Chapter Five

When Andy Sipowicz arrived; the silence was almost deafening. Clark and Baldwin were hunched over Junior's desk going through stacks of files while Russo and Dunbar were huddled at Jim's borrowed one, both in headsets, going over another set of files. The easy banter was gone and tension between both pairs was palpable.

"What's going on here," Andy asked as he put today's folder of transcriptions in front of Dunbar.

"Last night Marty and I figured we were getting way off topic. These are hate crimes, we just are figuring out who is the target," Jim relied.

"I, for one," Baldwin put in, "think we have more than enough information to keep working on the pre-law angle."

"The possibility of co-incidence is still there. We have to fine tune this damn thing."

"So we've got someone with a vendetta against blind people, or just specific blind people or we got nothing at all." Andy put the question out to everyone but kept his eyes on Dunbar.

"Specific blind people… those at City College, taking pre-law," Clark answered.

"That doesn't explain why four other drop outs weren't touched." Marty cut Clark off.

"We are still waiting on the DNA testing from Willets and Osborne; that should be in late today." Russo added.

"Dunbar," Sipowicz said as he headed to his office, "you got ten minutes to pull this together and bring me up to date."

"Ten minutes! Jim, don't put up with that." Marty said as Andy's door shut.

"I can do it. Why don't you see if you can get those DNA results ASAP," Jim said as he gathered his notes together to report to the squad chief.

Jim entered Andy's office, took a seat and recapped the case findings so far.

Andy carefully went through the personnel file he had forwarded to him while Jim spoke, chewing his lip in frustration at the time that seemed to be wasted doing this. Sipowicz looked up at the man in front of him. He'd been asked by the chief of detectives to give an independent evaluation of Jim Dunbar.

"Jim, have you ever considered taking the sergeant's test?"

That came out of nowhere, Jim thought.

"No, sir; I just want to do my job. I'm a cop."

"I know, but I have to be honest with you, the chief of d's wants you off the streets."

Jim stiffened, "and you?"

"Hell, I want you on my squad. You keep my guys on their toes, but you won't stay off the streets and I don't want you there anymore than Gary Fisk."

"Lieutenant Fisk doesn't want me on the streets?"

"Dunbar, nobody wants you on the streets, and its only part because of the eye thing."

"You can say blind."

"Okay, you're blind, but you do your job. If you get popped on my watch though I'll be at fault no matter what anybody says, same with Fisk, same with any squad leader. Not that it'd be different with anyone else just you got the media hype and all. Thing is you are not a desk cop… yet."

"Yet," Jim's eyebrows went up.

"Yet," Sipowicz leaned back in his chair. "Did you know I was a Nam vet, went straight from the army to the police; does this sound familiar."

"Yes it does," Jim replied stiffly as he noted the similarities to his own story.

"I would never have tied myself to this desk, except my priorities changed. What do you know about me?"

"Just what I hear on the streets," Jim started to relax.

"Well, I've got the prettiest wife in the world and three kinds under the age of ten. It's bad enough that I probably won't live long enough to see grandchildren but I ain't going leave Connie a widow sooner than I have to… so I sit at a desk."

"That's no guarantee you'll be here tomorrow." Jim knew he sounded nasty, but he couldn't stop himself. "The squad chief has been shot at the 15th before."

"Don't remind me, I was here. Let's just say I'm playing the odds. What about you? Don't you think the cards might be stacked against you? Just a bit?"

"Is that all you have to say," Jim rose to leave.

"Get outta here," Andy growled as he started to make notes for his report to the chief.

Jim was quiet after the scene with Sipowicz. He was wrapping his thoughts around what the man had to say. He had worked so damn hard to get where he was, had given up so much to stay where he was that Jim Dunbar did not want to lose one damn inch of the territory he had conquered.

"You're biting your lip again, Jim." Marty's voice cut into his thoughts. "Sipowicz say something that got to you."

"Marty, I just get tried of all this shit sometimes. I'm used to you dishing it out, but when someone who doesn't know me shovels on another layer it gets to me."

