| Story 2 |
[Apr. 1st, 2007|06:46 pm] |
April 2007
Wave is open
Four stories, who wrote me?
Guess who wrote this story.
Was it Earth2skye? Snycock? Starwatcher? Or Tommyboybbi?
Story 2
In the Eye of the Beholder
Monday morning, 8:05am, Cascade PD parking garage:
“Sandburg you should have stayed at home, dammit. You need more rest! Besides, the case isn’t going anywhere anyway.”
Wow, they are here early. I'd just gotten myself a cup of coffee and had propped my feet up, the better to read my morning paper when Ellison’s words reach my ears. Usually I don’t see these two before 9am. And what’s that car he’s driving? That’s not Ellison’s truck.
“No way, man. I’m fine,” Sandburg answers, but it takes him ages to get out of the shiny red pickup and he moves like an old man.
Ah, right. Now I remember. Ellison crashed his car again last week and the kid got hurt. Atkins says this time, at least, it wasn’t Ellison’s fault, and that he was rammed off the road. But I’m not gonna believe that until I see evidence. After all, I know first hand that Ellison has crashed more cars in the last few years than the rest of the precinct combined. At least this time it was his own truck and not one of my pool cars.
As I watch, Sandburg’s made it out of the car after finally letting Ellison help him. Damn! Kid’s got a shiner that covers the whole right side of his face, and it looks as though he’s been stitched up above his eye. Using a cane, too. No wonder Ellison’s in a fit. The kid looks worse than road kill.
“Jim! I’ve been holed up in the loft for a two full days, man! Enough’s enough. Besides, I want that guy, man! He nearly killed us!”
Oh, whaddaya know? Maybe Atkins was right and Ellison wasn’t responsible after all. Poor kid, though. Seems he took the brunt of the crash. Ellison's sporting a bandage around his left hand but that’s about all I can see.
“Sandburg. You've got a concussion! The doc told you to take it easy for a full week. And you can still barely walk. How do you suppose that knee’s gonna heal if you keep running around on it?”
As if Ellison has a chance in hell of slowing Sandburg down. That kid’s got more energy up his butt than an energizer bunny. I can’t remember when I’ve last seen him not jogging to and from his car when he comes or goes. He’s not moving so fast now, though. Seems that knee is really painful. At least he’s got the sense to let Ellison help him along. Kinda sweet of him actually …
“I told you, man. I’m not gonna keep running around once we’re up at your desk and I have those records. I just know we’ve missed something, and I’m not gonna stop looking until I find it.”
Told ya, Ellison. I chuckle to myself as an image suddenly springs to my mind. What with those silly rumors going around the station and Ellison’s looks… Maybe he should have brought some of that kinky leatherwear the two of them are bound to have at home with him today. He could use it to chain the kid to his chair. It’s probably the only way he’s gonna get him to stay on his butt in any case.
Monday, 8:10am, Cascade PD, elevator 1st floor:
Great, Ellison and Sandburg again. Just my luck to be running into them wherever I go. Maybe I should take another elevator ...
“Morning Lawrence. Where to?”
Right! You can just wipe that smug smile off your face, Ellison! As if you don’t know that I’ve been put in Cold Cases after that incident with the O’Reilly victim you and your nosy partner stuck your noses into. How was I supposed to know she’d really been raped? She was a hooker for god’s sake!
Better not giving him the satisfaction of seeing how well he got to me, though, so I answer. “4th floor.”
Ellison doesn’t spare me any further attention, just presses the button. Then I see that he seems kind of worked up. ‘S got his jaw working and is giving Sandburg that famous Ellison glare. I almost shudder in memory but also feel a bit of satisfaction. Trouble in paradise, heh? Seems as though he’s been giving the brat a good chewing out. Now that I wanna see....
“Chief, let’s make a deal. I’ll bring you those files and you get two hours to look through them while I have another chat with Dan about Sonya Meyers and see if forensics found out anything on the car that rammed us. If, by then, you haven’t found anything to support that theory of yours, you let me drive you home. I know you already have a raging headache, and you didn’t take your pain meds this morning either.”
Awwww, shit. Now isn’t that sweet? Kid gets banged up a bit and Ellison becomes all big-brotherly. S’even checking Sandburg’s temperature, now, all gentle like on his forehead. Maybe Rowland and Turner’ve got the right idea after all. Wouldn’t have figured macho man Ellison for a fairy but there’s gotta be some reason he keeps the Hippie around. And it’s not as if the kid doesn’t look the type. That long hair and always touching Ellison and all…
Sandburg doesn’t really seem to be in the mood, though, at the moment and brushes Ellison’s hand away, rolling his eyes in faint annoyance.
“Lunch, man. You give me until lunch. If I haven’t found what I’m looking for until then and nothing else’s come up to point us in some direction, I’ll be a good boy, go home and even let you tuck me in.”
Yuck, that’s disgusting. Good thing we’ve arrived on the fourth floor and I’m off.
Monday, 8:14am, Cascade PD, hallway 7th floor:
“... anyway?”
“I can’t tell you until I find it, Jim. I just have this idea and it’s giving me the feeling that I missed something last week. Besides, I’m not gonna go risk another argument with Simon without being 100% sure!”
Damn, I could have sworn Ellison would keep Hairboy at the loft for at least another day, from the way he hovered around him at the scene last week. But here they are, stepping out of the elevator, and Joel’s gonna win the pool again!
“Okay Chief, whatever you say.” Ellison answers, then turns to me. “Hey Brown.”
“Hey Jim, my man. Hairboy!”
“Morning, H. How’s it hangin', man?” Sandburg greets me then, too, but his chipper mood seems kinda strained. Which gives me an idea ... Maybe I can do something about that bet after all …
“From the looks of it, loads better than you, Hairboy. You look like shit. You sure you should be here today?”
Can’t blame a guy for trying, eh? I figure, if the other guys haven’t seen him yet …
“Not you, too, man! I’m fine, dammit!” Hairboy erupts seeming honestly pissed. Guess I hit a nerve. “But if the two of you wanna continue to discuss my health without me, go for it. I’ll just wait at Jim’s desk until you’re done.”
