First chap = disclaimers
THANKS FOR ALL THE GREAT REVIEWS!!!!! You keep me going!
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(3 months later)
Mark Sloan shivered as he looked at Steve's supposed killer as the man was led into the courtroom. Jarrod Pilner didn't look like a killer: Five foot nine, blonde hair, blue eyes, freckles, glasses, twenty-two and a lisp. But, Mark knew that no-one really looked like a killer. The only evidence missing to firmly nail Pilner's coffin shut was the fact that there was no body.
The other evidence was to say the least, impeccable. Peters had sworn to Mark that he would catch Steve's killer, and he had kept that promise. The man had worked on the organized crime family until he broke them down. He had three witnesses to testify against the young man now seated at the front of the courtroom. Three of Pilner's "friends" who had been there when Steve was murdered. Three men who knew where Steve's body was. Unfortunately, dragging the bottom of the Pacific Ocean wasn't exactly feasible.
To say that Mark had been elated when the arrest was finally made would be a lie. He wasn't elated. He wasn't even happy. He was simply justified. There was no happy feeling. He would have let one-hundred mobsters on the streets if it would have brought his son home safely. But, it wasn't to be. So, he sought solace in the fact that At least one would pay for the crime.
As the trial began, Mark's eyes wandered over to Jesse. Things had been difficult between them lately. Jesse didn't like Peters. The closer that Mark had worked with Peters and the D.A. to make the case work, the more strained his relationship with Jesse became.
In his heart, Mark knew that Jesse was most likely correct. The whole blame shouldn't be put on Jarrod Pilner. The crime family he was associated with had to have had more involvement than the case would show. Still, to hope to bring down an entire group was not practical. And, Mark Sloan was sure not going to let them get off without paying some price. Someone had to pay for what they'd done to his only son.
Jesse had an argument that made Mark unsettled. As much as Mark wanted Jarrod Pilner to go away for what he had done, the way they were going to put him in prison was unpalatable. The testimony would be that Steve was in league with Pilner. He'd killed Homer Garlin as a favor for Pilner. Then, Steve had started to put pressure on Pilner to help him out. Pilner got angry and strangled Steve to death.
Of course, none of Steve's friends believed he was working with Pilner. They just saw it as a way to cover up for the actual crime family as they used Jarrod for their scape goat. At least, everyone but Jesse saw it that way.
And there, thought Mark, hung the real crux of the matter. Jesse didn't think that Jarrod Pilner was guilty. He swore that the guy was being set up and that Mark and Amanda should know better. He said it was a disservice to Steve for his father and close friend to let an innocent man be tried for Steve's death.
Jesse firmly believed in Jarrod Pilner's defense. He'd been trying to get out of the family. He'd been working on his father to leave the group. As retaliation, they pinned Steve's murder on him.
After looking at the testimony of the three witnesses and the forensic evidence, Mark had found the story laughable. The testimony matched on all major points. A flashlight had been found at Jarrod's apartment. Testing showed that it was Steve's. Cheryl could testify to the fact that it had been in Steve's truck the morning of the day he went missing.
When Mark confronted Jesse with the evidence, the younger doctor had not backed down. All he said was that they planned well and planted the evidence. Mark had retaliated that it had to have been one grand scheme to pull it over on the LAPD. At that moment, Jackson Peters had walked in. Jesse had looked straight at the man and said, "Yeah, I guess so, but it doesn't make it less true. Besides, they had help."
It was the last conversation Mark had had with Jesse Travis. Shaking his head, Mark focused on the opening arguments. When this was all over, maybe then things could get back to normal, at least as far as his relationship with Jesse was concerned.
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Stephen MacTyre sighed as he looked at the broken shovel. He had to finish fixing the dirt walkway today, but he needed that shovel to do it. He groaned as he thought about the six mile walk into town. Swearing to himself that he was going to buy the first rundown old car that he could afford, he headed to his min-apartment to get his wallet.
Things had been going well for him at his new job. His small pay had enabled him to purchase clothes that actually fit instead of ones given to him in charity. Jim had worked with him on his cooking skills. He'd just mastered over easy eggs last week. This week, he was going to graduate to simple pancakes.
Mostly, he just got a list of things that needed to be done on the walkways and the grounds. Thankfully, he didn't have to bother with the flower beds as there was a gardener who did the major tending once a month and Jim did the weekly weeding.
