A/N: I said this is my first DM fanfic and it is, so I am still feeling my way a little, but it is not the first fanfic I have ever written - I do write in another fandom. I'm sorry if I created any confusion about that. Thanks.

Chapter 9

"Well, look at you - a gentleman of leisure."

Steve dragged his eyes from the view of the surf stretching out before him, smiled at the sight of his partner standing just outside of the door leading to the deck. "Hey. Got anything for me?"

"Hm…hello, Cheryl. Nice of you to stop by, Cheryl. You're looking lovely today, Cheryl."

Steve's smile broadened. "Hello, Cheryl," he parroted obediently. "Nice of you to stop by, Cheryl. You're looking lovely today, Cheryl. Might not want to let that last one go to your head, though. I'm just guessing. My vision's still not up to snuff."

"It's the thought that counts." Cheryl sat herself sideways on a lawn chair next to his and tilted her head at him. "You're looking more like my partner, less like something we usually draw a chalk outline around."

"Thanks. Iced tea?" He gestured to a frosty pitcher and a couple of glasses on a table by his elbow.

"Sounds good. The Captain sends his best."

Steve carefully aimed the pitcher at one glass, then the other. "No kidding. What did he have to say?"

Cheryl tipped her head back and considered. "I think his exact words were: 'Tell Sloan that if I see his sorry butt anywhere near this precinct before he has official permission to return to work, then I'll personally kick it all the way back to Malibu.'"

Steve blinked, glancing at her to see if she was joking. "Touching."

"Hey, that IS his best."

"Yeah, he's a sentimental fool all right." He handed her a glass. "So, have we covered the small talk?"

Cheryl sighed, turning to stretch out in her lawn chair. "A man with a one track mind."

Steve clinked his own glass against hers in a toast. "Part of my charm."

"Well, let's see…" Cheryl opened the file in her lap. "I have lots of stuff for you…want to start with blood spatter photos?"

Steve hesitated. "Maybe you'd better tell me about those. I had - a little bad luck with them the other day." He fumbled in his front pocket and pulled out the tape recorder.

Cheryl stared. "You're taping me?"

Steve cued up the tape. "It was Amanda's idea. So I could listen instead of trying to read the file."

Cheryl raised her brows. "Pretty smooth." She fanned the photos out in her lap. "Okay. Madge Fuller's clothing. It is a little funky, and they're still working on the sim tape to get a sense of just where she was standing when she did this. She didn't catch a whole lot of spatter, considering."

"So you're saying the spatter evidence is inconsistent with her committing the assault?"

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying it's inconclusive. You might have been turning your head, so she might have avoided a lot of the blood that way. They're still playing with it to try and recreate exactly what went on."

"But it shows that it's possible that it's not her."

Cheryl stared at him. "Did I mention the one track mind?"

"You might have. What about the walls? Can they tell us where she was standing?"

"That's only semi-helpful. Looks like you were turning toward the hallway when it happened, so most of the spatter is in the entryway, some on the floor, some in the hall - hard to get a clear sense of where she was. But they're working on it."

Steve frowned. "What else?"

"Well, you're not going to be wanting your clothes back."

"Very funny. What do they tell us?"

"Not much we didn't know. Where you got hit, that the assailant was shorter than you, that you were in motion at the time…"

"Turning?"

"Looks like."

Steve shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "If I was questioning her, why would I be turning?"

"Maybe the phone rang. Maybe you were ready to go. Maybe you saw something that attracted your attention - might have been just the distraction she needed."

"Maybe." Steve took a long draught of iced tea. "Wish I remembered."

Cheryl stirred her own tea. "Oh, that would ruin all the fun for the forensics team."

Steve smiled. "What else did they have to say?"

"They expect to have the sim tape in a couple of days. They've marked the things they can't quite account for on the photos - I'll leave them with you. If they jog any more memories, we'll let them know right away."

Steve lowered his glass in surprise. "I get my own set of photos?"

Cheryl fluttered her eyelashes. "Oh, my, yes. With best wishes for a speedy recovery. With only the smallest encouragement, I'm sure they would have been hand delivered - and I don't mean by me. I think someone in forensics has a little crush on our Lt. Sloan."

