Lt. Goldblume and Det. Washington climb up the stairs of a fifth floor apartment. They look up to hear various voices. When they reach the designated floor, they're met with police photographers, two patrolmen, and a few other investigators. Everybody notices the shields they wear. A medical examiner shakes his head pitifully. Goldblume eyes an investigator.
"Sanchez, what have you got?"
The lightly graying haired investigator rubs his mustache. "Really bad one." He walks Goldblume over to a blood spattered wall. There they find a heavily pregnant woman slumped over with patches of dark blood along her body, including the stomach. "Lisa Corgan. Mid-thirties. And from the M.E.'s estimate, anywhere from 32 to 38 weeks pregnant."
Goldblume lets out a deep sigh. "Dear God."
Washington shakes his head. He notices the M.E. walk into a small bedroom. He steps at the threshold, not wanting to move another inch when he sees another victim on the bed. A very small boy drenched in splotches of blood lays motionless. The only thing that stands out are the little teddy bears on his pajamas. Washington runs a hand down his own face, feeling nothing but grief. The M.E. sees the detective at the doorway.
"Three years old. Didn't even have enough time to react."
Washington lets out a deep breath as he drops his head against the doorway frame.
Goldblume is led to a photographer on the scene who stoops down taking pictures. Sanchez looks at the item in question. "Eight inch hunting knife. Serrated. Matches the wounds. She has defensive wounds on her hands too. She saw it coming and she tried to defend herself."
"Who did this?" Goldblume quietly asks.
Nobody answers.
"I said, who did this?" He asks more forcefully.
"They're questioning him right now. In the bathroom."
Goldblume makes his way past two uniformed officers. There, sitting on the closed toilet is a man with blood caked on his white T-shirt. Washington looks through the man's wallet. James Patrick Corgan. Forty."
"I heard them. They were calling out my name. I had to do something. Something." Corgan shakily answers.
Goldblume stoops down to look at Corgan's face. "Sir, who was calling you?"
"Them. All of them. They were readying their weapons. They were coming for me. I heard them in the bushes. All of my guns were taken from me. I saw the knife. Boy, and I waited."
Goldblume looks at the man with confusion. He glances back at the two officers near the doorway. "Cuff him and take him to the car."
"He's already cuffed."
"Just bring him to the car."
Corgan is led away by the officers. He spots the blood on the walls. "Billy! Billy! Look what they made me do!"
Goldblume gives a heavy sigh. "He's unstable. It's like he doesn't even remember his wife."
"Henry!" Washington calls out.
"What is it Neal?"
Washington lifts a framed picture from the wall in the living room. Inside is a small medallion and certificate.
Goldblume reads it. "James Patrick Corgan. Medal of Valor. 43rd Battalion in Nha Trang. 1970." He turns to look at the M.E. putting a sheet over the victim while the little boy's body is wheeled away. Quietly he mutters to himself. "Son of a bitch. A Vietnam veteran."
Bates straightens her tie nervously at the office of Dr. Murphy.
"So, you've been feeling ill lately?"
She tries to find the right words. "Not really sick. Sort of different though. I can't stop eating. But I chalk that up to depression. Uh, two guys I worked with… Fatalities. It was a car crash. So, uh, I've been taking it really hard. Then just today I discovered I've got an aversion to coffee. You know in my line of work that doesn't happen. I've always liked coffee."
The doctor feels around her stomach. "Feeling a little soft in the middle?"
"Now that you mention it, I feel like I'm growing out of this uniform, but that's what happens when one eats too…"
The doctor touches around her chest.
"Hey! Touch me there one more time and I'll send you to the emergency room. Got that?" She objects with a wary finger. Thinking better about it, she tells him, "I have been feeling sensitive there lately." Bates looks down. "I don't know what's wrong with me. All I did was sleep and eat during the weekend." So, uh, is this where you tell me to pee in a little cup?"
Dr. Murphy ignores her last statement. He stays focused. "Lucy, you said your friends fatalities was recent? How long ago?"
"A month and a half." She looks up, trying to stay strong.
"When was your last cycle? You know? Period?"
"I have no idea. Sometime last month…I think." She smirks.
"Have you taken any medication? Pills of any sort? Birth control?"
"No. Nothing." She looks at him hopeful. "So, Doc? Does this mean I've got a clean bill of health?"
