A/N - as always, thank you to everyone for their PMs, emails and reviews -x-

A/N II - I forgot to add a couple of A/Ns at the start of Chapter 1, so I've fixed that.

A/N III - Also, I intended to update once a week and that's still my plan, but Real Life is being seriously weird and might get in the way.

Chapter 3

Kaleidoscope

Three days passed.

The first day, after leaving from the department, Ed locked himself in his room and sat numbly by the window, staring blindly out to the street, not even registering the change from noon to evening. Mrs Parker, the landlady, had knocked on his door and told him there was food, but Ed hadn't moved. He couldn't, he didn't have the strength to go out there and see the others. He knew what they would say, he'd been saying it to himself, over and over and over. Leo was dead because he'd made a mistake. Leo was dead.

The first night, he stayed up as dusk changed to dark, still staring blankly out at the street and the people, barely able to move or think. At last, weary and drained, he slumped down in bed. But instead of sleeping he just stared up at the off-white ceiling for a while, tossing and turning every few minutes. Maybe about three in the morning he got up again, threw on some clothes and went out. He walked, up the street towards the main road and round to the small park. It was a nice enough place, some swings, a slide and some seats at one corner, the rest was grass with a few benches, bushes and trees scattered at random. He'd walked round the park so many time he'd lost count, pushing himself to keep going, trying to make himself feel tired. It only half-worked and by six he was back in the boarding house, collapsed on the bed, where he fell into a light, troubled doze for ten minutes, only to be awoken by the noise of the others getting ready for work.

The second day, Ed was so exhausted that he was almost grateful he didn't have to get up and go to work. It felt as if he could barely stand, each time he tried his muscles shook like he was chilled to his bones. Mrs Parker tried again to get him to come and eat something, once the others had left of course, but the thought of food made him feel sick. She'd knocked every few hours but he never replied, even though he knew she knew he was there. At some point in the afternoon he searched his pockets for a cigarette. He'd not had one for a few days since he'd finished the last packet but all he had was a half-used matchbook. The need for nicotine almost forced him out to ask, but not even that was strong enough.

The second night, he'd done the same as before, tried in vain to sleep and when that failed he waited until the house was quiet and walked himself to exhaustion. He spent longer in the park this time. Only a few other people were out so early; a couple of kids too scared to go home, an addict or two hanging round the gates waiting for their pushers, a few winos lying on the benches. None of them gave him a second glance. They were all too tied up with their own problems. At some point around dawn, Ed realised he was having trouble staying upright and staggered off back to the boarding house. He'd slept then, for almost an hour, only to be awoken by the noise of the others going out.

The third day he gave in and had a slice of toast with butter, along with a glass of orange juice, but only because Mrs Parker had stood at his door and pounded on it until he couldn't stand the noise anymore. He learnt from her that the funeral was the next day, and the others had booked a cab. Then she tentatively brought up the question of his rent and all Ed could do was shrug. He was suspended, without pay. He was clear to the end of the month, but he knew the rules and knew she couldn't break them. After she'd gone, Ed took a look at what he had, but there wasn't much left for him to sell. The sum total of his belongings had dwindled to his suit and his uniform, a few spare shirts and clothes, two pairs of shoes, some books and a suitcase full of sentimental and worthless junk that he couldn't sell even if he wanted to. That left his watch, and Hell would have to freeze over twice before he would even start to think about selling that.

The third night he'd gone out once more, earlier this time, recognising the people that came to the park at night. He walked less. For a while he sat on a bench, listening to the whine of traffic and the occasional wail of police sirens. At some point one of the drunks staggered over swearing at him and, rather than make an issue of it, Ed left him to sleep it off under a newspaper. Then the kids had run up and pestered him for money until he turned out his pockets to show them how little he had. He'd stayed out all night, not bothering to try and sleep, knowing that he'd never be able to rest, stumbling back to his room an hour after dawn.