Steve grinned in surprise. "Really? Who?"

Cheryl smirked. "Finally got your mind to jump the track for a second, hm? What's the new one's name - Candy?"

Steve's eyes lit up. "The redhead?"

"Yes, the redhead - oh, don't tell me I'm going to get trapped in the middle of some nasty flirtation every time we have to go to forensics now."

Steve turned back to his tea. "I don't even know her."

"I can see THAT changing pretty quick. Didn't you want to know about the crime scene?"

"Of course. Any weapon yet?"

"No sign of one. We could really use it, too."

"So we're still strictly circumstantial."

"Looks like."

"Footprints? With all that blood, seems like there should have been some."

"Don't think she had time. And like I said, I found her screaming and hysterical - pretty much rooted to the floor."

Steve put down his glass and rubbed at his forehead, trying to think.

"You staying for lunch, Cheryl?"

Cheryl twisted in her chair to look over her shoulder at Mark, standing behind her with a plate of cookies. She picked one up and bit it. "I'd love to - thanks. Though I suppose I shouldn't be eating this first."

Mark smiled. "It will take me a while to prepare it. These will stave off hunger until then."

"Well, they're wonderful. Aren't you having any, Steve?"

Steve gave her a long-suffering smile. "I'm pretty sure there's something nice and bland on the menu for me."

Mark twinkled at him. "I brought you some lovely graham crackers."

"That's what I figured. You're just getting even because I trounced you at Gin Rummy."

"All part of my strategy, my friend - to lull you into a false sense of security and then beat the socks off of you tonight."

"Yeah - in your dreams."

"You'll see. Wait until tonight."

Cheryl swallowed her cookie with a chuckle. "Can I help get lunch ready?"

"No, no - sit here and talk about the case. If you can keep Steve occupied, that'll be a big help."

Steve's eyes widened indignantly. "Dad!"

Mark smiled sweetly and returned to the house.

Steve shook his head.

Cheryl grinned. "Always gets the last word, doesn't he?"

"Sure seems to."

"How are your graham crackers?"

"Oh, shut up."

Cheryl's grin broadened and she reached for another cookie.

"How'd the arraignment go?"

Cheryl stopped chewing, then shrugged with assumed casualness. "You know. The usual."

"Madge Fuller out on bail?"

Cheryl focused intently on her iced tea. "Um - no. The judge refused bail."

"Refused bail?" Steve turned to her, eyebrows raised. "She's still in jail?"

"For the time being. Her lawyer's fighting it."

"Why? I mean, why no bail?"

Cheryl shrugged. "Judge felt she was a flight risk."

"A flight risk? She has a sixteen year old son, for God's sake - where does he think she's going to go?"

Cheryl hesitated.

Steve gave her a sharp glance. "What?" Cheryl shifted uncomfortably and he pressed, "Cheryl, what aren't you telling me?"

Cheryl sighed and set her iced tea aside. "Look - it's probably just a temporary glitch, so I didn't think you'd have to know this…"

Steve's gaze narrowed. "Know what?"

"The kid - is missing."

"Missing?" Steve stared painfully at her. "What do you mean, missing?"

"Well…" Cheryl brushed cookie crumbs from her fingertips. "Seems he didn't come home to the family he's staying with last night. They thought he was just working late, but it got to be long after the store should have closed and they started to worry. They called his boss, and turns out he'd called in sick to work that night - nobody's seen him since his last class in school yesterday."

"Which was?"

"Over at 2:30pm. We've got an APB out on him."

"Stake out the jail where his Mom is?"

"Yup."

Steve paused. "So he's a runaway? Where the heck can a kid that age disappear to?"

Cheryl snorted. "Well, it's clear you've never worked Vice."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. He on foot? Bike? Car?"

"Car. Crown Victoria four door sedan."

Steve wrinkled his forehead. "Kind of an odd choice for a kid that age, isn't it?"

"Apparently Mr. Fuller's first priority in a car for his son was a strong crash frame and a sober appearance. He thought sporty models encouraged young drivers to do reckless things."

