Better Late Than Never Disclaimer: The whole kit and caboodle of characters belongs to Alliance, except the criminal and the victim. This story is only for our mutual, non-profit enjoyment. Any similarity between this story and any part of the real world is lucky on my part. Apologies in advance for any misrepresentation of the Chicago area. Notes: This is my first fanfic, please be kind. It's a bit grim, but neither bloody nor smutty. Comments, flames, and good recipies can be sent to cushion@home.com. Better Late Than Never By Aldebaran ******** ��������"Another girl is missing." ��������Lieutenant Welsh crossed the busy squad room to stand by the desk of Ray Vecchio. "You hear me, Vecchio?" Ray nodded absently, ear pressed to the phone as his head bobbed along with the voice on the other end of the line. ��������"Uh huh. Yeah. Yeah. Whatever." The detective hung up, running his hand through his short bond hair as he scribbled some notes on the corner of a Chinese takeout menu. "Sorry, Lieutenant, you say something?" ��������"I said, another girl is missing, grabbed out of the parking lot at the University. I want you to get over there and see what you can see." Welsh held out a piece of paper with the name and number of the University contact written in his precise, no-nonsense script. ��������"That's not my case, that's Huey's case. Not that I don't wanna help," the detective said as he got to his feet, reaching for his jacket, "but I got this tip on the Gambril case I gotta follow up, and then�" ��������"They just found a body, they think it's of the first girl. Huey's out checking on that, and I need someone to go to the University. And that someone," said the Lieutenant as he caught the detective's right hand and placed the paper in it, "is you. So get going." With that, Welsh turned his back and walked away from Ray. Ray looked at the paper in his hand, at the retreating back of his superior, and decided it would be far, far easier to just go to the University, take a few statements, and then get back to his own cases. Catching sight of the bright red serge of Fraser's uniform as the Mountie entered the room, Ray decided that two would make the job go more quickly than one. "Hey Fraser, c'mon with me. I'll explain in the car." ***** ��������"So this is the third girl to go missing?" The two had finally arrived in the correct university parking lot, and Ray pulled his car up behind one of the police cruisers. He had filled Fraser in on the grim facts of the case, such as they were, on the ride over. Two young women, both in their early twenties, grabbed off of the campus in the space of a week. No witnesses, no demands for ransom, and not much in the way of evidence. And until today, no bodies, but an unpleasant discovery in one of the city parks had put an end to the hopes that these women had disappeared of their own volition. At least I get to deal with live people, thought Ray. Dealing with the dead's no way to start a week. ��������"Yeah, Fraser, unless this one ran off with her boyfriend and left us a nice note, she's the third. What's the story, O'Brien?" The detective crossed over to the beat cop, who was holding a brown leather bag in her hand. ��������"Campus police found the car like this on a routine check of the parking lots this morning. Door open, purse on the ground, nobody around. Surprised the car's still here, frankly." The officer handed Ray the wallet, which he flicked open and began to rummage through. ��������"Cash here, credit cards, so no robbery�" He trailed off as he pulled the driver's license out from behind a University library card. ��������"Ray? Is there a problem?" Fraser glanced over his partner's shoulder at the I.D. Elizabeth Markham, 31 years old, with a washed out license photo showing only that she was white, with long dark hair. "A little older than the others. Does that concern you?" Ray hadn't moved, or spoken, only stood looking at the photo. "Ray. Ray. Ray?" ��������The detective shook himself as if emerging from deep water. "Yeah. No. What the hell�what happened here?" He stared around the crime scene, looking suspiciously at the blue Honda. "Yeah, that's her car, why didn't I�" He circled warily around the car as Fraser watched, concerned. "Is that it? Just her purse, nothing else? Don't tell me there's nothing here, I know there's something, gotta be something. Gotta be." ��������O'Brien gestured to one of the other cops on the scene. "Well, since you asked, there is." The other man handed her an evidence bag, which Ray snatched out of her hand. "We found it rolled under the car. We figured he used it to subdue her, and must have forgotten it. Maybe someone came by, scared him off." The bag contained a long screwdriver, bloody over halfway up the six-inch blade. ��������"That's his blood, not hers." Ray cradled the bag gently in his hands. "She got him before he got her. Got him good, too." He shook his head slowly. "No blood on the ground though. Didn't get him hard enough." ��������Fraser cocked his head. "Ray, there really is no reason to believe that it isn't her blood. Though there were no weapons found at the other scenes, that doesn't mean this wasn't a slip up on his part. It's far more likely that he brought the screwdriver and dropped it, than to think Ms. Markham carried it on her person. After all, a screwdriver is not a common weapon of self-defense. Of course, I am not sure as to what percentage of violent crimes are committed by criminals armed with screwdrivers. I'm sure the FBI's criminal statistics�" ��������"It's hers. She didn't have it on her, it was in the car." Ray leaned through the open car door and peered under the passenger seat. "She kept it here, between the parking brake and the seat." Turning, Ray paced away from the car and back again. "She must have heard him coming, reached in, grabbed it, and wham!" The detective gestured violently with the evidence bag in his hand. "Right into him. But he got her anyway. Son of a bitch." He handed the evidence bag back to O'Brien and stepped away from the forlorn blue Honda, reaching in his pocket for his phone. ��������Fraser took this opportunity to inspect the scene, finding a few small streaks of blood on the ground, a dent in the side of the car that could have been caused by a struggle, but little else of use. Whatever the assailant did, he did it quickly, cleanly, and professionally. The dropped screwdriver was the best clue so far, though if Ray was correct, it might not even have the fingerprints of the attacker on it, and thereby be almost useless. ��������"Frannie, I need you to do something for me. Hey, this is work, you know, work, when you get paid to do what I tell you? Right. Call around to local hospitals, I need to know if any guy has come in, or comes in, with what looks like a deep puncture wound. Like with a screwdriver." Ray pulled his head away from the phone and grimaced at it before he spoke again. "You heard me. Yours is not to wonder why, just do it. Call me if you hear anything." He hung up as Fraser approached. "Find anything else?" ��������"Not much," Fraser replied, pointing out the bits of evidence he had observed. "By grabbing them out in the open, he minimizes his chances of leaving fingerprints, although he increases the possibility he might be seen. Perhaps we should do a canvas of the area, and see if anyone heard or saw anything?" ��������Ray nodded. "The street cops can start that. Let's go to her department. Maybe someone saw her leave, knows if anyone's been bothering her." He squinted across the parking lot, looking in all directions. "Uhhh�.that way. C'mon." Ray waved at O'Brien, and headed out across the lot towards a tall brick building on it's far side. ��������"If you don't mind my asking, Ray, how well do you know the victim?" Fraser had just caught up to Ray when the detective stopped still and glared at him. ��������"Whaddaya mean, how well did I know her? What kind of question is that?" Ray's blue eyes were cold and angry, and Fraser took a step back from his partner, choosing his words carefully. ��������"Well, Ray, given the fact that