Chapter 5

Five days later, Steve strode into Community General, laden with a box of files. He had set up a meeting with Jesse and Amanda to see if their combined knowledge of his father and his cases could uncover some more likely suspects, since his current investigation was on the point of stalling.

He dumped the files in the doctor's lounge, but, as his friends hadn't arrived yet, he decided to visit Fast Eddie and check on his progress. As he entered the room, he was momentarily surprised to found it occupied by more than just his informant, but he quickly recognised the man studying the patient charts.

"Bill, its good to see you." He moved forward with his hand outstretched to greet his father's old friend. "How's Mary?"

The other man withdrew his hand rather abruptly. "I wouldn't know. Our divorce was finalised last month."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Steve said uncomfortably. It was a guaranteed conversation stopper, and he decided not to follow up with any further personal enquiries. "How's the patient?" he asked, nodding towards the bed.

"No change, and I'm not really expecting any. His injuries were too severe. However, I'm glad I bumped into you. I need to talk to your father about one of the patients that I'm covering for him in his absence. Can you give me a number where I can contact him?"

Mark had asked that no one at the hospital, except for Jesse and Amanda, be informed about the real circumstances of his departure, since he didn't want to cause any concern.

"I'm sorry," Steve informed him with real regret. "That isn't going to be possible."

Stedman's eyebrows drew together in a frown of displeasure. "That is totally unacceptable. Your father is the Chief of Internal Medicine in this hospital. He can't just disappear at a moment's notice without leaving a means of communicating with him. It's absurd. I know Mannings and Narimba need to talk to him too. I expected more responsibility from him."

Steve could appreciate his position, and knew how upset Mark would be if anything should happen to his patients because of his absence.

"Will you be home tonight?" he asked, thinking fast. On receiving an affirmative answer, he continued, "I'll see if I can get a message to my father to call you tonight."

Stedman's face relaxed somewhat. "That would be acceptable, thank you."

Steve made his escape as quickly as politeness allowed, and walked back to the doctor's lounge where Jesse and Amanda were now waiting for him with stacks of files of their own. They both greeted Steve warmly, having only seen him for brief periods recently as he entered the hospital late at night to collapse in an exhausted sleep in his father's office for all too brief a time before departing again.

"Have you been in contact with Mark?" Amanda asked at once.

Steve nodded. "I've been in touch a couple of times, but we have to keep contact to a minimum. He sounded cheerful on the phone, but he must be getting really frustrated. His life is here, and I don't know how long I can keep him kicking his heels in limbo if nothing breaks at this end soon. Oh, that reminds me, Dr Stedman said he needed to talk to Dad about some patients. Is Dad's absence getting to be a problem here?"

"He's certainly missed," Jesse admitted, "and I would really like to consult with him on a couple of patients, but for goodness sake don't tell him that - at least not until this is all over."

That was a sentiment that Steve wholeheartedly endorsed. Neither did he intend to admit to his father or his friends the lengths to which he was willing to go to try to resolve the situation. It was Jesse who made such a confession impossible to avoid with his next comment.

"Actually, I'd hoped you could ask Mark to call me last night, but I couldn't find you. Where were you all night?"

Since the shooting at the Beach House and his father's departure, Steve had been sleeping every night in Mark's office, despite offers by both Jesse and Amanda to share their living space. His choice was determined largely by an unwillingness to inadvertently involve his friends in a potentially deadly situation. He was quite aware of his position as the only viable conduit to his father, and, as no other leads to the killer had worked out, he had decided, with Newman's permission and support, to attempt to use that role to their advantage and lure the killer into the open. He had spent last night at the Beach House, Cheryl and two other officers undercover nearby, hoping the killer would make a move. He had spent most of the night cleaning up broken glass and pottery, attempting to make the house habitable for his father's eventual return, but to his disappointment, nothing untoward had occurred. Tremelo seemed more like a phantom of the night, a figment of the imagination, than a flesh and blood opponent.

Steve's hesitation and look of guilt were all that were needed for his perspicacious friends to put two and two together.

"You went home, didn't you," Jesse cried accusingly.

"Steve, how could you!" Amanda joined in with a more serious condemnation. "Do you have any idea what it would do to Mark if you got yourself killed while he's away?"

"I had backup. It was a tactical move, not just a reckless whim," Steve defended himself, though in the back of his mind he knew that some of the risks he had taken in an attempt to draw out Tremelo in the last few days had been imprudent to say the least. "Besides, nothing happened. There was never a sign of Tremelo."