He storms off as fast as his knee allows. I almost wince at the sight of him favoring it so heavily. Seems my detective skills haven’t deserted me, though. These two’ve oviously been going at this argument for a while. And damn, does Jim look unhappy for having lost it.
“You guys all right, bro?” I can’t help but ask, hoping that I’m not risking bringing down the Wrath of Ellison in Hairboy’s absence. On the other hand, it doesn’t ever bode well when there’s trouble in the Ellison-Sandburg home. It’s better to be warned.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re good,” Ellison answers, and he looks damn tired as he wipes a hand over his face. I know Hairboy’s a handful even on normal days. Being cooped up with a sick version of the kid for two whole days must have really taken it out of Ellison.
“Listen, H. I gotta go. I promised I’d get Sandburg a cup of coffee and those files he wants to take a look at. I better hurry before His Obstinacy loses his patience and does it all himself. I swear, one of these days I’m just gonna cuff him to the bed.”
He waves and hurries off, leaving me to chuckle and shout after him. “You do that Jim.”
Which reminds me: Jim Ellison in full mother-hen mode is probably kinda hard to take, too. He’s so damn protective of the kid!
I'm still not buying that the two of them are doing it, though. No way. Hasn’t Megan ever seen how they both hit on Julie when she comes around to bring the mail? And let’s not forget Sam or that Iris chick Blair had a thing with; or that red-head Jim had the hots for a few months back. I’m telling ya, those guys are hetero through and through!
Monday morning, 8:15am, Cascade PD, Major Crimes bull pen:
Bloody Hell! What’s Sandy doing here? If Ellison’s just dragged him in with him today …
“Morning Sandy,” I greet him. “Are you sure you should be here today? You …”
He interrupts me.
“Megan stop! I don’t want to be told how I look. I know. And I’m fine! Please guys, really. Leave me be, okay? I just want to take a look at some files.”
Huh, aren’t we a touch on the cranky side today? Well, I guess Ellison’s not to blame then, after all. It even seems as though he might have tried to keep Sandy at home, too. Ah, speaking of the devil.
“Morning, Connor!” Jimbo greets me but storms right past toward where Sandy’s just taken a seat at his desk.
“Okay, Chief. I’m going to get you those files. But I want you to stay put in the meantime, you hear me? If there’s anything else you need, I’m sure one of our colleagues here will be glad to give you a hand.”
He throws me a pointed look as I’m currently the only colleague around. I’m not happy to be ordered around by Ellison, but this is for Sandy, so I nod.
“Certainly, Jimbo.” Can at least nag him a bit by using that nickname.
Which he thoroughly ignores while he continues to stare at Sandy.
“Do we understand each other, Sandburg?! You – Stay – Put!”
Aaww, I really love it when he gets all protective of Sandy. The way he looks at Sandy. So concerned. And then he pats him on the shoulder, even pulls a chair up for Sandy to rest his leg on. That big hunk. For Sandy he’s got a soft spot the size of the Great Victory Desert. And a mole can see that Sandy’s really just pretending to be all disgruntled about it. This just a game! His eyes are twinkling for heaven’s sake! So sweet.
Really, I’ll eat my hat if there isn’t any more going on between those two.
“Chill man, I’m sitting, am I not? You’re worse than my mother! No. Make that any mother I’ve ever known, man. Did you know that in the tribes of the …”
“Save it, Sandburg. Just stay put.”
Ellison walks out the door and, as soon as he’s turned his back Sandy actually grins after him then winks at me mischievously before booting up the computer. The two are such a pair. And so deserving of each other.
I shake my head in a mock warning at him. ‘Better be careful, Sandy, the next time it’ll be Ellison again, giving you hell when you’re trying to take care of him.’
Monday Morning, 8:23am, Cascade PD, Records Department:
“Wow. Detective Ellison! To what do I owe this pleasure?”
I can’t believe that Detective Ellison just walked in here. He always either calls in to have some files pulled or sends Blair. Not that I mind chatting to Blair. He’s a real cutie. But Ellison … Ellison’s a hunk.
“Good morning Linda. I need a few files. Here’s a list.” He seems in a bit of haste and hands me a slip of paper. Seeing the names and numbers, I remember the case he and Blair are working on and that they had an accident last week.
“Of course, I'll get right on it. How’s Blair?”
He rolls his eyes a bit, but then he forces a smile on his face for my benefit.
“Thanks for asking, Linda. Blair’s getting better. He’s actually waiting for those files upstairs.”
Oh, right. That spurs me on and I return to the front desk not 10 Minutes later, a stack of files and boxes piled high on my arms.
“Here you go, Detective. Tell Blair I said ‘Hi’.”
“I will. Thank you, Linda.” He takes the files and turns. I stay and stare shamelessly at his broad retreating back and that fine, shapely ass of his, clad as usual in trousers too wide and conservative for my taste, but I take what I can get. I hope it’s not just wishful thinking on Jules’ part that he’s not lost to our side. But – if it’s gotta be another man – I’m glad it’s Blair.
Monday morning, 8:25am, Cascade PD, Major Crimes bull pen:
“Oh, hey Blair, have you seen my partner?”
I’ve just returned from getting a search warrant at Judge Morris’s office and H. was supposed to meet me here. We really have to go now if we want to get to Tonya Mortimer’s house before she leaves for work.
“Oh, hey, Brian. Yeah, we met him out in the hall a few minutes ago. Looked as though he was headed for the break room.”
I should have figured. H. was probably hoping he’d meet Julia there and grab a donut from her before she starts her rounds. “Thanks Blair.”
I’ve almost turned when I remember that Sandburg’s presence here this morning is a little surprising and I take my first good look at him.
“Jesus Blair, you look …”
Blair raises a hand and I stop. “Like road kill? Like something the cat’s dragged in? Yeah, heard all that before. Thanks, man.” Even though he tries to grin around his bruises, there’s a hard edge to his tone. I frown at his unusual edginess.