you knew Ms. Markham carried a screwdriver in her car, and where it was carried, I must assume that you had met her before, in a capacity where you could learn such information. Perhaps a garage? A community self-defense class?" Ray snorted, looking at the ground, at Fraser's shiny boots, at anything other than his face. ��������"I knew her, that's all. I met her. Around. Does it matter?" Ray started walking again, long strides carrying him across the parking lot. Again, Fraser moved to catch up, and walked besides him for a few paces before speaking again. ��������"Well, no, Ray, I suppose it doesn't matter. Unless you know something about her which might contribute to solving the case?" Ray shook his head but gave no reply. The two crossed the parking lot, up a flight of stairs cut into the hillside, and across the bustling quad. Ray sliced through the crowd, not looking to either side, and Fraser followed quietly, until they reached a long grey building. Ray stopped in front, looking up and down the outside of the building as if he expected to see a message printed there. Fraser hesitated. "Um, Ray? Why have we stopped?" ��������"Can't remember the floor." Ray reached out and grabbed the arm of a passing student. "Hey. What floor's Philosophy on?" ��������"Let go of me, you�" the boy began, before noticing Ray's holster, and the determined look on his face. "Uh, third, sir." Ray let go of the boy's arm, and he scurried off across the quad, looking back anxiously over his shoulder. ��������"Thank you kindly," Fraser called after the student, and then turned to follow Ray into the building. ***** ��������The Philosophy department took up half of the third floor, but Ray did not hesitate as he moved down halls and through common areas. A few suited professors looked up as they passed, and though Fraser wondered whether they might have some information on the victim's activities before her disappearance, he decided simply to follow Ray's lead for now. ��������Ray stopped outside of a partly open office door at the end of one corridor. 'Gillian LaPlaca' read the nameplate on the door, and a woman's voice could be heard in a one-sided conversation within. He reached out and knocked gently on the door. ��������"Yes, you're welcome. Come in?" Ray pushed the door open as the woman within hung up her phone and turned to face them. She was slight, in her late thirties, with close-cropped blond hair and a pixie face. She tipped her head to one side when she saw Ray, holding up her hand. "Wait, don't tell me. It's�.Roy? No, Ray. Ray Kowalski! Well, what brings you here? It must be years. Eliza's not here Tuesdays. She circled around the desk towards them, and Ray stepped forward awkwardly. "You are here to see Eliza, correct?" Gillian smiled at him, a smile which faded as Ray did not return it. She glanced over at Fraser. "Who's he?" ��������"Constable Benton Fraser, ma'am, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I'm afraid we're here on business, relating to Ms. Markham. Perhaps you might wish to sit down?" The woman crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against he desk, glaring at Fraser. ��������"All right, what's this about? Get to it!" She looked from Fraser to Ray and back again. Before either could speak, her face shifted again, to a look of confusion. "It's not�Eliza's all right, isn't she? It's not that man�" She stopped, unwilling to go any further. ��������"I'm sorry," said Ray, finally looking her in the eye. "We think she got grabbed. They found her car and purse in the lot this morning." Gillian's body sagged against the desk, and she put one hand over her face. The three stood silent for a moment, then Gillian took a deep breath and looked up at Ray. ��������"You are going to find her," she said firmly, and Ray nodded in response. "Then, what can I do?" ��������"Had Ms. Markham mentioned having any difficulties with any of her co-workers or students? Was anyone bothering her at all, following her, harassing her in any way?" Gillian shook her head no to all of Fraser's questions, her fingertips to her mouth as she thought. ��������"When'd she leave yesterday?" asked Ray. ��������"She called me last night at about 10 p.m. We were supposed to have dinner tonight, but she had to cancel, said she was coming down with something and was swamped with work. She was still in her office when she called, but she said she was on her way home. I told her to have a good rest and I'd see her Wednesday." She paused and then shook her head. "I told her to get security to walk her to her car; she said she would, but you know how she is. So damn impatient�" Gillian trailed off. "I'm sorry, can you give me a minute?" she said, softly, her fingers pressed to her forehead. ��������Ray fumbled in his pocket for a card. "Here, take this. If you think of anything, give me a call." He extended the card to her, and then pulled it back, digging a pen out of his pocket and writing something on the back. "My home number. Anytime. Even if you don't think it's important. Okay?" She took the card from his hand and looked at it before nodding and looking back at the detective. Her eyes had reddened, though no tears had yet escaped. ��������"Vecchio?" she asked. Ray shrugged, giving her a half-smile. ��������"Long story." His phone rang, and he moved towards the door. "I'll let you know if we find anything." Before she could respond, he slipped into the hall. "Vecchio." ��������Fraser made his goodbyes and followed Ray into the hall, shutting the office door behind him. Ray hung up the phone as Fraser approached, and surprised his partner with a wicked grin. ��������"Westview Hospital treated a man this morning, with a four-inch puncture wound in his thigh. They're giving Frannie a hard time about releasing info over the phone, so we gotta go over there and get it. I knew she got him!" ��������"It may not be the same man, Ray," Fraser cautioned, but the detective was already on the move. Shaking his head, Fraser followed Ray down the hall. ***** ��������The hospital's emergency room was surprisingly quiet, given its purpose. In the waiting area, a woman tried to maintain her composure while her three small children shrieked and ran between the chairs. An old man sat patiently, hand wrapped in a dishtowel, flipping through an old People magazine. ��������Fraser went to the admitting desk. "Pardon me, but I'm looking for a Dr. Wedler." ��������The clerk gestured with her chin at a tall, white-coated man at the other end of the long desk. Ray got to him first. ��������"You Dr. Wedler?" The man nodded. "Detective Vecchio, Chicago P.D. You saw a guy this morning with a puncture wound in his leg?" ��������"Yes, I did, but I have to say I am reluctant to talk to a member of the police without�" ��������Ray stepped forward, bringing his face close to the doctor's. "Look, buddy, there's a guy out there killing women, and you saw him this morning. I don't have time for you to play doctor's privilege with me, so spill." The doctor stepped back, eyes narrowing. ��������"Now, I don't have to�" Fraser decided to interrupt before things got out of control. He placed a hand on Ray's shoulder, but his partner shrugged it off and glared at him. Fraser met his eyes unflinchingly, and after a moment Ray turned away, pacing a few steps down the hall. ��������"Excuse me, doctor, I fully understand your worries as to the legal rights of both yourself and your patient. My partner and I are only concerned due to the urgent nature of the case. A young woman's life is in danger, and we believe the man you saw this morning may be responsible. Your co-operation in obtaining his name would be greatly appreciated." ��������The doctor hesitated. Fraser wondered briefly if any Inuit stories were apropos to the situation. Before he could decide, Ray decided to tell a story of his own. Spinning back towards Fraser and Webler, Ray pointed a finger at the admissions desk. "And if I gotta come back here with a warrant, I'm taking everything: every file, piece of paper, garbage can, and phone cord you got in this place. And you'll get 'em back when I'm done with 'em, not before. Ever run a hospital without paper?" He leaned threateningly towards Webler, who gracelessly capitulated. Giving Ray a glare, he went to the desk and shuffled through a pile of unfiled charts. ��������"Here, name is�.huh." The doctor could not hold back a grin. "Name here is John Smith. No address given. Sorry, officer, looks like your guy doesn't want to be found." He placed the chart back in the stack and smiled pleasantly at Ray. "Anything else?" Ray bared his teeth at the doctor, who suddenly found something to do down the hall. ��������Ray placed both palms flat on the admit desk and shook his head slowly. "No name, no address, nothing. Now what?" He turned and looked at Fraser pleadingly; his changeable eyes had slipped from blue to an empty grey. "Now what?" ��������"Well, Ray, perhaps a canvas of the crime scene will turn up a witness. Perhaps the lab will return us some information on the screwdriver." