged her on.

Walker hesitated before she opened her mouth again. "Um..."

"Spit it out, Walker!" Ray was losing his patience.

Walker took a deep breath. "The hard drive crashed right after the results were printed."

Ray shook his head. "Welsh is going to flip."

"There's more good news, though," said Fraser. "It's not Stella."

Ray sighed with relief. "Thank God."

"I'll say." Walker stretched her arms as Welsh stalked into the morgue.

"Did you identify the body yet?" Welsh asked.

"Yes, we did," said Fraser, not wanting to break the news to him about the crashed hard drive.

"And?" Welsh was getting impatient.

Walker checked the sheet she had in her hands. "The victim was identified as Regina Birks, age thirty-three."

"Good." Welsh sounded relieved. "It's not Stella." He paused. "Then why did you have the deer-in-the-headlights look on your face when I came in?"

Fraser spoke up. "The hard drive crashed right after we got the results." "Does that happen regularly?" asked Walker.

"You have no idea."

"Is that what you came down here for?" Huey asked Welsh.

"What's going on down here?" It was Stanley.

"What brings you down here, Kowalski?" Ray asked.

"I needed to ask my partner--"

"What, Kowalski?" Walker asked.

Stanley braced himself and walked into the morgue. "I was told that you had the set of--"

His words came to an abrupt halt as he received a glimpse of the body. His eyes strayed up and down the corpse of the girl that had been brought in. He stood there in shock, numbly moving his mouth, but no sound came out.

Do something, Walker thought. He thinks it's his ex. Set him straight.

Stanley finally regained his voice. "STELLA!" he shouted in anguish. As he knelt down and placed his head on his arms, he began to cry.

Walker tapped Stanley on the shoulder. "Kowalski!" she shouted.

"Leave me alone!"

"Just look at this! Trust me!"

After a few minutes, Stanley looked up, red-eyed, as Walker handed him the print identification results. As Stanley read them, his grief turned quickly to total mortification.

"Regina Birks?" he said, red in the face from total embarrassment. "I've been sobbing over a stiff named Regina Birks?"

Ray was trying to suppress a laugh. "Yes, Stan, you have," he said.

Stanley got up off the floor and wiped his eyes. "I feel like a total idiot," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Not like it's an out-of-body experience," said Mitchell. Stanley and Walker both glared at her.

"You have to admit, though," said Huey. "That girl was a dead ringer for Stella."

"I'm going to go upstairs and see if I can't get in touch with Stella," said Welsh. "I still don't know where she is."

"Good luck," said Ray as Welsh left the morgue.

"I, uh, gotta go pick something up," said Mitchell. "If Welsh asks, I'm on my lunch break."

"Okay," said Dewey as Mitchell exited the morgue.

Stanley was still shaking his head. "Jeez, I'm thinkin' I need a good kick in the head!"

"It could be worse," said Walker as she and Stanley walked out of the immediate morgue area and sat down. "I know someone who once brought a Chihuahua home from Mexico, only for it to die a few days later and for someone to find out it was really a Mexican sewer rat!"

Stanley looked like he was about to throw up. "Really?" he asked.

"She's lying," said Dewey. "That's one of the oldest urban legends going."

"Shut up, Duck Boy," said Walker. She turned to Stanley. "My point is, you're not alone. People have screwed up worse than that."

"I wonder if people have actually screwed up that badly," said Stanley.

"Who knows?" asked Walker. "You never know how many of those legends might be true."

-----

Later on in the day, Stanley and Walker were going over the evidence found on the body of Regina Birks, while Ray and Fraser were going over the rap sheets of anybody who might be a suspect. Unknown to Stanley, who was at Walker's desk, Dief was eating the Twinkies on his desk.

Dief was appeased. He let out with a single, low "Woof."

"What's Dief woofing about?" Stanley asked.

"He usually does that when he gets some food that Fraser doesn't know about," said Ray from across the bullpen.

"If he--" Stanley suddenly turned around, only to find that Dief was sitting in his chair, licking his lips. The Twinkies were gone.

"Fraser!" Stanley yelled. "Your wolf just scarfed down the last of my Twinkies!"

"Dief, come here. Now, you ingrate." Fraser seemed angry.

