The phone on his desk rang and stopped Swersky in his tracks.
"What now?" he cursed and didn't hide his mood when he answered it.
"Boss, it's me." It was Faith Yokas from the hospital. Swersky sat down waiting for the bad news.
"Bosco's out of surgery and they expect a full recovery," she told him and could hear her superior sigh in relief. She knew how he felt. Even if her partner was more often than not a pain in the ass, Faith knew Swersky cared for him. Sometimes she thought that he was only angry with Bosco because he reminded the Lieutenant of his younger self.
"That's good news," Swersky managed to say and couldn't keep a slight smile from forming in his face. But it faded and made way for his anger again as soon as he spotted Sullivan and Davis coming up the stairs, followed by the ex-boyfriend of the murdered Christine Thomas and Officers Greene and Gusler.
"I gotta go," he said absent minded into the hand piece of the phone and let it sink down onto its cradle again.
"Easy, Joe…you have no proof," he tried to calm himself and control his anger, but little did it help. The image of the frightened Christine Thomas came into mind, the way she was fidgeting with the straps of her purse when she had told him about the knife and how he had told her there was nothing they could do. He knew then she was afraid for her life and wished he could do more. But all he had been able to do was send 55-John to talk to that Bruce character. Swersky saw the mutilated body of Miss Thomas before his eyes again. What if he was responsible for that? Had that talk triggered the murder? Could she still be alive if they hadn't pushed him? Was is his fault she was dead?
With a sigh he pushed the doubts away for now. He needed to be clearheaded when he talked to the suspect. So he followed his officers into the holding cell room, well aware of what had happened here earlier. Bruce was already in one of the cells, so Swersky gathered his men around him.
"Yokas called, Boscorelli is out of surgery and awaits full recovery," he told them what she had told him only minutes before. A collective sigh of relief went through the small group.
"What do you want us to do with this pal over there?" Sully asked, well aware of the answer.
"You question him. Greene, Gusler, you get back on the street," Swersky said.
When they nodded in acknowledgement and wanted to go, he added a quick "thanks" and let them return to their duty.
Slowly, Alex Taylor pushed her colleague's wheelchair towards Charlene Converse's room. Walsh signed her to stop in front of the glass window next to the door. Her face was pale and she was still intubated, but not connected to the respirator anymore. Her left arm was attached to an IV that was hanging from a post next to the bed. It hurt Walsh to see her like that and he had to swallow down the lump forming in his throat.
"I promised her father to take care of her," he croaked without taking his eyes off her.
Alex gently put her hand onto his shoulder and squeezed it slightly.
"Whenever you're ready…," she whispered.
Billy raised his hand and met hers. He slightly squeezed her hand in return.
"Thanks," he just said and let her wheel him in.
Charlene's eyes were closed when Walsh and Taylor approached her bed.
"I'll wait outside," Alex whispered, knowing he wanted to be alone now.
Billy couldn't take his eyes from Charlene's face when he moved forward to take her hand into his. It was cold. He remembered his talk with her only a few hours ago. He should have told her. Ever since she was a little girl, she had been able to see right through him. A little smile formed on his lips when Billy remembered the little girl with the long blonde hair and glasses. It was hard to imagine that this little girl from his memory was now grown and a firefighter, just like her father and himself. Almost four years ago, Brian Converse had saved his life. Tonight, Charlene Converse had done the same. And while Billy held her hand and looked at her pale face, his mind drifted off to the night Brian Converse had died…
It had seemed like a simple call. Fire in an abandoned warehouse. Squad 51 had been assigned to assist. Since the building had been prepared for demolition, they started search and rescue for any missing workers. The structure of the warehouse had been weakened to make it easier, so the firefighters had to be particular careful where they tread. Walsh and Converse had been one team and were assigned to search the second floor, the floor above where the fire had started. As usual, they had stayed together and searched the floor for trapped people. Suddenly, Walsh had felt a crack below his feet. All he had been able to do was moving forward when the floor underneath him had collapsed. He hardly had been able to hold on to the edge of the floor, where Converse had appeared and with all his strength pulled him up on solid ground again.
"We better get out of here, NOW!" Converse had ordered. Walsh had only nodded and willingly went first. Converse had thrown one last look around the area and finally had followed his colleague.
When the two firefighters had arrived on the first floor, there had been a huge rumble and when Walsh had turned around, Brian Converse had disappeared…
They had found him, hours later after they had finally defeated the fire, but it had been too late. Brian Converse had died…
"I'm sorry, Charly…I'm so sorry.…"
Depressed, the squaddies made their way upstairs. They were dirty, exhausted and still worried about their colleagues. Lieutenant Johnson hadn't said a single word since they had left Mercy Hospital, but Lombardo and the others were sensing there was something still to come. And they were soon proven right.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Lieutenant Johnson almost shouted at DK angrily as soon as they had reached the squad room.
"I wanted…!" DK started, but fell silent instantly again when he looked in Johnson's face.
"When I order you to get out, you get out!"
It was dead quiet in the squad room. Neither of the firefighters and paramedics had ever seen their superior this infuriated.
"I'm responsible for this squad and if I can't trust my crew to follow orders…" He left the sentence unfinished.
DK looked down at the floor. He wasn't able to face Johnson or say anything to defend himself, because in his heart he felt the same. They could all have died tonight.
"I almost lost another 3 friends tonight!" Johnson added and without looking at any of the others, he went into his office and shut the door behind him.
For several moments, no-one spoke. DK felt like a little boy who had just been lectured by his principal.
"I couldn't leave them behind…" he finally whispered breaking the silence.
Alex got up and went over to him.
"We know that. And Lieu knows that too…"
"What did he mean with 'another' 3 friends?" Lombardo wanted to know.
"Captain Martin died tonight…," MacNamara told them. He had overheard a conversation at the hospital between nurses when he and his colleagues had been waiting for news on Walsh and Converse.
"Damn…" DK cursed. That explained why Johnson was so angry.
Quietly, the door to the Lieutenant's office opened and Johnson came back out. He went straight to DK.
"I'm sorry…," he apologised. He knew DK had nothing to do with his outburst.
Johnson turned to the others who looked at him with worried faces. With their looks they let him know that they knew.
"If there's anything we can do…," Parker stated sympathetically.
"I will hand in my resignation first thing in the morning…," Johnson let them know without reacting to Doc's offer and returned to his office, leaving a shocked and dumbfounded crew behind.
