Ch. 20

" I told you," Jack said for the third time. " We were just talkin', then Danny freaked, and Al went after Danny with a knife. I was just tryin' to help the guy, that's all. Why he went all ballistic on me, I have no idea..."

Mac narrowed his eyes. " Probably didn't help that you were chasing after him."

Jack rolled his eyes and jerked himself back against the rest of his seat. Mac leaned forward, with Flack pacing like a caged tiger behind him.

" I told you!" Jack said, throwing his hands up. " That second time around I was just tryin' for another talk, but he doesn't give me the chance. Instead he attacks me and takes off. I was goin' after him to stop him, it was freezin' cold out. Sorry if it looked wrong to those guys at the court, but that's what was goin' down. Your boy Messer panicked. And if you ask me, that don't seem right with him being one of you and all. Aren't you guys supposed to be all cool and collect?"

Flack whirled around and slammed his hands on the table, leaning in. " Well we didn't ask you, Jack. We asked you why the hell you left Danny to die!"

" That wasn't me!" Jack practically snarled. " It was probably Al. The guy's a freakin' junky. Why haven't you dragged him in yet?"

Mac replied, " Because Danny was fairly insistent that it was you in that room."

Jack sighed and shook his head. " The guy's lost it..."

Mac cocked an eyebrow. Jack's nonchalant acting was superb, but it didn't hide the slight twitches in the face and point second slips of the facade that told Mac the man knew he was screwed. The point would be driven home once Mac started talking about the evidence, but he waited, dragging it out, getting Jack to sweat before dropping the bomb.

" You were seen at the hospital, seen pursuing Danny," Mac stated calmly. " And seeing as how you failed to 'help him' as you claim you were doing, it's kind of hard not to look at all this as what it was – attempted murder."

Jack dropped his head, shaking it, while snorting out a bitter laugh. " You guys are a riot." Then his head snapped up with eyes blazing. " It's freakin' circumstantial, pal."

" Not the evidence," Mac said at last. " You may have cleaned your shoe, but the print matches the size and make. And there was plenty of blood to work with. Most of it, I'm pretty sure," Mac gestured to Jack's bandaged hand, " not belonging to Danny."

Jack's jaw tensed, and his throat moved in a tight swallow. Then he snorted out another laugh, this one half-hearted and forced.

" Hey, just because that little psychotic SOB tried to do me in doesn't mean I'm guilty of somethin' except bein' a good Samaritan. I tried to help him, man, but he wouldn't let me."

Flack straightened with hands on hips. " So you just left him to die."

Jack shrugged. " He didn't give me much of a choice."

" That's not how he tells it," Flack said. " Had a little chat with him this morning. He says you stepped on him."

Jack chuckled. " What!"

" He was down, and you just stood there," Flack went on. " Then you put your foot on him. What's up with that, huh? Wasn't enough blood for you or somethin'? The man was down; I'd say you'd missed the perfect opportunity to 'help'."

Jack, his face twisted in disgust, shook his head. " Circumstantial..." but he was grasping for straws now.

" You left him there to die, Jack," Mac said. Jack just glared at him.

CSINY

Mac was feeling vindictive. Not a usual trait for him, but he saw no point in dismissing it. Sitting in his office, he looked over the DNA results and didn't even try to suppress a small grin. DNA samples swabbed from Jack matched several samples from the blood drops found at the scene. He was there. Danny may have been blind in the dark, but he did what needed to be done to place Jack at the spot.

Now the trick lay in getting the court to see what Jack did as attempted murder and not aggravated assault, which is what Jack's lawyer would push for. Less time involved there. Danny's condition, previous and now, would do to play the sympathies of the jury. That still didn't guarantee Jack being put away for a long time. Then there was the Quinn moral code of ethics to worry about – family first, and everyone else to hell, to put it simply. Jack's dad might try something to keep Danny quiet, maybe even go as far as ensuring that Danny never left the hospital alive. The wrong medication, paying off some desperate nurse to induce a coma or heart attack, it wouldn't take much. Yes, it sounded way too cliché, too movie-like, but stuff like that did have a way of worming into reality.

There came a soft knock on Mac's door. Mac dropped the results folder onto his desk and looked up.