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a young man dressed neatly in a shirt and tie hovering just out of reach. "Pardon me, Ray." Fraser turned to the young man, who flinched back but did not flee. "Excuse me, but I couldn't help but noticing your interest in our conversation." ��������The young man nodded. He glanced anxiously over Fraser's shoulder at Ray. "He's not going to yell at me next, is he?" Fraser shook his head no, and the man continued. "It's just that I shouldn't say anything, really, but that guy who came in this morning�I recognized him from before." ��������"Before?" prompted Fraser gently, hoping that Ray would not enter the conversation and scare the young man away. The man nodded, washing his hands in front of him. ��������"Yeah, he came in about a month ago. I work here, in the filing room, and my girlfriend was here, we were going to go to lunch. There's this real nice little Chinese place down the street we like to go to." Fraser smiled encouragingly, hearing Ray shift from foot to foot behind him. One more moment, Ray, he thought. Just one moment. ��������"Anyway, so, she was here, and this guy came in. He had put a nail through his hand, or something, you know, like he was doing home improvements? He made Marta � that's my girlfriend � really nervous, the way he kept looking at her. She made me rush out of here. But I remembered him when he came this morning." He glanced down the hall, and stepped in closer to Fraser. "I could look up the file? It might have his name. But I'm not supposed to. But if a girl's in trouble�." He trailed off, looking at Fraser for assurance. ��������"Well, of course I couldn't ask you to do something which might endanger your job." He felt Ray's hand on his back, tightening in the cloth of his tunic. ��������"Maybe," came Ray's voice from behind him, "maybe, if you just, y'know�refreshed your memory of the guy's name and address, we wouldn't need to see a file. 'Cause if you just remembered it�well, that'd be okay, right?" The young man grinned, and backed away from Fraser, ducking behind the admit desk and into a back room. Fraser felt Ray's hand release him, and he turned to face his partner. ��������"I'm not sure that is entirely legal, Ray." Ray shrugged one shoulder and moved away from the desk. ��������"You're not gonna see a file. I'm not gonna see a file. So what if the kid has a good memory, right? C'mon, Fraser," he turned and cocked his head to one side. "You just can't look at a gift horse, you gotta take it. Take the horse." ��������"I think you mean�" Fraser began, but the file clerk had reappeared from the back room and he sidled up to the constable. ��������"Martin Crawford, 3576 Greenleaf Street. And don't worry, I won't tell them I told you." He stepped away quickly, looking once over his shoulder, and then disappearing down the hall. Ray was halfway to the car before Fraser caught up with him. ��������"On our way back to the station, in might be valuable to stop at the University, and see if campus security has any pertinent information." ��������"We're not going to the station." Ray unlocked the driver's door and slid gracefully in. ��������"Well, Ray, first we need to try and obtain a warrant to enter Mr. Crawford's premises. And as it is, after all, Detective Huey's case, we may wish to involve him in the proceedings. Therefore, we need to go to the station." Fraser rocked forward in his seat as Ray threw the car into reverse and zipped out of the parking spot. ��������'No, Fraser, what we need to do is go kick this guy's door down. He's got the girl, she's in danger, so we don't need a warrant. And Huey can just wait for the movie if he wants to know what's happening." ��������"Now Ray, be reasonable. We have a certain suspicion that Mr. Crawford is involved, but no real proof, and though the urgency of the situation is apparent�" ��������"I'm not gonna be reasonable, I'd rather be right. I know this is the guy, I know she's in trouble, and I know I'm not going to the station. And if you wanna be reasonable, you can do it somewhere other than my car. Got it?" Ray's face wore a determined frown as he wove his way through traffic. "Got it, Fraser? My way or the highway." ��������Fraser sighed. He was unwilling to let his partner face what may indeed be a dangerous criminal alone. If Ray is right, he thought, we will save a woman untold suffering, and perhaps her life. If Ray is wrong�.he looked again at his partner, who was determinedly not looking back. ��������"Understood, Ray." ***** ��������Crawford had kept quiet, even when Ray had kicked in the front door yelling "Chicago P.D.!". Even when Ray rampaged through the house, ripping doors open and tipping furniture over. Even when Fraser had pulled Ray off of the slight, balding man. Crawford had remained almost perfectly silent, except for a small grunt as Ray had cuffed him and tossed him into the back of the car. ��������Crawford had not been impressed by the brief but vicious argument between Huey and Ray over who, by rights, should take responsibility for him. Only the Lieutenant's intervention had prevented a physical confrontation, and Ray was sent to his desk to await the results of the interview. Crawford's only contribution to the entire scene was to request, politely but firmly, his lawyer. ��������Ray seethed at his desk. He could not keep still, rocking in his chair, getting up and pacing for a few steps and then flinging himself back into his seat. Fraser was quiet, patient, and worried. There had been no indication that anyone was being held in the house. No signs of restraints, of danger, of death. A neatly kept bachelor's house, with the guest bed made for nonexistent company. Fraser felt time was being wasted, and he kept a wary eye on Ray. As a result, neither of them noticed Assistant State's Attorney Stella Kowalski until she was right in front of the desk. ��������"What in the hell did you think you were doing?" She spat the words at both of them, but her glare was reserved for Ray. He snapped his head back and looked at the ceiling, but did not answer. She continued. ��������"Have either of you heard of a warrant? You know, that piece of paper that prevents cops from harassing harmless citizens? Ray? If you had any reason for hauling Crawford in here like you just arrested Jack the Ripper, you might want to tell me now. Because if you don't," she slammed her hand down on Ray's desk, drawing his immediate attention. "If you don't, Crawford is out of here." ��������Ray leaped to his feet. "You can't let him go! He's the guy, if he walks�why the hell are you letting him go?" Stella's eyes met his, and held his stare until he looked to the side. ��������"I'm letting him go, Detective, because I can't keep him. You have no evidence. None! You got his address from a restricted file, following some sort of hunch from a bloodstained screwdriver the lab hasn't even reported on yet. Do you have any reason to believe that he got his wound from that screwdriver? That he didn't slip in the tub and fall on a pipe? Anything?" Ray couldn't meet her eyes. He slipped back into his chair and put his head in his hands. ��������"It's his