A/N - As always, thanks for your messages and reviews. It's always fun and interesting to find out what other people think of what's going on. Extra lovely thanks to my new friend EezeyWriter for the reviews and the interesting discussions -x-

A/N II - There'll be no update next week as it's my birthday soon and I'm off work as well.

A/N III - And you might have noticed that the chapter count has gone up to 16... :D

Chapter 11

This is the Voice of San Francisco

The Chief drove quickly through the streets towards the Channel 6 Building, dividing his attention between driving, giving orders over the radio to Control and making himself not worry about Ed Brown. The recent events at the boarding house kept coming back to him. He acknowledged the disgust and anger the memories caused, but focused on the new information he had discovered about the case.

Brown and Carelli's rooms had been searched, and very professionally. That implied that someone was looking for something important, even though Carl's initial search three days ago had turned up nothing. There was clearly a connection, as those two men were involved in the shooting at the Rum Runner, so it must be connected to the case and, most likely, to the mysterious man that had been at the funeral.

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that the man was the suspect they were searching for. Carl's description of what had happened fitted with his own idea of the nature of their target: Brazen, self-assured and completely without conscience. They had to bring him in, as fast as they could.

The break-ins gave them more information, but they also raised more questions, not least as to what the man had been looking for. Ironside hadn't asked for more details of Carelli's room from Reese, but he'd said it was the same as Brown's, and whoever had done that was looking for something small. The mattress had been ripped, even Ed's clothes searched. The room was a mess, and Ed had no idea that all his belongings were now all in pieces and part of a crime scene. That was going to come as a nasty surprise when they told him. Almost everything in the room had been examined and dismantled, even the photograph.

Ironside shook his head sadly, thinking about the picture and the happy glow about the couple. He knew how it felt to smile like that and feel that the future could only hold hope and joy. And he knew how it felt to almost die of a broken heart. There wasn't a day that passed when he didn't think about her and what she would think of what he was doing. He didn't acknowledge it very often, but it was always there, perhaps in a turn of phrase or the way someone else moved or looked; a barely-heard whisper in the back of his mind that murmured her name and he'd wonder how his life would have been, and what she would have said or done in those circumstances. But he didn't usually let himself wallow in the fantasy. Especially not when there was work that needed his attention.

The Chief glanced to the radio.

There was no word from Carl. Time was running out. He had no idea how the search was going and anything could have happened to Brown in the meantime. Perhaps he had been wrong to let Carl do this on his own, even though his reasoning about calling it in had been sound and his instinct was telling him to trust that his sergeant would get it done. Why did he get the feeling that they were already too late?

None of the thinking helped the Chief feel better, and by the time he arrived at his destination, his mood had plummeted from bad, through worse, to the trademarked Ironside-version of grim.

The Channel 6 main office was a tall, distinctively modern building that fitted in well to the commercial area of the city. Ironside parked the Plymouth at the side, in one of the spaces the news vans used, and showed his badge to the security guard who came up and challenged him. The man must have sensed that the Chief meant business and let it slide.

Sergeant Anderson stood, lurking by the main door, looking extremely sorry for himself. When he noticed Ironside his expression changed, as if was expecting to be fired on the spot. The Chief glared at him, tempted to make that thought come true. The man's errors today had cost them valuable time, and possibly even more.

Anderson gave him a tentative nod of greeting.

'I don't want to hear it,' Ironside snapped.

'I know, Chief,' Anderson replied, looking genuinely remorseful. 'I messed this up. I'm sorry.'

The Chief gave a huff, shaking his head.

'I expected better. A lot better. Sergeant!'

Anderson didn't say anything, which was just as well. But before they went inside, Ironside gave him a brief summary of what had happened, what they had learned about the man at the funeral, the confrontation at the boarding house and where Carl currently was. The Chief placed a deliberate emphasis on the fact that if they had had the tapes he'd wanted, then the whole mess could have been avoided. Anderson looked contritely at the ground as he talked.

'So I am in no mood to pull my punches,' Ironside finished, the warning tone evident in his voice. 'What went wrong, Sergeant?'

'Rachel Schiller,' Anderson said, as if that explained all his woes. 'I tried everything I could think of, all the tricks in the book, and some new ones. She was adamant. And they have excellent lawyers.'

Ironside growled in annoyance. He'd thought Anderson was up to this task. Clearly he'd been wrong.

