Many apologies for the long delay in publishing this chapter but it was a very busy

time just before Christmas. But I'm back and will be bringing this story to a conclusion shortly.

Hope everyone had as best a Christmas they could under the circumstances. Let's all hope for a better 2021.

"Hey, there he is!" Haseejian crowed as he opened the Union Street apartment door, his eyes as wide as his grin. "How you doing, Mike?" There was no mistaking the warmth in his voice as he took a couple of steps back to let the lieutenant and his own partner into the small apartment.

Smiling, Mike moved deeper into the room, his gaze quickly snapping to the couch where Steve was already ensconced, facing the entranceway with his own anticipatory stare. It was the first time the partners were setting eyes on each other since Mike had been discharged from the hospital. And, in that brief instant, they both liked what they saw.

Steve looked relaxed, slouching against the corner of the couch, his left arm draped over the back; there was no indication of pain or discomfort, as far as his partner could see, and his eyes were dancing above a warm and relieved smile. Mike was no longer sporting the head bandage and the hair had begun to grow back over his left ear where it had been shaved for the stitches. And the cast was gone from his left forearm. He took the fedora off as he crossed to the sofa, lowering himself slowly to sit beside his best friend, unable to mask his own relieved smile as he set the hat on the coffee table then dropped his right hand on the younger man's knee and squeezing. They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, both grinning, then Mike patted Steve's knee and looked up at the two sergeants, who were watching them from the front door with matching smiles.

"So, ah," Haseejian chuckled self-consciously, "ah, can I get you a cup of coffee, Mike?"

The older man's eyes snapped briefly to the mugs already sitting on the coffee table and nodded. "Sure, yeah, thanks, Norm."

"You got it." Gathering his partner with a nod, Haseejian and Healey disappeared into the kitchen.

Mike looked back at the younger man beside him. "You look a lot better."

Steve chuckled warmly. "I feel a lot better. Don't need a pillow anymore. But, like I said, I still can't handle the hills around here yet so I don't know when the doctors are gonna clear me to get back to work." "I told you not to worry about that. It's only been a week and we were told it'd probably be a month before we were cleared to return to duty, so don't push it, okay? I don't want that old 'one step forward, two steps back' thing to happen to either of us. I want us both back to work at a hundred percent, okay?"

His smile wavering, Steve nodded sombrely. "Yeah, you're right." He reached up and, resting his right fingers lightly on Mike's chin, turned his head to the left. "You can barely see the laceration now that they took the stitches out and your hair's growing back in."

Mike smiled, pulling his head away from the gentle touch, and chuckled. "Good. I don't want Jeannie suspecting a thing."

"Here ya go," Haseejian announced as he re-entered the living room with two mugs in his hands, crossing carefully to the coffee table to set them both down. Healey was following with a kitchen chair, which he put down at the opposite end of the coffee table and sat. Haseejian slipped into the armchair near Steve and picked up one of the cups that was already there. He held the mug up in a quasi-salute. "It's good to see both of you guys. You're looking good, Mike."

Chuckling, Mike leaned forward to pick up his cup and held it up. "I feel good, Norm." His eyes flicked briefly towards Healey. "Sandra made sure I followed doctors orders to a 'T'."

"Oh yeah," Healey laughed knowingly, taking a sip of his coffee. "She's good at that."

Mike nodded in agreement, chuckling, and met Steve's eyes briefly. The younger man masked a knowing smile behind his own cup as he picked it up and took a quick, diverting sip.

"So," the lieutenant said pointedly, settling back on the couch with his hands, wrapped around the hot mug, in his lap, "what's happening in our case?"

The sergeants looked at each other then Healey took a deep breath. "Well, after we interviewed both of you," he gestured towards the couch with his mug, "we were able to get a better picture of what happened, of course."

Mike and Steve exchanged a brief and brow-furrowed glance. Though they had spoken, on the record, to their colleagues about that night in the bodega, they had not had the opportunity to speak to each other, not wanting to do so over the phone.

Knowing that they would get that opportunity in just a little while, Mike asked, "So has the lab come up with anything?"

Haseejian smiled. "Oh yeah, and I'll get to that, but let me get you up to speed on everything else first, okay?" He stared at his lieutenant with raised eyebrows and, after a long beat, Mike nodded. "Good. So Gerry signed search warrants for us and we tore the bodega and the Steiner house apart. We also interviewed all the women in 'Brother Samuel's'… coven…" he chuckled derisively and beside him Healey snorted, shaking his head as he looked down and took a sip of his coffee.

The two men on the couch frowned. "And?" Steve asked.

Healey looked up. "Well, unless they are Academy Award-winning actresses, those women know nothing about what Sykes and his sister were up to."

Mike frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Healey explained, "Benjamin Sykes is no Charles Manson with his cult of murderous sycophants. Sykes' women look at him like a saviour… Lenny explained it as like that Stockholm syndrome thing, you know…"

Mike frowned. "Stockholm syndrome?" He looked at his partner. "What the hell is that?"

Steve was nodding slowly, his gaze turned briefly inward. He held up an index finger towards Mike, stalling him, and leaned forward slightly, his brow deeply furrowed. "Why does he think that?"