blood. I know." He looked back up at Stella. "Can't you do anything?" ��������She stepped away from the desk. "That's not my job, Ray. You get evidence, we'll get the guy. Until then�" She turned her back on them and walked towards the door. ��������Fraser leaned over the desk. "Perhaps, Ray, if you told her that you knew the screwdriver belonged to�" ��������"Shut up, Fraser!" Ray hissed at his partner. Fraser sat back, startled. He looked at the retreating back of the Assistant State's Attorney, but did not follow her. ��������"Well, perhaps it doesn't matter anyway. After all, there's no evidence yet linking the screwdriver to Crawford. The lab report should come up soon." He glanced at Ray, who was staring down at his desk. "We may want to pay a visit to the morgue. The first woman's body is here, and there may be evidence Mort can give us. Ray?" The blond detective looked up, not at Fraser, but at Stella, who was in conversation with Welsh by the door to the squad room. As if she felt Ray's eyes upon her, Stella turned her head and looked back at her ex-husband, and then stepped through the doors and out of sight. Welsh came towards Ray's desk. ��������"Thanks for your help, Vecchio. You've certainly made a simple assignment much more complicated than I had thought you could. As a reward, I'm letting you go back to your regular work." Ray opened his mouth to protest, but the Lieutenant held up his hand. "Don't thank me, just remember me at Christmas. Huey and Dewey will handle this, you stay out of it. Far out of it. In fact, maybe you should go take a nice long lunch and then stay the hell away from the squad room for a while. It'll go better for everyone that way." ��������Ray rocked back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Welsh stepped away from the desk. "Constable, take this man out of my squad room before anything else interesting happens." As he turned away from the desk, Welsh said quietly, "I'm putting a car on your guy. Just in case he does anything we could actually pick him up for." Before either Ray or Fraser could respond, Welsh had entered conversation with a passing detective and moved out of range. ��������"Lunch sounds like a good idea, Ray. My treat. What do you say?" Ray looked away from Welsh and back to Fraser. Without a word, he rose and grabbed his jacket. Fraser joined his partner as they left the squad room. ***** ��������What had started as a bright, if brisk, day, was rapidly becoming gloomy and dark. The two men had ended up at a diner a few blocks from the station, Fraser having insisted that a walk would do them both a world of good. And though Fraser felt a bit more clear-headed, the walk had done nothing for Ray. His shoulders had taken on the slump they usually did after a particularly long day, and he pushed his fries aimlessly around his plate with his pickle. Outside, thunder rumbled, and Ray threw down the pickle in disgust. "Typical." ��������"What's typical, Ray?" Fraser asked, grabbing on to the only conversational thread his partner had cast out. ��������"Rain. Like that's what I really need right now. Why'd you make me walk, anyway? I have a perfectly good car at the station. But no, we have to walk. Why? Because the Mountie says so." Ray shot a look at Fraser from beneath his creased brow. "Why do we always have to do what you want, huh? Why can't we ever do it my way?" ��������Fraser thought it was best not to point out the number of times they had done it Ray's way, the most recent being the arrest of Crawford. "Well, Ray, what would you like to do?" ��������The detective slouched back in the booth and crossed his arms over his chest. For a long moment he stared out the window, until rain started to fall in small, quick drops in the parking lot. Ray looked at his plate, cast a glance at Fraser from rain-dark eyes, and then looked back out the window. "Nothing Fraser. Not a damn thing I can do." He sucked his teeth for a second, and then turned to face his partner. "I screwed this one up, didn't I? Screwed it up real good. Now if Crawford's the guy, he knows we're watching. We're not going to get him on anything, I can feel it." ��������"If he's the one? I thought you had a hunch, Ray. You seemed quite sure." Fraser watched as Ray closed his eyes and let his uncertain thoughts play out on his face. ��������"I dunno, maybe I was going too quick. I really thought I had it, y'know?" He leaned forward, putting both elbows on the table and gesturing with his hands. "You get going, and you get this feeling, like the whole case is this big puzzle, one of those thousand-piece jigsaws. And you have a picture of it all in your mind, of how it should look, and you're just throwing pieces into place, zip zip. It gets clearer and clearer, and then wham, you get it! Or in this case," he said as he leaned back again, "Wham, you hit the wall." He blinked his eyes open and looked at Fraser. "What?" ��������"I didn't say anything," Fraser replied, but Ray shook his head in disagreement. ��������"Maybe you didn't, but you were gonna. So, what? Say it, ask it, just get to it. C'mon, Fraser." Ray let a small grin creep to his lips. "You know you can't lie to me." ��������Fraser ran the tip of his thumb over his eyebrow. "Well, Ray, when I asked a similar question earlier, you seemed quite perturbed, so I thought it would be best if I�" Ray gave a snort of laughter and cut him off. ��������"Perturbed, eh? Usually, I get mad, or cranky, or pissed, but perturbed? That's a new one." Still grinning, he turned again to face the window. The rain had started to come down hard, in the vicious way that only a late-fall rain can manage. Ray's breath steamed over a small patch on the window, but he didn't seem to notice. The grin disappeared, replaced by a look Fraser had seen on a hundred people, telling him a hundred stories of their lives. In these stories, memory was the main actor, and they almost never had a happy ending. ��������"She�I�we�" Ray stopped and reached a hand out to the fog on the window. He drew a smiley face with one long finger, then quickly wiped it out with his palm. ��������"You had an affair." Fraser did not make it a question. The grin flickered across Ray's face again, as cold as the lightning outside. ��������"A few years ago. Stella and I were going through a bad time; the last bad time, before the last real try, before she decided it just wasn't gonna work after all. I don't even remember where I met her. That's a lie." A small smile slipped into place as he spoke, warm as summer heat lightning. "I was getting coffee at some ritzy little place by the University, 'cause that's where I was when I got off my shift, and I didn't want to go home. I tripped over something and spilled the whole cup all over her stuff, papers, books, I think some got in her bag." The smile was a real one now, but fragile. "Eliza just laughed. She was having that kind of day. Stella would've taken my head off for ruining her things like that." Ray paused, the smile cracked, and he was back in the little diner looking out at the rain. ��������"And Stella never knew?" Fraser knew the answer to that already. ��������"Hell no, are you kidding? I don't think she even suspected. She worked really crazy hours, and so did I. When we saw each other we either fought, or didn't talk at all. So, maybe one night, I get home four hours late. She's not asking me where I was, that'd mean we might actually talk about something. Maybe I'm acting a little funny." Ray leaned forward, tucking his hands under his arms and resting his elbows on the blue and white tabletop. "How are you supposed to act when your marriage is falling apart? I've never done it before, and neither has Stella, so we just pretend we know what we're doing. I'd never have gotten away with it if things hadn't been so bad. 