'What does she want?' he asked.

Anderson shrugged.

'I think she wants you to come and ask her yourself.'

'Well, that's what she's got,' the Chief replied. 'So let's see how much she likes it!'

With that, he swept inside.

Channel 6 was a lot like the police department, it never slept. Just as there was always crime, there was always news as well. It was evening, so Ironside assumed that this was a relatively quiet time, but there were still a lot of people milling around in the foyer, and there was a lively buzz to the place that you didn't get in a police building.

Ironside made straight for the main desk, where a middle-aged lady was poring over something important on her desk.

'Miss Schiller, please,' he said to the receptionist.

The lady looked up, unperturbed and not particularly welcoming. She flicked a quick, disgruntled look at Sergeant Anderson and looked back to the Chief with a frown.

'And you are?' she asked.

'Robert Ironside,' he replied. The Chief wondered if she recognised him, after all most newsmen in the city knew the Chief of Police. The woman gave a pointed glance to the clock on the wall before she spoke again.

'And do you have an appointment?'

Ironside gave an inner sigh, grinding his teeth. If he had doubts before this, they vanished. This whole charade here was going to be an exercise in how not to lose his temper.

As he thought of a reasonably polite reply to such a flamin' ridiculous question, he automatically looked down at what the lady had been reading so avidly as he approached, seeing the bright pictures of a fashion magazine. He debated whether or not to flash his badge and just cut straight to the chase. It would be easy to storm up there and get what he needed, but he didn't want to stir up more trouble tonight. He wanted those tapes.

'I think I'm expected,' he said stiffly. 'So why don't you asked her and find out?'

The receptionist gave him an appraising look then picked up her phone and dialled.

As she did, Ironside looked around, seeing the big glass windows at the front and the night-life beyond, people walking on the street and the lights of the passing cars. Inside, it was bright and dynamic, with large pictures of some of the best-known station reporters. The red-and-blue Channel 6 logo took centre stage on the back wall, proudly reminding everyone who walked in exactly where they were: the world of Channel 6 News, the voice of San Francisco.

The receptionist was still waiting for an answer and Ironside was on the edge of pulling out his badge and storming up to the office, when she spoke.

'Rachel? A Mr Ironside has arrived at reception for you.'

The Chief didn't hear the response, but the receptionist's cool, professional look changed to one of surprise.

'Of course,' she said. 'And I will.'

She put the phone down and smiled politely again at the Chief.

'Room 330, third floor,' she said, pointing to the back of the foyer where there were two elevators. 'Turn right, through the double doors, turn second right again and it's the fourth door on the left.'

The Chief nodded his thanks and moved off, Anderson beside him.

He followed the instructions: third floor, right, through the double doors, second right to the fourth door on the left to Room 330. He knocked loudly. When there was no immediate response he went in anyway.

The room was a little like a division office downtown. There were a number of seats and tables, each one with papers, folders and typewriters on them, some filing cabinets by the wall, and bookcases and drawers at regular intervals. At the back were two larger private offices, each with large glass windows so whoever was inside could see out.

He could imagine what this would be like during the day, full of people busy working, but there were only three people here now. Two of them, both men, were sitting at their desks, completely absorbed with whatever they were working on, and didn't even bother to look up as the Chief and Sergeant Anderson walked in.

The last one was a woman who stood in the middle of the room: Rachel Schiller.

They had met in passing only a few times before, and always at some sort of social function, a fundraiser or a dinner. She was a beautiful woman, no one could ever say otherwise, in her early thirties and slender, with long, blond hair that had a hint of gold. She wore a fashionably short-cut plain green dress in a classic style, and a pair of grey heels that added two inches to her height.

She greeted him with a reserved nod, standing casually, waiting. She looked calm and thoughtful, and her smile brimmed with anticipation at their meeting.

Ironside stepped forward to greet her. From the angle she held out her hand, it looked as if she expected him to kiss it. Instead, he shook it firmly. He thought he detected a hint of amusement in her steel-blue eyes as they looked at each other. He didn't let go of her hand, waiting until she let go first.

'Good evening,' he said calmly.

The amused look grew more pronounced, and he reminded himself not to underestimate this woman. She had an agenda, just like he did.

'It's a pleasure to finally get the chance to make your acquaintance properly,' she replied. They were still shaking hands, then she appeared to realise it and pulled her hand away in a self-conscious manner. 'And to what do I owe this pleasure?'

In spite of the situation, and the urgency, Ironside deliberately kept his stance and posture relaxed.

'I think we both know why I'm here, Miss Schiller' he said.

She gave him a forced, sweet smile that she didn't mean.

'Then why don't we step into the office? And you had better call me Rachel.'

'And you can call me Mr Ironside,' he said gruffly. Her mouth twitched as she stopped a smile at his response.

She gestured to one of the glass-fronted rooms, and let him precede her through. Anderson made no move to follow, just watched for a moment then sat down at one of the empty desks to wait, sitting back with his arms crossed. Presumably he'd been through this already today.

In the office, she moved round to sit behind the table, and Ironside took the seat opposite her. He looked around with mild surprise, this didn't look like the kind of office he'd expected. It was full of books and filing cabinets, with pictures on the wall of various important headlines. There were also a couple of writing awards sitting on the bookcase, and a set of golf clubs in a bag propped up against the wall. The stubs of three cigars sat in the ashtray, making the whole place smell like a bar, and there was a loud, persistent hum of what was likely the air conditioning.

'I like what you've done with your office,' he remarked.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as she tried to hide her reaction.

'I'm borrowing it so we can talk in private,' she said.

'I don't give interviews.'

'Never?'

'And this is all off the record,' he said firmly.

She gave a theatrical sigh at that, but couldn't have expected anything else. Her eyes flicked down the the desk, then back up to meet his in a cool gaze. She smiled again. This time it was more friendly.

'So what would it take to get you on the record?'

Ironside could take a good guess as to what she hoped the answer would be. Those flamin' tapes. He hated being in this sort of position and was in no mood to mince words.

'I'm not here for that.'

'What are you here for?'

'There was a Channel 6 news crew at a funeral earlier today,' he said. 'I would like a copy of the tapes they made.'

She held his gaze, with a hint of a smirk on her face.

'Have you not seen the news tonight, Mr Ironside?'

He shook his head.

'Too much to do.'

That information interested her, as her expression changed.

'As it happens, we didn't run it,' she said. 'Something else came up that the editor liked better.' She gave him a coquettish look, obviously enjoying herself in this conversation. 'We might even have copied over those tapes by now, you know what it's like in a place like this.'

They were silent, and she reached up to twist the end of her hair round her fingers in an absent-minded kind of way. Ironside frowned.

'If you don't have any copies then I'm wasting my time.'

He shifted forward, as if to stand up and leave, when she started.

'We might do,' she said.

'Might isn't what I need. So if you'll excuse-'

'Don't you want to let me check?'

'I'm sure you already know,' he said shrewdly. 'Do you have a copy?' She gave a quick, conciliatory nod. 'And are you going to let me see it?'

Miss Schiller didn't reply, just licked her lips, smiling at him.

'It's a straightforward enough question,' Ironside said. 'Channel 6 has helped the police before.'

'Why don't you get a court order, if you're so keen so see it?'

'I shouldn't need to,' he said. And it would take too much time, he added to himself. He thought about Carl and wondered if he'd found Ed yet. He knew that time was of the essence and he needed to get this done. He leaned forward, maintaining eye contact. He had no desire to play games, and he didn't want to have to do this the hard way. 'What is it that you want?'

'You live up to your reputation for directness,' she said.

'And you haven't answered my question.'

'It's very, very simple, she said, relaxing back in her seat, still twirling her golden hair. Ironside wondered if she was doing that just to annoy him some more, to see how far she could get before he let his infamous temper out. He was not going to let her win. 'You see, I smell a story. And I want it.'

'You do?' he asked innocently. 'And what makes you think there's a story?'

'Journalists have instincts as well,' she said. 'And when I can get the Chief of Police to deign to come down to the Channel 6 office, just to get some tapes of a little filler section we filmed on the off-chance that we were going to run short tonight, then there is definitely a story.'

When she put it like that, he couldn't blame her for wanting answers. He might not have liked it, or even approved, but at least he understood it.

'I'm not sure that withholding information from the police is the best way to get what you want,' he said.

'I had to do something,' she said and glanced towards Andy, sitting quietly outside. Ironside followed her gaze, disgruntled and wondering what the sergeant had said to pique her interest so much.

'He's not the most subtle cop I've met,' she continued. 'We've run him in circles all afternoon. I suppose he tried his best.'

