What Goes Up Is Murder
Disclaimer:
I don't claim any of the characters of Diagnosis Murder. I don't make any profit from this fiction. This is purely for fun.
Note from author: A fellow author wrote a very good story about why Steve was afraid of heights. I decided to just deal with the phobia and the effects that it had on his life. I hope that you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
Chapter One
Steve had been chasing this guy for almost fifteen minutes. No matter how hard he tried to catch up he couldn't seem to get any closer. Steve felt sure that if Lenny had wanted to he could have already gotten away. It was, as if he wanted to be sure that Steve didn't loose him. In and out the two men ran between unsuspecting pedestrians who were populating the path the two men were claiming while pounding the pavement.
Steve was starting to feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck. His breathing was starting to get a little labored. Suddenly Steve noticed Lenny made a sharp turn to his left. This could be the break that the Lieutenant needed. There was only a dead-end at the end of the alley. The only way to escape was to climb the fire escape and hike across the roofs. Steve prayed that Lenny had enough good sense not to try and go for the roof. Even if he did make it to the roof there was no other way off the roof except to jump to the next rooftop. There had to be at least ten feet between the two.
As Steve rounded the corner to his horror Lenny was already halfway up the fire escape. Steve never stopped to think of the consequences as he quickly followed the thief to the roof. Once he reached the top he stopped for a moment only to catch sight of Lenny running and taking a flying leap across the open space between the two buildings, landing and rolling onto his side. The thief was quick on his feet and looking back at Steve he stopped long enough to turn and salute his would be captor knowing that Steve Sloan would never attempt to cross that open space by leaping across. He flashed a grin in the cop's direction and ran on across the roof making his way to the opposite side of the building making good his escape.
Steve stood and stared as Lenny disappeared across the next roof cursing himself for not following his prey. Not having the courage to follow was probably a better description Steve thought. Heavy hearted, Steve decided to turn around and get off the roof as quickly as possible. He walked over to the door that led to the ground floor of the building and with fingers crossed he pulled on the handle in hopes that it would yield and open up saving him from having to climb down the fire escape. To his immense relief the door swung open and Steve quietly made his way down to the first floor and back to his car.
Steve sat behind the steering wheel staring ahead. He didn't start the engine. He just sat there thinking. How could he have let this guy get away like that? Steve thought about all the times that he had literally looked death in the face. Every day that he walked out the door of the beach house he new he might not walk back in that night. He survived Vietnam. How could anything be worse than that? He had once enjoyed a short career as a race car driver. Every time he climbed behind the wheel of his car he knew that there was a chance that he could wind up loosing control and crashing it into the wall. People who knew Steve always thought of him as a man who embraced life and feared nothing. Steve however knew the truth.
Steve had a secret and only one other person knew about his secret. Only one other person knew the grip that this secret held on him. His father knew. Mark had often tried to comfort his son by telling him that a lot of people have this same fear. Lots of people never over come this fear, but learn to work around it. This offered little comfort to Steve. And now he just wanted the earth to swallow him because he had lost a suspect all because he, Steven Michael Sloan was afraid of heights. He had been too afraid to jump to the other roof because he was afraid he might fall to the ground.
Guilt and anger were quickly consuming him and over riding his ability to think rationally. Steve couldn't remember the last time he felt so angry with himself. He never felt less like a man in his life. Why couldn't he get past this? Why did this one thing have such power over him? Unable to control his emotions any longer Steve doubled up his fist and slammed it into the dashboard of his car.
Steve didn't know how long he had been sitting there when suddenly a face appeared at the window of his car and asked, "Hey son, are you ok?"
Steve was startled at the inquiry and tried to focus on the voice and the face but his hand was throbbing so that he found it too much of a hassle and continued to sit there staring.
Once again the face addressed him. "Maybe you should let me see your hand boy. Looks to me like you might have broken the skin when you smashed it on the dash there."
Suddenly Steve comprehended the words and looked down at his hand. Sure enough blood was covering his hand and smearing on his jeans where he had rested it after his outburst. The man slowly reached into the car and pulled on Steve's wrist in order to get a better look at the damage. Steve never resisted as the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief and wrapped it around his hand.
"I think you better go and have that looked at son. I don't know if you broke any bones but you split the side open pretty good. It looks like it could use a stitch or two. Need any help getting to a doctor?" the old man kindly offered.
