Yes, I know. I took too damn long. Season 3 had a bad effect over my Muse. But I think we're over it. Thanks for your patience, everyone!

Chapter 21

Lilly had spent the whole morning lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her cats lazed around her in different positions, nestling against her, keeping her warm. As if they knew it was their comfort she needed.

She had actually spent most of the night in the same occupation. Going straight to bed after the Emergency Room hadn't really helped any—she'd been much too sore to sleep. Her body ached in places she barely knew she had, as if she'd taken a drop from a third floor window. Her cut lip throbbed, her ribs felt like they were poking through her skin every time she drew a breath. The doctor at the ER said she'd been lucky to get out of it unscathed, or almost—no broken bones, hardly any cuts, a very minor concussion. Her jaw had taken the beating much better this time than as a child.

Stillman had insisted they take pictures of all her injuries. Though he was more interested in her well being—and Lilly didn't doubt it—physical proof of her assault would work better in a court of law than her mere account of it. She couldn't help gritting her teeth at this. Standard routine though it was, the thought of Kite and other people she worked with feasting their eyes on exposed and bruised pieces of her anatomy wasn't exactly thrilling. Just as doctors made the worst patients, she was beginning to realize cops definitely made the worst victims.

One thing she'd put her foot down about was the rape kit. She knew it was customary—she just didn't care. Luckily the doctor wasn't too implacable. "Why not?" was all he'd asked, mildly. "It's standard procedure."

"I don't need it," she'd replied flatly.

And that was that. Last thing she needed was everyone poring over a description of what was in her pants and wondering… things. Feeling sorry for her. The mere thought sent a discomfited tingling of shame down her arms and legs and she screwed her eyes shut against it.

Fuck you, Feldman. My body is no one's damn crime scene.

They had wanted to keep her overnight because of the concussion. But the injuries were so slight and she made such a fuss about going home, they finally relented. She was glad. She didn't want to be surrounded by strangers at a time like this. She wanted to be alone—with her cats. As it should be.

It wasn't till Stillman dropped her off at home that she remembered Willie the Baby Bodyguard, and her heart instantly sank. To give even more explanations, at a time like this…

"Don't worry about it," Stillman broke through her thoughts, his tone gruffly kind. "He'll stay out of your hair."

Looking properly appalled at the sight of her shiner and the hospital's oversized ice pack, Lilly could have sworn she'd never seen anyone jump off a couch so fast. Stillman's unspoken order to halt and back off wasn't lost on her either. The poor rookie seemed so genuinely remorseful and submissive she actually felt a little sorry for him. At least it was thanks to his presence she'd be spending the night in her own bed instead of a hospital gurney.

Now over twelve hours had passed and she still lay in the same place, motionless, going over each crack on that ceiling as if her life depended on it. There were just so many things she didn't want to think about. Funny how last time she'd done this was when Christina was still with her—when she'd toyed with the illusion they'd make up, be real sisters for a change. When George, that creepy bastard, had managed to somehow throw things back into proportion in his own sick way, giving her a sudden chilling glimpse of what real evil was like.

Now George was gone, Christina wasn't gone enough, and a perfectly routine investigation had brought her to this unlikely scenario—the one in which she was the casualty, battered and bruised and ordered home in the daytime when she should have been at work, fighting for the good guys.

A sudden spark of rebellious rage took possession of her. Damn Feldman for making her feel this way—vulnerable and disgraced. He had no right. He was nothing but a shadow lurking in the parking lot. Yeah, sure, he'd got away with some damage—and that much he was going to pay for. And if he'd harmed Erica Bailey, he'd pay for it too. But he wasn't going to make her pay. Not now, not ever.

Steeling her mind against the pain, she rolled off the bed, grabbed her pants and determinedly headed for the shower.

He was not making a casualty out of her.

Stillman's foul mood was evident the moment he got back from his meeting with the DA's office. It was like there was black cloud standing over his head—standing over the whole Homicide department, actually. Apparently there was nothing they could do about Feldman and Erica Bailey without a confession. And now, since he'd lawyered up, they wouldn't be able to get one.

"Kite says we can refuse his right to a lawyer but then we can't use his confession to convict him," Stillman huffed. "And that was after I gave him Lilly's file with all its pictures. Different cases—different approaches. We're not allowed that risk."

Jeffries knew Stillman, with all his experience, had seen it coming. That didn't really make it any less frustrating though. This case had really gotten to him—it had gotten to them all. And if there had been any secret hopes of Kite chipping in, considering his past history with Lilly—they could put them to rest now.

