"A four year old took out your knee?" Bill Crowley's voice was incredulous.

Joe Styles, a tall, black man who usually looked like he'd be more comfortable on an athletic field than in a police cruiser, shifted his crutches into his right hand and eased himself into his desk chair, grimacing as he hefted his right leg onto a wooden chair his partner placed in front of him. "That kid has a future with the Rams. Tore my ACL."

Bill groaned and shook his head. At least, he decided, it didn't happen until after they wrapped up the Calabrese case. Bill shuddered to think what would have happened to their case if Joe had gotten hurt earlier. Of course, he'd hardly seen his kids in two months, so when would he have had the opportunity?

Oh well, Bill decided, at least this would give Joe a chance to rest. He needed it. So did Pepper. His gaze drifted to his blond partner. Assignments like the Calabrese case took a lot out of her. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. She'd tried to hide them with makeup, but he could see them.

Oblivious to the scrutiny from her partner, Pepper Anderson patted Joe's shoulder sympathetically. "How long are you going to be stuck on a desk?"

Joe's face fell. "Two months. Doc says they'll do surgery next week, then a week of recuperation, and then at least six weeks of physical therapy. Man, I'm gonna go crazy on a desk."

"It won't be the same without you, partner," Pete said, with a gallant tip of his cap.

Bill rubbed the back of his neck. It wasn't going to be easy to replace Joe. He and Pete worked well together, and Bill counted on them to back up him and Pepper. "Pete, can you handle riding solo for a week? Michelle Adams has temporary duty with that drug task force starting next week. You and Frank Dietz can partner up after that."

Pete shrugged. "Sounds okay to me."

"What happened to you?" The team swung in unison to see Lt. Paul Marsh entering the squad room. Marsh, like Bill, was a career cop who never wanted to leave the street. He'd stayed there for the first twenty years of his career, until a bullet - and his wife - had finally driven him to accept promotion to lieutenant and the reins of Robbery/Homicide. He was a good administrator, but internal politics had given him chronic digestive problems, and, even after ten years, Bill could see a certain wistfulness in his eyes when a particularly exciting case came around. In his heart, Paul Marsh was always going to be a street cop.

The older man frowned at the brace on Joe's knee. "That looks painful."

Joe snorted. "I'm the victim of a dirty tackle by a budding four-year-old football player."

"Ouch." Paul touched Bill's shoulder. "Can I talk to you and Pepper for a minute?"

"Sure." Bill motioned toward his office. "What's up?" he asked after he shut the door.

Paul leaned against the desk. "I've got a case for CCU." Pepper motioned toward the coffee pot, but he shook his head and focused on the conversation. "Someone is trying to kill a minister visiting a small inner-city church in Echo Park. Took a shot at his car."

"Tough congregation," Pepper said.

Bill frowned. "How is attempted murder CCU business?"

"The intended victim has apparently been receiving death threats." He handed him a typed note.

Succinct and to the point: Satan will welcome you home. Bill scanned it and handed it to Pepper. "Somebody seems unimpressed. Who is he?"

"Name is Albert Hinton. Baptist minister. Comes from a little town in West Tennessee but doesn't seem to live anywhere now. He and his wife travel church to church."

Bill looked over the note again. "Why haven't we heard about this before?"

Paul's eyes shone with a glint Bill couldn't decipher. "Because neither the attempt on the guy's life nor the death threats were initially reported."

Pepper's eyebrow rose. "Not reported?"

"The guy's wife is in my office. She's got one heck of a story. I think you two should talk to her."

Bill and Pepper made eye contact, and Bill shrugged. "Let's do it."

.

Florence Hinton was a rather round black woman with graying hair and a face that would have been pretty had it not been creased with deep lines of worry. She sat straight, met their eyes directly, and held her chin up almost defiantly, but beneath the bravado, she seemed wary, and Bill wondered if she'd had unpleasant interactions with the police before. Even Pepper's warm smile failed to thaw her chilly demeanor.

"Mrs. Hinton," Paul said when the introductions were complete, "tell Sgts. Crowley and Anderson what you told me."

The woman regarded him soberly for a moment, then drew herself up and said, "I want you to prove my husband is a fraud."

Bill blinked and glanced at Paul whose eyes were shining even brighter. "I'm sorry, I'm confused. I thought your husband was a minister."

"That's correct."

"And someone is trying to kill him."

"Yes."

Bill opened his mouth as if to ask another question, then shut it, confounded. Pepper just stared at the woman with a puzzled frown. Florence Hinton looked down and regarded her hands for a long moment, then took a deep breath and began her story.

"My husband and I come from Covington, Tennessee, a little town about an hour north of Memphis. He used to have a church there. Nothing big, but we liked it, and the congregation was faithful and God-fearing. Then he got the Gift, and it all changed. Couldn't stay home anymore. Once word got out, people were calling on us nonstop, all hours of the day and night. Couldn't get away from 'em. If we didn't answer the door, people just slept on the lawn."

Bill and Pepper looked at each other, no less enlightened than they'd been a moment before. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hinton," Pepper said. "What gift?"

The woman looked at Paul as if to ask for help, but when no help was forthcoming, she sighed and her shoulders crumpled with resignation. "The Gift of healing," she said. "My husband is a faith healer."

Bill's confusion turned to incredulity and then to rising anger. Faith healing? Paul brought them in for this nonsense? He looked at the older officer, hoping he would declare this nothing but a joke. The man's eyes were bright with suppressed amusement, but he showed no sign of calling off the farce. Bill clenched his teeth and tried to think of a polite response. To his relief, Pepper stepped in.

"A faith healer," his partner repeated. "And by faith healer, you mean…"

"I mean he lays hands on people and cures them. Of disease. Injury. Whatever. He heals them."