“You all…” I start but somehow my gaze meets Megan’s across the room and she shakes her head staring wide eyed and putting a finger to her lips, giving me a clear warning from behind Sandburg’s back. “Uh... take it easy then,” I rephrase mid-sentence. “Since I’m headed there anyway, want me to get you a coffee?”
His features lighten up and I breathe a sigh of relief at having avoided whatever danger Megan was hinting at. “That’d be great, Brian. I promised Jim I’d stay put, but he’s gone to fetch some files and I could really use some caffeine now, man.”
The mentioning of Ellison stirs something in me; it reminds me again of just how … close … he and Blair are. It’s never more apparent than when one of them is hurt. Always hanging around one another, whispering in each other’s ears. And they can’t seem to leave their hands off each other, too…
I swallow and force a bright smile onto my face. “Sure,” I say, my throat feeling a little strangled. “One coffee coming right up. Just milk right?”
“Yeah,” he nods, already returning his attention to the computer screen and I hurry off.
It’s stupid, I know. For one, there’s no proof, really, to believe that there’s more going on between these two than just friendship, however unconventional their partnership seems to be. It’s just that … that they are … really, really different from the usual partners I know … and with them living together and … and with Sandburg being an anthropologist and so not the kind of guy Ellison would normally put up with … it just makes me … think.
And what if they are … uh more? What is it to me, if they are g… gay?
But I can’t wave it off like that. If they were … if I knew they did ... Dammit, it just makes me feel uncomfortable, I can’t help it.
Monday morning, 10:11am, Cascade PD, Major Crimes bull pen:
I don’t know how Blair does it. He’s been poring over those damn files for hours with nary a minute of distraction. He just looks from file to file and back to the screen of Jim’s computer, types something on the keyboard then scribbles in a notebook and starts the process again.
I look over at Jim. He sits there morosely, occasionally taking a peek at one of the files, too, but I’m pretty sure he’s got no idea what Blair’s working on. The two haven’t spoken all morning and, since he returned from wherever he was an hour ago, Jim’s involvement in whatever Blair’s doing seems to be limited to keeping the kid’s coffee cup filled. Otherwise Ellison just looks unhappy and exhausted with worry.
From experience - the times I was asked to keep Blair company when Jim had to work while Blair had to stay behind, sometimes because he was sick or injured, sometimes just because it was too dangerous - I know how tiring it can be to keep the kid in good spirits while simultaneously having to make sure he stayed put, followed doctor’s orders and took it easy. The incident from when he fed me that fabulous ostrich chilly and then took off after I’d zonked out … uh digesting … is legendary after all. But it’s actually harmless compared to the last time I stayed with him.
He’d managed to catch some nasty flu bug on a stakeout where he and Jim had hung out amongst a crowd of homeless guys and then had to stay home, mostly delirious with fever, while Jim continued to do the job on his own or with one of us. Witnessing those fever-induced nightmares alone was enough to almost make me regret my offer to take care of him. Poor kid dreamed the most awful things about Jim being ambushed and killed while … I don’t know, what was that word he used? … ‘brooding’ or ‘snoozing’ or ‘zoning'?... Anyway, something weird but definitely scary. I had quite a job getting him to calm down when he woke up. He was barely able to stand then but, God, was he determined to get to his partner! I really thought I’d have to cuff him to the bed, but eventually he got better.
And then, when the worst finally was over, the sneaky bastard gave me the slip anyway.
He’d been whining all day about catching at least a few rays of sunshine, and I gave in and took him for a very short walk in the park. Halfway through he suddenly got very tired and had to sit down, or pretended to anyway. For when I returned with the bottle of water he’d asked me to get for him, he was gone.
I think the only reason I’m still alive after that stunt is because Blair really did save Jim’s life that day. Somehow Jim had been made by the bad guy and would have walked straight into the a trap if Sandburg hadn’t distracted him. Fortunately for me, it was only the story of how Blair fainting in just the right second so that the sniper bullet went overhead when Jim bent down, that stuck. Well that, and how Jim subsequently managed to tell the backup exactly from where it had come from. Stupid killer was so sure of his hidey hole that he was still there when they stormed the place.
So Jim not being there always was what made keeping Blair at home hardest for me, because it meant the added complication of Blair worrying about his partner, but the day that kid hasn’t got better things to do than hanging around the loft and cooling his heels hasn’t come around yet. He’s just too full of energy in need of an outlet. There’s a reason we call him the Energizer Bunny around here after all.
Picturing the last few days the two have spent at the loft, I feel sympathy for the both of them. For however hard it is for Blair to take it easy for any length of time, I know it’s at least as hard for Jim to have to witness it and be the one to enforce it, I know that it’s only out of love and worry for the kid that he’s got a tendency to take his role of big brother and protector just a little too seriously, but if he didn’t … I mean, Jim’s probably no better when the roles are reversed, but between Blair’s ‘reluctance’ to take over-the-counter meds, those weird concoctions he claims as ‘alternative medicine’ and his habit of regarding doctor’s orders as nothing more than gentle advice the kid really is the patient from hell at the best of times!
I shake my head in rueful commiseration. The last days must have been driving them both crazy. Which is why I was sure that Jim wouldn’t be able to keep Blair at the loft for more than a few days. Not with ‘just a bit of a headache and a stiff knee’ as I’m sure Blair describes it. Still, seeing him, and the shape he’s in, I'm surprised that he’s here today. That argument can’t have been pretty.
“Hey Jim,” I offer in greeting, wandering over and perching myself on the neighboring desk. It’s time to distract Jim for a bit.
“Hey Joel,” he sighs and even turns up the corners of his mouth a little bit in something resembling a smile.
“I see you’re hard at work,” I say and gesture to his uncharacteristic fiddling with a pen.
He throws me a mock, disdainful look and rolls his eyes. “Just waiting for Sandburg to finish up what he’s doing,” he sighs as if Blair wasn’t sitting right next to him, which – from his total lack of reaction to the mentioning of his name – he might as well not be.
I raise an eyebrow. “What’s up? That case you were working on last week? I thought there were no more leads? Does Simon know about this?”