"No. Thanks though. I think I can get to Community General. My dad's a doctor there. He can fix it up. Thanks for the handkerchief. Mr. ..." Steve fished for his name.
"No thanks necessary kid. My name is Will. You go have that looked after. Oh, and by the way next time you let that temper get the better of you, see if you can find something a little more yielding to hit. Might not be so lucky next time. You take care son." With that the old man shuffled on down the street leaving Steve to find his way to his dad and some much needed comfort.
When Steve got to the ER of the hospital he asked the nurse at the desk if she could page his father. While Steve waited for his dad to come down Jesse Travis walked off the elevator and spotted his friend and immediately noticed the hand that was tied up with the unusual bandage.
"What happened to you big guy. Hit the wrong face? I knew this was bound to happen. You gotta learn to avoid those really hard headed guys." teased the young doctor.
"It's really nothing Jesse. Just let it go. I had Dad paged anyway." Steve commented dejectedly.
"What's the matter Steve. You act like you lost your best friend. I know that can't be it because I'm standing right here." Jesse tried to insert a little levity.
"It's nothing Jess. I'm fine. Now would you let it drop." hissed Steve.
"Come in here." Jesse took Steve's arm and dragged him into the nearest empty treatment room. Facing his friend he looked Steve in the eye. Well as best he could since he was several inches shorter than Steve. "Now tell me what happened and what is wrong with you."
"Nothing. I want Dad that's all." Steve set his jaw and stood ready to do battle with the little guy he had affectionately come to look upon as a kid brother. A kid brother that at the moment he didn't want pestering him.
Just as the battle lines were being drawn Mark walked in and realizing that the boys were about to get into it decided to defuse the problem before it got started.
"Would one of you mind telling me what is going on in here." Noticing Steve's hand Mark addressed his next question to his son. "Steve what happened to your hand?"
As Mark reached for the injured hand Steve decided to come clean about the injury. "I got into a fight with the dashboard of my car and I lost. Nothing serious."
"You don't mind if I give you a second opinion about that do you Doctor Steve." Mark responded sarcastically.
Noticing the split on his hand Jesse decided to wade in with his two cents worth. "Man, Steve you must have hit it pretty hard. You're going to have to have a few stitches to close it up. I think maybe we need to have it x-rayed also."
"No way. It's not broke. Just bruised. I need to get out of here so just stitch it up or put a bandade on it and let me get back to work." Steve said impatiently.
"Jesse's right son. You need to have it x-rayed. It won't take that long and it's better to be safe than sorry. So sit tight while I go call them and set it up." Mark turned and left to set up the x-rays for Steve's hand.
"Did you have to say that. Now I'm stuck here for about another forty-five minutes." complained Steve.
"Come on Steve. What's eating at you?" Inquired Jesse.
"What makes you think something's wrong with me?" Steve tried to look innocent.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you always act like a spoiled two-year-old when things don't go the way you want them. You've been sulking every since you got here. I know something is wrong with you. Now give." Jesse pierced Steve with a glare.
"There's nothing wrong with me and I don't act like a two year old when I don't get my way. That's your job. Now get off my back."
"Ok, ok. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But you know that I'm going to find out anyway. I always do." Jesse smugly informed Steve.
Looking at the young doctor and smiling just as smugly Steve inquired, "And how do you think you are going to find out what is wrong with me, if in fact there is any thing wrong? You haven't joined 'Psychic Buddies' have you?"
"You will tell me eventually. You will come to realize that you need to unburden your soul to the one person who understands you. The one person who can truly feel your pain. The one....." Suddenly Mark interrupting his passionate plea cut Jesse off.
"Excuse me. I really hate to break up this heart to heart you two are having but they are ready for you upstairs in x-ray young man. Now hop aboard this wheel chair and off we will go."
"Dad, it's my hand they are x-raying not my feet. I can walk up to x-ray." Steve interjected.
"Well you could but I said for you to get into the wheel chair and that is what you will do. Argue with me and I'll call a couple of orderlies down here and have you strapped onto a gurney. Your choice." Mark smiled at his son but his eyes challenged him to defy his authority.
Grumbling under his breath Steve sat down in the wheel chair and glared mutinously at his father and Jesse. "Don't talk back to me either." Mark said as Steve continued mouthing his displeasure in the elevator.
Steve tolerated the x-rays while his father looked on trying to read his son's mood. He knew something was bothering him but Mark was at a loss to what it could be. He decided to wait until they got home before he confronted Steve with why he felt compelled to take on the dashboard of his car. He knew that Steve's temper got the better of him at times but usually he was able to control it before it got to far out of hand.
