The detectives get a lead on Morris from an unexpected source and follow it up, only to find themselves in a situation far more dangerous than they could have ever thought.

The song in the last chapter was the Gaelic version of "Oh Danny Boy".

I feel an ending coming up. Do you?

"Morning."

Asheby only grunted, clinging to his oversize coffee mug. His partner poured a cup for himself before sitting down at his desk.

"Long night, huh?"

"You could say that."

"Anything new happen?"

The taller detective shook his head. "Not a damn thing. Nobody went into or came out of that house for almost eight hours. It's another setup, Dave, it's gotta be. There's no way that this place would suddenly stop doing business and dry up."

"Gotta give Morris credit, then. He's shut us down every time we start to get a line on him."

"I'll give him credit when I see him behind bars," Asheby grumbled. "He's dropped back out of sight and nobody's talking. We might as well be chasing our tails."

Wickes leafed through his notebook. "There's always a string to grab onto, a thread that gets left behind. What have we missed? Where haven't we looked?"

"We checked the DMV. The only address he gave was the place that he torched. Dead end there. Seavey told us about Marcus Garvey Park, and the place over there, but it's deader than a dry bar."

"Any word from the fire marshal yet?"

"Yeah, his preliminary report is right here."

"Give me a quick summary of it."

"There were definite traces of accelerant on the walls, ceiling, and floor of the room with the gas can in it, and more of the same in the hallway outside. Something in the gas can made the big boom, but whatever substance was responsible for it he can't say. That's for Toxicology to tell us. And that's it, really."

"That's it? There were no other items found in the house that would indicate somebody else was there when Morris dropped the match?"

"He didn't report anything, but that doesn't mean a whole lot. The place was still smouldering when he went through it. Maybe he missed something."

"Let's hope so, because that building is our best chance right now. Has anybody been posted to the scene to keep it secure?"

"I doubt it. What's to protect, other than a pile of burnt and charred wood?"

Wickes cradled his head in his hands. "Get on the line with the A.D.A. Tell her we need a warrant to search the premises for anything suspicious, then dig out your work gloves. We're goin' digging."

"Why can't Harris and Spindelli do some of the work for once?"

"They didn't land this case. We did." Wickes threw a heavy pair of gloves at his partner. "Call the A.D.A."

Andy O'Shea was already in the locker room, strapping on his Kevlar vest, when Faith arrived. He looked over at her as she entered, then went back to getting dressed.

"Hello to you too," she muttered, tucking her handbag into her locker. Andy didn't appear to hear her. She chose not to pursue conversation for the moment and concentrated on changing into her uniform.

"Good afternoon!" Bosco announced, breezing into the room. "How is everyone today?"

Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at him in utter shock. No one had ever seen Bosco come to work in that good a mood. He stopped in front of his locker and looked around at the gaping officers, spreading his arms out like he did when he felt offended.

"What, nobody's feelin' happy today? It's a beautiful afternoon."

Faith clicked her jaw shut and swallowed to clear her throat. "Um, yeah, it is. Thanks for pointing that out for us."

Bosco grinned as he stripped out of his civilian attire. "Gonna be a good shift today, I can feel it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Me and Ingles, we really hit it off. I'm gonna ask Lieu if we can pull another shift together. The kid's got potential."

She glanced over at Andy and saw the incredulous expression on his face was a mirror of how she felt. Bosco never acted like that. "So you're okay with me and O'Shea riding together?"

"Oh sure. No problem. Right Ingles?"

The kid smiled nervously when Bosco slapped him on the shoulder. "Uh, yeah."

"Good. See? You and O'Shea go do your thing. It's cool."

"Okay then. Um, yeah, okay." Faith blew out a breath and shook her head. He must have a new girl. That was usually the reason he came to work happy. "Come on, Andy. I want to talk to Lieu about something before roll."

"I ain't ready yet."

She shot him a look and he got it. "Oh, aye, right. I'm comin'." He slung his duty belt over his shoulder and hustled to the door.

"Did you smell anything on him when he came in?"

