Victim	Victim

 by The Moo

  

 Author's website: http://www.geocities.com/themoo37

 Disclaimer: The usual to keep The Moo out of jail.

 Author's Notes: 

 Story Notes: The warnings in this story are for rape and for strong
language. It is a sort of H/C as well.

 

 

 ONE OF THIRTEEN 

 "Detective? Is Constable Fraser with you?" 

 Something had to be terribly wrong for Inspector Thatcher to call the
27th in the middle of a Thursday morning to ask this. 

 "When did you last see him?" Ray didn't bother with any small talk or
preliminary questions. If the Dragon Lady was expecting Benny to be
somewhere and Benny wasn't there and hadn't reported his whereabouts then
he had to be hurt, sick, kidnapped or dead. Ray swung immediately into
professional mode, picking up a pencil to record whatever clues the
Inspector was about to give him. 

 "He left the Consulate yesterday evening at the same time as usual . . ."


 "Left Consulate at five." Ray scribbled as he listened. "Wearing?" 

 "His red serge as far as I know. I didn't watch him leave but he usually
walks home in uniform. I have no reason to believe he changed his clothes
but I can't be sure." 

 "Red suit," Ray repeated and scribbled. "What steps have you taken so
far?" 

 "I called Mr. Mustafi. He knocked on Fraser's door and there was no
answer. Then I sent Constable Turnbull over to investigate. Some slimy
superintendent was there . . ." 

 " Dennis," Ray wrote. 

 " . . . and let Turnbull in. Fraser wasn't there and his bed didn't look
like it had been slept in. The wolf wasn't there either." 

 "Anything else?" 

 "That's when I called you, Detective. I thought if anyone would know
where he was . . ." 

 "I don't. But I'm on it. And you call me if he shows up." 

 While Ray had been on his phone in the squad room, Diefenbaker came
limping in through the front door of the 27th. Diefenbaker's white hair
was matted with blood. He dragged himself, more than walked, and got as
far as the front desk before being swamped by cops and aides. The desk
sergeant flew out from behind her desk and threw her arms around him.
"Diefenbaker? What are you doing here all by yourself? Oh you poor puppy,
what happened?" She looked up. "Somebody get Detective Vecchio!" 

 A uniform went to the squad room, opened the door and called inside.
"Fraser's wolf just came in. All by himself and all full of blood. Where's
Vecchio?" 

 "Sweet Jesus!" Ray breathed and then said quickly to Thatcher, "I've got
a lead. I'll call you back later." Without waiting for her acknowledgement
he dropped the phone and followed the uniform out to the front. 

 The crowd around Diefenbaker parted to let Ray through. From behind him,
Welsh also came up, having noticed Ray's mad dash from the squad room and
followed along to see what was up. Detective Huey trailed afterwards. 

 The desk Sergeant stood aside to let Ray have access to the wounded
animal. "We better take him to a vet. I'll find an address and get
somebody to drive him." She looked to Welsh for confirmation. 

 "Get the address, but we're not going yet." Ray said. He dropped to the
floor so that he was level with the pained eyes of the wolf. "Dief, can
you take me to where Benny is?" 

 Diefenbaker whined and strained his head towards the doorway. 

 "What's this all about?" Welsh wanted to know. 

 "Fraser's gone missing. Dief must have come here for help." 

 "Take two cars," Welsh instructed, taking over the situation. "Somebody
can take the wolf straight to the vet as soon as you locate the Constable.
You two. . ." he pointed at a couple of uniforms, ". . . go get a squad
car. Vecchio, go get your car and somebody will meet you out front with
the wolf. 

 "I'll go," Huey said. 

 "Okay, whatever. We're the only precinct in town with our own Mountie and
our own wolf. It's rescue time. Move!" 

 TWO OF THIRTEEN 

 Ray in the Riv and the two uniforms in the squad car pulled up together
in front of the 27th as Huey came out carrying Diefenbaker. Ray jumped out
and pulled open the back door of the Riv, then thought better of it.
"He'll have to lead us on foot. I'll walk along with him. You guys'll have
to follow." Ray reached over and took the keys out of the ignition. "Put
him down, Jack. Gently." 

 Gingerly, the tall detective lowered Diefenbaker to the ground. The
animal whimpered a little as his legs touched pavement, then he rallied
and gave Ray a pleading look. 

 "Just lead the way, fellah. Show me where Benny is." 

 They formed a procession as they went along the street, first a wounded
wolf, trying to run as fast as his limp would allow, an Italian at his
side, and following as best they could were the Riv driven by Huey and the
squad car behind him. At one point Diefenbaker staggered and dropped,
exhausted, to the sidewalk. 

 Ray bent to caress the hairy head, "You want to go by car, pal? Is there
any way we can do that?" Ray doubted that the wolf - for all that it
seemed as though he had a person inside - would be able to tell them where
to go from inside the car. Still, he looked to Dief for an answer. The
wolf had surprised him often enough before. 

 But Diefenbaker only whined in a tone that Ray was ready to swear
conveyed negation. 

 "OK, Dief. what about if I carry you?" 

 Dief's yip sounded encouraging, so Ray picked him as best he could and
staggered down the street. From time to time Dief would turn his head and
emit a brief bark, instructing Ray which way to turn. Normally Ray
wouldn't have had the strength to carry the wolf for a long time but on a
quest such as this one there was no question of faltering. They went on
along streets where the cars could follow for another hour and half. 

 Diefenbaker ordered a left turn into an alleyway, then started squirming.
Ray set him down to the ground as carefully as he could. The cars wouldn't
be able to follow, so Ray called out to Huey to park and follow them on
foot and told the uniforms to wait in the squad car for instructions. 

 Ray stalled a moment before following Diefenbaker. The wolf glanced back
at him and made an interrogatory noise. "I'm coming, Dief," Ray said, but
he didn't actually follow after. Huey came up beside him. 

 "I'm afraid this is going to be bad, Jack," Ray said softly. 

 Huey put a reassuring hand on Ray's shoulder. Ray patted the hand in
appreciation and they went along behind the wolf. 

 Diefenbaker led them to the end of the alley and around a bend to an
inner parking lot. To one side was a large dumpster, high enough that the
interior could not be seen from the ground. Diefenbaker staggered towards
it and forced himself to jump up and rest his fore-paws against the grimy
dumpster walls. 

 Ray and Huey exchanged a horrified look. Then Ray inched forwards towards
the dumpster, saying, "Jack, get your phone ready." 

 "Let me look first, Ray." 

 Ray waved a dismissive hand vaguely at him before grabbing hold of some
protruding handles on the outside of the dumpster and heaving himself up
with a grunt. He came to rest balancing his stomach against the rim
steeling himself for what he might see. The dumpster was half full with
plastic bags of various sizes and colours. Some of the bags had broken
open and bits of garbage - papers, cans, dirty paper, various other slimy
unidentified objects - had spilled out. The stench slapped him the face. 

 Scanning the trash, he made out a bare leg protruding from a pile of
bags. Ray swung over the edge and picked his way along the uneven pile,
his stomach rebelling against the smell and his mind angry at his stomach
for distracting his attention from Benny's plight. 

 He reached the spot. Fraser's whole body was visible - literally - he was
naked. He lay half on his side with his back towards Ray. His arms and
legs at different levels, resting on piles of garbage bags on to which he
had been apparently tossed. Shit, Benny. This is more of you than I ever
needed to see, Ray thought as he sunk to knees in the putrid trash and
reached a shaking hand out for Fraser's neck to check his pulse. 

 At Ray's touch, Fraser turned his head, his eyes still closed, and let
out tiny moan. 

 He was alive. 

