Jeannie's tears finally stopped but she wouldn't release her father. Eventually her hold on him relaxed and he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her slightly away so he could look into her eyes. He couldn't speak.
Swallowing heavily, she reached up to brush the moisture from her cheeks with the palm of her right hand. "What happens now?" she asked softly, trying to keep her voice from cracking.
Mike inhaled deeply as he stared at his only child; he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. "Now, you leave here and get on with your life and I, ah…" he cleared his throat, "I start to pay for what I did."
She began to shake her head slowly, her face starting to crumble again and he slid his hands from her shoulders to her upper arms, increasing the pressure of his grip, ignoring the pain in his right hand. "Sweetheart, I pled guilty. It's over."
"No… no… no," she began to intone softly as the last thread of her composure unraveled and she fell against him once more, her trembling arms circling his chest, her hands grasping desperately at the fabric of his knit vest.
She wasn't going to let him go.
# # # # #
They heard a door open at the far end of the corridor and two sets of footsteps growing louder as they approached. Mike opened his eyes and looked at the door. He was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall, his left arm around his daughter beside him, her head against his chest. She was gently holding his injured right hand in both of hers as she listened to the comforting beat of his heart, feeling his warmth and his strength.
The uniformed sergeant appeared on the other side of the bars, the keys jangling as heavy metal door was unlocked and pulled open. Jack Fowler stepped into the small concrete room, nodding at his client with a grim smile. "Mike."
"Jack," Mike nodded back as Jeannie opened her eyes and faced the newcomer. Her father lifted his arm from around her shoulders and they both sat up. "This is my daughter, Jeannie. Sweetheart, this is Jack Fowler, my lawyer."
"Jeannie," Fowler said softly with another nod.
Not trusting the strength of her voice, she nodded back.
"Listen, ah, Mike, we have to talk," Fowler started tentatively, his eyes flashing from his client to the young woman.
Mike looked at his daughter. "Sweetheart –" he began but she cut him off, getting to her feet.
"It's okay, Daddy, I can wait out there with Dan." She bent over to retrieve her purse from the floor, glancing at Fowler as she did so. "Take your time, Mr. Fowler, but please try to get him out of here."
Both men froze as she flashed one more quick look at her father then stepped through the door, allowing the sergeant to close and lock it after her.
Mike looked at Fowler and smiled weakly. "She's not joking," he said with a sad chuckle.
"I didn't think she was," Fowler replied with a dry laugh of his own as he set his briefcase on the end of the bunk and pulled the grey metal chair closer before sitting. "But I do have something I want to talk to you about… something Gerry proposed. And I think you might find it agreeable."
# # # # #
The four men in the wooden chairs looked up as the door from the holding cell area opened and Jeannie Stone preceded the sergeant into the room. All of them scrambled to their feet at different speeds, Steve first. Her eyes fell on him and widened in surprise and relief and she almost jogged across the room, her arms out before she reached him.
"Oh Steve," she sobbed as they embraced and she buried her head into his shoulder. He held her tightly, one hand on the back of her head, his eyes closed. The others shuffled uncomfortably; the emotion was so raw.
Eventually Jeannie pulled away and took a step back. She glanced at the others and attempted an apologetic smile, sniffling softly. "I'm sorry, it's just so…"
"Don't worry about it, honey," Healey said tenderly, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezing. "It's how we all feel…"
She smiled at him gratefully and he looked at the floor, removing his hand and stuffing it into his pants pocket, shuffling almost embarrassedly.
"How's he doing?" Dan asked.
Her eyes looked desperate when they met his and she inhaled sharply. "He told me he did it. He said everything I heard was true." She turned her sharp gaze to Steve. "But it can't be, Steve, can it? I mean, I know how much he hated Cord but to beat him to death. Mike wouldn't do that, would he?"
Steve looked quickly at the others before his green eyes settled back on the distraught young woman. "Jeannie, let's sit." After they were settled, he leaned forward and stared at her intently. She braced herself, knowing what he was about to tell her was not going to be easy to hear.
"Back in '73, when all that crap happened with you and Cord, your father and I didn't want to tell you… and I guess there's been no reason to tell you since then but… well, Cord had been taking pictures of you… stalking you, I guess you could call it, and we found them. We were going through them in Mike's office and he, ah, well, he just lost it. Your father attacked him, and it seemed pretty clear that he wanted to kill him. It took a bunch of us," he glanced at Healey, "to pull him off before any real damage was done." Steve sat back and inhaled deeply. "I've never seen your father so angry, so out of control. But he had good reason. Cord was stalking his little girl and he reacted like any loving father would.
"Jeannie, if Leonard Cord was back in town to go after you again, maybe Mike thought the only way to stop him was a permanent way. You've always known that your father would sacrifice his life for yours in a heartbeat. Maybe that's just what he did."
