Steve's eyes travelled slowly from the barrel of the .38 to the cold grey eyes above it with an outward calm that belied his pounding heart. Releasing his grip on Anderson's elbow, he took a step back into the office; Hogan followed, keeping the .38 trained on his chest.

Anderson's head was swivelling back and forth between both older men then he took a half-step forward. "This isn't what it looks like, Uncle Roger," he said quickly.

Steve's head snapped in his direction. "Uncle Roger?" he asked incredulously as Anderson stared at the police chief anxiously.

An ironic smile playing across Hogan's lips, he nodded. "You didn't answer my question. And it wasn't rhetorical." With a wave of his gun, he backed Steve a little further into the room and closed the door behind himself without looking. He tossed a quick glance at his nephew. "Sit down."

Obediently, Anderson dropped into the chair he had just vacated, leaning forward urgently. "Uncle Roger, it's not what it looks like. I told him everything. He was taking me to you."

His brow furrowing, Hogan tore his eyes away from Steve to throw an angry glance at the young man in the chair. "Now why the hell did you do that?"

"Because I'm tired of living like this… I'm tired of covering up for Johnny and I'm glad he's dead… I'm glad I killed him!" Anderson spat out, his voice cracking as he dropped his head into his hands. A roar like a wounded animal filled the air. "Damn it! I was going to try to talk him in to taking me to the State Police, not to you."

Hogan frowned at him. "The State Police? Why the State Police?"

Anderson looked up, his expression a combination of anguish and regret. "Johnny was killed outside the town limits… I thought I could keep them from involving you… I'm sorry, Uncle Roger…" He dropped his head again. "Oh god! I just want this to be over… I just want this to be over…" He started to rock back and forth in the chair, his head in his hands.

Steve turned an accusing stare in Hogan's direction; the police chief looked stunned and, for the first time, unsure. The gun wavered then slowly dropped.

His shoulders sagging, Hogan looked at Steve silently for a couple of long beats. "Who the hell are you, anyway?" he asked. "'Cause you're sure as hell not a lawyer."

Steve snorted, a smile briefly lighting his features. "Well, you're right about that." He reached into his jacket pocket and took his credentials out, flipping the leather case open.

Hogan's expression didn't change as he stared at the gold star and photo I.D. He sighed heavily, slipping the .38 back into the holster on his hip. His grey eyes finally made their way back to Steve's face. "And Stone?"

With an ironic smile, closing the case and putting it back in his pocket, Steve cleared his throat briefly. "He's my partner. A lieutenant. In Homicide."

Hogan closed his eyes and took a slow deep breath. "Of course he is," he snorted wryly as he opened his eyes. He took a step closer to Anderson and, much to Steve's surprise, laid a gentle hand on the top of his nephew's downturned head. He sighed heavily, as if a very heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His hand softy ruffling Anderson's hair, he looked at Steve. "I guess I owe you an explanation," he said quietly.

"And then some," the detective intoned evenly, not yet willing to even begin to let the police chief off the hook. There were a lot of questions to be answered, and apologies to be made. And a lot of wrongs that had to be made right.

Hogan ran his other hand over his face; he looked defeated and sad. "I really didn't want this to happen, you have to believe me, but I was at my wit's end… all of us were. He was getting worse. His… attacks were escalating, becoming more frequent and more violent…. He needed to be stopped."

"And you used my partner and his daughter to stop him?"

Hogan stared at him for a long beat, his grey eyes both defiant and troubled. "I was desperate… and your partner almost handed me an excuse to do what I did."

"By fighting back?" Steve asked, picking up on the thread that Anderson had started.

The chief nodded. "Uhm-humh. Nobody had fought back before. Johnny'd always picked on girls who were alone, girls whose parents he knew would keep their shame to themselves. He took a chance with… with Miss Stone. He made a mistake, and her father was going to make him pay for it." He looked at his nephew's still downturned head, ruffling his hair again. "If Colin hadn't shot your partner, he probably would've beaten Johnny to death. And our nightmare would've been over." He looked at Steve again, his expression almost pleading. "He panicked. Colin… he panicked, that's all."

Steve nodded softly. "I know."

Hogan snorted sadly and shook his head in despair, staring at the floor. "Oh god… it all got out of control so fast…"

# # # # #

Dottie looked up as the outer door opened and an old man approached the counter. She was frowning slightly as she got up from the desk, trying to recognize the face behind the unkempt white beard and bushy eyebrows. Under a high-crowned, wide-brimmed sable fedora, long silver grey hair touched the collar of the well-worn leather coat as the visitor placed both hands on the counter and smiled.

"Good morning, Dottie. How are you today?"

"Just fine, thank you," she smiled back, still trying to place the face or the voice.

"I'm here to visit that fella you got in the cell back there," he stated matter-of-factly, still smiling.

Her own smile wavering, Dottie glanced over her shoulder at the empty bullpen. "Oh, I'm not sure if I'm allowed to do that. The chief is out, you see, and -"

"Now, Dottie," the old man interrupted, his tone turning hard, the smile turning colder under the narrowing eyes, "I shouldn't have to tell you what needs to be done, now do I?"