"I have one more question before I do any tests on you."
In a blasé tone she answers. "Sure. Go ahead."
"When was the last time you were with somebody intimately?"
"If you're askin' me when the last time I had…" She turns her head, wanting to avoid the answer. "Six weeks." In a fraction of a second she stops and stares ahead.
Hill and Renko return to the station where they find Belker once again at the main desk, handing in his gun and holding onto the collar of a man dressed casually.
"Belker."
Renko approaches the detective apprehensively as he reeks of fish. "What's that you caught, Mick?"
"Oh, uh second loan shark."
"How long did that take you?"
"Four hours. Why you askin'?"
"Mere curiosity, Mick."
Hill watches Bates return back to the station. She walks by him without saying anything. He says to both Renko and Belker. "Lucy sure is actin' funny today. First all that eating. Now she acts like nobody exists."
"Tell me about it. She said she wanted me in lemon butter." Belker grins.
Furillo talks on the phone in his office. "No Chief. I don't know what's going on with the kids on the street. Yeah. I know." He turns to see Bates is standing outside his door. "I'll let you know as soon as my men have something to tell me. Alright. Talk to you then. Bye." With a beckoning finger, he summons the sergeant in.
"What can I do for you, Lucy?"
"I need to talk to you about something." She says in a quiet tone.
"Did you go to the doctor like I told you to?"
Bates moves her jaw around as though she really wants to say something. "Uh, I'm gonna need time off."
"Okay. Just let me know ahead of time."
"During the holidays."
"That is ahead of time. Lucy, that's at the end of the year. It's only the end of April. Is there a reason?"
"Yeah. Maternity."
"It's a funny way of saying guardianship of Fabian."
"It's not for him." She takes a deep breath. "It's for me. I'm pregnant."
A smile creeps on the captain's face. "Lucy? That's…great. Congratulations!"
"Yeah, well. It's not the kind of news you expect to hear. Captain? I don't know if I'm ready for this."
"Lucy, you'll be a wonderful mother."
"I mean…there are options. But, uh, thanks."
She begins to leave.
"Phil wanted kids. He thought he was going to have one with Grace. Philip Freemason Esterhaus Jr. He never had that chance."
Slowly she turns her head before leaving.
Goldblume knocks on the office door. Washington watches Bates walk by. "Hey, Sarge? Can you do me a favor and look up a report?"
Bates answers quietly, "Not now. Okay, Neal? Have somebody else do it."
She shuffles off as he looks on in concern.
"Wonder what's botherin' her? I know what's botherin' me. This whole case and your attitude, Henry."
"I have been stating facts."
"All the way back to the station you haven't been able to keep your mouth shut about this."
"This is my job, Neal. What am I supposed to do?"
Furillo steps outside his office. He lets them through his door.
"I got a call from Lt. Sanchez of downtown. They're holding your suspect…"
Washington corrects him. "Murderer."
"Okay. Uh, murderer in their custody. Is there any particular reason why he's being booked there and not here?"
"I told Sanchez it wouldn't be a good idea to put him up here."
"And that reason being?"
"He's a child killer."
"Neal?" Goldblume tries to plead.
"Someone like that wouldn't sit well with the rest of the population in those cells. Could cause a riot too."
"And I take it Henry doesn't agree with you?" Furillo asks in curiosity.
Washington eyes the floor, shaking his head.
"I can answer that for myself. I am here." Goldblume testily answers.
Furillo looks at the lieutenant. "Henry? I'd like a moment with Neal."
"Sure. I can see you have your mind made up before all the facts are taken into account." Goldblume leaves in a huff.
The captain glances outside the door as he shuts it.
"Uh, Henry doesn't agree with you. Why is that?"
Washington edgily answers. "The facts? The facts are this. A man butchered his family. A pregnant wife well beyond fetal rights and a three year old son. Frank, I'm tellin' you, man. I saw it with my own eyes. That little boy. Lying so still. Blood all over his teddy bear pajamas. Do you think he asked for his father to puncture him with an eight inch…" He holds his mouth, steadying his shaky breaths. "I ask you, what kind of a parent does something so monstrous like that?" He clears his eyes. "Goldblume is trying to make up some cockamamie story of how we should feel sorry for this man and his mental disorder… This child murderer."
