Disclaimer:The usual folks. They aren't mine, they are Pet Fly's. I'm just borrowing them for some harmless, profitless fun.
Notes and Timeline: Post TSBBS but before Blair attends the academy. Spoilers for…well…pretty much for the entire series.
Warning, Rating, Series:Reference to an attempted sexual assault-not graphic, but if that is likely to bother you, don't continue with this one. Rating: PG-R, scattered rough language, some violence. Series: New Beginnings.
The Right Thing To Do
By Mele
**When it comes to hindsight, everyone has 'Sentinel strength' vision** Blair thought as he pulled his knees up to his chest protectively, ignoring the pain that still wracked his underweight frame. He huddled on the industrial bunk, staring at the once green floor now faded over the years to a washed out non-color, and thought back to how this ordeal began….
"You sure you got that address right, Chief?" Jim Ellison asked his partner, his sharp blue eyes scanning the rundown neighborhood.
"Yeah, man, see for yourself. Sneaks wrote it down for us," Blair replied, holding out the crumpled scrap of paper.
The detective glanced at the paper with an expression of disgust, then surveyed the area again. "I think Sneaks is going to owe us a refund this time," he muttered. "There is no way Chandler would be in this neighborhood. Just no way. I don't care what kind of deal is going down."
"So let's head back, then. No need to waste our time out here…" the younger man's voice trailed off as he noticed the Sentinel's suddenly intense look. "What's wrong?"
"Shhhh…" Jim held up a hand to silence his partner as he tilted his head in the familiar pose that indicated he was listening to something quite distant.
The former student waited anxiously, watching his friend closely lest the Sentinel zone on whatever it was he was listening to. It had been a while since the older man had zoned, but Blair wasn't willing to take any chances. In two weeks he would start at the Academy, and Jim would be on his own until he finished, so they were spending as much time as possible honing the detective's control over his senses.
"Something's going down in that condemned house over there," Ellison reported at last, pointing to a two-story building with boarded up windows.
"Define 'something'," Blair requested, looking at Jim curiously.
"I heard about a half dozen different voices, plus a television, other electronic sounds – you know, beeps and whirring sounds. Not a lot of conversation right now, but something's tweaking my instincts. I want to get closer and check it out. Stay put."
"No way, man. I'm coming with you. You're planning to use your senses to get an idea what's going on, you need me just in case. Now, let's get going," Blair commanded, opening his door and getting out of the truck, leaving the detective no choice but to follow.
"Sandburg, just slow down, we don't know what we're getting into," the larger man cautioned, indicating the police observer should move to a position behind him.
They made their way silently across the neglected grounds to a shadowed corner of the building, where Jim held up a hand in a silent command to wait and listen. Puzzled, his instincts on alert, he took but a moment to realize there were people approaching quickly from both sides.
"We have to get out of here," he hissed at his companion just as a bright, concentrated beam of light blinded both men and the sound of guns being cocked was loud enough for a non Sentinel to hear clearly.
"Get your hands up where I can see them," a commanding voice demanded. "Now turn and place your hands against the wall, and don't make any sudden moves. We're feeling a little jumpy tonight."
The two men were quickly frisked, with Jim's service revolver removed, along with both their wallets and keys. There was silence as the apparent leader checked their ID, while the others kept their weapons trained on their captives.
"Cuff them and bring them inside."
Blair glanced worriedly up at Jim as his arms were roughly jerked behind him, and he felt the cold metal snap closed around his bare wrists. Jim spared his worried friend an encouraging look, before turning an angry expression to their captors.
"There's no reason to be so rough," he growled, trying to ignore the pain the bright light was causing his sensitive eyes. He received no answer save a jab in the back from a gun, urging him toward the entrance to the supposedly condemned home.
Within moments they were in a featureless room, seated on hardwood chairs, while their captor took a similar seat in front of them. For the first time Jim and Blair got a good look at the man, noting his military bearing and coldly handsome features. He looked to be in his early sixties, his steel gray hair was neatly trimmed, as was his moustache. Pale brown eyes under bushy eyebrows surveyed the younger men with cool contempt, while his well-cut clothing did nothing to hide his still muscular physique.
"Detective Ellison, what are you doing here?" he demanded.
"I had a lead from an informant, telling me a suspect I've been investigating was meeting someone in this neighborhood. It appears the information was inaccurate. We were preparing to leave when I noticed signs of activity around here and decided to investigate." His clipped report stated only the bare facts, but Sandburg could tell his partner was coldly furious.
"You always bring civilians along on investigations?"
"He's an observer with the Cascade PD, as you well know, since you have his ID. He was already here with me," Jim replied brusquely.
