Tis The Season Chapter 11: Silent Night, a cold case fanfic

Tis The Season by Henabrey

See Chapter One for more details.

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Chapter Eleven: Silent Night

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The streets were virtually deserted; it was so cold most people had stayed indoors with hot chocolate and cranked-up central heating rather than venture out to theatres and restaurants. The night sky was clear above Lilly's head as she walked to her station with Scotty by her side. Through the hazy light pollution thrown out by the city's millions of lights she could see a blanket of stars painting the inky blackness with razor sharp diamonds of light. It was cold enough to make her face numb and she huddled helplessly into her coat and scarf, wishing she owned one of those Russian fur hats - it seemed the only thing that would be able to keep her head warm.

Scotty seemed preoccupied with the weather too; he was silent and hunched as they walked. It suited Lilly not to talk - the mysterious message she'd found in her fortune cookie was weighing on her thoughts. How was it possible that her fortune could echo so precisely the words Kevin Morgan had spoken to her only that morning? And what meaning should she take from the coincidence?

She glanced at Scotty, who was studying the ground in front of him like there were words written there. It was to him that her thoughts fled. She was afraid of him. Or afraid of her feelings for him and where those feelings might take her if she let them. Life is short, much too short for needless fear. It was as though someone somewhere had read her mind and was doing their best to encourage her in a direction she wasn't sure she wanted to take. She could almost believe it was Nicholas, reaching out to help her from beyond the grave.

Yes, life was short. A homicide detective knew that better than just about anyone. But that didn't mean you had to risk making your short life miserable by opening yourself up to pain and anguish, did it? Did it? In theory, Lilly knew that opening yourself up to pain and anguish was also the only way to experience true joy in life - only by risking failure could you truly achieve success - but in practice it was something she had struggled with her entire existence.

Right now, she had the prospect of a relationship with her partner before her. Plenty of potential pain and anguish there, alright. Worse than usual. It was why she'd shut down any idea of it back in Central Park, making it clear not only to herself but to Scotty that it could never happen. It was the automatic reaction of the cautious, scared side of her nature. It was just...since then, the prospect had crept back into her mind unawares. She was doing her best to ignore it, to shut it down and banish it back to where it had come from. But every time she looked at Scotty, she wanted to kiss him, and she wanted to feel his hands caress her. Her and Scotty...the idea just wouldn't go away. Plenty of potential pain and anguish lurked between them.

But she suspected there was plenty of potential joy, as well.

The train station was as deserted as the streets had been. Only a young man in scruffy clothing sat at the other end of the platform, bopping to a song playing only in his head. He ignored the new arrivals in favour of the screen of his cellphone, thumb moving in time to his mental music as he typed a message. A stray cat poked cautiously among a leftover burger that lay discarded on the station's floor.

"I'm probably good now, thanks, Scotty," Lilly said, turning to face him.

"I'll wait," Scotty said, shifting from one foot to the other.

Lilly smiled. He was ever the gentleman when it came to women, the sort who'd hold the door open for you without even thinking about it. His inherent courtesy meant he'd wait here on the platform with her all night if he needed to without seeing his actions as anything unusual. It was sweet.

They fell silent again. Lilly had her train's timetable memorised, and she thought there was maybe only five minutes until the next one came along. Just as well - it wasn't much warmer here on the platform than it had been outside. Scotty still seemed disinclined to talk. He seemed to be weighing something on his mind, and she wondered if it had anything to do with his fortune cookie. She was adept at reading people - that's what made her such a successful detective - and she'd seen straight away that he hadn't been any more truthful about the contents of his cookie as she had. And was it for the same reason she'd lied? She'd seen him fold the paper up and put it in his coat pocket, which was the first time she could ever recall seeing someone actually keep a fortune cookie's fortune. Was there something written on there that was important to him, that filled his head with thoughts and rendered him silent? She wondered what he would do if she reached over and took it from where it lay, close to his heart. She didn't quite dare, short life or no short life.

Finally, just as the distant clacks of the approaching train could just be heard over the muted roar of the inefficient heating system, Scotty heaved a sigh and straightened his shoulders. He seemed to have reached some sort of decision, and, sure enough, a second later he spoke. "Lil, I...uh...I need to talk to you."

"Sure," she said, seized with a sudden sense of foreboding. Why did she get the idea she wasn't going to enjoy the conversation? "Go ahead."

"It's...well...it's about what happened before. In New York." He was scuffing one foot around, looking nervous.

"What about it?" She'd rather not be discussing that particular subject. Her willpower to withstand her feelings was low enough as it was without him reminding her of their kiss, memorable as it was.

"I wasn't exactly honest with you."

"When? Which part?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking utterly terrified. The noise of the train grew louder, and Lilly knew it was just out of sight. The young man at the other end of the platform looked up in expectation without ceasing his busy movements.