 With this assurance Ray's mind, frozen before with fear and horror, now
melted enough to allow Ray to take care of some basic business. "Jack!
Call 9-1-1! Then send Dief to the vet!" 

 Ray tuned out the sounds of Huey first telephoning and then shouting for
the uniforms to come and get Dief. His whole being was focussed on
examining Fraser, seeing what he could learn from his friend's condition. 

 Ray knew better than to move him. Crouching in the trash, Ray saw that
Fraser's rear was bloodied and bruised. He looked closer, too worried to
be embarrassed and noticed some sort of dried substance on his friend's
buttocks and in the crack between them. Then he stepped carefully over his
friend's prone form to position himself where he could see the front of
Fraser. Spots on his chest and abdomen leaked blood, but not excessively.
There were more bruises. Bending closer Ray saw the cuts were near the
nipples and low in the groin near the genitals. Bile rose in Ray's throat
as he thought of somebody taking a knife to Fraser, just a little lower
and . . . 

 Never mind the danger of moving a wounded man. Ray had to see if what he
feared was really true. Gently he took hold of Fraser's hips and eased his
friend's haunches just enough to get a look. . Benny still had all his
equipment. The turning of his body had moved Fraser's head out of the
trash and now he faced upward. Ray looked at Fraser's face. The area
around his mouth was smeared lightly with blood. Again Ray bent down
closer to look. The same kind of dried gunk that Ray had seen on Fraser's
rear also caked the Mountie's lips and the corners of his mouth. It had
taken this long for Ray's brain, still partly numbed, to click to what the
residue was. Ray's stomach heaved as the realization hit. 

 Grabbing some of the higher bags for balance, Ray was somehow able to
stagger to his feet and make his way to the edge of the dumpster, his feet
sinking in soft surfaces as he tried to walk. He was barely able to grope
for the dumpster wall and lean over the side before the vomiting hit.
Tears came as his stomach emptied. "Why him?" Ray sobbed, between bouts of
wretching, "This is going to kill him." 

 THREE OF THIRTEEN 

 The cuts hadn't caused much blood loss and none of Fraser's bones were
broken. But there had been internal bleeding, caused from blows from blunt
objects, Ray was told. The results from the rape kit would be some days in
coming, but it was apparent to anybody that Fraser had been assaulted
repeatedly. Nor did it take genetic testing to figure out that the soiling
of the Mountie had to have been done by many men. 

 By the time Fraser had been taken in for surgery, Ray had cried all he
was capable of crying and waited, dry-eyed but still stunned, in the
waiting room. Jack sat vigil with him, and then Welsh, and then Francesca,
with Ray barely noticing when one left and another arrived. 

 Ray had no awareness of the passing of time, but when a doctor finally
came out to talk to him, it was evening. At the news that Fraser was not
in physical danger, he burst into tears again and fell against his
sister's tiny shoulder. 

 "Are you his wife?" the doctor asked. 

 "Fraser's not married," replied Francesca, cradling her brother's head as
she spoke. 

 "No, him." the doctor inclined his head to Ray who was just beginning to
recover again. 

 "I'm his sister." 

 The doctor nodded, then said, "Take him home." 

 "No, we want to be here for Frazsh." 

 The doctor had "firm but kind" down to a science. "'Frazsh' is going to
need a lot of support. But your brother's going to have to be strong if
he's going to be of any help." He dug into a pocket of his white coat.
"I'll prescribe something to make him sleep."  

 The squad room was abuzz with the angry voices of detectives and
uniforms. 

 "What the hell? He's OUR Mountie!" declared Huey. 

 "Yeah," confirmed Dewey and a fresh chorus of agreement rose from the men
and women all around. 

 Welsh was having trouble keeping order. In fact he had failed to contain
the outburst when his staff heard that it was the Special Assault Unit in
the 10th precinct that was going to investigate the assault on Fraser, and
not the men and women of the 27th . 

 Nor did he particularly want to control the outrage that he shared
himself. But orders were orders and the Special Assault Unit were better
equipped to handle the investigation of an attack so horrific as the one
on the Mountie. But that didn't mean he felt better about it. To hell with
professionalism - he wanted to personally rip the scum apart. Still, it
was his job to try to keep the troops in line, no matter how he felt about
it personally. 

 "We look after our own here!" Huey marked his point with a violent
downward thrust of his long fingers. 

 "Like you stood by Fraser when we lost Louis?" Welsh shot back. "Or maybe
you forgot you let the poor son-ofa -bitch hang out to dry." 

 Huey had his answer to that. "Hey, how we treated Fraser was wrong.
That's why we got to stand by him NOW. We owe him." 

 Another chorus of "Yeah" and "You tell 'em" swelled up. 

 Ray hadn't been in the squad room for this discussion. He had, with
Welsh's full blessing, been sitting by Fraser's bed while the Mountie
drifted in and out of consciousness. Even if the investigation had been
left with the 27th, there was no way Welsh would have allowed Vecchio to
work the case. 

 "You guys all just get this straight," Welsh announced when there was a
lull in hubbub, "Lieutenant Shannon's unit is going to work the case. End
of story. Now get to work and solve some fucking crimes." 

 "That's what we want to do," muttered Huey as he moved back to his desk. 

 Welsh didn't see any value in pursuing the remark. Huey needed to let off
steam. The lieutenant went back to his own office and sat down behind his
desk to think. 

 Of all the people for this to happen to, Welsh figured, it had to be the
straight-laced and tight-assed Fraser. Well, it should teach the Canadians
not to let a good-looking son-of-a-bitch like that run around Chicago in
that red outfit. Like a neon sign, attracting perverts. 

 Ray had reported that Fraser was still disoriented from the pain
medication following the surgery. So far the Mountie had said nothing
about what had happened. Ray found him unconscious in the dumpster and
there was a huge bump on his head. Maybe, MAYBE, the constable had been
knocked out for the whole thing. Maybe he wouldn't remember what happened.
Maybe. 

 If there was a God. 

 Then the policeman in Welsh took over the mental discussion. If Fraser
had been awake for the attack there'd be no better witness in the world.
He'd describe the criminals down to their fingernails. And if they came to
trial, he'd be there to put them away. So, at least there could be some
good in this. 

 Welsh decided he needed a sandwich, a really big one with lots of meat.
And lots of fortifying fat on the meat. What he really wanted were at
least a dozen long swigs of bourbon but that would set a bad example for
the troops. 

 FOUR OF THIRTEEN 

 Fraser had been five days in hospital. The tissue damage from the actual
assault was minor and healing well. The internal injuries, however, didn't
seem to be healing to the doctors' satisfaction. 

 Fraser complained delicately to his attending physician about a sore
bottom without making any reference to the cause. A staff psychiatrist had
counselled patience and advised Ray and all the medical staff to let
Fraser maintain silence on the matter of why he was there until such time
as the Mountie felt ready to bring the subject up. 

 There was one person with whom this delicacy did not sit well. Lt.
Shannon, head of the Special Assault Unit, was champing at the bit to get
a statement from her newly assigned victim. 

 Twice during Fraser's first week in hospital she had arrived and tried to
get in to take a statement from him. Ray was there on both occasions,
sitting guard by his friend's bedside, and shooed the eager policewoman
away. 

 On her third try, Lt. Shannon found the Mountie alone. Using the simple
technique of carrying a clipboard and looking as though on some hospital
business, she marched past the nursing station and directly to Fraser's
room. Seeing him alone, she strode inside and stood at the foot of
Fraser's bed. 

 "I'm Lieutenant Shannon, Special Assault Unit, 10th precinct," she
introduced herself and held a business card out towards the man in the
bed. Fraser made no move to take the card, only regarded her with mild,
patient eyes. 