Jim gives another long-suffering sigh. “No, Simon doesn’t know yet. Sandburg ‘feels’ he missed something in those files. I’ve given him until lunch to find it. Then I’m taking his sorry ass home to bed, where he belongs.” At the last words his voice takes on a hard edge and turns around to Blair, glaring at him, but the kid’s either still oblivious or gives an Oscar-worthy impersonation of it.
“You don’t have any idea what he’s looking for?”
“No. All I know is that it’s got something to do with that theory of his he's already spent the entire damn week working on."
Now I’m surprised. “I thought he had to abandon that. Told me that some of the break-ins didn’t fit the pattern he’d come up with after all, or something.”
"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," Jim commiserates. “But Sandburg’s got it into his head that the guy who ran us off the road must be the same guy we are looking for in regard to those robberies. And, following his logic, that means we must have been on to something. It’s been eating at him ever since he left the hospital last week. Yesterday he’s suddenly struck with enlightenment or whatever. Said he absolutely had to come in today and check these files out.” Jim waves over the heap of 20 or so open police files that are strewn over his desk, and I notice that some of them are fairly old. They have the characteristic markings of cold cases in the upper right corner of their binders and boxes.
I don’t actually know what kind of theory Blair had been working on until last week. I only know that it was something pretty wild, and that Simon, in particular, wasn’t very impressed, much less convinced by it. When Blair finally gave up on it, though, I thought it really was because he’d run into a wall with it, too. It’s not as if the kid’s ever let himself be deterred by what other people thought if he didn’t have his own doubts about a theory in the first place.
Blair still doesn’t react to our conversation, totally engrossed in whatever he’s working on. You gotta admire that ability to focus. I guess that means, whatever this is, must pretty damn important to him.
“He thinks your case is connected to all of these?” I ask, pointing at the case files, many of which must be more than ten years old.
Jim shrugs. He seems unsure of what to say. It’s clear that he’s a bit skeptical about whatever this theory is Blair's working on, too, but not about to betray his partner by saying so.
“You know Sandburg,” Jim says. “These are all cases with more or less the same M.O. as ours: break-ins or home invasions but, as far as anyone can tell, nothing stolen. If you ask me, that’s all that connects these cases. But then again, there wasn’t much more connecting our recent series of break-ins either. It’s just that their timing got Burglary to think they’re connected. If you ask me, I’m still not convinced that it wasn’t just a trick on their part to get some of their stale cases off their back and onto ours.”
I nod. The burglary unit ranks second best at the PD in terms of solve rate. For three years in a row they’ve been trying to beat Major Crimes in the competition and failed. Everybody knows their frustration is pretty high. So Jim’s theory doesn’t sound far off.
Then again, Blair looks damned determined. I’m just about to point that out to Jim when Simon’s voice bellows across the room.
Monday morning, 10:21am, Cascade PD, Major Crimes bull pen:
“Ellison, my office now!”
I’ve only just gotten back from my weekly meeting with the Chief and am strolling into the bullpen when I see Jim and Sandburg at their desks. What the hell are they doing here? Sandburg was supposed to stay home and rest for at least a week and Ellison more or less blackmailed me into giving him leave so he could do his usual baby-sitting shtick for the kid.
Jim turns and gives me a tired look before murmuring something to his partner, which Sandburg seems to be totally ignoring, and getting up to follow me into my office.
“What are you and Sandburg doing here today, Jim? Something wrong? The kid all right?”
Okay, so it didn’t take that much to blackmail me. I was worried about Sandburg, too. That crash was nasty.
At my inquiry Jim’s mouth quirks into a slight grin and I wonder what’s so funny, but before I can ask, he sobers. “No Simon, everything’s fine. Sandburg’s just had an idea and wanted to come check a few things out.”
‘A few things?’ That’s not the kind of answer I’m used to from Jim Ellison, ex-army ranger and cop-of-the-year. That’s more the Sandburgian school of obfuscation. “What ‘things’, Jim?” I ask with a sinking feeling. Worry about the kid or not, I’m not sure I’m up to hearing about whatever’s new in the Sandburg zone after the way my morning started.
“I don’t really know yet myself, Sir,” Jim admits, looking uncomfortable. “He won’t tell me until he’s sure that this time it’s valid, I guess.”
“This time?” I bellow. I can’t help it; that headache I’ve been fighting for an hour finally gets the better of me all at once. “Don’t tell me he’s back to that crackpot idea of his that the burglar is collecting pieces of those houses!” I know I’m probably coming over a bit too strong but I don't have time for this. Of all Sandburg’s crazy theories this one must be the mother of all humbug.
“Now Simon,” Jim reasons, instantly on the defense. “You've got to admit that it’s no crazier than a guy breaking into houses, holding inhabitants up at gunpoint, even killing for god’s sake, for what otherwise appears to be no reason at all. And don’t forget, Mrs. Atkinson told us that the guy had a pick on him and that there’s a piece of brick missing from her basement now.”
Oh, what the heck. What else did I expect? I’ve long had to accept that, when I push, Jim’s always going to have Sandburg’s back. I deflate, then put my hands flat on the table with deliberate calm and lean back.
“Okay, Jim. Whatever. It’s not as if you’re wasting department resources with this anyway, seeing as the two of you shouldn’t even be here today. But as soon as he does more than look through those files, I want to know about it. I’m not going to have him harass witnesses or tell anybody else this wild theory of his, you hear me? I’ve got enough on my plate without worrying what the press’ll make of this … this … this ‘theory’, so I expect you to keep an eye on him.”
Jim’s face hardens. “Yes Sir,” he says curtly and stands, turning on his heel without another look and marching out of my office. I sigh, take my glasses off and pinch the bridge of my nose.
As soon as that sledge hammer stops banging up the inside of my skull I probably owe someone an apology.
Monday morning, 12:00am, Cascade PD, Major Crimes bull pen:
“Sandburg, it’s noon.”
I can’t help but snigger. I’ve been waiting for this show all morning. Old Jimbo has been watching the clock on the wall for the last five minutes and, at precisely the stroke of midday, he makes his move.