"Scotty?" It was something bad, she knew. He was going to tell her it had all just been a joke, and he'd only gone along with the kiss because he wanted to see how far she'd take it, and really he didn't even think of her that way anyway, and...wait. Wouldn't that actually be a good thing?

He just stared at her, seemingly unable to speak. As she watched, his hand reached up unconsciously to his coat pocket where she'd seen him place the fortune earlier. He patted the fabric and sighed again. His face filled with resolve.

"The part where I agreed with you about not wantin' it to happen again."

Oh. Oh, God. She felt her lips part in a silent gasp just as the train arrived in a screeching whoosh. The young man got to his feet. Lilly couldn't have moved at that moment if the station had been on fire. "What?"

"Yeah," he said, and then he moved from being unable to speak to being unable to stop, the words tumbling over themselves in his hurry to express himself. "I do want it to happen again. I want more than that to happen. I want to...to take you out to dinner, and buy you flowers, and hold your hand, and, and make you feel wanted. Needed. I have...feelings for you, and unless I'm totally misreading things I think you maybe have feelings for me, too. I want to act on them. I was too chickenshit to say it earlier because I was scared of losin' your friendship, but I'm sayin' it now. I want a relationship."

Lilly had a vague notion of the train waiting for her with an impatient electrical hum, but she was frozen to the spot. She'd turned into a solid block of startled ice. She was unable to take her eyes off him. She wasn't even sure she was breathing.

"I'll understand if you say no," Scotty went on. "But don't say no because you're scared it might all go wrong. It's like Kevin said this mornin', you can't just not try somethin' cause you're scared of gettin' hurt. It's no way to live. If you've got other reasons, I'll respect that, and I hope you'll still be able to work with me. And I'll always be your friend. But, please, tell me you'll think of bein' somethin' more than that."

The train started to make its starting up noises, getting ready to leave for the next station, and she made an effort to move. "Scotty, I -"

"Promise me you'll at least think about it."

"I...Scotty, the train..." it was a Herculean effort, but she managed to tear herself away from him and make a run for the train. The young man looked at her oddly as she arrived breathless and flustered in the carriage. She still had a second - the doors were still open. She turned to look at Scotty, standing forlorn and alone on the platform. Not sure why she did it, not even stopping to ponder her actions, she leaned out of the doorway and called to him. "I'll think about it!"

The doors whooshed closed, barely missing her as she pulled herself back inside. As the train started to rumble its way out of the station, she looked through the glass windows of the carriage and found Scotty's eyes. He was smiling.

Lilly took her seat, mind whirling. Why did she do that? She wasn't really thinking of it, was she? Was she? But, my God. He had feelings for her. He wanted a relationship with her. And there was a spreading, hopeful feeling of joy inside her, warring with the fear of intimacy that was her constant companion. She was going to get very little sleep tonight with the thoughts and feelings and confusion creating a hurricane in her head. She looked around the carriage in bewilderment, and found the young man from the station's eyes resting on her.

"Honey, what's there to think about?" he asked her. "The man's gorgeous."

No, no sleep whatsoever tonight.

Crap.

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Scotty had just seated himself at the table in the break room just after nine the next morning when he saw Lilly walk through the door to the homicide bullpen. She looked terrible, he thought, like she hadn't got any sleep the night before. He felt a small pang of guilt which was quickly swallowed by the elation he'd been feeling since he'd spoken to her the night before. It had gone better than he'd expected. He hadn't made a total fool of himself, Lilly hadn't seemed horrified by what he was saying - panicked, yes, but not horrified - and best of all she'd promised to think about it. Even if she said no later on, at least he'd told her his feelings. Nicholas would have been proud of him. And if she said yes...well, that would feel like he'd won the lottery.

Life was good.

Lilly, having left her gun in her locker and her coat on the back of her chair, was heading in his direction in search of coffee. She saw him, hesitated, and kept walking.

"Mornin'," he said when she reached the doorway to the break room.

"Hey," she said, sounding a little nervous. She shuffled back and forth a little, clearly not sure what to do, before making her way to the coffee machine.

"I poured you a cup already," Scotty told her, seeing her searching for her favourite mug. Actually, he'd wanted to buy her a serve of her favourite coffee from the best coffee place in Philadelphia, but he didn't want her to feel he was pressuring her. He knew pushing her would be the surest way of making her flee like a frightened deer. Slow and gentle, that was the way. No pressure. It would be hard, but if it would get Lilly by his side in the end he was prepared to go without flirting, without touching, without even speaking to her about anything other than the case in front of them. So he'd poured her a cup of black sludge instead of buying the good stuff.

"Oh," she said, looking at the second cup on the table in front of Scotty. "Thanks."