And then suddenly it was the fourth day.

Ed wasn't even sure how that had happened. It felt as if time had skipped forward while he hadn't been paying attention. He was stuck in the slow lane while everything else around him rushed on at top speed. Three days had passed, he knew they had, but it felt like no time at all, one moment that stretched out to forever.

Now Leo's funeral was in a few hours and at some point very soon he was going to have to go out there and face his friends. There was nothing he wanted to do less than speak to them.

The six of them had gone through the academy together and started at the SFPD the same time: Larry Carr, Jerry Egan, Sam Delaney, Leo, Dalton Smith and himself. Like many rookies, they'd all taken rooms at the police boarding house, within easy reach of the Department.

The boarding house reminded Ed of the Marine barracks, and there was an easy camaraderie among all the men who lodged there. The older officers were tolerant of the rookies and in general cut them a lot more slack that they did when on duty. Ed and five others had stayed friends even though the work had taken them in different directions. They had played cards and drunk beers together, and hit on beautiful ladies when out on the town. But despite working different hours in different divisions, they'd always made the effort to gather for a few hands of poker at the weekends.

Meeting Anne had changed that for Ed. Meeting her changed the world as if someone had flicked a switch. He'd never thought of himself as a man who'd fall in love at first sight. But he did, and so did she. He'd proposed on their seven week anniversary, and their engagement party had been one of the most wonderful days of his life. At the time, he'd thought they had their whole lives to be together.

That wasn't the way it had worked out.

Now he was sitting, dressed in his only remaining suit, waiting to go to the funeral of a man who'd been one of his closest friends; the second funeral he'd gone to in less than five months. But this time he wasn't sure he'd be welcome.

There were noises from outside the door, Ed guessed there were people out there gathering ready to leave. If he was going to go, he had to do it now. He had to make himself get up and go out of the door. Right now.

Somehow, Ed stood, opened his door and stepped out into the corridor. No one was close, but he could hear voices from the front room, the one they used as a lounge, and Ed managed to keep his forward momentum going long enough to make it through there.

The talking stopped the moment he set foot through the doorway. Larry stood with his mouth half-open, Jerry and Dalton just stared for a few moments. Ed tried to think of something to say that didn't sound stupid, but nothing came to mind. Judging by the looks he was getting, the others were just as angry with him as he'd guessed they'd be. After all, no one but Mrs Parker had tried to speak to him for the past three days.

They continued to stare, and Ed still couldn't find anything appropriate to say. The tension in the room was stifling, and just when Ed thought it couldn't get any worse there was the sound of footsteps behind him.

That would be Sam.

Ed glanced round, his heart sinking, and sure enough Sam Delaney was walking towards him. The cold, aloof expression he had was exactly what Ed would have expected, and Sam acted as if Ed wasn't there, brushing straight past him, looking at Jerry and Dalton.

'The cab's just outside,' Sam said, his back pointedly turned to Ed. 'Time to go.'

'Sam-' Ed managed to say.

Slowly, Sam turned to face him, his expression almost blank, a look that managed to make Ed feel even worse than he had over the previous three days.

Sam and Leo had been the best of friends, closer to each other than to the rest of the group. They'd been in the same unit in the Army, they'd joined the academy together, they'd trained together. The word brothers had been used on occasion, usually by Larry when he wanted to tease Sam, but it wasn't much of a joke when it was clearly so apt.

'Do you have something to say, Brown?' Sam asked, the question almost devoid of any emotion. Ed swallowed hard, trying to think of a response that might sum up how he felt.

'I'm sorry, Sam,' he said. Sam's expression didn't change, he looked at Ed, as if he was trying to focus on something else and not Ed himself.

They stood for a few seconds, and Ed felt the need to try and say more.

'I know I made a mistake,' he said quietly.

The blank, bland expression on Sam's face still didn't change. His gaze shifted towards the front door. He drew a low breath in.