He tried to conceal how deeply this fact disturbed him. In the last 5 days, he had never spotted a tail or any signs of someone observing him. If Tremelo wasn't trying to use him as a means to find Mark, how was he intending to fulfill his contract? The thought that the hitman might have found an alternative route to his father had Steve tossing and turning at night. What little sleep he had was broken by nightmares of the hitman tracking down his father and he would wake sweating, the dreams disturbing in their intensity.

"Tremelo is a dead end for now. There's not a trace of him; but I do have some new information that might help. It seems he's a shooter, there are no bombs or other fancy paraphernalia on his rap sheet, thank goodness. One interesting fact is that this is not the first time he's hired a group of local thugs to assist, then taken them out when they've become a liability."

"Wow," Jesse said, taken aback. "You'd have to be really stupid to hire on with him."

"Or basically uninformed," Amanda corrected him.

"Or just plain greedy," Jesse added, on a roll.

"Well, whatever their personal shortcomings, they're dead," Steve quelled his friends enthusiastic speculations. "None of their acquaintances know anything useful about who hired them, so that's another dead end. However, there is one piece of information about Tremelo that seems worth pursuing. It seems he gets paid at least $500,000 for each job now."

"Someone's willing to pay half a million bucks to off Mark!" Jesse exclaimed in awe, but at the look on Steve's face he changed his tone to one of disapproval. "That's terrible...awful...heinous...reprehensible."

Steve tried not to smile, but his friend's irrepressible nature successfully lightened his mood, which, of course, was his intention. He knew that Jesse's insouciant attitude sprang not out of disrespect or lack of concern for Mark, but more out of a boundless faith in the Sloans to extricate themselves from any predicament. Steve only wished he shared that belief, but his inability to effectively help his father had diminished his usual self-confidence.

"The last time we went through the files, we were looking for motive; I've examined every case with a strong motive and come up with zip, so now we'll concentrate on means. Who can afford at least half a million dollars?"

For the next three hours, the three friends poured over the files, exchanging only the occasional aside, until they each had a short list of possibilities; then they narrowed it down further till they had two promising suspects with which to start.

"I remember this guy vividly," Jesse commented, holding a file labeled Charles Mills. "He was so arrogant, thinking that money could buy him anything he wanted, but he did seem genuinely devoted to his wife. There was nothing Mark could do to save her, the cancer was too advanced, but Mills was absolutely furious when she died and blamed Mark. He tried to sue him, but nothing came of it."

"It's a similar story with this one," Amanda commented. "Ms. Stolz was devastated by the death of her granddaughter, and she made some remarks that could be construed as threatening. She's as rich as Croesus, half a million would be a drop in the bucket for her. Why don't Jesse and I go out and have a talk with her while you interview Mills?"

"Absolutely not," Steve said firmly. "I know you guys want to help, but please just stay out of this right now. I'll let you know when there's something you can do, but for now you've been a big help giving me some new directions to explore. I'll see you later."

Steve did his best to ignore the crestfallen faces of his friends as he left the room, reassuring himself that he was only trying to keep them safe. He returned to the station to bring Cheryl up to date with the new developments and to start investigating their new suspects. He turned up nothing suspicious on Ms. Stolz, and a quick interview with her confirmed his belief that her outburst against his father had been driven more by the grief of the moment than by any long-standing grudge, and that she harboured no permanent ill-will against the doctor.

Mills was a different matter. It was quickly clear from his ruthless business dealings and the brutal treatment of his workers, that he was a man quite capable of hiring a hitman to do his dirty work for him. Steve was not an expert on financial dealings, but he knew enough to recognise that the particular distribution of his companies and especially the placement of investments and accounts in Eastern Europe would expedite the laundering of dirty money. Even more incriminating in Steve's mind was the recent transfer of considerable sums of money into a newly opened account there. There were also vague rumours of ties to the mob on the East Coast that could provide a connection to Tremelo.

That afternoon, Steve and Cheryl drove to his central office building and were soon ushered into his presence. Mills was a strongly built man, imposing in stature, although not quite as tall as Steve. As he introduced himself, Steve was sure he saw a flicker of recognition in the man's eyes.

"What can I do for you, officers?" Mills asked bluntly with a minimum of courtesy.

"We appreciate you seeing us on such short notice," Steve said, struggling to conceal an instinctive dislike of the man. "We have some questions to ask you about a case we're working on."

Mills raised an eyebrow. "Should I call my lawyer?"

Cheryl reassured him. "You certainly have that right, sir, but I can assure you that this is a routine procedure. We have to follow all leads, I'm sure you understand."