There was another small moment of hesitation on her part, while she decided where to drink it, before she pulled herself into a chair opposite him. She glanced at him briefly and smiled before her gaze skittered away to her coffee mug. They drank in silence, Scotty being careful not to stare at her too much.

"You ready for Jeremy?" He asked her finally, studying her over the rim of his mug.

"Yeah," she said, glancing at him again. "Can't wait."

There was silence again, heavy as the summer air before a storm, until Lilly cleared her throat. "I'm still thinking about it," she said shyly.

"Take your time," he assured her, surprised she was bringing up the subject without being prodded. "As long as you need."

"Thanks, Scotty," she said, and her perfect eyes found his again for the briefest of moments. She reached out and awkwardly squeezed his hand before she just about flew out of her seat and fled to the bullpen, leaving her half drunk coffee on the table. Scotty hid his smile behind his hand.

She was thinking about it. Oh yes, life was good.

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Jeremy Morville arrived at PPD headquarters a little before noon, escorted by two police officers and a lawyer, who, apart from wearing a different tie and a moustache, looked exactly the same as Bill Reeve's attorney. Obviously came from the same factory, Scotty thought as he watched the procession enter the interview room.

Jeremy took his place in the chair facing the two way mirror, his lawyer pulling a chair up next to him and setting his briefcase neatly by his side. Jeremy looked defeated and dispirited, which was good for Scotty and the rest of the squad. Jeremy looked like he was tired of running and fighting and just wanted to be left alone, and a man in that condition wasn't likely to withhold the information they needed for very long. He sat with his head down, studying the table, while his lawyer kept up a continuous hiss of instructions in his ear.

Behind Scotty, there was a cacophony of chairs creaking and being scraped back from desks as Vera, Jefferies and Miller left the bullpen for the observation room. Stillman, who'd been watching Jeremy arrive from the doorway to his office, joined them, leaving just Scotty and Lilly at their desks.

Scotty glanced over at Lilly, seeing that she'd already gathered Nicholas' file together and was half out of her desk. You ready?

She looked back, quirked one eyebrow. Let's do it.

Jeremy looked at them with bleary eyes as they entered the interview room. He still looked like someone fresh out of high school, but the bright and eager young man they knew had been replaced by someone who looked like they were in the middle of their final exams and had pulled an all-nighter for the fourth night in a row. Defeated, Scotty thought again.

"Jeremy Morville," he said, taking a seat at the table opposite the lawyer clone. "You're a hard man to get in touch with."

Jeremy said nothing. The lawyer clone folded his arms. "I've advised my client not to speak," he said with a frown.

"Oh, that's cool," said Scotty. "We'll do the talking. Jeremy here can just nod when we get close to the truth. Okay, Jeremy?" Jeremy met his gaze briefly before dropping his eyes back down to the table, his face mutely thunderous.

Lilly, meanwhile, was wandering from one side of the small room to the other, pale against the worn dark tiles of the walls. "So, you didn't want to talk to us yesterday," she said. "Thought you'd go on the run, instead, right?"

Jeremy studied the tabletop.

"But you didn't cover your tracks too well," she went on. "I mean, first you use your credit card to buy gas in Jersey, so we'd know which direction you were heading in. And then -" she gave a half laugh - "you go and seek help from the one person in New York City we have reason to put a watch on."

Jeremy sighed.

"And then you end up staying in the same hotel room as her, paid for by her credit card. You even get room service on her dime. Have I left anything out?" She circled behind Jeremy, came up close beside him and placed one hand on the tabletop right in front of him, leaning over him. "Jeremy, you run like a girl."

Jeremy's hands clenched slightly, but he stayed silent.

"You know what I think?" Lilly went on, in a gentle voice, still close enough to him to count the beads of sweat dotting his brow. "I think you're a smart man. I mean, you got through law school, right? Gotta be pretty smart to do that. But you suck at dodging the law. A six year old could do a better job."

"What's your point?" Jeremy asked in a gravely voice. He sounded like he hadn't used it for some time.

"My point is, I think you wanted to get caught on purpose."

"No."

"Not consciously maybe, but somewhere inside you, deep down..." Lilly reached over to the only spare chair in the room, pulled it over and sank into it. She was sitting side-on to Jeremy, her knees an inch from his leg. Her hand rested on the table close to his. "Deep down, I think you're tired of running from the truth."

Jeremy made a strange wuffling noise.

"You've been covering for your boss, all this time." She caught Scotty's eye, who nodded, agreeing with her tactic. Best way to get Jeremy to implicate himself was to go after Reeve. "It must be exhausting."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Scotty took over. "We know what happened earlier in the evening, with Jerry Pullman and his knife, Jeremy." Jeremy looked up, showing no surprise. "That knife was the murder weapon, and we got two witnesses can put it in Bill Reeve's possession."