"He was here with you to follow up on that lead?"
Ellison declined to address that comment, his temper already near the breaking point, his jaw muscles so tightly clenched it was painful to even look at. He suspected their captors were government agents, which only added to his ire. If these were 'good guys' then why were he and Blair being held captive?
He glanced over at the former grad student, noting the accelerated heartbeat and faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the only signs of the younger man's fear. Meeting the smaller man's eyes, Jim nodded his approval of this display of calm at his friend, letting a hint of a smile cross his lips. His guide ghosted a smile back at him, despite the worried questions that shone in the dark blue eyes.
Their inquisitor sighed in mild frustration, rising to his feet wearily. "I see you are not going to be very cooperative under these circumstances. I need to check some things out, I'll be back shortly. In the meantime, you will sit here quietly, or this guard has orders to subdue you using any method available. Do you understand?"
Two silent glares were his only answer, and emitting another soft sigh the man rose and walked out of the room, shutting the door firmly on his two captives and the guard.
"You okay there, Chief?" Jim asked softly, ignoring the stone faced guard.
"Fine, man. A little pissed at the whole 'cloak and dagger' thing, but okay. What do you think is going on here? Any ideas?" was the Sentinel soft reply.
"The whole setup screams CIA, or FBI at least," the detective hissed back quietly, seeing the agreement on Blair's face even as he spoke.
"Well, what the hell are they doing here?"
"I dunno, but I think we're about to find out," the larger man responded, turning his attention to the door. Moments later their captor entered, looking no happier than when he'd left.
"You two are presenting me with a bit of a dilemma," the older man said at last, taking a seat opposite his two handcuffed visitors. "In good conscience, I have to offer you a choice." He stood and took his keys out of his pocket, using one to remove the cuffs from Jim and Blair's wrists.
"And what might that choice be?" the Sentinel asked tersely, rubbing his wrist as if it hurt.
"I'll get to that in just a moment. First, let me explain what's going on here," he said calmly. "My name is Daniel Brooks, I've worked for the FBI for almost thirty-five years, the last seven at our Sacramento office. I've been a good agent, nothing spectacular, just good, if you understand what I'm getting at. Then early last year, my daughter died. A drug overdose. One of those damned designer drugs, nearly impossible to treat. She was just twenty-six, my only child. Her mom and I had divorced when Sasha was twelve, but I had joint custody. God, she was so beautiful. And she danced, always she was dancing." His eyes took on a far off cast, seeing memories no one else was privy to.
"But that drug ended her dance," he continued, shaking off the memories. "I became a man with a mission: find the sons of bitches who were responsible for creating that drug. And make them pay. Problem was, I had no idea what I was getting into. I thought we'd be dealing with a 'backyard' lab and local yokels dealing. After three months of digging, I found out it was something so much worse. I was able to trace the drugs back to Canada, and outline the route they took to California, assisted along the way by those you least expect to be involved in such matters. It made me sick to think about it, but I never doubted what I had to do," he trailed off, looking oddly tired.
"It involves FBI agents, doesn't it?" Jim queried gently, understanding shining in his light blue eyes.
"FBI agents, DEA agents, a couple of officials at the Canadian border, and police officers at four precincts: Coeur De Alene, Idaho, Portland, Oregon, and Spokane and Cascade Washington."
"Cascade? Are you implying we have officers involved in drug trafficking?"
"I know of five who are directly involved. Cascade is the last one we need to tie down, and I figure in a couple of weeks I'll know the names of everyone involved. Then the sting can go down. Which brings me back to you two." He sat back and studied the two men carefully before speaking again.
"You two were the first ones I looked into. I mean, talk about intriguing. A lone wolf, ex-Ranger, covert ops trained detective suddenly teams up with an anthropology grad student? A ninety-day ride along pass is used for THREE YEARS? And after all this the student declares himself a fraud? At a press conference no less? I was more than a little curious. And I got a copy of the fraudulent paper."
The older man's eyes met Sandburg's without flinching. "I don't believe for a moment you're a fraud. I looked more closely at the cases you two have handled the last couple years, and after reading those, along with the information in your paper, I believe Detective Ellison is indeed a Sentinel. Hell of a job you did on that thesis, young man."
Blair looked blandly at the man, shaking his head sadly. "I hate to disappoint you, but it was a fraud. I'm a fraud. But glad you liked the story."
"I think I even understand why you two decided to handle it the way you did. Makes sense, really," he went on, as if Blair had not spoken. "But, that aside, no matter how hard I looked, the two of you came up clean. So now, you have to make that decision."