“I know.” Bloody hell - it speaks! It’s the first real reaction Sandy’s shown to anything outside of his little world of files and the computer screen all morning beside the occasional grateful pats on Jim’s shoulder when a fresh cup of coffee was put in front of him.
“We had a deal,” Jim growls.
“I know,” Blair says again guilelessly, still not taking his eyes from whatever file he’s looking at; I can almost see that vein on Ellison’s neck swelling. I know Blair’s got Jim’s number but he’s playing it close. Mt. Ellison is going to explode any second now and I’m sure there’s going to be more than one casualty …
“Look Jim,” Blair suddenly turns around, just as Jim’s taking a deep breath and drawing himself up. “We said I had until lunch. Lunch, Jim. We haven’t had Lunch at noon ever! Besides, I’ve nearly got it anyway. Just give me another ten minutes to make sure, okay?”
Jim closes his eyes and purses his lips, blowing air out of his nose in a forced sign of calm. Poor Jimbo …
I return my attention to the report on my screen, sure that disaster has been avoided for at least another ten minutes, when another one in the making catches my attention.
“You seen Sandburg yet? Fagboy looks like he’s gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. You think there’s trouble in paradise, maybe? Ellison finally tired of his boytoy and using him as a punching bag instead?”
A couple of idiot uniforms are strolling by the side entrance of the bullpen, right next to my desk. ‘Oh, oh’ …
The other guy laughs. “Sure would serve the brat right. The way he struts around here like he owns the place. But I’m afraid we’ve no such luck. Apparently he got into an accident …”
The voices fade away as the two round the corner, but my attention is already glued back to the subject of their conversation. Ellison and Sandy have their desks clear across the room, but I just know Jim’s heard them, too. I know it. He’s standing already, the look on his face’s screaming bloody murder...
“Yessss! Finally! I knew it!” Sandy exclaims just that second, hitting the desk with his flat hand so hard that one of the files slides from it. “I knew it!”
He’s shouted so loudly that everyone in the room is shocked and looks at him; including Jim, who finds himself on the receiving end of a shit-eating grin from his partner and, to my relief, is clearly distracted enough to forget about the two bozos who will never know that they’ve barely escaped with their lives.
“Let’s go talk to Simon,” Blair announces, getting up and hobbling painfully but with great determination over to the printer, where he retrieves a stack of printouts.
Around the room, our colleagues return to their work. Their reaction to Sandy’s outburst was instinctual, just because of the noise. When they saw what was up, none of them thought it too alarming or even remotely strange. Testament to years of working around this place and one Blair Sandburg, I guess.
Jim’s regarding Sandy critically, evidently torn between the wisdom of asking him what it is that he’s come up with first, or agreeing to go talking to the Captain right away. I remember last week’s argument about one of Sandburg’s ideas and hold my breath. Simon really had his knickers in a twist that day. We could all hear it in the bull pen when he burst out that not every damn case had to have some obscure connection to whatever the hell academic fact Sandburg found interesting this week and that he didn’t ever want to hear such nonsense again unless there was proof. Well, I sure hope, he’s got proof this time around.
Jim must be thinking the same thing but then he says resolutely, “All right, Chief. Let’s go.”
Damn. I’m happy to see Ellison trust in Sandy, really. Especially since he must have already had a run in with the Captain earlier today, from the way he looked when he came out of his office.
But, darnit. Now I’m not going to hear what’s up until later, too!
Monday, 12:11pm, Cascade PD, Simon’s office:
There’s a knock on my door but I don’t get the chance to call whoever’s there inside before it opens and my visitors walk in. I feel a jolt of annoyance that’s only amplified when I see who it is, but I have to pull myself together. My present irritation doesn’t really have anything to do with Sandburg or Jim, even though the exuberance I see in the kid doesn’t bode well.
“Hey Simon,” Sandburg grins, unfazed - as usual - by my intimidating growl.
“Captain.” Jim greets me briskly, probably still pissed from earlier. “Sandburg’s got something.”
I sigh. Of course he has. “What’s it this time, Sandburg?”
There's still no sign of the kid even picking up on my gruffness. He just smoothes out the prints he’s got in his left hand and tosses half of them on the desk in front of me. “This", he says, with a superior, smug grin on his face. “Turns out I was right after all. I found the guy who did it."
Oh God, please have mercy on my soul. I close my eyes and count to ten. But I know I have to weather this storm. That’s why they’re paying me the big bucks anyway.
So, as patiently as I can, I sit through twenty minutes of Sandburg explaining his theory, doing my best to ask my questions in as civil a tone as I can.
And then we come to the point where I just have no other choice…
“I’ll be damned. And you’re sure about this?” I ask.
“100%, Sir. I had the rest of the city’s records on those houses and their zoning plans e-mailed to me this morning and I'd already started collecting the information from the contractors, realtors and historians last week. It wasn’t easy to piece it all together, but I’m as sure about this as Mason himself can be. And that’s exactly what I forgot to factor in, you see? If I have trouble finding the houses that were built by these people, he probably did, too! Which is why he went wrong with the Hongs. And there was never any proof that he’d actually targeted the Mortimer residence. Mr. Mortimer only spotted him in his garden. I figure he was just passing through there, on his way to the neighbor’s house, which – as you can see – was on the list.”
I nod, rolling the information around in my head. It’s lunacy, really, a guy running around, breaking into houses and buildings that had been built by one of his ancestors, chipping off pieces and taking them home. But we’ve had our fair share of lunatics in this city, before. Who am I to say this is impossible?
I look over to Jim. He’s looking smug now, and proud. I sigh.
“Okay, just answer me this, then. Why? Why’s this guy doing it and why had he stopped doing it for 10 years until a few months ago?”