'Course, I never would have done it if things had been good, right? Cheating: not the sign of a strong relationship. I may not be bright, but that I know." ��������Fraser hesitated before asking the next question, but Ray seemed a bit calmer, as if speaking had not only let loose memory, but removed the heavy box it had been stored in for years. He tipped his head to the side and watched Ray from behind cool blue eyes as he searched for ways to phrase what he wanted to ask. They both sat in silence for a few moments until Fraser settled on the simplest version. "Why?" ��������Ray shrugged and looked up at his partner. "No good reason. I guess there is no good reason for that kinda thing, just a lot of excuses. And I didn't really think about it, try to justify it or anything. I mean, Eliza knew. Wedding ring on my hand, she knew. Guess that makes her a homewrecker, right?" Ray shook his head. "Not that there was a hell of a lot of home left to wreck at that point, which maybe Eliza knew better than Stella or me." Ray unwound his arms and reached for the cup of coffee cooling on the table. He took a slow sip, swishing it around in his mouth like a fine wine. Fraser waited, patiently, for the rest of the story. ��������"I never had to lie to her; Eliza, I mean. You know, all those pathetic my-wife-doesn't-understand-me, I'm-getting-a-divorce stupid stories guys tell. Eliza didn't care. We were just�" He sipped again and put the cold mug down. "We were friends. I mean, not just friends, but friends anyway. We went out, I met some of the people she knew, like Gillian. I didn't have a lot of time, but a few hours a week, it was like I had a totally different, totally normal life. She never asked me for anything more, she was way too smart for that." Ray smiled again, and Fraser smiled in return, feeling his partner relax from across the table. All too soon reality would come back to Ray, and the sweet memory of a moment sandwiched within a larger pain would give way to a sickly fear that the story might be forever shattered by an ultimately brutal ending. Somewhere in Chicago, a clock was ticking for Eliza, and neither he nor Ray knew how much time was left. ��������"And when it was over, it was over. Some friend I was, right? Goodnight Irene. I haven't seen her since." He absently picked over his fries, but there were no warm ones to be found. "Just as well for her, though. I mean, she deserved a hell of a lot better than some sneaky, part-time, half-assed guy who couldn't even sleep over. And you can't really stay friends after something like that, you know?" Ray glanced up at Fraser, who raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Well, I guess you don't know, but trust me, you can't. We should have just been friends all along. But it doesn't work like that between men and women. I tell you one thing, though," he said, leaning back and looking at Fraser. "If we were still friends, I'd never have let her walk alone on that damn campus at night. Never." ��������The rain had lessened slightly, but it still fell without remorse. Ray took a deep breath and held it, then exhaled noisily. "You done there, Benton buddy? We got stuff to do." Fraser took off his hat and began to count out bills to pay the check, as Ray dug in his pocket for his ringing phone. "Vecchio." ��������As Fraser calculated the correct tip, he watched Ray listen to the voice at the other end of the line. From where he was sitting, it sounded like Lieutenant Welsh's voice, but the pelting of the rain on the window prevented him from hearing clearly enough to understand. ��������"On our way." Ray flicked the phone shut and got to his feet. "They're bringing Crawford back in, as a witness. Somebody matching his description was seen in the area at around ten that night. Pitter patter, Fraser, let's get the hell out of here. I want a crack at this guy before they let him go. Again." Ray shrugged on his jacket as Fraser left the money for the bill, and the two men headed out into the rain. ***** ��������Welsh was already in the observation room when Ray and Fraser arrived. The drenching rain had plastered Ray's hair to his head, and he shook like a dog when they entered the small space, earning a glare from his superior. Through the one-way glass, Fraser could see Crawford, sitting alone at the plain wooden table. He was a small man, thin and balding, and still possessing the same calm demeanor he had shown when Ray had kicked down his door. "What's the story?" asked Ray, quietly. ��������"He just came in," Welsh replied. "We told him we want to talk to him as a potential witness, and he hasn't called his lawyer yet." ��������"Good. Then I don't have to wait to go in." Ray made a move for the door, but Welsh grabbed him with one large hand. ��������"Not on your life, Vecchio. The guy sees you, he'll clam right up. We're going to give Dewey a shot at him first, since he's talked to you and Huey already. Maybe he'll mistake Dewey for a nice guy, and actually say something this time." He let go of Ray, who stepped away from the door and moved to stand beside Welsh. Fraser removed his wet hat and shook it to remove the beaded raindrops, as Dewey entered the interrogation room. ��������The questioning went rather as Fraser had expected. Constrained by the previous actions of his fellow detectives, Dewey asked a series of straightforward questions, which Crawford answered with a small, condescending smile. Yes, he had been at the University on the night in question, he often walked at night for his health. No, he had not been in that parking lot, nor had he seen Eliza Markham. No, he had not seen anyone about, other than a few students he would not recognize again. Looking across Welsh, Fraser could see Ray beginning to rock back and forth in place. He sympathized with his partner. Clearly, Dewey did not want to prompt Crawford into calling his attorney, but as a result, the interview was turning out to be useless. ��������"Gimme five minutes," Ray muttered to Welsh. The lieutenant shook his head. Ray ran a hand through his drying hair, and turned away from the window. ��������In the other room, Dewey sighed. "Mr. Crawford, can you tell me why you didn't tell the police this information when you came in before?" Crawford's smile expanded a bit, and he leaned forward in his chair. ��������"I'm sorry, officer, but given the rather abrupt way I arrived at the station last time, I thought anything I said�might be taken the wrong way." He leaned back and shifted his gaze to his reflection in the one-way glass. "And after all, I know nothing about what happened to that poor woman." Crawford paused, and then looked back at Dewey. "May I go now?" ��������"Just a minute," replied the detective, getting up from his seat and leaving the room. He entered the observation room, scratching his head. "Now what, Lieutenant? If I press the guy, he's going to scream harassment." He glanced sideways at Ray. "Which might be fair, considering what he's already put up with today." Ray ignored Dewey's remark and stepped close behind Welsh. ��������"C'mon, Lieutenant, just a few minutes. I'll play nice, I swear. We're just gonna have to let him go anyway, since somebody couldn't get anything outta him." Dewey opened his mouth to respond to Ray's insult, but Welsh interrupted. ��������"I don't want to do this, but I don't want to let him go. The guy's so calm he's making my skin crawl. Okay, Vecchio, you get your chance. But," Welsh added as Ray headed for the door. "I want this by the book, and if he asks for his lawyer, it's over. Got it?" Ray nodded a response as he slipped out the door, Dewey right behind him. ��������It was a few moments before Ray entered the interrogation room alone. Crawford looked up questioningly, frowning when he saw the detective. ��������"I'm not under arrest again, am I, Detective? If so, you should contact my lawyer." Ray shook his head and said nothing, walking behind Crawford and then leaning against the wall across from the door. He stood there a moment, arms crossed, watching Crawford in silence. Crawford looked fixedly ahead of him, not even glancing at the detective to his right. Ray drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. ��������"It's too bad you didn't see anything. I mean, you're sure? Nobody suspicious, nobody acting funny?" Ray stepped away from the wall and crossed behind Crawford again, moving to stand by the