"But you're our star witness, Jeremy," Lilly continued. "You were there, you saw what happened. You can tell us exactly what went down."

"No," Jeremy said, shaking his head. There was a definite wobble in his voice, like he was brimming with unshed tears. "I can't."

"Yes, you can, Jeremy," Lilly said, laying her hand on his arm. He started. "Aren't you tired of the lies and deceit? Aren't you tired of walking around with this burden? Now's your chance. Get it off your chest."

Jeremy's face worked. The lawyer next to him started to speak, but was quelled into silence by Scotty's glare.

"Start at the beginning, Jeremy," Lilly implored. "Just...just tell us what happened to the knife after Reeve took it from Jerry. What happened when Jerry left the building?"

There was a long, drawn out moment of silence. Lilly and Scotty waited, hearts in mouths. It was now or never. It was only a matter of time before the lawyer shut him up, and there'd be a good chance they'd never find out the truth if that happened. If Jeremy didn't start talking in the next few seconds...

He drew a deep, shaky breath, and Lilly let hers out. She hadn't realised she'd been holding it. Jeremy started to speak, in a quavery voice a little above a whisper, and those listening had to strain to hear it. "I was scared..."

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The air stank of urine and fear. The shambling wreck of a man had stumbled back out of the front door to the offices, and Jeremy could hear the ding of the elevator as it slid itself closed, taking Jerry away from the scene of his humiliation. There was silence in the office lobby itself, save for Mr Reeve's quick, agitated breathing. Jeremy realised he'd been holding his own breath, let it out in a shaky sigh. It was over. He'd been so afraid of seeing blood spilled hot and urgent on the expensive carpets of the offices, first his own and then the young man's, and he could scarcely believe that the incident had ended without bloodshed. He found himself looking at his hands, checking for cuts and scratches. There were none. There was no sign of what had just occurred save for Jerry's rapidly depleting miasma and the weapons in Mr Reeve's hands.

"Well," said Mr Reeve, pocketing the gun. "That was a bit of excitement, wasn't it?"

"Do you want me to call the police?"

"What? Oh, no, no, that won't be necessary." Mr Reeve weighed the knife in his hands, like he was making a decision. "It was just a misunderstanding, right?"

"Uh, right..."

"No, it's that Santa Claus that's the problem. What a troublemaker he is! I'll have to offer him more money."

"Do you think that will work?" Jeremy asked nervously.

"Every man has his price, Jeremy! I just have to find this fellow's." He handed the knife to Jeremy. "Here, deal with this, will you? That's a good chap. Just...just toss it in the river or something. No one need know what happened here. It'll be our little secret."

"Okay, Mr Reeve, whatever you say." The knife found it's way to Jeremy's pocket, and he walked over to the office's front door. "But what will we do about Santa Claus?"

"Oh, leave him to me, Jeremy! Every man has his price, after all. Money, that's what it'll take. No need for violence at all. No need whatsoever. And we definitely don't need to murder him! Now, run along!"

"Okay, Mr Reeve." As the door to the offices swung closed, Jeremy could see Mr Reeve waving goodbye, cheerful smile on his face.

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Scotty looked at Lilly. Lilly looked back at Scotty. They both looked at Jeremy. Even the lawyer looked round at his client with a disbelieving stare. There was silence for a few seconds.

"Jeremy," Lilly said slowly, "please promise me you'll never go into fiction writing. You're about as successful at that as you were running from the law."

Jeremy blushed and looked at the table. "That's what happened," he mumbled.

"Yeah," said Scotty. "And I'm the Easter Bunny. I'm hidin' a fluffy white tail in my shorts."

Lilly's face twitched. "Jeremy. Just tell us the truth."

"That was the truth," Jeremy insisted.

"Try again," Scotty said.

"You must be tired of lying," Lilly cajoled. "You're not even very good at it. Don't you just want it all to end? Just tell us what happened, and this will all go away. Just let it be over."

Jeremy looked at the ceiling, tears in his eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Just tell us what happened," Lilly said, half-whispering. "Finish it."

His breath caught on a sob as he started to speak in a halting, awkward fashion, sounding as though he were speaking around a lump in his throat. "I was scared..."

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"Goddamn it," Mr Reeve was saying in a low and angry voice. "That goddamn punk."

"Do you want me to call the police?"

"That shit-licking goddamn motherfucking son of a putrescent cock-sucking whore!" Mr Reeve said, growing louder with each word. Jeremy winced. He'd never admit it, but he found himself afraid of Mr Reeve when Mr Reeve got into these moods, something that had been happening quite a lot the last few weeks.

"He's gone, Mr Reeve. You scared him off, and -"

"Not him, goddamn it! Santa Claus! Sister-fucking Santa Claus with his I'm-such-a-fucking-do-gooder act thinking he can change the fucking world! I'm so fucking sick of it!"

