(Chapter 34.  Judge Greer's home and courtroom, the beach house, Valley Bureau Police headquarters.  July 2-4, 2033.)

Judge Jason A. Greer rolled over in bed and lay there with his eyes shut.  He could feel the light of the digital numbers on the alarm clock beating at his eyelids, mocking him.  He opened his eyes to find it was nearly two o'clock.  After a few minutes, he rolled over again and attempted to go to sleep.  As he tried to doze off, he continued deliberating the case before him.

He liked Lieutenant Stephens, there was no denying that, but then, he'd sent a lot of likeable people to jail in his days on the bench.  She was clever, and she hadn't wasted his time with a lot of repetitive testimony.  Then again, she was too clever by half.  She never once denied any of Bressler's allegations, but she had convincingly argued that none of her actions were actually crimes.  And she had certainly put Bressler in his place a time or two.  He was impressed with her, and he didn't want to be.  If he didn't find her so admirable, it wouldn't be such a hard decision.

He turned over and stared at the clock again.  Five minutes past two, and he hadn't had a wink of sleep yet.  He rolled over again.  This is ridiculous!  The woman drugged Moretti and took him away from a federal safe house with the aid of three crooked cops.  She's a thief, and she repeatedly evaded arrest.  She made fools of the police with her elaborate disguises.  Hell, she even drugged poor Harold so she could slip into his skin and spy on my court!  And sneaking Moretti into my chambers the day of the trial, how dare she?  She has made a mockery of the police, the law, the courts, and meHe punched his pillow a few times to make it more comfortable, took a deep breath, and tried to clear his head.  Harold's assault had not been brought before the court, and his own embarrassment didn't dare enter into his decision.

He rolled over again and got out of bed to fix himself a glass of warm milk.  Maybe that would help him sleep.  As he shuffled out to the kitchen, he continued worrying over the testimony he had heard during the day.  Bressler had been the only person in the courtroom who wanted Stephens convicted.  Even her supposed victims wanted to see her walk, but Greer was a man governed by the rule of law, not molded by the changeable winds of popular opinion.

After turning on the light over the range, he found a glass and a saucepan and got the milk out of the refrigerator.  She hadn't really hurt anyone, and he wasn't sure she had ever intended to.  She had saved Chief Sloan's life, twice, and she'd gotten Moretti safely to court for Gaudino's trial.  Still, lack of malice and even lack of any real harm done, did not constitute innocence.  He'd sent many people to prison for so-called victimless crimes like gambling, pandering, and prostitution. 

But did Lieutenant Stephens really commit any crime?  It all boiled down to one thing.  Was Mr. Moretti at any point really a kidnap victim?  Moretti himself didn't think so, but as a protected federal witness, it didn't much matter what he thought.

As he poured the milk into the pan, he heard a scuffling sound and looked up to see his wife coming into the kitchen.

"Caroline?  Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Waking me and preventing me from falling asleep are two very different things, Jason, dear."

He smiled ruefully.  "Point taken, darling.  I'm sorry for that, too."

"Apology accepted.  Let me do that," she said, moving toward the stove.

"No, it's all right, sweetheart.  I've got it."

"I'm sure you do," she said, "but you always scald it or scorch it, and I wake in the morning to find a an abandoned glass of milk with a skin on top or a nasty brown mess in the bottom of my good saucepan.  Now, sit down at the table and let me fix it for you."

As she took over from him, he gave her a peck on the cheek.  Instead of taking a seat as ordered, he stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her for a moment, burying his face in her hair.  Once it had been dark, dark brown, but now it was all silver.  It was still silky, and smelled wonderful.  He dropped another kiss on the back of her neck, murmured, "Thank you, dearest," and finally moved over to the table.

While her husband sat at the table ruminating in the dim light, Caroline Greer added some more milk to the pan, got out a glass for herself, and dropped some bread in the toaster.  When the toast popped, she buttered it and put it on a plate.  Then she poured the warm milk for herself and her husband, and stirred in some honey, knowing the sweetener was a mild natural sedative.  Balancing the drinks carefully on the edge of the plate, she moved over to the table.  Setting one glass in front of Jason and the plate of toast between them, she took her seat opposite him and said, "It seems to me you have a dilemma between the letter of the law and the spirit of it."

"I can't talk about this case until I have reached my verdict, Caroline."

"Then listen.  I'll do all the talking."  She took a bite of toast and smiled at him primly.  "The press updated this case every hour on the hour until you adjourned, and COURT-TV has been right outside your courtroom all day.  I know I didn't hear all the testimony first hand, but I think I have a pretty good idea what was going on inside."

"You do, huh?"

"Yes, I do, and I think, if she was just doing her job then everything else has to be viewed through that lens.  Was it essential to doing her job or not?"

"And if she was up to something else?"

"You mean, what if she didn't do everything she said she did as a master plan to save Moretti?"

"Yes, what if, as circumstances changed, she decided saving him was the only way to save herself from serving time?"

"Then Warren Bressler should have proven it."  Caroline smiled and wondered when Jason would realize that she had got him to talk about the case after all.  She didn't know if other judges discussed their cases with their wives, and she didn't care.  Jason was his own man, and she knew she would never be able to sway him from what his heart told him was right.  All she had ever done was help him hear what his heart was saying.

"You know, I had no intention of discussing this with you," he said.

"Don't blame yourself for the slip, dear," she said finishing her drink, "I'm very wily."  She got up and crossed the kitchen to the sink where she rinsed her glass.  "You coming?" she asked as she headed back to bed.

