Author's Notes:

Troy-bilt: a brand of lawn mower

LED: Light-Emitting Diode, used as an indicator on electronic devices

Fattoush: correctly pronounced "fadush"

Shields for NYPD lieutenants and above are not numbered.

ESU: Emergency Services Unit

Sartorial: of or relating to clothing

Lillian: the name of Arthur Branch's wife

"In for a penny, in for a pound" English idiom meaning "If you're going to take a chance, why not bet every thing on it?"

There is a fair amount of exposition (correct term for characters explaining things) in this chapter. Although nothing has improved for any of the characters, the worst word in this chapter is "damn."

Residence of Don Cragen
Bensonhurst, NY
15 August 6:05 p.m.

Beale talked the entire subway ride to the 145th Street station, where I'd parked my car… then he talked the entire way back to my place—critiques of the various plays, opinions on the players, the managers, the umpires, and even the organist… I didn't hear anything wrong, but he swears "Take Me Out To The Ball Game" was off-tempo… I spent the drive worrying about finding my street filled with RMPs and ESU thanks to my broken cell phone and John not getting through… but my street was quiet… no officers with weapons drawn—only Wally next door on his Troy-bilt finishing up his mowing….

After a greeting to Wally and a few words about how great his yard looked, a conversation Beale did not join, Don Cragen unlocked his front door and held it open for the rotund bureau chief. He then turned to lock it behind him.

He is my friend… he is my friend… he may be my friend, but I'm still watching him… problem is, I still don't know if I'm watching him like a mouse watches a hawk flying overhead—Beale as predator… or like a hawk watches that mouse—Beale as prey… or if I'm merely a birdwatcher on a boring Sunday afternoon—Beale as my friend… I need to stay on edge, just like John said… so I really need to be the hawk right now… alert, ready to swoop… unfortunately, I feel too damn much like a mouse right now….

Don stepped around Beale to get to the maple table by the foot of the stairs. On it were a cut-glass vase holding spare pocket change, and a wireless phone in its base. As he placed his keys and the ruins of his cell phone on the table, Don noted the flashing green LED that signaled stored messages.

When he turned back around, Beale was checking his watch.

"I need you," he said, "to get a fire started. That wood is well-seasoned, but I need coals for the steaks. How are you at fire-starting?"

Don faked a smile.

"The arson squad knows me as 'Embers' Cragen, fastest firebug in the city," he replied.

Beale's cheeks pouched out as he laughed at the joke, their fat creases almost hiding his eyes.

"Let's hope the promotion board doesn't get wind of your alter-ego. Otherwise, your oak leaves will go up in smoke."

Don widened the fake smile as he reached for the phone. Beale pointed toward the kitchen door.

"Timing is everything, and my schedule is timed to the start of the Mets game at seven-oh-five pee-em. Don't make dinner run late."

He took a step towards Don and made shooing motions with both hands. Don moved backwards, away from Beale and the phone.

It should be all right… I set a PIN code for the messages… they can't be listened to or tampered with… probably overkill, but who knows?

"Okay, okay," he told Beale, "Embers Cragen never disappoints a client."

The sound of Beale's laugh followed him through the kitchen, where he took note of the clock on his microwave, and out the back door to the patio. There, Don picked up the two stacks of spilt pecan wood that Beale had dropped off the day before then he carried them to the brick barbecue pit.

I brought out the kindling and matches this morning… Beale told Tullia and me yesterday how much he hates charcoal lighter… he claims the taste of it lingers… I never noticed, but I usually grill hotdogs, burgers, and brats and mustard probably hides the taste….

Don glanced at the dining room window as he arranged the kindling. As part of his preparation, he had taped over the light indicating the camera was working so it could not be spotted.

I checked the video feed this morning before Beale arrived… everything should still be 'go…' now, let's see what I remember from Cub Scouts—loose pile of small stuff… teepee of larger stuff over it… log cabin of bigger stuff around and over the teepee… light a match and I should have fire….

He then lit a match and placed it under the teepee. The dry twigs caught immediately, sending flames up to catch the wood tented above them. In a few minutes, all the wood in the center of his structure was aflame. He carefully places some of the split pecan wood around and over the fire, certain that it would catch in turn and burn to embers.