"Quite right, Mr Reeve. You're -"

"This has gone on quite far enough. It was bad enough we had to get every fucking no-hoper in the city through the fucking doors looking for fucking charity worker John Wilson. Now we've got fuckers with fucking knives in here! I've had it!"

"But what can we -"

"We need action, Jeremy. Do you hear me? Action." He turned to Jeremy and laid the hand holding the knife on his shoulder. Jeremy could feel the flat of the blade pressing against him. He remembered how it had felt to hold it. It was so terrifyingly deadly, such a heady, horrifying feeling of power in his veins. He didn't like it being so close again. The snake's head on the handle seemed to beckon him. "This Santa Claus needs to be shut down, and now. Before the next guy with a knife shows up. You hear me?"

"Yes, Mr Reeve, but how -"

"There's got to be a way, Jeremy. Santa Claus can't be left to run our lives however he goddamn likes. I don't care what it takes. He just needs to go away."

His gaze drifted from the knife to Jeremy's eyes. Jeremy tried to read his expression, but it was like looking into the darkest reaches of space. Empty. Malevolent in its blankness.

"Deal with this, Jeremy, would you?" Mr Reeve asked, and Jeremy realised the knife had been transferred into his own hand. His fingers closed on the handle. "I don't care what you do with it. Just get it out of here."

"And...and Santa Claus?"

Mr Reeve smiled. It looked like the smile of a corpse drawn stiff by rigour mortis. "The knife, Jeremy. Just deal with it."

The knife found its way into his pocket, and he found his way into the hallway outside the offices, leaving Mr Reeve and his grinning skull's smile behind.

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"I really was going to kill him," Jeremy said. "I really meant to. But by the time I got downstairs I'd chickened out. I'm no killer."

"So what did you do?" Lilly asked softly.

"There's a dumpster in the alleyway next to the building," Jeremy said. "I threw the knife in there and left."

"And Reeve?"

"I was at my bus stop five minutes later, saw him drive past in his car."

"Uh huh," Lilly said. "Well, thank you, Jeremy. You've given us exactly what we wanted."

"I have?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "I mean, you can't tell me that someone who wanted to kill Santa Claus just happened to be digging around in the dumpster just after you put the knife in there. What are the odds of that? I've got more chance of being elected the next president than that. No, someone had to have seen you, known what you were doing, and have a good reason for wanting that knife."

Jeremy looked at her, confused.

"Bill Reeve, of course!" She said, feigning glee. "Just who we thought was the killer."

"You've been a real help," put in Scotty.

"What? No!" Jeremy said with desperation. "It wasn't him, I swear it!"

"But it's gotta be him," Scotty said. "He's got the best motive out of any of you. His alibi don't quite stack up, he was in possession of the murder weapon right before the murder, and he knew you were goin' to dispose of it."

"No."

"I'll bet he changed his mind about dealin' with Santa Claus, followed you out of the buildin', saw where you tossed the knife, and grabbed it."

"No."

"Then he got in his car, cause it was cold and he didn't want to walk, and he drove round to where Santa Claus lived, and he stabbed him. It's perfect. There could be a reward in this for you, Jeremy. Aren't you glad you got caught after all?"

"But it wasn't him," Jeremy said, his lower lip wobbling. Lilly had never seen him look younger. "You gotta believe me, it wasn't him!"

"We'll just type up a statement," Lilly said, closing the file she'd been holding and tapping it with one finger, "and once you sign it you'll be free to go. That was painless, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't him!"

"You sound very definite, Jeremy. How can you be so sure?"

There was silence while Jeremy's face went through a series of contortions, each more tortured than the last. He looked as though he was in agony, and it was plain he was struggling to free something that had been buried inside him for a long time. Scotty looked over at Lilly. Was her theory about to be proved true?

"Jeremy?" Lilly asked, in her softest and gentlest tone. She laid a hand on Jeremy's. "How can you be so sure?"

A single tear tracked a desperate path down his cheek and he let out a soft, sad sigh. "Because...because it was me. I killed him."

Lilly flicked a glance over at Scotty, noting the a-ha! look in his eye that echoed the one she knew must be in hers, then at the two way mirror behind him. She was right. She wished she weren't. "You did it, Jeremy?"

A second tear joined the first, and he angrily wiped it away as he nodded. "Yeah..."

"Tell us what happened," Lilly said.

"Not another word," the lawyer said, suddenly finding his voice. "I must insist. Jeremy, not another -"

"I'm tired," Jeremy said, cutting the other man off. "So tired. I just want it over with."

"Tell us," Scotty said. "You had the knife in your pocket, and..."

Jeremy drew in a deep breath and began. "And I was going to throw it away. I meant to throw it away..."

