Ahem... I never meant to take this long. Life throttled my muse and stuck its head in the toilet. No--really. Anyway... final chapter up! Thanks for being so patient.

Disclaimer: obviously not mine. If they were, Joseph and Ray wouldn't exist.

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Chapter 22

"Kylie's story adds up," Vera was proclaiming excitedly, coffee mug forgotten in his hand. "Two lots away, proper time, proper place..."

"I dunno," Jeffries unsympathetically stopped him. "Frannie says the bloodspatter in that shed is compatible with gunshot. And Feldman's never had a registered weapon to his name. Newton does."

"Ever heard of the black market?" Vera jeered, and Scotty rolled his eyes. They were under too much strain—moods got ugly easily.

"Besides," Jeffries went on, ignoring him. "Why keep that purse around if he killed her in 95? Doesn't make sense. And Newton's the one who's got relics of her lying all over his trailer. Stalker behavior. Plus he had much easier access to that shed."

"Well—he didn't try to go for Lil," Vera snarled back.

"He did when they first brought him in," Jeffries coldly reminded him.

"Oh, come on." For a minute Scotty was almost afraid he'd have to jump between the two of them, there was so much tension in the room. But it faded away almost as quickly as it had come. "The guy said he just wanted to talk to her. He has bad people skills. Medical records confirm he has a mild Asperger's."

"People are funny things sometimes," Scotty offered, more or less distractedly. His heart wasn't completely in the case right now, he was bound to admit. It should have been. After all, it was his partner's honor on the line. But he couldn't seem to focus. Lilly's ghost kept drifting in and out of his mind, not her healthy visage but the one he'd seen yesterday—that of a terrified, brutalized victim.

Christina had noticed something wrong that night before. She'd been after him for hours, pestering to know why he was so "moody". For a while he'd actually considered telling her. His chest was still too constricted and his mind too aghast at what had happened—he needed to share it with someone. And, judging by the tight-lipped inhospitable look about Stillman, it wasn't going to be him.

Christina was Lilly's next of kin, compassionate, and a female. Why shouldn't she know?

He´d been sitting on the edge of his bed, face turned toward her, longing for the adoring comfort only she could grant, the words just begging to be spilled out. And then Lilly's face flashed before him and he realized he couldn't tell her. Whatever misunderstandings they might have had, whatever family fights lay below the surface that neither would speak about, whatever favorable opinion he might have of her—Christina had caused his partner a lot of hurt and he was not going to betray her again by giving her yet another thing to hold over her head.

"Hearsay," Stillman grunted shortly at his side, interrupting his reminiscences. "Kylie's word against his. It's not like we actually have those sneakers she mentioned. CSU canvassed the Feldmans' house pretty thoroughly. They found nothing incriminating. And why should there be? It's been three years."

"But the fors—whatchamacallits were there." Vera still hadn't drunk his coffee and it swished alarmingly around his cup as he swaggered back and forth. Scotty had the sudden vision of a long, sticky streak of coffee seeping its syrupy way through the floorboards. "Maybe Feldman got careless someplace else?"

"We'd have to ransack all the places he's lived in over the years," Stillman morosely replied. "There's too many of them—no way we'd ever get so many warrants. Especially with Kite being as cooperative as he is. No, we have no choice but to take them on—them and their lawyers. And hope one of them is stupid enough to crack."

"I can do it, Boss."

Startled at the unquestionably female voice that had just broken into their conversation, Scotty whipped his head around so fast he strained a neck muscle. Vera's mug shattered to the ground, turning Scotty's spilled coffee prophecy into hard fact.

"Lil."

She was barely recognizable, lip swollen, eye puffy, the whole left half of her face an impossible mass of black and blue markings. But she was there—standing in the doorway, hair up, pantsuit impeccable—as if it were any old day at work.

Scotty's eyes unintentionally lingered on her turtleneck, not wanting to think about what other bruises might be hiding there, under the spotless veneer of her everyday suit.

Stillman was the first to react, everyone scrambling to their feet at his cue. They all kept their distance, Scotty noticed. Slow, cautious, as if afraid of how she'd react—like she might break. Lilly's gonna hate this, his subconscious warned, act normal. "Good to have you."

This Lilly acknowledged with a perfunctory nod, becoming even edgier as she repeated, an odd sort of urgency in her voice, "Let me question Feldman, Boss. I can do it. I know I can."

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There was no way Lilly Rush was kidding herself. It wasn't slight anxiety she felt at the thought of coming within ten feet of Feldman. It was the heart-thumping, palm-sweating, suffocating kind that made her feel like she'd been flung off a ten-story building. The last thing she wanted was having to spend "quality time" with this prick, particularly behind closed doors. But there was no getting out of it. Something deep inside told her she'd never get past this unless she faced him. Not next week. Not tomorrow.