door. Crawford shook his head slowly. ��������"As I told the other detective, I saw a few students, just walking along the paths. If any of them were responsible, I couldn't have known. It was a very quiet evening." He looked over at Ray, who was looking down at his feet. Another moment passed before Ray spoke again. ��������"Well, I guess if you didn't see anything, you didn't, right? Anyway, that's not why I'm here." Ray moved forward and put his hands on the table, leaning in as if he was about to share a secret with the other man. ��������The door to the observation room opened, and Stella Kowalski entered quietly. "I was in the squad room, and Dewey told me you have Crawford again." She caught sight of Ray in the other room and a look of surprise crossed her face. "What the hell�" Welsh held up a hand as Ray began to speak. ��������"I wanted to apologize for what happened before. I was a little out of line." Crawford looked startled for a moment, and then the satisfied smile began to spread across his thin lips. He looked up at Ray, who grinned a rueful little grin back. ��������"Well, Detective, it's nice to hear someone admit his mistakes for a change. Good for you. Shall I contact you when I get the bill for the repairs to my home?" Ray didn't respond, standing and walking towards the one-way mirror. As he turned away from Crawford, the grin left his face, and Fraser could see the tension in the set of Ray's jaw. Separated by the reflective glass, both of them watched Crawford, who had relaxed visibly from when Ray had entered the room. At Fraser's side, Stella leaned close to Welsh. ��������"Get him out of there before he does something stupid," she muttered in Welsh's ear. Clearly, she had also recognized the look on Ray's face. Fraser and Welsh exchanged a glance, and then the three looked back into the interrogation room. Ray turned to face Crawford again. ��������"I'm just a little too personally involved in this case. This woman, Eliza Markham�I know her. We were pretty close, I guess you'd say." Ray had caught Crawford's interest, and the man's eyebrows drew close together in suspicion. In the observation room, Fraser saw a puzzled look cross Stella's face, and he wished vainly he could tell his partner that she was present. ��������Ignorant of the size of his audience, Ray began to circle the table again. He was directly behind Crawford when he stopped suddenly, looking down at the seated man. Ray's lips began to curl back, until a truly feral smile had appeared on his face. Fraser could see his blue eyes glinting from across the room, and wondered what it was that Ray had thought of or seen that had caused this reaction. Crawford began to fidget in his seat, but before he could turn around, Ray had moved on. He returned to his place by the door, and leaned against it, hands in his jacket pockets. Ray appeared totally relaxed, as if he and Crawford were having a casual conversation at a bus stop, but the tension in the observation room was high. The silence was getting to all of them, and even Fraser found himself shifting from side to side as he waited for Ray to say something. ��������"We had a lot of fun, me and Eliza. I remember this one time, there was a black-out; it was summer and I guess everyone had their air conditioning going full blast, 'till the system just couldn't take it. Half the city was out, no TV, radio, nothing. She did these, whaddaya call them? Shadow puppets, yeah." Ray took his hands out of his pockets and linked his thumbs together, shaping a fluttering bird with his fingers. "We told all these stupid stories, like we were at summer camp. Yeah, she was great." Ray grinned at Crawford, who cautiously returned the smile. ��������In the observation room, Stella had gone perfectly still, her face expressionless. Fraser hoped that she was only worried about the strange approach Ray seemed to be taking with Crawford, and was not doing mental math, trying to place the black-out in her and Ray's own personal chronology. ��������"I can see why you'd be concerned," offered Crawford, and Ray nodded as if the man had just said something very profound. The bird of Ray's hands fluttered once more, before the detective dropped them to his sides and stood straight. ��������"She had this great long hair, a real dark brown color. I remember what it looked like, how soft it was. But there was this thing about it that drove me crazy, absolutely nuts." Ray moved again to stand behind Crawford, whose face had set in an almost exasperated expression. Ray leaned forward until he was almost speaking in Crawford's ear. ��������"Her hair," said Ray softly, "would get everywhere." With that, he reached out and pulled a long strand of hair off of Crawford's jacket shoulder and dangled it in front of the smaller man's face. "You wanna tell me where this came from?" ��������Crawford's face became still. "I want my lawyer." ��������"After the lab gets done with this, you're gonna need him," Ray replied. "Why don't' you save us the trouble of ripping your place up again and just tell me where the hell she is?" He was still behind Crawford, and he placed his free hand on the seated man's shoulder. "Huh? Fess up, buddy, and it'll all go easier for you. Or you wanna do it the hard way?" ��������Ray's knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on Crawford, who shoved the table away and twisted out of Ray's grasp. "Don't you touch me," he hissed, backing away from Ray like a trapped rat. The wild grin had returned to Ray's face, and he advanced on the smaller man until Crawford whirled and pressed himself against the one-way glass. "I want my lawyer!" he cried again, banging on the glass with one fist. Grinning, Welsh headed out of the observation room, Fraser following, leaving Stella alone in the dark. ��������Ray was in the hall, ticking things off on his fingers. "I want a warrant, I want this hair taken to the lab, and I want Crawford squeezed until he pops. He's got to have her at his place, somewhere, now we can get in and really look around." Welsh took the hair from Ray's fingers and examined it suspiciously. ��������"You don't get anything until the lab checks this out." He passed the hair off to Dewey, who took it gingerly. "Get a uniform over to Ms. Markham's house to get her hairbrush. If it matches, then we get the warrant. We'll hold Crawford until then." He looked back at Ray. "You better be right on this one, Detective, though how the hell you can tell it's her hair is beyond me." ��������"It's hers. I don't know how many times�" He trailed off as Stella stepped out of the observation room behind Welsh. She met Ray's eyes for a moment, before he was forced to look away. "At least, I'm pretty sure. They all had long dark hair, we should check them all, maybe." Stella snorted and shook her head scornfully. ��������"Call me when you make the arrest, Lieutenant." Stella turned and began to move off down the hall. Ray squeezed past Welsh and caught up with her at the corner. ��������"Look, Stella," he began. She whipped around to face him and he took a step back, bumping awkwardly against the wall. ��������"You're on a case, Detective. I suggest you focus on your work. And try not to screw it up this time. I don't want to come back down here unless you've arrested the right person." Ray recognized her tone of voice from past conversations, regarding cases of hers which had gone wrong, had slipped out of her control, and he nodded slowly, saying nothing. She stepped away from him and continued down the hall, more slowly this time. He watched her retreating back until a bellow from Welsh summoned him back to the squad room. ��������"Problem, Detective?" Welsh asked. ��������Ray shrugged. "Nossir, no problem. If we can't search the house, what do you want me to do?" ��������"Get what you can on Crawford, and be ready to go when we get a report from the lab. Or maybe we'll get lucky," he added over his shoulder. "Maybe he'll confess." The lieutenant disappeared into his office, Huey hot on his heels. ��������Fraser tried to catch Ray's eye. "Everything all right, Ray?" His partner ignored