'And is that what you're going to say to Leo's parents, Brown?' Sam said, his tone just as quiet as Ed's had been. 'You, of all people, should know how much death… hurts.'

He snarled the last word, unexpectedly loud, and Ed physically flinched as if Sam had hit him. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Sam walked right up to him and Ed braced himself for a real punch to the face. Instead Sam leaned forwards.

'Get your own ride,' Sam murmured. 'Because you're not coming with us. You're not welcome here.'

He brushed past, deliberate pushing Ed out of his way with his shoulder. The other three followed, none of them looking him in the eye.

Then the front door slammed behind them and Ed was left alone.

'So what exactly have you and your staff been doing for three days, Robert?' asked Commissioner Sewell, as soon as Ironside had opened the door to the office.

The Chief didn't reply immediately. Instead, he came inside and closed the door behind him, walking towards the long, oak desk where the Commissioner was sitting. There was a varied selection of files and papers scattered over it. Behind him was a large window with a view out over the city, flanked by two bookcases with even more folders, all neatly lined up.

'Well?' Sewell said, looking up plaintively to Ironside. The Commissioner was on the plump side of well-built, and close to fifteen years Ironside's senior, with short, greying hair and a rounded face. He had a low, laid-back, Californian drawl that was at odds with everything else about him and Ironside always felt slightly surprised every time the man spoke. Sewell was frowning, but as he had a constant concerned look about him, it could be hard to decipher when he was genuinely worried. But today there was no such confusion, the whole department knew how anxious he was to get an arrest.

'And a good morning to you too, Commissioner,' the Chief replied.

With a slightly deeper frown, Sewell gestured to the seat opposite him and Ironside sat, leaning back into the chair. He looked calmly at the other man, hoping that this meeting would go smoothly. He didn't want to waste time today, the funeral was later and he wanted to get ready without having to rush.

'It is not a "good" morning, is it?' Sewell said tersely, leaning forward to rest his hands on the desk. 'I want to know how soon you'll have this wrapped up.'

Ironside drew a slow, deep breath. Although he'd been forewarned by Dennis that the Commissioner was very worried, Ironside realised now that this was going to be a more awkward conversation than he'd anticipated.

'The suspect has gone to ground,' Ironside replied. 'We're working the leads. But without more evidence, we keep hitting the same brick walls. And no one is talking.'

The Commissioner didn't like that response one little bit, Ironside could see that from his expression.

'That's not going to be enough, Robert,' Sewell said. 'I don't have to tell you how bad this could get.'

Ironside nodded. Sewell didn't have to tell him, but the Chief was sure he was going to be told anyway. The Commissioner didn't disappoint him.

'The Mayor needs this sorted quickly,' Sewell said. 'This has the potential to become a political time-bomb, if we don't sort it out fast. The press keep sniffing around for the background and for another story, and there is still a cop-killer walking about on the streets of San Francisco. Still walking around! How can the public trust us if we can't even solve the murder of one of our own men?'

Privately, Ironside shared his sentiments, but for different reasons. However, since he'd taken the decision not to share his suspicions with the Commissioner, he wasn't in the position to explain all of it, not just yet. The problem was that he lacked any real proof. Suspicion was one thing, but he needed more than that to act. He waited.

'The funeral is in a few hours,' the Commissioner said, when Ironside didn't reply. 'Channel 6 will be there, and you know what they're like! And I had hoped we would be able to console the officer's parents with an arrest. Is there any chance…?'

Sewell petered out as the Chief shook his head.

'This isn't a straightforward operation-gone-wrong,' Ironside said. He paused. 'We're going to need more time to work it out.'

The Commissioner gave an annoyed huff, and leaned back in his chair, his frown focused on the Chief. Ironside didn't react, in the past he'd tried being short-tempered and argumentative, but he'd soon figured out that it was usually best to let the Commissioner talk himself to a stop before trying to get his own point across.

