A/N - Thanks to you all for your reviews, PMs and emails - I really appreciated the feedback and I'm glad you are enjoying this and having fun trying to guess what's going on! I'm a little behind with replies, but should be able to catch up over the weekend. -x-

Chapter 7

The Gathering Storm

It was a little after six when he left the Deputy Commissioner, and Ironside briefly debated going home or getting back to his office.

It would be good to get home, put his feet up and relax for a while, with a generous measure of bourbon for company. It had been a difficult day, funerals always made him feel uncomfortable, and maybe an evening off would help.

His other choice was going back to the office to get on with this flamin' case. Every new piece of information he found just made it all the more complicated. He couldn't rest while there were still so many questions. And he wanted to know if his sergeants had managed to complete the tasks he'd given them. He wanted better answers from Reese about the morning of the shooting; and he wanted copies of those tapes from Anderson.

That was the bottom line. The bourbon would have to wait.

In spite of the long day, Ironside took the stairs up to his office, greeting the officers who were still in the building, recognising that the tense, unsettled atmosphere of the past few days was starting to lift.

Only Carl Reese was waiting for him in the corridor, leaning on the wall just outside the door, with his eyes half-closed, holding a thin file. When he saw the Chief he straightened up and gave a nod. Ironside nodded back, thinking that he might have some good news at last, and they could make some progress.

'Still no Andy?' he asked Carl, opening the door and leading the way inside. He'd checked in before going to see Dennis and Andy wasn't back then. How long did it take a man to pick up some tapes and get back to the office? He'd needed those tapes hours ago.

Reese shook his head as he followed his boss.

'Not seen him, Chief. Not since the funeral.'

Ironside made a point of checking the clock on the wall. It was getting late and those tapes should have been here by now. He'd not had the chance to see the news, and by the looks of things neither had Reese. Was that good or bad? He couldn't decide. But at least he had one sergeant here, and that was a start.

The Chief moved to take his seat behind the desk, glancing out of the window to the city beyond. It was still warm, and thick fog was drawing in, muting the dusk light. When it came, the rain would be a relief.

With a sigh, Carl flopped down into the other chair without being asked, dumping the file on the desk as he did so. Ironside regarded him for a moment with annoyance before deciding the sergeant was allowed to relax a little. As long as it was quick. And he didn't make a habit of it.

Reese gave another, much heavier sigh.

'Well, that was the least enjoyable funeral I've been to,' he said. Ironside's anger flared again at the comment, but he realised Reese wasn't being funny.

'I kept looking at the people,' Carl continued, 'and thinking about what you said, thinking that one of them was the killer.' He shook his head as he spoke, looking to the floor. 'What sort of a man goes to the funeral of his victim? Stands there and listens to the eulogy, sees the family cry. The parents. His mother.'

Carl stopped and there was a long pause. This time, instead of pushing, Ironside waited. It was always difficult, even knowing they all worked in a high risk profession, and that was without having to look around at the mourners trying to decide which one of them might have filled the coffin in the first place. This was only the third funeral of a colleague Reese had been to. The shooting of the young officer had left a painful cloud over everyone, a stark reminder that there were no guarantees with this job. Anyone, at any time, could be next.

That made him all the more determined to find out what he hadn't seen before. The men needed to know they could rely on each other, and not get stabbed in the back by one of their own.

'It was a good turn out,' Carl said at last. 'Almost all of them were cops. A couple from other stations. A lot of family. I didn't know he had a big family.'

Ironside nodded. In truth, he'd known nothing about Leo Carelli beyond what was in his personal file. One of the recent graduates to join, he had been good but not exceptional, and the Chief had thought he was destined for a mediocre career in Traffic or Highway Patrol. The few times they'd spoken he'd been as polite and eager as any other young cop. Now the man was going to be one more name on the memorial wall.

Whatever else Carelli had been, he deserved better than to be shot in the back, no matter what he'd done. No one deserved to be murdered. If he had been on the take then he should have paid for his crime and Justice should have been served.

If he had been… Ironside was convinced he was, but there had been no hint of anything like that before the shooting. That fact was hard to reconcile, and no easier after the funeral and the wake. How had he missed something so important?