"Why is Fraser so irate all of a sudden?" Walker asked.

"Fraser has Dief on a diet. He won't let him near the junk food, but Dief has his ways."

"I can imagine that," said Walker. "From what Vecchio told me, Dief has been notorious for stealing donuts from the people on duty here."

"And Fraser owes quite a bit of money for those donuts," said Ray.

Dief suddenly lifted his nose and started barking. His loud reports startled everyone in the bullpen.

"What the hell?" Ray shouted. "Easy, Amaroq!" Mitchell said to the dog as she tried to calm him down. As she was doing this, she noticed almost everyone staring at her. "What? Are you gonna call the Enquirer?"

"Woof!" Dief replied.

"I'll take that as a no." Ray walked over to Mitchell and got a good look at the dog. "What's its name?" he asked.

"His name is Amaroq." Mitchell looked directly at Dief, who was eyeing the new arrival with something resembling envy.

"What kind of dog is it?" asked Walker.

"German shepherd."

"What kind of name is Amaroq?" Ray asked.

"Amaroq is the Inuit word for 'spirit of the wolf'," said Fraser.

"Interesting," said Mitchell.

"Does it eat a lot?" Stanley asked.

"He's a hungry guy," said Mitchell as she turned to her dog. "Aren't you, Amaroq?"

"Let's test him." Walker picked a donut off of Ray's desk and held it in the air. "COME AND GET IT!"

Amaroq and Dief immediately tackled her. The two battled over the donut in her hand before finally lunging for it with their teeth and tearing it in half.

"Diefenbaker!" yelled Fraser. "Have you no shame?"

"His radar's better than Dief's," Walker said as she got up off the ground.

"Hey Walker, you wanna help me out here?" Stanley was getting impatient.

Walker went back to her desk, where Stanley was giving her computer a murderous look. "What did you do now, Kowalski?" she asked.

"The thing went down on me," Stanley muttered. "I don't know what the heck happened."

"What happened?"

"I was entering the data on the computer, and then suddenly the screen went black on me."

"Damn." Walker sat down at the computer and looked over it. "Were you working on any files on the disk in conjunction with the report you were working on?"

"Yes."

"Were you done with the file?"

"Yes."

"Did you remove the disk before you closed the file?"

"Yes."

"That explains it." Walker paused. "Did you save everything?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying?"

"No."

"Okay." Walker shut off her computer and rebooted it. "Just get back on the program you were on before this fiasco happened. And remember to close every file on your floppy disk before you remove it."

"Gotcha." Stanley went back to work.

"Hey Walker, could you come over here for a few minutes?" Ray asked.

Walker sprinted over to Ray's desk. "What?"

"I need your help with this. Welsh says I gotta narrow down the list of suspects or my ass is his."

"What about Mitchell?"

"Her dog might slobber all over the computer."

"Okay."

The phone on Ray's desk rang. Ray picked it up. "What?"

There was nothing on the other end. Just the dial tone.

"Damn!" Ray was mad. "Stupid son-of-a-bitch!"

"Crank call?" Walker asked.

Ray nodded. "Bastard," he muttered. "Anyway, I can't fathom who it would be. There's too many prospects out there."

"How many have a history of killing women?" Walker asked.

"You know, I never bothered to check."

Walker stifled an urge to berate Ray. "Then check already."

"Yes, sergeant," Ray muttered as he set about searching the files.

Walker raised an eyebrow at Ray's remark before heading back to her desk, where Stanley was working. "Fix it yet?"

"Yeah." Stanley was caught up in the report he was writing. "Didn't lose anything."

"Good," said Walker as her cell phone rang. She picked it up. "Road Kill Caf--You Kill 'Em, We Grill 'Em."

"Excuse me?" said the voice on the other line.

"I'm sorry," said Walker. "I was just trying to put a smile on your face and get you to breathe easier, life's too short to be PO'ed all the time." She paused. "Who is this?"

"This is Stella Kowalski, the State's Attorney. Is Detective Kowalski there?"

"Yes, he is, but I have a question for you, my dear Stella," said Walker. "How did you get my cell number?"