It was obvious that Jim understood what was coming, just as it was clear Blair didn't, at least not fully. The one time grad student was obviously intrigued by the older FBI agent, and incensed over the tale of drug trafficking, but he was also obviously not considering the potential effect on his life, a fact that didn't surprise his partner in the least.
"I know from your files that you both have reason to hate drug dealers, even beyond the normal hatred a non-user has for those who distribute that poison," Brooks said, referring to the nightmare Jim and Blair had faced thanks to Golden, a designer drug that had nearly cost them everything.
"It's getting late, Brooks, cut to the chase," Ellison ground out, wresting his thoughts from the memories of seeing his best friend and roommate stretched out comatose on a hospital bed, courtesy of Golden.
"The way I see it, you have four choices. One, you walk out of here, go back to the station and spill everything. Our operation is shot out of the water, and the officers who contribute to this epidemic go unpunished. Two, we arrest you now, and take you to a holding facility, where it will take so long to get you released we have time to finish our mission. I'm not really ready to use that option, however. Three, you walk out of here and stay silent. Let us do our thing, and we never saw you," he gave both the Cascade men a meaningful look. "Or four, you join us. We can certainly use a man with Ellison's unique talents. BUT, you have to be clear on what the probable cost of option four is, before you make your choice. You know what I'm talking about, Ellison. Make sure Sandburg understands as well. You two discuss it, and when you decide, you come find me. Or, the door is unlocked, you're free to go."
The FBI agent stood and indicated the erstwhile guard was to leave, then he turned at the doorway. "Whatever you decide, good luck to you." He turned and left, shutting the door softly behind him.
"Jim? What exactly is he talking about? What probable cost? I mean, if we can help them, we should, right?"
"Blair, it's not always that easy," Jim started, flinching at his partner's incredulous look. "There is a stigma attached to cops who turn in other cops, even if they are dirty cops. It's not something that's taught in a class, or discussed openly, but it's there. A lot depends on the officers involved, the police department's overall attitude, things like that. But the odds are, if I agree to this, I won't be looked upon favorably afterwards. And if you help, then attend the academy...well...your time there is likely to be hell on Earth, and your chances of being hired afterwards will be virtually nil. The feeling is that we, as cops, have to depend on each other out in the field, and if one cop turns on another cop, that trust is betrayed," he stopped, seeing Blair nod in agreement.
"There are several similarities, in a number of societies," the former anthropologist agreed vaguely, his expression thoughtful.
"Well, then you DO understand," the detective mumbled, his expression troubled.
"I understand that the attitude exists, it doesn't mean I agree with it."
"I don't agree with it either, Chief, but it does exist, and it will affect us. As it is, I suspect most of the officers involved in this operation here are either near retirement age or are lower echelon, who can plead they had no choice, but were following orders. And they are likely from the East, where ties to these offices are virtually nonexistent. But us…well…we're in our own backyard, so to speak," he commented.
"Still, Jim, they're transporting drugs. Kids are being killed by it. I think about what you went through-that girl dying, you losing your sight-and I just can't stomach the idea of turning a blind eye to what is going on," he paused, shaking his head in disbelief at what he'd just said. "Uh, no pun intended, man. But, I mean, hell, maybe I'll regret this…who am I kidding? I know I'll regret this. But I think we should help them. And if Brooks knows about your talents, then so much the better," Blair said, his voice oddly calm.
"You seem to forget I wasn't the only one who was physically affected by Golden. I watched you lying comatose on a bed for a day, heard the doctors talk about brain damage and flashbacks, and wondered if you'd ever wake up. I don't want to think anyone else would have to go through what we did, and I'm willing to do about anything to prevent that. But I need to know you're sure about this. You could be giving up your law enforcement future before you even get to start it."
"I'm sure Jim. I'm not certain I want to BE in law enforcement if it somehow prevents me from capturing the bad guys. You know what I mean?" Blair looked anxiously at his partner.
"I hear you, Chief. Let's go find Brooks and hear what his big plan is, okay? Just remember, you're still going to do what I say, got it?"
"Yeah, yeah…got it, man. Business as usual, in other words," the smaller man chuckled, completely unperturbed by the frown his partner sent his way.
The detective shook his head in fond exasperation as the two of them walked out the door and went in search of the man in charge of this operation, knowing full well they might be setting on a course of action that would forever change their lives.
TS TS TS
Captain Simon Banks was not a happy man, and he didn't care who knew it that blustery, cold day he found his best team was missing. When Jim Ellison didn't turn up at the station, and no call came to explain his absence, the captain sent Brown and Rafe to the loft at 852 Prospect to check on the detective. The two young men reported back that both Jim's pickup and Blair's car were parked in their usual spots, but that the loft was empty. There was no sign of a struggle, nothing appeared to have been disturbed, and none of the neighbors had heard or seen anything odd in the last 24 hours.