Was that what was sitting on his shoulders making him feel so disagreeable today? The knowledge that he should have seen this, and he hadn't.

Reese was looking at him, his expression full of sadness.

'I looked, just like you asked,' he said, and edge on bitterness in his voice. 'But I don't know Chief, there were a few people I hadn't expected, and a few I didn't recognise, but no one stood out.'

'Any names?'

Carl shook his head again.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'There was nothing to see. Just people mourning the loss of a son, brother or friend.' He was quiet again for a few moments, then made a visible effort to move on. 'What about you?'

Ironside gave a long sigh.

'I had more luck,' he said. 'I agree that it was mostly family and colleagues from the force. There were a few faces that I was surprised to see, but I didn't get a good look at everyone.'

Even though he had hoped for more, he also had to be realistic. The suspect might be brazen but he clearly wasn't stupid. The Chief still believed that the killer had been there, but everyone looked like they should do at a funeral. He was no further forward, not without those tapes. He was as unhappy as Dennis had been that the Channel 6 crew had chosen to intrude, but he couldn't help but be a little bit grateful that they had been there. At least he could go back and take another look, to see what he had missed the first time around.

'So no one stood out? And there was nothing unusual?'

Carl gave a disinterested shrug, and unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. Ironside watched him with disapproval. These young sergeants had no stamina these days. Wasn't there anyone he could rely on to keep up?

Reese noticed the look Ironside gave him. He cast a hopeful glance up at the clock.

'No!' the Chief said, answering the unasked question. 'There's too much work still to do to just go home!'

Carl muttered something about dinner and seeing his family, but Ironside was unrepentant.

'There is still work to do, and a lot of it,' he said.

'I know, but-'

'Next thing you'll be telling me is that you need a vacation!'

'Now you mention-'

Ironside silenced him with a stern look.

'We don't have time for vacations,' he said. 'I haven't had a vacation in twenty years.'

Carl looked suitably impressed, but also slightly amused.

'What?' Ironside demanded.

'I dread to think what would happen if you did take a vacation,' he said with a grin.

'Maybe I could, if I had competent sergeants I could rely on!' the Chief snapped.

Chagrined, Carl fell silent, but there was the slight hint of smile still on his face. Ironside sighed to himself, despairing of ever getting Reese to keep focused. He was a good cop, smart with people, he worked hard and was well-liked by his peers. He would go far, provided he kept pushing himself.

'We aren't finished here,' Ironside continued. 'The funeral.'

'I told you, there was nothing unusual.'

Ironside was about to add more about how policemen were trained to be aware at all times, and how they should be paying attention to everything, when Carl suddenly frowned, as if surprised.

'You know,' he said slowly. 'There was something odd.'

The Chief waited in silence for a few seconds.

'Well?' he demanded.

Whatever he was thinking about wasn't good, Ironside could tell that from the expression.

'It was Brown.'

There was a cold silence. Whatever the Chief had expected Reese to say, it was not connected to Ed Brown.

'Odd?' he asked. There was always the possibility that he had been wrong about Brown, and had let his emotions blind him to the facts. During the burial he'd checked on Ed every so often, partly out of professionalism, but also to see how the man was holding up. He had stood discretely to one side near the back, behind some others from the force, and as far away from Carelli's other friends and his family as possible while still being able to hear the service. As far as Ironside could tell, Ed had stared blankly at the coffin for the whole time, as if he was there in body but his mind was far away. The Chief didn't think he'd missed anything.

Carl hadn't replied.

'What do you mean odd?' Ironside demanded.

Carl didn't notice the Chief's worry, or if he did he made no comment. Instead, he pursed his lips, as if trying to think of a good way to say what he wanted to say.

'Spit it out, man!' Ironside growled, now getting annoyed. 'Odd. How?'

'He was just kinda standing there,' Carl said slowly, 'Brown, I mean. It was at the end, when everyone was leaving and he just stood there as if he was expecting the sky to fall on him. I was gonna go over, ask if he needed a ride back to town, but he looked so caught up with it all. I waited.'

Ironside forced himself to wait as well, giving Carl the chance to try and explain in his own way.

'Brown stood there as the others moved away, like he wasn't really there. Someone went past him, and I thought…'

Carl stopped again, and glanced at the Chief.