"I spoke with Commissioner Fitzgerald a week ago. He gives me the information on every officer and detective entering or leaving any precinct in Chicago." Stella paused before she spoke again. "I didn't want to tie up the police lines, because I'm afraid they might be tapped."

"What's wrong?" Walker asked. "You sound scared."

"I am." Stella's apprehension was easily detectable in her voice.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at Brother's Coffee and Bagels on Michigan Avenue. I don't know the exact--"

Walker cut Stella off. "That's all right. I know where Brother's is. Two North Michigan. I'm a regular there." She took a deep breath and thought fast before she spoke again. "Listen, I want you to stay in that shop, okay? Detective Kowalski and I will be there as soon as possible to pick you up." She paused. "And while you're there, try their Mudpie High. It's good."

Stella managed a shaky laugh. "Okay. But please, come quick."

"Will do."

Stella killed the connection.

Walker hung up. "Kowalski!" she yelled. "Come with me."

"I heard every word." Stanley grabbed his jacket off of his chair.

"Dewey!" Walker yelled. "Finish up the report on my desk. Tell Welsh that Kowalski and I are going to pick up the State's Attorney."

"Which one?"

"Kowalski's ex."

Stanley followed Walker as she sprinted out of the bullpen.

-----

Stanley sighed as Walker sped down the streets of Chicago in her black 1979 Chevy Camaro toward the coffee shop that Stella had phoned her from. He couldn't think straight. From what Walker had told him, Stella sounded petrified over the phone. She sounded as if she was afraid that someone was going to make an attempt on her life. Stanley just hoped they'd make it to the coffee shop in time. He had already had one scare with the Regina Birks mess. He didn't want the scare to become a reality.

"We're here," Walker said as she parked the Camaro next to the coffee shop.

Walker was on Stanley's heels as they tore toward the coffee shop at blazing speed. Stanley shoved the doors wide open to find his ex-wife huddled in a corner, sipping a coffee drink and trying to calm down. He rushed over to her. "Are you okay?" he asked as he put his arms around her.

Stella Kowalski was shaking as she held on to her ex-husband for dear life. "I'm scared, Stan."

Walker found her way over to them and sat down. "My car's waiting right outside. You're safe now, Stella. No one's going to harm you."

"Are you Walker?"

"It's Detective Walker to my associates and Libby to you." Walker extended her hand.

Stella grasped her hand and pulled herself up. "Thank you, Libby," she said.

"Come on." Stanley guided Stella toward the door. "The sooner we get back to the 27th, the better."

-----

The ride back to the precinct was quiet. Walker drove at her usual breakneck speed, but to Stanley and Stella, the ride seemed too slow.

When they arrived at the 27th, Stanley held Stella close to him as they followed Walker into the precinct. The fact that they had been divorced for some time didn't effect Stanley's feelings for his ex-wife; he would kill the person responsible for putting her through this.

As the three entered the bullpen, Walker suddenly realized that Welsh was standing in front of his office, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Where the hell were you two?" Welsh demanded.

"Dewey didn't tell you?" Walker asked. "I told him to tell you. And besides, I thought you'd be happy that we found Stella. You were looking for her, the last I recall."

Welsh paused for a minute before he spoke. "Dewey left a few minutes before I came back," he explained. He turned to Stella. "I was at your place, trying to find you. I just got back a minute ago."

"I haven't been at home for awhile." Stella's voice was shaky. "I've been staying at a motel under a false name and under the protection of a Doberman ever since the lady killer case hit close to home. One of my neighbor's sitters was a victim, as was my landlord's hairdresser. When I heard about the Metcalf girl--Victoria--and the girl who looked like me, I began to doubt whether I was safe at all, even with the protective measures."

Walker turned to Welsh. "I don't know what to make of the first string of murders, but judging by the last two, it seems someone is targeting us." She turned to Fraser. "Fraser, before Victoria was killed, did you have any knowledge as to her whereabouts at the time?"

"No." Fraser sounded disconcerted. "She was still at large. I don't know who could have tracked her down. Certainly not a law enforcement agent--he wouldn't have done what the killer did."

"Is the incident with Victoria in your personnel file?"

"Yes. No conviction, though."