Her blue eyes bored into his as his words sunk in, and the tears that had pooled now started to slide down her cheeks. She reached and took his hands. "Do you think he did it?" she asked softly.
Steve stared at her expressionlessly then took a deep breath. "I never thought I'd ever say this, but I think your father is telling the truth about what happened last night." Reluctantly he nodded slowly, closing his eyes. When he opened them, they too were brimming with tears. "Yes, Jeannie, I think he did it."
# # # # #
Steve, Healey and Haseejian had been sitting silently in the hard wooden chairs for over an hour. Steve still wanted the chance to see his former partner but Mike's lawyer was still in with him so they had had to wait.
Dan had taken Jeannie home. The young woman had held things together exceptionally well after Steve's admission, though her heart was broken.
Haseejian shifted once more before he turned his head towards the younger man on his left. "Do you really think he did it?" he asked softly.
Steve knew the question would be coming; after Jeannie left, conversation had died and they had been waiting in silence, but he knew both detectives wanted, needed, to confirm what they had heard.
Steve almost smiled as he snorted and turned towards his former colleague. He could see Healey's eyes boring into him as well from the other side of the Armenian Robbery sergeant. "No… of course I don't, Norm."
Haseejian shot a look at Healey, frowning. "Then why did you tell –"
"I didn't want to get her hopes up. I have to talk to Mike, hear what he has to say, before I really make up my mind… but I know him too well. This is not the Mike I know, and something in my gut tells me he's covering for somebody."
"Yeah," Healey said, sliding forward on his chair so he was perched on the edge, "that crossed my mind too, but who the hell could it be."
Steve shook his head and exhaled loudly. "I have no idea, Dan, but there are probably a lot of candidates out there. I'm sure Leonard Cord pissed off a lot of people in his miserable little life. That's why I want to talk to Mike, get a read on him, and then talk to Bill and see what he's found out."
"Do you really think Mike's going to tell you he didn't do it?" Haseejian asked skeptically, his brow furrowed in doubt.
"No, of course not, but I think I can still read him really well. He was usually pretty good at lying to me and getting away with it for awhile; I'm just hoping that's what he's doing now."
"Hey, you three!" came a gravelly voice from the other side of the counter. They looked that way, seeing the jowly face looking at them with raised eyebrows.
"Yeah?" Haseejian growled, getting to his feet along with the others.
"You guys are waiting to see Stone, right?"
"Well, I am," Steve said, putting a hand on his own chest, "Steve Keller."
The uniformed sergeant hung up the receiver he'd been holding in mid-air. "Well, you're gonna have to wait awhile longer. Stone's lawyer is taking him to the hospital. Don't know when they'll be back. So you can wait or you can come back later."
Steve glanced at the others, suddenly worried. "Hospital? Why is he going to the hospital?"
"I got no idea," the sergeant said gruffly.
"Well, what hospital then?"
"Again, I got no idea." The sergeant glared at them then looked down at the forms on his desk, effectively dismissing them.
"They'd take him to St. Francis," Healey said quickly, "let's go."
With a parting furious glare in the sergeant's direction, Steve followed the two detectives out of the room.
# # # # #
Jack Fowler was sitting on one of the chrome and black chairs in the Emergency waiting room, his open briefcase on his lap, rifling through the papers it contained. Steve, Healey and Haseejian crossed the busy room towards him as fast as they could, Steve slipping into the empty seat beside him.
"Why in the hell was Mike brought here?" he asked, not even bothering with a salutation.
Fowler jumped, his head spinning in Steve's direction, then he relaxed, almost chuckling. He looked up at the two detectives now looming over him. "Oh, it's you guys…. Hi…" he finished sarcastically.
They continued to stare at him and he looked back at Steve, his features softening. He knew the emotions that were boiling beneath the deceptively calm exteriors.
"Don't worry, he's okay. He may have broken a knuckle in his right hand, so he's getting an X-ray."
Steve sagged in the chair, relieved that that was all it was but suddenly confronted with the realization that one way to break a knuckle was to punch something very hard. The two detectives had reached the same conclusion and Haseejian dropped a hand onto the younger man's shoulder and squeezed.
Steve swallowed heavily. "Look, ah, Jack, I know it's not protocol, or even legal, but is there anyway I can see him when you guys get back to the Hall?" He tried to keep the desperation and worry out of his voice.
Fowler stared at him, then glanced up at the other two. "Look," he said quietly, "I sent the patrolman with us down to the cafeteria to get us some coffees. Mike's in Examination Room 2." He gestured down the corridor with his chin. "Be discreet."
Steve stared at him, his eyes widening slightly. Then, without another word, he got slowly to his feet and started down the busy hallway, the blood pounding in his ears.
He reached Room 2 and pushed the heavy wooden door open. In an otherwise empty room, Mike Stone was sitting on the examination table, cradling his injured right hand in his lap. He looked towards the door as it opened and froze.
Steve stepped slowly into the room and allowed the door to close silently behind him.