" Come in," he said.

The door opened revealing Calvin Messer, standing rigidly, his fingers thrumming on what looked to be a black video cassette.

" Mr. Messer," Mac said, and waved him in.

Calvin approached the desk in the stiff manner of hesitancy. " Call me Cal."

" Cal." Mac's eyes flicked to the tape. " What brings you by?"

Cal held the tape up. " A decision." He then held the tape out for Mac to take. " One I just came to. I think you should have it."

Mac took the tape and studied it over. There was no label, and it wasn't rewound. Realization hit Mac quick as lightening. He looked back at Calvin uncertainly.

" Is this...?"

Cal grimaced. " The bane of the Messer existence. The very thing that may take a Quinn down, hopefully for good. I was debating on whether to give it to Stevenson, but... It just felt right handing it over to you. You're Danny's boss, he trusts you, and right now we need people who we can trust."

Mac set the tape on his desk and leaned back in his chair. " What do you expect me to do with this?"

Cal shrugged. " Whatever you want, as long as it involves making those bastards pay for what they did to my kid."

" What about the danger involved? Won't they come after you, or Danny?"

Cal averted his gaze to the floor, gathering his thoughts and choosing his words. When he looked up, Mac saw unwavering resolve etched in every line of the man's face, and the flash of fury in his eyes.

" Danny was dead. It may have only been for a few seconds or minutes or whatever, but his heart had stopped. And, in that time, a Quinn had killed him. Jack went too far. You see, Mac, I won't deny that I've done some business with Mel Quinn. I know him, I know his kid... I know Jack tends to sacrifice common sense just to dish out the violence. And I know Mel gets tired of cleaning up his messes. With what happened to Danny, combined with what you find on that tape, Mel's goin' to be makin' himself rather scarce."

Mel let out a caustic chuckle, so humorless it sounded hateful. " And all it took was Danny dieing for a few seconds."

Mac studied Cal. For all Mac knew, the man's judgment had been clouded by anger, and giving up the tape was a rash decision he needed more time to think over.

Mac slid the tape back toward Cal. " Maybe you should hold onto this until you're absolutely sure..."

Cal's head shot up. " I am. I'm positive. Look, I know this may sound technical, but the threat was made toward me giving the tape to the Feds. Nothin' was said about handing it over to regular cops. Look, I'm trustin' you, so you need to trust me. I know what I'm doing. With what Jack did to Danny, they won't come near him. They won't take the chance. They screwed me, so I get to screw them. They knew this. They knew that if anything happened to Danny, I'd hand this tape over. You use that tape, convict Jack for what he did to Danny, and they won't come near us. Ever."

Mac remained silent, wanting to debate, to force Cal to reconsider. But Cal's resolve was sealed.

Mac tapped the tape with his finger. " You know what's on here?"

A slow smirk spread on Cal's face and he lifted a shoulder in a shrug. " I might have taken a peek."

" And it can be used against Jack?"

" Definitely." Then Cal stood. " Listen, I'm probably screwing myself over doin' this, but I don't care. Use what you find, give it to the Feds, I don't care. I don't want it, and if it can help sink Jack for good, all the better. I'm done with this crap."

Then Cal left before Mac could say anything further. Mac looked at the tape. It would be playing with fire just to watch it. But to hand it over to Stevenson would mean never seeing it, never knowing how it could be used to help Danny and his dad.

And since Cal had given it to Mac, it was officially the department's until the Feds made a demand for it.

Finalized, Mac grabbed the tape and headed from his office.

CSINY

" You've gotta be kidding," Stella said. Her expression was mirror-imaged to the expressions of the rest of the team gathered in the dark room. It was as though they'd all just walked in on someone about to be murdered – although maybe not as extreme, especially when Stella grinned.

What they were seeing was indeed a shock in more ways than one. It was surveillance – of the junkyard entrance. There was no sound, only black and white imagery of a truck with Cassio's printed on the side. It pulled into the yard, then pulled out ten minutes later. The date and time on the footage was the estimated death of Gerard, and Mac could almost discern a face within the window of the truck. A little enhancing, and they'd finally have a suspect.