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There was a dumpster in the alleyway sandwiched between Wilson & Reeve's office building and the one next door, and instead of heading straight to his bus stop the way he normally would after leaving work, Jeremy made his way the six feet or so down the narrow, cold gap and paused in front of the large, overflowing bin. He'd dump the knife in there. No one would ever find it. It would get mixed in with all the trash and cardboard boxes and shredded paper that filled the dumpster and nobody would ever know it was there.

The streets were deserted, and no one walked past the alley's opening to see him standing there, one hand in his pocket clenched around the snake's-head handle of the knife. His hand wouldn't draw the knife. He was trying, really he was trying, but his hand wouldn't cooperate. It was like it didn't want to throw the knife away. Absurd.

He had Mr Reeve's face in his mind, the way he looked back there in the office building, like the empty reaches of space, like a black hole. Why couldn't he be the way he usually was, just like the father he'd lost? If Mr Reeve knew how Jeremy looked up to him, how much he depended on him for guidance, he'd never act this way.

It was that Santa Claus. He was the one who had spoiled things. It was because of him that Mr Reeve was angry more often than not these days, that there were whispers of change echoing through the corridors of Wilson & Reeve, that Mr Wilson looked frustrated and disenchanted, that Natalie - ah, God! Natalie - was starting to talk about looking for another job. It was all going down the drain, all of it. The job he loved, the man he looked on as a mentor, the woman he adored from afar, it was all spilling out through his fingers like sand. He was going to lose it all.

And it was Santa Claus' fault.

It was cold in the alleyway, even out of the chill wind that blew through the streets, and he was going to freeze to death standing here because he was incapable of throwing away the knife. Would it hurt, going back to see Santa? He'd tried talking to him, Mr Reeve had tried talking to him, Mr Reeve had even offered him a fortune to leave town, and the man was still standing on the street corner spreading his hateful, poisonous words of life-changing encouragement to whoever cared to listen. He hadn't responded to conversation or money. Maybe he'd respond to a big, sharp knife with a snake's head for a handle.

Jeremy wasn't sure he could pull it off and look threatening enough to scare the guy, even with the knife. But he thought of Mr Reeve, and he thought of Natalie, and he thought of having to do the rounds of the other law firms in town with resume in hand, and his resolve hardened. He became as cold and sharp and merciless as the knife in his pocket, and he turned away from the dumpster and started to walk.

Santa Claus wasn't on his usual street corner, but not far up the street Jeremy saw a familiar flash of red disappearing into an alleyway, and he headed that way, feet making little sound on the wet pavement. It was a dark night, the clouds above pregnant with snow, and when he wasn't walking directly under the streetlights Jeremy vanished entirely into the shadows. He found Santa Claus just inside the alleyway, where the light from the nearby street lamp started to wane. He was helping a stray cat, patiently unwinding a piece of cord that had become tangled around the animal's neck.

"Well, you're just a regular saint, aren't you?" Jeremy said, trying to sound tough around the lump in his throat.

Santa straightened and fixed Jeremy with a calm and patient gaze. "Jeremy Morville," he said. The cat, freed from its noose, leapt from his arms and fled further into the alley with a quiet meow.

"You know why I'm here," Jeremy said, fingering the blade's handle in his pocket.

Santa regarded him silently for a moment before turning and heading into the alleyway. He stopped about twelve feet in, where there was a fire burning cheerily in a steel drum. The flickering light gave his quiet face an animated glow as he warmed his hands. "It is cold tonight," he said eventually. "Yes, Jeremy, I know why you are here. You are here because you have made your choice."

"There was no choice to make." He was having trouble meeting the other man's eyes, such a piercing shade of blue.

"There is always a choice, Jeremy Morville."

"Not for me," Jeremy said. "I know where my loyalties lie. I'm loyal to Mr Reeve. I'm loyal to the firm. And you - you're destroying it. You're spoiling everything."

"All I am doing is trying to help your other employer to find a better way of life, Jeremy, and if your firm suffers for that, then -"

"Suffers?" Jeremy said, with a laugh. He drew the knife from his pocket and waved it at Santa, who showed no reaction. "You see this? A man came to the office today with this. He threatened me and Mr Reeve! We could have been hurt! I'd call that suffering, wouldn't you?"

"I am sorry for that," Santa said, a look of sadness descending over his face.

"Oh, you're sorry?" Jeremy said, growing angrier. His voice rose involuntarily until he was almost yelling, and he fought to control himself. He didn't need anyone investigating the noise and find him holding a knife. "He was there because of you! Because you can't keep your nose out of other people's business, and you can't just let things stay the way they were, can you? You just have to keep meddling!"

"I do not call it meddling, Jeremy. All I do is try to help people to find happiness."

"I'm not happy," Jeremy cried. "Mr Reeve's not happy. Our clients aren't happy about having whores and bums in our waiting room. You don't care about that, though, do you?"