Banks was not prone to panic, but he KNEW James Ellison, and his gut was telling him in no uncertain terms that the former Ranger had not just wandered off willingly. Something was very wrong, and as usual Ellison and Sandburg were in the middle of it. Of this he was absolutely certain.
"I'm sending over a crime scene crew to go over the place, I want you two to coordinate that," the captain barked into the phone at Brown. "Let me know the minute they find anything."
He hung up and considered his next move before striding over to open his office door. "Taggart! Connor! In my office, please."
"What's up, Captain?" Megan asked, settling herself in one of the chairs in front of the cluttered desk.
"Do either of you know which cases Ellison was concentrating on yesterday? If there was anything odd going on with any of them?" he asked abruptly.
"He and Blair spent most of the day working on the Jackson securities case, I think. Blair was rattling off something about trying to trace one of Jackson's partners, hoping to catch him in the act, I think. But I don't know anything else about it," Taggart reported, his broad face wearing a worried look. "Is something wrong with Jim or Blair?"
"You mean outside of the fact Jim didn't show up for work today, DETECTIVE?" Simon snapped.
Joel flinched a little, but didn't allow his captain's mood to disturb him. "I figured he'd gotten in earlier than I had, then took off on a case," he explained mildly.
"Taggart, I apologize. You don't deserve that sort of treatment," Simon sighed, running a hand over his face. "He didn't show up, he didn't call in, and both his and Sandburg's vehicles are at the loft, but neither of them are anywhere to be found. Given the amount of attention those two have been receiving recently, and the…well…the stress they've been under…"
"You think something's happened to them," Connor concluded.
"Call it a gut feeling, but yes. I do."
Connor and Taggart exchanged worried glances, both at the news that something could have happened to Jim and Blair, and at the unusual behavior of their captain. The last few weeks had been extraordinarily hard on all of them, starting with the unpleasantness of dealing with Jack Bartley, through the unexpected mess of Blair's dissertation becoming public and exposing Jim's Sentinel abilities to the world at large, then Megan and Simon being shot, Blair's public renouncement of his dissertation and 'confession' of fraud, and the capture of the Zeller. All of Major Crime had been rocked by the events, and it was only recently that things had settled down, with Simon and Megan both back on active duty, and Blair slated to begin the police academy in less than a week. Within the unit, Blair was treated the same as always; if anything maybe a little more kindly, even. But outside the safe confines of Major Crime, he was subject to various forms of harassment, ranging from derision to outright attacks, both physical and verbal.
The potential list of persons who would want to hurt either Ellison or Sandburg, or both, was extensive, to say the least.
"What can we do to help?"
"See if you can figure out what Jim was working on, who the partner they were investigating is. Anything that could possibly point out who might have grabbed them," Banks requested.
"You think they were snatched?" Connor asked.
"That would be my first guess, yeah. I have Brown and Rafe working with a crime scene crew at the loft right now."
"Are there signs of a struggle?" Joel wondered, remembering reading the report about the condition of the loft after Lash grabbed Blair.
"No, there aren't. And somehow that worries me most of all."
"You know, Captain, they may have just stepped out for a meal, or whatever," Megan commented, her tone even. "They aren't going to be happy if they come home and find their home crawling with cops."
"If that happens, I will be the most relieved man in Cascade, Inspector. But, until that happens, I'm going to treat this as a kidnapping. Now get to work." He waved his hand in the general direction of the door, his attention already turning to some paperwork on his desk.
TS TS TS
"Hey, Einstein, you crack this case yet?" Jim asked his younger friend when he walked in to find the former anthropology student hunched over a computer keyboard, intently studying the information on the screen in front of him.
"Almost," Blair replied in a distracted manner, his attention not wavering from the screen in front of him.
"Oh?" The detective was immediately interested, having seen Sandburg in full research mode before and knowing the signs of imminent discovery. It had been two weeks since they'd joined the task force, and they had both spent countless hours poring over reports, surveillance shots, and other documents, carefully constructing a web of evidence against the drug dealers who were serving as police officers.
"Yeah, man, look at this," the longhaired young man said, pointing to the screen. Jim leaned in closer, as did Brooks, who had come in with him.
Seeing he had both the older men's attention, Blair launched into a detailed explanation of what the data was referring to. He'd managed to take the information the team had assembled before he and Jim had joined them, then extrapolated it to predict the most likely activities for the drug traffickers over the next three to four weeks.