"In a minute."

"Ok, dear, but don't stay up too long."

He nodded in her general direction and munched a piece of toast.  Moretti had lived to testify.  Gaudino was in jail.  Sloan was alive.  Stephens took four bullets, lost a kidney, and was on trial for federal charges.  He emptied his glass and took it to the sink to rinse it out.  While he was there, he peeked into the saucepan, and smiled when he saw a thin brown crust on the bottom.

"Emmy, honey, wake up." 

"Mmmmm," Emily sighed and rolled over.

"Come on, sweetheart, wakey-wakey."

Emily smiled as she felt cool, gentle fingers brush her hair from her face.  She finally opened her eyes to see her mother sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling down at her.

"Did you sleep well?"

A yawn and a stretch were followed by a yelp and a rubbing of her chest as the scar tissue there pulled.  "Damn!"

"Em," her mother chided gently.

"Sorry, Mama, I slept fine, thank you."  She rubbed her bleary eyes and looked at the clock beside the bed.  "Why are you waking me at seven in the morning, Mama?"

"Well, Bruce called about ten minutes ago . . . "

"The judge has rendered a verdict," Emily said, sitting bolt upright in bed.  "How soon do I have to be in court?"  She swung her legs off the mattress, stood up, turned very pale very suddenly, and sank back down on top of the comforter as a wave of dizziness overcame her.

"Nine o'clock," Olivia said, "but if you don't take it easy you won't get there anyway.  Now, what would you like for breakfast?  Daddy and Uncle Ken are cooking so Aunt Sue and I can help you get ready."

Even with help, it had taken Emily over an hour and several bouts of tears to get showered and dressed.  Between the pain she still suffered from her injuries, her frustration with her mother's hovering, the lingering exhaustion of the previous day, and the anxiety of facing Judge Greer again so soon, it was as if the strain of the trial had used up every last drop of her self control.  Now, she was just floating in a sea of emotions, going whichever way the current took her, and it was a stormy sea at that.  Finally, she sat at the breakfast table poking at her eggs listlessly.

"Come on, Em," Kenney said, "I know your dad and I cooked, so it's not that good, but it is edible."

Emily tried a smile, but it died aborning, her chin quivered, and the tears came again.  "I'm sorry, Uncle Ken," she sniffled, "I can't.  I'm just . . . I'm so . . . "

"Scared?"

She nodded, and he moved closer and put an arm around her.  She put her head on his shoulder and cried.

"It's ok, Em," Kenney said softly.  "I think we're all a little worried."

"Just drink your milk, baby, so you can take your medicine," her Aunt Sue said and stroked her hair.  "Then your dad and Kenney can go get dressed and we'll be on our way."

After the welcome home celebration three days ago, Ken and Sue had stuck around, lying low and tending to housework, the garden, and shopping while Em and Bruce had worked on her defense, and Liv and Keith had worried about Em.  They had been hurt yesterday when Emily had asked them not to come to the trial, but now they realized that, with the rest of the family being walking wounded, it was up to them to keep things moving along.  When Emily nodded and took the glass of milk in a very shaky hand and held out the other for her pills, Sue placed the tablets in her palm, and cleared the five plates from the table.  Three of them, Liv's, Keith's, and Emily's, hadn't been touched.

Ron and Amanda were already showered and dressed, and Amanda was just putting the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher when they got the call.  They had always tended to start the day earlier than their friends.  Amanda was a naturally perky morning person, much to her children's disgust, and while Ron could never be described as perky, he liked to start his day before dawn just so he could see the sunrise and, now more than ever so he could be thankful for another chance at life every day.

"Of course we'll be there," Amanda replied, and looking at her watch, she decided she and Ron still had time for a leisurely cup of coffee and a look through the paper before they left for the courthouse.

At about eight o'clock in the morning, Steve and his son were jogging steadily along the beach together.  They had just gone south to the pier, and now they were headed north, past the house, to where they would run by Alex and Marilyn's place, play with the dogs for a minute, and then run down the sidewalk back to the house.  As they trotted along, they looked to the house and saw Maribeth waving at them.  They both waved back and continued jogging, but then she held the phone up and yelled.  The surf drowned out most of her words, but they both heard the word 'verdict' loud and clear.  Without a word between them, they turned and ran full speed up the beach to the house.

Giancarlo Moretti and his grandson 'Fredo were just getting back from a walk around the block.  After a two week suspension about three months ago, 'Fredo and his friend Donovan were reinstated, and both young men had been working nights ever since.  Often, the young cop would be coming in as his grandfather was going out, and they would head off for a walk together, one to wind down after a difficult night, the other to get geared up for an interesting day. 

As they approached Moretti's apartment, 'Fredo looked around and put an arm out to stop his grandfather's progress.  "Something's wrong, Gramps," he said.

Moretti looked around.  "Len's not here."

'Fredo nodded.  In the days and weeks following the Gaudino trial and Emily's shooting, Lenny Murdoch and Moretti had formed an unlikely friendship.  Now, Lenny, the reporter whom Leigh Ann had suckered into writing that first scandalous story about Emily Stephens and Chief Sloan, stopped in almost every morning to join Moretti and 'Fredo for breakfast.  The fact that he wasn't there was a sure sign that something big was up.

Moretti hung back as 'Fredo carefully approached the apartment.  Moments later, he breathed a huge sigh of relief as his grandson called, "Gramps, c'mere, he left you a note."

