Author's Note:  Sorry about the long wait in this chapter… I had tried to make my computer a dual-boot system.  However, Windows 98 and Red Hat Linux 7.0 decided that they didn't like each other, and decided that since one of them couldn't control the system, neither would.  After my computer bombed like "The Blair Witch Project 2", it took me this long just to put the mess back together again.  Sorry for the wait.

Episode 6 Called Back to the Minors Old Toretto Residence, Hartford, CT- 1017 EST, September 5

"I'm amazed that no one has bought this place yet." Singer noted as Harrington unlocked the front door, and then opened the row house's mahogany doorway.

"Well, this isn't exactly the best part of Hartford." he explained, "And not too many people are interested… considering the previous owner."

"So… what exactly are we doing here?"

Harrington inhaled deeply, "We are looking for anything that might indicate that my aunt had a suspicion that something was going to happen to her.  It's one of the ways that investigators prove a premeditated intent before a violent act."

Looking around the small residence, he then added, "Besides… I rather wanted to visit this place one more time."

"Don't you think the police would have searched this place?" Singer queried.

"Remember what McDowell said?  That the police didn't want to find him?  I think he might have had a point.  I've received hints over the years that the investigation into my aunt's death wasn't very… thorough."

Singer looked over the dusty remains of the row house, showing signs of neglect.  It's likely that no one had ever been in the place for an extended period of time since Nina's death.

Singer's eyes fell on the dining room table, looking like a skeleton of its former self, coated in dust and grime.  She had remembered visiting this place during her classes, and even though only Nina was the only one who lived there on a permanent basis, the table always seemed to have a life about it… there was always energy around that simple piece of furniture.

"Loren… you in there?"

Singer jolted as she felt Harrington's hand fall on her shoulder.  "You all right?" he asked.

"Oh… yes, I'm quite all right." She replied.

"Then what's with the leak?"

It took Singer a moment to feel the hot wetness of a tear sliding down her cheek.  Wiping it away, and inwardly cursing a moment of weakness, she answered, "No… I don't know… probably some dust in my eye…"

Harrington didn't challenge her explanation, just looked at her disbelievingly.

Ironically, Singer could hold up to a barrage of questions from angry co-workers, deal with the angered ranting of her commanding officer, and even lie directly to her parents' faces without as much as batting an eyelash; but one disapproving glance from her old college friend sent her reeling.

In defeat, she finally admitted, "It's just… I don't know… this place was the closest I've ever had to a home.  I knew I could count on the odd weekend, that I could take a trip with you to visit your aunt, and that I could sit down at this table while you and your aunt whipped up some culinary delight, then we would sit in the living room, and listen to the radio, watch the news, or just talk."

Singer motioned to the upstairs, and said, "Hell, I came to think of the guest bedroom as my bedroom.  I felt safer there than in the bed that I had spent most of my childhood in.  No one belittled me here… no one judged me here… I felt good here…"

Harrington simply smiled, "Aunt Nina really liked having you around.  Whenever I would visit by myself, she would always when Loren was going to visit again.  'She is such a shy little girl.' Aunt Nina would often say… then she got to really know you."

"Har har." Singer retorted.

"Anyway, as much as I would love to take a nice long trip of our memories, we are here to do a job, and the sooner we get it done, the better."  Harrington reminded.

"Which begs me to ask, what could possibly be here after 5 years?"

Harrington paused, "Aunt Nina kept a personal lockbox in a cubby attic.  Only Aunt Nina and myself knew about it.  She kept a personal journal that she updated daily.  If she had any inkling something was about to happen to her, she might have made note of it."

Henderson Hall Detention Center, Arlington, VA- 1120 EST

            Bud turned to Sturgis, and said, "It's days like these that I hate being a JAG officer.  I wish I had an out like Major Harrington did."

            Sturgis frowned, "You're not the only one.  However, I sincerely doubt any of us have an excuse like our Major friend did.  Thus, we must do the job assigned to us the best we possibly can."

            Entering the interview room, they saw Gunny Sergeant William McDowell leaning against his chair, arms crossed defiantly.  He had the look of a man way too cocky for his own good.

            "Well, if it isn't the lawyers…" He muttered.

            Bud snorted, and said indignantly, "We are superior officers to you, I suggest you show some respect."