"I care. I care very much."

"But you won't stop, will you?" Jeremy said, finally realising. "It doesn't matter what I say, or how much money Mr Reeve offers you, or how many people threaten you with knives, you'll just never stop, will you?"

"I cannot, Jeremy," Santa said, and the sad look deepened into one of bottomless grief. "We are each of us here for a reason, and I can no more stop what I do than stop the sun from rising. The question is, why are you here? What is your reason for being here? I cannot believe it is just for this moment, this act you are about to commit."

"What am I supposed to do?" Jeremy asked, his grip tightening around the snake's head handle of the knife. "You're damaging. And you have to be stopped before you destroy the whole firm."

"Please, Jeremy," Santa said. "Think about what you are here for. This moment, this second, this is the rest of your life you are shaping. It is still not too late."

"Shut up!" Jeremy hissed. "Just shut up! I'm so sick of you and your cryptic nonsense!"

"Jeremy -"

"You need to be stopped," Jeremy said, a white hot coat of rage blanketing him with a strangely comforting numbness. He felt like he was watching himself from a distance. "You need to leave us all alone. You need to stay away from Mr Wilson. You need to stop sending people to the office. You need to stay out of our lives!"

"I cannot," Santa said.

"YOU CAN AND YOU WILL!" he nearly screamed, and without even thinking about it he raised the knife and plunged it deep into the other man's chest. Blood sprayed. Santa's breath left his body in a whoosh and he staggered.

"I am sorry for you, Jeremy," he said, gasping, blood frothing at the corners of his mouth.

Jeremy might have stopped there, have even tried to help him, but once again the image of Mr Reeve rose before his eyes. He thought of Natalie. He thought of the firm finally being able to return to normal. He thought of Mr Reeve maybe making him a partner one day, of being his friend, and before he knew it the knife had flown through the air, once, twice, three times, striking like a hawk, and Santa Claus had slid down the wall of the alleyway to lie in a heap on the ground, and all Jeremy could see was blackness. His mind went completely blank.

Minutes passed. The stars whirled overhead. A siren wailed a long way away, then died. A dog barked. And then Jeremy drew in a great, shuddering lungful of air as cold and sharp as the knife he held. The knife. He looked down at it stupidly, wondering why it was suddenly sticky and wet, and then he realised.

Blood. Oh, God, there was blood everywhere. He could see it by the flickering light of the fire, on his hands, on his shirt front, on the knife, on the mushed up snow on the ground, on the body lying up against the wall like a crumpled doll. Sightless blue eyes staring out into the night. That look of sadness still there like it was branded on.

Jeremy knelt and lifted one trembling hand to Santa's throat, feeling for a pulse. There was none. He felt his stomach roll in protest. He had killed him. He was a murderer. The knife slipped out of his hand and landed with a small metallic clatter on the ground

"Oh, God," he said around a sob, and it was startlingly loud in the quiet night. "Oh, God." What was Mr Reeve going to say when he found out? How would Natalie look at him? Oh, Christ, what was he going to do?

"Think," he whispered, and he couldn't. He'd killed a man. There was blood on his hands. There was blood on Santa's face, blood on the white tip of his stupid Santa hat that hung low and crooked over his forehead. Jeremy reached up, lifted the hat off the other man's - off the body's - head, and gently wiped the blood from his face. Better. He looked like he might have been sleeping, if it weren't for the wide open eyes. Jeremy knew he was imagining it, but he almost thought the eyes looked accusatory. Look what you've done, Jeremy Morville. Take a good long look. Jeremy placed the hat neatly over Santa's face, covering his eyes. Much better. He could have been sleeping.

He couldn't stay there any longer, staring at his work. He was going to be sick if he stayed there another minute. He got to his feet, lurching like he was drunk, and with a final glance at the body he stumbled up the alley back to the street, surprised to find tears slipping down his face.

There was a car coming, purring up the street, and Jeremy felt panic clutch at his insides. He hadn't moved fast enough, he was going to be seen, he was going to go to jail...the headlights picked him out, standing against the brick wall of the alley, white as a ghost and with eyes as wide and staring as those of the body behind him. The car slowed to a stop and the door opened.

"Jeremy?" It was Mr Reeve. Jeremy stared at him, stupid and mute. "What is it?"

"He's dead," Jeremy said, finding his voice. It was wavery and panicked. "He's dead. I killed him."

"Who?" He could see Mr Reeve taking in the blood on his hands and clothes with slowly widening eyes. "Who's dead?"

"Santa," Jeremy said, not bothering to wipe away the tears. "I killed him. With the knife. He's dead."

Mr Reeve gave him a long, hard look. "Where?"

"What am I going to do? I'm going to go to jail, and I'm sorry, I just wanted to help -"

"Where, Jeremy? Where's the knife?"