'I do not like this, not in the least,' the Commissioner continued. 'I've read what you've got so far. The trail is going cold. It's been three days and nothing.'

Ironside listened patiently as the Commissioner continued along the same lines for a minute, going over the same points and giving the same impassioned plead for results until, at last, the man gave a heart-felt sigh.

'Have you made any progress at all, Robert?' Sewell asked. 'Do you have any good leads?'

'We don't have a lot to go on,' Ironside admitted. 'Even the initial informant has gone. But we have a few ideas left.'

Sewell looked carefully at the Chief.

'And I assume you've considered the fact that he's probably gone? Three days is a long time. Why would he stay?'

'We think he's still in town,' Ironside replied. That was what his gut said, but Sewell wasn't well-known for his blind faith in instinct, any instinct, even Ironside's. In general, he liked instinct to be backed up by fact.

'Why? If he's just killed a cop, then surely he'd be half way to New York by now. If he had any sense he'd have taken off as soon as he could.'

'The initial tip suggested he was in town for business,' Ironside said. 'Big and important business. We've had no success so far, and I think he'll want to do what he came to do.'

Sewell gave another heavy sigh. He leaned forward once more, fixing the Chief with a steady gaze. Ironside braced himself.

'Is there something you are not telling me, Robert?' There was a pause. 'I like to be kept informed.'

Ironside looked calmly back, having anticipated this question. He had been very careful with who knew the details of the coroner's report, even going as far as asking the coroner himself to delay finishing it. That had worked and no one knew what it contained. Brown's statement was harder to keep quiet, mainly because there had been a number of officers at the scene, and then Brown had been suspended. That had attracted much more attention.

So far, only Carl Reese and Ironside himself had any understanding that there was more to this case than just a cop-killing. The Chief had no desire to share his suspicions while they were still just suspicions. He needed more, he needed proof.

'There are always things I don't tell you, Commissioner,' he replied honestly. 'Speculation doesn't help anyone. I've told you everything we know for sure.'

'You know for sure?'

'We do have leads, but at the moment they are only leading us around in circles.' Ironside paused again, and shook his head. 'And most of them will lead nowhere.'

The two men looked at each other. Sewell didn't look pleased, but he also knew how the Chief liked to operate and was usually tolerant of his methods, as they invariably produced the desired results.

'Well, I supposed you know what you're doing, Robert,' Sewell said.

'That's why I'm the Chief of Police and you are the Commissioner,' Ironside said, still sounding cross. 'I get to deal with the messy details and sort it all out.'

In spite of the implied rebuke, Sewell gave a slight smile for the first time in the whole conversation. He nodded.

'You're very good at that, Robert,' he said. 'Messy details are your speciality.'

'And you're very good at keeping the Mayor and the press off my back while I do it,' the Chief admitted in return.

'You have nothing to add, then?' Sewell asked, gesturing at one of the folders on his desk. 'That's very disappointing. I can just imagine what the Mayor will say.'

'We do have more ideas,' Ironside repeated reassuringly, 'and we're working on them. When there's more, you'll know it.'

Sewell nodded, but his perpetual frown grew deeper. There was a chilly silence, and once more Ironside braced himself for another question that he didn't want to answer. This one wasn't going to be so simple.

'And what about the officer you suspended?' Sewell asked.

Ironside felt a flash of anger as Sewell spoke, but bit back the more sarcastic response that instantly came to his mind. Being rude wasn't going to help and the last thing he needed this morning was a blazing argument with the Commissioner, even if he felt like letting off some steam.

'He's the officer you suspended,' Ironside replied, as calmly as he could. 'That was at your request, Commissioner. I disagreed at the time, and I still do. Letting him sit around not doing anything to help this case is a waste.'

The Commissioner gave him a distinctly unpleasant look.

'I know that you know what they're saying in the DA's office,' he said. 'I take it you have an explanation?'