Her hand went to her collar under her chin and she grabbed ineffectively at the material; she knew who he was. She hesitated, swallowing heavily. He continued to stare at her without blinking. Eventually she nodded once, sharply, and stepped to a nearby desk, opening the top drawer and taking out the ring of keys.

His smile retuned. "Thank you, Dottie," he almost crooned as he moved to the gate in the counter then followed her across the bullpen.

She pushed the door open and held it for him before she almost jogged to the cell door. She took a quick glance into the cell; Mike was sitting sideways on the cot, leaning against the bars with his feet up, his forearms on his upraised knees. He watched as Dottie opened the cell door, let the other man in, relocked it and left the room, all without a word.

The stranger stood just in side the door, staring at Mike without expression. The hairs on the back of the cop's neck were now at full attention, and he pushed himself away from the bars, slowly lowering his feet to the floor. The other man still didn't move.

After a very long beat, Mike's frown softened. "Mr. Chisholm, I presume?"

A cold smile found its way through the unruly beard as Chisholm's right hand snaked behind his back. "You killed my grandson," he said flatly as his hand reappeared, his fingers wrapped around the grip of a .45.

# # # # #

Hogan dropped his head, his chest heaving, then looked up into the detective's eyes. "You're right, we owe you and your partner and his daughter an explanation, and an apology." He snorted, a mirthless smile flashing across his chiseled features. "I don't expect you to… forgive… but I hope maybe you can understand." He patted the top of Anderson's head again with what seemed like uncharacteristic compassion.

"All right," Steve agreed softly, trying to control the anger in his voice, reeling at the trauma Mike and Jeannie had endured through no fault of their own, trauma that was still continuing. "Why don't we start by getting my partner and his daughter back together?"

The police chief nodded. "You're right… Look, ah, my car is just out front. Let's go get her and bring her to the station, and then we can let him out too."

"Her name's Jeannie, by the way. And he's Mike. They're good people… and they didn't deserve this." Steve was staring at Hogan fiercely, not willing to give an inch, not yet. There was still too much he didn't know before he could totally trust this man, cop or no cop.

Hogan nodded again,

# # # # #

Staring at the gun in Chisholm's shaking hand, Mike said calmly, "No, I didn't."

"That's what my daughter told me. Why would she lie to me?"

Choosing to ignore the question, Mike tilted his head to make it seem like he was staring at the old man, but his full attention was on the finger wrapped around the trigger. He swallowed nervously before he replied, "Somebody else killed him, Mr. Chisholm. It wasn't me." He hoped by appearing uneasy and using the other man's name he could calm him down a little. It was the only ammunition he had at the moment. Very slowly, he put both hands, palms down, on the cot, every sense on full alert, knowing the cavalry wouldn't come racing through the door. He was on his own.

"If it wasn't you, who was it then?"

Mike shook his head gently. "I don't know, Mr. Chisholm. My, ah, my lawyer is trying to find out -"

"He was a good boy. You didn't need to kill him." Chisholm interrupted, his trembling intensifying, and he took a step closer to the cot.

Mike hesitated for a beat, knowing in an instant he had to change tactics, weighing which direction to steer the conversation, passive or aggressive. He chose aggressive, hoping to rattle the old man enough to distract him, if only momentarily. That was all the opening he would need. "He wasn't a good boy, Mr. Chisholm. He wasn't a good boy at all. He was a rapist."

The old man reeled back slightly, as if struck. "You're a liar!" His finger twitched on the trigger and Mike froze. "Johnny was a good boy!"

"You can repeat that as many times as you want but it doesn't make it true. Johnny was a rapist. He'd raped other girls and he was trying to rape my daughter. If I wanted to kill him, I could have…. but I didn't!"

Chisholm had been getting angrier and angrier, his entire body starting to shake. The cop was watching him like a hawk, surreptitiously tensing every muscle in his body, waiting for the moment he could make his move.

He knew he only had one chance.

"You're a liar!" Chisholm bellowed as he raised the gun and held it out to the full length of his arm, his trigger finger tightening as Mike pushed himself off the cot and lunged at the older man.

# # # # #

Hogan ushered Steve and Anderson out the back door of the garage office. The patrol car was parked near the street. As they approached, they could hear Dottie's voice over the radio. Hogan reached in through the passenger side window, snagged the mic and pressed the button. "Yeah, Hogan here, Dottie. What's up?"

"Oh, Chief, thank god. Jake Chisholm's here. He barged in a few minutes ago and demanded to see Mr. Stone."

"Did you let him?"

There was a brief pause. "I didn't have a choice, you know how he is, but I think you should -" They could hear a muted pop over the channel and she screamed. "Oh my god, that was a shot!"

Hogan's head snapped up, meeting Steve's startled eyes. "Get in the car!" the chief ordered as he tossed the mic onto the seat and raced around to the driver's door, and Steve and Anderson hurried to get into the back.