Stella shook her head. " I can't believe they'd be stupid enough to use a truck from their own restaurant."

" They probably didn't think a junk yard would have security cameras," Mac replied. His question was how Cal ended up with this footage, a question the court would ask when trial time came. But, chances were, the tape would end up in agent Stevenson's hands, and Cal would be forced to answer the question whether he liked it or not. Yet if Cal was so willing to hand the evidence over, he was probably on the verge of testifying as well. The man was pissed, ready to take the entire Quinn clan down if he could.

" We need a clearer shot of whoever's driving that truck," Mac said.

" Think it'll be our man Jack?" Flack asked.

" Probably not. Jack may make mistakes, it doesn't mean he's always careless. But one thing can lead to another. We have the bullet that killed Gerard. Maybe Jack has the gun, and this footage could be enough to get a warrant to search his place if whoever's driving can be connected to him."

" On it," Stella said, and sounded rather cheery about it.

CSINY

Al Moran, the man Jack was so bent on pinning everything to, was the mystery driver of the truck. His continual presence around Jack aided in scrounging the required warrant to search Jack's home.

And a nice home it was, situated in the kind of neighborhood that required a kind of membership to live in, and closed off by a gate to those who didn't belong. Jack's place was two stories, and spacious right down to the closets. The furnishings, even artwork, had a kind of black and white theme going on, and any color manifesting in the place was subdued, hardly existent.

Stella had a better word to describe Jack's taste – sterile, like a brand new hospital. It was clean, seemingly untouched, and would probably remain that way if Jack was the kind of guy who spent the majority of his life anywhere but home, which seemed to be the case. Home was more of a place he entertained at rather than lived in.

They turned Jack's home inside out looking for the single weapon, and came up with ten. Not just automatics but smaller handguns – the kind meant to be concealed – and more heavy-duty fire power like a semi-automatic rifle. Apparently, Jack liked to pack as much heat as he could, and didn't play favorites. He even had a pellet gun, either procured from his childhood or kept around for kicks.

There were knives too – hunting knives, swiss army, switch blades. None of which sported any hidden blood in the handles or etchings.

As for the desired weapon - an automatic much like the one Stella carried - as though to be ironic or hold out being unique, it was the last weapon they found hidden under a floorboard that would have been overlooked had Flack not been standing on it. It was the only floorboard that squeaked when pressure was applied.

With the weapon found, the next step was to hunt down Al. Flack led that posse, while Stella, Lindsey, and Hawkes went to the dope-addicts apartment.

Al's place was a far cry from Jack's. Small, dirty, with water-stained walls, discarded food boxes everywhere, and a smell that made the air torture to breathe. Searching through it was like dumpster diving, but Stella was willing to bet her career that a dumpster was more sanitary. They found little by way of anything useful. Then Flack called, saying they had Al – and his car – in custody.

Al, however, needed time to come down from his recent weed bender, so Stella settled for searching the car now impounded in the garage.

Dressed in the issued coveralls that made Stella feel like a mechanic, she, Lindsey, and Hawkes went through the car with everything they had. Supposedly, from the way Flack had described it, it seemed Al had been in quite the hurry – trying to bail, no doubt – but his narcotic trip had severely impaired his sense of direction, sending him off the road and onto the sidewalk. No one was hurt, thankfully, but Flack had been ready to pistol whip the guy, the way he was freaking out, rambling on about how he had to get away before Jack found out he was gone.

He's screwed, Stella thought with a smirk as she scrutinized the outside of the car. It was black, but fading to gray on a few sides, with the passenger door more of a blue than black, probably replaced. The bumper on the driver's side was bent and ragged, which alone kept drawing Stella back to it. They were searching for the knife Al used to slice open Danny's back, or at least signs that it had been somewhere in the car. Doubts were high that Al had been anywhere near the knife long after it was used to cut Danny. If Al hadn't disposed of it, then one of the other Quinn cronies had taken the liberty of doing so.

And still Stella was called back to that bumper. Finally, giving into whatever lure the ragged piece of metal had on her, she knelt before it, leaning in for a closer look. She found small bits of thread caught on some of the more jagged edges, so pulled them off with a tweezer. She saw something within the nooks, something dry and dark, so swabbed it. Going by instinct, she tested for blood.

