Unexplained

Goren arrived at the house and felt his stomach tighten as he realized Eames wasn't waiting for him in the other car. Bobby slipped out of his seat and secured his weapon in his holster. It was already growing dark outside, and he pondered for a moment whether he should make use of his wrist light or if it would be safer to rely on his own night vision. He found the light and stuffed it in his coat pocket. Then he approached Eames' car warily.

He'd been right, she wasn't there. Bobby knew she wouldn't have gone in without him unless she felt there was no other choice. What he didn't understand was why she hadn't called it in. He drew his weapon and walked carefully to the door.

The front door was slightly ajar, and he peered through the opening until he was satisfied that it was safe to enter. Goren stepped inside, scanning the room with his eyes. He saw a rectangular object on the floor, small, and there was a trail of rubble around it as if it had been smashed.

Carefully, he walked toward the object, bracing himself and checking every possible hiding place along the way: a closet, a kitchen nook.

It was a cell phone. Eames' phone. He glanced around once again and then let his eyes move along the floor. She was lying on the ground not six feet away. As quickly as he could, Bobby went to her side. He squatted down and checked her pulse. She was still alive.

"Eames," he whispered, but she didn't respond.

His gun still in his left, aimed out into the open, unexplored part of the room, he threw glances her way and checked her as best he could. He couldn't find her injury, but he did find that her weapon was missing.

Bobby was in a fix, now. He needed to call for backup, to get her help, but he couldn't risk giving away his location. Their perp was probably lurking in the darkness nearby. Making the call could risk both his and Eames' life.

He stood, keeping his gun hand at the ready. Bobby retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and dialed. He whispered the 10-13 call. "Officer down," he said. He gave the address and added, "Perp is believed to be on site, and probably armed." Bobby squatted down and left his phone under his partner's fingers, the call still active. His right hand brushed against her hand before he rose to his feet again.

Now Bobby was all business. He continued forward, cautiously searching the house for the perp. He saw a small table beside the basement doorway and noticed a little statue had toppled over there. Bobby started slowly down the stairs.

As he descended, the stairs opened up to the basement on both sides of him. He had to make a choice about where he thought the perp would be.

Bobby thought about the layout of the house, and chose to turn toward the larger part of the room. His decision was a poor one.

"Drop it," MacKearn snarled from behind him. "I have a bullet trained at your head. Drop it, Detective."

Bobby fell back on his best weapon, psychology. "S-sure, okay," he said. "Y-you don't need that gun, either, you know… we can talk this out."

"Shut up."

Bobby clamped his mouth shut and nodded before speaking again. "I know how you must feel," he said. "You're thinking… there's only one way out of this, but… but that's not true, okay? Evidence is not always proof. You have a very good chance in a courtroom."

"Cuff yourself. In front. You're gonna need your hands."

Slowly, Bobby did as the man asked.

"Now. Walk straight ahead. Move that chair to the side." He waited while Bobby slid the chair. There was some kind of a cover on a small patch in the wall, just behind where the chair had been.

"Push on it, gently."

Goren pushed, and the little door moved.

"Slide it over to the right." Again, he waited. "Now crawl in."

It was very small for a man Goren's size to get through, but he managed it. He felt with his bound hands in the darkness and moved in, prodded to keep going by MacKearn's orders. Bobby heard the man sliding the piece of drywall back into place. Suddenly, a flashlight offered some light in the musty space.

"You're gonna keep crawling, quietly. I still have a bullet with your name on it. Don't think you have a chance at this range. Straight ahead. Go."

Bobby's mind pieced together where he was as he slithered through the tiny space. The house was very old, and this tunnel was most likely used to house runaway slaves when they needed a good place to hide.

Finally, he found another tiny doorway. Bobby slid a latch and opened the old wooden door. Then he crawled up and out. He tried to turn back quickly, to knock MacKearn off balance, but the man was too fast for him. He already had the gun trained steadily on him when he turned.

MacKearn walked him over to the old Cadillac and made him get into the back seat. Before he knew what hit him, the man had clocked him hard in the head. With a grunt, Bobby fell over the back seat of the car.

MacKearn took his wallet and his shield. He climbed into the driver's seat. He slipped Bobby's identification under the seat and started the car.

Calmly, MacKearn drove out of the old barn and turned onto the back road that led to the city street. One glance in the mirror told him that he'd barely escaped capture.

Once he hit the open road, he increased his speed. In this country village, there wasn't a chance that any of the cops were watching the road. They were all too busy back at the house.

He would steer clear of the interstate. Surely the state police would be looking for him.

MacKearn drove upstate along the curves and in and out of the haunting woods that surrounded them.

Goren stirred. Bobby's mind registered pain and the gentle rumbling of the car beneath his body. He slowly raised his head high enough to get a handle on his predicament.

It was just him and MacKearn. Bobby wriggled slowly until his hands were on the driver's side of the car. In one motion, he sat up and punched MacKearn hard with his cuffed hands.

The car spun out of control, flipped, and sliced across a guard rail before it went sailing down an embankment.

The rail had ripped an opening in the old canvas roof of the convertible, and Bobby's body went flying through it. With a crunch of pain, he was unconscious.