            "You aren't any officer of mine." McDowell replied, "And no damn cripple is EVER going to be superior to me." The Gunny Sergeant pointed derisively towards Bud's prosthetic leg.

            Sturgis couldn't believe the bile coming out of McDowell's mouth.  "Inflammatory words like that will…"

            McDowell interrupted, "Will what?  Get me court-martialed?  Hello!  I already am being court-martialed.  I just want to get this over with, get my 'punishment' in place, and be done with it."

            "So, you plan to plead guilty?" Bud asked.

            "Hell, sure.  The guy was a homo, and I beat him up.  Pretty damn cut and dry if you ask me.  It was stupid of me, but I did it.  No sense wasting everyone's time with a trial that will only tell everyone what they already know."

            Sturgis cut in, and added, "Well, it might not be that cut and dry.  JAG is currently investigating a possible connection you might have had to a similar hate crime committed five years ago… one that will have considerably more serious consequences."

            McDowell blanched.  "What in the blazing hell are you jabbering about?"

            "Five years ago, before you joined the Marines, a woman in Hartford was killed, by the name of Nina Toretto.  She was lesbian, and considering your residence at the time, as well as a couple witness testimonies, further investigation could lead to the addition of first degree premeditated murder."

            "I don't understand legal mumbo-jumbo, you idiot!  Speak English, for chrissake."

            Sturgis clenched his teeth.  He had encountered some irritating and obnoxious clients in his day, but none had ever taken him this far.  Sturgis was about three seconds away from beating Sergeant McDowell to death with Bud's prosthetic.

            Fortunately, Bud answered for him.  "Sergeant McDowell, premeditated first degree murder can lead to the death penalty."

            The levity of Bud's statement did nothing to McDowell's cocky demeanor.  "So what?  I didn't kill any lesbo."

            Neither Sturgis nor Bud was at all convinced by the Marine Gunny's denial.  Normally, Sturgis was a patient man, but this interview was getting to be even more than he can handle.  "I think we've gotten as far as we can today, Sergeant." He finally stated, "We will contact you as we get more information."

            "Whatever."

            As the two lawyers left the interview room, Sturgis decided to test a suspicion that had been tugging at the back of his mind.  "What do you think about our client, Lt. Roberts?"

            "You mean, other than he is the most obnoxious and hateful asshole I've ever met?" Bud replied.

            Sturgis smirked.  "Yes… other than that."

            Bud thought about it then came to a conclusion. "He seemed like he was in quite the hurry to declare himself guilty."

            "That's what I thought too.  I think he's afraid that something about the Torretto murder is going to come to light, and is hoping that getting jail time for this lesser charge is going to spare him the more serious one."  Sturgis agreed.

            "Should we tell him that's not the way the legal system works?" Bud asked wryly.

            "Perhaps it's best if he learns that on his own."

Hotel Marriott, Hartford, CT- 2000 EST

            "So… anything in Nina's journal?" Singer asked curiously.

            "Not a damn thing…" Harrington sighed, "But the journal was a long shot to begin with."

            "So, now what?"

            Harrington tapped his forehead with his left index finger.  "We wait for a bolt of inspiration to come to us."

            "That's kinda boring, don't you think?"

            "That's investigation for you.  You get leads, you investigate them, and if they don't pan out, you wait for more leads.  Unfortunately, with a case that's been lying dormant for five years, leads can be rare."

            Three minutes later, the phone rang, and Singer beat Harrington to the receiver.  "Lt. Singer, JAG.  What can I do… oh… mother!"

            While her voice didn't betray any emotion, the frown on Singer's face told Harrington all he needed to know.  "I don't know, I am rather busy… besides, I'm not alone here…" Singer protested.  However, if the person on the line was who Harrington thought it was, he knew that this was one issue Singer was not going to win.

            "Listen… I just don't have time… no, mother, I'm not avoiding you… I can't just leave my partner… no, mother, I don't think he wants to join us…" Singer looked up pleadingly at Harrington, who started waving his arms frantically in denial of her unspoken request.  Meanwhile, Singer continued dejectedly, "No, mother… he is not my boyfriend… he's not my fiancée or my husband, either…" Singer rolled her eyes in disbelief.  Once again, she silently pleaded to Harrington, and finally the Air Force officer yielded.