"And someone is trying to kill him." Pepper sounded somewhat bewildered, as if she couldn't quite parse the words.

Mrs. Hinton nodded. "The threats started a few weeks ago. We were in a little town in northern California called Yreka. At first they just warned us to leave. Albert - my husband - wasn't concerned about the notes, but it was about time for us to move on anyway. Then the threats started coming in the next town as well. And the next. And now here. Each note's a little worse."

"Did you report the threats?" Pepper asked. The woman shook her head. "Why not?"

"Albert didn't want to. He said it was just a non-believer. Somebody scared of what he does. Said words wouldn't hurt him."

"But somebody took a shot at him."

The woman studied her hands and nodded. "Day before yesterday. When he was leaving the church after his first revival in this area."

"Day before yesterday?" Bill couldn't keep the scorn out of his voice. "Words may not hurt him, but I bet a bullet would. Or would he just heal himself?"

"Bill!" Pepper chided.

"He wouldn't let me report it!" the woman protested at the same time.

Bill leaned over the desk into her space. "Why not?" he demanded. "Someone takes a shot at me, lady, I sure as hell want to know who it is."

"I don't know," she said just as firmly, her gaze unflinching. "He won't tell me."

Pepper touched Bill's arm. He glared at Mrs. Hinton a moment longer, then reluctantly backed off, irrational anger roiling in his gut.

Florence Hinton raised her chin a shade higher. "My husband is a proud man, and sometimes he keeps his own counsel. Too often sometimes." Bill turned away from her and stared out the window. She shifted her gaze to Pepper. "He does what he believes is right. And so do I. That's why I'm here, Sgt. Anderson. I want you to prove my husband is a fraud."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Bill groused without looking back at them.

A faint smile passed over her lips. "You'd be surprised, Sgt. Crowley."

"I still don't understand," Pepper said. "Why prove he's a fraud? Why not find the crackpot who's trying to kill him?"

"And what about the next crackpot? And the next?"

"Have there been other threats?" Bill asked.

She shook her head. "No, but we're hounded everywhere we go. Skeptics and believers alike. Always the same. If you prove he's a fraud, then everyone will leave us alone." Her eyes took on a faraway look. "When Albert was just a country minister he used to be so happy. Could hardly find a time he wasn't whistling or humming or singing." She gave her head a little shake. "Can't remember the last time I saw him smile, much less heard him sing." Her sad eyes focused on Pepper's. "I want to go home, Sgt. Anderson."

.

Bill managed to paste a polite smile on his face when they walked Mrs. Hinton out, but when he turned back toward his office, the smile faded and the frustration he'd felt in Paul's office flared fresh. "This is ridiculous," he complained to Pepper, who had to jog to keep up with his strides. "Real cases needing work, and we're wasting time on a faith healer who doesn't even care if someone is trying to kill him."

He slammed the door to his office and poured himself a cup of coffee. "He used to sing," he sneered.

Before he could get the cup to his lips, his partner took it from his hands, pushed a stack of folders aside, and settled on the edge of his desk. "Thanks," she said.

He glanced at her as he poured himself another cup. Her eyes were sparkling, and it was clear she was having trouble suppressing a smile. "You're enjoying this," he accused. "You think this is funny?"

She shook her head. "The case? No. Honestly, I think it's kind of sad."

"Sad." He set the coffee pot down a little harder than necessary. "Committing fraud against untold numbers of desperate people?" He opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet and searched for the Calabrese folder. He still had hours of paperwork to do on that case, including ensuring his people had turned in receipts for every item on their lengthy expense reports. He wondered idly if he could foist that task onto Paul Marsh in thanks for foisting the Hinton case onto him.

Pepper sipped at her coffee, peering at him over the rim of the cup. "What if it isn't fraud?"

He tossed the file onto his desk and slammed the filing cabinet shut. "Oh come on, Pep. It's faith healing. What else could it be?" He sat in his chair and flipped open the folder. When his partner didn't answer, he looked up at her. Her fingernails were making patterns in the Styrofoam cup, but she met his gaze steadily. "You can't be serious."

"Come on, Bill. You're Catholic. Jesus performed healings all the time."

"You're equating this guy with Jesus?"

"Not at all. I'm just pointing out that there are precedents."

"I prefer my precedents to have less than two thousand years between them." He pulled out the first expense report in the file and tried to focus on it.

"Okay, what about the Miracles at Lourdes? That was only, what, a hundred years ago? People still claim the waters there have healing properties." When no response was forthcoming, she said, "So, what, you don't believe modern-day miracles are possible?"

"I didn't say that," he replied, too annoyed to ignore her baiting. "I just don't think they're probable. If God were going to perform a miracle, why would He do it through some carnival sideshow like a faith healer's tent? There are plenty of good, honest people who work and pray and live right every day. Where's the miracle when they get sick?"

His voice had gotten overloud, and an uncomfortable silence settled over the office. Bill looked down at the expense report without really seeing it. No reason to yell at her, he chided himself. Damn case was causing problems and they hadn't even started it yet.

"You're probably right," Pepper conceded. "Shouldn't take much to clear this case. Pete and Joe and I can handle it. Why don't you just finish those expense reports? And don't even think about denying that Halston dress. If I hadn't shown up in a designer label, Calabrese never would have bought my cover."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was aching. "No. Whether they reported them promptly or not, threats were made, and someone tried to kill the guy. That makes this case legitimate CCU business." He stood up and retrieved his jacket. "You and I will follow up with Rev. Hinton. I want to be there when you see for yourself what kind of fraud this guy is." She followed him to the door.

"Mrs. Hinton has provided a list of towns her husband perpetuated this scam in over the past year," he continued. "I want Pete and Joe to start checking for complaints against the good reverend. I can't help but wonder if they're not moving from town to town for a reason other than too much popularity."