Once the x-rays were finished Mark insisted on Steve getting back into the wheelchair and pushing him to his office to wait for the films to be developed. Once inside the office Steve immediately jumped up from the chair and headed for the couch. He flopped down and waited for his father to confront him about his injury. When Mark didn't bring it up he looked at his father with curiosity wondering what he was up to. Mark continued to sit at his desk working on some reports while waiting for the results of the x-rays. Steve could stand it no longer and brought up the subject himself. Ok Dad go ahead and ask.
"Ask what?" Mark questioned innocently.
"You know what. You want to know why I hit the dashboard. Well I don't want to talk about it ok." Steve stated making his point by picking up a magazine and flipping through it.
Mark never acknowledged his son any further and went back to work on the file in front of him. Occasionally Mark would look up and observe his son over his glasses noticing how irritated he seemed. As the silence continued to fill the room, Steve found that he couldn't concentrate on the pages that he had been flipping repeatedly. After he plowed through the same magazine three times he threw it aside sighing irritably. Holding his hand against his chest as if to protect it he started pacing the floor. After passing Marks desk for the tenth time he stopped and stared at one of the many pictures on his father's wall not really looking at it. Mark watched his son resume his pacing again reminding him of a caged animal. " Steve why don't you sit down and relax. Better yet lay down on the couch and try to take a nap. You are so uptight you look like you could explode."
"I don't want to take a nap I want to get out of here. How long does it take to develop x-rays anyway? I need to get back to work." Steve wined.
"It depends on how backed up they are in x-ray and you aren't going anywhere until I see the films. If you fractured your hand we have to treat it. Now sit down and be still or I will give you something to settle you down." When Steve continued his pacing Mark raised his voice and said firmly, "I said to sit down."
Startled by his Dad's tone of voice Steve looked up and got the look that clearly said or else. Fuming, Steve sat down in a chair and continued to stare at his father. Just as Mark was about to comment on Steve's disrespectful attitude, Jesse waltzed into the office sporting the x-rays.
"Well now you have proof in your hands. Let me go so I can get back to work. Crime doesn't solve itself you know." Steve started to make his way toward the door when Jesse spoke up looking rather like the cat that ate the canary.
"Not so fast dear boy. According to these x-rays you have a small hairline fracture right there." Jesse pointed to the small bone known as the 5th Metacarpal bone. Now would you like to know what we are going to do for it, or would you like a second opinion. Of course that would mean another set of x-rays. And then there would be the consultation with all doctors concerned so that we can come up with a common diagnosis and plan of treatment. Shouldn't take more than two three hours tops."
Steve knew he was defeated and gave in grudgingly. "Do I have to ride in that damn wheelchair again or do you think that maybe I could walk to the Trauma Room on my own."
"Well if you think you can behave we'll let you walk but only if we accompany you. I've noticed that you tend to get lost when on your way to the treatment rooms." Mark took his son's arm and guided him out into the corridor.
Because of the stitches in his hand Jesse placed Steve's hand in a brace and secured it with straps in order to keep his hand immobile. After this was done Mark and Jesse both proceeded in lecturing a very impatient Steve on the do's and don'ts. Mostly don'ts.
"Before you leave to go back to the precinct I think you should know that I have called your Captain and told him that you have fractured your hand and will need to work at your desk for the next week or so. The only thing I want you to wrestle or chase is paper work." Noticing the frown on his son's face Mark smiled and added. "Just think about it this way. You will have all the time in the world to get caught up on your case files."
"I hope you didn't tell him how I broke it." Steve looked at his father anxiously.
"No. I thought you would like to explain that to him. I'm sure he will want to know." Looking Steve straight in the eye he continued. "He did ask about some thief named Lenny Edwards. Wanted to know what happened to him. He seemed to think that you were in pursuit of him. Is there something you want to tell me?"
Steve shook his head no and answered with, "I have to go. I'll see you guys later."
"Ok son. We'll talk later at home." Steve glanced over at his father, and recognized the look for what it really was. Steve had seen it too many times not to know what it meant. He knew when he got home that his father would not be letting him off the hook and he would persist on finding out what was eating at his very moody son. But first he had to face his Captain. He had about twenty minutes to come up with something that sounded halfway reasonable for why he was returning to the station with a brace on his hand and not Lenny Edwards. Could this day get any worse.