            "All right, mother, we shall meet you and father tomorrow evening for dinner." Singer finally agreed, "We'll be there around six.  Yes, I'll be sure to dress nice.  Goodnight, mother."

            Singer sat the phone back down onto the hook, and started visibly trembling in a mixture of anger, frustration, and depression.  "How does she talk me into these things?"

            Harrington scoffed, and amended, "I think the more pertinent question is how you talk me into these things…"

Harm's Apartment, 2120 EST

            "So, Gunny Sergeant McDowell is going to plead guilty to discriminatory assault…  Well, that makes our job on that count easy." Harm said as Sturgis explained the situation over the phone.  "No, I haven't heard anything from Major Harrington or Lieutenant Singer yet.  Thanks for the info, Sturgis.  I'll let you know if Harrington contacts me."

            Harm hung up, and turned to Mac.  "I think you can guess who that was."

            Mac nodded, "Well, that at least takes care of one case we have to do."

            "For now."

            The Colonel sighed, and asked, "Do you think Steve and Lt. Singer will find something that investigators haven't in 5 years?"

            Harm shrugged as he sat down at his chair, taking a brief glance at the next case file in his pile.  "The impression I get of Harrington is that he can be a real bulldog when he wants to be, and we both know just how determined Singer gets.  If anything can be found… I wouldn't bet money against those two finding it."

Singer Estate, Greenwich, CT- 1800 EST, September 6

            Singer inhaled deeply as she prepared to knock on the door.  However, Harrington stepped around her, and did so himself.  "Better to get it over with now, rather than stall on their front porch.  They'll wonder what we're up to." He muttered to his partner.

            It was the Singer's hired help (a.k.a. maid) who answered the door.  "Loren, it is so nice to see you again… and… oh my, I know you, Mr. Harrington."

            "It's nice to see you again, Maria." Singer replied.  She was certain that Maria Lopez possessed a totally photographic memory, especially since Harrington had only visited Singer's childhood home once in his life.

            Maria returned Singer's pleasantries, and addressed Harrington again.  "Perhaps if you can slip inside the kitchen tonight, you can aid me with dinner.  It's always nice to have an extra pair of hands."

            Harrington laughed.  "I'll see what I can do."

            "Well, perhaps we should meet the owners of the estate before they wonder if we've gotten lost in the hallways." Maria declared.  "Follow me."

            As they proceeded through the almost maze-like series of halls and corridors, Harrington commented, "You know… if I had Maria's memory, do you realize the sort of things I could do?"

            "To hell with you… I'm thinking about what I could do…" was Singer's playful reply.

            Further conversation was interrupted as they finally emerged into a large recreational room decorated in velvet, silk, and red oriental carpet.  Marcia Singer immediately jumped up to embrace her daughter, "Loren… it has been so long!  You really must visit more often."

            "My job keeps me very busy, mother." Singer replied.

            "No job is more important than family." Marcia chided, "If you can't make time in your busy schedule to at lease give your mother a call… it's like I don't have a daughter anymore."

            Harrington would have listened into their conversation further had not Francis Singer decided to address their guest.  "Who is this young man?"

            "Major Steven Harrington, sir.  It's a pleasure." Harrington replied.

            Francis paused at the name.  "Harrington.  That name sounds familiar…" But before Harrington could answer, Francis added, "Ah, it doesn't matter.  It's good to meet you, Mr. Harrington."

            "Likewise." Harrington then looked around the room, and said.

            Marcia then addressed the pair of lawyers, asking, "So what exactly does bring you out to Connecticut?"

            "We are investigating potential charges that could be brought up against a Marine in Virginia." Singer answered, intentionally vague.  At the moment, it didn't appear that they remembered Harrington, or his relation to Aunt Nina.  She would like it to stay that way as long as possible.

            "A Marine from here?  Do we know him?"

            Harrington cut in, apparently keying in on her wish to keep things from getting very specific.  "It's classified, ma'am.  This soldier is facing serious charges that we can't discuss in a civilian setting."

            As Singer mouthed a silent "thank you" to her partner, Marcia said softly, "Oh… I didn't mean to pry."  She gently clapped her hands, and said, "How about some refreshments before dinner?"