'The man looked right at Brown, and I'm not sure the kid even noticed. But it was odd, the way the other man did it, and that look. The way he glared, as if trying to get Brown's attention.'

'And did Ed react?' Ironside asked.

'Brown just kept on staring, I'm not sure he noticed. But it was, well, odd. Almost as if-' Carl stopped, shaking his head.

'What?' the Chief asked. 'What were you going to say about him?'

'It couldn't be right,' Carl said. 'But the man looked…' He made a helpless gesture with his hands. 'It was almost threatening, y'know. Or aggressive. Or deliberate.' He gave a tense shake of his head. 'I don't know how to describe it. But it was a real odd thing to do.'

'This man?' said the Chief carefully. 'Did you know him, had you seen him before?'

'You know, that's the strangest thing,' Carl said, and shook his head again. 'I'm not sure I'd have noticed him at all if he'd not done that. He kinda faded into the background.'

'Was he a cop?'

Carl shook his head.

'Where had he been standing?' Ironside demanded. 'What did he look like?'

'I don't know, but I kinda had him down as a member of the family. I don't know why. He had that look about him.' Carl paused, looking up to the ceiling for inspiration. Once more, Ironside held his temper, trying to hold his frustration in check. He sensed that this was important, and didn't want to spoil it with an ill-timed word. 'Medium height. Medium build. He had a hat on by then, and it obscured his face.'

Ironside scowled.

'Is that all?' he replied.

'You think he's important?' asked Carl.

The Chief didn't reply and Sergeant Reese was wise enough not to say anything more. For some reason this odd little incident made Ironside wary, very wary.

'Threatening you say?' he asked at last. 'Threatening, like…?'

'I don't know, Chief! It was just a moment.'

'Try!' Ironside insisted. 'You said you thought he was a member of the family. When he looked at Ed…?'

Again, Carl shook his head. 'I don't know, Chief.'

The last thing he wanted to do was put words in the mouth of his sergeant, but the Chief was too intrigued to let this go.

'Try,' he repeated.

This time, Carl looked to the ceiling again, and frowned as if trying to concentrate. The office felt very quiet. Ironside waited, aware of the gentle hum of the traffic and the tick of the clock.

'Brown was standing there, oblivious to everything,' Carl said slowly. His voice was unexpectedly low, and laced with emotion. 'The look on his face, Chief. I've never seen anyone look like that before.' Reese gave a soft breath that wasn't quite a sigh. 'And I thought about his girl, losing her like that, so sudden. And what it would be like if I lost Marie, or Tina. I mean, police work is a dangerous job, you never really know if you're gonna make it home. But you never think you'll respond to a call and find your wife or child dead on the floor.'

Carl stopped, as if searching for the right words. He swallowed hard.

'Brown was standing there like he'd lost the will to carry on and this man walked past. He gave him this odd stare, harsh, uncompromising. It was like he was surprised at the kid for showing up there.' Carl looked at Ironside. 'And I thought "he's family" because they would blame Brown. Just like the others do.'

'Blame Brown?' asked the Chief sharply.

Carl shrugged, rather unhelpfully, Ironside thought.

'I can't be sure,' he said, 'but that was the impression. It was just for a moment. It was… odd.'

In the following silence, Ironside thought carefully about what Carl had said, not pleased with the implications.

It was the word "blame" that he disliked the most. Because that made it sound like the man knew Brown was involved in what had happened at the Rum-Runner. Perhaps he was a relative and angry at the man who'd been named by the gossips as at fault. But Ironside didn't like that idea. The man had recognised Ed and gone up to him deliberately, that's what Carl had told him, but there had been no confrontation. Surely an angry family member would have lashed out, or said something at the very least.

But if he wasn't a cop, and he wasn't family, then he had no reason to think Ed was involved at all. Unless he'd seen him and was making sure Brown didn't recognised him in turn.

Ironside watched Reese as he thought about what he'd said.

'Do you think it's our man?' Carl asked. 'That he saw Brown at the hotel and was wanting to make sure the kid didn't recognise him.'

Ironside started to nod.

