Chapter 11

"I'm not happy about this."

"Dad - what's the big deal? So you're gone for a few hours. I'll be fine. I'm feeling much better."

"Hm." Mark fussed with his tie. "That's what worries me. The minute you start feeling better, you think everything's back to normal, and that you can return to doing what you always do."

"Believe me, I know I can't do everything I always do. Besides, I have Jesse's handy list of dos and don'ts, and I have every intention of following it. I'm hoping that'll make you feel comfortable with letting me move back downstairs tonight."

Mark turned away from adjusting his tie in the mirror and studied him closely. "You do look better," he admitted at last.

"Because I am better," Steve interrupted. "Not a hundred percent, maybe, but I'm getting there." He could see Mark vacillate, and he pushed. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, Cheryl is stopping by in a few minutes to go over some new information with me and I'm sure that if I try to do anything strenuous like turning on the TV by myself or pouring my own drink, she'll stop me before I get hurt."

Mark gave him a stern look, but his eyes held a discreet twinkle. "I have not been that bad," he objected.

"Of course not," Steve agreed, with mock sincerity.

"And for a little while there you couldn't even pour a drink without missing the glass more than half the time, so that was just self defense. I was tired of cleaning up the spills."

"Touché."

Mark paused, torn. "Jesse really gave you a list?"

Steve held up a piece of paper. "Written extra large, so I could read it."

Mark took the list from Steve's hand and glanced down its contents. His mouth curled into a smile as he read.

Steve watched him and couldn't suppress a smile himself. "Yeah, I know - I bet he thinks he's pretty funny."

Mark chuckled. "I told you - he's a very thorough doctor."

"I can see that - I think he accounted for everything but famine and pestilence. So go on and see to your patient, or else you'll be moping around here all day worrying and I'll feel guilty."

Mark smoothed his lapels absently. "I suppose you're right - Cheryl's really stopping by again?"

"Any minute. We're trying to come up with some real physical evidence."

"What about the blood spatters?"

Steve shrugged. "Inconclusive."

"The prosecutor doesn't think the confession's enough?"

Steve avoided his eyes, taking Jesse's list back and folding it precisely. "Always better to have real evidence. C'mon - you get going. Your patient's waiting."

Mark nodded. "All right. I won't be more than a few hours."

"Jesse's coming over after his shift, too, so even if you are, I'll have plenty of company."

"You boys going to watch something on Pay Per View?"

"No - he's going to check me out and hopefully we're making a trip to the Fullers'."

Mark tugged down his cuffs and grabbed his car keys. "Well, I'll certainly try to be home for that. I wouldn't mind going myself." He gave Steve's arm a light squeeze as he passed by. "You take it easy. Follow Jesse's instructions. And give Cheryl my best."

"Don't worry about me - the worst thing that could happen to me here is that I die of boredom."

Mark was halfway out the door, but he turned to point emphatically at him. "No dying! Of anything!"

Steve laughed. "I don't think that will be problem."

He watched the door close behind him and his smile faded some. This was getting ridiculous. He wasn't exactly lying to his father, but he felt like he was - prevaricating was almost the same thing, wasn't it? He made his way slowly, but fairly steadily, to the couch and sprawled on it, picking up a pillow and kneading it moodily. He only meant to protect him, but was he just kidding himself about that? Maybe it was time to come clean with his feelings, vague as they were. All he had to say was, "Dad, I know you have a strong circumstantial case and a signed confession, but I still don't think Madge Fuller is the killer." And then his father could say, "Well, who do you think the killer is, son?" and he could answer with utter confidence, "I have no idea." He spun the pillow between his palms, frowning.

And then his father could ask, "Then why do you think it's not Madge Fuller?" And he could pull out his trump card and tell him, "A funny feeling and some crazy dreams." And then maybe his Dad could press his point and ask if he had any actual evidence…he groaned out loud in frustration. And with that kind of powerful reasoning to go by, no doubt he'd work his way right back to the idea that Steve was just being stubborn. Or resentful. Or needed to have his own way. Or was foggy because of the head injury or the medication or…he mangled the sofa pillow and tossed it aside. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

He reached for the files and the tape recorder sitting on the end table and hit the rewind button. Maybe Cheryl would have something that would help. He was resting his eyes while he listened to the tape again - all right, admit it, dozing, really - what was he ever going to do when he could no longer take seventeen naps a day? - when he heard the front door open. He yawned widely, listening for his father's familiar step. "Forget something, Dad?" he called.

"No, it's me. I rudely let myself in." Cheryl's elegant face appeared in front of him. "Thought I'd save you getting up."