Now.

Squash him like a bug, Rush. Show him what you're made of.

To say the guys had given her hell would be an understatement. Stillman's circumspect, "Lil, I don't think that's wise," had been merely the beginning. The ensuing discussion had got progressively fiercer, ending with Vera storming off in frustration and Stillman giving a reluctant authorization—but only as long Feldman was restrained and one of them remained in the room with her at all times.

Lilly's hands were clammy as the others filled her in on their newest findings, crossing her arms to hide their trembling. Coming in that day had been anything but easy, having to face everyone's smoldering, ill-concealed curiosity—from the bald man at the front desk to the DA's very own Ivy League clerk. Her bruises branded her a victim, someone to gawk at, to pity. It had taken all her strength to ignore them and get this far. She sure as hell wasn't turning back now.

Feldman's leer as she entered the room made the alternative look real inviting though. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the feisty Detective Rush."

"Quiet," hissed the starched-up man next to him, the word LAWYER written all over him. "You can't conduct your interrogation without me present, Detective."

"I know." It was harder than she had anticipated—keeping her voice cool and collected. Feldman's beady eyes sent irrepressible shivers down her spine, unnerving flashes of lying helpless in that rain-blasted parking lot assaulting her mind. Breathe, Rush—you damn idiot. Quit the hyperventilating. You have some serious questioning to do here. Focus!

Averting her gaze as she waited for the turmoil to subside, the words that finally burst out of her mouth weren't at all what she had planned. "Was it fun?"

Even Feldman seemed a little taken aback. "Was what fun?"

"Your little incursion in the parking lot. Did you enjoy it?" The harsh edge to her comment wasn't something she had planned either—it sent Stillman shifting uncomfortably against the wall. Lilly bristled slightly. What? You think I'm gonna hit him or something?

"You don't have to answer that," Feldman's lawyer readily reminded him.

"Doesn't really matter whether he answers or not," Lilly curtly pointed out. "He's still getting charged for it. There's plenty of evidence."

"You think you're so hot," Feldman finally sneered, as if unable to repress himself any longer. "I could do better than you any day of the week."

It was exactly what she wanted to happen—goad him to a point where he'd start talking and throw caution out the window—forget his lawyer's advice and just spill his guts. Lilly hadn't expected it to happen so soon, yet one more thing to take her by surprise. She had just managed to detach herself long enough to stop taking it personally. Because it was personal. Very personal. And she couldn't let it show.

"Nice job," she observed casually."You trying to get me to hit you again? So you can plead police brutality? Well—not gonna happen."

He simpered up at her callously.

"Why was it so important to shut me up, Robert?" she pushed on, leaning toward him across the table, pointedly ignoring the warning signals her mind was blaring out. "What did I find out that was so special? We already know you were lovers with Erica Bailey. While you were living just a few lots away from her in the same trailer park."

If this came as news to Feldman, he didn't disclose it. "You got no proof of that."

"Funny. Your wife seems to think we do."

This got a surprised reaction out of Feldman at last. "What's that?"

Ha! Strike one, Lilly gloated icily. That oughta teach you to make smartass comments. "Seems like your wife doesn't think you were all that upstanding back then. She was the one who gave us the trailer park tip. And some valuable information regarding a supposed lawnmower accident in '95…"

"You leave my wife out of this," spat Feldman angrily. "You got no business talking to her."

"So she was lying then? There was no lawnmower accident? Because she said—"

"My client doesn't have to answer that question," his lawyer cut in irritably. "You know that, Detective. Either ask something pertaining to the case, or leave him alone."

"He attacked her," Stillman broke in flatly. "I think she's entitled to some courtesy from your client. Especially considering this is just a friendly conversation. It's not like we're charging him for Erica Bailey's disappearance or anything."

Both Feldman and the lawyer gave him dirty looks, but neither one objected.

Strike two.

"So was there or wasn't there a lawnmower accident, Mr. Feldman?" Lilly sweetly insisted. "You do realize, of course, that if you answer this question there will be no need to ask your wife anything else? You might be able to talk to her—give her your side of the story."

"Fine," seethed Feldman petulantly. "I had an affair with Erica Bailey. So what? Lotsa people do. Doesn't mean anything."

"Maybe she resisted? After all, you're not exactly the kind of gentleman to take no for an answer." Lilly felt completely in her element now—almost like she'd floated out of herself and it were someone else doing the grilling, someone who didn't mind prodding and poking and taking jabs. Someone who hadn't been jumped by this same asshole.