 "How do you do, Lieutenant Shannon," he said blandly, "I'm Constable
Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. What can I do for you?" 

 Ray had been down at a vending machine getting coffee and came in to find
a large but trim woman standing by Fraser. "I thought I threw you out of
here before?" 

 "You did, because I let you, but now I've lost patience," Lt.Shannon
repeated her name and gave Ray a card. "I'm sure you're aware that my
department has been assigned to Mister Fraser's case." 

 "CONSTABLE Fraser's not in any shape to answer any questions. So you can
scram until he feels better." 

 Lt. Shannon was spared the need to respond by Fraser himself saying,
"That's all right, Ray. It's time I gave my report." 

 Ray dropped into a chair close by his friend's bed and peered into the
Mountie's eyes. "Benny, do you know what happened to you?" 

 "Most of it, yes," said the Mountie, softly. "I lost consciousness
towards the end, but I remember . . . enough." 

 "Don't tell if you're not ready, Benny. It's okay." 

 "It's not okay, Detective. The faster we have the details from him, the
faster I can have my people on the street looking for these bastards." 

 Fraser didn't change his expression but Ray gave her a scathing look.
"Down at the 27th we come down heavy on the perps, not the victims." 

 "May I sit down?" She directed the question to Fraser and at his nod,
dropped into another visitor's chair near the foot of Fraser's bed. 

 "There's a reason I'm being so abrupt," the woman went on. "I know
there's been some complaints from the 27th that you want to handle Mister
Fraser's case . . ." 

 "Constable Fraser's case," Ray repeated. 

 "Constable Fraser's case yourselves. I'll tell you why headquarters gave
the case to us." 

 Ray gestured for her to continue. Fraser said nothing. 

 "My Special Assault Unit has been investigating a series of assaults that
have been going on for three years now. Constable Fraser is the thirteenth
victim during this time to have suffered almost the same pattern of
attack. It's a swarm of men, the victim is always a white male in his
twenties or thirties. Always, you'll forgive me for saying this,
Constable, a looker. And we haven't been able to make a single arrest
yet." 

 "If you'd have had Benny on the case, you'd have it solved by now. He's
more than a pretty face." Ray interjected sourly. 

 Lt. Shannon didn't find this amusing. "Our problem has been that the
twelve previous victims were found dead. Beaten to death. These attacks
were almost identical to the one on Constable Fraser, except he is the
only victim to survive." 

 "Jesus!" said Ray. 

 "Constable, there's so much you need to tell me, but I have to admit that
one of the things I'm dying to know is why they let you live." 

 Fraser finally joined back into the conversation. "They didn't," he said.


 "They didn't let you live?" 

 "Not as such, no. I was able to - what is the expression? - impersonate a
marsupial. I have excess lung capacity and was able to hold my breath for
as long as their attention was focussed on my chest. Which was very little
of the time. Most of the time their attention was on - other parts of my
anatomy." 

 "You knew they were intending to kill you?" Shannon pressed him. 

 "I was already feigning unconsciousness, trying to work out an escape. I
could hear constant talk of "snuffing" me. Now, I'm not familiar with that
term but I deduced its meaning in context. I was already at a disadvantage
from the blow to my head. Given their number and my weakened state I
didn't think my chances of getting away were very good. When they started
beating me, I reasoned that they would stop if they thought I was dead." 

 "Constable, you're a police officer yourself so forgive me for being
blunt here. I've got twelve men - dead and not able to tell me their
story. And you lived. I have to be clear on this . What you're telling me
is: you were struck on the head, raped, and beaten - to death as far as
your assailants were concerned." 

 Fraser blushed. Very softly he said, "Not necessarily in that order." 

 "Holy Christ," Ray swore under his breath. "The bastards, the motherless
fucking bastards." 

 "That's consistent with the evidence we found in the other cases,"
Shannon said, also very softly. "I needed to know that to be sure we had
the same pattern. I'm so sorry." 

 There was a long pause. Ray studied his friend to see how Fraser was
holding up now that he had begun to talk about his experiences. The
Mountie was calm, too calm. He hadn't even sat up in his bed but had been
talking to them still lying back propped up by only a couple of pillows. 

 Finally, Lt. Shannon said. "I'm going to have to ask you to describe
everything you can remember. I won't ask you to tell it to me directly. I
have a system where I give the victim a tape recorder and allow them to
tell it in private. Later, when we have an arrest, you can sign a
transcript. I can bring you a tape-recorder tomorrow, if you feel ready." 

 "I'm willing to make a complete statement," said the Mountie. 

 "Everything you remember." 

 Ray felt it was time to lighten the moment. "I hope you got enough hours
of tape. When Benny makes a complete statement, the statement's REALLY
complete." 

 Shannon didn't take this as a joke. "That would be amazing. I know you
were trying to appear dead, but if you can tell me anything, ANYTHING,
about what they looked like, or if you heard any names . . ." 

 "If you bring a sketchpad and a pencil, I'll draw some of them for you
and label them with whatever names I overheard when they were talking
amongst themselves. Bear in mind, I could only sneak my eyes open briefly
when I thought they wouldn't notice. It takes more concentration to appear
dead than many people realize." 

 The brusqueness the woman had come in with had completely gone now. "You
have no idea how important this is to me and my team, Constable." 

 "I'm an officer of the law, Lieutenant. Of course you'll have my complete
co-operation. But, I am a little tired right now." 

 Ray swung around to stare at Fraser. He'd spoken in exactly that
defeated, hopeless tone Ray remembered from the time Fraser had been in
the hospital recovering from his gunshot wound from Ray and his
heart-wound from Victoria. 

 Lt. Shannon got the hint. "I'll . . . I'll . . . let you get some rest
now." 

 "I would appreciate that, thank you kindly," replied the Mountie. 

 Lt. Shannon held out her hand out to Fraser, who took it for a brief
shake. 

 "You feel warm, Constable. I think you have a fever," she added. 

 "Oh, you want to take over for the doctors now. Taking over Fraser's case
wasn't enough for you?" 

 "Nice to meet you too, Detective," she said, rose and headed for the
door. Just before going through she stopped and turned around.
"Impersonate a marsupial?" 

 "He means he played 'possum." 

 "Oh, I see," she said, and then she left. 

 FIVE OF THIRTEEN 

 When a nurse came by to check Fraser's vital signs half an hour later,
Lt. Shannon's observation was confirmed. "Only a degree, but a fever is a
fever. We'll get a doctor to have a look at you." 

 The diagnosis was an infection where he'd had surgery. Fraser was put on
antibiotics and his hospital departure, scheduled for two days hence, was
indefinitely delayed. 

 Ray felt guilty about returning to work, but still spent every evening at
Fraser's bedside. They made small talk, when Fraser bothered to talk at
all. Ray found him each evening more or less as he left him the evening
before, on his back, staring at the ceiling. Ray respected his friend's
desire "not to talk about it" for a few nights only, and then decided to
force the issue. For Benny's own good, he told himself. 

 "You have to talk about it. I know you don't want to but it has to
happen." 

 "I know that Ray. Perhaps in a few days." Fraser was calm and totally
obliging but it didn't fool the Italian. 

 "Benny! For a week you wouldn't even let us know if you remembered
ANYTHING." 

 Fraser yawned a huge yawn. Ray had been noticing the dark circles under
Fraser's eyes for some days now but hadn't thought much about it. Well,
considering what he had been through, you wouldn't expect him to be
jumping up full of energy. And then there was the infection. Even so, this
seemed suspicious. 

 "You getting any sleep, Benny?" 

 "I'm fine, Ray." 