Moretti opened the proffered envelope and read the letter silently.  As he frowned, 'Fredo asked, "What's wrong?"

"Maybe nothin'," Moretti said.  "Judge Greer has a verdict.  He's gonna read it at nine before he begins his scheduled business."

"You want me to come with?"

"If you're up ta it.  Ya know if ya fall asleep he'll put ya in jail for contempt."

"Oh, I think I can stay awake for another hour.  Mind fixing me some breakfast while I freshen up?"

Moretti checked his watch.  "Ya got ten minutes, kid."

"I'll be back in five."

True to his word, 'Fredo had showered, changed, and was back at his granddad's door in five minutes flat.  Moretti came out of the apartment handing him a soy sausage and egg sandwich and a bottle of juice.  "We should make it just in time," he said.

At five minutes before nine, Emily sat at the defense table, hands folded in front of her on the glossy wooden surface, her back and arms tense and rigid.  She tried hard to focus her mind, but the only thought she could muster was to wonder what the people watching must have been thinking.  Did they think she was meditating?  Praying? 

She felt Bruce lean in close to her.  "Em?  You ok?"

She nodded, took a deep breath to calm herself, and continued staring at her hands on the tabletop.  All too soon, she heard the bailiff.

"Hear ye, hear ye, this court is now in session, the honorable Judge Jason A. Greer, presiding.  Silence is commanded.  All rise!"

The crowd rose as one, Emily struggling to keep up with them, as Judge Greer entered the courtroom.  There was a swish of silk as his black robe billowed around him, and he strode purposefully to the bench.  He paused a moment before he sat and surveyed his courtroom.  His gaze fell on Emily, and they locked eyes for a moment.  She tried to read his expression, but he gave nothing away.  After a moment, he took his seat.

"Be seated," the bailiff called, and the audience sat, Emily again just half a beat behind.

Greer took another minute to look around the courtroom.  It was packed.  Lieutenant Stephens' parents sat directly behind her, with another couple he had not seen during the trial to their right, and Deputy Chief Sloan's son to their left.  The Deputy Chief sat next to his offspring, and alongside him, sat his wife and father.  Doctor Travis and his wife and daughter sat beside them.  In the next row back, he saw Agent Wagner in his wheelchair at the end of the row, and beside him, his wife and children.  A redheaded officer sat beside the Wagners' daughter, and Moretti, his son, and grandson sat beside him.  Commander Banks, and Chief of Police Tanis Archer sat toward the back with Lieutenant Stephens' doctor and freelance reporter Lenny Murdoch.  The rest of the room was filled with police and reporters.  There were a lot of people in court who wanted to see the lieutenant go free, and there were at least as many who were there out of simple curiosity or because they had been assigned to write a story.  Harold the janitor stood in the very back.

"Last night was the first time in years that I have actually lost sleep over the proceedings in my courtroom," Greer began very bluntly.  "Lieutenant Stephens, I put that down to you."

Emily sat up a little straighter and took a deep breath.

"The fact that you never denied any of your actions should have made this an easy case to decide, but with your clever arguments, you made it quite complicated.  By claiming that everything you had done had been for the sole purpose of bringing Mr. Moretti safely in to testify, you presented me with two difficult questions. 

"Were you really just doing your job, and was everything you did necessary to completing your assignment?  I have to say frankly, I still don't know.  I have been following your case since the day Mr. Moretti disappeared, and it seems to me there were times when you were having far too much fun making fools of the police to be protecting your witness properly.  Once you had Mr. Moretti in your custody, the two of you should have just kept your heads down and waited for the trial, but instead, you had several little adventures of your own.  There was, if I recall from testimony, a walk in the park, a trip to the bank, a run on the beach, a visit to Mann's Chinese Theatre, a sting operation using the witness you were supposed to protect as bait, and some comic book super-hero antics. 

"Of course, Agent Wagner's order to get Mr. Moretti to the Gaudino trial to testify 'no matter what' practically gave you carte blanche to run amok, and I think you took full advantage.  Whatever else you did, though, you kept Mr. Moretti alive.  You also assisted in the arrests of fifteen mafia henchmen, including nine within the LAPD who would have proved an undeniable threat to Mr. Moretti if they had gone unchecked, and you saved Deputy Chief Sloan's life in this very room.

"I know you are highly intelligent, Lieutenant Stephens, and I have seen just how crafty you can be on more than one occasion.  I believe you were manipulating the FBI, the LAPD, and the law from the beginning.  I do not like people who play lightly with the law, Lieutenant." 

Emily's shoulders sagged, and a gasp of shock rippled across the courtroom followed by concerned murmurs.  The judge banged his gavel and called for order.

"I believe you used unnecessary force to get Mr. Moretti out of the safe house, but under the auspices of Agent Wagner's orders, it was not 'unlawful force'.  I believe you aimed a gun at Dr. Travis to protect him from charges of aiding and abetting a fugitive.  As long as he didn't appear to go willingly, he wouldn't be charged.  However, since that matter was not brought before this court, I can't let it enter into my decision.  I believe you disobeyed the orders to turn Mr. Moretti in more because you wanted the challenge of outwitting the police than because you believed he was in danger.  I also believe you refused the right to a jury trial because you wanted to see if you were clever enough to fool me."

The judge folded his hands on the bench before him, leaned forward, and eyed Emily closely.  "It did not work," he spat.