'But it's too much of a risk,' Reese said. 'I can see what you mean, going to the funeral, seeing if anyone recognises you. But to deliberately go up to the man who was…' Carl stopped suddenly. 'Oh.'

'What better way to make sure?' Ironside said.

Carl conceded the point with a grudging nod.

'But that's still an assumption,' Reese added. 'There could be other reasons.'

It was Ironside's turn to concede the point.

'We don't know for certain, that's true,' Ironside said. 'And we can't be sure of anything from here. But it would certainly fit with the MO of the suspect.'

Carl shivered.

'Andy was right,' he said softly. 'That is one seriously twisted son-of-a-'

'Sergeant!' There was a short pause before the Chief continued. 'We might be right or not. Either way, we need to find this man, even just to eliminate him as a suspect. What we need now is a good description.'

Ironside let his steely gaze rest on Reese, who looked more uncomfortable than before.

'Sorry, Chief,' he said, hanging his head slightly. 'I'm not sure I'd recognise him, I mean I could give you a rough description but-'

'-not much else?' Ironside added in an icy tone.

'He should be on those tapes,' Carl added quickly. 'That should help.'

'But the tapes aren't here,' Ironside pointed out.

'No, Chief.'

Ironside kept his steely stare on Reese for a few more moments before looking away. It wasn't Carl's fault that Sergeant Anderson was taking his time. If those tapes were here, right now, then they could get on with figuring out who that man was. Instead, they were stuck waiting. He wanted answers, not lingering questions.

'Do you have anything that will help the investigation, sergeant?' Ironside asked, emphasising the final word.

Reese gestured to the thin file he'd brought.

'It's not much,' he admitted. 'But I asked around again.'

Ironside picked up the folder and started to skim through it.

'You managed to get more information this time? How?'

'Being tactful,' Reese replied, with a little more irony than necessary. 'You were right, the men on the raid had loosened up after the funeral. I didn't speak to Andy, or the other four that knew Carelli, they were at the wake. But I found everyone else.'

'Including Brown?'

Carl nodded.

'I offered him a ride from the cemetery. I asked him.'

Ironside was immediately on his guard, not liking the casual way Carl spoke.

'What do you mean asked?'

Reese shrugged.

'On the drive back, I asked him what he remembered and he-'

'You did what?' said Ironside, disbelieving. 'You just asked him? Straight up?'

Carl shrugged again, this time with less confidence.

'You said to find out.'

Ironside looked at him, aghast. Carl gulped loudly, his eyes wide.

'What happened to tactful!' Ironside demanded loudly.

'But- But you said you trusted him!'

'I said I trusted him, I didn't say tell him everything!'

'I didn't!'

'What did you say?'

Carl gave a tight, nervous shrug.

'I said you needed to know what he remembered. That you were still investigating what happened and you wanted all the details. From the very start.'

Ironside gave a low grunt. Maybe that wasn't too bad.

'And?' he asked. 'What did he say?'

Carl pointed at the file in the Chief's hand.

'He remembered more than most of them. What he said agrees with what Andy and I remember.'

'Carelli?'

Carl looked glum.

'He's still cut up about it,' he said. 'But he knew who Carelli spoke to and filled in a few gaps.'

'And?'

'I'm not sure it helps narrow it down. Carelli spoke to everyone. And he was out getting coffee. He had plenty of opportunities to tip someone off. Too many.'

That was exactly what Ironside had feared. Finding out precisely what had happened was next to impossible, after the fact.

He read through the rest of the report in silence. It was more concise, it had more details, and a lot of the gaps were filled. But there was nothing to help them.

He put it back down on the desk, frowning, thinking about what to do next. Carl shifted in his seat, attracting the Chief's attention.

'You know, Chief,' Carl said slowly, fidgeting with the arm of the chair. 'I think I might have changed my mind about him.'

Ironside raised his eyebrows, taken aback. Was Carl meaning who he thought he was meaning? He waited for Reese to continue.

'I'd not spoken to him much before today,' Carl said. 'But he kept it together at the funeral. I'm not sure I could have done that if I had been in his position, not after everything that's happened. And he has a good eye for details. He answered all the questions, and he sounded honest and sincere, like he wanted to help.' Reese paused to glance out of the window. 'I can see why you like him. And why you trusted his word. The kid's a good cop, and maybe I was wrong to judge him so quickly.'

