Chapter 7

McCormick peeked out from beneath the blanket and tried to focus his bleary eyes on the clock on the bedside table. "Are you crazy, Hardcase?" he grumbled through the covers. "It's 5:45 a.m. In the morning!"

Hardcastle laughed at the indignation. "You didn't get any chores done yesterday, kiddo, and then I let you goof off all night, too. I even bought you pizza with all the toppings, so now it's time to pay the piper. The hedges around back need trimming and the gutters are going to have to be cleaned. It's supposed to rain this weekend, and I don't want them clogged up and causing a leak."

McCormick groaned. "It's not even daylight, yet, Judge. How am I supposed to do any chores when I can't even see? If I fall off the ladder and break my neck in the dark, your gutters will never get cleaned."

Hardcastle pulled the blanket roughly off the bed. "By the time you get dressed and have something to eat, McCormick, it will be light. Now get your butt out of bed and put some clothes on. I'll even make breakfast for you." The judge turned and started down the stairs. "And don't make me come back up here, kiddo, or there's going to be trouble."

McCormick threw one pillow at the judge's retreating back and buried his own head beneath another, but he knew his sleep was over for the night. He had no doubt that Hardcase would find some more than suitable punishment if he were to drift off again now. After a few minutes, he dragged himself out of bed and pulled on a pair of grungy work clothes. It was going to be a long day.

00000

McCormick finished his breakfast in the early morning sunlight. He really didn't want to do the gutters, but he figured that might be the logical place to start. He sure didn't want to be up on the roof in the heat of the mid-day sun. He yawned loudly and stretched as he rose from the table.

"You know this is cruel and unusual, Hardcase."

Hardcastle grinned. "Judicial license, kid. Now you probably want to get a move on before it gets too late."

Recognizing that further discussion was pointless, McCormick simply headed for the tool shed to begin his chores. Fifteen minutes later, he was on the roof, brushing through one of the natural valleys in the shingles, and gathering small piles of leaves.

As he gave himself over to the rather mindless work, McCormick's thoughts drifted back to last night's dinner conversation, and he wondered for at least the fiftieth time about the identity of the unknown accuser that had filled the judge's brain with such insane ideas. He still didn't know whether to be pleased that Hardcastle hadn't thrown him immediately into jail or annoyed because he had called the San Diego police, anyway. Honestly, he needed to get some kind of clue as to what the judge was actually thinking.

McCormick reached unconsciously for the medallion hanging around his neck, hoping to find a moment of clarity in its cool touch, but he was startled to feel only bare skin. He patted his torso frantically, thinking the chain had somehow just fallen into his shirt, but it was nowhere to be found. He thought quickly, trying to remember the last time he had actually noticed the medallion consciously, and was surprised to find that it might have disappeared sometime the previous day without his even knowing. He knew he'd had it yesterday morning when he showered, but beyond that…

Suddenly, the morning silence was shattered by a single bellow from below.

"MaaCoorrmiick!"

The missing medallion was forgotten immediately and his heart leaped into his throat as McCormick jumped to his feet and ran for the edge. He clambered quickly down the ladder and rushed into the house through the back door. "Judge?" he yelled frantically, "Where are you, Judge?"

McCormick ran from the kitchen and toward the front of the house. "Judge!" he shouted again.

"I'm in here, McCormick," came the answering yell. "Quit your yammering."

McCormick turned toward Hardcastle's voice and rushed into the den, calmer now, but still worried. "Judge? Are you okay?" He stopped cold at the sight of the judge standing in front of a destroyed picture and an open wall safe.

"I've been robbed!" Hardcastle screamed.

Oh, God. McCormick had opened his mouth to say that he would call the police when the judge went pushing past him and out the door. "Judge?"

"My car!"

McCormick turned immediately to follow the older man, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach. This was gonna be bad.

He found the judge in an empty garage. He stared at the sight wordlessly, knowing he needed to say something, but having no idea what. "Judge…" he began hesitantly.

Hardcastle whirled around to face the ex-convict. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say, McCormick," he said, voice low with fury. He shoved past the young man again as he headed back toward the house.

"But..." McCormick let his objection trail off when he realized the judge wasn't stopping. Besides, he still had no clue what he had intended to say. He thought briefly that he should just hide out in the gatehouse until this particular storm blew over, but he had the uneasy feeling that might just make matters worse. Hoping for the best, he followed Hardcastle back into the house.