Emily sat straight and tall in her seat.  Her only reaction was to flinch at each of his words.  She heard her mother begin to cry behind her, but she resisted the urge to turn around and comfort her.  She heard other familiar voices expressing shock and surprise, but still she sat, and waited.

At a nod from the judge, the bailiff called, "The defendant will rise to hear the verdict."

Shakily, with Bruce supporting her by the elbow, Emily came to her feet to face her doom.

Judge Greer examined her like a bug under a microscope for a moment longer.  "Lieutenant Stephens, I believe you were carefully and consciously balancing on a thin wire between that which is legal and that which is not.  Fortunately for you, you came down on just the right side of it.  I believe you were up to no good, Lieutenant, but I am not certain.  I don't know if it was just mischief or if it was actually malice, but whatever you were doing, you didn't leave enough evidence to prove any criminal activity beyond a reasonable doubt.  It is my judgment that Mr. Bressler was unable to prove his case.  I find the defendant not guilty on all charges.  Lieutenant, you are free to go."

Emily felt her knees go weak, and she was only vaguely aware of Bruce helping her back into her chair.  She heard the shouts of joy behind her as she watched Judge Greer leave the courtroom, his black robe fluttering in the breeze of his brisk movements.  Suddenly she was crying, and her mother was holding her, and her father was hugging both of them.  She saw Bressler shaking Bruce's hand and Bruce shrugging modestly and jerking his head in her direction.  Then the bailiff began clearing the courtroom until it was just Emily, Bruce, Steven, and her parents.

"Lieutenant!  Lieutenant Stephens!"

A throng of reporters assailed Emily with shouts and pleas for attention as Steven wheeled her out of the courthouse.  They had previously used a back entrance to avoid the press, but now they were leaving through the front doors.  Yesterday, Emily had been so engrossed in the fight for her freedom that she had not noticed the how many journalists had begun to take an interest in her case.  Today, what Steven had planned to be a triumphal exit from the halls of justice looked as if it was about to become a hasty retreat.  The sheer number of reporters waiting to hear what Emily had to say shocked him, too.

As he veered off and headed for the handicapped access ramp, he heard Emily speak soft and low.  "Steven, wait.  I've earned this moment."

Smiling slightly, glad she felt strong enough to speak to them, he stopped and said, "If you're sure you're up to it."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Lieutenant!" one voice called above the rest, "How does it feel to know you have been exonerated?"

At first, Emily looked bewildered, but then she took a deep breath, opened her mouth to speak, paused a moment, and laughed aloud.  "I have never been speechless in my life.  I don't quite have the words to tell you how good it feels.  I guess I'm . . . grateful."

"Lieutenant Stephens!"  Emily looked in the direction of the new voice, and the woman continued talking.  "Zelotes Guzman, WKTW News.  Judge Greer had some stern words for you before he pronounced his verdict.  How do you feel about what he said, and do you have any reply?"

Emily thought about how to respond.  Finally, she said soberly, "My mama always told me nobody likes a smart aleck."

There was some laughter, but with an effort, she shouted them down.  It took her some time to recover from the exertion of yelling over them, but the reporters were anxious to get their stories written, so they waited patiently. 

"I am very used to being the clever one, always eager to outwit the competition, and to me, life has always been a competition, always about being smarter than someone else.  I was never a particularly nice person, never patient, never especially well liked, but I could outsmart anybody, and I would do so just to embarrass people.  I thought, when I became a cop, that I had outgrown that, but I guess I was wrong.

"I never intended to harm Mr. Moretti.  It was absolutely, positively, always my sole intent to keep Mr. Moretti safe.  The fact that the best Judge Greer could say about me was that I didn't leave behind enough evidence to prove I had committed any crimes tells me that I have a lot to think about."

"Did you expect to be considered a hero for saving Chief Sloan?" a voice called out from the crowd.

"No!"  It was clear to everyone by the expression on her face what a ludicrous suggestion Emily thought that was.  "I'm not a hero, not by any stretch of the imagination, but when it was all said and done, I didn't expect anybody to question the honorableness of my intentions."

"Yet in court you said you weren't surprised to be brought to trial," someone said.  "So why are you surprised that the judge would question your honor?"

Emily didn't know who had called out the question, so she made it a point to make eye contact with as many of the reporters as she could.  "I knew I had done things for which I had to answer," she said, "things that required explanation.  It hurts me that Judge Greer did not believe I had the best of intentions all along, but I can't very well be upset that he found insufficient evidence to put me in jail, can I?"

When she finished her statement, Emily looked up and said softly to Steven, "Let's go."

As Steven prepared to push her away, another voice called out, "Now what are you going to do, Lieutenant?"

"I am going to go get some rest," she replied, raising her hand to again stop Steven from pushing her away.  "Judge Greer isn't the only one who spent a sleepless night."

"And what about for the rest of your life?" someone yelled.

"Excuse me?" Emily said.  "What exactly do you mean?"

"James Frear, Detroit News," the young man introduced himself.  "I have a source at Community General Hospital who says you have tried stem cell therapy three times and it has failed to take.  According to my source, you have also been determined an unsuitable candidate for any transplant procedures.  With a weak heart and only one kidney, you can't be a cop anymore.  Will you try any experimental procedures to repair your injuries so you can go back to work, or will you leave the police department and move on to something else?"

"Your source is right, sir," Emily said, "and I hope he or she realizes that his or her job is now in jeopardy.  If this person is a doctor, nurse, or other licensed health care provider, he or she could also lose his or her license.  My medical records are confidential, and if I was so inclined, I could bring a suite against Community General for the breach.  As for my future, if it is any of your business, I am not interested in trying experimental procedures; I have been scrutinized enough already."