"He's right."

"Oh, I'm sure. And what were you driving at that age? Some souped up speed machine, I'll bet."

Steve grinned. "How do you think I know they make young drivers do reckless things? No sign of the car either?"

"Not yet. I've got word to his teachers and his coach and his boss to notify me right away if he shows up, but until then…"

Steve picked up his iced tea and sighed into it. "Almost twenty-four hours. But he made his last class? Anybody talk to his teacher - find out if he was acting in any way out of the usual?"

Cheryl looked uncomfortable. "Well, that's the other problem." Steve waited. "The teacher had him on his attendance sheet, but he didn't have any clear memory of actually seeing him there. Assumed he was, because the morning homeroom report didn't show him as absent."

"Didn't he take attendance himself?"

"He's supposed to, so I don't think he's going to admit to not doing it and risk getting in trouble, but I suspect he relies pretty heavily on the homeroom report."

"So he might not have been there at all. What about the other teachers?"

"No one seems to specifically remember seeing him, but only one marked him as absent from class."

"Great. Where were these teachers when I was going to school? I could never get away with cutting class like that."

"Well, it's a pretty demanding job. Evidently they all rely pretty heavily on that homeroom report."

"But the homeroom teacher saw him anyway."

Cheryl hesitated.

Steve frowned at her. "You're kidding."

"She was a substitute. I don't know how it was at your school, but at mine we used to switch seats and answer to the wrong name, so it was pretty hard for a substitute teacher to know anything for sure."

Steve put down his glass with a bump. "So we don't really know anything. For all we know, he may have been missing for nearly two days."

Cheryl nodded reluctantly. "Looks like."

"And nobody's talked to this kid? So we don't know if he's just afraid of going into foster care or if there's something more to it?"

"Well, we're guessing it's foster care - remember, he wasn't around when either incident took place."

"Or so we believe. Maybe his homeroom teacher was a substitute that day too."

"No, she wasn't."

Steve relaxed a little. "You checked that out?"

"Oh, yeah."

"And somebody talked to her? Or him?"

Cheryl cleared her throat and studied the feet stretched out in front of her with sudden interest.

Steve pushed his brows together, puzzled, then understanding dawned. "Oh, no. Don't tell me." Cheryl's mouth twisted into a rueful grimace. Steve pressed a hand over his eyes. "His homeroom teacher is Madge Fuller?" Cheryl nodded wordlessly. "Oh, God." He dropped his hand. "How did we miss that? We've bollixed this one from the beginning. Between that and me getting clubbed - "

"Oh, come on - that could've happened to anybody. If it was anybody's fault, then it was mine. I was supposed to be your back up."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Good. Then it wasn't anybody's."

"So for all we know he's an eye witness and Madge Fuller marked him as present in homeroom to protect him."

"Or protect herself, if he saw her kill his father."

Steve shuddered involuntarily. He's gotta be so scared. And confused. He shifted restlessly. "I can not afford to be sitting around here."

Cheryl closed her eyes and inhaled. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. You don't have any choice, Steve, so let's not even go there." Steve didn't answer, so she added, "I don't know what you think you could do that a whole fleet of black and whites can't do better and faster anyway."

"I don't know either," he admitted at last. "But it would sure make me feel better."

"Maybe. Until you keeled over. Let's not have any keeling over, okay?"

"Definitely not in my plans."

"Never is. Did you talk to your Dad?"

Steve crumbled a graham cracker to powder. "About?"

"You know what about. Or have you finally decided Madge Fuller was the killer after all."

Steve paused. "I have his statement and I've listened to it about a hundred times. What more do I need?"

Cheryl lifted her brows. "That was evasive."

Steve gave her a half smile. "I feel like I'm in the Interrogation Room."

Cheryl studied him keenly. "You still don't think she did it."

Steve looked away, letting his eyes skim over the patio rail and come to rest on the silver roll of the surf below. "Bet lunch is ready," he said at last. "Let's go in and save Dad a trip out. I can show off how well I'm getting around. Just try to be polite and pretend you don't notice that I walk at sort of an angle." He gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But I get where I'm going eventually."