The swab turned pink.

" Hey," she said to anyone who was listening. " I think Al's car may have left behind a little roadkill."

Another test, slightly more involved than the first, determined if the blood was human or animal.

It was human. Stella started in alarm.

" Okay, scratch that. The car may have been involved in a homicide..."

A kind of epiphany struck Stella like a sledgehammer to the face, so hard that her mined reeled with the implications – the impossible irony – of what it was she was looking at.

" No way," she breathed, looking even more closely at the bumper. She felt someone step up, then crouch, beside her.

" Al hit someone?" Lindsey asked. Stella nodded numbly. She then snatched another swab, taking another sample of the blood.

" We need to get DNA from this," she said, taking another swab and another sample.

Lindsey furrowed her brow. " And compare it with who?"

Stella handed the swabs to Lindsey. " Danny."

Lindsey's eyes went wide. " What? Danny? You don't think... I mean, that was almost two months ago..."

" That heat wave didn't last long. The cold hit fast and hard. The blood caught in the dents and bends would have been well preserved in the cold." Stella placed her hand on the jagged bumper, pressing until the sharp ends bit into her hand enough to tell her just how sharp they were. They were like spikes, very capable of ripping flesh from bone. " This car hit someone."

" And you're betting it's Danny?"

Stella grinned. " I'll stake my career on it."

CSINY

Stella couldn't stop smiling. In fact, she felt inches away from laughing. It was probably an odd sight to see as she made her way through the halls to where they were keeping Danny. Most people tended not to be so bright and chipper in a hospital. The more dominant moods were either extreme worry, sorrow, or tearful joy. To be simply 'happy', as though the day were bright and sunny despite the fact that it was snowing outside, had to look surreal.

But Stella had every reason to be smirking like a cat after having caught the mouse. Because they had caught the mouse, two mice to be exact. And being able to tell Danny had become the hi-light of her day.

On entering the room, her smile faded some. Not entirely, but enough to be more appropriate for the setting. Stella knew that nothing felt more patronizing to someone infirm than a person grinning from ear to ear, feeling like a million bucks and wanting everyone to know it.

It was hard to see Danny buried under so many blankets pulled all the way up to nearly cover his face. In fact, two of them were covering his face so that only the top of his head was visible. Granted, it was probably warmer, but Stella grimaced on imagining how hard it must be for him to be able to breathe under that.

Apparently he didn't seem to mind, or he wouldn't have been covered in the first place. Cold had become a constant companion for him – the result of hypothermia as well as the return of a lesser infection – and he'd been having difficulty keeping warm. But hypothermia didn't last forever, and the infection was an infant compared to the monster that had ravaged him not too long ago. He would be fine, the doctor had said so, wearing a genuine smile on being able to.

Stella slowed as she approached the bed, and carefully lifted the edges of the two blankets covering Danny's head. He was on his side, not completely but enough to be able to curl up, and scrunched his face against the assault of light. He even lifted his hand to cover his eyes.

" What the hell?" he mumbled. There was a bit of color to his face, not a lot, but enough to make him simply pale rather than spook-white. The I.V. of blood had been replaced with a regular I.V., and instead of a drafty, humiliating hospital gown, he was wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt and black sweats – probably with socks, but Stella couldn't see that far under the covers. The only reason he was in the hospital was so that the doctors could keep an eye on the infection and make sure it didn't become anything full-blown.

" Hey Messer," Stella said, moving the covers down around Danny's neck.

Danny's eyes opened, blinked several times, then squinted at Stella. He replied in a soft, hoarse voice, " Hey Stel."

Stella gave him an apologetic wince. " Sorry if I woke you up."

Danny sighed. " Can't sleep forever." Although he seemed ready – and more than willing – to slip back into happy-land oblivion. It made Stella tired just watching him trying to keep his eyes open.

" Well, no one blames you if you do. Up for a little news?"

Danny coughed, then cleared his throat. " Good or bad?"

" Very good."

" Then bring it."

" Jack is going down."

Danny closed his eyes, pulling the covers up to his chin, but not before Stella caught the fleeting smirk.