"Do you still want to be a cop?"

"Very much so," she replied, "but, as you have already established through your source, my medical condition prohibits it.  Police work is the only thing I have ever done in my life that has made me feel as if I had done something with my life.  I don't know what I will do now, so I guess the next thing on my agenda will be figuring that out.  Now, if you will all excuse me, I am rather tired."

The press continued to shout questions at her while a few officers held them at bay, but she ignored them as Steven pushed her chair over to the handicapped ramp and down to the waiting car.

"Mmmm," Emily moaned slightly and woke up when the car stopped.  She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and yawned.  When she was properly awake, she looked around in confusion for a moment and then asked, "Daddy, where are we?"

"Steve and Maribeth's house."

Keith watched in amusement as his daughter's lips silently formed the names.  "Oh, you mean Chief Sloan and his wife?"

"Yeah," Keith replied, unable to conceal a laugh, "They invited everyone here for a victory celebration.  I know you're tired, but your mother and I were thinking you could just put in an appearance and thank everyone for their support, and then we could head home.  What do you say?"

Emily nodded.  "Sounds like a plan."

Knowing that the front steps of the beach house would prove a particular obstacle for her wheelchair, Emily asked her father to help her walk into the house.  As she slowly climbed the steps, she was surprised that it was much easier than she had expected.  With the trial over and her freedom secure, it seemed as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.  Still, she was grateful to sink into the nearest comfortable chair she could find upon entering the living room.

"Welcome to our home, Emily," Mark said as he brought her a glass of orange juice.  "Your Aunt Sue told me you and your folks were a little too worried to have breakfast, so Maribeth and I have taken the liberty of preparing brunch.  How would you like your eggs?"

"Over easy, please," she said, "and thank you, Mark."  She looked around at the room full of hovering people, most of whom had headed directly to the Sloans' house while she was still talking to the press.  Besides Steven's family and her own, Bruce was there, and Moretti, and Captain Cioffi and his son, 'Fredo.  The reporter she had seen at the courthouse talking to Leigh Ann during the Gaudino trial appeared to be with Moretti.  She frowned to see him and knew she would have to ask someone about that later.  All of the Bentley-Wagner clan was present, including the Captain Bentley-Wagner's wife and children, and to Emily's surprise and delight, her friend Alicia Geiger, who was clinging to CJ's arm, a bit overwhelmed by all the strangers.  Charles Donovan was sitting on the sofa with Hannah Wagner, and Commander Banks was off in the corner, talking to the Deputy Chief Sloan.  Alex and Jesse were there, too, along with their wives.

She was so overcome by the show of support, that she hadn't noticed Steven and Jesse's daughter, Lauren, handing around glasses of champagne until Steven placed one in her hand.  When Bruce raised his glass and led the group in singing, "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow," the tears started, and by the time they were finished singing, Emily's eyes and nose were red from tears, and her cheeks were red from embarrassment.

"Speech!" Jesse called, and to Emmy's dismay, the cry was taken up by all present.  She tried for a moment to turn them down, but then realized there was no way she could.  Raising one hand to call for quiet as she wiped her tears away with the other, she waited a moment for everyone to hush, and then, she began to speak.

"I know I didn't make it easy for any of you to believe in me," she said, "but I am so very glad you did.  I am delighted to be among you to celebrate today, and grateful that you all still had faith in me despite everything." 

Looking to Steve, she said, "Chief, I think next to my parents you suffered the most because of my actions.  I'm not sure why you don't hate me for the grief I caused you, but I'm thankful that you have forgiven me."

The tears started yet again, as she turned to Steven.  "Steven, you have been kind to me since the day we met.  Life shouldn't have to be difficult for you just because you care about me, but it has been.  Thank you for loving me anyway."

"Mama and Daddy . . . " a shudder moved through her, and then another, and suddenly, she was sobbing openly.  "Oh, God, I just don't know what to say."  Totally at a loss for words, she reached out to them, and as Liv and Keith moved forward to comfort their daughter, the rest of the group retreated to the deck, dining room, and kitchen to give them some privacy.

Leigh Ann Bergman sat in the commons area of her cellblock at the California Institution for Women in Corona.  She had just finished watching the noon news, and for her it was devastating.  That idiot judge had let Lieutenant Stephens go.  Deputy Chief Sloan was 'retiring after over fifty years of outstanding service,' according to one of the talking heads, and Chief Archer said he'd told her 'he had plans to spend a lot of time with his family and friends.'  Another reporter from the courthouse had said that Lieutenant Stephens and all of her supporters were planning to celebrate at the Sloan's house.

It sickened her.  They were partying while she was rotting in jail.  She'd have to do something about that.  She'd have to find a way to spoil their fun.  She headed back to her cell.  She had just enough time before lunch to write a couple of letters.

At six o'clock in the evening, the celebration at the Sloans' house was still going strong.  Jesse, Alex, their wives, and Dion's two oldest children, Amber and Reg, were playing Frisbee with the Martins' dogs.  The four dogs, four adults, and two children made quite a lot of noise on the beach, and Steve was glad his neighbors were tolerant people.  Mark, Liv, Keith, and Maribeth chatted on the deck while they all waited for Lauren to return from a dinner run to Bob's.  Ron and Amanda were sitting on a blanket further up the beach making a fuss over their youngest grandchild while their children wandered along the sand hand in hand with their respective partners.  Other people stood or sat about in small groups talking and laughing.