"Back there. The alleyway. I'm sorry..." He followed reluctantly as Mr Reeve strode into the alleyway, looked at the body briefly, and picked up the knife. There was silence for a moment.

"Well, you certainly did a number on him, didn't you?"

"Mmm," Jeremy said, around a sob. He couldn't bear to look at the corpse, and found himself fascinated by a jagged brick jutting out of the wall nearby while he tried hard not to lose the contents of his stomach. When his eyes finally turned back to the body, he saw Mr Reeve wiping the knife clean on Santa's coat before dropping it by the corpse's side.

"Did you touch anything else?" Reeve asked.

"What?" He tried to think. "I, um...I checked his pulse. Why?" He watched as Mr Reeve used Santa's hat to wipe at the spot Jeremy had touched. When he was done, Mr Reeve let the hat fall into Santa's lap like a discarded napkin. "What are you doing?"

"Your fingerprints. If these are the only things you touched, you're in the clear."

Jeremy blinked. "What? No, I have to go to the police, I have to tell them what happened."

Mr Reeve straightened up, reached out and gripped Jeremy's shoulders. "Now you listen to me. The only thing you have to do is go home, take a shower and get rid of those clothes."

"But -"

"No buts. You want to go to jail? You want the firm to have the stigma of having hired a murderer? Is that what you want?"

"No, but -"

"So what you have to do is go home, get rid of the clothes, burn them, dump them in the river, I don't care, and forget this ever happened."

"I can't." The tears were flowing freely now, sticky as the blood coating his hands. He didn't miss the look of disgust on Mr Reeve's face.

"You can and you will," Mr Reeve said, and by the light of the fire Jeremy could see that black, soulless cloud in his boss' eyes. "Stop being such a child, Jeremy. Grow up. You think they won't find some way of pinning charges on me if you confess? I just wiped your prints off the knife. I'm an accessory. You want me to go to jail as well as you?"

"No," Jeremy said, making an effort to clean his face.

"Then go home. Don't talk to anyone about this. Forget it ever happened. You don't know anything about what happened to Santa Claus. There's no proof you were even there. You'll be fine as long as you keep your mouth shut. Okay?"

Jeremy found himself transfixed by the body. He'd done that. He'd caused all that blood, and those sightless eyes. And Mr Reeve wanted him to forget that it had happened...he couldn't, could he? Should he try? He didn't want Mr Reeve to get into trouble as well as him. And Natalie...he'd never have a chance with her if he went to jail. But those eyes...he hated that Mr Reeve had uncovered them so that they stared, blank and accusing, up at him. He found himself reaching out to grasp the hat, wanting to replace it.

"Jeremy, what the Christ are you doing?" Mr Reeve's hand was suddenly on his elbow, holding him back. "Fingerprints, boy, for God's sake." The hand spun him around until he was back facing his boss, transfixed once again by the soulless black eyes. "This happened for a reason, Jeremy. This man, he was sending the firm down the drain, ruining everyone's lives, and you've stopped him. You want to throw all that away? You want to go to jail, send me to jail, see the firm shut down?"

"No," Jeremy mumbled.

"Then don't talk about it to anyone. Go home, dump the clothes and forget it happened. Just go on as you normally do and everything will be fine. Okay?" The empty eyes held him, hypnotised, and he slowly felt his willpower drain away to nothing.

"Okay," he sniffed. Mr Reeve was right as always. Why should he go to jail? What good would it do? And now the knife was clean, there was nothing to show he'd even been in the alleyway. He could just go on as he had before. Everything could just go back to the way they should be.

"Good," Mr Reeve said, trying to smile. "Now come on, I'll drop you home. You're on my way, and you can't get on a bus in your condition." He put a friendly arm around the younger man, and Jeremy felt a needle of warmth pierce the coldness around his heart.

"You did a good thing here, Jeremy," Mr Reeve said as they walked to the car. A few lazy flakes of snow floated down out of the sky, just a hint of the more serious snow that would later nearly cover the body. "A good thing. Everyone will be better off now, you'll see."

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There was utter silence in the interview room. Lilly and Scotty were frozen, listening intently to Jeremy's words. A lone tear tracked it's way down the young man's cheek.

"So you did what Reeve said," Lilly said, eventually. "You went home."

"I went home," Jeremy agreed. "I showered, bagged the clothes. I dumped them in the river the next day. I pretended like I knew nothing about what had happened."

He paused, fingers circling a pattern on the table top. The lawyer shifted, as though just realising it was going to be nearly impossible to defend his client once the case got to court. Lilly and Scotty waited.

"I did what he said," Jeremy said finally. "I did what he said. I always do what Mr Reeve says..."

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End of Chapter Eleven. Last chapter next! Reviews are as always welcome.