As McCormick entered the kitchen, he heard the last of Hardcastle's conversation with the police.

"Yeah, Frank, I'll keep him here. See you soon." The judge hung up the phone and turned to face McCormick.

"You don't have to 'keep' me anywhere, Judge," McCormick said angrily. "I'm not planning on leaving."

"Good," Hardcastle growled. "Then sit down and let's talk for a minute."

"Oh, now you wanna talk. A minute ago you didn't want to hear anything I had to say, but now you want me to sit down and have a conversation like we're best friends, or something. Well, you know what, Hardcase? Maybe I don't feel like talking. Maybe I'll just go watch TV or something, since apparently I'm going to be 'kept' here for a while." McCormick stormed out of the kitchen without waiting for a reply.

"Don't touch anything in the den, McCormick," Hardcastle instructed brusquely as he hurried after the young man. "There's gonna be enough questions without finding your prints all over the safe and everything."

McCormick froze in the hallway. "What?" He turned and looked at the judge uncertainly. "You don't think my prints are already there?"

Hardcastle allowed his eyes to meet McCormick's and held his gaze, waiting for the truth. "Are they?"

McCormick spoke quietly, sincerely, and without hesitation. "No, Judge, they're not. There are so many reasons I wouldn't steal from you, Hardcastle, I couldn't begin to list them all. I won't ask you to trust me, Judge, even though you can. Just tell me what you want me to do."

"That's a pretty broad offer, McCormick," the judge replied, his tone suddenly teasing. "I might want a lot."

McCormick shrugged. He wasn't kidding. "I know how bad this is, Judge, and it's not something I can fix on my own. I'm not thrilled with the idea, Hardcase, but I need your help. I'm asking you to keep me out of jail. Please."

Again with the surprises, Hardcastle thought. Still, he really didn't think the kid had done this. The eyes would've given him away in a heartbeat. Finally, the judge spoke.

"The police are gonna question you, kid. And they might want you to take a lie detector test. Whatever happens, you just need to tell them the truth, and things will be fine."

"Okay," McCormick agreed with a nod, hoping it would be as simple as the judge implied. He glanced toward the crime scene. "You wanna watch TV at my place instead?" he offered, hoping the judge wouldn't tell him to get back to the chores. Gutters suddenly seemed a lot less important now.

"Nah, I need to look around here and make sure nothing else was taken. I think it's a good bet that it will just be the safe and the car, just like all the others, but I should check, anyway. You go ahead, though. I'll let you know when the cops want to see you."

McCormick stared. "I can go?"

"It's not like you live on the moon, McCormick," Hardcastle barked. "It's just the gatehouse. You did say you weren't planning on leaving, didn't you?"

"Yeah," McCormick replied with a small smile, "that's what I said."

"Then get outta here, and let me get on with what I'm doing!"

Feeling slightly better, McCormick disappeared out the front door.

00000

The rapping on the door caused McCormick to jump. Hardcastle wouldn't knock, so it had to be the police. He took a steadying breath and opened the door.

"Milt's idea of keeping an eye on you is a bit different than mine," Frank Harper said without preamble.

"Yeah, well, it worked," McCormick replied shortly, as he motioned the officer inside. "I'm still here."

"I thought I'd take a look around," Harper continued, ignoring McCormick's comment.

"Got a warrant?" McCormick teased.

Harperdidn't seem amused. "It's Milt's house, in case you've forgotten, McCormick. And even if it wasn't, didn't your P.O. tell you about all the civil liberties you get to give up as long as you're on the state's honor roll?"

"Jeez, Lieutenant, lighten up. It was a joke. Search the place; I don't care. What do you think you're gonna find, anyway? Stacks and stacks of small, unmarked bills and Hardcastle's last will and testament? Good luck, 'cause I'm pretty sure all you're going to find is a bunch of dust bunnies and last week's pizza." McCormick threw himself onto the sofa and waited while Harper rummaged through the gatehouse, though he had the distinct feeling the detective's heart wasn't really in it.

After completing the search to his satisfaction, Harper returned to the living area and pulled up a chair. "So, there wasn't anything here," he reported.