            Maria entered with several small wine glasses on a tray, and a red wine that Harrington couldn't quite identify from his position.  Marcia handed out the glasses; Maria poured the vintage and mentioned "Dinner should be ready in ten minutes."

            "Thank you, Maria." Marcia stated simply, and the maid strode back towards the dining area.  "I suppose we might as well take our seats at the table.  By the time we're all in our seats, it should be just about finished."

            Dinner was a quiet affair, at first.  Once the first appetizers were served, Marcia promptly moved into her questioning.  "Loren, dear… have you been promoted yet?"

            "No…" Singer began, "I'm still a lieutenant."

            Marcia sighed in dismay, "Young lady, what is taking so long?  A talented and skilled young woman like yourself should be running the show over there by now."

            Harrington cut to Singer's defense.  "Promotions just aren't granted like partnerships in a law firm, Mrs. Singer.  Many factors come into play in regards to who moves up a rank.  I've been stuck at Major for two years simply because no one higher up the chain of command has stepped down."

            Marcia then scoffed, and replied, "Well then, perhaps you need to find a career choice more suited for you.  I never liked the idea of you joining the military in the first place.  Had you joined a private law firm, you wouldn't be in this mess…"

            "Mother…" Singer began.  She had heard this rebuke time and time again.

            "You know the Boyd family down the road?  Their son, Roger, is already a senior partner in his firm.  Do you know how awkward it is when other families brag about their children, and I can't say anything about you… my only daughter?"

            Fortunately, continued debate was ended with the arrival of the main course, a pork roast.  Harrington judged it was marinated in a sweet onion sauce judging from the smell.  Maria sat down the large roasting pan on a warming tray, and began to slice servings.  Harrington analyzed his portion, and took a small bite.

            Without thinking, he offered some advice to Maria.  "Next time, apply the marinade a little sooner so that it has a chance to fully soak in."

            That offhanded statement was what clicked everything in Francis Singer's mind.  "Harrington!  Now I remember who you are!  You're the nephew of that Toretto woman!"

            Marcia gasped, and added, "He is!  That's where we heard of you!"  At that point, she put two and two together.  "You're investigating her murder, aren't you?"

            "A marine was put into detainment last week for assaulting a suspected homosexual in his platoon.  Our commanding officer and I agreed that considering his previous residence and timeframe involved, that he might have had something to do with the Toretto murder." Harrington explained.  Now that the cover was blown, there was no sense trying to play nice.

            "Listen, young man.  I'm telling you this for your own good." Francis stated, "The people who killed Nina Toretto are not going to be found.  There are too many others who have made sure that no one will be able to find them."

            "Like you, father?" Singer snapped.

            Francis bristled at his daughter's accusation.  His momentary silence allowed Marcia to cut in, "Young lady, let me tell you something.  Nina Toretto could have lived a nice long life, but instead she tried to force her lifestyle choice down everyone's throat.  When she spoke out during that GLADD rally in Hartford 5 years back, it gave every one of those fanatics a reason to silence her."

            Harrington's eyes went wide, and he went rigid.  No one noticed however, as the rest of the dinner party was focused on Singer and her mother.

            Marcia then leaned over towards her daughter, and continued, "She invited trouble, and once she got it, everyone started whining about how she was wronged, somewhat like you and that Crenshaw fellow when you were in college.  You dressed like a slut that night, then started crying like a little baby when he 'took advantage' of you…"

            That jab served to jolt Harrington out of his own little world, and he didn't look too happy about that.  He had managed to regain his composure just long enough to see Singer's eyes begin to fill with tears.  "Mrs. Singer, you can say whatever you want about my aunt and myself… that is your prerogative.  However, I find it absolutely despicable what you have said to 'your only daughter'.  I could get into this argument further, but I get the feeling I'd just be wasting my time."

            He turned to Singer, who was trying very hard not to show just how hurt she was.  "Loren, we're leaving now." From there, he looked at Maria, who was standing halfway through the doorway to the kitchen, unsure as to what she was supposed to do.  "Dinner was quite well done, Ms. Lopez… it was only the hosts that left a bad taste in my mouth."

            Escorting Singer out of the dining area, he said without looking back, "We'll find our own way out, sir and ma'am.  I'd wish you two a wonderful evening, but I'd be lying."