"Oh." Steve sat up straighter, rubbing his eyes and trying to look more alert. "Thanks. Have a seat. Can I get you anything?"

"No, it's me that comes bearing gifts - " she looked at him more closely. "You look kind of tired for a man on sick leave. Is there something I can get you?"

Steve shifted his shoulders uncomfortably under her scrutiny. "Naw - just didn't sleep that well last night. What you got?" Cheryl pulled her hand from behind her back to reveal a plastic tape case, tied with a huge red bow. Steve raised his eyebrows. "The sim tape?" Cheryl nodded. "How'd they get it done so fast?"

Cheryl smiled sweetly. "Well, when Lt. Sloan wants something, then of course Candy pulls out all the stops…"

Steve made a face. "And of course the fact that Brian Fuller's disappeared had absolutely nothing to do with them picking up the pace."

Cheryl's smile broadened. "Oh, probably, but there's nothing to tease you about in that."

Steve shook his head and took the tape from her outstretched hand. "You seen it?"

"Oh, yeah. They walked me through."

"Anything new?"

Cheryl pursed her lips. "Not really. Just gives us a more graphic way to study it. Say, you sure you want to see this? I mean, considering that Mr. Sim represents you? Might be sort of disturbing."

Steve popped open the plastic case. "You mean bring back unpleasant memories? I can only hope."

Cheryl shrugged and sat down next to him while he set up the VCR. They watched in silence the first time through, then Steve rewound to watch it frame by frame. He studied the actual attack, then stopped the tape at the point where Mr. Sim was collapsed on the floor and Mrs. Sim was standing against the living room wall. He delineated the wall behind her by tracing along the screen with his finger. "This is where she was when you walked in?"

Cheryl nodded. Steve backed up the tape just a little and watched again. "So she was over here when she hit me, and crossed behind me to this spot and then seemed rooted to the floor when you came in? Why?"

"Maybe to get rid of the bat. Maybe she was going to make a run for it. Maybe she just panicked."

"And she moved fast enough to block spatter from the wall here - " he tapped the wall lightly with his finger. "But not here." He indicated the area of wall leading from the hall to the unspattered spot. "How do they explain that?"

"Well, it's unusual, but not impossible. They can't explain everything necessarily, Steve, you know that. They just recreate the best they can with what they've got."

"All that blood, and she made it from this point to that without leaving any bloody footprints?" He shook his head. "I don't know…" He rewound to watch again, smiled a little when Detective Sim entered with her gun drawn. "You look good in sim. Very tough."

"Ha ha ha." Cheryl took the remote from his hand and turned off the tape. Steve looked at her questioningly. She made a face. "It may not be bringing back any bad memories for you, but it is for me, so I guess I'm not so tough after all. I know - pretty embarrassing for a veteran cop to have to admit, but you didn't have to see it live! Let's just take a little break from watching you bleed."

Steve firmly re-possessed the remote. "Oh, come on," he teased gently. "Look at that - doesn't look a thing like me. I may not look my best these days, but I know I still have a face. Still have hair, except for that little bit Jesse shaved off…"

Cheryl reluctantly studied the screen, couldn't help smiling. "But you're saying that does look like me?" she drawled dryly, nodding to indicate the tiny figure representing the police officer.

"Heck, yeah. See how Detective Sim has that same little sashay you've got in your walk…?"

"Give me that." Cheryl snatched the remote back, trying not to grin. She firmly thumbed the button to "off". "Anything else come to you?"

Steve sobered, shaking his head. "Nope. A big, blank canvas. Any word on Brian Fuller?"

"Nothing. Madge Fuller's attorney has petitioned to get her bail - also made a motion to have her confession thrown out. Claims it was given under duress."

Steve raised his brows. "What kind of duress?"

"His theory seems to be that the arresting officer - that would be me - was so enraged when she found her partner - that would be you - down, that she bullied a confession out of Mrs. Fuller, just to have a scapegoat."

Steve rumpled his forehead. "That's ridiculous."

"So true. Anyone who knows me knows that I like to take my revenge in small ways, after the fact. I would never be so unsubtle."

Steve smiled ruefully. "Don't I know it. He can't really make trouble for you, can he?"

Cheryl shrugged philosophically. "Not really. Only witnesses are the officers from the black and white and they back my side of the story. Of, course, he'll claim that that's just typical police policy and that our boys and girls in blue always stand together. But he hasn't got anything he can make stick. Probably just hoping to create enough doubt in the judge's mind to get the confession thrown out, provided he can convince Mrs. Fuller to recant. In the meantime, he is claiming there is a mysterious third party responsible for the killing - not his client."