McCormick looked at him sideways. "If you're expecting me to thank you or something, Frank, don't hold your breath." He had a sudden thought. "Hey, you didn't happen to find a Saint Jude medallion on a chain laying around, did you? It's disappeared somewhere, and I haven't had a chance to look for it."

Harper shook his head. "Nope, nothing like that. Sorry. You know," the detective continued conversationally, "the big money's on you being behind this thing."

McCormick sat up and turned to face Harper. "That may be where the big money is, Lieutenant, but the smart money is on the other side. People betting against me on this one are going to lose big."

Harper grinned fractionally. "Pretty big talk for someone looking at the kind of trouble you are."

McCormick returned the grin. "If I quit talking every time I was looking at trouble…"

"Yeah, I got it. Okay, Mark, let's have it. Tell me what you know about the break-in."

"I know it happened," McCormick answered with a shrug. "I know I was in the den until almost two, and Hardcastle had me up again at the crack of dawn doing his insane chores, so there wasn't a huge window of opportunity. I know the judge is the one who found the safe open when he went into the den today around seven, and then we checked the garage and the Corvette was gone. Beyond that, I don't know much at all."

"You said you were in the den until two this morning. What about Milt?"

McCormick shook his head. "He turned in earlier, maybe around twelve or twelve-thirty." He grinned suddenly. "He was losing too much money to stay up any longer."

"So you were alone in the den?" Harper continued, ignoring the brief levity.

"Yeah," McCormick said sullenly. He was almost ready to believe he was guilty himself.

"But you didn't do this?"

"No, Lieutenant, I didn't do this. I didn't open the safe, I didn't take the 'Vette, and I didn't sit by and let someone else do it, either. I. Am. Not. Involved."

McCormick threw his hands up in frustration and leapt to his feet. He paced almost frantically around the living room. "Frank—Lieutenant—" He threw his hands up again and shook his head roughly. He was lost. "God. I don't even know what I'm trying to say."

He met Harper's eyes. "Look, you're trying to protect your friend, Frank, and I know that. I don't have the answers to this job any more than I had the answers to all the others, but I do know it wasn't me. I also don't have a way to convince you that I wouldn't betray him, but I never would."

He seated himself on the sofa again. "What else do you want to know?"

Harper studied him closely. "Will you take a polygraph?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Maybe that'll convince you guys."

Harper softened his tone. "I think Milt is already convinced," he admitted.

McCormick smiled slightly. "You don't think he should be." It wasn't a question.

"Not really, I'm sorry to say. I want this to work out for him."

McCormick looked at the detective skeptically. "For him? I'm the one going back to the slammer if it doesn't work out. What's it matter to him?"

"Don't worry about what matters to him," Harper replied, and McCormick thought maybe the detective had realized he had come close to saying too much.

Harper turned the conversation around."What I'd like to know," he continued, "is if it matters to you. What, exactly, do you get out of this whole thing?"

Blue eyes stared in disbelief across at Harper. "Are you kidding, Lieutenant? Look around you. In case you hadn't noticed, this isn't exactly a six-by-eight concrete room, and you gotta drive about fifty miles to see bars on windows."

"So you get your freedom. Anything else?"

"I get relative freedom," McCormick corrected. "But it's still a hell of a lot better than the alternative. As for anything else…I got to put Martin Cody in jail. That's what the judge offered me, that's what I accepted."

Harper dug for more. "And?"

"And what, Lieutenant? What kind of an answer are you after? You want me to say how wonderful it is to be here? That it's changed my life forever? That every day I give thanks for being lucky enough to come up before Hunt 'em, Hear 'em and Hang 'em Hardcastle?"

McCormick narrowed his eyes for effect. "I don't know which one of you is loonier."

The detective grinned. "So it hasn't changed your life?"

"Okay, you got me there, Frank. My life has definitely changed. As for how it's changed …I'll leave that to your imagination."

"You know I want to take you in," Harper said suddenly.

McCormick felt his throat tighten and tried to swallow. He nodded slowly. "I figured. Can I…? I mean, is there anything…?" He shrugged in resignation. "Never mind. Why don't we just go? I don't know why we're even having this conversation here. Aren't you guys just gonna ask me all these same questions downtown?"

"You did say you'd take a polygraph," Harper reminded him.

McCormick nodded again. "Yeah, Frank, I will."

"Good. Milt said he'll bring you down in a couple of hours."