State Route #8, just outside Greenwich, CT- 1920 EST

            "You know, I think I might have just gotten our next lead in this investigation." Harrington noted, finally breaking the silence in the rental car.

            "How so?" Singer asked flippantly, as if she really didn't care.

            "Ironically, I have your mother to thank for it.  When Aunt Nina spoke at the GLAAD rally at the Hartford City Center, everyone who came in had to sign into the guest list for the presentation."

            Waiting for Singer to reach the same conclusion he did, he was somewhat disappointed when his partner didn't even seem to be listening to him.  "I was thinking that if we found a certain name on the guest list, it would be a nice start to establishing pre-meditated intent."

            Once again, Singer didn't reply, and Harrington was pretty sure why.  Turning on the emergency blinkers, Harrington pulled off the road, and placed the car in park.  He put his right hand on Singer's shoulder, and said, "Hey, look at me."

            Singer did so, and despite the increasing darkness, Harrington could easily see the glimmer of a wet trail down her cheeks.  "Loren, don't believe a word that your mother said to you.  You were not at fault for what happened.  You did nothing wrong."

            "It's not that…" Singer began with a muffled sob, "It's just everything…"

            Harrington sighed, and turned as much as he could so that he was as square to his partner as possible.  "I don't understand why you even give their opinions any weight at all.  I don't care what they say about your career or who you are or what you've done.  You have done very well for yourself, Loren.  Don't let their ridiculous expectations make you feel any less."

            Harrington gave another smile, and added, "You're a great lawyer, and to even be where you are at all is an incredible accomplishment.  I don't know if it means anything, but I'm very proud of you."

            Biting back another sob, Singer managed, "Actually… it means a lot.  Thanks."

            Harrington turned back towards the wheel.  "Hey, the best way to get at them is to do what they think can't be done.  What do you say that we hunt down the others involved in this crime while we get our premeditated charge on McDowell?"

            "Do you think we can?" 

From the corner of his vision, Harrington could see the light of challenge starting to burn in his partner's expression.  "It's worth a shot." He finished as he put the vehicle back in gear, and merged back onto the road.

Hotel Marriott- 0916 EST, September 7

            "I got the guest list." Harrington said as he printed up the document that had been sent to his e-mail.

            Singer pulled the sheets out of the portable printer connected to Harrington's laptop before the Air Force officer could even turn to take the printout himself.  Her eyes perused the scanned signatures.  Some of them were totally illegible, as most human handwriting is.  However, the next blank over contained the names of each guest as well, only where the guests were required to print their name.

            "Do you think that McDowell would have used his own name?" Singer asked.

            "Maybe not, but I'm gambling that he might not have known he was going to kill Aunt Nina until after he saw the presentation, and thus, wouldn't have felt the need to hide his identity."

            With further thought, Harrington added, "Besides, one mistake that investigators often make is that they think the perpetrator is smarter than he or she really is.  He might not have even thought to put down a different name."

            Singer flipped to the next page, and then the next.  On the fifth page of names, she found what she was looking for.  "Here it is!  William McDowell.  He indeed was at the GLAAD rally."

            "All right… now comes the next step." Harrington concluded, turning back to his laptop.  "Could you hand me the phone?"

            Singer did as requested, but not without asking, "Now what are you doing?"

            "Well, we might have enough to establish premeditated first degree with this… but I want to make sure that we have enough evidence to make this charge open and shut, and that would require finding and getting testimony from the other three accomplices."

            "And how are we going to do that?"

            Steve started to punch in numbers on the phone as he explained.  "Well, if they executed the murder as a group, then it's likely that they planned the murder as a group as well."  From there, the other end of the call apparently picked up.  "Hey, Ronnie… yes, it's me again.  Got another favor to ask of you…  no, it doesn't involve Navy SEALs this time.  I just need you to cross-reference a guest list I'm sending you with current and former members of GLAAD.  Anyone on the guest list that isn't a member, I'd like you to e-mail those names back to me, okay?  Thanks, Ronnie, you're a doll.  See ya later."

            Harrington handed the phone unit back to Singer, who glared at him disapprovingly.  Confused, he asked with a sheepish smile, "What did I do?"

            Singer had to think about that… and came up with nothing.  Why was she scowling at him for talking to an old co-worker?  "Nothing…" Singer finally replied, placing the phone back in its normal place.  "I've noticed that you don't talk to me the way you do to Ronnie…" She muttered more to herself than to Harrington.

