Thank you to Andi and Barb for their encouragement, Rawly and Fletcher for helping me smooth out the details, Pat for her detailed, entertaining and informative comments, Sheila for the grammar check, and my mom for being my first and best reader.

Warning: Mention of character death.

He stared at the slammed door and wondered if this was the end.

He never meant to hurt Jim, but always, something was more important than Jim. No, that wasn't right, nothing was more important than Jim -- but he was his own man, had his own life. He couldn't keep cutting off parts of himself to appease Jim, could he? The Mayor's Commission, the reforms in police procedure they had worked so hard to formulate and were so close to putting in place -- they were long overdue, and essential for the long-term health and effectiveness of the police department, and by extension, the city itself.

He couldn't give in, not this time. He had to do what he believed was right, for the sake of the city, for the sake of its people -- and just because it was right, damn it. And if Jim couldn't see that --

There had to be a way. There always was a way. So the Shaman of the City sat long into the night, sorting, shifting, considering and discarding, seeking a way to keep faith both to his sentinel and his city.

And when morning came, he knew what he had to do, and he walked out into his city, head held high, and prayed that Jim would understand.

"Captain?" The tentative call drew him away from the report he wasn't reading. "Mayor's giving a press conference. The Police Reform Commission."

Oh, boy. This was familiar. The people in the bullpen stopping whatever they were doing and slowly gravitating around the TV -- the cluster of microphones around the podium, the gaggle of reporters with pens and notebooks in hand, breathlessly poised to jot down this latest scoop -- all the way to the gut-wrenching pain ripping apart his soul.

The overwhelming sense of deja vu spiked as the Mayor made way for Blair to step up to the podium, and he hardened his fist around the pencil he had been holding, unheeding of the pain as it snapped in two, gouging into the soft flesh of his palm.

Blair wouldn't, would he? Not this time, not with so much at stake. Not when he'd fought so hard and long to do what he thought was right. No, he wouldn't let a little thing like a pissed-off partner stop him, wouldn't let private considerations affect duty and conscience. And Blair was right, they couldn't bury their heads in the sand forever. But --

Sitting sleeplessly at the desk last night -- funny, he still sometimes thought of it as Simon's desk -- he saw himself and Blair perched side by side on the conference table across the room, saw their younger selves as if through Simon's eyes, cocky and confident and unbent by the weight of responsibility and bitter realities -- and felt a silent voice over his shoulder, gruff and just a trifle annoyed, reminding him that trust in Blair was never misplaced.

And Blair was speaking, his voice calm and measured, his demeanor steady and controlled, with only the slight tremor in the hand holding the notes betraying any inner turmoil -- and his jaw dropped, and he was never going to close it again.

Words. Flowing black across white paper. Solid. Tangible. Real. Spoken words were so much hot air, and written ones usually just meandering, undisciplined trails of disjointed thoughts hastily scribbled. But the printed word. Organized, pointed, focused. So much power. To reveal or to conceal. To lift up or to pull down. To build or to destroy. Lethal weapons, in the hands of a master. Forcing him to face the parts of himself he never wanted to see. Taking him to the places in his partner's mind he didn't want to know. Calling to him with a love he knew he didn't deserve. Leaving him naked and exposed with no place to hide, terrified by the stark knowledge of how deeply his life was tied to that of another.

The door closed softly, and hesitant footsteps approached. Taking a trembling deep breath, he put down the manuscript and lifted his face to look into blue eyes he knew as well as his own.

Publisher's Foreword

In print again ten years after the author's death, The Thin Blue Line still remains as fresh and relevant as when it was first published. This groundbreaking book was influential in prompting reforms in police procedures all across the country, not least of all in Cascade, where the author donated the three million dollar advance for the book to the city to fund the reforms he espoused. Combining personal observations from years of working with the Cascade Police Department with deeply insightful and often cutting analysis, Blair Sandburg guides the reader through the complex workings of police society with both candor and affection, his profound respect and admiration for the dedicated and hard-working members of the police force as equally apparent as his censure of organizational weaknesses that foster corruption and abuse.

Blair Sandburg is also the author of the posthumously published The Sentinel, which documents the heightened sensory perceptions of his partner Jim Ellison, with whom he continued a lifelong effort to educate the public about the realities of police work while pushing for reform in police procedures wherever he saw the need.

We are proud to present this commemorative edition with the original dedication: