Steve nodded. "Doris," he acknowledged quietly, taking a step towards her.

She stared at him wide-eyed then shook her head quickly. "Oh, I'm sorry, I, uh, I keep thinking of you as Mr. O'Brien. I'm sorry…" She was wearing a bulky light blue cardigan over her uniform, her hands clasped in front of her, holding the remains of a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes, something he knew she had been doing for awhile.

He nodded understandingly. "That's okay. Call me Steve… please…"

Twisting what was left of the tissue, she nodded with a brief, grateful smile. "I, uh… we… we haven't heard what's going on…. just rumors…" Her nervous heartbroken glance towards the glass door momentarily froze his voice in the back of his throat.

He sighed heavily as he took another step towards her, taking his right hand out of his pocket and gently touching her arm. "I'm, ah, I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to tell you anything right now."

She looked at him, her eyes haunted and scared. "Is it true Chief Hogan was killed?"

Steve pursed his lips and bobbed his head slightly. "I'm sorry, Doris, I can't…" He shrugged helplessly.

She nodded to herself, looking down. "Of course, I'm sorry…" After a long beat, she looked up again. "Did you meet with Colin this morning?" she asked, the mask of worry still darkening her features.

He smiled slightly despite himself. "Yes… thank you. He turned out to be very… helpful…. But, again, that's all I can tell you. I'm sorry."

She snorted softly, looking down. She bit her lips and took a deep breath then looked up at him hopefully, shooting a brief glance at the building. "Is he in there? Colin?"

Steve took a beat, knowing he really shouldn't be sharing any information with her at all. Then he nodded softly.

She returned the nod with another quick grateful smile then cleared her throat. "Is there any way… I just need to know if he's all right, that's all… I just…" She was staring at him with so much worry in her eyes that he had to look away.

He sighed heavily then turned back to her and nodded.

She closed her eyes and lowered her head, her relief palpable. "Thank you," she whispered.

He stared at her for a long beat then asked quietly, "He's your son, isn't he?"

Her head snapped up, meeting his eyes, her own a mixture of fear and guilt. He didn't blink and, after a couple of very tense seconds, she nodded almost imperceptibly.

"And that would make Chief Hogan your brother-in-law?"

She nodded again.

Steve felt his heart drop into his stomach and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

She was watching him closely, and a lone, soft, strangled cry escaped her lips. She brought the torn and soggy tissue to her mouth, suddenly almost unable to breathe.

Steve stepped a little closer, lowering his head and his voice. "Is your sister here?"

Doris nodded, turning her head slightly to the right; he followed the move. There was a large dark sedan parked near the side of the building, the driver's door open. There were so many people crowded around the car that it was impossible to see the driver but he assumed it was Hogan's wife being comforted by friends.

Steve looked back at Doris, who was staring into space, overwhelmed by grief and worry. He reached out and gently squeezed her elbow. Her eyes travelled slowly towards his, her lips curling in a soft, thankful, heartbreaking smile. He nodded, mirroring her look, then stepped away. A very hard day was getting even harder, and he just wanted it to end.

# # # # #

Mike was watching his daughter. She was sitting in the large wooden chair, still holding his hand, but her stare was unfocused, her face expressionless. He gently squeezed her hand and her head turned very slowly in his direction. He smiled. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

She tried to smile, nodding, but her lips began to tremble and she gasped for a breath, her eyes filling with tears. Her nods turned into head shakes as she stared at him and his own eyes started to well up. He let go of her hand and patted the cot beside him, holding his breath and gritting his teeth as he shifted himself over, making room for her.

She got up as he pulled the blanket back and, slowly and carefully, she laid down beside him. He draped the blanket over her, then raised his right arm and slipped it under her head. She lay on her side, her head against his shoulder, her right arm lightly across his stomach. Making sure she was covered by the blanket, he wrapped his right arm around her and held her close.

They were both crying silently.

# # # # #

Steve had crossed the street to get away from the ever expanding crowd in front of the police station. But although the number of concerned and worried townspeople continued to grow, the conversations continued at a whisper, as if they didn't want to break a spell. A few people had wandered away, as if overcome by grief or worry and needing a moment or two to themselves.

A man he thought he recognized was crossing the street in his direction, his head down, his hands in his pockets. When the man stepped up onto the sidewalk, he glanced up, his face caught in the light of the streetlamp; it was Gary, the garage owner. He smiled sadly with a brief nod. Steve smiled grimly back.

They stood a few feet apart in silence, staring back at the crowd in front of the station, then Gary looked over. "A helluva thing, hunh?" he said softly.

Steve nodded, his lips pursed.

Gary looked at the station again, his head bobbing slowly. His hands in his pockets, he rocked back and forth, as if he was unable to remain still, as if he had something to say. Steve waited patiently. Finally the garage owner glanced over again. "Hey, I, ah… someone said you're really not a lawyer but a cop. Is that true?"

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Umh-humh."

"From San Francisco?"

"Umh-humh."

Gary nodded at the police station. "So do you know what happened in there?"

"Umh-humh." The garage owner shot him an annoyed look and Steve swallowed a slight smile, taking a tiny bit of pleasure in his ability to rattle someone so easily, a talent he had learned at the feet of the master. He took pity on the man and smiled apologetically. "I have no jurisdiction here, so the State Police are in charge. They'll… they'll let everyone know what happened at the proper time, when they're ready."

His conciliatory tone seemed to be accepted by the other man, who looked at the station again and nodded. He looked worried.

"Listen, ah, Gary, can I ask you a question?"

He looked over again. "Sure."

Steve took a couple of steps closer. "Do you know Connie Seddon?"

Gary frowned and his head went back slightly, as if the question upset him. "Why?" he asked, his tone suddenly cold and suspicious. "What's she got to do with all this?" he asked, gesturing at the police station with his chin.

The question caught Steve by surprise. He thought everyone already knew that Connie Seddon had been the shooter; now he knew they didn't. He scrambled to find a reason for his question so as not to tip his hand. "I'm asking in regards to her son's murder, not this." He nodded towards the station.

Gary looked at him suspiciously for a couple of long seconds then nodded, seemingly accepting of the explanation; Steve relaxed a bit. "Well, she's not as much of a recluse as her pappy but nobody pals around with her, if that's what you're driving at. I mean, I've looked after her cars and trucks over the years so I've dealt with her then but, well, let's just say we don't travel in the same social circles. You see, I have friends, I go to the bar, I go to parties… she doesn't do anything like that."

"The family keeps to themselves, do they?"

"And then some… except for the younger generation… like Johnny." Gary looked at the station again and frowned. "Maybe the town'd be better off if he had been more like his elders…"

Steve nodded in agreement. "I can't argue with that." He paused. "So, you have any idea if the Chisholm family was familiar with guns?" he asked tentatively, trying to make it sound casual enough that Gary wouldn't realize he was alluding to the shooting that had just happened across the street.

"You mean Johnny?"

Steve shrugged. "Johnny, his grandfather… his mother… the whole family…"

The garage owner snorted. "'Course they did. I know Johnny carried a .22, most people knew that. The grandfather had a gun rack on the back of the cab on his pickup with a couple of rifles on it." He nodded across the street where the old man's beat-up red truck had been moved to the side of the building but was still visible. "Hell, I was doing some repair work on Johnnys' mom's car one time last year and found a .44 under the front seat. A .44, for Christ sake." He shook his head in disgust.

"Did you say anything to her about it?" Steve asked with a smile, trying to sound just casually interested.

Gary chuckled dryly, reaching up to scratch the back of his head almost unconsciously. "As a matter of fact, I did. I asked what she was doing with such a big gun and she looked at me like I'd asked her why the sky was blue. Then as she drove away, she winked and told me she could shoot the eyes out of a potato at 50 yards and I'd better beware."

"Did you believe her?"

"Damn right I did."

Both men laughed.

# # # # #

Steve wandered slowly back to the station. He had taken a walk up and down the main street, trying to clear his head, if only temporarily. The sun had gone down and a chill had settled over the town, adding to the misery. He had watched as the crowd had grown ever larger, as businesses closed and word spread.

Healey had given up his vigil by the door and joined his partner at a desk in the bullpen. They were sitting side by side, heads together in quiet conversation. Fletcher, Collins and two of the other CSP officers were huddled in one of offices; Dottie was no-where to be seen. Chisholm and Anderson were still handcuffed in their chairs, as was Connie Seddon. Her head was down, her chin on her chest, and her eyes were closed.

Deputy Morgan was still standing guard over the body on the floor, still at relaxed attention. Steve stopped and stared at him for a long moment, intrinsically knowing exactly how the young cop was feeling.

He looked at his watch. It was getting close to 8 but it seemed much later. It had been such an unbelievably long day. Fletcher caught his eye, saying something to the others as he got up from the desk and left the office to approach him.

"How are you doing?" the captain asked with a weary smile, more a greeting than an actual inquiry.

Steve snorted. "Ask me in a week."

Fletcher chuckled. "Yeah, for sure. Listen, ah, as soon as the coroner gets here, we can get things wrapped up for now and call it a night. But that's still gonna be awhile, I think. We've ordered a bunch of pizzas and drinks from the diner and they should be getting here soon. There's enough for everybody."

Steve nodded. "Sounds good."

"Okay, great." Fletcher seemed a bit distracted. "Ah, listen, there's a couple of things I want to talk to your partner about before we wrap up here for the night. Do, ah, do you think he's up to having a talk with me, ah, maybe while we eat?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Steve smiled enigmatically. "As long as I get to sit in when you do it. I am his lawyer, after all," he chuckled and, after a brief moment of confusion, Fletcher laughed.