"Like booze? No."

Faith shook her head. "Must be a new girl. But even then, he's not usually this upbeat about it. He's too cheerful. It's an act."

"What's it matter? At least it's a good mood," Andy said, fastening his duty belt around his waist.

"Yokas, O'Shea. C'mere." Swersky called from the desk. "I got a job for you."

The partners exchanged glances. "Maybe the detectives caught a break in the Morris case," Andy said as they trotted across the tile floor.

"Let's hope so."

"What's up, Lieu?"

"Wickes and Asheby just called. They're over at the fire scene on Lexington Avenue, searching through what's left of the house. They want you two to meet them there right away."

"They find something?"

Swersky shrugged. "They didn't say."

"All right. I guess we oughta get out there. Come on, we better get the good cruiser before Bosco does."

She stared out the windshield at the remains of the house, at the jagged, charred sections of walls jutting from the ruins. She had almost died in there. They were going to nail the son-of-a-bitch responsible for starting that fire. Faith shared a measure of the desire for vengeance that was driving Andy, because it was personal now.

She could smell the burnt wood and insulation even before getting out of the RMP. Snatches of the fire flashed across her memory. For an instant, she was back in the hallway, fighting for air and screaming for help. Smoke was choking her and she gasped. Why didn't somebody come? Was anybody around to hear her desperate calls? Invisible, burning flakes of paint and plaster singed her skin, showering around her like a deadly blizzard. She couldn't see, hear, or breathe. Every time she tried to draw in a breath, all she inhaled was smoke and fumes. Her lungs were slowly filling up with lethal gas, gradually denying her the ability to function. Somebody help! Andy!

"Yokas?" O'Shea's query pierced through the flashback and jerked her back to reality. His brown eyes reflected the concern in his voice. Faith licked her strangely dry lips and met his gaze.

"I'm okay."

His worried expression showed that he didn't believe her, but he said nothing of his doubts and looked away. She followed him as he unfolded himself from the cruiser. The two detectives came over to talk and she looked past them to the remains of the house. O'Shea was absorbed by whatever the detectives were saying, but Faith tuned them out. There was something buried in the charred and broken timber that would point them to Morris. She picked her way to what had been the front door. The door frame was still standing, a lone rectangle jutting up from the mounds of soggy, blackened wood. Her boots sank into the mess with sickening ease. The smell was almost overpowering as she stepped through the empty door frame.

A memory tore across her mind, taking her back into the inferno instantly. It was the same scene again. Breathing suddenly became a challenge. The roar of the flames was all around, surrounding her and cutting off any avenue of escape. Faith closed her eyes and tried to draw a deep breath and get air into her lungs. There was too much smoke. A voice inside her head began to scream, much the same as it had back in the cruiser. There had to be a way out of this inferno she found herself in, if only someone, anyone, would answer her frantic screams for help.

"Yokas!"

O'Shea bounded over the rubble, just in time to catch her. The tightness in her lungs abruptly lessened, allowing her to draw in regular breaths. She let him support her as she regained her wind. What was wrong with her? Unadulterated terror washed through her at the thought that this, whatever was happening to her, would grow into a constant living nightmare. Out. She had to get out of what was left of this house.

"I'm all right."

"No you ain't. You can't breathe."

"It's probably the smell," Asheby said.

Wickes studied her face closely. "Flashbacks?"

She nodded. "Yeah. The same scene over and over."

"Maybe we could do this somewhere else," O'Shea suggested.

"No. There's something here that we're not seeing. Something we missed." Faith looked around. "I remember seeing a briefcase or something like it in the kitchen, on the floor, just before diving for cover. There was a tag on the handle, a baggage tag I think. But I can't remember what it said. I looked right at it, too, when I hit the floor." She walked toward the back of the house. "It was right here, in plain view of the hallway. There were numbers on the tag, three-zero-one-four, I think. It was a baggage claim tag, I think, so it must have been a duffel bag."