him and crossed to Frannie's desk. She was idly leafing through Vogue, as if she had not been eavesdropping at all. ��������"Frannie, I need you to get whatever you can on this Crawford guy. Parking tickets, warrants, property taxes, whatever there is. Think you can manage that?" His tone stung her, and she slapped the magazine shut. ��������"Gosh, Ray, I can try. Maybe this here computer-thingie will have something, what do you think?" Her sarcasm was in vain, as Ray had gone back to his desk before she could finish her speech. Fraser gave her a friendly smile, and she turned her full-wattage smile on him. "Some people can be so thoughtless, don't you think? I mean, not you of course, Fraser. You could never be thoughtless." ��������"Thank you, Francesca. I do try to be considerate at all times. But I don't think Ray meant to hurt your feelings. He's gotten a bit wrapped up in this case." Fraser sat down in the chair by Frannie's desk. Despite the danger of leaving himself in close proximity to her, he felt it was best to give Ray a little time alone. He could see his partner sitting at his desk, head in his hands. ��������"Well, he can apologize later. Let's see, warrants, parking tickets�well, that I can do, but not property taxes. He doesn't really need that, does he? I mean, why would you need to know�Fraser?" She turned to check on her silent companion to see that he had slipped away, heading towards Ray's corner of the room. "Well, it's not considerate to walk off when someone's talking to you," she muttered, turning back to her computer screen. ��������"Ray, we need to go. Ray. Ray. Ray." The detective was still in quiet regard of his desk blotter. "Ray. I think I know where she is." ��������Sudden motion at the desk. "Then why the hell are we sitting here? C'mon, buddy, let's hop." Ray was up out of his seat and moving in seconds, and for the twentieth time that day, Fraser found himself rushing to catch up. ��������"Ray, we may still need a warrant. We can't just � Ray!" He grabbed his partner by the arm and spun him around. They both stood for a moment, equally surprised at Fraser's action. The confused look on Ray's face began to slide into frustration and anger, and Fraser knew what he had to say might only make him more angry. But this was too delicate a situation to let Ray go running in head first, and Fraser took a deep breath before speaking in a low tone. "I know you want to go out there and find her; I do too. But if we make another misstep, it will only cause trouble. Crawford's not under arrest yet, and there is no lab report on the hair." Ray shook his head in disbelief and tried to move towards the door, only to find that the Mountie had not yet let go of his arm. ��������"Lemme go, Fraser." Cold blue eyes locked onto Fraser's own. ��������"I will Ray, when you understand that if we screw this up, if that hair isn't hers, we may lose Crawford for good. We can't just kick the door down." ��������"Lemme go, Fraser," Ray repeated, quietly, stepping a bit closer to his partner. ��������"And if I am wrong about where she is�Ray, you have to be calm. Promise me you won't do anything rash. Promise me." Fraser held his breath, and wished he had gotten hold of Ray's right arm, preventing the punch he was afraid was coming. ��������"I promise that if you don't let go of me, I'm gonna lay you out on this floor." Ray's body tensed, and Fraser braced himself, but did not let go, and did not look away. He could see anger darken Ray's eyes, and he regretted having said anything. Then the tension ran out of Ray's body like water downriver, and Ray's face cleared. "Fine, fine. I promise." Fraser loosened his grip on Ray's arm, and his partner pulled away. ��������"Thank you, Ray," Fraser said quietly. ��������"Yeah, whatever. But why tell me you know something, if we can't do anything about it? What kinda sick joke is that?" Ray leaned back against the desk behind him, regarding Fraser coldly. ��������"We can do something, Ray, we just have to do it right. I saw a photograph on the wall of Crawford's house. It looked like the one of the summer cabins they have out in Great Woods State Park, by the lake. It's possible that if Crawford has the two women, he may be keeping them out there, since we saw no signs of them at his house." Ray was looking at him oddly. ��������"Fraser, there's gotta be a hundred cabins out there on the lake. If we can't knock down his door, we sure can't knock them all down, and nobody's gonna be out there this late in the season." ��������"I think I could recognize it if I saw it again. Without a warrant we may not be able to do much, but�" Ray cut him off, completing Fraser's thought. ��������"But if we hear anything or think there's someone inside in danger, we can go in. Fraser, you're a genius. Let's go." Ray headed out the door, and Fraser followed patiently. ��������"We don't go in unless I say so." Ray stopped still in the hall, not turning around. ��������"You telling me how to do my job?" The edge was back in his voice, and Fraser sighed at his partner's volatility. ��������"No, Ray, I would never do that. Let's just say it might be wiser not to be hasty, and as I tend to be less hasty than you, well�you see my point?" ��������Silence. Then, "Okay, Fraser, whatever. Can we get the hell out of here now, please?" ��������"Of course, Ray." ***** ��������It had taken a couple of hours of slow cruising up and down the narrow dirt roads that wound through the state park before Fraser identified what he thought was Crawford's summer cabin. A peculiar gathering of rocks sat to the side of the front door of the small wooden building, matching those in the photo on Crawford's wall. "I can't be perfectly sure, Ray," said Fraser, "but it seems to be the same one." ��������"Good enough for me," answered Ray, anxious to stop driving and start doing. A phone call to the precinct a half and hour before had gotten them only bad news. Though the lab was still working on the hair, and hoped to have a report within a couple of hours, a second body had been found in the city. Huey and Dewey had already been to the scene, and believed that it was the body of the second woman to be kidnapped, but it would be a little time before she could be positively identified. Now, with two of the three missing women having turned up dead, it was more important than ever that Crawford be the right suspect. Otherwise, valuable time was being wasted, and they were no closer to the truth. ��������Ray pulled up next to the cabin and turned off the engine, leaving the lights on to cut through the gathering darkness. It was still drizzling a bit as they got out of the car, and the rain earlier in the day had turned the small parking area in front of the building into a swamp. The cabin sat on a small clearing in the midst of tall trees, perhaps a hundred yards from the banks of Lake Michigan. Other cabins could be seen through the trees, and all looked deserted. The woods were silent, except for the sounds of gentle rain, and the ticking of the cooling car engine. ��������Ray hunched his shoulders against the rain. "You go right, I'll go left. Yell if you find anything." Fraser nodded, and they split to circle the building. Fraser peered through the window to the right of the front door, but could see little through the streaked and grimy glass. He moved around the corner of the cabin to the next window, which was a bit cleaner. The cabin was dark inside, the only light coming from the four small windows, one on each side of the building. The cabin was only one room, unfurnished, and with no visible upper story. Fraser stood at the window a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness around him. ��������"See anything?" Ray joined him at the window. Fraser shook his head, still examining the dark room. "Dammit. C'mon, Fraser, you have eyes like a bat." Fraser didn't answer, and Ray groaned. "Ahh, to hell with it, I'm going in." Fraser reached out and grabbed his partner's arm firmly, bringing him up short. ��������"Do you hear that?" Ray looked at Fraser, and shook his head. ��������"I hear rain. Why, you