That should do it… now, for something to drink and those messages….

Inside his kitchen, Don found Beale in a white cotton full apron that covered his golf shirt and slacks, its ties straining to reach around his ample middle. In his hands was a chef's knife that Don did not recognize. As Don watched, Beale reduced a yellow bell pepper into bite-sized squares, seeds and core in less than ten seconds. The seeds and core went into the trash under the sink; the cubed pepper went into one of Beale's mixing bowls.

"You brought your own knives?" Don asked.

Beale nodded, his attention on his chopping.

"Tullia warned me yesterday while you were carting in the groceries. She said yours wouldn't cut warm butter."

Don opened the fridge and peered inside.

"I don't do much cooking," he admitted. "It's mostly take-out or frozen. You want anything? There's iced tea, apple juice, club soda—and what's with the mint-flavored water?"

Beale briefly glanced at the fridge before picking up another pepper.

"It's to accompany our food," he replied. "There's mint in the salad. Right now, I'll take some tea."

Don's hand hesitated over the nearest of the six plastic bottles.

I know I checked those bottles thoroughly, but it's good to know Beale is planning to drink them, too…

As soon as Don had poured two glasses of tea, he carried his to the hall table to listen to his messages and call John.

Pin code to unlock the phone is "843" … the last three digits of my patrolman's shield….

The first message was from Tullia at 11:37 a.m. It was a short message telling Don how much she wished he was going with her to her family's Sunday dinner.

Next time, I'll be there… we'll pull up in my Jag and I'll look Tony Balzano straight in his eyes and dare him to say a word about anything….

The endearments at the end of her message brought a smile to Don's face, one that vanished at the sound of Beale's voice.

"That Tullia? Shame she couldn't join us today."

Don answered with a nod and the awareness that Beale was listening in before he moved on to the next message.

"Captain, it's Stabler. Just calling with an update. Olivia is with ADA Borgia—more of that case they called us about last month. Munch and Loudoun brought in a suspect for a rape-murder in Tompkins Square Park and now they're finishing off their list for the Choi murder. Fin and Couch are back after canvassing for a rape-murder up by Inwood. Other than that, it's been quiet. See you tomorrow. Bye-bye."

Don deleted the message after noting its time.

Eight minutes to four and it's the last message… good to hear… a quiet shift change is always good….

A quick check of the kitchen showed Beale was now chopping a cucumber. Don called to him to look out the window to see how the fire was doing.

"Looks good from here," Beale replied. "If you ever want a reference, Embers, then I'm your man."

Yeah, right….

"I need to make a follow-up call first," Don told him, "then I'll be in to help."

Don then moved into the living room, out of Beale's sight.

And out of his hearing, I hope… now, to see why there's nothing from John… and why ESU isn't coming through my front door to rescue me….

John's cell was answered on the third ring.

"Detective Munch's phone, Sergeant Walker speaking."

The mental image of a crime scene replaced Don's view of his living room. At its center was John's lifeless body, a uniformed sergeant reaching into John's pants pocket so she could answer to see who was calling.

Not John—not now… no…

His throat went dry as Don struggled to replied.

"Uh… I'm calling to talk to John. Is he okay?"

The short pause before Sgt. Walker replied did nothing to ease Don's panic.

"Yes—at least, he will be. He fell while apprehending a perp and hit his head. He's at Bellevue right now; Detective Brewster and I are with him."

"Can I speak with John?"

"He's pretty much out of it. The doctor said he'll be that way until late tonight, maybe early tomorrow."

"How about Howie?"

"He just stepped out. Can I have him call you back?"

"Hey, Embers—your fire needs stoking."

Don flinched at the sound of Beale's voice.

"No, that's okay," he said quickly into his phone. "I'll try again in the morning—and what was your name again?"

"Connie Walker. I'm a friend of John's."

"Great. Tell John I'll check on him later."

With that, Don ended the call. He dropped into his favorite chair and rested his elbows on his knees, the phone still griped tightly in his hand.