Stella nodded. Unlike the other State's Attorney, Louise St. Laurent, she understood what had happened with Fraser and Victoria, and she didn't condemn Fraser for it at all. She knew how misleading love could be, after the fiasco with Frank Orsini.

"Stan." Walker turned toward Stanley. "Is your marital status given in your personnel file?"

"I believe so." Stanley thought for a minute. "Someone's targeting us."

"How?" asked Welsh.

"Think about it. First Victoria, Fraser's ex-lover. Now there's a girl in the morgue who looks exactly like Stella here. I don't think this is coincidence. The first string of murders must have been to throw us off. I think we're being targeted. I don't want to be an alarmist, but I think Vecchio's sisters are next."

"What?" Ray, having overheard everything, marched up to the four.

"If I were you, Ray, I'd get your mom, Maria, Tony, and the kids out of there and under heavy protection until we nail the bastard who's responsible for this," said Stanley.

"Why?"

"Hey look, Ray. I know you're pissed beyond belief about the Riv. I was, too. I don't blame you. If someone set my GTO on fire and drove it into Lake Michigan, I'd be pissed too. But that's not the point. If you're that upset about the Riv, then I'd hate to see how you'd be if we had to carry one of your sisters, nieces, nephews, or your mom into the morgue."

The thought sent an unpleasant chill down Ray's spine. He couldn't begin to imagine what life would be like without his family. Since his own father had neglected to take care of the Vecchio family, Ray had been the glue that held his family together, comforting them whenever their dad was off on one of his alcohol-induced rampages and assuring them that everything would be all right. He was the one who had to be strong for his family, as much as he wanted to let his tears spill over. Holding his mother's hand as she tried to go to sleep at night, sometimes insisting that Maria and Francesca spend the night in his room so they would feel safer with him around. Ray remembered getting out his extra sleeping bags when his sisters were so scared of their father that they didn't even feel safe in their own bedrooms. Ray remembered the happiness that he shared with Maria when he saw her walking down the aisle with Tony. He also remembered comforting Francesca when she left her abusive husband. He remembered Maria's joy when she gave birth to Michael and Teresa, beaming with pride as he realized that he was now an uncle. As annoyingly lazy as Tony was, he was likable in an odd sort of way, and Ray loved him for making Maria the happiest woman on earth. He couldn't begin to imagine the pain he'd feel if the bastard responsible for all the killings got to one of them. He had always been there for his family--he'd never forgive himself if he didn't bring the son of a bitch in before he struck his family.

"Ray?" Stanley was concerned with Ray's sudden silence. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Ray was shaken by the unpleasant reverie. He grabbed his cell phone off his belt and punched in a number. "Hello...Hi, Ma, how are you? That's good...listen, I want you, Maria, Tony, and the kids to pack your bags and head for Uncle Gino's, okay?...just for a few days...Ma, I'm serious about this. This is for your own good...take the bus, don't drive...please trust me... and when you get there, don't let anyone in...okay...hang on."

Ray put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Benny! Mitchell!"

The two in question looked up. "What is it, Ray?"

"I'm sending my family to my uncle's house in Evanston. I want you to drop Amaroq and Dief off at the bus station with them so they'll have some protection."

"Amaroq doesn't know Vecchio's family," protested Mitchell.

"I'll have Ma bring some junk food for them."

"Works for me," said Mitchell. "Okay. Amaroq can go."

"But I have Dief on a diet," protested Fraser.

"Benny, anyone who gives Dief any kind of junk food is automatically his new best friend," said Ray. "It's worth it to keep my family safe."

"Okay." As much as Dief needed discipline, Fraser was willing to shrug it aside for the safety of his best friend's family.

Ray got back on the phone. "Ma? I'm sending some protection for you...two dogs...yes, Dief is one of them...yes, and both of them are junk food lovers, so buy a box of donuts on the way there...okay...I'll see you in a few days...sooner, I hope...tell everyone I said hi...I love you guys too...bye."

Ray hung up. "They'll be at the Union Station in two hours."

"What about Stella?"

"I'll arrange with Inspector Thatcher to keep her overnight at the Consulate until this thing blows over," said Fraser.

"I'll come with you," said Walker.

Ray smiled. "You actually want to meet the Dragon Lady?"

"I think she can be reasoned with."