Disclaimer:
I don't claim any of the characters of Diagnosis Murder. I don't make any profit from this fiction. This is purely for fun.
Note from author: A fellow author wrote a very good story about why Steve was afraid of heights. I decided to just deal with the phobia and the effects that it had on his life. I hope that you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
Chapter One
Steve had been chasing this guy for almost fifteen minutes. No matter how hard he tried to catch up he couldn't seem to get any closer. Steve felt sure that if Lenny had wanted to he could have already gotten away. It was, as if he wanted to be sure that Steve didn't loose him. In and out the two men ran between unsuspecting pedestrians who were populating the path the two men were claiming while pounding the pavement.
Steve was starting to feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck. His breathing was starting to get a little labored. Suddenly Steve noticed Lenny made a sharp turn to his left. This could be the break that the Lieutenant needed. There was only a dead-end at the end of the alley. The only way to escape was to climb the fire escape and hike across the roofs. Steve prayed that Lenny had enough good sense not to try and go for the roof. Even if he did make it to the roof there was no other way off the roof except to jump to the next rooftop. There had to be at least ten feet between the two.
As Steve rounded the corner to his horror Lenny was already halfway up the fire escape. Steve never stopped to think of the consequences as he quickly followed the thief to the roof. Once he reached the top he stopped for a moment only to catch sight of Lenny running and taking a flying leap across the open space between the two buildings, landing and rolling onto his side. The thief was quick on his feet and looking back at Steve he stopped long enough to turn and salute his would be captor knowing that Steve Sloan would never attempt to cross that open space by leaping across. He flashed a grin in the cop's direction and ran on across the roof making his way to the opposite side of the building making good his escape.
Steve stood and stared as Lenny disappeared across the next roof cursing himself for not following his prey. Not having the courage to follow was probably a better description Steve thought. Heavy hearted, Steve decided to turn around and get off the roof as quickly as possible. He walked over to the door that led to the ground floor of the building and with fingers crossed he pulled on the handle in hopes that it would yield and open up saving him from having to climb down the fire escape. To his immense relief the door swung open and Steve quietly made his way down to the first floor and back to his car.
Steve sat behind the steering wheel staring ahead. He didn't start the engine. He just sat there thinking. How could he have let this guy get away like that? Steve thought about all the times that he had literally looked death in the face. Every day that he walked out the door of the beach house he new he might not walk back in that night. He survived Vietnam. How could anything be worse than that? He had once enjoyed a short career as a race car driver. Every time he climbed behind the wheel of his car he knew that there was a chance that he could wind up loosing control and crashing it into the wall. People who knew Steve always thought of him as a man who embraced life and feared nothing. Steve however knew the truth.
Steve had a secret and only one other person knew about his secret. Only one other person knew the grip that this secret held on him. His father knew. Mark had often tried to comfort his son by telling him that a lot of people have this same fear. Lots of people never over come this fear, but learn to work around it. This offered little comfort to Steve. And now he just wanted the earth to swallow him because he had lost a suspect all because he, Steven Michael Sloan was afraid of heights. He had been too afraid to jump to the other roof because he was afraid he might fall to the ground.
Guilt and anger were quickly consuming him and over riding his ability to think rationally. Steve couldn't remember the last time he felt so angry with himself. He never felt less like a man in his life. Why couldn't he get past this? Why did this one thing have such power over him? Unable to control his emotions any longer Steve doubled up his fist and slammed it into the dashboard of his car.
Steve didn't know how long he had been sitting there when suddenly a face appeared at the window of his car and asked, "Hey son, are you ok?"
Steve was startled at the inquiry and tried to focus on the voice and the face but his hand was throbbing so that he found it too much of a hassle and continued to sit there staring.
Once again the face addressed him. "Maybe you should let me see your hand boy. Looks to me like you might have broken the skin when you smashed it on the dash there."
Suddenly Steve comprehended the words and looked down at his hand. Sure enough blood was covering his hand and smearing on his jeans where he had rested it after his outburst. The man slowly reached into the car and pulled on Steve's wrist in order to get a better look at the damage. Steve never resisted as the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief and wrapped it around his hand.
"I think you better go and have that looked at son. I don't know if you broke any bones but you split the side open pretty good. It looks like it could use a stitch or two. Need any help getting to a doctor?" the old man kindly offered.
"No. Thanks though. I think I can get to Community General. My dad's a doctor there. He can fix it up. Thanks for the handkerchief. Mr. ..." Steve fished for his name.