Not John—not now… and why in hell didn't I know about this? First thing Monday, I'm hauling Loudoun into my office for calling Walker instead of me… COs, spouses, and partners get called in emergencies, not girlfriends… but yelling at Loudoun won't get John back… he's my safety net here….

Footsteps in the hall and a slight breeze warned him that Beale had left the kitchen to join him in the living room. Don kept his gaze on the carpet between his feet as he struggled to breath normally.

He is my friend… he is my friend….

"Is something wrong?"

Don looked up to see Beale, his hands loosely wrapped in blue terrycloth, an old bathroom hand towel that Don had relegated to kitchen duty.

"Yeah," Don told him. "I just found out one of my detectives was injured making an collar."

"Who? How bad?"

"Munch and it doesn't sound too bad. The docs are keeping him overnight."

When he heard John's name, Beale winced.

"At his age, even a mild injury can be serious. Do you need to go see him? I can hold dinner if I need to."

The concern in Beale's words and expression seemed genuine.

But, if he is stalking me, then every word he says is suspect….

Don hesitated as though considering the idea to see how Beale would react. The bureau chief looked at the towel in his hands then he met Don's gaze. As far as Don could tell, he appeared to be calmly waiting for a decision.

Either I'm in the clear or he is damn good… so let's see if he relaxes when I give him what he wants….

"No," Don replied, "I don't think so. One of my shift leads is there. I'll let him can handle it."

Beale nodded once as though in approval.

"Delegation, the true sign of a leader. Which hospital is Munch in? I'll stop by in the morning and see how he's doing."

After Cragen told him, Beale then said, "By the way, the fire does need tending. Want me to handle it?"

"No, I got it," Don replied as he put the phone back in its cradle. "You go back to your fattoush."

And I'll try to get my mind back in the game… now that the back-up quarterback has been taken out, it's all on me….

Office of Manhattan District Attorney Arthur Branch
15 August 6:45 p.m.

Arthur Branch invited Stabler and Benson to take a seat with a wave of his hand.

Now, for some tap-dancing while we wait for Alexandra to return with the arrest warrant… I need to keep these detectives occupied so they don't ask any awkward questions… Andrew may be spending his day with Cragen, there's still no real proof he is after the captain… according to these DVDs Benson brought in, all Andrew's victims have been younger men… the experts say killers stay in their comfort zones with their preferred targets, which should mean Andrew won't switch to an older victim… we can pray that's stays true….

While Stabler and Benson made themselves comfortable in the chairs on the far side of his desk, Arthur took his own seat then he adjusted his suit jacket.

It's Sunday… I should be on the links or maybe at the beach… but, once Andrew is arrested, I'll have to talk to reporters and I can't do that in a golf shirt… I have an image to maintain….

Jack, who was seated on the leather couch closest to Stabler, did not share Branch's sartorial worries.

Jeans and a work shirt… he tries so hard to look blue-collar… can't face the fact he isn't anymore… he's also madder than a wet hen at me… he's demanding full disclosure, but I don't want to draw attention to Cragen being the source of our interest in Andrew or the possibility of his having Post-traumatic Stress Disorder… the captain has upheld his end of our bargain and I won't break my word to him—not without proof that he's right, which we still don't have….

Arthur glanced at the stack of music CDs in their evidence bag that Benson had placed on his desk with Andrew's laptop.

But we do have sufficient cause to arrest and charge Andrew with the drug-facilitated rape of Newman—and that's just the beginning… so there's no reason to borrow trouble we don't need….

As soon as everyone was seated, Arthur told the detectives that ADA Borgia had gone to get an arrest warrant for Andrew Beale.

Which made Detective Benson smile… there's nothing more lovely than the smile of a beautiful woman… but that's neither here nor there….

"While we're waiting for Alexandra to return," he continued, "I want to discuss the matter of Detective Fontana."

He saw both detectives' gazes snap to the stack of CD cases.

No, there are no singers with the initials 'JF'… I already checked….

Branch spent the next few minutes telling the detectives how he and McCoy had learned about the Bronx DA finagling Fontana's firing with the help of someone in the Manhattan DA's office. He ignored the puzzled glances the detectives gave each another while he talked.