McCormick looked up suddenly. "What? I thought you said—"

"I said I want to take you in," Harper interrupted. "I didn't say I was going to. Milt asked me to wait."

"Milt asked…." McCormick was too surprised to finish his sentence.

"He made a pretty convincing argument," Harper explained, "about how we'd have a stronger case if we waited for the lab work. Take you down now, and we might have to cut you loose before we get everything lined up, and it always looks bad if we have to make multiple arrests before we can file the charges."

"Well, we wouldn't want you to look bad," McCormick said weakly.

Harper rose and started for the door, but McCormick was still too stunned to follow.

"There is something you need to know, McCormick." The detective turned back and locked on to the gaze of the ex-convict. "If you run now, while you're the suspect in an on-going criminal investigation, that's going to be a hundred times worse than just skipping out on your parole. Hardcastle would take a lot of heat over something like that."

"I'll say this a million more times if I have to, Frank…I'm not going anywhere. Don't forget that his way of keeping an eye on me has been working so far."

"So far," Harper agreed just before he disappeared out the door.

McCormick remained on the sofa and wished—for just a moment—that he could find it in himself to actually run.

00000

It was almost dark when Hardcastle found McCormick behind the house, trimming the hedges. "Hey, kiddo, I been lookin' for ya."

The young man looked up from his work. "Getting worried?" He tried to hide behind his typical cocky grin, but the tone was far too heavy and there was no humor in his eyes.

Hardcastle recognized immediately that he couldn't tease. "Nope, not worried at all. I just hadn't seen you since we got back from the station."

He didn't add that he had been surprised by the absence, though it had all but shocked him. He had assumed that McCormick would be dancing around the place after passing the polygraph, wanting to rub it in, but, instead, the kid had pulled a mysterious disappearing act.

McCormick indicated the expanse of lawn. "The back forty down by the gardener's trailer needed a trim, and I had to finish the gutters and these hedges."

"That's a lot of work, considering we've been otherwise engaged for most of the day. Why don't you take a break? The hedges will still be here tomorrow."

But will I? McCormick thought grimly. Aloud he said, "I'm almost done, Judge."

"Well, okay. I just wanted to tell you I heard from the San Diego PD, and they can't find any record at all of you ever being busted down there."

McCormick turned his attention back to the clipping. "Okay."

"Gonna say I told you so?" the judge asked lightly.

"Nope."

Hardcastle sighed in frustration. "If you're waiting for me to say I'm sorry, McCormick…."

"I'm not."

"Look, kid, I had to check it out; it's what I do."

"I know." McCormick said quietly. He looked up. "Ready to tell me yet who blew me in?"

"Not really," Hardcastle answered. "Maybe soon."

McCormick shook his head. "Please tell me you're at least checking him out, too?" He tried to keep his voice firm, but he knew that he only sounded irritated. And maybe a little bit scared.

"Of course I am, kiddo. I just told you; it's what I do." He paused a moment, and took in the weariness that was increasingly becoming a part of McCormick's bearing. This case was definitely taking its toll. "I wish you'd come in the house now," he added softly.

"I'm almost done, Judge," McCormick said for the second time. "But I think I'll just turn in after my shower. I'm pretty beat."

"You're not comin' in for dinner?" Hardcastle seemed genuinely disappointed.

"I don't think so. I'm just gonna get some rest. It's been kind of a long, weird day."

"Yeah, I guess," Hardcastle agreed glumly. Then he looked at McCormick with a slight grin. "Sarah made pot roast with that gravy you like so much," he said enticingly.

McCormick looked at the judge wonderingly. Why did the guy care whether or not he came in for dinner? But as soon as the question popped into his head, McCormick knew the answer: Hardcastle was feeling guilty for not trusting the younger man, and was looking for a sign that he had been forgiven.

McCormick smiled slightly. Part of him was touched at the judge's concern. Another part of him thought the old man should feel guilty. Why ask questions if you weren't going to believe the answers, anyway? But the largest part of him understood that it was simply far too early in their relationship for blind faith, and Hardcastle had to seek out as much information as possible. Also, there was no denying that the judge really had demonstrated an amazing amount of faith just by allowing him to remain free, especially after this morning. Maybe he should say that he appreciated the gesture.

