Chapter 19

Steve and Jesse stopped off at the Sheriff's office on the way to Bobby's house to pick up Steve's gun. To Jesse's relief, the burly sheriff wasn't there; he could sense an impending and potentially explosive confrontation between Steve and Consten, and was happy for it to be postponed as long as possible. A deputy processed the necessary paperwork and handed Steve back his gun.

Jesse pulled up outside the address they had been given for Bobby Phillips. Technically, it was his maternal uncle's house, his relatives having taken him in after his parents' death.

"Stay in the car, Jess, while I check this out," Steve ordered, automatically falling back into police routine. However, when he got round to the front of the car, Jesse was right behind him, smiling brightly when Steve shot a quizzical look his way.

"What part of 'stay in the car' didn't you understand, Jess?" he asked sarcastically.

"Not this time, my friend. A strong wind would blow you over right now. I'm not letting you face this kid alone."

"That's why I have the gun," Steve pointed out patiently, but Jesse scoffed at that idea.

"Somehow I can't see you using it to shoot a 15-year-old kid, even if he has a gun. I know you better than that. You'd try to find another way to disarm him."

Steve's grimace told Jesse he'd made his point, and he wasn't surprised when Steve gestured to him to follow with a curt, "Stay behind me."

They walked up the path to the rather dilapidated house. Paint was peeling off the wooden walls, and there were rusting pieces of junk scattered around. From his position behind Steve, Jesse was unable to see what made Steve suddenly stiffen and say in a voice that brooked no argument, "Stay here." He obeyed instinctively, and watched as Steve drew his gun and moved forward to the door, then disappeared inside. He waited in an agony of suspense, inching closer to the door, then let out a yelp of surprise as Steve materialized at the door again in the process of holstering his gun. He nodded Jesse inside, and guided him over to where a body lay on the floor.

"He's dead. Is it Bobby?"

Jesse knelt down beside the body, automatically checking the pulse, even though he didn't doubt Steve's diagnosis. He looked closely at what he could see of the corpse. The face was that of a teenager, and Jesse felt that he looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn't Bobby Phillips.

"I think I've maybe seen his picture in one of the yearbooks," he offered uncertainly.

Steve nodded. "I'm going to call it in, Jess. I'd hate for the police in this town to happen by and find us standing over a dead body."

"I think they'd find this one hard to pin on us. I'd guess he's been dead for maybe an hour. The coroner can give a more accurate estimate."

"I'd say Bobby Phillips has a lot of questions to answer," Steve said with a great deal of satisfaction in his voice. He made the call on his cell phone, and they went outside to wait for the sheriff to arrive.

Jesse was keeping a watchful eye on Steve. Although he actually seemed to be getting stronger as they gathered more evidence that would help Mark, Jesse feared that he was running on pure adrenaline and this exertion would catch up with him at some point.

The Sheriff arrived in his car with a deputy within minutes. He growled something unintelligible, then pushed past them into the house. When he exited, he stalked over to Steve to demand an explanation.

"What the hell happened here?"

Steve's answer was nonchalant to the point of being deliberately provocative. "We came to ask Bobby Phillips some questions after my father identified him as the kid who drugged him. We found the body when we arrived. Do you know him?"

The sheriff hesitated, obviously loathe to impart any information, but eventually identified the teen as Thomas Caymen. His attempts to question Steve more closely about his discovery of the body were ignored, as Steve had his own agenda to follow.

He produced the lemonade glass contained in a plastic bag. "We found this in the bushes by the cabin. I'm fairly sure its the one my father drank from, and you should find trace remains of the drug that Bobby Phillips spiked it with. The visit to the cabin triggered the return of my memory, and I can now corroborate every word of my father's story."

"How convenient." The sheriff's words were almost a sneer, but Steve continued, his words icy and deliberate.

"My father didn't shoot me; it was an accident, and I want the charges against him dropped now."

Steve stopped short of accusing the sheriff of incompetence, but the implication was there.

Consten shrugged, concealing his discomfort under a veneer of indifference. "You're a cop, you know how it works; that's none of my business. I just collect the evidence; the DA decides what to do with it. If you hurry, you might find him in the County Office Building on Main Street. However, before you go there, I need a statement from you both concerning the murder here."

Steve moved closer to the sheriff, his dwindling patience finally snapping. "We came to ask Bobby Phillips some questions. When we arrived, the door was open and there was a smear of blood on the doorway. I went in and found the body. There were no other people or vehicles in the vicinity. That's my statement. Anything else will have to wait, because I'm going to talk to the DA to get an innocent man out of jail."

His controlled fury was intimidating, but Jesse was afraid he was in no fit condition to back up his challenge if the argument turned physical, and he hastily intervened by offering to sign a statement for the sheriff and drop Steve off at the DA's office on the way. This compromise was acceptable to Consten as a way to save face, and he moved grudgingly out of their way.

"I see you've been working on your interpersonal skills again," joked Jesse, trying to lighten the atmosphere as they drove towards town; but Steve's customary good humor had been seriously eroded by the continuous worry and pain of the last few days, and he ignored the younger man's teasing remarks, closing his eyes and marshaling his resources for the last, but all-important, task.

Jesse dropped him off at the county Office Building and, following the posted directions, Steve walked haltingly up the stairs to a second-floor office with the sign "Matthew Watson DA" on it. Steve knocked on the door, but entered without waiting for an invitation. The middle-aged, balding man at the desk rose to his feet, frowning at Steve's abrupt entrance. His expression did not improve as Steve introduced himself and his mission.

"My name is Lieutenant Steve Sloan. That should be familiar to you, since your office has brought charges of attempted murder against my father, Mark Sloan. I want those charges dismissed and my father released today. The shooting was an accident, as any idiot should have realized. My father was giving me the gun when I tripped and caused the gun to go off. The police have proof that my father was drugged at the time."

Steve knew the last point was skating the truth, but he was confident that the glass would have some trace of narcotic in it. Watson started to protest, but Steve overrode him, leaning over the desk to emphasize his point.

"No jury in the world will convict my father over my testimony. You've got no case, and you know it. My father has already been hurt in jail. If he's not out tonight, and he so much as stubs his toe, I will personally make sure you never work a case in this state again."

Watson quailed before the steely determination in Steve's eyes. "I'm sure you appreciate that this needs to go through the proper channels. I need to review your father's file and make some phone calls."

"That's fine," Steve said with spurious affability. "I'll wait right here." He plunked himself down in a convenient chair near the door to watch the DA's every move.

Obviously flustered by this constant regard, Watson went through the motions, thumbing through a thin file he plucked from a cabinet and placing one call to the Sheriff's Department. Before long, he had typed up a document on the computer, printed it out and handed it to Steve saying unctuously, "I'm sure as a policeman you understand that, in the circumstances, we acted according to the available evidence."

Steve looked at him with barely concealed dislike. "On the contrary, I believe that my father's story was never properly investigated. His treatment by the police and this department bordered on the draconian, and I'm sure he'll be discussing that with his lawyer."

With this rather mendacious threat, Steve stalked from the room in triumph. Jesse was waiting for him in front of the building, and Steve waved the paper in the air and broke into a grin, the first for a long while.

"Let's go get Dad!"