 "You keep telling everybody who comes in that you're tired. The nurses,
the doctors, the shrinks, that Shannon . . ." 

 "To get rid of them Ray. I'd rather just be left alone. I'm fine." 

 "Fraser, you're so far from fine they don't even have a word for it!
After I leave every night, are you getting any sleep?" 

 "I'm fine, Ray." 

 "Because they're supposed to give you sleeping pills. Your body heals
while you're asleep, didn't your grandmother teach you that?" 

 But the Mountie, Ray could see, was in full clam-up mode. He would only
stare placidly at the ceiling and wait for Ray to finish spouting off. 

 "If you don't want to talk to ME about what happened, and believe me I
totally understand if you don't, you still have to talk it out with
somebody. They got shrinks . . ." 

 "I've given Lt. Shannon a complete report of everything I remember." 

 "You know that's not what I mean." 

 "Could we please talk about something else, Ray?" 

 Ray threw up his hands in mute appeal to the Heavens. He was stuck. If
Fraser wasn't able to talk about it yet then he, Ray, would not be so
cruel as to force him. 

 "Okay, okay, whatever. You want to talk about the weather?" 

 "There's no need to sulk, Ray." 

 "I'm not sulking," Ray sulked. 

 An orderly came in to pick up Fraser's dinner tray. Ray hadn't thought
much of the fact that Fraser had left his dinner untouched. Hospital food
sucked, everyone knew that. 

 "I'll bring you some decent food tomorrow. Ma's dying to cook for you but
she's waiting for you to be better." 

 The orderly was a man in his early twenties, dark of complexion. He said
"Hi, Mr. Fraser" with a Hispanic accent. 

 "Good evening, Julio. Are you on day shift now?" 

 "Just for a couple of weeks. Sure is different around here when
everybody's awake." 

 Fraser watched him leave with the tray. 

 "Julio doesn't usually come on duty until two in the morning. I imagine
it will be hard for his system to adjust to the new schedule." 

 "Uh hunh. Well this sure is an interesting conversation. I was worried
about Julio getting enough sleep." 

 "You're being sarcastic, Ray." 

 "Ya think?"  

 Instead of going right from Fraser's room to the elevator that night, Ray
lingered outside his door and then made a stroll around the now-familiar
area: the nurses' station, the visiting rooms, the public washrooms.
Something in his last talk with Fraser was nagging him and he didn't want
to leave the building before figuring out what it was. As he watched
hospital staff come and go about their business, he recognized Julio who
had come in before to pick up Fraser's supper tray, making his way down
the hospital corridor pushing a large laundry cart. 

 Ray thought back on his brief conversation about Julio with Fraser. Julio
usually comes on duty at two in the morning. Something in Ray's brain
pounced on that comment of Fraser's. Something wasn't right about it. 

 "Hey, man," Ray hailed him and Julio rolled his cart to a stop. 

 "Hey," the younger man answered, politely but uncertainly. It was unusual
for a visitor to talk to him. 

 "I'm Constable Fraser's friend. I was in his room when you came in
before," Ray explained. 

 "Oh yeah. Can I help you?" 

 Ray decided to try something. It was not quite a full-fledged hunch that
Ray had but more like a little niggle. He followed it up. "I wanted to
thank you for being so nice to Fraser." Fraser had said nothing to Ray
about Julio other than the comment about his changing shifts. Ray was
fishing. 

 "Well, he gets pretty depressed. I mean, who wouldn't after what got done
to him. I don't know how he stands it." 

 "He talk to you much?" 

 "Not really. Kind of funny, mostly he just listens to my problems. I
guess that sounds strange but I think it distracts him, you know. Man, if
it was me, I think I'd kill myself." 

 "Fraser's like that. He gets people to talk to him." 

 "Not many people to talk to on the night shift. The patients are asleep
and the nurses are all talking chick stuff." 

 "Yeah, I guess," said Ray. 

 "Well, I got to go," said Julio, pleasantly. "Nice talking to you." 

 Ray gave him a little wave as he went off down the corridor with his
laundry cart. 

 So Fraser was awake in the middle of the night. That's how he knew when
Julio's shift started. Ray knew the hospital routine well enough -
sometimes they shook you awake to take your temperature or annoy you in
some other small way, but with all the dope you get, you just go back to
sleep afterwards. 

 But Benny was alert and chatting in the wee hours. What the hell? Weren't
they giving him sleeping pills or something? No wonder he had bags under
his eyes big enough to drive a truck into and dark enough to lose the
truck in once it got there. 

 That couldn't be helping Fraser's infection either. After five days on
antibiotics it still didn't seem to be clearing up. The doctors had put
him on a different antibiotic and delayed his departure yet again. 

 SIX OF THIRTEEN 

 When Ray saw Lt. Shannon coming out of Fraser's room, he spun on his heel
and followed her down the corridor. 

 "Hey, Lieutenant. Remember me? Vecchio.." 

 As the woman swung around to face him, Ray fought to control his
hostility. It wasn't this woman's fault that her unit and not the 27th
were investigating the attack on Benny. 

 "Of course, Detective. I'm glad I ran into you. Do you have a few
minutes?" 

 "Me? Now?" 

 "You. Now. If you have time. It's important." 

 "Let's go down to the cafeteria," Ray suggested, intrigued. "Let me just
tell Fraser I'm here and that I'll be back in a few minutes." Ray returned
to the Mountie's room, stuck his head in the door and delivered his
message. Then he returned to where Lt. Shannon was waiting by the
elevator. 

 They rode down in silence. It was only as they approached the glass doors
leading to the hospital cafeteria that Ray spoke up. "I've seen way too
much of this place." 

 "You spend a lot of time visiting Constable Fraser." 

 "You might say that." Ray knew, logically, that he had no reason to be
rude but he didn't see any reason to be nice either. What would she want
to know from him that she couldn't ask Benny himself? It would be too much
to hope for that she had a breakthrough in the case to tell him about. 

 They moved into the cafeteria line. Lt. Shannon took tea. Since Ray was
not hungry and had no reason to want to impress this woman with his
nonchalance he didn't bother with a pastry but took only a coffee. They
found an unoccupied table near the back as far away as possible from the
candy-stripers on break and the pajama'd patients with their visitors. 

 They settled in. Neither police officer touched his or her beverage. Ray
started off. "I guess you had something you wanted to ask Fraser? That's
why you came?" 

 "Something to tell him. Based on his description we've identified a few
suspects. I'm hopeful of making an arrest soon." 

 "Doctor told me they found ten different DNA samples on Benny. So at
least ten different guys . . ." 

 "I have the reports." She cut him off. 

 Ray stirred his coffee - unnecessarily since he had put neither cream nor
sugar in it. Lt. Shannon dunked her heretofore untouched tea-bag a few
times and then let it drop into the now-tepid water in its styrofoam cup.
They eyed each other. 

 "What do you want from me?" Ray said, finally. 

 "Help with the case," she told him. 

 Yeah, sure. What's she trying to pull? "I'm not allowed, you know that." 

 "You're not allowed to get involved with the arrests. But you can help me
get the convictions." 

 "How?" 

 Lt Shannon subjected her tea-bag to another bath before going on. "I've
been working with rape cases exclusively for eight years now. There isn't
much I haven't seen. When I told Constable Fraser I was close to an
arrest, I saw in his face a look I've seen in the faces of a lot of male
rape victims." 

 "Let me guess. He was calm. Too calm, right?" 

 "You two are pretty close?" 

 "Like brothers, why?" 

 Shannon leaned forward and stared straight at Ray. "With the details I
have from Constable Fraser, I'm pretty sure I'll be able to make some
arrests. The man's incredible." 