'An "explanation"?' Ironside hissed. Again, he fought back the urge to get angry. 'There is nothing to explain.'

'You swapped them at the last minute.' Sewell glared at him, and the Chief could see the anger and frustration in his expression. That did nothing to help him hold on to his own temper.

'What exactly are you meaning?' Ironside demanded.

'You know what I mean,' Sewell replied, looking the Chief, his eyes narrowing. 'There-'

'You have my report!' interrupted Ironside loudly. 'Nothing's changed!'

'The question remains. Why swap? Why Brown?'

'I have answered that,' Ironside growled, gesturing at the file on the edge of the desk. 'Asking the same question again and again is not going to get you a different answer!'

'I'm not satisfied with-'

'You mean the DA isn't satisfied!'

'And Lieutenant Burwell was-'

'Leave Jimmy out of this!'

Sewell's glare intensified.

'He gave the detail, he chose the men. Why did you feel the need to change it?'

'I wanted that suspect,' the Chief snapped. 'And I wanted him brought in cleanly.'

The Commissioner gave him a doubtful look.

'And you thought that Brown would do that?'

Ironside didn't reply as he could tell when he was being walked into a verbal trap. Considering what happened next, it was an awkward point to argue. Bringing the man in cleanly was his priority and that was exactly what he'd thought Brown would do, if he had to. It wasn't supposed to be difficult or too dangerous. As far as the police were aware, the suspect knew nothing about their operation. The sergeants were at the main exits, putting men at the back was just in case something had gone wrong. He'd wanted someone more reliable and focused than Carelli at the back. Besides, Jimmy Burwell had agreed.

Sewell gave a thin smile.

'And that's the only reason, Robert?'

Thanks to Dennis' tip-off about the rumours of favouritism, Ironside was prepared for that question and considered his response carefully. It was clear what Sewell was implying, although everyone knew that the Chief wasn't well known for giving anyone an easy ride, least of all people he liked. When that flamin' reward had first been mentioned, Ironside had pushed for it to be split among the men on duty that night. Sewell and the DA had disagreed with him, saying it could be a good incentive, and now it looked like that idea had well and truly backfired on them.

Annoyed, with his mood plummeting, the Chief decided that it was best to go on the attack, and cut straight to the chase, even if it did end in a blazing argument.

'This had nothing to do with money,' he said. 'The reward should have been split. That was your decision.' The other man started to speak, but Ironside was going to say what he thought since he'd been pushed into a corner. 'And I still don't know how some of the men found out about it. Maybe you should ask the DA about that next time he decides to question my integrity or my judgement!'

'Robert!'

The Chief knew he was right at the red line. He could count on one hand the people in the country, or the world, who were justified in thinking they were entitled to tell him off: The President; his few remaining elderly relatives; and Commissioner Vaughn Sewell.

There was an unpleasant silence, and Ironside had no intention of speaking first. The time stretched out and the Chief started to relax. Waiting this one out wasn't going to be hard as he was in the right, and they both knew it.

'And the reward had nothing to do with your decision?' Sewell asked at last. The Chief didn't even dignify that with an answer. 'The DA-'

'The DA is your problem!' Ironside retorted.

'And your officers are yours!'

The Commissioner realised the moment the words were out of his mouth that he'd been outmanoeuvred. Ironside smiled.

'Then I can get Brown back to work?'

'No! You know what I meant!'

'You just said that he was my problem. My solution is to get him back out there, as soon as I can!'

'No!' Sewell was firm and more calm than Ironside expected. 'There are procedures to follow, Robert!'

In spite of himself, Ironside snorted.

'He disobeyed a direct order,' the Commissioner continued. 'Your direct order!'

That was also difficult to argue against.

'He did the best he could in a difficult situation,' Ironside said carefully, his anger at the Commissioner shifting to the officer in question. He was in no mood to have to defend Ed Brown today. The man had skulked in his room since the suspension and had no idea of the trouble he'd caused.

