By the Book chapter 4

Three days later, Captain Jimmy Deakins and his best friend of many years, Captain Harry Caldwell, were having dinner with their respective spouses, a date they'd had planned for weeks. When at last the women went off to the ladies room, the men finally had a chance to talk.

"So what's the latest on your boy?" Harry asked.

Deakins sighed. "Not good. IAB's already stepped in; he's on suspension. It was hard on him, real hard, having to turn in his gun and badge. Pride, y'know? Bobby's a great cop; if he were more politically driven I'd say he'd be commissioner some day. And a damn good one. I think all this has hurt him pretty bad."

"Don't get pissed at me, Jimmy, but what do you really think? You think he did it? I mean, the evidence…?"

"No! No fucking way!" Jimmy wasn't pissed at his friend; the evidence was damaging, but he was very vehement in defending his detective. "I know Bobby, and there's no way in hell he did it." Then he confided in his friend. "Harry, can I tell you something? Just between us?"

Harry looked surprised, but he was curious, and Jimmy was his good friend. "Yeah, sure, Jimmy. What is it?"

"Goren claims he's been set up, big time. I know it, Eames knows it, and Bobby knows it. We don't know how or why. What we do know is that this setup is coming from above."

Harry's surprise turned to shock. "What the hell? Jimmy, are you saying—"

Their conversation ceased, the wives were back.

After their evening, and their good-byes, Harry looked at Deakins pointedly. "Jimmy, call me."

Bobby's Apartment

Bobby Goren was angry, and he was miserable. He was officially on suspension, and he didn't like it one bit. Bobby was the kind of guy who was always on the move; could never sit still. Work was his passion, and now he couldn't work. He couldn't do anything, except sit around wondering, agonizing, about his fate. And with his abdomen still injured, he couldn't even pace. At least not very well. There was no way to work off his nervous energy.

The worst thing for Bobby was the knowledge that he'd been betrayed. And that hurt. That hurt more than he could ever have imagined. With too much time on his hands, he had way too much time to think, and he couldn't get the betrayal off his mind. Bobby's entire life had been spent serving the public in some way. All his years as an criminal investigator/intelligence officer in the army, his years in Narcotics, and now Major Case…the overtime, the distress he put himself through on almost every case… It was more than just a job. It was his life. And the truth was he put more into the job than anyone. And now they weren't just turning on him, they were nailing him to the wall, screwing him royally.

He thought about his interrogation by Internal Affairs. Internal Affairs had been rough. Somehow the emails were brought into it, as Bobby knew they would be. And that provided the motive. IA accused Bobby of carrying on an affair with a known murder suspect, which in itself was both unethical and a conflict of interest. They questioned him about whether he'd murdered her to prevent her from making those emails public, thus exposing their relationship. They painted their alleged relationship as sick, lewd, and immoral. They drug him down in every possible way, trying to extract some kind of confession. He'd been humiliated, especially when he'd been put on suspension and had to surrender his gun and badge. It really brought him down. One thing IAB didn't want was the public going on about a rogue cop on the loose, especially one with a reputation for being a loose cannon. That was not going to happen.

To make matters worse, Bobby couldn't even participate in the investigation, which was driving him crazy. He was the one person must likely to solve this crime, and he was the one being kept off the case. He found that rather ironic.

It was still morning, and Bobby had already gone through a six pack of beer. He decided to call Alex.

Alex answered. "Eames."

"Hey, Eames, it's me. Hear anything yet?"

"Not yet, Bobby."

God, Eames, I'm going crazy here!"

"Crazier than when you last called, let's see, when was it? Oh, yeah…a half hour ago." Immediately she felt guilty.

Bobby was glad she couldn't see his face, which had turned a bright red. "Sorry," he muttered. "It's just that…this doing nothing is killing me…Jesus Christ! How the hell did this happen?"

"Bobby, it'll work out. You're innocent. We all know it. When those detectives from Homicide get their heads out of their asses, they'll get it right."

"I don't know, Eames, they seemed to think they had it right the other night." His hand went unconsciously to his abdomen, where the muscles were still stiff and hurting.

"Bobby, I…I wish I could do something. Since Homicide's got it, they're keeping me out. I don't know what they've got. I'll be over after while, we'll discuss this, okay? I'll bring pizza and some beer."

"Forget the beer, Eames. I've got plenty."

Great, she thought, imagining avery miserableanddrunk Bobby.

Bobby was lying around, drinking a beer, and watching the History Channel. He couldn't even get interested in that, and soon he fell into a very fitful sleep. He was dreaming, and not very pleasant dreams. One had Nicole Wallace lying in a heap, dead, at his feet while he, Bobby, was on the witness stand. His father, belt in hand, was both the judge and the jury.

A few hours later Alex arrived, carrying two pizzas. Using her key, she entered. She looked around. Judging by the many empty bottles, Bobby apparently drank both breakfast and lunch.

She went to the couch where Bobby was sleeping. She could tell he was dreaming; he was restless, saying words that made no sense, obviously upset. She looked at him sadly. Like he hadn't had enough problems in his life, now he had this murder charge hanging over him. She woke him gently.

"C'mon, Bobby, get up, you're dreaming."

He shot up like a rocket, and yelled something unintelligible.

Alex had backed off, out of the way of his spiraling arms.

"Bobby, it's okay," she said soothingly. "You're having a dream. Wake up."

Bobby was now fully awake. He ran his hands through his hair. "Holy shit!" Then, realizing he'd been reacting wildly, "Uh, are you okay? I didn't hu—"

"I'm okay, Bobby. Are you?"

He took a deep breath and settled back in the couch. "I guess." Then, to change the subject, he said, "You brought something?"

"I brought some pizza."

"Already ate," he mumbled, leaning back again.

"Funny… I don't remember them adding beer to the four basic food groups. Now get up, we're going to get some solid food in you, then we're going to clean this place up. And then we're going to try to figure something out."

He sighed as he accepted the paper plate, loaded with three slices of meatlover's pizza..

"Now eat," she told him.

Bobby started to get up. "Need something to drink with this," he said, reaching for another beer. He barely had it in his hand before Alex snatched it out.

"No! No more. If you want something to drink, it's either milk or water. Take your pick."

"Water."

"Fine. I'll get you some water, and put on a pot of coffee for afterwards…are you even listening?"

Bobby was definitely preoccupied, but he heard every word. "You're gonna get me some water, put on some coffee, then we'll talk, I guess."

"Okay," she said, satisfied. Then she went to the kitchen and went about getting his water. As she did so, she heard a loud rapping at the door.

"Police! Open up! We have a warrant!"

Although Bobby had known it was coming, his stomach still balled up into a huge knot. He got up slowly and went to the door, just as Alex came back into the room with the water.

Once Bobby had the door just slightly ajar, the detectives pushed their way in.

"Robert Goren," Abrams said, "we have a warrant for your arrest. Please turn around and put your hands behind your back."

Bobby did as he was told. He put his hands behind him, and Abrams ratcheted the cuffs around his wrists tightly, as Richardson intoned, "You have the right to remain silent…"

Bobby never even got a bite of his dinner.

Tbc