            Nonetheless, her partner heard the statement.  With a smile that was holding in a chuckle, Harrington asked, "Would you like me to call you a 'doll', Loren?"

            "No!" Singer yelped indignantly.

            Harrington started to laugh, "Then why complain?  Are you jealous?"

            Singer glared, "Jealous?  Of what, pray tell?"  However, she couldn't keep up her angry façade.  "You are the utter limit, Steve.  You get some strange ideas in your head."

            With a shrug, Harrington replied, "I try."

            Before Singer could reply, Steve's laptop suddenly chimed in that irritating monotone, "You've got mail!"

            "Wow… that was quick." Steve replied as he opened the e-mail from Ronnie.  "Hmm… seventeen names that don't match the GLAAD membership.  That was a little more than I expected.  Looks like we've got some work ahead of us."

1739 EST

            Singer tiredly threw her briefcase down on the small workspace table.  "That went nowhere…"

            "Not necessarily.  I think we have a pretty good idea as to who McDowell's three accomplices were." Harrington replied.

            "Yeah… all three had vanished without a trace.  I think my father was right… some people went to great lengths to make sure that the killers weren't found.  Makes me wonder why McDowell is in the Marines."

            "Perhaps he didn't feel he needed help." Harrington replied with a shrug.  "The important thing is locating his three accomplices."

            "And how do we go about finding these men, pray tell?"

            Harrington shrugged, "I could make a few calls, see what turns up.  But other than that… not much, I'll admit."

            Singer frowned, and said, "Well, then, how about while you make the calls, I'll go into my room, change out of my uniform, and then we can go down into the lobby, and get something to eat?"

            "Sounds good." Harrington agreed.  "Perhaps you can give me some time to change as well?"

            "I suppose… but you look so cute in your dress blues."

            "Cute?" Harrington raised an eyebrow.

            "All boys are cute when they dress up." Singer teased.

            "Boys?"

            "Hey, young man, learn to respect your elders." She could barely keep a straight face by that point.

            "You're only four months older than me, Ms. Singer." Harrington answered then decided two could play those games.  "Then again, when you're an old crone, you have to take any advantage you could get."

            "Oh… you're gonna pay for that little remark, young man." Singer threatened playfully.  "But I do need to get changed." With that, she retreated into her room, and closed the door.

Marriott Lobby- 1804

            "So, your contacts didn't lead anywhere?" Singer asked as she took a small sip of the club soda she had ordered.

            Harrington shrugged, "Don't know yet.  People can't just pull info out of their sixes, you know.  Unlike Ronnie, they can't just tap a few commands on a computer screen, and have the info flash up."

            Singer acknowledged this, then asked, "Next question… just how do you have all these contacts?"

            "Unlike you, Loren, who spent her time out of Dartmouth playing nice as legal assistants to Admirals and the IG, I have had to get in the mud, get myself dirty, and associate with some less than savory individuals.  As gratitude, they allow me to borrow their resources now and again."

            "Ah." Singer replied, "Care to divulge some of those sources?"

            "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

            Before Singer could reply, a member of the hotel staff stopped at their table.  "Sir, Miss… a man was just at the front desk, and asked me to give this to you."  He held an envelope, unsealed and without any markings.

            Singer snatched the envelope, and said, "Thank you."  She grabbed a twenty from her purse, and gave it to the bellboy as a tip.  "Did this man leave a name?"

            "No… I asked, but he wouldn't give me one."

            Singer shook the envelope to see if she could hear anything inside.  Deciding that there wasn't anything suspicious inside, she dismissed the bellboy, and opened the envelope.  She took out a small piece of lined paper, and examined it.

            "It's a name and address…" She began, then reading out loud, added, "This kid is looking for a way out of the Toretto mess, and might be willing to talk.  Justin Callister, 1770 Prospect St, Windsor, Connecticut."

            Looking down at the bottom of the sheet, she noticed a farewell, "Love, Dad?  Did my father send me this?"

            Harrington smiled, and said, "Well, looks like your contacts came through before mine.  Tomorrow morning, we'll give this man a visit."