"I'll come with you guys," said Stanley. "I'm not letting you guys face the Ice Queen alone."

-----

Stanley parked his GTO in front of the Canadian Consulate. He got out, walked over to the passenger side, opened the door, and helped Stella out of the car. Fraser and Walker climbed out of the back seat.

"So this is the Consulate." Walker raised her eyebrows. "Pretty spiffy."

"It is rather impressive," said Stella.

"Come on." Fraser led the three into the Consulate, where Constable Turnbull greeted them.

"Welcome to Canada," said Turnbull in a warm, cordial voice. "Constable Fraser, good to see you again. Detective Kowalski, you too. And who are these lovely ladies?"

Stella blushed. "Stella Kowalski, State's Attorney."

"Constable Renfield Turnbull." He shook her hand before turning to Walker. "And you are?"

"Detective Elizabeth Walker." Walker took Turnbull's hand and shook it vigorously.

"You're pretty strong, Detective Walker." Turnbull gave her a look that clearly showed that he was impressed by her strength.

"Thank you." Walker smiled.

Inspector Margaret Thatcher walked out of her office as this was going on. "Constable Fraser, where the hell were you?" She possessed the beauty of a porcelain doll, with her pale skin and dark hair, but her manner was as cold as the porcelain she was compared to.

"Hey, I thought we left her in the morgue," Walker whispered to Stanley, who stifled a chuckle.

"I was assisting the 27th in the lady-killer case," explained Fraser. "Speaking of the case, I need to ask a favor of you."

Thatcher's brow furrowed. "Try me."

Walker and Stella stepped forward. "Inspector Thatcher, this is State's Attorney Stella Kowalski," said Walker as she gestured toward Stella. "She has reason to believe that she's a target of the lady killer that has been operating around Chicago. She has had to spend her nights alone in a motel so the killer couldn't find her."

"And who are you?" asked Thatcher.

"Detective Elizabeth Walker."

Fraser took the opportunity to speak up. "We were wondering if you could keep Attorney Kowalski overnight at the Consulate until we catch the killer."

"Please, Inspector." Stanley made the effort to be polite to the woman he dubbed "the Ice Queen." "This is my ex-wife we're talking about here."

Thatcher regarded Stanley with a cold curiosity. She was silent for a few minutes.

"Permission granted."

"Thank you kindly, Inspector," said Fraser.

"We really appreciate this," said Stanley.

Thatcher nodded. "Turnbull."

"Yes, Inspector."

"You are to keep watch over Attorney Kowalski until we receive confirmation that the person responsible for these killings is in the custody of the Chicago Police Department. Do not let her out of your sight for a second."

"Yes, sir."

Stanley embraced Stella tightly. "You're in good hands, Stella," he said. He paused. "You want me to get a few things from your apartment?"

"Just some clothes, some underwear, and some pajamas," said Stella.

"I can get some blankets and a pillow for you," said Turnbull. "Also some hygiene items if you need them."

"Thank you." Stella sounded relieved.

Stanley felt relieved as well. He knew that Turnbull would make good on his order and keep his ex-wife out of danger.

-----

Fraser, Ray, Stanley, Mitchell, and Walker were sitting in the bullpen late that night, looking for the killer on Walker's computer. They still felt tense, but they were relieved that their loved ones were safe.

"You know, this is the first time in ages that I've been able to finish an entire donut," said Ray.

"I'm just glad my sister is on vacation right now," said Walker. "That jerk can't get to her in Ireland."

Stanley was surfing through the criminal files when a file flashed onto the screen. He studied it for a few minutes. "Hey guys, you oughta take a look at this."

The four crowded around the monitor. The mug shot of a redheaded man was pictured on the screen. He was tall and extremely muscular, with a ruddy complexion and a slightly arrogant look on his face that reminded Ray and Fraser of Detective Louis Gardino, who had been killed in an explosion prior to Ray's mob assignment and Stanley's reassignment.

"Who is it?" Mitchell asked.

Stanley spun the monitor around. "Our prime suspect," he said. "Christopher Dillman, age thirty. Convicted of ten counts of first degree murder, sentenced to ten consecutive life terms. He escaped three months ago and has been at large since." He paused. "Dillman's victims were all women, and they were all killed in the same manner--stunned before he did the actual killing. They were either drowned or their necks were broken."