 "One way to describe him, I guess." 

 "Making the arrests doesn't mean I'll get him a conviction. 

 Ray noted her phrasing. "I'll get HIM a conviction". She was thinking of
Benny. That was encouraging. 

 "But if I can get Constable Fraser to appear in court. . . If I can get
him up on the witness stand . . . telling straight out what happened to
him. . . not a jury in the world would let the bastards off." 

 It hadn't occurred to Ray that Fraser would fail to testify. He said as
much to Lt. Shannon. 

 "I'm sure you're right. If he's alive, he'll testify," Shannon said. 

 "I don't follow you." 

 "What I need your help for, Detective, is keeping him alive." 

 "Well, I don't think anybody's going to attack him right here in the
hospital, at least not this time," Ray started off, thinking of the time
that Geiger's men had come after Fraser while his leg was being treated. 

 "That's not what I mean," said the Lieutenant. 

 Ray caught on. "Kill himself? Benny? Never happen. It's not like him." 

 Shannon sighed. "I don't know how many times I've been to the funerals
and listened to the families say that - the mothers, the wives, the
girlfriends - they all say it. 'I can't believe he did this' they say.
'It's not like him.' Those are the victims we have to worry about,
Detective. The ones that look like they're handling it. Your friend is in
grave danger. I know the signs." 

 SEVEN OF THIRTEEN 

 Ray stayed a few more minutes with Lt. Shannon and then headed back up to
stay with Fraser. He ran into one of Fraser's doctors coming off the
elevator. He collared the physician and steered him over to one of the
common sitting areas. "I need a word with you about Fraser," 

 The doctor seemed agreeable enough but he did sneak a glance at his watch
as Ray began speaking. 

 "Why aren't you giving him something to help him sleep?" 

 "The Ativan isn't working? You friend sure has a high drug resistance." 

 "Come again?" 

 "First the antibiotics don't work on him. Now you tell me the Ativan
isn't working either." 

 "You mean he's getting sleeping pills?" 

 "A general sedative. I would have thought half a milligram would be
enough, but if he's still having trouble sleeping, he should have told
me." The doctor made a move to leave, "I'll ask him about it on my next
rounds. Thanks for bringing this to my attention." He strode off, other
things on his mind. 

 I'm an idiot, Ray thought as he headed back to Fraser's room. I'm a first
class, gold-plated moron. They ought to take my badge away. 

 A nurse was changing Fraser's IV bag as Ray came in to his room. Ray
waited for the woman to finish her work and leave before fixing his eye on
Fraser. 

 "Give me the pills, Benny." 

 Fraser looked quizzically at his friend. "What do you mean, Ray?" 

 "You know exactly what I mean. Hand them over." 

 "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

 Ray was becoming angry. "You think you can pull that shit with me? Give
me the pills or I'll go through your stuff and find them myself. You never
get out of bed so they have to be around here close." Ray moved to
Fraser's bedside table, pulled open a drawer and started rummaging through
it. 

 "Ray, stop it!" 

 "You going to get up and make me?" 

 "Ray!" 

 "You're not sleeping. But you're getting a sleeping pill every night.
What are you doing with the pills? Saving them, right? Until you have
enough to overdose with, right?" 

 Ray came across an envelope that had originally held a get-well card. He
poured a handful of small white pills out of the envelope and into his
hand. He shoved the handful of pills into the Mountie's face. "You're
slipping, Fraser. That wasn't much of a hiding place. You can do better." 

 "I've had a lot on my mind, Ray." 

 Ray took the pills to the bathroom and flushed them away. Then he came
back and sat down on his friend's bed. "What about the infection? Are you
faking that? Or did you find a way to stop the antibiotics from working." 

 Fraser answered seriously. "The antibiotics are going directly into my
bloodstream. I can't get at them. But if he could . . ." 

 Benny suicidal. It was incomprehensible. "You're a cop." Ray said.
"Haven't you given the speech a million times back home? It's not the
victim's fault." 

 "I've given the speech, Ray. To young women, to old women, to little
girls, to little boys. I've given it too often. And they never seemed to
get it into their heads when I told them it wasn't their fault. I never
understood why, until now." 

 "Benny . . . please get some help. You can't keep this all bottled up.
It'll kill you." 

 The Mountie's chuckle was chilling, there was not trace of humour in it.
"'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.' That's Hamlet, Ray." 

 "Then Hamlet was a pretty sick, screwed up guy." 

 "I think he just knew how much he could take." 

 "Hamlet's stronger than he thinks he is. And he's not alone. You tell him
that for me, okay?" He looked to his friend's eyes, hoping to find tears
there. He rejoiced to see Fraser's eyes gleaming just a little wetly. It
was enough. He'd broken a tiny crack in the wall. "I was talking to that
Shannon. She says she needs you to testify. Benny, if you care about
justice, you have to stick around. You owe it to the twelve guys before
you who didn't have excess lung capacity. You got to get justice for them
and you got to help get these perverts off the streets. You're an officer
of the law . . . Constable." 

 The gleaming in Fraser's eyes deepened and a tear leaked from the corner
of one eye. "I'm an officer of the law. It's my duty to stay alive until
justice is served." 

 This didn't satisfy Ray. "And afterwards?" 

 The Mountie turned away from his friend and towards the window. "Let me
take this one step at a time, Ray." 

 EIGHT OF THIRTEEN 

 Ray agonized while he drove home. What was there he could do to get his
friend over this hump and into a place where he could face life again? He
couldn't force him to talk. He couldn't force him into therapy. Would it
help to snitch on him to the doctors or to a social worker? Benny would
see it as a betrayal and it certainly wouldn't help his career any. But if
it saved the Mountie's life? Well, now let's see. Would it actually save
him? 

 He imagined the scenario as he drove along. He tells somebody Fraser's
suicidal. What do they do? Put him on anti-depressants? He wouldn't take
them and they couldn't force him against his will. Send him to the psych
ward? No good. Ray knew from personal experience that Fraser could outwit
the staff and do anything thing he wanted in a psychiatric hospital: from
avoiding medication to wriggling out of a straightjacket to hacking into
the computer system. 

 Damn him, Fraser was brilliant, resourceful and stubborn. Which meant
that if he wanted to off himself there wasn't much anybody could do to
stop him. 

 Fraser had to be persuaded to WANT to go on. But how? 

 When he got home, he lay both his head and the question into the lap of
the one person he'd grown up to believe was the source of all wisdom: his
Ma. 

 She stroked his head to quiet him. "You're right, Raymondo. Our Benito is
too smart for his own good. If he wants to die he's going to die." 

 "So what do I do?" 

 She sat thinking while she petted her boy. "He lays there and broods all
day long. That's not good. He has to get busy again, go back to his work."


 "Well, the new antibiotics seem to be working. They're talking about
sending him home by the end of the week." 

 "Try to get them to send him home on a Sunday, so he goes right to work
the next day. He need to feel valuable again. When somebody gets . . ."
she paused and coloured slightly, ". . . taken advantage of like that, it
makes them feel dirty. Ashamed." 

 "But Ma, he's a cop. He should know better." 

 "To know better is one thing. To feel better is another." She bent down
and kissed the top of her son's head. 

 Diefenbaker who had staying at the Vecchio house since his release from
the vet, came upon the tender scene and wanted some affection too. He
nuzzled his snout into Ma's lap, inviting a caress. 

 "It's too bad they won't let you in to see Benito in this hospital. Maybe
he would talk to you," Ma mused as she tickled the wolf's nose. 

 "Poor fellah. You tried to defend Benny and you got bashed for it. But at
least you walked away," Ray told him. 