The second half of Sandburg’s prints make it onto my desk. “Easy, he says. A) He’s doing it because his family has been building houses in this area for several generations. Only, young Martin didn’t quite inherit the gene or something. Twelve years ago he’d finally fucked up a few jobs too many and the city revoked his building license, taking down his whole livelihood. There are records of him having had psychological problems before, but I figure that’s what sealed the deal. He must’ve totally lost it and started to try and erase all trace of his family ever having been into construction. You see, he’s not just taking any piece of these houses. For thousands of years workers of all crafts have ‘marked’ the projects and sites they’ve been working on somehow, scratching an icon or sign into a brick or piece of wood somewhere, sort of as an ‘I was here’ ritual. You can still see the evidence of this in those century old churches and buildings around Europe. It’s a real treat for the archaeologists and historians, I’m telling ya. It allows them to track how certain troupes of workers migrated from place to place, and combined with the socio-economic…”
I narrow my eyes and growl. And what do I know? Now the kid actually takes notice of it.
“Uh… right. Anyway, Martin Mason’s family must have had the same tradition, and by removing those signs, I figure he ‘deletes’ their existence so to speak, removing his own failure right along with it. As for why he stopped about 10 years ago, well that would be because he was in prison. He was caught red handed at one of his break-ins and, since he had a few assault charges already on his rap sheet, they locked him up for 10 years,” he finishes, smiling and leaning back with a supreme note of satisfaction.
I shake my head but he’s sold me. If only the kid would always make this much sense when he gets one of his ideas.
“So, if he wants to delete his family’s existence as you say, what makes you think we’ll find those pieces he stole in his house? Why wouldn’t he have destroyed them?” I ask about the one last issue that worries me from the procedural point of view.
“Nah, he can’t do that, man. If his family’s legacy drives him to these kinds of deeds, it only proves how important the whole tradition was to him. There’s no way he could have actually destroyed them, man.”
Fair enough. I pretend to think things over a bit, watching Sandburg squirm impatiently in his seat, his eyes wandering between his partner and me. Ellison, meanwhile, has relinquished his casual position, too, itching - no doubt - for my next command.
“Okay, Gentlemen. What are you waiting for then? Go. Get it set up. I’ll talk to Judge Morris. But”, I add, glowering at the both of them when they are already at the door and looking back at me innocently, “remember that the both of you are not even supposed to be here, today. Which means that you may organize it and be present when we take this sucker down, but neither one of you is going to take part in the bust, am I making myself clear? I’m not going to be left tap dancing around the insurance guys if one or both of you get hurt, you hear me? We have other men and women working here, too, you know!”
“Sure, Sir,” Jim says, then closes the door behind him rather hastily.
Somehow I’m not at all reassured.
Monday, 7:43pm, somewhere in Cascade:
God, this is boring. We’ve been cruising around these streets for hours; I'd swear I could steer the car around these blocks with my eyes closed by now. And there’s absolutely nothing to see. Just one single-family home next to another, one more dilapidated looking than the next, with the kind of old cars in front of them you’d expect in this part of town. I suppose it was an okay neighborhood some 20 years ago, but it must have gone downhill ever since. The new freeway passing by a few blocks from here probably wasn’t a blessing for everyone around.
Some chatter comes over the radio, just the other units confirming that there’s still no sign of Mason; I wonder if there ever will be. The earlier bust of his house was planned quickly perhaps, but executed with the utmost care. Officers were in and out in no time; I doubt even the neighbors spotted anything. But if Mason was in the house after all and somehow just got away?
Ellison says he wasn’t. Don’t know how he could tell but the guy usually knows what he’s talking about. Damn fine cop he is, and – no matter what some of the others say – he and his partner have always treated me and Dick with respect; like on that bank robbery case we worked together a couple of months back. Ellison even covered for me when I nearly fucked up the bust. And the kid… Sandburg really is amazingly observant, especially for a guy. Figured out right away that I had girlfriend trouble and said some pretty insightful things to me about it. Helped me a great deal with getting my head back into the game.
So I don’t know what the others are always going on about: there was no superior attitude at all. Which is why we jumped at the chance to be given this detail. It’ll be great to at least be included in the bust, even if it’s now officially a Major Crimes deal.
But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s boring. Tedious and difficult, too. Driving around the neighborhood in an unmarked sedan for hours, trying to spot a guy in the dark who we only know from a DMV photograph that’s sitting on the dashboard.
Five more units are involved in this. Two more driving around, three holding position outside Mason’s house, including Ellison and Sandburg. I wonder how they are doing. The kid didn’t look so hot during the meeting where Ellison laid out the plan this afternoon.
But he’s certainly got a brain, that one. I’m not sure I even understood all the details of how he figured out it was Mason who broke into those homes and killed Sonya Meyers, much less would have figured it out myself. But he was right! We even found the car Mason used to ram Ellison’s truck last week, the stupid lunatic. Not to mention all those pieces of brick or wood he took from the houses.
Of course the guys in Major Crimes all know their stuff, but the way Sandburg’s mind works, it’s no wonder they’ve beat us in the inter-station ranking for the past few years. Paired with the cop of the year …
“Subject sighted, walking down Magnolia drive. I repeat, subject sighted,” suddenly crackles over the radio. It’s Ellison’s voice, but how the hell has he seen Mason on Magnolia when they’re standing on Crescent Hill? …
“Unit three responding. We’re just around the corner. Will cut subject off at Magnolia and 52nd,” my partner Dick responds while I’m still wondering. Other units call in, too. Ahead I see Rafe and Brown’s car coming around another corner, heading in the same direction we are.
Since none of us are further than a few blocks away, we’re set up pretty quickly. Two teams discretely block the road on both ends of where Mason’s been spotted, while two other teams get out of their cars and try to catch Martin Mason on foot, keeping out of sight as long as possible so he doesn’t get spooked.
Since Rafe and Brown beat us to the roadblock site, Dick and I are with the officers approaching Mason on foot, the others are Connor and Taggert. We’re walking up from behind Mason, Connor and Taggert are coming up ahead, but are staying on the opposite side of the road.
It’s dark; hardly any street lights are working, and the bit of light that’s coming from the grimy windows of houses lining the streets is dim, further obstructed by wild growing greenery of front gardens that haven’t been tended to in a long time.