Wickes and Asheby looked at each other, an excited glance that spurred the taller man to press her for more. "Were there any markings on the tag that stand out, aside from the numbers?"

"I don't remember. There were only a few seconds before everything went to hell." Faith thought back, replaying the whole scene in her mind. This time, she was prepared for the shortness of breath and reached out for her partner when her throat began to close up. It wasn't as bad or as long, thankfully. "There was a blue mark on the tag. A 'G', I remember seeing a 'G'."

"'G'."

"Yeah. Whatever that means."

Asheby pulled off his gloves in frustration. "This is hopeless, Dave. We're not getting anywhere just standing here. Dave?"

His partner was staring down the street, watching a city bus lumber past. "Bus. That's what it was. Vermont Transit. The bastard is gonna run. He's takin' a damn bus."

"Son-of-a-bitch."

"Call Sergeant Jones and have him fax over Morris' mugshot to the Greyhound station. I'll call ahead and have them freeze all outgoing gates. I want every security officer watching out for this guy. When you're done with Jones, call ESU, Lieutenant Frye. Have him assemble his team and be at the station within fifteen minutes. I'll call down to the Two-Zero and notify them of the situation. This is our collar, but I want them standing by as backup."

"What do we do?"

"Get to the bus depot as fast as you can drive safely," Wickes replied. "Get a hold of your buddy Boscorelli and have him meet us there. We'll follow you."

The four cops sprinted for their respective vehicles. O'Shea beat Faith to the driver's seat. She barely had time to get the door closed before he pulled the cruiser into traffic. Other cars yielded to the RMP as it raced past them, lights and siren blazing. The unmarked department car Wickes and Asheby were driving followed them closely, headlights and the dashboard-mounted red light flashing.

"Slow down, Andy!" Faith exclaimed as the cruiser bounced roughly over an uneven strip of pavement.

His only response was to flip one of the switches on the siren control box, blasting the cruiser's air horn at the slow-to-yield Jeep with out-of-state plates. "Masshole." The cruiser barrelled through an intersection without slowing down for the yellow light. Faith was grateful she had thought to buckle herself in. Andy was driving like a lunatic.

The cruiser car phone rang. She reached for it at once. "Five-Five Edward."

"It's Detective Wickes. ESU is four minutes out from the bus depot. Five-Five David is en route too, they'll be on scene in ten minutes."

"Has the station been locked down?"

"Pretty much. Station security has been notified, they're monitoring their camera feeds for anybody who matches Morris' description." Wickes replied. "At the rate we're going, we'll be there in about seven minutes or so."

"Yeah. Thanks." Faith replaced the phone. "ESU is four minutes from the Greyhound station."

"Great, they'll beat us to him." Andy muttered, pressing on the gas pedal even more. "Hit the air horn again."

The driver of the economy car in front of them swung to the right immediately, letting the RMP blast by him. Wickes and Asheby were still behind them, although Faith wasn't sure how much longer that would be the case. They were proceeding more cautiously than the marked cruiser, and more than once other vehicles had slipped in between them.

"Who taught you to drive, Mario Andretti?"

"Close enough," Andy told her. "We'll be there in a coupla minutes. I know a shortcut."

"No! No shortcuts!"

He ignored her protests and made a tire-screeching turn onto a relatively quiet side-street. Wickes and Asheby followed moments later. There was nothing but long-forgotten Dumpsters and metal trashcans littering the narrow street. Andy swerved the cruiser around a trashcan that had fallen over and barely missed scraping the passenger's side against the unyielding brick wall.

"Dammit, O'Shea, slow the hell down!" Faith cried, her face ghost-white.

"Like hell. I want first crack at this son-of-a-bitch. Ain't nobody gonna take him out before I get to him."

"That won't happen if you get us both killed before we get there!"

"We're almost there. Get ready to jump."