Steve knew his son was probably still in the spare room watching Emily sleep.  She had dozed off in her chair shortly after they had all watched the noon news together and again toasted her freedom and then his retirement.  Rather than wake her and move her out to the car for a thirty-minute ride home, Steven had eagerly offered the simple yet practical solution of moving her to the guestroom where she could sleep in peace. 

When he saw Lauren pulling up in the drive, Steve headed back the hall to get Steven, knowing that his goddaughter would find plenty of willing hands to help carry in the food.  The guest room door was slightly ajar, and without thinking, Steve peeked in.  Steven and Emily lay fully clothed on top of the covers.  Her arms were wrapped around his middle, her head resting on his chest.  He had one arm around her shoulders and the other resting at his side.  She was sleeping soundly, and he was watching her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Steve smiled at the scene.  He could remember holding Olivia like that when she came home after being missing for nearly a week.  The relief he had felt at finding she had simply been camping in the mountains was something he had never been able to put to words, and he supposed Steven had felt much the same way when Judge Greer acquitted Emily.  Steve had thought then that his destiny was inextricably intertwined with Olivia's, and now, he supposed it was, though not in the way he had imagined.  His son was so obviously in love that Steve knew there would be no surprising anyone when they announced their engagement, which he imagined would be soon because he had overheard Steven rehearsing a conversation he planned to have with Keith earlier in the week.  Suddenly Steve felt embarrassed to intrude on such an intimate moment.  He went back down the hall a few steps and called to his son. 

"Steven!"  He approached the door.  "Oh, hey," he whispered, "Lauren is here with dinner.  Do you want to come out and eat?"

"Hey, Pops," Steven whispered back.  "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute, thanks."  He looked down at Emily and then back to his father.  "Do you think I should wake her?"

Steve gave it a moment's thought and said, "Nah, if she can sleep this long, she probably needs her rest.  She'll wake up when she's hungry, and we'll just make sure to save something for her, ok?"

Steven nodded.  "Ok, Pops.  I'll be along in a minute."

Lunch had been chicken and rice.  Dinner had been pork chops.  She had planned to get this done earlier, but it had taken her a while to work up the nerve.  She had wanted to put it off until lights out, but she couldn't do that.  She wanted to be sure Chief Sloan would hear about it today.

Someone on her cellblock had managed to smuggle the blade to a utility knife out of the upholstery shop.  She had bartered a couple of novels and a pack of gum for it.  She placed the letters where they would be easily found, then turned away from the cell door and shoved the rolled up washcloth into her mouth.  She didn't think she'd cry out from the pain, but if she did, that would muffle it.  She didn't want to draw attention to herself.  She wanted to finish the job before anyone knew what she was doing.  Pulling the blade from its hiding place where she had jammed it into the mattress, she began to cut, going deep and slicing her veins the long way, so they couldn't be fixed.

After he finished his dinner, Steven went into the house and washed the barbecue sauce from his hands.  Coming back out onto the deck, he saw Keith and Liv sitting on a dune together, enjoying the surf and the sun.  Taking a deep breath and deciding there was no time like the present, he walked down to the beach and approached them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Stephens, may I speak to you for a moment?"

She felt very cold.  It hadn't hurt as much as she thought it would, and she was proud of herself that she hadn't cried out.  She spat out the washcloth from her mouth and curled up on the bed, the warm, ruby liquid flowing from her veins and soaking the mattress.  All she had to do now was go to sleep.  The sounds of the prison grew fainter and fainter.  She smiled and snuggled her face into the pillow and began to think of Mr. Gorini.  She sighed when he appeared before her, saying, "I've come for you, Little Bird," and the sounds of the prison disappeared altogether.

"Sloan residence," Steve answered the phone.  "This is he . . . What about her?"  The tone of Steve's question instantly telegraphed to everyone in the room that something bad was happening, and the conversations stopped.  "She did? . . . I see . . . How? . . . When? . . . No, no, please, send them both to me . . . I will forward hers when and if she is ready to read it . . . Will you, uh, will you convey my sympathies to her husband when he comes to claim her effects? . . . Thank you, I will also be contacting him myself . . . Yes, thank you for calling . . . Good bye."

Steve turned to face his family and friends.  Surprisingly, he didn't feel any grief or regret.  He didn't feel any satisfaction either.  He simply didn't feel anything about the news he had just received.  It was just information to be dealt with and passed along.

"That was the warden at the California Institution for Women in Corona.  Leigh Ann Bergman killed herself about an hour ago.  Slit her wrists.  She left letters for Emily and me.  I told him to send them both to me.  I don't think Em needs to deal with that right now."

The room was quiet for a few moments, then conversation resumed.  At first, the voices were subdued, but soon, the friends could no longer contain their enthusiasm for being together, and the party continued well into the night.

Steve smiled as he slipped out of the house at about six in the morning.  Emily had woken up about halfway through dinner, surprised them all by creeping out unassisted to the deck to join them, and then promptly fell asleep again.  Steven had again taken her back to the spare room and suggested that, rather than disturbing her, Liv, Keith, Kenny, and Sue could all go back to Brentwood whenever they were ready, and just bring her a change of clothes in the morning. 