Just wait until they hear the rest of this… I knew Andrew wanted my job, but this level of conniving beats anything I expected from him….

"At first," Branch explained, "we thought the reason for Fernando Martinez to want Fontana fired was obvious—detectives like Fontana cause a great deal of grief for prosecutors."

He saw Jack nodding vigorously and he smiled to himself.

Much of that grief comes from insufficient trial prep on the part of my EADA and his people….

"We figured," Branch continued, "that Martinez saw a chance for payback and seized it with both hands. However, we then learned that the person who helped Martinez was Andrew, and that he had jumped through a lot of hoops to keep us from discovering that fact."

Arthur paused to make sure the detective were following his reasoning. Both had leaned forward in their seats at the mention of Beale's name.

I thought his name might get their attention….

"As far as we knew, the only reason for Andrew to be part of this was his friendship with Martinez. Now, if we take into account what Fontana saw him doing at the Crooked Oak Lodge and what he did to Tony Balzano's son, it makes me wonder if maybe it was Beale, and not Martinez, who leaned on Balzano to get Fontana fired."

"'Leaned on' is putting it mildly," Jack said. "I think Beale used that recording to blackmail Balzano—'Fire Fontana or I'll tell your son he was drugged and sodomized.' There isn't a father on Earth who would refuse a demand like that."

Jack paused to frown at the idea then he said, "What we don't know for certain is the motive for the extortion. Sure, Fontana saw Beale at that sex resort but, as far as we can determine, the two of them never again crossed paths. Why would Beale risk blackmail to protect himself from someone who had no motive or opportunity to expose his secrets?"

Arthur saw Benson raise an eyebrow at Jack's question. Before he could ask what was up, Benson spoke.

"I think I can answer that question," she said. "Fontana is engaged to Judith Otten, one of the detectives on our shift. He's been spending a lot of time in our squadroom—well, he was until that truck hit him. Beale may have seen him and recognized him."

Benson's answer, the missing piece that completed the puzzle, brought a smile to Arthur's lips. Across the room, McCoy collapsed back against the sofa, his face an exact match to the gaped-mouth, bulgy-eyed goldfish Arthur had won at the county fair midway when he was six.

"Fontana engaged?" McCoy finally blurted. "No woman in her right mind would marry that narcissistic Neanderthal."

Arthur swallowed a laugh.

Fine way to refer to Fontana... from what I've heard, he's a right-minded, law and order sort of fellow… even if he is a bit slippery on the witness stand….

"If you ask me," Arthur replied, "the NYPD could use more men like Fontana. There's too much molly-coddling of criminals as it is."

He said it as much to shock his EADA as to see how the SVU detectives would react.

Jack's jaw dropped… he should know by now I enjoy twisting his tail… and Benson is staring at me like I just sprouted fangs and a rattle-tail… but Stabler looks like he gets it… good man, Stabler….

"I also hear Fontana appreciates the finer things in life," Branch continued. "Do either of you know if he plays golf?"

If so, I might invite him to join a foursome… maybe talk to him about supporting my reelection… he looks like he could afford to write a good-sized check or two… but, judging from the shocked look on Jack's face, I'd better get back to the subject at-hand….

"So, Detective" he said to Benson, "you think Beale saw Fontana in your squadroom, and felt threatened by the idea of pillow talk between Fontana and his fiancée?"

The distinctly queasy look on Benson's face showed she shared Jack's opinion of the pairing.

Surely a woman of Benson's experience knows good women are always drawn to rogues… if it weren't true, Lillian would never have looked twice at me….

"It's possible," Benson replied, "but I'm not sure about Beale's being involved in Fontana's firing. That would mean the First Deputy Commissioner had proof Fontana was crooked at the very moment Beale blackmailed him, which would be a huge coincidence."

She leaned forward as though eager to press her argument.

"Balzano went up through the ranks," she told the DA. "He's as old school as they come. I don't see him faking complaints to smear one of our own, not even to protect his son. It's a lot easier to believe Fontana convinced a clerk to hide those complaints from Internal Affairs, and the shooting review just happened to uncover them during its investigation."