"As you can see, there is a definite pattern here, I think my predictions are reasonably accurate, unless something is done to tip them off," Blair concluded.
"This is great, Blair," the FBI agent enthused, patting the Cascade Police observer on the back. "I want to call a meeting in a couple of hours, and I think we can map out the rest of this assignment. And tonight we are going to follow Captain Jensen to his 'meeting' and see if we can get enough evidence to make sure he falls. See you two at the meeting then," he said, heading back out the door with a hurried step.
"Looks like you did good, Chief," Jim said with a warm smile for his partner. "Brooks is impressed with your work."
"It's not that big a deal, man. Just doing what I was trained to do. You COULD consider this group of drug traffickers as a small society unto themselves. And analyzing and tracking a society's patterns is what I specialized in." There was a brittleness to the younger man's tone of voice, an underlying sorrow that hadn't been there only a few weeks before. It reminded his older friend once again just what the former student had given up to protect his Sentinel, and the now familiar pang of painful guilt hit once more.
"I've always said you bring a unique perspective to police work," the detective commented, tapping the curly head gently.
"Hmm. Uh, you really believe Captain Jensen is involved in this?" It was obvious Sandburg wanted to change the subject. Both the Cascade men had been shocked to find the suspected leader of the 'gang' on their home turf was the well-respected captain of the Vice division.
"It sure looks that way, Chief. We'll find out tonight, if the meet goes down as expected. I hope they're wrong on this one – I've known Allen Jensen for a long time – but so far their track record for accuracy has been outstanding. I won't kid you, though. We bring down Allen and I can guarantee we will NOT be popular at the station. The man has a lot of friends," Jim sighed.
"It doesn't seem right, does it? That doing the right thing can be seen as so wrong, cause so much trouble. But we are doing the right thing. Right?" the younger man asked, seeking reassurance from the veteran officer.
"Yeah, Chief, we're doing the right thing," Ellison replied absently, running his hand through his short hair in a distracted manner. "Look, I want you to stay here tonight, okay? I have a bad feeling about this meeting."
"That's fine, Jim, if you're staying here. If not, I'm going. You've been pushing your senses a lot recently, and you know that's when you're more subject to zoning. Brooks doesn't know how to bring you out of a zone, you need me there."
"Chief, don't buck me on this, okay? Just stay here, finish your research or whatever you have to do. I'll be fine without you for a couple of hours."
Blair sighed tiredly, knowing how incredibly stubborn the Sentinel could be, but also knowing his feelings were usually accurate. But, if Jim zoned when alone with the other members of the task force, he could end up being caught, something his guide was not willing to risk. "I'll think about it. Now let's go grab something to eat, all right? I skipped lunch, I think. I was too engrossed to stop for a meal, but now I'm starving."
Frowning in displeasure, though whether it was at his young friend's reluctance to do what he was told, or at his tendency to forget to take care of himself, was impossible to say.
TS TS TS
Later they would wonder just how a simple surveillance could go so spectacularly wrong.
Jensen showed up as expected, as did his contact, a widely recognized member of the local branch of a national drug cartel. Based on prior knowledge of the cartel's methods, plus what Jim was able to hear of the conversation, the man who was meeting Jensen had no interest in exchanging information or establishing a working relationship. Murder appeared to be the agenda from the get-go, and there was literally nothing the observers could do to prevent it.
Almost before Jensen's lifeless body hit the floor, the old factory building was a beehive of frantic activity as the task force mobilized to capture the murderer, just as a contingent of Cascade police officers arrived on the scene, alerted by Jensen's unnoticed backup. Once the pandemonium had ceased, the frustrated police officers found themselves with only two things for all their efforts. A dead Vice Captain and one prisoner-Blair Sandburg.
TS TS TS
"Banks," Simon growled into his phone, his hand automatically reaching for his cup of coffee. He'd just sat down at his desk, without even having had five minutes of peace to review the night shift's logs. He listened to his caller with a growing sense of disbelief, then growled out a terse reply before hanging up forcefully.
"Taggart! You're with me," he called out impatiently as he strode across the bullpen toward the doors. Joel didn't waste time with questions, but fell in step beside his captain without comment until they reached the elevators and Simon had punched in the required floor.
"What's up, Sir?" the former bomb squad captain asked.
"Captain Jensen of Vice was killed last night. Looks like a possible mob hit. They didn't catch the guy, but they did take a prisoner."
"They're sure the prisoner isn't the killer?" Joel queried.
"They don't sound too sure about anything, but they don't think he is."
"Why are we being called in?"
"Their prisoner is Sandburg," Simon ground out.