"You know, Hardcastle," he began, "believe it or not, I'm actually pretty glad that you check things out like you do. Most P.O.s would've had me at a revocation hearing after the first phone call. I'm glad that's not your style."

He gave the bush in front of him one last snip and waved the shears in Hardcastle's direction. "Even with the chores, this yard is much nicer than the one at Quentin." McCormick grinned. "And the food's better, too. I think I might have some of that pot roast, after all."

Hardcastle smiled as he bent to pick up the pile of clippings McCormick was raking together. Again, the kid seemed to know just what he needed to hear. It was kind of unnerving if you really thought about it, so he decided not to. For the moment, he was content just to feel the small spread of warmth that was becoming more common with each passing day that McCormick spent at Gull's Way.

00000

McCormick was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on lunch when he heard the front bell ringing. "Can he not just put something down and open the door?" he muttered as he headed toward the sound.

He was still grumbling when he opened the front door to find Frank Harper standing on the porch. "Hey, Frank," he greeted, surprised. "Hardcastle isn't here right now, but come on in. He'll be back soon."

Harper stepped into the foyer. "That's okay, Mark. I actually came to see you."

The words sent an immediate chill down McCormick's spine, and he unconsciously took a step backward. "What?"

"I have some news," Harper replied as he took a step toward McCormick.

McCormick backed up again. He was getting a bad feeling about this. "What?" he asked again, not certain he could manage anything more complex.

"We found the Corvette." Again, Harper closed the distance between himself and McCormick.

"That was quick; it's great," McCormick grinned. He saw the grim expression on the detective's face. "Unless it's…. I mean, they didn't strip it or anything?"

"No, nothing like that. The car's fine."

"The judge will be glad to hear that," McCormick said uneasily. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"We pulled some prints off the car," the lieutenant said slowly, taking another step toward McCormick.

The lean form backed up again. "And?"

"Mostly Milt's, of course." Another step.

McCormick tried again to put distance between himself and the officer. "Mostly?"

Harper moved toward the ex-con. "And yours."

McCormick's last step backed him into the stairway banister post; the lieutenant stopped just inches in front of him. McCormick held his hands in front of him, wanting to ward off whatever was coming next. "I live here, Frank," he explained. "Of course my prints are in the car."

"That car's important to Milt, you know that?"

"Yeah, of course," McCormick nodded.

"How's it handle?"

McCormick snorted. "Handle? I don't drive it, Frank. I'm strictly a passenger."

"Then you wanna tell me how your prints ended up on the steering wheel and the gear shift?"

"The steering…." McCormick's answer trailed off as he grasped the severity of the problem. "I didn't do this, Frank," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "The most driving I do in the 'Vette is to move it from the garage to the drive to wash it…." He grinned suddenly. "Which I did just last week. That's gotta be where the prints came from."

"That's interesting," Harper commented mildly. "You should also know we found the car over on Durango Drive."

McCormick blanched. "By my old apartment?"

"Exactly." The detective stared coldly at the innocent look on McCormick's face. "You really expect me to believe you're not involved in this?"

"Hardcastle does," McCormick answered simply, as if that should explain everything.

"He doesn't know about the car yet," Harper pointed out.

That's true, McCormick thought to himself. To Harper, he said, "It won't matter," and hoped desperately that he was correct.

"Then it's just as well he's not here to see me take you in, isn't it?"

"But I passed the polygraph yesterday!" McCormick objected.

"Clearly, you lie well."

"Frank…"

"Get against the wall, Mark," Harper said calmly.

McCormick fought the panic. "Lieutenant," he pleaded, dropping the familiarity as he fell into a more familiar relationship with law enforcement, "let's wait for Hardcastle. He'll be back in just a few minutes."

"Nope. You've been jerking him around long enough. Now, get against the wall."

McCormick tried again, his voice rising in conjunction with his fear. "Let's be reasonable, Lieutenant. It's his car. This is his house you're dragging me out of. And I'm his…whatever in the hell I am. This concerns him; he should be involved."

"We're through discussing, McCormick," Harper said as he grabbed the younger man's arm and swung him toward the wall. "Now. Get. Against. The. Wall."

McCormick caught himself as the lieutenant shoved him into the wall. "You're making a mistake, Frank," he said quietly, but he offered no further argument.

Harper searched McCormick quickly, then locked the man's wrists behind him. McCormick heard him begin with the usual recitation, "You have the right to remain silent…" but he tuned it out. This was unbelievable.