" 'Bout time."

Stella smirked back. " You really know how to leave a useful crime scene, Messer. We actually got him on two accounts. One for attempting to kill you. The other for killing Gerard."

At this, Danny's eyes snapped open. " Jack killed Gerard?"

" So says the evidence. Found the murder weapon in his place, the truck used to haul Gerard's corpse was from his dad's restaurant..." At this point, Stella fumbled. The break in the case had been Cal's piece of misery-causing evidence. The thing was, Cal didn't want Danny to know that Cal had handed the tape over. Not yet. Not until Danny was back on his feet. Cal didn't want the stress of it hindering Danny's return to health, even though – in truth – there was nothing left to stressed about. The Gerard deal, and Danny's near-death, when combined, would ensure Jack a nice long stay at the federal penitentiary. Two more misdeeds to add to the pile gathered against the Quinns – namely Jack and many of his cohorts.

" And of course the bullet matched the weapon," Stella continued. " I mean there's more, but... let's just say we have enough to put Jack away. Oh, and get this... You're gonna love this – or maybe get pissed, I don't know. Guess who we found?"

Danny narrowed his eyes. " Do I look like I'm up for guessing anything, Stel?"

Stella grinned. " Fine, spoil my fun. We found the guy who hit you."

Danny lifted his head an inch off the pillow. " You're kidding."

Stella shook her head. " Nope. Kind of a fluke really, and twisted. The guy who hit you is none other than dope-head himself – Al Moran."

Danny lifted his head even more. " What!" the heart monitor increased its beeping. " That freakin' crack smokin moron! He hit me!"

Stella grimaced. " Danny, relax, calm down or the nurse'll come in here and boot me out. Yes he hit you. We were looking for the knife he used to cut your back, I saw the bent bumper and... just... followed my gut. The blood I found was yours, as were the fibers from your shirt that night."

" So Jack...!"

" No!" Stella quickly amended. " No, Jack had nothing to do with it. Al had been stoned that night. At least that's what he said. He remembers hearing something thump and that's it."

" Obviously he wasn't so stoned he didn't remember," Danny spat viciously, dropping his head back onto the pillow, the monitor returning to its previous rhythm.

" Well, he mostly recalls thinking that he might have hit something. He doesn't remember when, and definitely doesn't remember what. He just remembers hearing a sound because it freaked him out. That's what he told us, and we're inclined to believe him since he isn't that great of a liar. The thing is, Danny, we've officially killed two birds with one stone. Jack's out of your hair, Al's out of your hair... you might even say you're a free man, Danny."

Danny's gaze moved away from Stella to stare off into nothing. But it wasn't a vacant stare induced by medication. His brow was furrowed, and his focus was sharp, even in his meagerly hazed state.

" What?" Stella asked, troubled, feeling as though she might have said something wrong, or that her cheerfulness was out of place after all.

Danny's eyes returned to looking at her, imploringly, but also uncertainly. " Um, what about... I mean, if they have a case against Jack..." He looked away again. " My dad... he had to..."

Stella shook her head, unable to piece together Danny's fragmented point. It took her a moment to finally get what it was he was trying to say – or in truth ask. Mac had told her about it, and she only now recalled it.

Her features softened, and she smiled reassuringly at Danny. " Your dad's off the hook."

Simple, yet poignant enough, because something happened to Danny – another kind of complete drain, like something being siphoned from him, something that had been trying for so long to pull him down. The relief of its departure left him exhausted, but so at ease he seemed to melt into the bed. Even his heart rate decreased a notch, but not in a bad way.

Funny how stress could remain so invisible until it finally departed.

Danny closed his eyes, pulling the blanket back over his head, but Stella still spied the moisture gathering at the rims of his eyes.

" Thanks Stel," he sighed.

Stella felt her own surge of relief. It was a nice feeling, one she'd actually forgotten without realizing until now that she'd forgotten it, making it all the more powerful. " Any time, Danny."

CSINY

A/N: Epilogue, soon comes the epilogue. Then this story will be over! (sniff). If you found Al being the one who ran over Danny too coincidental... get used it. Life is odd, and odd stuff happens.