Dawn found Emirene staring at the front door of her husband's Indian Village home. Why had she come back here? Any of the abandoned houses and store fronts she had passed on her way here would have been more than worthy for her to hide in. Yet she had kept walking until her boots sank into the lush front lawn of the Pearson residence. She wanted to turn her back and find another place but she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just arrived home.

Scaling the side of the house proved to be a simple task and Emirene let herself back into the attic the way she had left it, through the front window. Everything was as it had been. Martin hadn't been up here since she had left the night before. She picked up the pictures she had ruined and gently placed them in the trash can before she wandered over to the storage area, pulling off her belt and harness with a sigh. She didn't allow herself to think on the night. Too much thought might render her impotent to finish the job that she had found set before her.

She folded herself down onto the wooden floor and began slowly going through the boxes of belongings that once were hers. She laughed over pictures and refolded pants and dresses. She began opening a box of her old books when she heard the ring of a phone through the attic floor. She paused and listened. The tone stopped in the middle of the second ring.

She turned back to her box of books but only a moment later she heard hurried steps moving down the upstairs hall toward the pull down ladder to the attic. Like a flash she closed the book box and tossed the things she had taken out of other boxes back and shoved the lids on. Her keen ears heard the smooth movement of the ladder as it was pulled down and heavy footsteps climbing them quickly. She kicked the boxes into a semblance of stacked order and disappeared behind a wooden brace just as Martin put his bare foot onto the attic floor. He quickly turned and pulled the door shut behind him and hurried past his work bench to his desk.

Emirene peered carefully around her cover and saw Martin in a pair of boxers and his silly old tattered bathroom as he began to shuffle through all the papers and files on the desk. He had not yet noticed the pictures missing from his Wall of Crime. He was hurriedly tapping a number into his cell phone with his left hand while his right moved papers around. A few manila files dropped off the side of the desk and to the floor, unnoticed.

"Sean!" Martin cried into his cell phone when the other side picked up. "Sean, it's Martin. Martin Pearson. Did you hear?"

Emirene felt a shiver go up her back upon hearing her old partner's name.

"Did you - - yes, I know it's 6:30 in the morning. Did you hear? Did Albrecht call you too? Biondo's dead!"

The excitement in Martin's voice as he held the phone between his ear and shoulder and shuffled files around made Emirene's skin glow with sudden warmth. He finally found the file he was looking for and sat down at the chair, throwing it open, and shuffled some more. He had bed-head.

"No, yes, no, he was reported dead early this morning, at about two. A prison nurse found him after he'd gone into cardiac arrest. And there was another man. Ventimiglia I think. Victor Ventimiglia," he was scribbling the name down on a random piece of paper as he said it. "Yeah, I haven't heard of him either. He was found dead this morning too, about an hour ago, but it wasn't a heart attack.It was a clear homicide. Albrecht wouldn't tell me the details but, get this, there was a paper at both crime scenes."

Emirene bit her lip. They had sure gotten onto Victor's case fast. She wondered if he had still been warm when the first morning shift person found him.

"No, paper, paper," Martin was saying, laughing breathlessly and scratching the stubble on his left cheek. "You know, paper, made from trees. A piece of paper at both scenes and they both said "I killed Bateman, Brinker, Fulton and Mendoza" and it was signed, Sean. Biondo fucking signed the paper before he died! He admitted it! No, the one at Ventimiglia's scene wasn't signed, but it was there and I think we can bloody well assume what that means. He must have been one of the hitmen. No, I don't think your name was on it. Yeah, so whoever made Biondo sign it and whoever killed this Victor guy knew you didn't actually die from the attack. Yeah I know it's impossible."

Emirene's eye caught on her harness which still lay where she had dropped it beside the boxes. If he looked over in this direction, he would see it. Fuck. She looked around the beam at him again. He was completely absorbed in the conversation. She silently lowered herself to her belly and pulled her way to the edge of the boxes. She glanced around them to see that Martin was still hollering joyfully into the phone. She looked back at the harness.

"What are you TALKING about! If this vigilante is knocking off the right people, this could be the biggest break in our case in four years! No, Sean, listen to me would you!"

Emirene licked her lips and glanced over once more before quickly reaching out and grabbing the harness, dragging it back to safety behind the boxes. She froze then and waited to hear if he had noticed her movement. When he kept chatting on, she let out a breath and slowly stood back up, pulling the harness on and securing it.

She heard the scrape of his chair as he pushed it back and stood. In a moment the sound of his bare feet could be heard coming in her direction. She stiffened her back and sucked in her gut as though it was going to make her smaller. She stood as still as she could, just barely hidden behind the wooden strut.

"Can you imagine," Martin was still talking into the phone as he went down to his knee in front of the boxes of Emirene's things. He braced the phone between his ear and shoulder again as he took the first top off. "Well you know what, I would have demanded the death penalty anyway for what these guys did. They took my wife. And they took . . . my . . .what the hell?"

Emirene pinched her eyes closed. Shit. He had noticed things missing from the box. She heard him tear the cover off another box and ruffle around inside. He swore again. "...Sean, can I call you back?" and he hung up before waiting for a response. He dropped the cell phone and began to actively push his way through the boxes of his dead wife's possessions. His swearing became louder, more insistent. He started listing off the things he noticed missing. ". . . Harness . . . fatigue pants . . . and tank? Boots. And gun? The fucking gun . . ."

She heard him move closer, pushing through the boxes that were almost directly behind the strut she was using to hide her presence. She heard a box lid go flying. Now, each missing article was torn from his throat painfully. He sounded near tears. ". . .her badge. . . and, God . . . her dogtags? God. . ."

He was so close now. Close enough that he could notice her if she made the smallest movement. A few more inches over and he'd see the toe of her boot without much effort. Then her leg, hip and arm . . .

Martin jumped up in surprise when a violent tapping exploded from the other end of the attic. He looked out past his desk to the low window and saw a huge black bird perched just outside, tapping obsessively on the window, its huge black wings fluttering like crazy. That tattoo of sharp sounds was constant and growing louder as the crow battered its beak against the glass.

"Hey! HEY!" Martin hurried back to his office area, waving his arms. "Hey, stop it, you're gonna break the fucking glass. Get!"

Emirene didn't waste a second of her partner's brilliant distraction. With a burst she jumped and forward rolled across the width of the attic. She wiggled herself behind some old file boxes and an unused mattress. Once there she froze again, listening and waiting. The tapping on the glass stopped and Martin only continued to swear a moment longer before she heard him walk back over to the boxes. He stood there a moment, perhaps staring down at the boxes. Then she heard him scoop his phone off the floor and raise his voice.

"Anne!"

His yell was calm and collected but Emirene could hear the fury fuming beneath it. Uh-oh, poor wifey. Em tried not to smirk in bitter pleasure. She heard him walk off, his feet heavier than usual, making the floor shake a bit. When he left the attic, she heard a muted conversation that clearly turned into a muted argument. Since she couldn't hear any words she decided not to try. She curled herself up and relaxed on the cool ground behind the mattress. She had to wait until night fall before she could trying finding her way to Whittier road on Detroit's East side.