Steve didn't have to wonder if he was the only one who saw through his son's desperate ploy to keep his beloved close.  One look around and he knew everyone could tell what his son was up to.  When Olivia and Keith had agreed to the suggestion, Steven had gently scooped Emily up in his arms and carried her back down the hall, Olivia following at a not-too-discrete distance, fretting over her daughter and worrying whether she had taken her medicine.  Olivia had come back out smiling a few minutes later, and Steven hadn't been seen for the rest of the evening.

Now, Steve was on his way into the station one last time.  He had a few personal items he wanted to collect, and he preferred to get in and out before too many people had reported for the day shift.  He got in his truck and headed off down the Pacific Coast Highway.  He and Maribeth had already rented that sailboat he had been talking about, and early next week, they were heading for Catalina.  She had already made plans to go hiking up at Big Bear in the fall, and they were both sure there would be a wedding in the works before the year was out.  His mind swam with all the things he hoped to do with his family and friends now that he was free from the time constraints of his job, and he arrived at the precinct without even knowing it.

He went up the steps of the precinct, just as he had every morning that he reported for work for the past fifty-plus years.  All the while, he was aware that this was not just any morning.  It was his last morning wearing the uniform of the LAPD.  The place seemed a bit busier than usual for half past six in the morning, and he wondered if something was up.  But that's not your worry any more, is it, Sloan?  Stopping at the door, he took a deep breath and shook off the melancholy that tried to overwhelm him.  He was going to spend the rest of his life enjoying his time with his friends and family.  If he was lucky, he might even have grandkids to spoil before too long.  There was no sense in being sad!

Entering the precinct, just as he always had, he went up to the desk sergeant and said, "Morning, Bob, anything interesting happen overnight?"  When he spotted the American flag hanging behind the desk, he realized for the first time that today was Independence Day.  That explains the extra personnel.  Usually, he and Maribeth had a cookout for all their friends at the beach house, but this year, with everything else going on in their lives, they had both forgotten it.

"No, Chief," Bob replied, "just a little more than the usual bloodshed and mayhem, but with the holiday, that's not surprising.  More fireworks violations than last year, though, and the rowdy drinkers have started early.  I did hear about Leigh Ann, though.  I don't know quite what to make of that."

Steve shook his head.  "Neither do I, Bob, and I thought I knew the woman.  I guess she was just more disturbed than any of us realized."

"I suppose," Bob agreed.  "It's a shame, though, that none of us noticed.  We might have been able to help her, or at least we could have saved us all a lot of grief."

"Maybe we could have," Steve replied, "but people like that have to want to be helped, and I think if she had wanted it, she would have done something to let someone know."

"Yeah, you're probably right, Chief," Bob said, and as Steve turned to go, he added, "Have a nice day, Sir, and Happy Fourth of July!"

Steve smiled and waved.  "Thanks, Bob, you, too."

It didn't take Steve long to pack up the few personal things he had in his office.  After his conversation with Bob, he just wanted to get out of the building as quickly as possible and never look back.  One box was full of framed certificates and plaques acknowledging his achievements.  Another contained family photos, his coffee mug, a pen and pencil set Maribeth had given him, a picture of him in his dress uniform that Steven had drawn in first grade titled "My Daddy Iz a Polise Man", and a few other items that had traveled with him from office to office as he had moved up the ranks.  It wasn't a lot for fifty years on the job, and that made him a little sad.  He'd spent so much time here at his home away from home, and now that he was leaving, it surprised him to realize that everything that had helped him make his mark on the place could fit into two cardboard boxes.  Once he carried them out, it would be like he had never been there.

He put the lids on the boxes and placed one on top of the other so he could carry them both out in one trip.  Then he unclipped his badge from his belt, intending to leave it on the desk, and found that at first, he couldn't do it.  He had more than once offered to give it up when things he was asked to do within the department conflicted with his conscience, and it had been taken away from him a few times when things he had done conflicted with department policy, but he had never realized before just how much a part of him the badge was.  For a while, he just stood there, feeling its weight in his palm, rubbing his thumb over the engraving.  The small lump of gold-plated metal weighed less than four ounces, but it had defined who he was and what he stood for throughout most of his adult life.  Will I know who I am without it?  He felt his throat tighten and his chest constrict, and his eyes burned.  He closed his hand around the badge and squeezed it tightly for a moment, memorizing the feel of it in his hand.  Then he laid it carefully in the center of the green desk blotter, picked up his boxes, and headed out.

It took a little maneuvering, but he managed to get out of his private office without dropping anything, and he was just headed through the outer office when Cheryl came in with Cioffi and Donovan in tow.

"Hey, Chief," Cheryl said and smiled at him.  "You've come to clean out your office, I see."

"Uh, yeah," he said uneasily.  "I didn't want to interrupt your day, so I tried to get it done early."

"Officers, don't just stand there and watch, help the man with his boxes," Cheryl ordered, and though Steve tried to protest, the two rookies each took a box from his hands.

"Oh, uh, I have some keys for you," Steve said, and took out his key ring.  "That's the outer office, the private office, the master to the building, and the service elevator.  You will find there are times when it gets particularly hectic that it helps to be able to slip in and out without being seen."

Cheryl smiled at him and said, "Thanks, Chief.  Let me walk you down."

"Uh, no, no thanks, that's all right.  You were obviously getting ready to do something.  I'll just take my boxes and . . . "

"Nonsense," Cheryl said.  "Anything I was going to do can wait a few minutes while we walk out with you.  Cioffi and Donovan can carry your things for you."

"Cheryl, it's all right.  I've got it."

