More than ninety people have checked out this story... one of you has to know someone in Canada that you can pass it on to, right?

Enjoy. ~Ray K.

Chapter Nineteen: Bad Cop, Worse Cop

The next morning, I brewed a pot of coffee while I did a little de-cluttering. Seeing how bare and spotless Fraser's apartment was made me feel like mine was kind of a wreck. But once I had cleared off my coffee table and gotten rid of a couple cobwebs in the corners, I decided that was enough for one day. No sense in overdoing it and losing my motivation—that could set me back into a rut of sloppiness for a week or more.

I checked to see if I had any candy to throw into my coffee. I never just drink it black, even when I bother to brew it instead of making the instant kind. I had some milk that actually wasn't sour, and since I didn't find any candy I threw in some hot cocoa mix. It wasn't hot chocolate weather anymore, and if I didn't use it this way, it would probably just sit in the cupboard all summer.

I sat down with my coffee... mocha now, I guess... and some toast and started scanning the paper. There was nothing on De Luca's arraignment yet, but I was guessing there would be, come Monday. Weirdly enough, there was something on our other case. The papers were eager to connect it with the cold case we had dug up, speculating on whether it was the same killer or a copycat, even though we still hadn't made up our minds whether we thought the two cases were truly related. This reporter has a lot of nerve, I thought. I glanced at the biline. MacKenzie King. The name rang a bell. I was sure it was one I'd seen while reading up on Ray's file in order to be able to impersonate him. It wasn't a very important name, though. Barely mentioned in his file. I closed my eyes, trying to remember.

The phone rang and the struggle to remember flew away. I got up and picked up my landline. "Kowalski."

"Hey," said Ray's voice. "I talked to Welsh about interviewing Tate again. We got him at ten-thirty."

I looked at the clock. It was just after nine. "Okay, I'll be there. Is Franny coming?"

I heard him sigh. "Yeah. I promised her she could. Why did I do that?"

I smiled a little. "Because you're trying to let her make her own decisions?" I suggested.

"Nah, that couldn't be it."

"Ha. Well, I'll see you there. Oh! Hey, does the name MacKenzie King mean anything to you?"

A pause. Then, "Why?"

Oo. It did. "She... or he... wrote an article about our old case/new case. They're trying to make it sound like there's a definite connection."

"Eh, she's an investigative reporter... or at least, that's what she likes to call herself. I'd call her a fiction writer who dabbles in history. But she did kinda help save Benny and his neighbors from being evicted, so I can't write her off completely. She thought he was a dirty cop when she first met him."

It came back to me then. "Oh, yeah." I laughed. "Of all the people to be on the take."

"Yeah, seriously. Is that all, though? She wrote a story?"

"Yeah."

"She hasn't tried to contact you?"

"No. I just wanted to place the name."

"You wouldn't have had that problem if you and Fraser hadn't been away so long. When I came back and she got wind of the undercover job... lemme tell you, it's just a damn good thing she had no clue when I was still under, because she'd have gotten me killed. No question about it. I saved some of the more colorful stuff she wrote, if you wanna see sometime."

"Okay. Anyway..."

"Oh, Ray... one more thing," he said. He sounded like he was about to give me bad news.

I braced myself. "Yeah?"

"Being as this is turning into a high-profile case, Welsh thinks we need to have an ASA here. It doesn't have to be Stella. I can get someone else..."

I squeezed my eyes shut tight. "No," I made myself say. "She'll be easiest to get hold of quickly. Go ahead and call her."

"You sure?"

No. "Yes."

"All right. See you soon."

"Mhm." I hung up the phone. And slammed my fist down on the counter. Which hurt. "Damn it," I muttered to myself.

It wasn't that I didn't want to see Stella. I actually really did want to see her, and that was the problem. I shouldn't see her. I just screw everything up when I'm around her. I keep telling myself that we're done and I should just let go already, but then I see her again and I start getting these stupid ideas, like maybe I can change, or maybe she'll change, enough that we can work again. Because we used to work. Or maybe if I do something good enough, or smart enough, or I'm charming enough, or hell, just because she misses me enough, then she'll give me another shot.