Steve laughed shortly. "Well, it's nice that somebody agrees with me. Why doesn't that make me feel better?"

"Because you know it's just a big bunch of lawyer-angling bunk?"

"Yeah, I guess so." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "He have any suggestions on a suspect?"

"I'm sure he'll opt for a mysterious drifter, robbery gone bad, something like that."

"For both me and David Fuller?"

"Look, he doesn't have to make a lot of sense, just enough to confuse a jury."

"Right." Steve studied the floor, thinking. He cleared his throat self-consciously. "What about Brian Fuller?"

Cheryl cocked her head. "You mean as a suspect?"

Steve shrugged.

"He wasn't there for either crime."

"That's what we thought. If Madge Fuller was the one to mark him present in homeroom, I'd say that suddenly becomes a less-than-airtight alibi."

"True…" Cheryl chewed her lower lip, scanning information in her memory, then shook her head. "Uh-uh. Right handed."

Steve sighed. "Figures." He tossed the remote aside. "Can't really be sorry, though - wasn't an image I really wanted to wrap my head around. Of course, if that confession gets thrown out, that means - "

"That we got nothing." Cheryl finished for him. "Believe me, that's crossed my mind." Her cell phone shrilled and she jumped to grab it, glancing at the ID screen. "Banks," she told the receiver. She listened for a minute, then raised her brows at Steve. "Yeah," she told the phone, "Yeah - let me write that down…" She pulled out her pen and notebook and scrawled something on the small pad. "Thanks. That's great news. No, I'm going right away - thanks." She folded up the phone and tossed Steve a triumphant look. "We are not quite down and out," she informed him with satisfaction. "That was Kelly. They managed to trace David Fuller's missing funds." She read her notebook back to herself. "I'm going to see if this lady will talk to me and give me some of the details…"

Steve automatically reached for his car keys, noticed they weren't at hand. His face fell.

Cheryl smiled in sympathetic understanding. "Sorry, partner - afraid you have to sit this one out. I'll tell you what, though - I'll stop by later and let you know what I find out. Keep the sim tape - I'll pick it up when I come back."

"All right," Steve struggled to smile, trying to accept it gracefully. "Thanks." He stood up to walk her out, but she signaled him back down.

"I know where the door is just fine. You take it easy and I promise I'll let you know everything." She stuffed her phone in her purse. "See you later."

"Yeah. Be careful." Steve watched her make her way to the stairs. Well, it was better than nothing. He picked up the remote again to restart the tape and stared listlessly at the sim images on the TV screen. But not really like being there yourself. After a second he realized he wasn't really watching the tape, and stopped and ejected it. He frowned at the blank screen a moment, then shook himself. Come on, Sloan - no moping. He glanced at the clock, then smiled wanly. Oh, might as well see if Miranda was having any better luck than he was getting her memory back…

He pulled out the tape and found the right station, settling back on the couch. After a lengthy string of commercials, Eric and Miranda appeared, deep in a tearful discussion. Steve yawned. These folks sure cried a lot…

Oh, my love - what shall we do? We cannot continue on this way…Yeah. Tell me about it.

I try and I try to remember…I hear you.

But it is as if nothing went before! I would gladly have the brain surgery for your sake…Let's not get carried away.

Nonsense, Miranda. You tell her, Eric. I would never have you court such a risk for my sake! 'Court such a risk'? Who the hell talks like that?

You know what the doctors said - you just have to be patient! Yeah. Easy for them to say. Steve yawned again, letting his eyes close for just a second. It really had been a restless night…

One day it will all come back to you in a blinding flash…

Steve smiled without opening his eyes. Doctors. They were all alike, on TV and off…

A shrill trill of sound interrupted his train of thought and he groaned. Come on, Miranda - answer the phone…The sound came again, insistently, and his eyes flew open. Not the television…he fumbled awkwardly for the telephone, managed to drag it from its cradle and activate the "on" button.

"Sloan," he growled automatically, blinking at the television and trying to orient himself.

"Is Detective Banks there?"

Steve squinted at the telephone, wondering if it was a wrong number. "No, this is Detective Sloan…" He glanced at the television again, realized another program was now on. How long had he dropped off for?

"I wanted to talk to Detective Banks. Her cell isn't responding and this is one of the numbers she gave me."

"Oh." Steve shook himself, fighting things back into focus. "Right. This is her partner. Detective Banks is out on a call. I do expect her back. Can I give her a message?"