"In that case, I will, of course, do everything I can to assist you," Mills promised her unctuously.

With a swift glance across at Steve, Cheryl continued to take the lead in the questioning.

"We are investigating certain threats made against Dr. Mark Sloan. I believe you know Dr. Sloan, is that correct?"

The question was purely pro forma, since it was obvious by Mills' changing demeanor that he did. He ignored Cheryl and focused instead on Steve, his words coolly vicious.

"You're Sloan's son, aren't you? Well, your father is an incompetent fool. I'm not suprised someone wants him dead."

The atmosphere of the room changed abruptly, an almost palpable tension stretching between the two men. Standing beside Steve, Cheryl could sense every muscle taut in his body, but, somewhat to her surprise, he showed no overt reaction to these aspersions, merely looking down at the shorter man stonily. He had no intention of defending his father against insults that were meaningless coming from a man like this. However, the hostility this man obviously held against his father was grating on his already raw protective instincts.

Sensing her partner's precarious control, Cheryl unobtrusively edged slightly in front of him, hoping to forestall any explosion.

"Sir, I don't recall mentioning that anyone wanted him dead, but an attempt has indeed been made on Dr. Sloan's life. Could you shed any light on this for us?"

This was verging on a accusation, and Mills knew better than to answer; he turned away from her dismissively. "If you have any more questions, you can call my lawyer. I have nothing more to say."

Cheryl thanked him insincerely for his help and started to leave the room, but as Steve turned to follow her, he was stopped by Mills, who was unable to resist one last taunt.

"My wife took a long while to die; I hope your father suffers as much as she did."

The speed of Steve's reaction took the other two by surprise. In the last week, his failure to effectively combat the threat to his father had increasingly galled him, but now his pent-up frustrations finally had a tangible focus. He seized the man by his jacket and threw him up against the wall, holding him there with an arm across his throat as he ground out a question.

"Did you hire Tremelo? Did you?" He punctuated the query with another slam of Mill's head against his fine wood paneling, ignoring Cheryl's rather ineffectual efforts to stop him.

The slight head shake and accompanying gurgle, which was all Mills was capable of in this position, did nothing to deflect Steve's fury.

"If I find out you had anything to do with hiring Tremelo, I'll come back and I'll destroy you." He held him for minute, reinforcing his verbal message with an equally clear physical threat, before releasing him with a contemptuous flick of his hands, allowing him to regain his footing.

Mills was almost choking with fear and anger, but automatically straightened his clothes in an attempt to restore his dignity before pointing a trembling hand at the door. "Get the hell out of here. You haven't heard the last of me, Sloan, I swear it. I'll have your badge for this."

Steve strode out of the room without a backwards glance. He started to cool down in the elevator, and by the time he was sitting in the car, he was almost regretting his outburst. He was also wishing he'd ripped the man's head off, but he realised that his actions had been ill-advised.

He looked across at his tight-lipped and obviously fuming partner and grimaced. "OK, I know, that was stupid. Let me have it."

Cheryl obliged without a smile. "Yes, it was stupid. How could you react in such a juvenile and unprofessional manner? You're going to be in real trouble if he reports you."

"I didn't pull my gun," he offered half-humourously in defense. Actually, that was only because the thought hadn't occurred to him at the time; his only desire had been to lay hands on the bastard threatening his father and choke the living daylights out of him.

Cheryl ignored his rejoinder, and Steve didn't push the conversation. He shut his eyes, trying to analyse the recent interview more objectively. He couldn't decided if Mills was actually behind the hiring of Tremelo, or if he had merely seized the opportunity to mock the man he still blamed for his wife's death. Steve desperately wished, not for the first time, that he could talk to his father. He missed his steadying presence and insightful comments. Under normal circumstances, if he were stressed he could talk to Mark, who always proved to be an excellent sounding board in frustrating cases, and could defuse his son's occasional short temper just by listening and often by making him laugh. Even at times when Steve didn't feel like talking, Mark would somehow know the right time to break though his reserve with a gentle question and his expectant, bright-eyed expression.

The car jerked to a halt, and Steve looked up in surprise to find they had already arrived at the station. Cheryl still looked upset and wasn't meeting his eyes, and he realised that he owed her an apology.

"I'm sorry, Cheryl. You're right, it was stupid. I just...lost it." He offered her a repentant smile which, after a moment, she returned ruefully.

"You know, Steve, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now."

She was right. As they entered the squad room, a bellow, which could have been heard across town, emanated from Newman's room.

"Lieutenant Sloan, my office, NOW!"