Ironside felt a stab of anger at her attitude. She had no idea what was at stake tonight and the trouble she could have caused.

'What do you mean?' he demanded.

'The first thing he did was use your name. And I wondered how much you wanted it. I guess I've found out.'

'I guess you have,' the Chief agreed in a low voice, casting a chilly glare to ward where Anderson was sitting. The sergeant didn't notice. Miss Schiller smiled at his response, still twirling her hair, her head cocked slightly to one side. She waited.

'You have your answer,' he said. 'But I need those tapes.'

'Need?' she asked. Ironside nodded. 'Why?'

She sounded surprised, and the Chief wondered how far he would have to go.

'It seems we both need something,' he said, ignoring her questions.

'Quid pro quo?' she said. 'But I've got what I needed. You're here, aren't you. This is a big one.'

'And I'm sure you'll like to be the one who breaks it.'

She shrugged, still giving him that smile.

'And to do that,' he added coldly, 'you'll need my cooperation.'

The smile faltered, but only for a moment.

'But there is a story?'

'A young officer was murdered in the line of duty by person or persons unknown,' he said, keeping the emotion out of his voice. 'That's a story already.'

'If that's the case then why are you so keen to see those tapes?'

'You should have figured it out,' he said. 'You and your journalistic instincts.'

She didn't like that one little bit. She scowled.

'You want to know who exactly was at the funeral,' she said. 'That's obvious. But "why" is less obvious.'

'I'm sure you have your theories.'

'Of course I do.'

'Do many others?'

She gave a sudden, angry huff, and the way she did it told the Chief what her answer was going to be before she spoke.

'I want this story first,' she said. 'I want the byline.'

So the cards were on the table. In other circumstances, he might have continued to fence pretty words with her. But not tonight, not after what had happened and not while he still didn't know if Ed was okay. The idea that she had delayed the investigation because she wanted a story to boost her profile infuriated him. If she'd been more cooperative, perhaps the evening could have gone very differently.

He glared steadily at her, deliberately not looking away. Although she appeared not to care about what he was feeling, she started to twirl her hair more slowly, and her gazed flicked around the room. Various choice phrases passed through his mind starting with how he was going to go directly past her boss, to the boss of her boss and demand an explanation.

He never got to speak as the phone suddenly rang. Miss Schiller jumped in surprise and the tension in the room broke.

It rang three times before she picked it up.

'Yes?' She looked at him, and Ironside was filled with a mix of dread, hope and impatience. 'Yes.' A pause. 'Yes.'

She held out the phone.

'One of your sergeants,' she said. 'He sounds anxious.'

The Chief snatched the receiver out of her hand.

'Ironside!' he growled.

'We found him,'said Carl. 'I called as soon as I could.' The words sent a powerful wave of relief through him. He tried not to react, aware that Rachel Schiller was watching him intently, but he gave a long, grateful sigh. He wanted to know what had happened, all the details right now, but restrained himself. Speaking about this in an office with a journalist listening to every word was not appropriate.

'Well?'

'We're on our way back to my place,' Carl told him, and Ironside briefly wondered how Marie was going to react to this unexpected turn of events. 'He didn't want to go to the hospital.'

That wasn't much of a surprise, considering. But the word "hospital" rang alarm bells of worry.

'And?' Ironside growled, his tone lower with each word, wanting Carl to hurry up and get on with it. He thought back to the boarding house, and those four men who's ill-considered and selfish reaction had left Ed in this position, what ever position it was.

'Well-' there was an unpleasant pause, '-someone got to him before we did.'

Ironside's stomach dropped, still very aware that Miss Schiller was watching him and his reaction to the phone call with total, absorbed concentration. It might have been flattering in other circumstances, but he was growing more concerned with each syllable Carl uttered.

'Meaning?'

'He didn't go down easy, Chief. They worked him over pretty good.'

Ironside swore to himself. This, after everything else the man had gone through recently. He was so furious that he didn't dare open his mouth in case he let the whole of his anger down the telephone in one long roar. Slowly, he gave a long, low growl in the back of his throat, and he heard Carl take a sharp breath, anticipating the Chief's reaction.

'Nothing's broken,' Carl put in. 'He's battered and bruised. It looks bad, but he's still standing.'

Ironside was silent for a moment before he squeezed the next word out.

'And?' he asked.

The a very slight hesitation before Reese answered sent a shiver of worry down his back.