"I didn't have to." He grinned up at her. "Like most women, she was up for grabs."

So much for control. Lilly felt rather than saw Stillman hurtling toward her, seizing her by the forearm to stop her leaping over the table and throttling the bastard.

Get a hold of yourself, Rush! Don't let him think you can't handle this. Get professional—NOW.

"Your wife's gonna love this," she mused, struck by a sudden inspiration. "The way you talk about women—the way you treat women. Me, Erica Bailey—who knows how many more? Not exactly a good environment for a child to grow up in."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Feldman demanded angrily.

Lilly's heart soared at the vibrating anger in his voice. Strike three, you prick. "I dunno," she shrugged, pushing her chair away. "Since you don't wanna answer my questions, this conversation is over, I guess."

"Get back here, bitch. GET BACK HERE!"

The sudden surge in his voice made her jump, almost slamming into the door as she whirled back to look at him, half-afraid he'd be out of his cuffs and after her. But he was still sitting there, quiet as ever, his sinister black gaze glowing in rage… almost like that night…

"Tell me. Tell me where you put Erica Bailey," she ordered.

"No. You tell me what the hell you meant by that comment. Is Kylie pregnant? That it?" His face, taut and expectant, relaxed when she didn't answer. "I knew it. You're just bluffing. Kylie's too old to have kids."

"Well, I guess now you'll never know, will you," said Lilly mercilessly. "She doesn't want anything to do with you." A glance told her he was close to losing it—it was now or never. "Erica just wasn't like your sweet little Kylie, was she? She had a mind of her own—wanted things—demanded things."

"So what if she did?" Feldman sputtered.

"Maybe she demanded things you couldn't give her. Like decent sex, for example? She didn't wanna be just any fling. And you, a man who can't even knock up his own wife—"

"Detective…" began the lawyer warningly.

"Probably can't even get it up right." Lilly should have been appalled at how much she was enjoying this. She should have, but she wasn't. There probably wasn't an ounce of truth in her story but she was savoring every word. "And Erica was gonna tell, wasn't she. Your reputation among the other mechanic studs would be ruined forever. You'd be the one who 'couldn't take on Blondie.'"

"Lil—"

"Or maybe there wasn't even that much of a reason. Maybe you just lured her out to the shed under the pretense of kinky sex and couldn't follow through. Poor you—killing off women to hide your own cracks. No wonder you didn't want Kylie anywhere near that garage. She might actually have met a real man—"

"SHUT UP!" he finally erupted, springing out of his chair and lunging toward her. Where the hell are his cuffs? Lilly idly wondered, his fists mere inches away from her face before she felt some unknown hands grabbing her and towing her back, past the door and out of harm's way. Last thing she saw before it closed behind her was Stillman slamming the culprit down on the table, and Feldman's voice bawling out, "I did knock her up, you stupid bitch. I did!"

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Not exactly a confession, but practically as good as. Jeffries had to hand it to her—the girl was good. Even against the man who had tried to rape her, even against everyone's better judgment, she'd managed to rock his world and get it tumbling down to the point he actually leaked something useful.

Lilly probably hadn't even noticed she'd done it. Or maybe she had? She seemed pretty out of it when Scotty finally hauled her out, just in time to avoid her getting pummeled again—since neither Stillman nor the lawyer managed to seize Feldman in time. Where were the cuffs they'd promised? Vera had actually been right in worrying, nothing was ever done the way it was supposed to around here.

It wasn't till Scotty had produced her a cup of coffee that she appeared to thaw out and show some emotion. Her face was paler than Jeffries had ever seen it, her fingers quavered and he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. But Scotty was with her and by the looks of things, the bad blood between them was gone. Vera was probably as little inclined to leave as he was, but it was as much as this case was worth not to—there were things to be done, and they had to be done now.

It was the mention of the garage that first gave him the idea. Funny how none of them had ever thought of it before. Feldman was only a temp at the time, so his name wasn't registered anywhere and even if the body were found, probably no one would ever think of tracing it back to him. Plus it was a garage. Holes were dug and covered with concrete probably every day of their lives. Cars came and went, filled with junk. Best place in the world to get rid of a body.

Kemp wasn't happy at all when they showed up with a warrant to search the premises—especially when he asked if there had been any building or digging done in 1995. Turned out there was. And though it took CSU about 7 hours to break through the concrete and dig far enough, they were soon rewarded. About two feet to the left of pit number 3 lay the blanketed bones of what appeared to be a female, a few blonde strands still left on her skull… and a tiny fetus lodged in her pelvic cavity.

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Only the epilogue left! Thanks for sticking with me, readers.