The brightly lit Vermont Transit station loomed up ahead. There was already a bus waiting to take on passengers at one of the gates. Andy braked to a hard stop behind the bus, blocking it in. Cruisers from the Two-Zero and an ESU truck were just arriving when Faith exited the RMP, the safety strap of her holster unfastened. Wickes and Asheby were sprinting toward the truck, which was spilling out heavily armed ESU officers. The precinct cops gathered to find out what they needed to do. After a quick meeting with the team sergeant, the group moved to positions around the perimeter of the station. Faith's heart was hammering already, and the entry to the station hadn't even been made yet. Oh yeah, adrenaline!

"O'Shea, Yokas, you're on the entry team with Kowalski and Bauer. Go!"

The four officers darted toward the glass doors, weapons drawn. They burst through the entryway at the sergeant's command and fanned out to cover the building's interior. People screamed at the sight of the charging and shouting officers pouring into the bus depot lobby.

"Everyone on the ground! Keep your hands out where I can see 'em!"

"Anthony Morris!" Andy moved carefully around the whimpering, huddled civilians on the white tile floor. "Where are you?" Nobody spoke up. The Irishman scanned the lobby, looking at the staff standing behind the ticket counter. "Where is he?"

A toothpick-thin woman glanced quickly to her left, pointing discreetly. Faith moved toward the spot, only a handful of paces in front of her partner. The two ESU officers were searching the other side of the lobby. If the situation went to hell, they would be too far away to help.

"Anthony Morris!" Andy barked, stepping slowly. "Give it up!"

Outside, another RMP arrived. Bosco and Ingles were there. They hurried to the depot. It was a huge tactical error; Faith looked back to see who was entering the lobby. The instant she turned her attention away, a man on the floor lunged at her.

"Yokas!" Andy shouted, a split second before Morris drove his shoulder into her ribs and knocked her flat onto her back.

"Dammit!"

"Nobody moves!"

The officers froze immediately. Morris dragged Faith upright, a gun in his right hand. He had the muzzle pressed firmly against his prisoner's temple.

"We're gonna do this my way. It's very simple. I'm gonna back toward the door slowly, and you're going to let me. Nobody moves until I get outside. Understood?"

"You bastard. They'll shoot you the second you set foot outside." Faith said.

"Maybe, but I doubt it. I hear a gun go off, you're goin' down with me."

"Son-of-a-bitch."

The glass door was right behind them. Morris bumped it open with his back. "Don't shoot, or she dies!"

Faith could see the officers still inside, watching with a mixture of fear and worry. "Nobody has to die here. Just give up."

"Not a chance, lady. Shut up."

An ESU officer appeared from around the edge of the building, automatic rifle aimed square on the drug dealer. Morris tensed. "I said nobody moves!"

One of the cops from the Two-Zero moved suddenly into view from around the waiting bus and started forward. Morris pulled back the hammer of the weapon in his hand and shifted his aim.

"Dammit! I told you not to move!"

The heavy blam of the forty-five shattered the tense silence. The ESU team opened fire. Morris shoved Faith away and turned tail, firing as he went. She hit the pavement out of sheer instinct. Bosco, Ingles, and O'Shea ran out into the parking lot, but Morris was already sprinting away down the street.

"ESU Team Two Sergeant to Central, 10-13, 10-13. We need EMS to this location forthwith! Officer shot!"

Bosco helped Faith to her feet. She looked around. The officer who had come around the bus was sprawled on the pavement, unmoving. ESU cops were at his side, administering what little first aid they could.

"Come on!" Andy grabbed her arm on his way to the RMP. "He ain't that far ahead of us!"

Bosco and Ingles had reached their own cruiser and were already pulling out onto the street. Faith sprinted to the passenger's side.

"Here's your gun, keep it handy next time."

"Thanks."

Andy set the cruiser into motion, following Bosco's direction of travel. Morris had a decent head start, but he was still on the street. The two RMPs were on him within seconds. All four officers bounded out of the vehicles, only to be forced back to cover by the wild shots Morris fired at them.

"He went in there!"

Andy leapt over the hood of the cruiser to pick up the chase. He disappeared into the building, which Faith noted was a hotel. This was going to be fun. Morris shoved aside a bellman and hopped over the railing of a staircase leading down. Startled screams echoed through the lobby as guests dove out of the way.