"What?! BLAIR? Blair wouldn't kill anyone. What was he doing there? There has to be some sort of explanation," Taggart exclaimed, turning a disbelieving look to his superior.
"An explanation that personally *I* am looking to hearing," Simon muttered, the last two weeks of worry weighing on him. He burst in to the booking/holding area like a tornado, barking out questions and orders until he'd arranged a meeting with the arresting officers to be followed by a chance to interrogate the prisoner himself.
"Captain Banks, we can use the conference room to talk," Detective Abrams said, indicating a small, windowless room.
"That'd be fine," Simon growled, motioning for Taggart to join them. "Now, how'd you come to arrest our observer?" he asked without preamble after they had seated themselves.
"Captain Jensen told us he had a meeting scheduled last night at that warehouse, and we arranged it so it would appear he went alone, but we'd be able to swoop in and get the guy once the Cap had the evidence. But, somehow, it went so wrong…" the younger detective's voice trailed off as he suddenly seemed to become fascinated with the scarred tabletop.
"Do you have any idea why he was killed?" Banks asked calmly, understanding all too well how upset the officers in Vice were. Losing a man was never easy, but when it was a captain as well liked and respected as Captain Jensen, it was especially hard.
"No. Nor do we know who he was supposed to meet. I guess it was set up by one of his snitches. He didn't tell anyone, and now it's too late."
"Where does Sandburg fit in all this?" Joel asked.
"That's what we'd all like to know. There was a small group of people in that warehouse. We have to assume they were with the killer, probably his own backup. When we came in, they fled, and your man is the only one we were able to catch."
"What's his explanation?" Simon wondered.
"Wish I knew! The little prick won't talk. Not at all. Won't speak, won't look at anyone, won't write. Frankly, Captain Banks, I'm hoping you can get something out of him. God knows we've tried," Abrams sighed.
"We'll try. Though, normally, getting Sandburg to talk isn't a problem. Getting him to shut up, is. Did you check him for injuries? Signs of having been held against his will? That sort of thing."
"Of course. No sign of anything. The kid appears totally healthy. We asked him if he'd been being held by someone. No answer. Asked where his partner, Ellison, is. No answer. Asked if he needed something to eat or drink. No answer. Frankly, I had to leave because I wanted to pick him up and shake the answers out of him. For his sake, I hope he opens up to you. If he keeps this up, he'll end up in lockup without bail until he talks. You might want to mention that."
"I will. Can we see him now?"
"Sure. I think Jeffers and Nelson can use a break," Abrams said, leading the two captains to the interrogation room.
"Guys, let's let these fellas have a shot, okay? Go take a break, have some coffee, food, whatever," Abrams ordered, ushering the Vice Detectives out and leaving Simon and Joel alone with their prisoner.
Blair was dressed in the orange prisoner coveralls, his right wrist cuffed to the table, his long hair partially obscuring his face. Simon felt a rush of protectiveness, and in that moment understood what Ellison must have gone through every time he had to rescue the younger man. There was just something in that small, hunched figure that brought out every protective instinct the larger man possessed.
"Sandburg, you want to tell us what went down last night?" the Major Crime captain asked without preamble.
Silence greeted that question, as it had greeted every preceding query, and would continue to for every following question. Banks found himself frustrated to the point he wanted to just grab the prisoner and shake an answer…any answer…out of the younger man.
Blair didn't appear defiant, more like resigned, which was doubly frustrating to the older officers. Defiance was far easier to respond to, even if it was only with anger, compared to this stoic acceptance of their suspicion and accusations.
"Blair, do you understand what you are facing here?" Joel finally asked with oddly angry patience.
At the younger man's disinterested shrug, Simon's patience snapped, and he loudly, and graphically, described what was likely to happen now; what the stubborn young observer faced unless he started talking and shed some light on the events from the previous night. But nothing they said – none of their entreaties or their orders or their threats – broke through the stoic silence. Their words were absorbed by the younger man without any visible impact, until at last they were forced to admit defeat and watch in puzzled despair as the anthropologist was led away to a holding cell.
TS TS TS
"I know you've got an inside man, Brooks, so don't even try to say you don't know what's going on with Blair," Jim growled at the FBI agent the morning after the ill-fated shooting.
"They're holding him as an accessory to Jensen's murder. So far he hasn't said a word, and I mean that quite literally. Apparently he has turned completely mute, to the officers who questioned him, to fellow inmates – who are NOT in the same cell as he is, mind you, they're treating him with kid gloves, believe me. But the word is he'll be charged, and probably held without bail due to the nature of the crime, and the fact that it's unlikely anyone will show up to help him out."
"Was he injured?"