"Steve," she said, "I insist."  Before he could protest again, she looped her arm through his and led him down the hall to the elevator that would take them down to the main lobby.  The doors swished open, and they stepped in.  Cioffi and Donovan followed them and moved to the back of the car. 

When the doors swished open again, Steve stepped out into a silent lobby.  A single voice snapped, "Ten HUT!" and the sharp crack of feet stamping echoed through the building as scores of cops came to attention.  Speechlessly, Steve walked out of the elevator and down the nearest line of officers.  Men and women he had served with for years stood side by side with rookies he had just recently brought in.  Cops from all over LA were there, people the commissioners had pulled from his bureau to rebuild the department after the Mob scandals of three years ago.  As he reached the end of the row, Cheryl fell in beside, Lorena Martinez, Muti Al-Mannai, and Li Hong, the other three with whom he had faced down the mob back in 2007. 

"I . . .You . . . How did you arrange this?" he asked.

Cheryl couldn't hide a smile.  "I figured you'd try to sneak in and out without a fuss, so I had someone watching your house."  She pulled her features into a strict, serious expression then, and said, "Ready for your inspection, Sir!"

Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the show of respect, all Steve could do was walk through the ranks and inspect the troops.  There must have been a hundred cops crowded into the lobby and the halls that extended off of it.  It seemed that everyone who was under his command during the quake of 2005 was there.  Dion, his eyes bright with moisture, stood beside Maddie, one of the children from the early years at the Never Say Die Gym.  Numerous other young officers whom he had helped and encouraged along the way swelled the ranks.  Some of them had been kids in trouble when he met them.  Others had been children of people he had put in jail, youngsters he had taken an interest in when it seemed they had no one else to care. 

Tommy Park stood together with a few others from the motor pool.  He and his dad and Assistant District Attorney Susan Turner had cleared Tommy of murder charges about thirty-five years ago.  Tommy had been interested in cars, so once he got his mechanics certificate, Steve had recommended him for a job with the department. 

Chad Reese, a detective now, smiled as he walked by.  Noelle Landru, one of Chad's prep school classmates, had made a practice of trading favors, and when things didn't go her way, she murdered Chad's girlfriend and another student at the school.  Steve had never had any idea that Chad had even known who he was until almost a decade later when a familiar looking young man came and introduced himself saying he had never forgotten how it felt to know someone cared enough about his friends to find the person who had killed them and bring her to justice.  Chad had finished high school, got his degree in administration of justice, completed his academy training, and joined the LAPD.  Now he wanted to transfer to Steve's precinct and work for the man who had inspired him to become a cop.  At the time, Steve had been a captain less than a year, and he and his people were just moving into their new building after the quake of 2005.  Steve had been too busy for a long interview at the time, but he had had a feeling about the young man, and had told him, "Fine.  Find someone who looks like they could use some help, and lend a hand."

As he walked among his officers, inspecting the ranks, making eye contact with every individual, speaking with some of them, Steve felt a sense of warmth flood through him.  The things that had left his mark on this place were not in a couple of cardboard boxes, they were in the faces and lives and spirits of the men and women who surrounded him now.  They were in the lives he'd touched, the officers he'd trained, and the people he'd inspired; and even if he never again set foot inside this place, they would remain for a long time to come. 

Steve finished his inspection and returned to the front of the lobby where Tanis and Cheryl were waiting for him.  Tanis had a wide, flat velvet box in her hand and Cheryl was holding a plaque that had an engraved image of his shield on it with the dates of his service and the department motto.  Tanis opened the box and Steve smiled to see the typical gold watch on one side and his badge, which he had just minutes before left on his desk, on the other.

As the roomful of cops continued to stand at attention, Tanis said, "Deputy Chief Sloan, it is my pleasure to present you with this token of out appreciation for over fifty years of dedicated service.  You have always led by example and served as a role model for those around you.  You have been a paragon of integrity, respect, loyalty, and trust, and your presence will be sorely missed.  We all wish you well."

Steve stood for a moment, dumbfounded, until Cheryl murmured, "I think you should say something."

He took a breath and turned to face them all.  "Thank you, all of you, for being here today.  It has been an honor and a privilege to serve with you, and I am sure you will all carry on for many more years upholding justice for the people of our city.  Remember your oath, 'To serve and to protect.'  Watch your partner's back, and stand proud, knowing you are the ones who make this community a safer place to live."

A voice shouted, "Dismissed!" and the assembly slowly broke up.  After he had posed with Cheryl and Tanis for some pictures, many of the officers came forward to shake Steve's hand and share a word or two.  Finally, after several minutes, the place was back to business as usual, and Steve, Cheryl, and Tanis stood in the lobby talking.

"You two are very sneaky," he said.  "I can't believe you had somebody staking out my house for this."

Cheryl grinned and shrugged.  "It's the only way we could be sure to get you here.  I'm just glad you didn't tell them, 'Never complain . . . '"

Tanis joined her, "' . . . never explain . . . '"

Steve finished with them, "'. . . and never apologize.'  Actually, I considered it."

"You didn't!" Chery gasped, scandalized.

Steve started to nod, and then, unable to lie to her, shook his head and said, "No, I didn't."  He felt himself choking up again and said, "Ladies, thank you.  This meant more to me than you will ever know."

Cheryl stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.  "Don't be a stranger."

Tanis shook his hand and squeezed his arm, "We'll miss you.  Take care."

Steve smiled and nodded at both of them, completely unable to speak.  Then he turned, picked up his two boxes, and left.