"No thanks necessary kid. My name is Will. You go have that looked after. Oh, and by the way next time you let that temper get the better of you, see if you can find something a little more yielding to hit. Might not be so lucky next time. You take care son." With that the old man shuffled on down the street leaving Steve to find his way to his dad and some much needed comfort.
When Steve got to the ER of the hospital he asked the nurse at the desk if she could page his father. While Steve waited for his dad to come down Jesse Travis walked off the elevator and spotted his friend and immediately noticed the hand that was tied up with the unusual bandage.
"What happened to you big guy. Hit the wrong face? I knew this was bound to happen. You gotta learn to avoid those really hard headed guys." teased the young doctor.
"It's really nothing Jesse. Just let it go. I had Dad paged anyway." Steve commented dejectedly.
"What's the matter Steve. You act like you lost your best friend. I know that can't be it because I'm standing right here." Jesse tried to insert a little levity.
"It's nothing Jess. I'm fine. Now would you let it drop." hissed Steve.
"Come in here." Jesse took Steve's arm and dragged him into the nearest empty treatment room. Facing his friend he looked Steve in the eye. Well as best he could since he was several inches shorter than Steve. "Now tell me what happened and what is wrong with you."
"Nothing. I want Dad that's all." Steve set his jaw and stood ready to do battle with the little guy he had affectionately come to look upon as a kid brother. A kid brother that at the moment he didn't want pestering him.
Just as the battle lines were being drawn Mark walked in and realizing that the boys were about to get into it decided to defuse the problem before it got started.
"Would one of you mind telling me what is going on in here." Noticing Steve's hand Mark addressed his next question to his son. "Steve what happened to your hand?"
As Mark reached for the injured hand Steve decided to come clean about the injury. "I got into a fight with the dashboard of my car and I lost. Nothing serious."
"You don't mind if I give you a second opinion about that do you Doctor Steve." Mark responded sarcastically.
Noticing the split on his hand Jesse decided to wade in with his two cents worth. "Man, Steve you must have hit it pretty hard. You're going to have to have a few stitches to close it up. I think maybe we need to have it x-rayed also."
"No way. It's not broke. Just bruised. I need to get out of here so just stitch it up or put a bandade on it and let me get back to work." Steve said impatiently.
"Jesse's right son. You need to have it x-rayed. It won't take that long and it's better to be safe than sorry. So sit tight while I go call them and set it up." Mark turned and left to set up the x-rays for Steve's hand.
"Did you have to say that. Now I'm stuck here for about another forty-five minutes." complained Steve.
"Come on Steve. What's eating at you?" Inquired Jesse.
"What makes you think something's wrong with me?" Steve tried to look innocent.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you always act like a spoiled two-year-old when things don't go the way you want them. You've been sulking every since you got here. I know something is wrong with you. Now give." Jesse pierced Steve with a glare.
"There's nothing wrong with me and I don't act like a two year old when I don't get my way. That's your job. Now get off my back."
"Ok, ok. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But you know that I'm going to find out anyway. I always do." Jesse smugly informed Steve.
Looking at the young doctor and smiling just as smugly Steve inquired, "And how do you think you are going to find out what is wrong with me, if in fact there is any thing wrong? You haven't joined 'Psychic Buddies' have you?"
"You will tell me eventually. You will come to realize that you need to unburden your soul to the one person who understands you. The one person who can truly feel your pain. The one....." Suddenly Mark interrupting his passionate plea cut Jesse off.
"Excuse me. I really hate to break up this heart to heart you two are having but they are ready for you upstairs in x-ray young man. Now hop aboard this wheel chair and off we will go."
"Dad, it's my hand they are x-raying not my feet. I can walk up to x-ray." Steve interjected.
"Well you could but I said for you to get into the wheel chair and that is what you will do. Argue with me and I'll call a couple of orderlies down here and have you strapped onto a gurney. Your choice." Mark smiled at his son but his eyes challenged him to defy his authority.
Grumbling under his breath Steve sat down in the wheel chair and glared mutinously at his father and Jesse. "Don't talk back to me either." Mark said as Steve continued mouthing his displeasure in the elevator.
Steve tolerated the x-rays while his father looked on trying to read his son's mood. He knew something was bothering him but Mark was at a loss to what it could be. He decided to wait until they got home before he confronted Steve with why he felt compelled to take on the dashboard of his car. He knew that Steve's temper got the better of him at times but usually he was able to control it before it got to far out of hand.