Mason’s about a hundred yards in front of us, so far appearing not to have noticed anything. He seems to be talking to himself but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
We close in to about 30 yards. Connor and Taggert have come into our view now and are just crossing the street, when there’s a loud crack startling all of us;
While my brain finally registers the sound as a car back firing, Mason, having been looking up and down the street in shock, of course spots us.
“Shit,” I swear under my breath and hear some of the same from Dick. We both pick up our pace, dropping into a run when Mason suddenly disappears from view.
“Dammit, where’d he go?” Joel Taggert pants from up ahead. Connor already stands were we last saw Mason, but seems to catch no sign of him either.
“In here,” she calls out seconds later, then vanishes just like Mason did. Having stood right next to her, I see that there’s an opening between two overgrown hedges, leading off into the darkness. I follow, sensing Dick behind me. Taggert stays behind and calls what happened into the radio. Maybe one of the other units can figure out a way to cut Mason off wherever he’s headed.
The darkness is virtually complete as we dash through the bushes, protecting our faces from the branches lashing out at us. The path leads us between two of the houses until we reach a solid wooden fence that lines the back yard of a property belonging to the parallel street. Mason must have crossed it.
The fence is not high and its run down state gives enough purchase to climb it, but in the darkness it still takes a while until we’re all on the other side.
From here there’s really only one way Mason could have gone, which is to the right along the house and onto the adjoining street.
Then, just as we enter the alley next to the house, I hear a woman scream, followed by the sounds of a struggle between two men.
“Son of a bitch!” one of the male voices exclaims in pain, then there’s the obvious noise of a fist hitting flesh and another grunt.
“Martin Mason, you’re under arrest for of robbery in several cases and the murder of Sonya Meyers. You have the right to remain silent …”
It’s Ellison. Ellison’s caught Mason. Just where did he come from?
We round the corner and see him holding Mason. There’s a woman, too. I figure she was just an unlucky passerby who Mason must have tried to attack or take as a hostage. She looks terrified and watches as Ellison finishes putting the cuffs on Mason.
Then I realize that there’s something wrong. Ellison’s voice, while mirandizing Mason, suddenly grows weak. Then it fades altogether and he just crumples in on himself.
“Shit.”
We all rush forward.
Connor’s ahead of me and catches Mason, who seems too out of it to try and use the opportunity to flee anyway. I spare a split second to admire Ellison’s handywork subduing the guy, while hurrying to his side and kneeling next to him.
Meanwhile Dick grabs for his radio. “Officer down, I repeat, officer down! Get some paramedics to 2045 Chestnut Drive. Ellison’s been stabbed.”
Dick’s right. In the moonlight, that only just now breaks between the clouds, I see the glint of metal only a couple of yards away, and my hands have found the spot where sticky, copious amounts of blood soak Ellison’s jacket. A knife has pierced his side.
My first aid knowledge kicks in immediately and I apply pressure to the wound, feeling it pulsing beneath my fingers.
“Oh no! Nononono! Dammit, Jim! No!”
A car’s just stopped next to us and Sandburg tumbles out of it. He grunts in pain as he drops next to me, but otherwise seems oblivious to anything but his partner. He touches Ellison’s face, roaming a gaze up and down his body until he sees my bloody hands buried in the fabric of Ellison’s jacket. Then anguished eyes meet mine.
“It’s okay, kid. Help’s on the way,” I hear myself saying but can see that my words don’t even break the surface of his panic. He’s trembling in shock and beside himself with worry.
His hands flutter up and down Ellison’s body until he puts his left hand gently on his partner’s face and uses the other to squeeze Ellison’s right hand. The gesture is so strangely intimate that I feel the need to look away.
“Come on, man. You need to hang in there, Jim, you hear me? You cannot leave me like this! Come on, don’t do this, man …”
In the distance the first faint notes of sirens are audible. Around us, the formerly dark and deserted street has erupted into noisy chaos as residents from throughout the neighborhood have picked up on what happened and are gathering around to gape, kept at bay by the other officers on the scene and our three strategically placed cars.
Finally the ambulance arrives. Unlike me, Sandburg doesn’t leave Ellison’s side when the paramedics take over and start working on him. Curiously, the two men don’t even try to get him to move. Instead there’s some silent communication going on between them and Sandburg before they nod grimly and begin working on stabilizing Ellison for transport.
A few minutes later they’ve cut away his jacket and shirt, applied a pressure bandage and hooked him up to an IV. Then they transfer him to the gurney and push him toward the waiting ambulance.
Still Sandburg stays with them, not letting go of the hand he’s still holding while using his other hand to hold on to the gurney to keep himself upright. He can barely walk.
When they reach the back of the ambulance, instead of claiming their usual reasons for keeping anyone but them from riding in with the patient, one of the paramedics wordlessly helps Sandburg inside, and then they are off.
I stare after the ambulance for a bit, lost in thought over Ellison and Sandburg, the most unusual pair I’ve ever met. And I don’t just mean the fact that they might be more than just partners or friends. I’m from San Francisco originally. To me that sort of thing is hardly worth a raised eyebrow.
What I mean, though, runs deeper than that and it’s really a pity that, except for the guys from Major Crimes, so few other people around the station seem to be able to see it. The level of their … connection … might defy words but there’s no doubt that Cascade PD and the city of Cascade in general should be the first in line to count themselves lucky for it.
Monday, 9:21pm, Cascade General, regular ward:
Jim’s been damn lucky. The knife nicked an artery and scared the shit out of everybody, but the wound was easily fused in the E.R., leaving nothing more than a bit of blood loss to worry about. According to what Joel told me a couple of hours ago, Jim might even be out of the hospital in as little as a couple of days.
The nurse at the front desk glowers at me when I show her my badge. But she’s seen me often enough to know who I am and that I’m not going to take ‘No’ for an answer.
“Room 217,” she growls, then calls after me, “but Mr. Ellison should really be resting!”
I have my back to her already and just wave in what I hope looks like reassurance. I have no plans on staying long. This has been quite a day and, after all the catastrophes have been averted, the bad guy’s been arrested and all the pertinent paper work’s been seen to, I’m rather looking forward to go home, too. But not before I’ve seen with my own two eyes that Joel was right.