"I have news for you Neal. Sanchez said he was surprised at hearing some of the things coming from Goldblume, himself. I believe he said disappointed."
"That goes for me too, Frank."
"Neal, just calm down for a little bit. After that, I want you to see if there was anything on the subject we could use in court."
Washington nods, picking out a toothpick as if it were a cigarette.
"Oh, and send Henry back in."
Furillo waits for the exchange of detectives. Goldblume rushes back inside the office, closing the door without being asked. "Frank, let me explain."
"There's nothing to explain, Henry."
"I'm doing my job. Will you let me finish at least?"
Furillo arches his brows in surprise at how insistent the lieutenant is.
"James Patrick Corgan. He's a Vietnam veteran who served his time in Nha Trang in 1970. He's a war hero, Frank. I saw the Medal of Honor he received."
"Are you forgetting why you were there, Henry?"
"No. But, we have to look at all of the facts. He might not have been in the right frame of mine."
"That's not a fact. That's a suspicion. Are you trying to say this is an insanity defense? You're not a lawyer. You don't work as a P.D., Henry. You're a cop. You don't get to play psychiatrist when you don't have all the facts." Furillo growls, "You certainly don't do it on my time!" He calms down long enough to add, "Sanchez called and said he was very disappointed in your actions today."
"I did…"
"He said, you didn't even bother looking in the bedroom to see the boy even when you were asked. You were busy drooling over some framed picture. I had Neal come in here and he had a hard time describing what he saw and he presented the facts. That's what we do. We present facts and bring them to a lawyer where they then bring it to a judge who serves it to a jury."
"I know how the judicial system works, Frank. I'm not stupid! Am I not allowed an opinion. I see you judging people all the time. You judge all of us. Sometimes without the facts. Suddenly, I have something to say and I'm not allowed to even think it. Well, dammit Frank, I'm gonna say it whether you like it or not! P.T.S.D.!" Goldblume calms down quickly. "That's what I think he has."
Furillo answers with no emotion. "Tell Neal I want to see him again." He looks down, too ashamed to even glance up at the detective lieutenant.
Goldblume can't get through the captain. He disappears out the door.
"Yeah, Captain?" Washington says.
Furillo exhales deeply. "I want you to find out if Corgan had a psychiatrist. You know it won't be easy to get the records. Get a warrant if you have to. Henry thinks he might have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I want to find out for sure what we're dealing with. A calculated maniac or a head case?" He sees Washington is eager to leave. "One more thing, Neal. Don't take Henry with you."
"Understood."
Belker finishes writing out an arrest report, when he notices Sgt. Bates looking depressed as she organizes some files.
"Hey, Sarge, I was thinkin' with all this fish business that you, me, and Robin haven't had dinner in a real long time. I figure we can go to the little restaurant nearby. Prices should go down by then."
"Thanks Mick, but I don't feel much like going anywhere. Besides, I wouldn't want to be a third wheel."
"Oh no. I was figurin' you could be Philip's date."
She lets out a snicker of amusement. "Wow. That's really thoughtful of you, Mick."
"Who knows. He might even share his sippy cup with you." He chuckles.
"Really sweet of you, but I think I'll pass. Somethin' I'm goin' through and I got a lot of thinkin' to do on it."
"If you need any help, I'm here for you, Sarge." He says with a sweet smile.
"Thanks, Mick, but, uh, this is a female thing."
"Oh." He nods his head. "Okay." His eyes glance towards the rest of the squad room with an idea in mind.
Goldblume and Washington bicker nearby.
"I can't believe you're making excuses for him!" Washington expresses.
Goldblume says, "For the thousandth time. I am not making excuses. There can be other things that go on with one's psyche."
Washington stops. "You call carvin' up an eight month pregnant wife and three year old son a problem with psyche? I call it what it is. And that is a psychotic maniac. You bet your life he's got problems."
"Maybe it's not worth talking to you. Maybe I should talk to Howard."
"Yeah? You do that!" Washington shouts as he leaves the double doors.
Belker receives a phone call.
"Hi, honey. Oh, just great. I think the price on fish should be going down real soon." He laughs. "Yeah! How did you guess? Come on. That obvious? Oh? You are? Sure thing. See you soon. I love you too and give little Philip a big smooch for me. Bye."