"Stop, police!"

Morris ducked past a man in a three-piece suit coming through a heavy steel door.

"Hey! You can't go in there!"

"Move!" Andy pushed the man aside and followed the Ecstasy dealer.

"O'Shea!" Faith, Bosco, and Ingles pounded down the stairs. The man who had been pushed out of the way pointed huffily at the steel door.

"They went through there. Rude people in this city."

"Yeah, whatever." Bosco said, heaving open the door. "Ingles, stay here. If Morris comes back this way, shoot him."

Faith went down the first set of stairs she came to, following the shouts from O'Shea. He was somewhere below them, racing after Morris like a madman. The old basement they found themselves in had so many corridors, passageways, and stairs that it was a wonder O'Shea was still on the dealer's tail. Old steam pipes running along the ceiling forced Faith and Bosco to run slightly bent over. Her heart was hammering against her ribs as she ducked around yet another corner and had to make a sudden leap sideways to avoid colliding with a startled maintenance worker carrying a heavy wrench. Bosco followed her without hesitation up a steep ramp.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know! He ran this way, then I caught me foot on something and I lost him," Andy stared around in desperation. "I can't bloody well believe this!"

Bosco threw up his hands. "Great job, O'Shea. You let him get away."

"Shut the hell up! What would you have done?"

"I wouldn't have tripped over my own feet, for starters."

"You think I meant to fall flat on me face?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"Like you could've done any better! Tell me, Yankee boy, if you're so smart, how would you have avoided catching your foot on somethin' you saw for only half a second?"

"I don't trip or fall in the middle of a foot pursuit with a scumbag like Morris!"

"I want this bastard just as much as you do. I didn't plan on fallin' down!"

"Oh, right, this wasn't just a plot to set this whole thing up so you can come out of it as the big hero again. I'm sure you really did trip, and he really did get away."

O'Shea's face purpled and he closed the distance between himself and Bosco so that their noses almost touched. "Don't you dare start throwin' around accusations like that, me boyo. You don't know who you're dealing with here."

"You just bring it – "

"Shut up, the both of you!" Faith stepped between the two men and shoved them apart. "You're like two little boys fighting over a toy truck. Grow up! Andy, take the point, Bosco, cover the rear. Got it?"

The two men glared each other over the top of her head, then stepped back to take their positions. Faith let out an exasperated breath and moved in between them. Somebody had to keep them apart. They moved along carefully, checking every space large enough to hide a person. The tension in the air was nearly tangible.

"Yokas," Andy hissed over his shoulder. "I hear somethin'. Hang back a minute."

The other two officers stopped immediately as the Irishman moved swiftly and silently forward with the muzzle of his sidearm leading. Even he was taking no chances. Faith looked around as she and Bosco waited. There was no sound, other than the distant steady dripping of water from a steam pipe. This place was really creepy. Bosco's quiet breathing helped to reassure the growing fear inside. He was behind her, watching her back, the same as he always did. That fact went miles further than if it had been O'Shea. He was too volatile after the death of Malloy. Faith still felt a heavy sense of responsibility for that. Andy's recklessness, as uncomfortable as it made her, was part of the reason she had decided to partner up with him. Somebody had to keep an eye on him, and being around to do that was the least that she could do to lessen her guilt.

A heavy bang reverberated through the corridor, followed by a muffled shout. Faith silently swore, angry at herself for losing focus. There was far too much at stake for her to get lost in her thoughts.

"Yokas!"

At once, she and Bosco broke into a dead run. They kept their guns pointed at the ground, but every muscle was tensed and ready to swing the weapons back up. Each of them prayed that they wouldn't need to discharge any rounds.

From somewhere up ahead she heard O'Shea cry out. There was the sound of metal ringing against concrete. She powered her legs faster. Morris had gotten the drop on the older man. Bosco drew even with her as they neared a bend in the corridor. Bright light illuminated the otherwise dim passage, allowing them to see O'Shea and Morris hit the ground.