Carl noticed the look Ironside was giving him and gave a contrite smile.

'Yeah, I know, Chief. You don't have to say I told you so.'

Ironside debated doing exactly that, but decided that it was unfair to put Carl in an awkward position. But he couldn't help feeling pleased. He was beginning to wonder if he was the one who was wrong. He accepted Reese's statement with a nod.

'So what do we do next?' Carl asked, obviously grateful for not to dwelling on his admission.

That was straightforward enough to answer.

'We need to see those tapes.'

'I was afraid you might say that!'

'And if they won't come to us-' he said.

'We will have to go to them,' finished Carl. He slumped down in his seat. 'I don't want to go to Channel 6.'

It was a sentiment that Ironside agreed with. When he'd told Anderson to get a copy of them, he'd envisaged the man getting there and back here before the wake had ended. They shouldn't still be chasing them. It should have been simple, but nothing to do with this case was as simple as he thought. And just when they needed a break as well.

'If Andy's not managed it, I doubt I'll do any better,' Reese added.

That was also true. But he did have one ace to play.

'I'll go over there myself,' Ironside said. 'And we'll see what they say to that!'

The full wrath of the Chief of Police was usually what a TV reporter wanted to avoid. Hopefully, he could get things moving along a little faster.

'Flamin' vultures,' he muttered, thinking back to his conversation with Dennis.

'Without those vultures,' said Carl, 'we wouldn't have any tapes at all.'

Ironside favoured him with a steely and furious frown. So Sergeant Reese was right, but that was no reason to go and say it out loud. Then he gave a thin smile.

'I want those tapes,' he said. 'I wanted them three hours ago! So let's get ourselves over there and see what we can find.'

'Sure thing, Chief.'

Ironside hesitated, his next decision balanced on a knife edge. He knew what he needed to do, and the Commissioner had been adamant that Brown was still suspended. But considering what Carl had told him, Ed was a witness and might be able to recognise the man from the funeral. And if they couldn't get hold of those tapes, then they could at least watch them at the Channel 6 office. That would give them something to go on.

He pushed away the thought of what Sewell, and Murray as well, would think of his taking Brown along to the news station. There were procedures, after all. But catching a cop-killer trumped procedures every time. He'd have to find a way of smoothing it over with the Commissioner later.

'We'll collect Brown on the way,' he said.

'You sure?' Reese asked, only to get a ferocious frown in response.

'I don't know what else he might know,' Ironside said. 'So I want to talk to him myself. Now.' He arched his eyebrows. 'And if that means taking him along on the investigation, then I'll take him along on the investigation. And the first thing I'm going to ask is about that man. Maybe Brown was paying more attention than you!'

Duly chastened, Carl didn't reply.

'So what are you waiting for, Sergeant Reese?' Ironside demanded. 'Let's go!'

Keeping on walking was getting harder. Keeping upright was getting harder as well. The palm of his right hand was burning, he felt bruised and shaken and disoriented.

They had thrown him out. Ed could hardly believe the words, even though he had been repeating them to himself since it had happened. The look on Sam's face was enough to stop him trying to go back straight away. He wasn't stupid enough to do that right now. He'd have to wait until it was much, much later and the others would be asleep.

Around him, the mist gathered in the streets and there was the first hint of rain. He kept going as there wasn't a lot else he could do. He had no money for a hotel or a cab, hanging around the department would just raise awkward questions, he didn't want to go back to the boarding house, or to ask someone else for help.

It crossed his mind that he could ask the Chief. He was a good man, and he would never turn away someone in trouble, Ed was sure. But he didn't want to show up at his door like this, first because he'd have to explain what happened, but mostly because he had no idea where Ironside lived. His house was probably way over the other side of town and it would take him half the night to walk there.

Ed sighed. Maybe he should go and cause a disturbance at one of the local bars and get himself thrown into the drunk tank for the night. That might not help his career, but at least he'd get somewhere warm and dry to wait until morning.

He shook his head, lifting his hand to rub his eyes, but felt the painful burn of the scrape on his palm. He flexed his hand gently. Another choice was to go to the hospital and get the cuts cleaned up. That would take a few hours.