 Diefenbaker whined. 

 "No, I know you did your best. They were just too much for you. You were
lucky to get away alive." 

 The wolf grunted and Ray could swear he was expressing agreement. Ray
took the animal's face in his hands and met his eyes. "You understand when
something's your fault and when something's not your fault. So you got the
jump on Benny. I guess you're smarter than he is." 

 Again came the lupine grunt. 

 "Well, just don't tell him I said so." 

 NINE OF THIRTEEN 

 Ray brought Fraser some clothes in which to go home. He'd been successful
in persuading a doctor to let Fraser stay until Sunday, even though
discharges usually were ordered for weekdays. 

 As Fraser dressed (not asking Ray to leave the room as he would have
before the attack) Ray considered begging Fraser one more time to talk to
a therapist. Then he thought better of it. Let it be for a few days. See
if Ma was right and if being busy helped. 

 Instead, Ray tried to make conversation."Lt. Shannon tells me they never
found your uniform. They looked all over the crime scene, in the dumpster,
all around the streets. Nothing," 

 "I told her she wouldn't find my clothes," Fraser answered, while
buttoning a flannel lumberjack shirt. "I heard them all laying claim to my
things for souvenirs while they were stripping me. I couldn't open my eyes
and let them know I was alive while that was going on so I didn't manage
to figure out who took what. All I recall is somebody named 'Rob' said he
was going to take my hat." 

 Fraser grimaced and Ray figured that was as close as the Mountie was
going to come to actually smiling. "I should put my head into every
Stetson in the city, like Cinderella and the glass slipper. Then Lt.
Shannon can arrest whoever has the hat that fits me." 

 "Or your boots. Remember how we had to go looking for your boots that
time?" Fraser didn't join in with the offered chance to reminisce, so Ray
changed the subject. "I guess you're looking forward to getting back to
work tomorrow. Turnbull and the Dragon Lady should be happy to see you." 

 "I'm sure Inspector Thatcher can't wait to put me back in my red serge
and out on display. Let me tell you something, Ray. It was my uniform that
sparked the attack." 

 This was more talking than Fraser had done since the attack. Ray
encouraged him to go on. "How do you figure that?" 

 "I stand out there making a spectacle of myself. I run around the city in
that ridiculous get-up. Nobody back home wears red serge on a daily basis.
The Inspector dresses me up like some kind of dress-up doll. It was only a
matter of time before . . ." 

 "Benny," Ray interrupted. "Stop making connections where there aren't
any. You got attacked because you were a good-looking white guy who just
happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some random honky
hunk. Don't read so much into it." 

 "I'm supposed to be an officer of the law. And I was. Once. Before I came
here. Now I'm a decoration. I stand at the front door and let tourists
take pictures of me. Oh no, I forgot, sometimes I DO work inside. That's
when I push papers around and take time off to be fetch and carry for a
spoiled brat of an Inspector. It doesn't matter if I die, Ray. I'll live
forever in all the pictures every tourist ever took of me. I'm
immortalized in scrapbooks the world over. Nobody needs me actually
breathing. Thatcher can have me stuffed and mounted and set outside the
door. Get the same effect." 

 "Damn it, Benny. What the hell is wrong with you?" Ray shouted in
exasperation, and then mentally kicked himself for the outburst. 

 "I'm not really a police officer anymore. Not while I'm here. And I can't
go home." 

 "Okay, look, you're taking this too far. You're depressed - and God knows
you've got reason to be - but this doesn't have anything to do with your
job. You're projecting." 

 Fraser tucked his shirt into his jeans. He zipped the pants up with a
definitive little tug. "This is your psychiatric opinion, Herr Doktor
Vecchio?" 

 It was so unlike Fraser to be sarcastic that Ray actually shuddered. 

 "Well, maybe that's not the right word but you know what I mean. What you
do for the Dragon Lady hasn't got anything to do with what happened to you
that night. You're just getting it into your head that you're worthless
and everything you do is worthless. Think, Fraser. If you had a rape
victim and she talked like this, what would you tell her? Think like a
policeman." 

 "If I were still a policeman, I'd think like one." Fraser said with some
finality. 

 Ray let it drop. He wasn't doing any good. With a sigh he picked up bag
containing the pajamas and toiletries he'd been bringing to Fraser in the
hospital over several weeks and led the way out of the hospital room. The
orderly, Julio, was waiting in the corridor with an empty wheelchair. 

 "I know you'd probably rather walk, but we got a policy. You have to go
out the door in this. Sorry, man." 

 All that Ray had heard Fraser say and do, all his acts and words of
despondency, even to the suicide attempt, didn't prepare Ray for Fraser's
quiet acquiescence as he sat down without a word into the waiting
wheelchair and made no move to propel himself. He waited placidly for
Julio to push him. 

 Even with Victoria and the shooting, Fraser had eventually snapped out of
his depression. Ray thought about that as he walked along beside Fraser
and Julio. What had it taken? A case to solve. Maybe now that he was out
Fraser would work with Ray on some of his files. That might perk him up a
little. Ray still trusted his mother's judgement. Benito, as she called
him, needed to feel like a dynamic agent of justice. And he wasn't going
to get that playing gopher to the Dragon Lady.	

 The thing is, Ray thought as he lay in bed that night, that Fraser really
is a crackerjack at solving crimes. He's wasting his talents down here and
he knows it. When you think of the number of no-good-niks that we could
get off the streets if we could only let him loose and do his stuff, it
really was a shame. 

 And then an idea came to him. A long shot. Tomorrow, he'd call Lt.
Shannon and . . . who knows? 

 TEN OF THIRTEEN 

 "You wanted to see me, Detective?" 

 They were in Shannon's office at the 10th precinct. Ray reasoned that
she'd feel more comfortable on her own turf and if she felt comfortable
maybe she'd be more agreeable to his plan. 

 "I was wondering. Do you have a big turnover of staff in the Special
Assault Unit." 

 She eyed him curiously. "Are you asking me for a job?" 

 "In a way," his green eyes twinkled mischievously. Now that he had a plan
and was working on it he was feeling much better about life - both his own
and Benny's. 

 "Forget it, there's no way you're going to work Fraser's case. Nice try
though." 

 "It's not for me. It's for a friend." 

 Shannon studied him for a moment, then leaned back and folded her arms.
"Okay, I'll play along. No, I don't have a big turnover. Once I get
somebody they tend to stay with me a long time. The problem is finding
them in the first place. I'm very strict in my requirements." 

 "And those requirements are . . .?" 

 "This friend of yours, he'd have to . . . is it a he?" 

 "It's a he." 

 "Okay. First requirement, and I don't allow any exceptions, everyone in
the Special Assault Unit has to have been raped themselves or had somebody
close to them raped." 

 Ray found this sobering. "Everybody. Even . . ." 

 "The boss," she supplied. "Yes, everybody." 

 "My friend qualifies," Ray said, all flippancy gone now. 

 She picked up on his change of tone and became business-like herself. 

 "Good investigator." 

 "The best." 

 "Keen observer." 

 "And then some." 

 "People skills. He has to get people to trust him and make them do what
he says. Big part of our job is talking the victims into laying charges
and making sure they follow through. Charming, comforting, coax the
victims onto the witness stand." 

 "Oh Lieutenant, I'm about to make your day." 

 "I'm listening," she said. "Give me a name." 

 "Here's a name: Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police." 

 Ray had been expecting her to be surprised but she wasn't. Instead she
steepled her fingertips and brought them to rest pensively against her
lips. "You won't believe this, but I was thinking the same thing myself. I
asked your lieutenant about the Constable. What he told me about Constable
Fraser - it was intriguing. Welsh told me the man can track anybody
anywhere." 