"Andy!"

"Freeze, both of you!"

The two men traded punches as they rolled around on the concrete floor. Neither one noticed nor cared that two semi-automatics were pointed at them. All they were concerned with was beating the other. Faith tried to regulate her breathing as she watched and waited for a clear shot. She knew Bosco was waiting for the same thing. All they needed was a minimum of three seconds when Morris was in clear view. Three seconds and then this would be over.

"Andy lookout!"

O'Shea's eyes darted at once toward her as Morris flattened his already broken nose. The Irishman's hand dropped immediately to his hip, but the dealer had anticipated the action and grabbed the officer's gun first. Faith bent her left elbow, dropping her aim point to follow the dealer as he hit O'Shea again.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Andy swore, both hands covering his nose. "No-good bastard broke me f – "

"Drop the gun!" Faith yelled, drowning out the rest of her partner's sentence.

Morris sneered. "Like hell. I like takin' cops' guns."

"Up yours, bloody Yankee trash!"

The Ecstasy dealer's expression changed swiftly from smug to surprise when O'Shea drove his boot into the other man's knee. O'Shea's sidearm slipped from Morris' hand as he toppled. There was a brief moment of silence, then an eruption of movement. O'Shea lunged for his weapon as Morris recovered from his fall and reached for his own. Faith barely had time to blink before the two men had their respective weapons in hand.

"No!"

In the instant it took for Bosco to shout, both O'Shea and Morris spun around on their knees, bringing their guns up and around to bear on the other. The larger gun in Morris' hands far outstripped the police-issue weapon O'Shea held. Everyone knew that if shots were fired, Andy would not win. One solid hit from a forty-five would drop a man where he stood and ensure that he stayed down.

"Drop your weapon."

Nobody moved or dared to. The Irishman's arms quivered with a mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline but his aim was steady. It was a standoff that would produce no winners. Bosco could feel the beads of persipiration rolling lazily down his neck and wished he could lift a hand to wipe them away. Any movement from him or Faith would trigger a shootout.

"Nobody needs to get hurt here. Just put the gun down."

"I ain't here to be sweet-talked. This one here, he's all I want. This Mick who thinks he can take apart my organisation by himself."

"Nobody leaves until you drop your weapon."

Morris shook his head. "Then we stand here like this for ever, 'cause I never surrender my gun."

O'Shea sucked away some blood from his upper lip and promptly spat onto the ground. He glanced over at Faith, then at Bosco, and back at Faith. Even though he was the one in danger, he was the senior officer on scene.

"Holster your sidearms."

"Are you crazy?" Bosco demanded. "If we do, he'll put a slug between your eyes and put us down before we could draw again."

"Can't let him be the one with all the cards, Andy."

"He's already got all the bloody cards! Put away your guns!"

Faith and Bosco exchanged a long glance, and reluctantly lowered their weapons. He had a point. Morris grinned like he had just won the lottery.

"Outstanding. Maybe you can see reason, Mick."

"Maybe." O'Shea eased himself to his feet, rested his index finger on the trigger guard, and released the magazine with his thumb. It clattered to the floor at his feet. With slow, careful movements, he holstered the weapon and lifted his empty hands up, palms out. Morris watched with a triumphant smirk smeared on his face.

"Let's go." He spun O'Shea around and pulled him backwards, the muzzle of his forty-five firmly pressed against the back of the officer's head. "No sudden moves or I put a bullet into the back of his head."

Faith was astonished to see a smile coming onto Andy's face. He flashed one finger at her in a quick, almost casual wave as he was pulled backwards. It took her several seconds before she understood. He still had one round in his gun. Morris hadn't noticed that O'Shea never cleared the chamber. She shot Bosco a quick look, hoping he would get it too. As Morris neared the corner, he gave O'Shea a rough shove that brought him around one hundred-eighty degrees. He took his eyes off the other two officers for half a second. Half a second too long.

"Now!"