"Word is, no. Apparently fine and healthy, just completely incommunicado. He'll be okay, Ellison. He isn't going to be in there long enough to get to trial. And I'm betting Banks will make sure the kid is sequestered away from the general population, kept safe. Remember, he agreed to all the risks, same as you did," Brooks noted solemnly.
"I'm well aware of that," Jim ground out through clenched jaws. "And how would you feel if it was your partner?"
"Probably the way you feel."
TS TS TS
"This is just not like Blair," Joel complained, rolling his glass of beer between his large, nimble hands.
"I agree it's not like Sandy or Jim to worry us needlessly, but I can't imagine why they would disappear like that and not tell us. And where is Jim now? There's no way he's going to leave Sandy in jail," Megan added, her eyes flashing with anger.
"Well, we have an APB out on him, so if he gets anywhere near the precinct they'll pick him up," Simon reported tersely.
It was a rather subdued group sitting around the corner table at The Waterfall Bar, a small establishment two blocks from the police station. Taggart had been the one to suggest they go out for an after-shift drink, and the others had agreed, however unenthusiastically. They had spent all their spare time in the previous two weeks trying to find any trace of Ellison and Sandburg, working on their off hours more often than not. Sandburg's arrest had been an unpleasant surprise, to say the least.
"Come on, guys. We know Hairboy wouldn't do anything like murder. Maybe we should look around ourselves, see if we can find something to clear him," Henri suggested.
"I like that idea, Captain," Megan agreed with a determined look. "They aren't going to pin this on Sandy."
"I agree. They act like they want to hang Blair, like they caught their man. And you know that's not the case," Joel chipped in.
"Guys, I know how you feel. Believe me, I know. But we have to be careful here. It won't do any good if we just stomp all over the other divisions," Simon cautioned.
A round of reluctant nods greeted that comment, then Henri turned to his so far silent partner. "Brian, you okay man? You're kinda quiet, even for you."
Rafe looked around at the others, then back to his untouched beer. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said in a tone that convinced no one.
"Come on, Partner, spit it out. What's bugging you? You can tell us," Henri encouraged him.
The dark haired detective took a deep breath then spoke softly. "First, I just want to say, I don't think Blair had anything to do with Captain Jensen's death. He's not the sort to kill anyone. But…well, you know I transferred to Major Crime from Vice, right? I served under Captain Jensen for a year, my first year as a detective."
The others winced, having forgotten that Rafe, like Ellison before him, had come via Vice; but apparently, unlike Ellison, Rafe had liked the gruff Captain Jensen.
"You want to talk about it?" Simon prompted him.
"There was this one case," Rafe began after a considering pause. "I was undercover, and one of my sources was a young prostitute, went by the name Petal. She couldn't have been more than 16, 17 years old. Nice kid. And when the bust went down, she got caught in the crossfire…she died in my arms in a filthy alley. I held it together, for a while at least, gave my statement, did the report, the whole bit. Then, I don't even remember what was said, I think it was some offhand comment about there being one less hooker in Cascade to arrest, and I came unglued. Yelled at my fellow officers, yelled at Captain Jensen, called him a few less than complimentary things, turned in a hand written resignation, tried to stomp out of there. I mean, I totally lost it." He glanced up nervously, gratified to see only understanding shining in his friends' eyes.
"What'd Jensen do?" Taggart encouraged him.
"Grabbed my arm and marched me down to the gym, which fortunately was pretty much deserted. Threw me some gloves and let me at the punching bag. I went berserk. I have no idea how long I punched that thing, I do know I was soaking wet with sweat when I was done. I punched, and yelled, and cried, and he stayed there with me, egging me on, forcing me to let it all go, then telling me to clean up and meet him back in his office," Rafe's smile was a combination of sad and embarrassed.
"When I got to his office, he gave me the chance to tear up my resignation, which I did. Then he told me about his first case, the first time he saw an innocent killed." Rafe looked up then with an abashed grin. "Then he told me if I ever called him that again he'd chew me a new asshole and bust me to meter maid. But, after that afternoon the incident was never mentioned again. And when the opening came up in Major Crime, the division I'd wanted from the start, he helped me get the transfer." He fell silent for a bit, obviously lost in thought.
"So, see, while I'm certain Blair had nothing to do with Captain Jensen's death, nor did Jim, I'm still angry he was killed, you know? He could have let me resign that day, or washed me out of the detective force. But he didn't. And I can't help but feel any success I have now is at least partly contributable to what he did for me."
The group was silent for a few moments, then Henri spoke up gently. "Sorry, Brian. Guess we got so caught up in worrying about Blair, we forgot a good man died there."