'They were looking for something,' Carl said. 'Pockets all ripped out, jacket's cut open.'

Searched. He'd been right, whoever had broken in to those two rooms hadn't found what they were looking for. And it was unlikely in the extreme that they found whatever it was on Ed. That meant Ed was still a target. But at least he wasn't lost anymore, and not hospitalised. Carl could be relied on to look after him. Those were things he could be grateful for.

He glanced at Miss Schiller, who was still looking up at him, her eyes never leaving his face, drinking in every expression and all the details. He felt examined and on show. It wasn't uncomfortable anymore, it was rude. With a slow deliberation, he looked back, looking right into her eyes, challenging her to keep on staring. She lasted for almost ten seconds before faltering, and looking down to the desk.

'Thank you for letting me know,' Ironside said.

'Sure, Chief. We'll get him back and get our doctor to give him the once over.' Reese gave a low sigh, filled with worry. 'We should let him rest and talk to him tomorrow.'

That surprised Ironside, Reese knew how important this was, and knew they had to push.

'Tomorrow?'

'I'm not sure the kid can think straight tonight,' Reese added.

Ironside didn't like the sound of that, both from a professional view and a personal one. But Carl knew what he was doing, he knew how serious this was and how urgently they needed the information, the suspect was dangerous and they had to find him quickly. He wouldn't suggest something like that unless he thought it was the correct choice. But what did that say about Brown? Ironside didn't like the implications.

'Okay, Carl,' he said, trusting his sergeant's judgement. 'I'll be there early and we'll see what we can find out.'

'Sure thing, Chief,' Reese said. 'And if anything changes, I'll call.'

The phone clicked and Ironside slowly replaced that receiver. He looked back at Miss Schiller, who was pretending to be uninterested, still twirling her hair slowly between her fingers. She looked pleased with herself.

His temper flared, and he felt like shouting as loudly as he could. But instead he didn't. He wasn't going to play that game tonight. A fine young officer had been attacked, his room ransacked, his belongings broken, and the information he needed to help sort it all out was being kept from him by someone who was angling after a story.

He needed what she had. He had to get to the bottom of this, and getting angry was not going to help. It was just what she wanted, and he could imagine the sort of headlines tomorrow if he did.

'An important call, Mr Ironside?' she asked. 'Anything you'd like to share?'

He looked coldly at her, debating his next move. He had to push, upset the balance, and get her to surrender those tapes. What leverage did he have, except that she wanted the story? How far would she go to get it, he wondered. Was she as ruthless as she pretended to be?

Time to find out.

'What if I was to say that a good man, a young officer with a bright future, was assaulted and injured because I didn't have the information I needed,' he said. 'A man's life is in the balance, because I didn't have what's on that tape.'

He watched her response carefully, and she looked shaken by the statement and tried to hide it as best she could.

'Really?' she replied in disbelief.

'If my sergeant had been back with those tapes when I needed it, perhaps what happened afterwards would have been avoided.'

'But you can't blame-'

Ironside deliberately interrupted.

'But I can blame you for not cooperating when we asked.' He let an edge of contempt leak into his tone. 'I know any number of journalists who are happy to take collateral damage as they climb to the top. Have I've found another one?'

That hurt, Ironside could see from the look of shock and discomfort that flashed across her face. She didn't reply.

'As far as I can see, you thought about what you could gain rather than what you could give.'

'My work isn't about giving anything,' she snapped. 'Just like yours'

'My work is about finding the truth,' he replied. 'I can only use the information I have at the time.'

'You're talking about some tapes,' she said, shrugging dismissively. 'I think you are taking this too seriously.'

Her response surprised him.

'This might be a game to you, just a chance to get your name higher up the page. But it's not a game to the people in the cross-hairs.'

'You are over-reacting.'

His next words were spoken calmly, but his tone carried the intensity of his cold anger.

'You put a chance for a scoop before everything else. You've not paid for that. Tonight, one of my officers has.' He looked at her, wanting to see her response. 'So you tell me how I should react.'

She was looking more uncomfortable with every passing moment.

'You don't know-'

'True,' he said, interrupting again, his voice rising in volume and anger as he spoke. 'I don't know what might have happened. But what I do know is that if these tapes had been in my office three hours ago, then perhaps it wouldn't have taken so long to help my officer.'