 "Yup." 

 "And he can charm a bird out of a tree." 

 "Who am I to contradict my boss? Fraser would be perfect for you." 

 "But he's a Mountie. How would I get him?" 

 Ray hadn't thought it through that far, yet. "We'd have to go through his
own C.O., I guess." 

 "You know him?" 

 "Her." 

 "You know her pretty well." 

 "Pretty well. She won't want to lend him out. We need a plan." 

 Shannon sat and thought some more. "Vecchio, what are you doing for lunch
today?" 

 "Eating, I guess." 

 "Wrong. You and me are planning. I'll feed you while we do it. You like
Italian?" 

 Ray rolled his eyes. 

 "You know Ierfino's?" 

 Ray nodded. 

 "Be there at noon. We're going to make like Mounties. You're going to
help me get my man."  

 Lt. Shannon scheduled her meeting with Inspector Thatcher according to
Ray's instructions, at a time when he knew Fraser was going to be on guard
duty. The Mountie had to stand immobile while the woman in charge of the
investigation of his rape calmly strolled up beside him and pressed the
buzzer to ask for Inspector Thatcher. She didn't look at him and of course
he didn't dare turn to look at her. All he could do was stand there while
Turnbull buzzed her in and try to image what these two women were going to
say about him. Fraser knew nothing of Ray's plan. The Italian didn't want
to get his friend's hopes up. 

 The women exchanged courtesies, coffee was offered and declined, and
finally the Lieutenant came to the point. 

 "This is about Constable Fraser, of course." 

 "Oh course." 

 "I saw him on the way in. Is that what you have him doing most of the
time?" 

 This wasn't what Thatcher was expecting. She had figured Shannon would
want some background information from his file. "Door guard is part of his
duties," she said, carefully. 

 "He tells me he's Deputy Liaison Officer. Is that true?" 

 "Yes." 

 "I've been talking to Lieutenant Welsh about the Constable. Welsh thinks
highly of him." 

 "As do I." 

 "Un hunh. Fraser tells me he's been a cop for nearly 15 years, all of it
field experience. That must be a pretty dangerous door, if you need
someone with Fraser's qualifications to guard it." 

 Thatcher stiffened. "Is there something specific you wanted, Lieutenant
Shannon?" she asked icily. 

 "Yes, to be blunt. I want your deputy. I guess there's some kind of
paperwork we can fill out." 

 "That's out of the question!" 

 "Don't get 'em in an uproar, Inspector. I just want to borrow him. He can
come back to you any time he gets tired of doing police work and wants to
go back to being a mannequin." 

 Thatcher rose from seat. "Get out of my office!" 

 "We've got something in common, Inspector. I also like to get my man. In
this case, your man. I can use him to get scum off the streets and behind
bars. But of course if you think what he's doing right now is more
important . . ." 

 Thatcher was trapped. "I'll check with Ottawa and get back to you." 

 ELEVEN OF THIRTEEN 

 For the first few weeks of Fraser's new assignment, Ray agreed to skip
their regular Tuesday lunch so the Mountie could have his whole schedule
free for whatever Shannon wanted him to do. She kept him going day and
night and Ray hoped his friend was being paid overtime. Fraser sounded
busy and happy on the few occasions that Ray called him at the 10th. He
answered his phone with a crisp "Ben Fraser" and put Ray on hold from time
to time to take other calls while they chatted. 

 At last Fraser agreed to take a lunch hour off to resume their old
ritual. But instead of driving up to the Consulate door so Fraser could
jump into the Riv when guard duty ended, Ray came and parked in the lot
behind the 10th precinct and then went around to the front door. 

 The receptionist, a perky young blonde, asked if she could help him. 

 Ray was interested in seeing how the people around here treated Fraser.
He didn't show his shield. 

 "I'm looking for the Mountie," he told the receptionist, breezily. 

 "I'm sorry sir," the girl said, taken aback by his request, "This is a
police station. I think you'd have to go to England to find a Mountie.
They wear those red coats, right?" 

 "No, honey. I want the Mountie you have right here. Constable Benton
Fraser. Haul him out for me, will you?" 

 The girl only continued to be confused. She consulted her computer screen
and tapped a few commands. "We have a couple of Frasers but I'm sure none
of them are British." 

 "Canadian. Royal Canadian Mounted Police." 

 "Yes sir. Um, the thing is, we have lots of American police officers.
Would you like to speak to one?" 

 "I want the Mountie." 

 "We don't have any here. This is a police station. We have policemen
here," she explained to Ray as though he were a very small child. 

 An older woman had come to stand behind the receptionist and caught the
last bit of this exchange. "Charlotte, you dork. He's talking about
Shannon's new guy." 

 "Ben's British? He doesn't sound like it." 

 "Can't you picture him in that red Mountie stuff" said the other woman.
"Maybe we can get him to model it for us." 

 "Yum, yum." 

 "Just get him out here," Ray had been amused by all this but time was
running short on his lunch hour. 

 The older woman drifted away and the receptionist, now identified as
Charlotte, pressed some buttons on her phone console and talked into her
headset. "Ben. Sorry to disturb you. There's somebody to see you out
here." 

 "Tell him it's Ray," said Ray. 

 "He says his name is Ray. But I don't have him on your calendar." There
was a pause while she listened. Ray thought he made out Fraser's voice
faintly through the apparatus but couldn't tell what he was saying. 

 Charlotte said, "Okay, Ben," and then turned her attention back to Ray.
"Ben says would you please wait for a few minutes and he'll be out
shortly." The girl came out from behind her desk and led Ray down a
corridor to what was once an interrogation room but was now a comfortable
waiting room with armchairs, potted plants, a coffee machine and a tray
full of pastries. Charlotte invited Ray to make himself comfortable and
left him there. 

 It was in fact more than ten minutes before Ray caught the sound of
Fraser's voice again, coming from the corridor outside the waiting room.
He emerged and stood in the waiting room doorway, eager to see Benny in
action but not wanting to cramp his style. 

 Fraser and a tiny, elderly woman were making their way arm in arm towards
him. As they walked, Fraser leaned far down to her face and whispered
something in her ear. The old lady tittered and tapped him lightly on the
arm. "Oooh, Ben, you're terrible, just terrible." 

 Fraser had on clothes that Ray was sure he hadn't owned before coming to
the 10th - charcoal-coloured, sharply creased dress pants and a white wool
turtleneck. 

 Fraser steered her towards the waiting room and Ray had to stand aside to
let them enter. Fraser looked up at him briefly and said, "Hi, Ray. I'll
be with you in a minute," before settling the old lady into one of the
armchairs. "Mrs. Conroy, I'm going to get one of the officers to drive you
home. Wait right here, okay?" 

 The old woman fairly purred. "Aren't you going to take me home yourself,
Ben? You know how much I love to ride with you." 

 Ray nearly fainted to see Fraser plant a kiss on her withered cheek. "I'd
love to drive you home, but see, my friend's here to take me to lunch.
You'll be ready tomorrow morning for court, won't you, sweetheart?" 

 "If you say so, Ben." 

 "You're going to wear your hat with the daisies for me and I'm going to
walk with you right into that courtroom." 

 "You'll stay with me?" 

 "Every minute. I promise. We're going to put that nasty young man behind
bars - you and me." 

 "Whatever you say, Ben." 

 "That's my brave girl," Fraser declared. "I'll be at your house at
eight-thirty to pick you up." 

 Mrs. Conroy bestowed a look of pure love on the Mountie and warbled in a
cracking voice, "I'll be there to get you in a taxi, honey . . ." 