"I don't need to hear that, Lieutenant," McCormick snapped, but Harper continued with the Miranda.

The irony wasn't lost on McCormick. "Wouldn't want the case to be thrown out on a technicality," he muttered.

Only after he had finished with the Miranda reading did Harper pull his prisoner back around to face him. "All right, let's get out of here."

McCormick didn't budge. "At least leave him a note, Lieutenant."

Harper stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"I'm supposed to be here, Frank," McCormick explained patiently. "If he comes home and finds me gone, he's gonna—"

"Throw your ass in jail?" Harper interrupted. "I'm just beating him to it."

"Lieutenant…."

"Oh, all right," Harper relented, "we'll leave him a note." He grabbed McCormick's arm and pulled him toward the den.

Harper and McCormick both whirled around as they heard the front door open behind them.

"Frank, what the hell is going on?" Hardcastle growled as he stood in the doorway, taking in the scene.

"Judge," McCormick began, "am I glad to see you. They found—"

The judge interrupted coldly, "I want to hear it from Frank."

McCormick's face flushed with anger, but he clamped his mouth shut over his reply.

"We found your car, Milt," Harper began, "and it's fine. You can come pick it up later this afternoon."

"I'm glad to hear it, but what's going on with McCormick?"

"I'm taking him in, Milt. We found his prints in the car."

"Of course his prints are in the car, Frank. He lives here."

"That's what I said," McCormick said petulantly. He flinched slightly at the withering glare he received from Hardcastle. "Sor-ry," he added under his breath.

Harper continued his explanation. "We found the car over in front of his old address, and the location of the prints make it clear he's been driving the car, Milt. You been lettin' him do that?"

Hardcastle shook his head, not looking at McCormick. "Not really. But he did move it to and from the driveway the other day when he washed it."

McCormick shot a triumphant look at Harper, but the lieutenant wasn't backing down.

"Milt, you need to let me take him in. You'll be thinking differently in a while." The officer took McCormick's arm and moved him toward the front door. "I'm sorry it's working out like this."

The judge took a few steps into the room and planted himself in front of the other two men. A quick glance at McCormick's face gave him the final reassurance he sought. He pulled Harper's hand off McCormick's arm, and turned the detective back toward the den. "Let me talk to you a minute, Frank," he said, and Harper allowed himself to be steered toward the other room.

"And you, hotshot," Hardcastle called back over his shoulder, "just stay put."

And just where do you think I'd go? McCormick thought angrily, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and simply nodded his agreement. He plopped himself down on the stairs as he watched the others disappear behind the closed door of the den.

"You're too close to this one, Milt," Harper said, as soon as the door closed behind them.

Hardcastle smiled slightly, suddenly understanding McCormick's frustration at being told the same thing recently. "Have you ever really known that to be the case?" he asked his old friend. "You even went with me to Louisiana. Did you see me backing off Beale?"

"That was a little different," Harper objected. "First of all, there was no room for doubt in that case, and secondly, he hadn't been here long enough to get under your skin."

The judge ignored the second comment. "You're right, Frank, there was no room for doubt then, but there is now. If McCormick explained to you how his prints got on the car, why are you still trying to take him in? I know you like him, so why are you so eager to lock him up?"

"I'm not eager, Milt, and I wish it could be different, but I'm not gonna stand by and let him…." He trailed off, hoping to find a way to avoid the full brunt of the Hardcastle rage.

"You're not gonna let him what?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Hurt you," Harper finally blurted, and ignored the following glare from the jurist. "I'm just not gonna let that happen. There is plenty of probable cause going on around here to support an arrest. I'm gonna take him downtown and question him and see if we can't get something out of him. My guess is he feels bad about ripping you off—you know he's not really such a bad kid—so maybe he'll come clean quick and we can put all the pieces together. Either way, we'll buy ourselves some time to make the case and he'll be out of here and away from you."

Hardcastle shook his head slowly. "He can't feel bad about something he didn't do, Frank, and you don't need to be worrying about me. I can take care of myself.

"You know," he continued thoughtfully, "I think maybe Beale took off so quick because he knew he'd never 'get under my skin', as you put it; knew things would never really change between us. But McCormick…I don't know. McCormick seems to think if he does all the right things, then we'll be…well, I'm not sure what he thinks we'll be, but he seems willing to try to make it happen. He didn't rob this place, Frank, and he didn't take the Corvette. I'd bet anything on it.