"Like Birks and Victoria," said Mitchell.

"This Dillman guy has some serious issues," said Ray.

"No shit," said Stanley.

"Who put him away?" Mitchell asked.

"I did." Stanley blushed.

"Does he know that Stella is still alive?" asked Fraser.

"Probably not," said Walker as the phone rang. "I got it." She picked up the receiver. "Violent Crimes, Detective Walker speaking."

"Oh, don't you sound like a pretty little thing." The voice was sly and demented.

"Yeah, and you don't." Walker's voice took on a hard edge. "Who the hell is this?"

"This is Stanley's old friend Chris. Is he there, sweetheart?"

Walker guessed that the identity of the caller was that of the killer, and she mouthed his name to her colleagues. "No, he's not, and don't call me sweetheart," she said. "What do you want with him?"

"I just want to have some fun with him, knowing that he's probably lonely and has been since Stella's tragic death."

"Hang on," said Walker. "I just dropped my notepad."

"Fine, sugar pie."

Walker hit the mute button on the phone. "He thinks Stella's dead."

"Sucker," Stanley muttered. "Lead him on."

Walker winked as she hit the mute button again. "I got my pad. So what do you want?"

"I just want to play with Stanley. He could use some company. I want him to meet me at the Columbus Avenue Bridge in half an hour. Bring your buddy Ray too."

"He should be back shortly. Otherwise, I'll radio the message to him. Okay?"

"Fine by me." The connection was killed.

Walker hung up the phone. "Dillman ain't too bright. He wants you and Ray to meet him at the Columbus Avenue Bridge in half an hour."

"I'll come with," said Mitchell. "You guys might need backup."

"Okay." Stanley nodded reluctantly at Mitchell. "Fraser, I want you and Walker to stay behind. If we don't radio in within twenty-five minutes of our departure, I want you guys to come after us, okay?"

"Understood," said Fraser.

"Roger, ten-four, over and out, drill sergeant," said Walker.

The next five minutes were spent rounding up bulletproof vests and loading service revolvers. When everyone--even Fraser--was armed to the teeth, Ray, Stanley, and Mitchell walked down to the parking lot toward Stanley's GTO.

"You get to drive, Ray," said Stanley as he handed Ray the keys. "It won't make up totally for the Riv, but feel honored, because I won't let anyone else drive it."

Ray sat in the driver's seat of the GTO, kind of uneasy. "Okay," he said after a rather long contemplative pause.

Mitchell got into the back seat, pulled out a black cloth, unfolded it, lay down below the seats, and draped the cloth over herself. "Please be careful, Vecchio."

Stanley shut the doors before climbing into the passenger side. "Let's go."

Fraser and Walker looked on as the three drove off.

-----

The three were extremely nervous as they headed for the rendezvous point. Ray kept his eyes on the road, while Stanley kept repeatedly checking his gun. Mitchell was practically hyperventilating in the back seat.

When they reached the rendezvous point, Ray and Stanley punched their vests for good luck. Mitchell took a deep breath and waited.

"Let's do it," said Stanley.

He and Ray got out of the car, and headed for the rendezvous point. They didn't have to wait very long; ten minutes later Christopher Dillman appeared.

"Well, Stanley." His voice carried a hint of sadism. "And Sunshine Ray. Just how are we this evening?"

"Aside from the fact that you killed my ex-wife, I'm perfectly okay."

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry." Dillman leaned in further. "I just get a little irate when certain cops bust my charades."

"Charade?" Ray was incredulous. "You were on a fucking murderous rampage killing innocent people! You call that a charade?"

"That's why I called you here--to pay your friend back." Dillman pulled out a taser gun.

"Shit!" Stanley cursed under his breath.

Ray pulled out his gun. "Drop it."

"Okay." Dillman made a move to drop it, but at the last second aimed it at Stanley and pushed the little button. Two probes shot out, caught Stanley on the arm, and delivered a shock powerful enough to drop him to the ground.

"You bastard!" Ray shouted.

Dillman walked over to Stanley and picked him up. "What say we go for a swim?" he asked.