There was a pause. "This is Leo Dubrovnik. I run a deli and catering shop? Brian Fuller works for me part time. I promised Detective Banks that I'd call her if I saw him."

Steve sat up straight. "You saw Brian Fuller?"

"He's here right now. Just showed up for work like it was nothin' out of the ordinary."

Steve felt his pulse pick up a beat. "He's there right now? Can you keep him there? I'll try to reach Detective Banks…"

"Look, detective - I got deliveries to make. I can't stay around here. I'm already behind with him calling in sick the other day."

Steve counted to ten. "Mr. Dubrovnik, I can appreciate your problem, but this is a homicide investigation we're talking about - if you could just make sure Brian Fuller stays there until - "

"Listen - he's supposed to be working the counter anyway while I do my deliveries. Should be here until the end of his shift in four hours."

"He was also supposed to be there the other night and in school yesterday, but he wasn't! He could disappear in a second once you're gone. If you could just - "

"Hey, I'm sorry." Dubrovnik sounded anything but. "I know you got a dead guy on your hands, but some of us are still alive and gotta make a living. Now, I told Detective Banks that I'd let her know if he showed up, and I did. Think I've done my job as a citizen."

"All right - all right - " Steve tried to get a word in before he could hang up. "Where are you located? I'll - get there as fast as I can."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "South Beach strip mall," Dubrovnik offered at last. "I can't wait around - "

"I know where that is." Steve stood up with a little help from the arm of the sofa and waited, testing his equilibrium. "I can be there in twenty minutes. Just try and stall as long as you can before you leave, okay? We can't afford to lose track of this kid again."

"I'll try, but - "

"Succeed," snapped Steve, exasperated. "Or I'll charge you with endangering the welfare of a minor. And anything else I can come up with."

Dubrovnik muttered something about fascist states and hung up.

Steve broke the connection and glanced at the list of numbers posted in the phone. Medical emergency…fire…police…Chinese take out…there it was. Taxi service. He dialed carefully and a little uncertainly - small numbers were still not his strong point - and gave a sigh of relief when a taxi dispatcher picked up the line. He requested his taxi and offered a bonus for punctuality, then hung up and tried Cheryl's cell phone. Dubrovnik was right - she must be out of range or something. So he called and left a message for her at the station instead, telling her where he was going and why, and asking her to meet him there as soon as possible. That settled, he started the journey to the guest room. He did all right, he thought. Was still a little lopsided, and he used the wall for balance once, but a big improvement. Wouldn't get any prizes for speed, of course…

He went to the chair that held the small duffle he had brought home from the hospital, and his leather jacket, slung over the back. Maneuvering awkwardly into the jacket, he turned his attention to rummaging inside the bag. Okay - wallet - he slid that into his back pocket. Badge - he clipped that on his belt. Telephone - he slipped that into one jacket pocket. His keys seemed to still be in the other pocket. Gun - he hesitated. It was never a bad thing to have for show, even if you had no intention of using it, but he had strong opinions about people who carried a weapon they didn't have the ability to use, and let's face it - his aim was going to be a little less than brilliant right now. After a second, he put the gun aside.

He managed the short walk back to the entryway, listening for the cab, paused, feeling a sudden stab of conscience. Oh.

Jesse's list was sitting on the table by the door where he had left it. He had forgotten about that…he picked it up gingerly, frowning at it. He had promised both Jesse and his Dad that he would follow instructions…and, all things being equal, he did hate to worry them. He stared at the paper some more. Of course, this was an emergency, surely they would understand…? He fiddled with the paper.

Well, Jesse was coming tonight to give him a lift to the Fullers, so he was allowed a road trip. If he took that road trip a little earlier than scheduled, it didn't really matter, did it? If it was urgent? It wasn't as if he was driving - even he knew he wasn't up for that.

He had told his Dad he would take it easy, and he had been taking it easy - sleeping, even. And what he was about to do was hardly strenuous - take a short car ride, chat with a potential material witness, keep an eye on him until somebody else could get there. He peeled the folded sheet open, peered at the contents, ran his eyes down the list. He couldn't help smiling again. Jesse sure thought of everything. And absolutely nowhere on this list did it forbid talking to a material witness. So, really, he could go keep an eye on Brian Fuller, ask him some questions, and still keep his promises to take care of himself - no sweat. With any luck, he would be back on the couch and no doubt napping again before either Jesse or his Dad got here. Satisfied with his logic, he folded the paper again and dropped it back on the table.

A cab horn sounded outside. Feeling pleasantly virtuous, he tackled the stairs to meet it.