Arthur folded his hands on his desk.

But that's also a good argument for my theory… if Fontana made some people angry enough to want him dead, then he undoubtedly made other people angry enough to fill out a complaint form… Balzano might have buried those complaints himself—despite Benson's protest to the contrary, the boys in blue protect their own, especially when their immigrant ancestors set sail from the same country… but I'd better not say that out loud… I doubt Stabler and Benson want to hear me accuse the NYPD's second-in-command of malfeasance….

The DA addressed Benson's partner.

"Detective Stabler, do you agree with your partner about this?"

He watched the detective glance at Benson before responding.

Looks like he's asking permission to disagree with her… and what's taking Alexandra so long? I can't drag this out forever….

"I don't think blackmail is out of the question," Stabler told the DA. "The Jason Meade shot was justified so Balzano should have handed back Fontana's weapon and ended the matter. Even if those complaints are valid, Balzano ignored the rules and regs. There should have been a separate discipline hearing, a chance for Fontana and his rep to mount a defense, and, if the complaints were found valid, a chance for Fontana to work it off with modified duty and special monitoring. Instead, Balzano demanded his shield. It's like the First Dep out of the blue torpedoed Fontana."

Stabler glanced again at his partner, who nodded her agreement with his assessment.

But not happily… she's agreeing with Stabler's recitation of the facts, not his conclusion….

"As soon as the story hit the papers," Stabler continued, "Fontana started getting threats. According to Judith, One P.P. sat on the request for a protective detail. Maybe Beale demanded Balzano not only fire Fontana, but also leave him hanging unprotected so any hump with a grudge could take him out."

Just then, the office door swung open and ADA Borgia peered around its edge. Arthur stifled a sigh of relief as he pointed at the sofa to show she should come on in.

"That's an interesting point, Detective," he told Stabler while Borgia took a seat on the sofa next to her boss, her briefcase at her feet. "But wouldn't getting Fontana tossed out of the NYPD be enough for Beale?"

"You mentioned pillow talk," Stabler replied, with a hint of a smile. "Beale couldn't risk Fontana saying something to Judith and her putting two and two together."

"That does make sense," McCoy said. "Once Beale had his hooks into Balzano, he could ask for anything he wanted, including the death of an ex-cop."

"It's not like Balzano had to pull the trigger himself," Stabler added. "All it would take is a memo to the precinct commanders ordering them not to assign anyone to Fontana. Beale could sit back and let Fontana's enemies do the dirty work for him."

Arthur saw Jack and Alexandra bob their heads in agreement, but he also noticed Benson's frown.

"I just don't see it," she said. "Balzano had plenty of reasons to fire Fontana—those complaints of force. Judith says every one of them is valid, and Fontana swears he had nothing to do with burying them—"

She bit the end of her sentence off as though unwilling to speak against a fellow officer. Arthur mentally finished the sentence for her.

But, in the absence of proof, the most likely explanation tends to dominate… and here, that explanation is that Fontana is the culprit….

"I hate to say it, Benson continued, "but you don't need Beale blackmailing Balzano to explain Fontana's firing."

Arthur watched Stabler's reaction to his partner's statement.

Tip of his head in her direction… ambivalent, but leaning toward agreement… so maybe I am all wet here….

He caught Borgia's gaze then McCoy's. The ADA reached into her briefcase and brought out the arrest warrant. McCoy mouthed the words "Tell them." Arthur ignored him as he signaled Borgia to give the warrant to Stabler.

"Then you'll have to ask Beale about Martinez and Balzano when you bring him in," he told the detectives. "Since your precinct is out of bounds for now, where will you be taking him?"

"Bronx SVU is catching for us," Benson replied. "We'll go there and locate Beale's whereabouts. Once we have him in custody, we'll take him back to the Bronx and question him there."

Jack again mouthed the words "Tell them." Branch frowned at his EADA.

If Cragen were a confidential informant, Jack would be protecting him tooth and claw… best thing to do is Beale in custody ASAP then let Cragen work out for himself what to tell his people….