-----

Mitchell witnessed the scene from the back seat of the GTO. Shit, she thought, that bastard is going to do to Stanley what he thought he did to Stella.

She sprung from the GTO with lightning speed. She was on the scene just as Dillman tossed Stanley over the bridge. "Say hi to Stella for me," he said as he did so.

Mitchell was shocked, but she expected that.

She knew what she had to do.

Mitchell rushed past Dillman, scaled the guardrail, and dove into the river after Stanley.

-----

"Thanks, Turnbull." Walker hung up and turned to Fraser. "Stella's resting okay, but Kowalski, Vecchio, and Mitchell haven't called to check in--neither here nor there." She paused. "What time is it?"

"Past your bedtime," Fraser jokingly answered. Before he knew it, Walker's fingers had closed on the brim of his Stetson and pulled it over his face.

"Ha, ha," said Walker. "How much time has passed?"

"It's five after midnight." Fraser paused as he readjusted his Stetson. "It's been more than twenty-five minutes since they left."

Walker sat in thought for a few minutes, then suddenly grabbed the keys to her Camaro. "Let's go. I'm driving."

Fraser and Walker dashed down the stairs, out the door, and to her Camaro. They got in--Walker on the driver's side--buckled up, and Walker gunned the ignition.

"Grab a bag out of the glove compartment, Fraser."

Fraser immediately obeyed. "Why?"

"I don't want you throwing up into your Stetson." Walker peeled out of the parking lot.

Fraser soon realized what she meant. As Walker wove dangerously in and out of the traffic, Fraser was hanging on for dear life.

"Slow down! For the love of God, Libby, PLEASE SLOW DOWN!!"

"We're almost there, Fraser!" said Walker as she ran a stop light, made a sharp turn and raced up a one-way street. "Don't worry--I know what I'm doing! I used to chase robbers all over the place with my old precinct! Believe me, this is minor league!"

"Now I'm worried." Fraser shut his eyes tight as Walker jumped onto Columbus Avenue and sped toward the bridge. She braked as she spotted Ray facing Dillman, stopping fifteen yards away.

"Guess what, Benton?" asked Walker. "You're alive. As for my driving, I only drive like this when I have to. Not normally." She studied Fraser. "Are you okay?"

"I'll live." Fraser paused. "There's no way Ray would let you drive the Riv."

"Assuming he can get it out of Lake Michigan." Walker studied the scene in front of her. "Oh, crap. This is the last thing I need--a standoff." Fortunately, Dillman didn't notice as Walker turned off her headlights. Walker pulled out her gun and loaded it with the rapidity of Ray's chatter outside.

"Where's Kowalski?" Fraser asked.

Walker stopped dead. "Damn."

-----

"You see, Sunshine Ray, I didn't like what Stanley had done to me, so I decided to get even." Dillman was taunting Ray at gunpoint, unaware of both Ray's bulletproof vest and the Camaro--with Fraser and Walker in tow--twenty yards away. "I was a good little boy, doing my homework. I killed off the first string of women to throw you off the track, and then I decided to hit you and your friends where it hurt. Your Mountie friend's beloved Victoria was the first on my list, considering Dudley was her love slave. She didn't put up too much of a struggle, but she was a feisty one. Then I decided to really cripple Stanley. I didn't see it as mere coincidence that Stella and Stanley shared last names. I found out that they were at one point married. And now they're up in heaven together, as is that whore who jumped in after him. That leaves you, Sunshine."

"You heartless--"

Dillman pointed the gun at Ray's midsection. "Who's it gonna be, Sunshine? Your mother, your sister Maria, your niece Teresa--all of whom are with their beloved Uncle Gino?" Ray went pale as Dillman revealed what Ray had done. "Or your sister Francesca, at Fort Jackson?"

"Leave my family out of this, you son of a bitch."

"Sorry. Can't do that." Dillman clicked the safety off and placed the muzzle between Ray's eyes. "Ten seconds, Sunshine Ray. Take your pick--it isn't that hard."

"Go to hell, you heartless bastard!"