'Difficult?' Sewell was incredulous. 'That is not what I have heard.'

That got a low growl from the Chief.

'Gossip!' Ironside said angrily. 'Rumour from the corridors, Commissioner. I didn't think you listened to gossip.'

In the previous three days the department scuttlebug had revolved around almost nothing else, and the rumours and theories were getting more outlandish by the hour. None of that was helping the investigation. The best way to deal with that problem was to get Brown back in play and make him get on with it.

'Regardless of the rumours,' Sewell said, sounding angry in turn, 'I have read his statement, and that doesn't sound like a difficult situation to me!'

Ironside paused, trying to let his temper cool, and wondering if he should keep on concealing his true suspicions about Carelli's altercation with Brown. The Commissioner didn't like being left in the dark, and it wasn't that Ironside didn't trust him, but there was currently very little in the way of proof for any of it. He could hear exactly what the Commissioner was going to say about it, and it would not help the investigation. The best way to convince the Commissioner was to present him with the full facts in one go, and they weren't ready for that. Not just yet.

'It's likely that Officer Carelli was needing the reward money,' he said at last, noting the way the Commissioner scowled at the word "reward". 'He was desperate. Very desperate. Brown was faced with helping a desperate friend or obeying my orders.' Ironside paused again, wondering how far he should go. 'Somehow Carelli knew about the reward, and he pushed Brown into a corner. The man made a mistake, trying to help out a friend. And I think he's learnt his lesson by now.'

And he flamin' well better have learnt, the Chief added to himself.

The office was silent as Sewell stared down at the file on his desk. Ironside waited, wondering if the Commissioner would ask for more information. It was unlikely as he hadn't before, but the Chief wasn't going to go as far as telling him an actual lie, not if he was asked a straight question.

'Hmm,' Sewell replied at last. 'I never did like the idea of that reward.'

Ironside made no reply and kept his face straight. The object was to win the war and not to get the Commissioner too angry to listen.

'Lieutenant Simon's not satisfied yet,' Sewell reminded him. Ironside kept his face straight, but that was an easy one to counter.

'It's Murray's job never to be satisfied.'

Sewell gave an annoyed sigh.

'You've seen the initial report,' Ironside added. 'Procedure or no procedure, there's nothing to be gained by keeping Brown suspended. All it's going to do is make it harder for him to return. You know what it's like.'

'Hmm.'

From what Ironside had heard, Brown had done next to nothing but stay in his room at the boarding house. Ironside wanted him back working, partly to help, but mainly to see what he would do next. The Chief had to know how Brown would react and if his own instincts about the man were correct. So far in this case, Ironside had based a lot of his suppositions on the truthfulness of that young officer. He had to have the chance to see if he was right, preferably before the gossip made it impossible for Brown to do his job.

'But if you are concerned,' Sewell said, 'then you should let Murray do his job, assuming Brown has done nothing else wrong. Being cleared by Internal Affairs will draw a line under this.'

It was the Chief's turn to give a huff. He hated it when the Commissioner made sense.

'I'll speak to Murray at the end of the week,' Sewell said eventually. Ironside opened his mouth to argue but the Commissioner silenced him with a cold frown. 'He's not going back on duty until Murray is finished and that won't be until after the funeral. You might not care for procedures, but I'm not going to bend them for you. I've gone as far as I can. That is my final word, Robert.'

There was nothing else to say. After a moment, the Chief gave a grudging nod and stood, stomping to the door.

He had no way to change the Commissioner's mind, not without something more. And the Chief didn't want to tip his hand just yet. He had next to nothing in the way of proof of corruption, certainly nothing that would help find their gunman. That was the bottom line here.

At least Ed would be back in the game soon. And the Commissioner hadn't mentioned firing him either. That was good too.

Because if this was a figment of his imagination, if there was nothing to find, and Brown had just completely screwed the whole situation up, then the Chief wanted to privilege of firing the man himself.