Room 217 lies at the far end of the hall. I knock but enter without waiting, finding Sandburg bent over Jim and just straightening up, having straightened Ellison’s cushion or something. I swear the kid’s about as fussy when Jim’s hurt as Ellison is the other way around.
Both Ellison and Sandburg look at me rather strangely when I approach, all flushed and glassy-eyed. Probably the drugs, I figure. Joel told me that they forced some on Sandburg, too, threatening to admit the kid if he didn’t agree.
“Good evening, Gentlemen.”
“Uh, hey Simon,” Sandburg grins, his eyebrows waggling. God, he’s entirely too chipper for this time of the day, especially considering this day.
“Hello Simon. What’s up?” Jim asks a little more sedately, though his eyes are a bit shiny, too. Must be really good stuff they gave them or else they are just giddy with relief. Which they're entitled to, I suppose.
“Just came to tell you that everything’s been straightened out. Mason’s been booked and locked up. His lawyer will probably go for an insanity plea, but we figured that might happen. The most important thing is that he’s off the streets, which he is, and likely will be for a good long time.”
Both of them stare at me then expectantly, the corners of their mouths twitching, waiting. To their credit, they at least appear to be trying not to look smug, even if they are failing miserably.
“All right, all right,” I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “And that’s all thanks to you. You satisfied now?”
Sandburg smirks; Jim pretends to think very hard, pursing his lips and trying not to grin. “Naaaah, I don’t think so, Captain,” he says after a few seconds, looking shrewdly at a pile of paperwork having been stacked on the nightstand. My heart sinks. “I think this warrants a little more of an apology, don’t you think Chief?” he asks turning to Sandburg, nothing but mischief in his eyes. “How about we call it even if Simon does his magic and fills out those insurance forms for us, huh? I mean, didn’t he say only this morning how much practice he has with it already?”
I groan. Sandburg’s eyes widen with glee. “That’s a great idea, man! Yeah, I think we’ve earned that.”
‘Manipulative son’s of bitches’ I grumble so low that not even Ellison can have heard it.
“That’s very nice of you, Sir. Really. They have to be handed in at the admin front desk by tomorrow morning at 10.”
Jim’s grinning from ear to ear now, as is Sandburg. I shake my head. These two really are quite the pair. Responsible for every single one of my grey hairs, I swear, but how could I want it any other way? Best damn team I’ve ever seen.
I fold, finally giving in to the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, too. “Okay, you two. You’ve got it. Can I get you anything from the loft when I come back tomorrow? I assume you are staying, Sandburg?”
“Of course, man!”
Of course. Why did I even ask?
“The overnight bag from under the wardrobe with our toiletries and a change of clothes for the both of us. But since I expect to be sprung from here by noon tomorrow, we won’t need anything else. Thank you!”
“Very well then,” I say then sober slightly. “I’m really glad you’re all right, Jim, Blair.”
They nod, acknowledging in a brief moment of solemnity that luck’s been on their side today, too.
“Good night then, Gentlemen.”
“Night, Sir, thanks for dropping by.”
“Yeah, good night, Simon.”
I take my leave. Once out the door I think I hear what sounds like an argument over who gets which side of the bed, but I’m sure my tired mind’s just playing tricks on me.
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I love this. Great characterization from each member of MC; they sound just like themselves. And it's a bonus that Blair gets to solve the crime; well done!
The level of their ... connection ... might defy words.
Absolutely, and that's why we love them so much.
Once out the door I think I hear what sounds like an argument over who gets which side of the bed, but I’m sure my tired mind’s just playing tricks on me.
Hee! Innuendo is so much fun. Thanks for sharing.
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Thank You L. This is such a lovely comment. I'd been meaning to thank you for it for ages but couldn't until the grand revealing :-)
Skye
Wow! This was a real challenge to execute. Watching the two of them solve the case, in addition to delineating their relationship, all seen from multiple angled first person POV was a trip. Good job!
Hmm... story#2... who dunnit???
Wow thank you! I had a bit of trouble getting the voices and characters right and don't know if I've done it justice, but I had fun and am very glad you liked it. Thank you for this lovely and encouraging comment.
Skye
LOL
I was going to come back and guess but I am crap at guessing and then I missed the deadline. This was quite a challenge to write, I am sure, and I think you did a splendid job! Thank you for sharing, Skye!
Thank you very much!!! I'm so glad you liked it.
Guessing can be hard I think. I tried to guess on the previous wave but got most of it wrong. I think you only really have a chance if you are very familiar with what else the authors have written or know them personally or something. But it's fun to just try. :-)
Thanks for reading and commenting so nicely!!!
This was a great story, Skye! I loved how it was structured; how all the different views kind of "tracked" Jim and Blair throughout the day, and I thought you did a great job weaving the actual case story in, especially with so many different points of view. And everyone's "voices" were spot on. And...it was short! (for you *g*) ::does the victory cheer::
Seriously, having just read through "A Chance Encounter, part three", I'm completely blown away with how much you've improved as a writer. Not that "A Chance Encounter" isn't good; it really is. But you've just gotten so much more comfortable with the characters, your dialogue and action flows more smoothly, and your use of POV is impeccable (and if this isn't the kind of story to demonstrate that, I don't know what would be!). Just awesome.
::blushes profusely and is searching for adequate words to express her gratitude for such praise::
Thank You so much, Jen. It means a lot to me that you liked this and are thinking that I improved my writing. But it's mostly just POV and the fact that I try to use less epithets, I'm sure. Observing those rules wasn't/isn't that hard at all, IMHO; I just wasn't ever aware of these issues before. I agree, though, that it's rather amazing how much more readable it makes the writing. It's certainly what I find very objectionable in my previous writing.
I'm awed, however, that you think I hit the voices right, too. I wasn't at all sure I had. :-)
Thank you very much again!
The change of voice between each pov was good here - absolutely you knew that different people were observing our boys.
Thank you M. I'm so glad you think so, since it obviously was the point of the story :-) Rather what I struggled most with, too. | |
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