His "boss" basically left him alone. When he actually ran into her, she talked to him like he was just any other person, not the hired help. Steve smiled. If he actually had his memory, life would be pretty great. He had a place to stay and a job that paid for his other necessities. According to Jim, that was how life was except when Mr. Thronson came to his Californian Beach home. Then, one had to be the perfect servant. Mr. Thronson was apparently nothing like his daughter. Where she preferred to hang around with the "servants" when she was lonely, Mr. Thronson hired temporary help and threw a party.
Steve's smile faltered. He hoped he would survive when Mr. Thronson came. He couldn't afford to lose this job.
"You look like your pet dog just died, Steve."
He turned around at the sound of his boss' voice.
"I'm just thinking about the hike into town. I broke the shovel handle and I need to get a new one."
"Why don't you ride in with me? I have to stop by the hospital. By the time I'm done there, you should be able to finish your business at the hardware store."
"You sure you don't mind?"
"Of course not, I hardly think an extra six miles to your journey will improve your or the walkway's physical condition."
"Great." Steve quickly followed her to her car and climbed in the passenger's side.
As they pulled out of the drive, he watched her. A tall slender frame with flaming red hair and blue eyes was what made up Dr. Angel Thronson, pediatric surgeon. Of course, she didn't do many surgeries in the quaint little upscale town that she lived in. She had to do mostly routine checkups. When she wasn't working, she usually bummed around the giant house in a tee shirt and blue jeans watching mindless movies on cable or reading a book.
Her eyes darted over to him. "Astounded by my beauty?" She asked as her lips twitched into a smile.
Steve grinned and shook his head. "Actually, I was wondering why you practice medicine here? Wouldn't you be more content actually working in a larger hospital?"
"That is a good question. Why am I here?" She paused for minute. She cleared her throat and continued.
"I guess the whole story started when I was young. My father was an up and coming fashion designer. He married my mother who was a model. We had a very nice life together. Then, when I was nine, my father started to spend more and more time becoming successful. My mother started more and more time with other men. My father didn't even realize that she'd run off with the plumber until she was late for a luncheon appointment. She'd been gone for over a week."
"I'm sorry."
"What for? You didn't run off with her. Anyway, he wasn't the same afterwards. He spent more time with other women and basically left me to different nannies. So I got rebellious."
"What did you do?"
"Oooh, something terrible. I'd always been fascinated by science, so I went to college for my medical degree. MOST parents would be thrilled with that decision. NOT my father. He wanted me to go into design so I could work in the family business. I got so mad at him that I decided to make him really angry and go into forensic science. He was livid. We didn't talk for a few years."
"Then, in my first year of graduate school, he had a stroke when his second wife left him. He came out here to recuperate. I dropped everything to take care of him. He started to get better and decided to "help" me. Old Dr. Gramson was going to be retiring from the local hospital in a few years. My father arranged it so that I could take his place. I didn't have much of a choice. My student loans were coming due, and without my father's money, I wasn't going to finish."
"So, I enrolled at a University here in California and changed my emphasis to Pediatrics so I could take over from Dr. Gramson when I was done with my internship. I majored in Pediatric surgery, simply because I didn't want to totally give in to my father's demands. And, here I am."
Steve frowned. He would hate to have a father that was so inconsiderate. The again, he didn't even know what his own father was like. The thought sobered him. What if his own father was like her father or worse? Angel glanced over at Steve's face.
"Hey, don't worry. I'm certain that someone is out there looking for you, and they'll be thrilled when they see you again."
"Yeah, probably some gang." Steve bitterly replied.
"Stephen MacTyre! In the three months I've known you and you've known, well, you have you every acted in anyway that did not benefit man kind?"
Steve shook his head.
"See? You are one of the kindest and nicest people I know. I refuse to believe that my friend is some fiend on the outside of the law."
Steve grinned. "If it turns out that you're wrong, will you be a character witness at my trial?"
She smiled. "No, I'll hire your lawyer."
"Thanks, it is nice to know that someone believes in me. Even if I don't."
"A lot of people believe in you. In the short time you've been here, you've built one heck of a reputation. Almost everyone in this town is behind you now. I have to turn them away from offering you jobs. After all, where am I going to find such a dedicated worker with the requisite muscles?"
A blush tinted Steve's cheeks. His voice was a touch strangled as they pulled into town. "Why don't you drop me off at the hardware store? I'll walk over to the hospital when I'm done."
"Sure. Hey, Steve?"
"Yes?"
"Would you like to eat out later tonight? I'm sure there is only so many microwave dinners that you can eat."
"I'd love to, but…"
"My treat. After all, I do have a doctor's salary."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Well then, I'd love to."
The car rolled to a halt outside of the store and Steve got out. As Angel drove away, Steve stared at the retreating taillights. Did this constitute a social life?