"Yeah, and we owe it to both good men to find out what happened," Simon agreed.
TS TS TS
Blair stared at the meal with a marked lack of interest or enthusiasm. It had been a week since the shooting, four days since Captain Allen Jensen was laid to rest with full honors. Seven days of being taken from his solitary cell twice per day; once for questioning, once for a shower. Meals were delivered three times daily, and after twenty one meals the health conscious young man was still debating the relative merits of eating the slop he was served vs. giving up eating entirely.
He had maintained a stoic silence, refusing to answer even the most innocent of questions, afraid if he lowered his guard for even a moment he'd somehow betray Jim and the others. The daily questioning session was a torture in and of itself, though he couldn't decide which was worse; the barely restrained hostility of the Vice detectives or the hurt puzzlement of the Major Crime members.
They had tried threats, physical intimidation, bribery, even laid on guilt for disappointing those who had trusted him; and still Blair remained mute and closed in on himself. Those who knew the usually loquacious young man were suspended somewhere between surprise and dismay at this display of stubbornness, and most figured somehow Jim Ellison was at least part of the reason behind it.
Simon, for one, was one hundred percent convinced Blair was protecting the older detective, though from what he couldn't begin to guess. He was more than a little surprised that Jim hadn't shown up to either break Blair out or clear up the situation in some way; he just couldn't believe that the former covert ops Ranger would leave his younger partner to face this situation alone. That left the depressing possibility that his best detective was UNABLE to help Sandburg; that he was either injured or imprisoned himself.
The situation was not helped by the fact that there had been no leads or breaks in the case; forensics had not uncovered so much as a single clue at the site. They didn't know who the shooter was, or who the others in attendance that night were, or why Captain Jensen has circumvented the regulations and had gone to the meeting sans backup. And it infuriated the Vice division that the one person who could probably answer most of those questions was sitting mute and protected in a solitary confinement cell.
The former grad student's reputation had taken a beating with his renouncement of his thesis, making it easier for those who didn't know him well to believe he was capable of participation in criminal activities. Despite his three years of involvement with the police, during which time he was never found to be anything but honest and upright, the events of the last couple of months had completely turned a majority of officers against the young man, and more than a few were secretly glad to see 'Cop of the Year Ellison's' hippie freak partner take a fall.
Blair looked up as his cell door opened and the now familiar sight of Officer Laron filled the open doorway. The young patrolman was his usual escort for his evening shower, and Blair felt oddly comfortable in his presence, sensing neither hostility nor disgust from the large rookie.
"Come on, Sandburg, you know the routine," Laron said mildly as he stepped back and gestured the prisoner out. The walk to the showers was silent, and moments later Blair gratefully stepped under the warm spray, savoring his one daily pleasure. His guard allowed him some privacy, and, unless there was an emergency, normally let the anthropologist have as much time as he wanted.
So it was nearly a half hour later before he exited the showers to find Laron gone, and Detective Madera of Vice standing in his place. At Blair's startled look the dark haired detective smiled in an unpleasant manner.
"What's the matter, Jewboy? Scared now your protector is gone? He had an urgent call to backup, so I offered to take his place. Just doing my duty, you know. Here we go," he said as he stopped at the door to the main holding cell, currently filled with a motley assortment of rough looking men who eyed the smaller prisoner with obvious interest.
Blair turned anxious eyes to the Vice detective, his fear evident in the blue depths.
"Problem, boy? You want to go somewhere else? Then just speak on up. You just have to ask. Well, ask, and also tell us what you know about the shooting. Otherwise I'll just consider your silence as…acceptance." He glared down at the smaller man, then sneered derisively. "Come on faggot, you know how this works. You've been working with the police long enough, been Ellison's partner long enough." The angry man spoke purposely loud enough to be clearly heard by all the prisoners inside the common holding cell. "You know how this works. You give me what we want, we may give you what you want. Still nothing to say? Well, in that case, I'll just put you back in with your buddies here, okay?"
If Jim had been near by he would have been nearly deafened by his guide's wildly hammering heartbeat as Madera grabbed his arm and roughly shoved him in the cell, clanging the door closed with a click that chilled Sandburg with it's soft finality. The other prisoners formed a loose circle around the terrified anthropologist as Madera strolled away without a backwards glance, closing the riot door behind him. It was against regulations to close the solid metal door unless there was an emergency, since it completely muted the sounds from the holding cells.
**Let the little hippie scream all he wants,** Madera thought maliciously. **No one will be able to hear him.** The officers at the duty desk didn't even spare the veteran detective a glance as he strolled by, whistling cheerfully.
To be continued...