But even the thought of a warm room and some painkillers at ER wouldn't be enough to make him go there. He hated the hospital. That was where she'd died and he would rather sit in the pouring rain, bleeding out on the grass than go there tonight.

These were all valid choices, but in reality Ed knew what he was going to do. He was going to do what he'd done for the previous few nights. He was going to go to the park and slowly walk round in unsteady circles until it was daylight.

And once it was day again? What was he going to do next? Walking round in circles wouldn't help then. Ed had no idea, but he had hours to figure it out.

The park was close by, and walking through the gates was strangely comforting. At least he knew his way around. It would be just like before, and he could take it slow, he was in no rush, he had all night.

Ed glanced down at his watch to see how much time he had to spend and stumbled to a halt in shock.

It was broken.

The watch-face had a thick crack down the length of the glass, part of it was missing and there were scuffs around the edges of the rest, making it difficult to read the dial. A wave of regret mixed with stinging guilt swept through him as he stared, hardly believing his misfortune. It must have been caught underneath him when he'd fallen on the sidewalk.

He swore under his breath, rubbing it in a vain hope that he could brush away the marks. Anne would have been furious that he'd damaged it. She'd only wanted him to wear it off-duty, but he'd argued that there was no point in owning a watch if you didn't use it. Now, it looked like she had been right. He shouldn't use something so precious and irreplaceable. But he wanted to wear it, and keep a small part of what could-have-been close to him every day.

Thanks to that decision, this was just one more thing he couldn't fix. What was he going to do? How was he going to get it mended, he couldn't even afford a cab fare to a funeral or to buy a packet of cigarettes.

Ed clenched his fist in impotent fury. It was too late, and he was a fool.

With a slow shake of his head he started to walk again, trying to push the image of his broken watch out of his mind.

This was one day he wished would end sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, even if he couldn't make out the time on the watch, he knew there were still hours left until he could go home.

Ed rubbed his hand over his face again and pinched the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb. For the first time in days he wanted to close his eyes and make it all go away, and instead he was back in the park. It crossed his mind to take a bench and crash out, but he didn't like that idea, not just because the drunks around the park got very proprietary about who got to sleep where, as if there was some sort of hidden hierarchy. It didn't feel safe out here tonight. He wasn't sure why, but it felt as if everyone was about to turn on him.

He shook his head, trying to reassure himself that he was being paranoid. Sam's outburst and the unexpected way he'd been ejected by force from the boarding house was making him jumpy, that was all. No one else in the world cared what he did. He wasn't sure if that was a comfort. In any major city it was easy to feel alone, isolated and uncertain. Ed had never felt it as keenly as tonight, even though the heavy, humid air felt like it was suffocating him.

He was lost. That was the only word he could come up with that came close to how he was feeling. Lost.

Once again, Ed shook his head at the thought. He knew exactly where he was: The park by the boarding house, and all he had to do was keep going until the morning when the others were out at work and go back home then. Then he would get some food, and try and figure out what to do next.

It'll be okay, the Chief will make sure of it. The phrase felt more like an accusation. Somehow, Ed doubted it would be okay.

What would he do if he was fired? What was there for him except being a policeman? After discharge from the Marines, he'd been certain that's what his life was going to be about, protecting people and serving a city he loved. What did he have, if he didn't have that?

Exhausted and defeated, Ed slumped down to sit on an empty bench, knowing that sooner or later one of the drunk-chorus would come along and claim it. He stared up at the thick grey clouds that gathered relentlessly. Before long, one of the old men spotted him and staggered over, swearing and sloshing his bottle.

Not wanting a confrontation, he left the man to settle onto his wooden bed in peace. Ed started slowly along one of the paths, knowing he looked as wretched and despondent as he felt. No one in the park would bother, no one in the world would care. It was getting darker, the rain was starting to build, the light mist turning to larger drops that spattered on the ground with a soft hiss. There were noises and footsteps behind him and people talking nearby, but he ignored it. He didn't care anymore. He was tired. And hungry. And sore. And lost.

Could this day get any worse?

Wrapped up in his own thoughts and what had happened, Ed kept walking.