"Given our current topic of conversation," Arthur said, "I think the Bronx is the last place you should take Beale. I'll have Alexandra call the precinct commander at the Fifth, and arrange for you to question Beale there."

Jack added, "You also won't have to track down your bureau chief. We already know he is having dinner with your captain this evening. Given Andrew's love for publicity, I think you'll find him at the command center outside your precinct house—no doubt hogging every camera in sight."

Arthur frowned at the thought.

Which means his arrest will be televised… I'd prefer something much more low-key followed by a press conference under my control… ah, well—beggars can't be choo—

"Beale's not at the command center," Stabler said, interrupting Arthur's thoughts, "and neither is Captain Cragen. We haven't been able to reach him—not at home, not on his cell. Detective Lake even asked the Six-Two for a drive-by of his house and got nothing."

A chill ran through the DA. He composed his expression, hiding his thoughts behind the smooth confidence every politician learns to project.

This is not good….

He saw Benson twist in her chair to stare at her partner.

And this is news to her….

On the sofa behind the detectives, Borgia went pale while McCoy leaned forward, braced as though ready to leap at his boss.

"Do you mean," Jack asked, "a patrol didn't find Cragen at home or the precinct didn't report anything back to you?"

The question seemed to catch Stabler off-guard.

"Uh, I mean they never called Lake back. It's Cragen's day-off, so we assumed he was enjoying a drive in the country…."

Stabler froze in his chair, his gaze distant for a moment before it snapped to the stack of CD cases on the desk. Arthur could almost see him mentally fitting the pieces together. The DA then glanced at Benson. The sick look of shock on her face warned him that he had run out of time, the fact driven home by Jack jumping from the sofa to rush to his boss' side.

"Arthur, you have to—"

Arthur raised his hand, cutting off Jack's demand. Quickly, before shock could turn to anger, he drew himself upright in his chair then caught everyone's gaze.

"I had promised to keep this under my hat," he told them, "for reasons that should be obvious. The source of those rumors about Bureau Chief Beale that you investigated is Captain Cragen—"

"Except they weren't rumors," Jack cut in. "Your CO came to us because he thought Beale was stalking him the same way he went after Marc Newman and the rest of his victims."

Arthur glared at McCoy as he braced himself for the explosion he knew would come. To his surprise, Benson merely turned to Stabler and said, "That explains everything."

"Yeah," her partner replied, "it does."

And here I thought I'd be staring down the barrels of two NYPD-issued service pistols… and I still might, especially if I mention I'm still skeptical… if they think my skepticism makes it look like I'm protecting Beale instead of their captain….

Arthur launched into a quick run-down of his conversation with Cragen, including the captain's fears that his suspicions were fueled by PSTD.

Since I'm in for a penny, I might as well be in for a pound….

Across his desk, the two detectives seemed preternaturally calm as they listened.

But that calm is only on the surface… Benson has her jaw clenched so hard, her cheekbones are about to erupt through her skin… she's both focused and determined—not a woman to cross lightly… Stabler is glaring at the stack of CDs while he listens… the warrant Alexandra handed him is need of a good ironing, he's holding it so tightly….

"The following Monday," Arthur continued, "is when I asked you to investigate Beale. When you found nothing, I relayed the results to your captain, and I ordered him to keep quiet about the matter."

Benson jerked as though prodded. Arthur paused to see if she might speak.

"You put Cragen behind an ethical wall?" she asked.

Next to Branch, McCoy stifled a snicker. Arthur shot a stern glare at him.

I still think it's PC run amok….

"Yes, I did," Arthur replied, "I know better than to discount the voice of experience, even when the experience can't be supported with facts. That's also why, when Beale's name came up in the Fontana matter, I asked you to investigate the matter."

How was I to know, in the face of every thing we didn't uncover, that Cragen would ultimately turn out to be right?

Arthur pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up. McCoy sidestepped to make room for his boss.

"Now, you know everything we know and everything we suspect. It's time you got going."

No need to say where… we all know you're heading straight to Cragen's house… it's still early—just past seven-thirty… you'll probably interrupt their main course….