Chapter 2
"I'm sorry." He wasn't sure what he expected, when he'd come over, but he knew he had to do this.
"For what?" Frank's voice was calm, as he lunged empty pizza boxes towards the trash can. "For not suspecting her? Joe no one did, not even me until I saw the poster." He flung the boxes into the trashcan and in an explosive movement, suddenly punched them.
"Christ, I should have known Joe, I live in the same house as her, I should have known!" he punched the boxes again, swearing as his knuckles caught the edge of the can and began to bleed.
Joe moved cautiously forward.
Profilers were often said to be arrogant and there was certainly a ring of truth in that. When everyone, from the Junior Commissioner to the newest Rookie said that you were vital to cracking a case, it was hard not to believe them, to get arrogant.
But that arrogance also masked a darker side to profilers. His counsellor had told him that profilers were nearly twice as likely to be middle children as any other position on the force. Frank was the eldest, but that didn't change the physiological make up.
Insecure, uncertain, compassionate. Empathetic.
What Vallejo would never understand is what had hurt Frank about the case wasn't the result. Well, it was, but what Vallejo couldn't understand is that Frank would have probably left the force or been suspended even if Folsom hadn't beaten him to the punch. Chapzy Gazpacho allergy would have been on his file. Frank would have seen it.
Except he hadn't remembered it.
Profilers were supposed to be omnipotent. To know a perp better than they knew themselves, to predict what they were going to do. When you got it wrong...it stunk.
Joe knew that.
"You weren't looking." He said, softly. "She was your sister. There was no reason to."
Frank aimed another fist at the pizza box.
"Yes there was, I just didn't want to admit it." He sighed. "When Vallejo used to come around, Francine would follow us like a stray dog. She was always talking about joining the force when she was older, always making cocoa for Vallejo."
Joe added the pieces up in his head. "She had a crush on him."
"That's one word for it." Frank ran his fingers through his hair. "I should have realised, I could have gotten her help."
"You have to want to be helped."
Frank didn't say anything, just moved over and grabbed another stack of pizza boxes. Joe made to help him, and then stopped himself. This was therapy for Frank of a sort.
"Vallejo got a second term as Junior Commissioner."
He wasn't sure what made him blurt that out, other than a desire to fill the air. Surely it was the last news Frank was going to want on top of his sister's arrest.
"I know." Joe blinked surprised as Frank piled the second stack in the trash and jerked his head towards the phone. "Vallejo called me. Told me he wished things had gone another way. And to thank me for helping him."
"Word on the street," Joe chewed on his lip. He was prying into something he had no right to, but he couldn't' stop. "Is that Vallejo's got permission from the board to hire a profiler."
"I know." The silence reigned between them for a moment before Frank hit the trash again and yelled.
"Christ Anza, how do you cope?"
"Cope with what?"
"With not interfering. There was a file lying open on Third's desk, a chalk snatching. I..." He shook his head. "It was in my hands when they came out of Vallejo's office."
Joe paused, wondering how he could answer honestly.
Because there were too few profilers and too many cases, it was evitable that it had a bad effect on life outside of the patrol.
For the average patroller, maintaining any form of organised activity was difficult, but for a profiler it could be impossible unless you were careful.
Ingrid had commented on Frank's activities dropping, but thankfully that big brain of hers had been too focused on what it meant as in how it fitted into their theories about Frank to notice that the dates were wrong.
That Franks involvement in the clubs, and with his friends, had been going downhill months before his suspension.
It was tempting to do that. To stay late at patrol and miss that meeting, that club that event. Eventually people started getting impatient and angry. They dropped you pretty fast
You needed a good partner as a profiler, to make you put down that file, to remind you you were late for that meeting, to keep you grounded.
Joe's old partner had transferred and Frank had been losing Vallejo mental support, if not his physical presence.
It wasn't Vallejo's fault, not really. Joe was sure if he'd known, if he'd realised what was going on, he would have reached out. Stopped Frank falling before it had been too late.
Except he hadn't. So here they were.
"I keep a bit of the jacket I was wearing that day in a drawer." He said, softly. "And whenever I get something out, I look at it and remember why that's a bad idea." He paused. "Besides I've got Fillmore and Third, plus O'Farrell and the rest to drop clues to."
Frank shook his head.
"But that only works because no one knows. With you..."
"Everyone knows."
Joe nodded. "You want to get back in the patrol?"
He waited, until he saw the small nod of the head.
"Then do it slowly. Tell Vallejo you only want to be used on a consultant basis. Speak to the counsellors. Get back in with your old clubs. Get a partner. O'Farrell needs one."
Frank grimaced. "But he's ...O'Farrell."
"Maybe." Joe had to admit that he wouldn't want Danny as his partner either, "But he's not ambitious, he's observant" In the most bizarre way that would defy even Frank's profiling skills, "And loyal. He'll keep an eye on you. Stop you slipping under."
O'Farrell was also completely irrelevant, with sudden flashes of brilliance, which with his photography skills were the main reason he was still on the force. For Frank, or for any profiler, he would be a perfect partner.
Fillmore and Ingrid worked well together, but both were ambitious, even if they didn't realise it yet. Tehama was his partner, and she was nearly as dedicated as Frank. She would be an enabler, rather than a helper if he was still profiling. None of the others would touch Frank, and they both knew that. Danny would keep Frank grounded, and in return, he was certain Frank would do the same.
He reached down and pulled a can of Fake Fruit juice "And watch how much of this you're drinking. It's risky."
He stood for a moment as Frank nodded, before heaving the trash can on to one shoulder and pulling it down the stairs.
"And Frank?" he turned. Joe swallowed. "This time, I've got your back as well."
He watched the shy, almost nervous smile flicker across the other man's face. At times, Fillmore reminded him a lot of Frank. Both of them prickly as hell, but good guys underneath.
"Thanks Anza."
He shrugged, only wishing he'd had the courage to do that first time around.
"No problem, Bishop."