House lay still, but he was on high alert, following Tritter's progress. The policeman stopped again a few feet from the couch to put on a pair of gloves; House heard the Latex snap. The coldblooded preparation of that step, making sure that he didn't leave any fingerprints in his soon-to-be-staged scene, spoke volumes to House. Tritter hadn't had much time from Brenda's call to his arrival, hadn't had a chance to carefully think through all aspects. He already was used to covering his own actions and prepared for it at all times.

Fully gloved, Tritter stepped on. House fought to keep his eyes closed, his breathing even. He was literally staking his life on the fact that while Tritter would attempt to kill him, the man would have to announce his presence and bask in his victory first. Taking a sleeping victim off guard anonymously was far too easy. No, Tritter would want to look straight into the other man's eyes as he crowed his triumph. The actual murder attempt wouldn't come for several minutes. House kept up the charade, to all appearances asleep, and waited.

It didn't take long for Tritter to go into action. In the next moment, a sharp blow landed along House's bad thigh, the pain racing through him like lightning. House didn't try to conceal his jump, though he wasn't sure he could have anyway. Once his eyes managed to focus, he saw Tritter standing there with a smile over him, gently slapping one hand with his billy. "What the hell?" House tried to make himself sound confused and surprised at the encounter, even as on a deeper level he fought to get back on top of the pain.

"Dr. Gregory House." Tritter stretched out the name to its full value of syllables. "After all these years, you turn up again. Couldn't run far enough to escape after all, could you? Of course, running at all would be a problem for you." House read the intention in his eyes a second before the billy flashed out again, and that time, he got his arm across in time to protect his leg. The blow made his wrist ache, but that was far better than taking another hit on the scar.

"Who are you?" House demanded. Like most bullies, Tritter should be infuriated by the idea of being forgotten and inconsequential. The longer House could keep him talking on video before the others had to move in, the more Tritter's true personality would be recorded on display.

Sure enough, the man's jaw clenched. "Don't you remember me, House? Of course, you wouldn't remember me from the murder investigation, since you so conveniently bolted before we could ever question you. But before that, when you were a resident, you saw me at the hospital and then later treated my wife."

House shrugged. "I saw a lot of people at the hospital. Most of them I forgot about two minutes after they were diagnosed. It's the medicine that's really interesting, not the people. It's easy to forget the people, especially the ones with boring, everyday diseases like say colds or STDs. The unoriginal ones. No reason at all for me to remember them. You and your wife both must have been boring patients if you saw me."

Tritter's fist clenched on the billy, and House let himself shrink back into the cushions, giving the other man a taste of the reaction he wanted in hopes of preventing a third strike. He had to keep his wits clear in this confrontation, and added pain would interfere with that. It worked. Tritter, having scored, relaxed his fingers again. "Pathetic," he spat out. "You're just a pathetic little weakling."

House firmly kept himself focused on the present, though he had heard words similar to those far too many times in the past. "Maybe I am, but the question still remains. Who are you?"

Tritter gave a cold smile. "I guess you do have a right to know. You ought to get the details; it does involve you, after all. I'm Detective Michael Tritter. I was on the team that investigated the murder of your landlord back years ago. Surely you remember him being murdered, even if you didn't stick around for the investigation."

"I was innocent!" House protested, trying to give it all of the indignant protest that Tritter no doubt had heard often from suspects.

"Oh, I know." The smile widened. "I have every reason to know, since I'm the one who killed him."

House gasped and forced himself not to look toward the camera eye. "You killed him? Why?"

"He was getting to the point where he was more of a liability than a benefit. He was an informant, knew a few drug dealers. Not using himself, but he knew people who were. He would pass along information to me."

The puzzle pieces clicked into place at a furious pace. The scorn in Tritter's voice when he said drug dealers couldn't have been manufactured. Even for a police officer, it was overdone. That was a subject upon which Tritter had a vendetta, obviously. "And you passed it along to your colleagues?" House said, taking a guess and hoping to poke Tritter into further confession.

"No, I dealt with the matter myself. I don't like drug dealers. Or drug users. Pathetic parasites, all of them. They don't know what real power is." Yes, this was definitely Tritter's hot subject. House probably would have noticed had the landlord actually been dealing himself, but just as an informant, no. The landlord was, however, the type who would have sold out anybody he knew for the right price.

"You killed them?"

"They were unfortunately victims of their lifestyle. That frequently happens to people involved with drugs."

"How did the landlord know them?"

"People he grew up with who had gone wrong. I had given him a pass on a speeding ticket once; he struck me as just the kind of weakling who might be useful. I searched his car on the stop, found nothing, and told him as I let him off that I'd been looking for people in the drug community, not innocent speeders. He made a few remarks about those people that made me realize he shared my disgust at them, so I gave him my name and said that if he ever did happen to, perfectly innocently of course, come across some information on others, I would make it worth his while. It's like baiting a hook, House. Sometimes people take the bait; sometimes not. But I know what waters to fish in, what types to bring it up to, and that helps the success rate. I'm very good at finding people who are dealing or using drugs. One of the best ways is through informants. They find me very willing to listen to them." Tritter stood tall, shoulders squared, as he obviously consulted his mental tally of druggies taken off the streets.

"And you eliminated them yourself? Without a trial?"

Tritter scoffed. "Surely you have seen people on drugs in your medical days, House. There are signs. They were guilty, convicted by their own bodies. No point in denying it. A trial would be just a waste of money and time."

"So the landlord came to you for money for information, and you paid him a few times. Then what, he wanted more? Said he'd go to another officer when you turned him down?"

"Exactly. I knew his usefulness was running out. But then he happened to be complaining about you as a tenant one night, and I saw the most perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone."

"Why me? What did I ever do to you?"

"You were an arrogant resident with no true respect for authority or for privacy, either. You accused me of cheating!"

House couldn't hold the laugh in. "I accused you of cheating? You just confessed to murder, and you get offended that somebody accused you of cheating? If I did, I have no doubt that I was right. Was I?"

The hand clenched on the billy again. "That's not the point. And then you mentioned it in front of my wife! You cost me my marriage." More than that, House realized, he had cost Tritter face. That in Tritter's world was an unpardonable sin.

"If you were cheating, seems to me that you cost yourself your marriage," House pointed out. Tritter tightened up, preparing to strike, and House rushed to get his next question out. "So what now? Are you just planning to kill me and lie about that, too?"

Tritter returned the billy to its clip and took the gun out. "I came here after a tip to catch you. Unfortunately, you attacked me. You had a large knife; I'll provide one." He had one of those available, too, House noted mentally. "It will have your fingerprints on it. You cut me minorly in your desperate charge off the couch, and I was forced to shoot you."

"Don't you think at the shot, one of the neighbors might call 911?" House hit the final two words with emphasis, the signal for help.

Tritter shook his head. "I'm a legitimate police officer. I'll have a few minutes to stage things before anyone arrived, and that's all I need. My colleagues will be very much in sympathy with me."

"I doubt it." House saw the others coming into the room now, and Brenda's gun was up and steady, while Tritter's wasn't aimed at House yet.

"Freeze!"

Tritter jumped and turned, eyes widening in disbelief. Brenda's stance was square, her aim steady.

"We have three independent witnesses here, and we have a video recording, too. And 911 is already coming. Drop the gun," House said.

Tritter dropped it. Slowly, painfully, House stood, and Cuddy hurried over to him. "Well played, Maestro," she said. The concern was in her voice but not in her words. It had taken everything she had to wait for him to give the signal.

"Yes, well done," Wilson said.

Brenda, gun still squarely pointed at Tritter, gave him a smile. "Welcome back, Dr. House."