Because God knows if she whistled, I'd come running like a cocker spaniel at a field trial. I could even be seeing someone else, and it wouldn't matter. That thought scared me. The thought that I might meet someone else, start to find out it could work with someone else, finally be happy again, and then that would be the moment I had changed enough for her. She'd come back into my life and I'd screw up someone else's because I'm so pathetically dependent on her. Like she defines me.

Since I started working with Fraser, I've started to feel more sure of who I am. I'm a cop, and in spite of how much complaining I do, I actually like being able to say that I am one. It's not trying to make up for an embarrassing moment as a kid anymore. And I'm trying hard not to be who I am for Stella or anyone else, but that doesn't come easily to me. What I latched onto for the time being was that Fraser was the best damn person I knew. If I tried to be the best friend I could to him, it would definitely make me a better person in the long run. It was the best I could do.

I closed my eyes, took a long, slow breath as I tilted my head back and then let it all out. When I opened my eyes, I was back in my apartment, without Stella suffocating me. I took a drink of my coffee and forced myself into self-therapy mode.

Supposing Fraser had this ex... well, he did. Victoria. The one no one ever talked about. So, suppose Fraser needed some information, and she was the best source he was likely to find. What would he do? He would see her, of course. He would arrange to meet her somewhere safe, somewhere she couldn't possibly set up anything to screw him over, but also somewhere she wouldn't feel threatened. He would be polite to her. Respectful. Because even though she broke his heart, he still cared about her and wished her no harm.

I drank some more coffee, tasting the chocolate more as I got close to the bottom of the mug. It was just another day, another interrogation, more paperwork. And Stella would be there. No big deal.

I got to the precinct just before 10:30. Tate had already been brought over from lockup and had his lawyer in the interview room with him. Ray, Franny and Stella were in front of the one-way glass.

"Boy, he looks kind of pathetic up close," Franny said as I joined them. "I can't believe that's the scumbag who grabbed me."

"Yeah, not so scary now, huh?" I was a little distracted. "Good morning, Stella," I said, doing my best to filter everything other than politeness out of my voice.

She wasn't used to my greeting her without anything else attached, and she looked at me kind of suspiciously before answering, "Good morning, Ray."

I looked at the other Ray. "So, how are we playing this?" I asked.

"You're Mister Nice Guy," he said. "You and State's Attorney Kowalski will be at the table, and I'll stay in the background until you need me."

"It's just assistant state's attorney, Detective Vecchio," Stella put in. "I believe I've told you that."

He knew damn well what it was—he'd called her an ADA when he talked to me on the phone. But I kept quiet.

"Well, while we're being specific," Ray answered, "the lieutenant officially made me a sergeant on paper. Means I get to be lead detective on my cases and pick who I work with."

Franny nudged forward a little, forcing the two of them slightly further apart. "Nobody calls him 'sergeant,'" she said flatly.

I loved her for that.

"Well, I think we should get to it," Stella said, breaking up the awkward silence.

Ray, Stella and I went around to the interview room door and filed inside. Ray introduced himself and then the two of us before stepping back to let me handle the Q and A.

After I made it clear that the outcome we hoped for was that Tate would change his mind and be more helpful, he made it clear that he hadn't changed his mind at all.

"You're not offering me anything new," he said. "Why are we even here?"

"Some new information came to light, Mister Tate," I said. "See, I have this friend. He's a Mountie. He and I live in the same building."

He gawked at me. "What's that got to do with anything?" he asked.

"I was about to tell you. No one taught you to wait your turn at the drinking fountain, did they? But speaking of people who should have taught you better, that building, the one the Mountie and I live in, it happens to be run by a Miz Ida Tate. Recognize the name?"

His look of confusion turned to disgust. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me."