"Well, to a person, all the women spoke about Sykes as… as saving them from a life on the street, from a life of homelessness and abuse. And from what they all said, they had a good life with him. He didn't touch them, in anger or in any other way, and in return all he seemed to expect from them was loyalty… 'fealty' as they called it." Healey eyes snapped to Mike. "Oh, by the way, one of the women definitely is Margaret Tolliver… you were right."

Mike's frown deepened. "Has Lenny talked to her?"

Both sergeants nodded. "He's talked to all of them already," Haseejian responded, "but just preliminarily, he told us. He wants to wait till we think we have everything we can uncover and then he's going to interview them again. He wants them to spend some time without Sykes in their lives and maybe they'll… I don't know, loosen up more… or come back to Planet Earth, who knows?" He shrugged with a dry chuckle.

"You haven't arrested them, have you?" Mike sounded genuinely concerned.

Healey shook his head vigorously. "No no no. We have nothing on them. As far as we know right now, they had nothing to do with the murders and didn't know anything about them."

"So what did Tolliver say about the murder of Drabinsky?"

It was Haseejian's turn to shake his head. "Well, in the first and only interview we've done with her, she said she doesn't know anything about it, but we haven't had a chance to ask her again. We're taking Lenny's lead and giving her time to adjust to life without her 'Brother Samuel', then we'll interview her again."

Mike nodded, his brow furrowed and his gaze unfocused, then his eyes snapped to Haseejian's. "Where are the women living right now?"

The sergeants shared a quick look once again. "Ah, the crime lab boys went through the Steiner house with a fine-toothed comb for two days. And they didn't find anything. So, ah, so Olsen and Conden told us to let the women stay there." Haseejian cringed slightly, waiting for the explosion he knew would be coming.

"What?!" Mike's wide, surprised eyes snapped from one sergeant to the other as he leaned forward sharply and slammed his coffee cup on the table as if for emphasis. "They're still in the house?!"

Healey shrugged, bobbling his head. "Look, Mike, we didn't think it was a good idea either, but the house was almost torn apart by the crime boys and, like I said, they found nothing."

"They photographed everything, believe me," Haseejian added quickly, and Healey nodded.

"And we'd put the women into the Washington Hotel for a couple of nights, two to a room, but Conden complained that, well, that it was gonna get expensive… and because of the budget cuts, well…" Haseejian sucked in a breath and shrugged again, his entire hangdog face pleading with his lieutenant for understanding. "It was Conden's decision, not ours, Mike, believe me…"

After a long couple of seconds, the frowning senior officer's narrowed stare sliding from one beseeching expression to the other, Mike finally nodded. "Yeah, I understand…" He sighed heavily and pointedly, making sure his displeasure was noted.

Steve looked at his colleagues with a soft smile and subtly bobbed his eyebrows, letting them know he felt their pain.

With a snort, Mike's attention shifted to Healey. "You said they tore the bodega apart too, right?" The sergeant nodded. "Other than the baseball bat, what did they find?"

Relieved that the subject had been changed, Healey leaned forward, putting his cup on the coffee table. "Believe it or not, that's all they found. There's no sign of a knife, the kind of knife they think killed our victims, in either place. We're still looking."

"So what about the baseball bat?" Steve asked. "Is it the murder weapon, do they think?"

Healey nodded. "Oh, yeah. They found three different blood types on it, matching the blood types of our three known victims. But, as Charlie said, there could be blood on that bat from other victims as well. Victims with the same blood types as the ones we already know about. We just have no way to tell."

Haseejian was nodding slowly and he looked up and met Mike's eyes. "The, ah, the desk leg that Stayner was going to use on Steve…?" he started quietly. "It had blood on it already…. We're, ah, we're pretty sure it was yours…"

Mike stared at him expressionlessly for a beat then nodded softly with a heavy sigh. "Yeah…" He looked down at his left wrist. "That damn cast saved my life," he mumbled softly and felt Steve's hand on his back and a soft pat. He looked up and cleared his throat. "So, ah, so Sykes and Stayner have only been charged with assault so far, right?" It was obvious to the others he wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible.

Haseejian nodded. "So far. There's no rush on the other charges, Gerry said, and he's right, of course. So we're taking it slowly and thoroughly. There's no statue of limitations, right, so…?"

"Yeah…" Mike agreed softly. "I don't want them getting off on a technicality because we rushed this one." An eerie but companionable silence fell over the room. Suddenly Mike's head came up and stared at his partner. "What's this Stockholm syndrome thing you were talking about?"

Steve glanced at Haseejian and smiled. The sergeant, with his own grin, leaned forward and picked up Mike's cup. "Here, let me refresh this," he chuckled as he got to his feet, gathering his partner with a look.

Healey, after a beat, stood, taking Steve's cup as he did so, and they disappeared into the kitchen. They knew Mike and Steve still hadn't talked to each other about the events of the night in the bodega, and this seemed like a good opportunity to get them started. They could hear Steve explaining Stockholm syndrome to his partner as they poured the cold coffee into the sink and Healey started to refill the percolator.