Henderson Hall Detention Center, Arlington, VA- 1100 EST, September 9

            "What's the deal now?" Sergeant McDowell demanded. "I told you to declare myself guilty.  What's more to talk about?"

            "The murder of Nina Toretto." Sturgis said angrily.

            McDowell dismissed it with a wave of his hand, "We've already been over this, I didn't kill anyone, much less this Toretto lesbo."

            "Is that so?" Sturgis demanded, "Well, we have two people who are willing to testify that you bragged about the murder at Toretto's funeral.  We also have a guest list from a rally featuring Toretto from two weeks before the murder that has your name on it, and there is also one of your accomplices that is ready to put his demons to rest, and is willing to take the stand against you."

            McDowell's face blanched, "You're bluffing.  I want a private attorney."

            "You'll be wasting your money, but we certainly won't stop you." Bud replied, "Once any jury hears the testimony of Justin Callister, there is no lawyer on the face of the earth that will be able to clear you."

            Upon hearing Justin's name, McDowell dropped his act.  "That asshole… there wouldn't have been any problems… I should have known he'd squeal… he looked sick of the whole thing while it was going on…"

            "So… you did kill Nina Toretto?" Sturgis asked in a tone that suggested that he had known all along.

            "Fine… I killed the lesbo.  She went into my hometown, and tried to make everyone queer.  She paraded her immorality and illness like it was something to be proud of, and tried to make my hometown a modern day Sodom." McDowell hissed, "I decided I wasn't going to let her corrupt my city anymore, unlike cowards like you who hide behind this 'don't ask, don't tell' policy."

            "I've heard enough of this." Sturgis declared, "Let's go, Lieutenant."

            Once outside the interview room, Bud asked, "Should we make an offer for life without parole to Colonel MacKenzie and Commander Rabb?"

            Sturgis shrugged, and replied, "We can… but there'd be no reason for them to accept it.  The case against McDowell, especially if they get a hold of a recording of this last interview, is prime material for capital punishment."

Gainsborough Court, 1850 EST

            Harrington answered his door, wondering who could have been visiting him.  "Harm!  I wasn't expecting you, come on in."

            Harm nodded, and stepped inside, "Well, earlier today I got an offer that I thought I should clear with you."

            Harrington blinked, and asked, "What do you mean?"

            "Commander Sturgis gave me a life without possibility of parole offer for the McDowell case, in exchange for keeping this case out of court.  Apparently, McDowell confessed to the whole deal once he learned that you had found one of his accomplices."

            Harrington shook his head, "So… what's your point?"

            "I'd take the offer… but I know what this means to you…"

            "Harm, this is your case… it's your show.  If you and Mac think that you should take this offer, then go with it." Harrington answered, "Besides, he has no chance of learning anything if he's dead.  Even if the chance is small, there is still a chance he can learn the error of his ways as long as he is alive."

            "Are you sure about this, Steve?"

            "I've had to learn many things in my life, one of them is that I cannot let my hatreds consume me from making the right decision.  Telling you to go for the death penalty is just as bad as me pulling the trigger on him myself.  I don't want his death on my hands… there's been enough killing in this affair."

            Harm smiled, "All right, Steve… Mac and I will go with this offer.  It just seems cleaner this way.  Thanks for your time."  As he turned to leave, he suddenly whirled back around.  "Wait… one more thing.  I was just wondering… I have a biplane in an airstrip around here.  I was just wondering if you'd like to feel the wind in your face one more time."

            Harrington paused, his expression blank.  He looked down at his right hand for a second, flexing each of his finger slowly.  Harm's eyes narrowed in concern, and he asked, "Steve… you okay?"

            Harrington snapped out of his trance, and blinked twice.  "Oh!  Yeah, I'm fine.  So, you want to show me your pride and joy?  That's awfully nice of you."

            Harm smirked, "Nah… I just want to see if you Air Force flyboys are as good as your mouths would suggest."

            Harrington bit his lower lip, obviously stopping himself from saying something derogatory in reply.  Instead, the Air Force officer said, "I'd be glad to show you just how good us Air Force flyboys are… that is… if your plane even flies."

            Harm laughed, "You bet it flies.  I'll see you day after tomorrow, 1700.  Don't be late." Harm slipped back out the doorway, leaving Harrington to ponder if he was even ready to slide into a cockpit again…

End Episode 6