"I assure you, I do not kid. Only last night, in fact, Miz Tate came to my friend and begged him on behalf of her son—of whom she's very fond, by the way—to speak to him and learn, A, why he won't see her, B, whether he's really guilty of any serious crime, and C, why he won't make his (and her) life a little easier and cooperate with the authorities. Now, you don't have to talk to my friend the Mountie, since he has no jurisdiction in this precinct. On the other hand, you don't have to worry about him slapping any charges on you either. Talking to a Mountie's kinda like talking to a priest."

"I think that's a bit of an exaggeration," Stella put in. "Please, don't assume that Constable Fraser would not be obligated to report any confessions made to him."

I gritted my teeth. She had interrupted, thrown me off my stride, and kind of undermined me in front of the suspect. I forced myself not to sigh or roll my eyes. "Really, we're all here today because of your mom, Andrew."

He looked like he really didn't like me using his full first name. But I knew it gave me some credibility, because that's what his mom called him.

"You've done a little bit of time before, gotten into plenty of trouble. Drug possession, petty theft... and that was before this stuff you're mixed up in now. You know, I'd written you off as a completely bad egg until I realized who your mother was. So now I'm thinkin'... maybe there's more to the story. Maybe you'd like a chance to make things right with that sweet lady. It's all up to you, man."

I sat back a little so Stella would know I was done for the moment.

"Detective Vecchio and I have gone over your case together," Stella said, opening the folder she had brought along. "He's outlined what he wants from you, and I've listed what the state can offer you in return." She turned the folder around and pushed it toward Tate and his lawyer.

The lawyer paid more attention to the file than Tate did. He looked at his client. "Essentially, they want you to back up Tanner's story and name the man who hired you," he said, easily dumbing down the legal jargon. "In exchange, you'll get a light sentence for the auto theft and attempted kidnapping." He looked up. "What about the charge of resisting arrest?"

"That, we can't help with," Ray said, coming over to the table. "We get information about this case, he gets leniency on this case. But refusing to cooperate—that was a bad decision he doesn't have anything to trade for."

"If I did what you say I did," Tate started.

"We know you did," Ray cut him off. "Tanner named you. You were caught in the vicinity of the crime and you tried to run. You're guilty as sin, and anyone will see it that way." His voice was rising in an angry tone. "The girl you grabbed smelled the steering wheel of the car you stole on your glove when you covered her mouth with your hand! Do you often treat women that way? Huh?"

Tate was trying to fake a surprised look. "Come on... No," he stammered while Ray yelled at him and his lawyer tried to protest. "I don't... I didn't... I don't know what that bitch told you—"

I don't know how it happened, because I had been telling myself for the last hour to stay calm. And it had been working. I'd been polite to Stella. I'd been the good cop in this scenario, and done a pretty good job. But when he called Franny a bitch, and me knowing she was standing behind the glass, hearing it... I lost my head. There's no other way to say it. I got up before I knew I was doing it, and my fist connected with Tate's chin. I heard my chair crash onto the floor behind me, and then felt Ray pulling me back. Heard him swearing at me.

I let him pull me away from the table. I was kind of in shock, myself. I knew I'd screwed up. In every way, on every level.

"Outside!" Ray shouted at me, pointing at the door.

I fled. Yeah, that's the perfect word. I closed the door behind me, only then feeling the pain in my right hand. I rubbed it with my left. Thank God I'd never been a pro boxer... the law might call my hands deadly weapons, and I could be looking at a really serious assault charge.

Franny came around the corner and looked at me kind of shyly.

"Hey... sorry," I said quietly. "I really screwed up in there."

She looked at my hands. "You okay?"

I laughed and shook my head. "Serves me right. I knew better than that. I'm never getting near Tate again. I might be off the case."

"You can't be off the case—you're a fabricated witness, right?"

"Material. The term is 'material witness.' I can be a witness without being allowed to investigate." I sighed out another little laugh. "I guess now Tate has something to trade for his resisting arrest charge."

Franny cracked up. "I guess so. If it helps, I think it was worth it."

"That definitely helps." I put an arm around her and walked her back to the glass to watch whatever came next.

Thanks for reading! Pitter-patter, let's get atter—please leave a comment before you hurry on your way... ~Ray K.