"He gave you a reasonable explanation, you know. He answered all of your questions yesterday, and passed the polygraph with flying colors. And don't you think it's a little odd that out of six or eight jobs, this is the only one he got sloppy enough on to leave prints? Pretty convenient, wouldn't you say?"

"Criminals always make a mistake eventually," Harper pointed out.

"Usually," Hardcastle agreed, "but that's not what happened here. The kid was in the car and he left some prints. And since he's about the only other person who's ever in that car, it makes sense that you didn't find any others. Whoever is pulling these jobs, they're careful, and they don't leave clues. There aren't any of McCormick's prints on the safe, you know. You think he had his gloves on to grab the money, and then took them off to take the car? Not likely."

"Not likely," Harper admitted, "but possible. I still think you're too close to this. Let me take him in and see what we get out of him."

"No," Hardcastle said flatly.

Harper was startled. "What?"

"I said no. You're not taking him, because I'm not gonna press charges, and you don't have anything against him on any of the other jobs."

"You don't have to press charges if I write it up as a parole violation," Harper pointed out. "The board will pull his ticket in nothing flat."

"I said no," the judge repeated firmly, "and don't try to out-legal me. I'm his parole officer of record now, so I'm the one who has to file for revocation. If you have questions for him, ask them here. If you have more investigating to do, then do it. But I'm not gonna let you lock him up just to make your job easier…or out of some misguided attempt to protect me."

Hardcastle softened his tone. "The kid isn't involved in this, Frank. Trust me."

"And what if you're wrong?" Harper demanded.

Hardcastle smiled slightly. "You know the answer to that, Frank. If the kid turns out to be bad, I won't need you to take him in. I'll throw him into the cell myself."

Harper barked out a brief laugh. "Yeah, I guess you would at that. Okay, Milt, if you're not willing to press charges, I'm not gonna try to make an issue out of it…yet. But I may still want him downtown for questioning sometime soon. And I will definitely be watching him."

"I appreciate the concern," Hardcastle said sincerely. "And if you decide you need to question him later, we'll decide then how to handle it."

Harper laughed again; he had known Hardcastle wouldn't just blindly agree to the questioning, but it had been worth a shot. He was still grinning when they opened the door and stepped back into the entry area.

Seeing the lieutenant approach him, McCormick raised himself slowly from his seat on the staircase. He looked quickly past Harper to where Hardcastle stood, but—as usual—the judge's face wasn't giving anything away. He pressed his lips together tightly to keep from blurting out his question; no way he was going to give them that satisfaction.

Harper reached McCormick, grabbed his arm, and spun him around. He felt the young man stiffen, and decided he was glad the kid was scared. Maybe it would keep him in line…and keep Milton a bit more protected.

"You'd better be on the level with him," Harper whispered harshly into McCormick's ear as he removed the handcuffs.

McCormick turned slowly to face the officer, absently rubbing his wrists to get his circulation going again. "Always," he said softly.

Harper raised his voice to a normal level. "I don't want him leaving town, Milt," he said, his eyes locked on McCormick's.

"I'm not going anywhere, Lieutenant," McCormick assured him, and Harper thought immediately of the week he had spent baby-sitting the young man in the cell. Hardcastle was right about one thing: the kid could definitely get to you. The detective shook his head and turned away from the sincere blue eyes. Seeing the judge laughing silently at his discomfort, Harper simply shrugged, grinned, and walked out the front door.

McCormick breathed a sigh of relief and fell back against the wall. "Whatever you said to him, Judge, I appreciate it."

Hardcastle shot him an evil grin. "What if I said 'give me a few hours and I'll bring him to you myself'?" he teased.

McCormick laughed easily. "Then at least I won't have to wear cuffs on the ride, and I'll have time for lunch first. All in all, not a bad deal."

After a moment, the young man sobered, and looked at Hardcastle earnestly. "It really wasn't me, Judge. It's great that you didn't ask, but I wanted to say it, anyway."

"I know that, kiddo," Hardcastle replied gently. "It's not like it just slipped my mind to ask, you know. Now, let's have that lunch, because you've still got work to do before we go get my car back."