O'Shea let his knees buckle, getting himself out of the line of fire. Morris ignored him. His most pressing concern was the pair of cops still on their feet. He started firing before either Faith's or Bosco's gun cleared its holster. Both dove for cover. The Ecstasy dealer howled as he sought what protection he could behind a wide pipe.

"I got him!" Andy shouted, drawing and firing in one smooth motion.

Morris screamed. He went down with a string of vicious curses. The three officers advanced on him slowly, extremely wary of moving in too fast. O'Shea's shot had caught the dealer in the thigh. When he'd fallen, he had lost his grip on the gun and it lay just outside his reach. Bosco moved in to pick it up.

"I think we'll need backup down here."

"I feel like dancing." Asheby commented as Yokas, Boscorelli, and a very battered O'Shea escorted their prisoner into the station house. A pair of beefy ESU cops was with them, one in front and one behind. The automatic rifles they carried at port arms indicated how seriously Captain Piikarainen was taking this situation. Security around the station had suddenly become a high priority. An ESU team had been detailed to guard the entrances of the building and were authorised to search everyone entering or exiting. Morris must love all this attention.

"Now that would be worth seeing," Wickes said. His partner rolled his eyes.

"Just because you have two left feet doesn't mean you can take out your bitterness on those of us who do have a sense of grace."

"Man, you're all leg. And your feet are so big it's a wonder you don't trip over 'em just walkin' into the station house."

Asheby flicked a crumbled paper ball at him. "Those who are vertically challenged should not wear stilts."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I dunno. I just made it up."

"I wonder about you sometimes."

"Wickes, Asheby. Cap wants you both in the interrogation room. We're goin' to hit Morris with everythin' we got." Sergeant Jones said on his way past the cluster of desks. "The doc over at Mercy threw a fit 'cause we pulled him outta there, but Cap wants a good hard crack at this bastard."

The two detectives were on their feet immediately. "Awesome. He ain't slippin' outta this one."

Yokas, Boscorelli, and O'Shea were standing in the hallway outside the small interrogation room, quietly discussing something amongst themselves. At the detectives' approach, they fell silent and watched with a slightly suspicious degree of wariness. Asheby strolled into the room without noticing, but his partner was too experienced to miss the abrupt shift in the officers' behaviour.

"What's up, Officers?"

"Just waitin' for you lads to have your shot at the blackguard in there," O'Shea replied smoothly. Wickes couldn't suppress a grin. The Irishman was an old hand too, and probably very good at deflecting questions he didn't want to answer.

"Anything I should know before going in?"

"He likes to be in control. We've noticed that much already. He's good at it, too, which partly explains why he's moved up the ladder so fast."

"So what do you suggest, then?"

Yokas took the point on that one. "Take out the pedestal he's put himself on. Lay out everything we have on him and his cronies. Let him know how little control he has and how much we have over this situation. Knock him off-stride and then break him down."

"Sounds good. Captain Piikarainen and Sergeant Jones are waiting for me and Mark to soften him up before they move in for the kill. The A.D.A. is here too. No punches get pulled with this guy. It's blood or nothing." Wickes said.

"Hey, Dave, let's go, Cap's gettin' antsy."

"I'm coming. Listen, you guys. Keep your eyes and ears open out there. Even though we've got the head honcho, operations are still gonna run. Grab anybody you can and squeeze 'em for information."

The three officers nodded as Wickes hurried through the door marked 'Authorised Personnel Only'.

"We should go and see how that guy from the Two-Oh is doing."

Faith nodded. "Yeah. Hey, where's Ingles?"

"I don't know. Probably pukin' his guts out in the locker room."

"He sick?"

Bosco shook his head. "Nah, just rookie jitters. This was his first 10-13 call."

"Gotta break 'em in some time." Andy said. "Ready to go, Yokas?"

"Let's go. See you down at the hospital, Bosco."

"They what?" Wickes shot to his feet, knocking his chair over.

"They kicked him loose, not even an hour ago. Jones just told me."

"Of all the – son-of-a-bitch! That was a solid collar! What happened to it?"