"Ten...nine...eight...seven...God, this is fun." Dillman laughed sadistically. "Six...five...four...Time's running out, Sunshine Ray!" He laughed uproariously, drowning out the sound of Fraser and Walker running toward the scene. "Three...two...one. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sorry, Sunshine. You waited too looOOOAAHHHH!" Dillman suddenly pitched forward and dropped the gun. Walker was on top of him, holding her gun to his back and refusing to take the pressure off. "What the--!"

"Shut up, scumbag," said Walker. "Your game is up." She reached over for Dillman's gun, but Dillman shoved her off and grabbed it. He and Walker both fired at the same time. He missed, but she hit him square in the right shoulder. He staggered back and hit the guardrail.

Walker shook her head. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

"Where's Kowalski?" Fraser asked.

Ray opened his mouth to speak, but the sight of Mitchell carrying Stanley up to where the showdown took place cut him off. "Oh my God! Is he okay, Mitchell?"

"I don't know yet." Mitchell sounded unsure and tired. She set Stanley on the ground and began administering artificial respiration.

Walker headed over to where Dillman was sitting, puled out a pair of handcuffs, and proceeded to cuff both of his hands to the guardrail. "You should have shut up and cooperated when I told you to," she said. "Then you wouldn't be in this mess. Oh, and I thought you might like to know--Stella is still alive. You killed the wrong girl." She ran over to where Stanley was being revived. "Anything yet?"

Stanley suddenly sputtered.

"It looks like he's okay," said Ray. "I'm calling 911 anyway."

"Where am I?" Stanley asked, labored and dazed.

"On the street," said Mitchell.

"Oh, no." Stanley groaned. "I didn't get canned, did I?"

"No," said Mitchell. "You didn't."

-----

The 27th precinct was buzzing with activity--big time--the next morning. Dillman was taken to the city jail, where he was being held without bond until his trial. The team had stayed with Stanley overnight at the hospital, and he was released that morning. Ray had called his family and told them that not only could they come home, but Uncle Gino was welcome to come too. Fraser had called the Consulate after Dillman was carted away, telling Turnbull that the worst was over and that Stella was free to return home the next morning.

Stanley walked into the bullpen that morning with a cup of coffee and a package of chewy Sprees. As he walked over to his desk, he noticed Mitchell sitting there again, feet on his desk, playing with her baseball.

"What are you doing there?" Kowalski asked.

"Savoring you yelling at me," Mitchell answered. "Nice change of pace from you lying in that hospital bed like a corpse."

"Get out of my chair please, before I kick you in the head," said Stanley, but he smiled as he said it.

Mitchell shrugged her shoulders. "Okay." She got up from his chair.

"Thank you--" Stanley was cut off by the realization that Amaroq had stolen one of his Twinkies. He just shook his head.

"There's hope for you yet, Amaroq." Mitchell smiled. "You too, Kowalski."

While this was going on, Fraser and Walker were talking.

"I know how you feel about me, Fraser, but I still think you need to give yourself some time to recover from what happened with Victoria," said Walker. "I know you feel relieved that she won't torment you anymore, but that's not enough. You have to give yourself some time to come to terms with your loss, because I know you loved her."

"Do you really think this is the best thing to do?" Fraser asked.

"Trust me, Fraser." Walker smiled. "I'm not breaking up with you. I'm just giving you some time to recover and make the right decision and not rush into anything. This will work out for the best, trust me."

"Understood." Fraser suddenly smiled. "But just one more kiss?"

"I'm not an ice queen, so I won't deny you that." Walker and Fraser embraced each other and shared the last kiss that they would share for awhile.

Ray's yelling cut them off. "Benny! Mitchell! Your dogs just made off with my donuts!"

Fraser and Walker turned around to see Amaroq and Dief trot away from Ray, each with a donut in their mouth. The two humans laughed.

Welsh studied the scene. Ever since Mitchell and Walker were assigned to the 27th, it was clear that they managed to shake things up. And with Ray Vecchio back from the mob, it was clear that nothing would ever be the same.

But Welsh welcomed the change. Life would be boring if everything stayed the same.

THE END

Copyright 1999 by Amaroq Wolf and Black Magic Woman

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All raves and flames are to be directed to amaroqwolf82@yahoo.com and black_magic_woman1981@yahoo.com--we await your feedback! However, since this is our first story ever, please keep the flames to a minimum. And please, no otters!

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