The sound of the side door slamming open disrupted the tense silence and made his heart skip a beat.
Instinctively bending his knees a bit to duck if needed, Steve scanned the area the noise had come from, grunting when it too was disguised behind a large green bush.
Then, finally, he saw movement.
The red stain made Robert's white polo shirt stick to his shoulder, as the man scurried along the edge of the garage, oblivious to the audience awaiting him outside. With a revolver in one hand, he navigated through the assortment of shrubbery in trained precision, until he reached the wide open of the front lawn.
"POLICE. HOLD IT!", Steve yelled, his gun automatically aimed at the suspects' center mass, right around the heart.
With his eyes fiercely focused on the confused man, he could barely make out Mike and Scott stagger through the maze, fighting the bushes that surrounded the mansion like a vegetation-type moat.
In any other situation, Steve would have moved over, ensuring that nobody but their suspect was within target range, but he was a sitting duck, literally and figuratively, leaving few options to contain the emerging crisis.
Roberts seemed to be both, unsteady on his feet, yet deathly determined to cross the yard and head over to the neighbors.
Pushing the scary thoughts of suicidal shooting rampages and hostage situations out of his mind for the time being, Steve cleared his throat when the man never stopped to acknowledge his order.
"I SAID POLICE! HOLD IT!", he tried again, this time successfully, when Roberts glanced up at him, a frantic, almost irrational smile on his face as he shook his head defiantly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mike and Scott stumble out of the shrubbery, cautiously approaching their suspect one step at a time.
With growing dread, Steve saw blood run down the side of his partner's face, the overwhelming worry distracting him for just the fraction of a second, yet enough to give Roberts an opportunity to head for his position at a steady pace.
Raising his hand holding onto the .38 with a death grip, the man aimed at the young Inspector and fired mid-step, the bullet sailing past Steve and embedding itself in the rear door of the tan sedan.
Scott Sorrensen had been the first to react to the mortal threat, glancing across the lawn to find a safe shooting position that didn't put Steve or the surrounding neighbors into the trajectory of any shots fired. With limited options, the Sergeant sprinted toward the garage, too far away to intercept should Robert's try another attack right away.
And he didn't disappoint.
With a chuckle, Roberts curled his index finger around the trigger of the .38 once again, his aim shifting slightly to the left, dangerously close for a killing shot.
"Roberts! Don't do it!", Steve pleaded but knowing he stood with his back against the wall, having to make the call on who would survive this standoff and who would die.
Without any other option left, the young Inspector fired a single round, his bullet hitting its intended target dead center.
Clenching his jaws and knowing that Roberts was gone long before he ever collapsed to the ground, Steve drew in a shaky breath, feeling the adrenalin making his entire body tremble.
Behind him, the growing crowd of neighbors gasped in terror, a child's panicked cries getting drowned out by the noise of approaching sirens.
Crawling out from behind the door unsteadily, he carefully limped toward Roberts' lifeless body sprawled out on the grass. Too numb to feel any pain in his injured leg, he approached, until he was a few feet away, staring at the dead man's brown eyes as they glazed over.
The disturbing scene made time slow down until it nearly stood still, causing Steve to grow oblivious to his name being called out as a frantic Sorrensen tried to get a handle on the situation.
Re-holstering his .38, he stood there motionless, staring at the body ahead with his heart breaking over the untimely death of a suspect, ignoring the nausea that was beginning to raise his stomach contents.
Voices from across the street could be heard, violent screams, anxious orders to stay back, hasty footsteps on nearby asphalt, quiet mumbling of an audience of bloodthirsty gapers that was quickly forming around their crime scene.
With the certainty of death in its epicenter, chaos began to spread throughout the neighborhood, fueled by hearsay, overzealous imaginations and people's primal need to witness every aspect of life ending in front of their eyes.
And in amongst all of it were four police officers caught in the crosshairs.
With the abyss of darkness fully engulfing his system, the dread and sorrow of another life taken too soon beginning to weigh heavily on his soul, Steve's senses grew completely numb, until he could no longer hear, feel or see anything except the dead body in front of him, and the faint tickle of a rogue strand of hair the wind was moving across his forehead.
"Stephen! Are you ok?"
The familiar protective shadow had returned to his side, grasping his elbow with shaking fingers; holding onto it tightly, desperately trying to pull him back out of that dark frame of mind.
Glancing up slowly, he nodded absent-mindedly as he met the set of frightened blue eyes staring back at him, both detectives unsure how severely the other was hurt.
"He didn't give you any other choice. And he didn't give himself one either.", the Lieutenant said soothingly, the hand on his elbow loosening somewhat.
Nodding faintly, Steve leaned into the firm grasp, allowing it to pull his mind off the scene, his senses slowly clearing the longer he was allowed to relish in his partner's protective presence.
Finally, when the fog cleared and all the sights and noises returned to his shell-shocked mind; Steve remembered the crimson stain along the collar of Mike's dress shirt. Leaning forward to look for the source, noting the troubling lack of his partner's famous fedora, he could see a good size gash on his temple, still seeping blood and coating the left side of his best friend's face.
"You need a doctor."
Nodding indifferently, the Lieutenant pointed his chin at Scott Sorrenson, who had jogged over to the Galaxy to call in backup.
"I'll have the paramedics bandage it up for now. Scott and I found Luther in the garage, unconscious and tied up. Looks like Roberts gave him a good workover not too long ago. I am hoping he'll pull through. I'll call in Tanner to help us go through that house and look for evidence, then clear the scene."
Looking back down at the firm hand holding him up when all he wanted to do was to collapse under the burden of remorse, Steve shifted some weight onto his injured leg, hoping the searing pain would help him stay focused.
"Do you think he planned to kill the entire family?"
Letting his steel blue eyes drift over the gradually growing crowd surrounding them, Mike pursed his lips, his expression sullen
"It's possible. We may never know. But I am sure these guys out there have plenty of theories."
Following his partner's glance, Steve scoffed at the assortment of neighbors callously crowding the sidewalk, some pointing fingers at them.
"Some things never change, do they?"
With a slight headshake, Mike let go of his elbow and reached for the nape of his neck to shake him slightly, pursing his lips when the relief flooding his weary senses threatened to overwhelm him that afternoon.
In that short intimate moment, the Lieutenant managed to work through the crippling angst brought on by the shootout, before once again burying it under a thick layer of professionalism, hoping to remain calm and think straight, doing precisely what was expected of a man in his position.
Steve accepted the gesture gratefully, the strong fingers around the back of his neck feeling like a pair of gentle blinders that kept his guilt-ridden mind focused on what was important, instead of what was out of his control.
"I want to talk to Bernie and authorize an autopsy."
Mike's glance settled back on him the instant he'd said that, worry and confusion clouding the Lieutenant's guarded expression.
"Why?"
Drawing in a shuddered breath, Steve pointed over at their dead suspect.
"I have a gut feeling that it will help bring Martha Roberts some closure. Maybe even ensure that his death wasn't…entirely in vain."