Asheby put his hands up. "The defence attorney said that while we had the probable cause to arrest his client, the arrest was made illegal due to the fact that the pursuit was broken because one of the officers stopped chasing him."

"He shot a cop! Doesn't that mean anything!"

"It's basic law concept. Fresh pursuit, or something like that. O'Shea was the officer in pursuit, but he stopped and the pursuit ended right there. Even though they picked up the chase again, it wasn't continuous, which it has to be for the resulting arrest to be legal. O'Shea even admits that he stopped because he tripped and fell down, consequently losing sight of Morris."

"Yeah, that sometimes happens. How does that invalidate the arrest?"

"O'Shea and Boscorelli felt that it would be prudent at that time to get into an argument over the fact that O'Shea had tripped and let Morris get away from him. Morris' lawyer interviewed all three of them. I guess Yokas told him that it was something like three to five minutes or more before they started searching for Morris after losing him. There's not a damn thing we can do about it. Morris is back on the street."

"Son-of-a-bitch," Wickes repeated softly. "After all the crap we've dug up and all the people we've talked to, he still walks. We haven't even made it to trial!"

"Those three dropped the ball big time, Dave. And O'Shea. He's been a problem from day one. Do we really need him involved in this anymore?"

"Absolutely. Are you stupid? Andy O'Shea is one of the best beat cops out there. We'd be dropping the ball if we cut him out of the loop."

Asheby rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "Dave, they screwed up big time on us. Maybe we should handle this ourselves now."

"Not a chance. Morris is too dangerous for us to go after him alone. Notify the team sitting on the house by the park. He'll probably head straight back there. When he does, we'll grab him."

"What for? The probable cause we had the first time is no good now."

Wickes managed a tired smile. "You forget there are outstanding warrants for him in California. We pick him up for that and charge him with all the bad stuff he's done here in New York."

"Fine. I suppose this means I have to alert O'Shea, Yokas, Boscorelli too?"

"Absolutely."

Uneasy silence had taken over the RMP designated Five-Five Edward since O'Shea had been released by the IAB detectives reviewing his case. It had been a very good shoot, and everyone agreed on that after only a couple of hours of discussion. Normally, he would have been pleased to be cleared. His mood had been abruptly deflated after hearing the news from the officer manning the lockup desk. Morris been kicked loose because the arrest had been fouled up. The detective called Asheby had been furious and his wrath landed instantly on O'Shea's head. He was perfectly justified in his anger. O'Shea was furious with himself for screwing up the otherwise airtight arrest. Boscorelli had not spoken to him since finding out, and except to say that she had to go back to the house, neither had Yokas. Fine. If they wanted to be that way, he didn't care. Next time around he wouldn't make the same mistake.

"You gonna go back to ridin' with Boscorelli?"

"Should I?"

"Ain't no skin off my back if you do."

Yokas sighed. "Is this how you get rid of everyone who tries to help you out? Pretending that you don't give a damn if you work alone is a really good way to go about it. You only lose sight of the fact that people care about you, care what happens to you, and want to keep you out of trouble."

"What the hell do you know about it, then? You've still got your partner!" O'Shea burst out. "You haven't seen the look the boys at the house give me when I'm around. Things'd be a good sight different if I'd been there like I was supposed to and had taken a bullet too. I wouldn't have failed me partner and there wouldn't be a shred of disgrace to bear. Partners, good partners, don't separate unless ordered to."

"Andy, it wasn't your fault – "

"Save it for somebody who gives a damn, all right? Quit wastin' your time and mine with this fool-assed errand and go back to your partner. He needs you more than I do. I don't care what Lieu or anybody else says."

There was a distinct note of deep hurt in her voice when she replied, "You wish you knew yourself that well, Andy."

He didn't bother responding to that. The lights of the station house glowed in the dark street, guiding the cruiser to the gate of the crowded RMP parking lot. Yokas collected her gear and headed immediately for the house without speaking.

"Son-of-a-bitch, I've done it again," O'Shea whispered, then his expression hardened. "To hell with them anyway."