There was a long and very unpleasant pause. She looked away, unable to hold his gaze. But he watched her actions. She stopped twirling her hair, and started to fidget with one of the pens on the desk.

'Will he be okay?' she asked at last.

'I don't know,' Ironside answered honestly, knowing that his concern was showing by the way he spoke.

They sat in silence, the ambient noise of the office and the air conditioning filling the space. Miss Schiller looked upset, genuinely so, and that was unexpected. The Chief had known a large number of journalists over the years, and almost all of them would have acted in the same way as this woman, but few would have been sorry about it, no matter what the consequences. Looking at her now, the Chief wondered what to say.

As always, the best response to a situation was to push, but he took a few moments to think of the best way to proceed. He wanted those tapes, but he needed them quickly. Making an enemy of her wasn't going to help his cause. He sat back in the chair. She was just doing her job, as far as it went. He had to do his. But maybe they could find some sort of truce for the moment.

And they should start with a little honesty. It was a guess, but all things considered, air conditioning was never that loud.

'I would like you to turn the tape recorder off, Miss Schiller.'

She hesitated, on the verge of speaking, then her shoulders sagged and she reached down to the drawer of the desk. There was a click. The whirring noise stopped, leaving the room very quiet.

'And this is off the record,' he repeated. 'I would like to think I have your word.'

She nodded. He took a deep breath.

'Your idea was correct,' he said. 'We are looking for someone in connection to the shooting.'

'At a funeral?' she asked doubtfully.

'I suspect a connection,' he said. 'I want to identify everyone who was there. Your newsreel is too good an opportunity to pass up.'

She peered at him.

'The family? Or a friend?' Her expression changed. 'Or a member of your own department?'

She was quick, that was for sure, and Ironside nearly smiled.

'We have no proof of anything like that,' he said. 'But I want to see your tapes.'

'And I get nothing in return?'

'There's nothing to get,' he replied firmly. Then he gave her a very small smile. 'Nothing, tonight.'

There is was. His offer. Based on trust. She looked curiously at him, eyebrows raised, then started to twirl the end of her hair again, very slowly.

'If that's not enough?'

'The we will be doing this through the official channels. With lawyers. No one is going to win like that.'

There was another silence. He watched her purse her lips, her hair being twirled round and round between her fingers.

Then without warning she reached for the telephone, and dialled.

'Hey, Suzie. It's Rachel. Yeah.' She looked at Ironside and smiled, the closest thing to a genuine smile he'd seen so far in their conversation. 'Yeah, look, those tapes from the outdoor you did today. Yeah. I know, I liked it too, but I'm not the boss.' There was a burst of talking form the other end. 'Exactly. I know but there's no arguing sometimes. Can I get them now? Yeah.' She gave a little laugh. 'I know, but you should let me worry about that. Yeah. Later!'

She put the phone down.

'A copy is on it's way up from the store,' she said.

It was the Chief's turn to give a genuine smile.

'Thank you, Miss Schiller.'

'I thought I told you to call me Rachel, Mr Ironside,' she said.

'Then thank you, Rachel.'

Her smiled grew softer.

'And I hope you get what you need.'

'So do I,' he replied heavily, 'so do I.'

She looked ruefully back at him and nodded.

'And maybe you'll get a lead?'

'We might.'

She hesitated for a moment, licking her lips.

'And I hope your man is okay,' she said very quietly.

The Chief was quiet for a long moment before speaking.

'I hope so too,' he replied.

This evening hadn't turned out the way he'd thought it would. But now he was getting back on track. Armed with those tapes, he could get on with what he needed for the investigation. He could go through them with Anderson tonight, and eliminate whoever he could. Tomorrow, he'd get Carl to take a look, and Ed…

And Ed?

Ironside thought over what little information Reese had given him. Brown had been attacked, searched, and injured badly enough to warrant a check up from the doctor. More worryingly, Carl had insisted that Ed needed a chance to recover before Ironside spoke him. I'm not sure the kid can think straight tonight. That wasn't a decision Carl would take lightly.

It would be hard for a young cop to come back after something like this, his confidence would be in pieces, even in normal circumstances. But after everything else Ed had been through recently? The suspension? The shooting of friend? The death of his fianceé? Ironside wasn't sure Ed had the inner strength to keep going. People had their limits.

A few days ago, he'd wondered how far Brown could go, and how much he could take.

Tomorrow, he'd find out.