"You've been off your feed all week, Jim. It has got to be more than this exile to the 15th."

"It's this case, its winter, it's Christmas, and it's just that everything is … annoying on the whole."

"You are definitely not the ho ho ho type, are you?"

"Not lately."

Nothing moved for the rest of the day, no new leads; but no new deaths. The day was an entire bust and the atmosphere kept sinking into an ever heavier silence. Then the DNA report came back and Jeff Osborne and Carl Willets were now, officially, dead.

Jim's dreams were interesting things. Christie would always be Christie, Mom always Mom; the people he knew by sight were there for him to see. It was the ones he didn't know that slipped out of his unconscious in the movie version of life. Karen he pictured as a young Rita Moreno, like in 'West Side Story' and Tom kinda like Wesley Snipes. Marty still eluded him… sometimes he pictured him as any Italian beat cop Jim ever met, other times he was almost like a cartoon character, G. I. Joe with a badge. The victims were all faceless. It was better that way. Still, he knew what a burnt corpse looked like, he'd seen enough of them during the Gulf War and that horror slipped unbidden into his dreams that night.

Three young men, three pre-law students sitting in the first row of seats in a lecture hall, burned until they barely resembled human beings. Then there was a young man wearing old fashioned clothes, opened faced and smiling. Uncle Carl died before his name sake was born, but he sat beside him, linked in death by murder. Shadowy figures filled the other seats, victims Jim didn't know of crimes he couldn't imagine, all waiting for his help. He didn't know where to start. Jim Dunbar froze in front of these victims… and all the shadowy victims behind. He had to start somewhere… anywhere was better than standing still. So Jim turned to the black board behind him and started to write in large chalk letters.

A B C 1 2 3 A B C 1 2 3

"Jimmy," Christie was shaking his shoulder. "Jimmy, wake up."

"Huh… what," Jim mumbled as he dragged himself to wakefulness.

"Sweetheart, you were thrashing around and talking. Do you want to talk about it? It's not your old nightmare again, is it?"

"No, it's not." Jim reached for Christie and pulled her into his arms. "This case is getting to me. We should have something by now, but we're just spinning our wheels."

"Some cases don't get solved." Christie gently reached up and caressed her husband's cheek. "I know you don't want to hear that, but it happens."

"Not this one. This one is really important; these kids need justice so very, very much."

"Please, in the morning. There are better things to do in bed than police work." Jim could hear the smile in her voice.

"I think I'm going to be tired tomorrow," he smirked as he kissed his wife. "There is something that I think needs doing right now." He ran his hands delicately down his wife body, caressing, exploring, and sharing the love they worked so hard to keep. Afterwards, when they slept, limbs entwined and bodies relaxed, Jim's dreams came back calmer and new ideas came.

Jim entered the 15th squad room a little later than usual.

"Hey," Russo snarked, "I was about to send out a search party. Where you been?"

"Henry, Junior, I want to apologize for yesterday." Jim said as he made his way to his desk. "We got off on the wrong track."

"Well, that's understandable. You have to check all avenues." Baldwin tried to sound magnanimous.

"No, don't rest on your laurels; we have all got off on the wrong track." Jim captured the attention of the squad, even Sipowicz. "I have Joe Osborne, Jeff Osborne's uncle, coming in today. Marty, you remember what the Osbornes said about this man."

"Yeah, he was a happily married gay man who made it easy for Jeff because he was a role model. So What?"

"Well," Jim settled into his chair, "he is trying to set up an east coast branch of the Trevor Helpline."

"Yeah," Marty sat up, "I remember one of the parents mentioned that."

"What's the Trevor Helpline?" Andy's voice cut in.

"Quick explanation, it's a suicide prevention line directed specifically towards gay, lesbian, bi and questioning youth. It's in San Francisco but Joe Osborne wanted to set up a combination of that and the Lambda help line they have here. Combine the name, share publicity and make it easier to fundraise. Carl and Jeff were part of the college contacts he had recruited. When I spoke to him today he had volunteers from most of the colleges here on the list… including George Stavros."

"Finally," Clark shouted, "a real lead."