"What if we found another way to convict him?" he asked. "If we found witnesses—or physical evidence—"

"There isn't any," Vera growled at his side. "We got no way to prove he ever had anything to do with Erica. He worked in the same place as Newton during the time she disappeared—that's it. Blood in that shed belongs to her, but we got no way to tie Feldman to it. We ain't even sure he was the one who dumped that purse, though he sure did get nervous at that little white lie. He just wasn't in the right place at the right time."

"Maybe he was," Scotty broke in excitedly, lugging a piece of fax paper into the room. "Owner of the trailer park just sent me a list of his old tenants. Real interesting name on there, staying just two lots of away from Newton in 1995. Kylie Murray Feldman."

Kylie Feldman appeared more insignificant than ever, trapped as she was behind the interrogation room table—a tiny little redheaded elf of a person, all pointy chin and freckles. Jeffries honestly could not see her killing anyone. But stranger things have happened.

"Can't believe what they say Robert did to that detective lady," was the first thing that came out of her mouth, no sooner had Jeffries sat in front of her. "She was… nice. I'm just really sorry." She stared at the floor.

Jeffries felt faintly sympathetic. "Had he ever been violent to you, Mrs. Feldman?"

"Not that way."

"In any way?"

"No." Kylie refused to face him, her gaze directed obstinately at the table and her own nervously tapping hands. "He was a good husband."

"How long have you two been married, Mrs. Feldman?" Vera probed from his corner.

"About twelve years."

"And during this time you lived in a trailer park owned by a man called Louis Biggs?"

Kylie sighed. "Not everyone can afford luxury, you know."

"And you had this trailer under your name?"

"Yes." She appraised Jeffries guardedly. "What's this all about? I thought you were going to question me about your detective."

"We have reason to believe a young woman was killed or attacked in a shed near your trailer lot around 1995. A woman by the name of Erica Bailey." Out came the polaroid. "Look familiar?"

The strangest expression came over Kylie's face—one that faded away before Jeffries could put his finger on it. "I… No. It was such a long time ago."

"She was in a relationship with a man living two trailers away from you. A man called Morgan Newton. She also lived near Kemp's garage, where your husband was working. Think you may have seen her in either of those places?"

Kylie shook her head. "Not at work. I never went to Kemp's garage."

Now for the moment of truth. "Mrs. Feldman, I need you to think real carefully about this. Do you think there's any chance your husband could have been having an affair back then?"

"An affair?" Her eyes widened and her pale features sharpened till they seemed almost transparent. Suspicion and disbelief chased each other across her face and finally stubborn disbelief won."No. Never. He was a good husband."

Open your eyes, lady, Jeffries thought impatiently. "Is there anything—anything at all, no matter small—that made you think he might have hurt someone at the time?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. He wasn't that type of man."

"Oh?" Vera interjected ungraciously. "And what type of man was he? Aside from the kind that preys on law enforcement officers, I mean?"

Kylie said nothing. But she knew something—and she was on the verge of breaking. Jeffries could tell by the way her mouth twitched, the way she fiddled with her wedding band. It was time for emergency tactics, and though he didn't feel good about what he was planning to do next, better him than Vera.

"Mrs. Feldman, are you completely sure he wasn't having an affair?" His tone, slow and deliberate, caused her to blanch even more. "I know you couldn't give him children. Maybe he went looking for someone who could? Can't really blame him for that, you know. A man is entitled to his offspring…"

Kylie persisted. "No—he wasn't like that. He would never—he couldn't—"

"Never underestimate the value of kids," Vera punctuated resentfully. "You have no idea what a man without kids will do."

Kylie's eyes were brimming with tears.

"I'm gonna ask you again, Mrs. Feldman," Jeffries pushed on. "Was there anything that made you suspect he could have been having an affair—or hurt someone?"

At long last the stanch Mrs. Feldman broke. "Yes," she admitted haltingly. "It was… a long time ago. I walked in on him one night—washing off his sneakers. Red water trailed down the drain. I asked him if it was blood—but he just said he'd cut himself on the lawnmower."

"You didn't believe him?"

Kylie shook her head. "There was too much blood. And his cut wasn't that big. And it was just a few days later that… that other man, a neighbor, came asking if we had seen his girlfriend. It was—that girl over there. The one in the picture."

"Why didn't you report this?" demanded Vera.

Tears streamed down Kylie's face, but she remained fairly articulate. "I loved my husband," she gulped. "I wanted to believe him. That he could do no wrong. That he was faithful."

The interrogation was over, but still she went on, sourly, compulsively, as if stopping herself were out of the question. "I'm pregnant, you know. All those years trying and I just found out yesterday. Waited up all night for him to come home so I could give him the big news. And now you tell me this. I don't even know who this man is anymore."