 "Gotta be ready by half past eight . . ." He sang back at her in his
clear tenor voice. They finished the first verse and then the chorus of
"Downtown Strutters Ball" together. With another buss on the woman's
cheek, Fraser bid Mrs. Conroy adieu, motioned authoritatively for Ray to
follow him, and headed out into the corridor. 

 When Ma's right, she's right. Ray marvelled at the change in Fraser as he
trailed after him. 

 TWELVE OF THIRTEEN 

 Lt. Shannon waylaid her new underling before the two friends could make
it to the street. "Ben. I need you for a line-up." 

 "Can't you use somebody else? I want to take Fraser out for lunch." 

 "Vecchio. Are you here? Good. Ben, you may want a friend with you when we
do this. I need you to identify a suspect." 

 Both Fraser and Ray froze. "You've made an arrest." Fraser said rather
than asked. 

 "This way," she said, soberly. "You know the routine." 

 Fraser was suddenly so rigid that Ray was afraid he'd snap in two if he
tried to walk. He took his friend's elbow gently. "I'm here, Benny. I'm
right beside you." 

 "I don't think I can do this," Fraser directed this to neither the man
nor the woman beside him, but to some point of empty air about three feet
in front of him. 

 "If Mrs. Conroy can do it, you can do it," Shannon said, firmly. 

 Shannon took the Mountie's other elbow and together she and Ray moved
Fraser along. He neither resisted nor initiated any motion of his own. He
simply went where they pushed him, With Lt. Shannon leading the way and
Ray assisting they got him into place and then stood back. 

 Fraser stared straight ahead without any expression while a line of men
filed into his view. Fraser peered at them through the separating glass
and then seemed puzzled. He leaned forward to get a better look, then
turned to Shannon. 

 "We use the same line up procedures as they do at the 27th, don't we?" 

 "Sure. Why?" 

 "I've never seen two suspects in the same line-up." 

 "And you never will. If we had two suspects we'd do two separate line
ups. You know that." 

 Fraser lost interest in her and turned his gaze back through the glass at
the men standing before him. "I know I'm not mistaken," he muttered to
himself. 

 Ray figured it out first. "Wait a minute, Benny. Are you telling me that
two of the guys that jumped you are out there." 

 Fraser nodded. 

 "One of these men is the suspect and the rest are officers from this
precinct," Shannon told him. 

 "Then one of them has a hobby he probably didn't put on his job
application," Fraser said, still eyeing the men on the other side of the
glass. "I imagine you'll be able to use that as leverage to get him to
lead you to the others." 

 "You haven't identified them yet, Ben. Which two?" 

 "Number one and number five," he told her. 

 "Number five is the suspect. Number one has been a detective here at the
10th since before I even came here." 

 Fraser astounded her by asking, "By any chance, is his name Rob?" 

 "Rob Michaelson." 

 "I'd like to talk to him," Fraser said, "He has my hat." 

 THIRTEEN OF THIRTEEN 

 It was a little out of the ordinary as interviews go, but the situation
itself was out of the ordinary. Michaelson sat in the interrogation room,
tapping his foot impatiently until Fraser and Shannon finally came in. Ray
stayed in the waiting area and helped himself to some crullers. 

 "What's this all about? I've got appointments this afternoon." Michaelson
said to Shannon, ignoring Fraser. 

 Shannon sat down opposite the detective . Fraser remained standing and
leaned against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. He had
pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and the muscles on his folded arms
bulged. He said nothing at first, letting Lt. Shannon start the
conversation. 

 "You've met Ben Fraser? The new guy on my team?" 

 Michaelson glanced at the Mountie. "Yeah, I seen him around." 

 "I'll bet you have. Ben wants to ask you a question, if you don't mind." 

 "Make it fast," Michaelson spat out, but he was too nervous for his
belligerence to impress anybody. 

 Without moving from his place against the wall Fraser said, deadpan. "I
was wondering if you would please give me back my hat." 

 "Don't know what you're talking about." 

 Fraser and his boss exchanged a look. "Stetson. Camel-coloured. Leather
band," said the Mountie, "It has sentimental value for me, and I'd
appreciate having it returned." 

 "Why the hell would I take your hat?"stammered the other man. 

 "Ben didn't say you took it, Rob. He only said you had it." Shannon put
in. 

 Fraser stood away from the wall to take a few steps closer to Michaelson
and the detective shrank slightly away from him. 

 "You pose an interesting philosophical question, Detective Michaelson.
Although I'm sure you meant it rhetorically, I think it's worth pursuing.
Why would any man . . . take another man's hat? Why would a group of men
get together for the purpose of . . . depriving another man of his hat?" 

 Fraser took another step closer. Perspiration beads started to form on
the seated man's forehead. The Mountie uncrossed his arms and rested his
hands against his hips. 

 "You may not be aware of this, Detective, but losing your hat is a very,
very painful thing. A lot of men don't survive it." 

 Michaelson was sweating hard now, wetting the collar and underarms of his
shirt. Fraser stepped even closer. 

 "A man who loses his hat comes to doubt himself. He starts to feel
worthless. Depriving a man of his hat, that's a cruel thing, don't you
think?" Again, Fraser stepped closer to a spot where he towered over the
seated man. 

 "I know who you are now and it wouldn't be hard to find out where you
live," Fraser now bent his face close to the Michaelson and fixed mild
blue/grey eyes on him. "Do you think maybe I could come over to your house
sometime and we could look for my hat?" 

 Michaelson pointed a trembling finger at Fraser. "Shannon, you keep him
away from me. He's nuts." 

 Shannon ignored him. 

 "It's important to me," said Fraser, sweetly. 

 "What do you want from me?" 

 Michaelson was staring, terrified, at the Mountie but it was Shannon that
answered. 

 "I want to offer you a deal. Ben doesn't do anything more about . . . uh.
. . . his hat in exchange for you introducing me to some of your friends."


 Michaelson's mouth dropped open. He looked back and forth helplessly
between Fraser and Shannon. 

 "Ben, you can go for lunch now. Rob and I can work this out," Shannon
said. 

 Fraser gave her a short sharp nod. "Understood." As he turned to leave
the interrogation room, Shannon said "Wait here," to Michaelson and
followed Fraser to the door. 

 In a whisper she said, "You managed to solve your own case." 

 "I just feel strongly about my hat," Fraser whispered back, and with a
last disgusted look at the cowering Michaelson he went out to join Ray.  

 Ray wiped the last cruller crumbs from his mouth when he saw Fraser come
into the waiting room. 

 "So, what happened?" 

 "I can't be sure, but I have a feeling Detective Michaelson is going to
squeak on his friends. He and Lt. Shannon are working out the details." 

 "'Squeal on his friends', Benny." 

 "Sorry." 

 Ray slung an arm around his friend's shoulder, "This place has been good
for you, even if it is cutting into our Tuesdays. You're almost like your
old self again." 

 "I have a long way to go before I'm myself again, I think. But yesterday
I called the psychiatrist the hospital recommended and made an
appointment." 

 "I'm glad, Benny." 

 Fraser swallowed and wiped his eyes with his fist. "How many times does
it make now that you've saved my life?" 

 "I'm not counting." Ray tried to sound flippant but the tears that were
forming in his own eyes spoiled the effect. So, what do you want to eat?
Chinese, Bar-be-que?" 

 "You decide Ray," Fraser's voice broke as he tried to stop from crying.
"You always know what's best for me." 

 But Ray was of a more demonstrative nature. He threw his arms around his
friend and let his tears fall without hindrance onto the Mountie's
sweater. 

End Victim by The Moo: the_moo37@hotmail.com

Author and story notes above.