Once the x-rays were finished Mark insisted on Steve getting back into the wheelchair and pushing him to his office to wait for the films to be developed. Once inside the office Steve immediately jumped up from the chair and headed for the couch. He flopped down and waited for his father to confront him about his injury. When Mark didn't bring it up he looked at his father with curiosity wondering what he was up to. Mark continued to sit at his desk working on some reports while waiting for the results of the x-rays. Steve could stand it no longer and brought up the subject himself. Ok Dad go ahead and ask.
"Ask what?" Mark questioned innocently.
"You know what. You want to know why I hit the dashboard. Well I don't want to talk about it ok." Steve stated making his point by picking up a magazine and flipping through it.
Mark never acknowledged his son any further and went back to work on the file in front of him. Occasionally Mark would look up and observe his son over his glasses noticing how irritated he seemed. As the silence continued to fill the room, Steve found that he couldn't concentrate on the pages that he had been flipping repeatedly. After he plowed through the same magazine three times he threw it aside sighing irritably. Holding his hand against his chest as if to protect it he started pacing the floor. After passing Marks desk for the tenth time he stopped and stared at one of the many pictures on his father's wall not really looking at it. Mark watched his son resume his pacing again reminding him of a caged animal. " Steve why don't you sit down and relax. Better yet lay down on the couch and try to take a nap. You are so uptight you look like you could explode."
"I don't want to take a nap I want to get out of here. How long does it take to develop x-rays anyway? I need to get back to work." Steve wined.
"It depends on how backed up they are in x-ray and you aren't going anywhere until I see the films. If you fractured your hand we have to treat it. Now sit down and be still or I will give you something to settle you down." When Steve continued his pacing Mark raised his voice and said firmly, "I said to sit down."
Startled by his Dad's tone of voice Steve looked up and got the look that clearly said or else. Fuming, Steve sat down in a chair and continued to stare at his father. Just as Mark was about to comment on Steve's disrespectful attitude, Jesse waltzed into the office sporting the x-rays.
"Well now you have proof in your hands. Let me go so I can get back to work. Crime doesn't solve itself you know." Steve started to make his way toward the door when Jesse spoke up looking rather like the cat that ate the canary.
"Not so fast dear boy. According to these x-rays you have a small hairline fracture right there." Jesse pointed to the small bone known as the 5th Metacarpal bone. Now would you like to know what we are going to do for it, or would you like a second opinion. Of course that would mean another set of x-rays. And then there would be the consultation with all doctors concerned so that we can come up with a common diagnosis and plan of treatment. Shouldn't take more than two three hours tops."
Steve knew he was defeated and gave in grudgingly. "Do I have to ride in that damn wheelchair again or do you think that maybe I could walk to the Trauma Room on my own."
"Well if you think you can behave we'll let you walk but only if we accompany you. I've noticed that you tend to get lost when on your way to the treatment rooms." Mark took his son's arm and guided him out into the corridor.
Because of the stitches in his hand Jesse placed Steve's hand in a brace and secured it with straps in order to keep his hand immobile. After this was done Mark and Jesse both proceeded in lecturing a very impatient Steve on the do's and don'ts. Mostly don'ts.
"Before you leave to go back to the precinct I think you should know that I have called your Captain and told him that you have fractured your hand and will need to work at your desk for the next week or so. The only thing I want you to wrestle or chase is paper work." Noticing the frown on his son's face Mark smiled and added. "Just think about it this way. You will have all the time in the world to get caught up on your case files."
"I hope you didn't tell him how I broke it." Steve looked at his father anxiously.
"No. I thought you would like to explain that to him. I'm sure he will want to know." Looking Steve straight in the eye he continued. "He did ask about some thief named Lenny Edwards. Wanted to know what happened to him. He seemed to think that you were in pursuit of him. Is there something you want to tell me?"
Steve shook his head no and answered with, "I have to go. I'll see you guys later."
"Ok son. We'll talk later at home." Steve glanced over at his father, and recognized the look for what it really was. Steve had seen it too many times not to know what it meant. He knew when he got home that his father would not be letting him off the hook and he would persist on finding out what was eating at his very moody son. But first he had to face his Captain. He had about twenty minutes to come up with something that sounded halfway reasonable for why he was returning to the station with a brace on his hand and not Lenny Edwards. Could this day get any worse.