hear something? Eliza!" Ray hammered on the window frame with one gloved fist. "Eliza, you in there?" ��������"Be quiet, Ray!" Fraser snapped. Ray stopped his pounding, and held still, listening hard. A minute passed in silence. ��������"Fraser, I don't�" Ray began, but Fraser was moving away from him, and around to the front door. Ray followed, slogging through the mud that had gathered along the side of the building. When he reached the front of the cabin, Fraser was trying the door, with no luck. ��������"Is this it, Fraser?" Ray asked. "Can I kick the door in now?" Fraser nodded and stepped away from the sturdy wooden door. ��������It took two well-placed kicks before the lock gave and the door flew open. The two men burst into the room, and Fraser went immediately to one section of the floor. He began to pry at the boards with his fingers, lifting them away with surprising ease. Ray joined him, peering down into the hole at his feet. Inside, a woman lay curled on her side, wrists and ankles bound. Long dark hair fell over her face, and the white of a cloth gag could be seen tied around her head. She was rhythmically kicking her feet against a bit of flooring. ��������"Eliza!" Ray reached into the hole, and with Fraser's help, lifted the woman out. Moving carefully, they placed her on the floor, and Ray pushed her hair away to reveal a pale, frightened face. Ray gently tugged the gag out of her mouth, and she gave a huge, gasping breath. Fraser retrieved his pocketknife from his uniform and began to cut away the rope which bound her wrists. Ray's eyes had not left her face, as she looked wildly about the room, at Fraser, and then back at Ray. ��������"Is that you?" Eliza asked wonderingly, beginning to laugh. Ray reached out both hands to steady her, as she began to shake. "Ray? We have to stop�" She put her newly freed hands to her face, her laughter turning to sudden tears. "We have to stop meeting like this�" Her words were lost in hysterical sobs, and Ray pulled her towards him, rocking her against his chest. ��������"Shh, Eliza, it's gonna be okay." Ray murmured over and over into her hair. Fraser pulled Ray's phone out of his jacket pocket and stood, moving to the open door and looking out at the rain as he dialed. ��������"Francesca? We found her. She's alive." ***** ��������Ray stood for a moment outside the apartment door. It was nearly midnight, but a bit of light shone from under the door, and he could hear music playing quietly within. He raised his hand to knock, and then let it drop to his side as he gathered his thoughts. He was exhausted. He and Fraser had stayed at the hospital until the doctor had finished with Eliza. She was physically unharmed, beyond a little bruising and dehydration, but the strain of her experience had taken its toll. Quiet and weak, Eliza had given a short statement about her abduction to Huey, while Ray stood by in case the questions upset her again. ��������Afterwards, he and Fraser had sat with her at the hospital until Gillian arrived to take her home. She had said little in that time, and could muster only a nod and a smile when Ray had promised he would check in on her the next day. After Eliza had gone, Ray had dropped Fraser off at the Consulate and headed back to the station to finish the paperwork on the case. Crawford had been arrested, but had not confessed, and refused to speak to anyone but his lawyer. The lab had matched the hair on Crawford's jacket to that on Eliza's brush, and Welsh was certain that there would be a conviction. "Besides, we've done our part," he had said to Ray. "The rest is up to the lawyers." ��������"The lawyers," Ray said to himself, and then knocked on the door before he could change his mind. ��������Stella was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and held a beer in one hand. She looked at Ray without speaking, her cornflower blue eyes cool and tired. Ray glanced down to his feet, and when he looked back up, she had stepped away from the door, leaving it open. He followed her into the room, closing the door behind him. A cool breeze came in through an open window, smelling of lake and city and fallen leaves. Stella went to stand by that window, looking out over the city, and taking a long draw from her bottle. ��������"I'm sorry," Ray began, and then didn't know where to go next. "Stella. I'm sorry." ��������Stella shook her head, but said nothing. Ray watched her back, reading her thoughts in the line of her narrow shoulders. Years of marriage had given them the skill to talk, to fight, and even to make up, without saying a word aloud. Despite the divorce, Ray still felt attuned to Stella, perhaps even better now that the static caused by their breakup had disappeared. He waited patiently for her to speak. ��������"What are you sorry for, Ray?" She turned and faced him, crossing her slender arms across her chest. "For doing it? For getting away with it? For not telling me to my face?" She walked closer to him, eyes narrowed. Stopping a few feet away, she examined him, as if she were reading the answer to her questions in his posture. ��������This time, he did not look away, and their eyes locked for a long moment. Then she turned away again, huffing out a breath in disgust. "Honestly, Ray. Only you would come here to apologize, when it's far too late, for something you did years ago. We're divorced; get over it. None of this matters now." She finished her beer in a swallow and went into the kitchen. Ray could hear the fridge door open, and the clink of bottles within. When she didn't reappear, he went to the kitchen door. ��������"Of course it matters. I still owe you an apology. We were married then, it was�" he paused. "It was an affair, and I was wrong. And I'm sorry." ��������"Oh, an affair!" Stella was leaning against the kitchen counter, and she gestured with her beer as she spoke. "Not a one-night stand? Not a tawdry encounter in a bar? An actual affair. How wonderful that must have been for you." Ray tried to speak, but Stella continued. "Was she sympathetic when you told her about your horrible marriage? About your bitch of a wife? Did she ever complain when you came home late, when you didn't call, when you had a bad day at work and took it out on her? I bet she didn't. I bet she was just an absolute sweetie." She spat out the last words, her pretty face red with anger. ��������Ray realized he was holding his breath, and let it out slowly. "I didn't talk about you. I didn't think that was fair." He shook his head at how foolish that sounded. "You and me�we were just fighting. Not that it's your fault," he added quickly, watching Stella as she rested her bottle against her flushed cheek. "It was all me. I know I was stupid, and I know I should have told you. You never should have found out like this. I'm sorry," he finished, rubbing his hand over his face. ��������"You really are, aren't you?" she asked wonderingly. "Even now, when it can't make any difference between you and me, you're sorry. I can't tell if that's pathetic or noble." Stella's voice was gentle, though her words were still cold; clearly she knew the answer to her own question. ��������"Stella, don't. I don't have to be here, y'know." He looked her straight in the eye. "You obviously still care, is that pathetic too?" At that, she looked away, pushing past him and going back to the open window. He followed her, stopping close enough behind her to smell the traces of her perfume. ��������"Go home, Ray," she said, without turning. Ray reached his hand towards her shoulder, and then thought better of it. He backed away from Stella, unwilling to take his eyes off her until he was partway out the door. ��������"Ray?" He stopped in the doorway and turned to face her. She was looking over her shoulder at him, her face cool and pale once more. "Is she going to be all right?" Ray nodded, and she turned back to the window. "Good. That's good." ��������"I'm sorry," he said to her back. He could see her shoulders sag, as she leaned against the window frame. ��������"I know, Ray," she replied quietly. He closed the door behind him as he left.