If Cutter recognized 'John Holt' as the man who'd rescued him from his apartment the day before, he didn't show it. Reese hadn't been very concerned about it. The young man had been all but unconscious when he'd saved him.

Edwins seemed glad to see him again. They commiserated over Vincent being dragged to a sudden date night, in a good-natured way. Reese took the loading dock for the first hour. When he was alone, he contacted Finch. "What are you seeing, Finch?"

"Everything and nothing," Finch answered. "I have access to all the cameras. Mr. Cutter is on the front desk, on his computer, of course. Mr. Edwins is currently on the tenth floor, actually doing his walk-though."

"Keep me posted."

"Of course."

At midnight the men rotated posts. Cutter came back to the loading doc. Edwins took over the lobby. Reese started his own walk-around.

"Mr. Reese?" Finch said, as soon as he was alone again. "I've been able to access Mr. Cutter's current internet activity."

"Who's he scamming now?" Reese asked. "People who rescue puppies and kittens?"

"He's on a forum called FFPO. Families of Fallen Police Officers."

Reese clenched his teeth. "You're not kidding, of course."

"I am not. I surmise that he got the idea from working with Mr. Edwins. He learned about Edwin's partner's death and perhaps wondered if there was a group that would be fertile ground for his brand of drama-farming."

"Is Edwins on the forum?"

"Not that I can tell for certain, but of course a great many people don't use their real names. Mr. Cutter joined just over a week ago. So far, he's been a model virtual citizen. As is his habit, he's building up good will and acceptance from the group."

"Families of fallen police officers," Reese growled. "This guy is the scum of the earth."

"I can't disagree with you, Mr. Reese."

"Make those wire transfers bigger, Finch."

The genius snorted, but did not answer.

Finch did, in fact, make the wire transfers larger. It wouldn't affect the false charges that would be brought against Mr. Cutter, of course. It was simply a matter of principle.

He watched Cutter on one screen, tidied up loose ends on another. No report yet on the coffee analysis. A few incident reports on the cleaning crew, which were largely incidental now. Monica Bently. He opened his information on her and went digging.

It only took a few minutes to find something alarming. "Mr. Reese?"

"I'm here, Finch."

"The waitress from the deli. Bently is her maiden name. Her married name was Walters."

"And?"

"Terry Edwin's young partner, the one who was killed, was Leyland Walters."

"Her son?" Reese guessed.

"Checking now." Finch's hands flew over the keyboard with desperate precision. All the pieces were falling into place. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

Edwins had barely gotten settled behind the security console when he heard a soft tap on the north entrance door. He grumbled; usually it was a lost tourist, a stranded motorist, sometimes a bum. But this time …

He stood and hurried to open the door. "Monica, what the hell are you doing here?"

Monica stepped into the lobby. "Teddy. I got your message."

"It's the middle of the night. You can't be …"

"I need to see him."

"Cutter? No."

"I need to talk to him."

"Monica, it's a bad idea. What good would it do?"

She looked at him, her face bleak. "He killed Leyland."

"Monica …"

"I just want to talk to him. I want to tell him what he did, to his face. I want him to know. I want to know he knows. I want to see it. Can't you understand that?"

"But …"

"Teddy, please. I need to talk to him. I need to … get this over with, once and for all."

Edwins sighed heavily. "This is it, then? I let you talk to him, and then you'll try to let this go? To move on?"

"I promise, Teddy. Just let me see him, and then … it'll be done."

Edwins looked around the lobby. It was empty, of course. The doors were locked. The new guy was upstairs; they could confront Cutter and get Monica out before he came down for his next post. Let her have her moment with him. Let her scream at him if she needed to.

Cutter was such a dumb ass he didn't even know what he'd done. He needed to know. Monica deserved that. Leyland deserved it.

He could let Monica have her say, and in the morning he'd throw a frame around Cutter and that would be the end of it.

"Come on," he said. He checked the door behind her, then led her to door to the access hall and used his keycard to open it.

"Mr. Reese?" Finch's voice was decidedly urgent. "Yes, Monica is Leyland's mother. And more importantly, Mr. Edwins has just let her into the building.

"They're working together," Reese answered grimly.

"They're headed to the loading dock."

"On my way." He sprinted to the elevators. "Send me access."

Finch watched in horrified fascination as the former police officer and the waitress came onto the loading dock. Cutter was behind the little desk with his feet up and his computer balanced against his knees. He stood up quickly when the door opened.

The voices over the surveillance system were tinny and echoed oddly, but Finch could hear the discussion clearly enough. "Hey. What's up?"

"Cutter," Edwins said firmly, "this is Monica."

The young man nodded. "We allowed to bring our girlfriends to work now?" he attempted to tease.

Finch grabbed his other keyboard. "Mr. Reese?"

"Almost there," Reese answered "What are they doing?"

"Just talking, so far."

"She's not my girlfriend," Edwins said evenly. "She's the mother of a fallen police officer."

"Oh." Cutter's face fell. "This is about the forum, isn't it? Look, I didn't mean any harm. I just, you know, you talked about your partner and I wanted to, um, to see if I could help, maybe …"

"You're lying."

"Okay. Okay, you got me. I'm, um, I'm doing some research. I'm thinking about writing a book, and I thought if I could get to know some family members, you know … not to use them, but just to get a sense of their stories, how they are, you know?"

"Cutter," Edwins said, "shut up."

"You killed my son," Monica said.

"I … what? No. I didn't kill anybody. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Her son," Edwins said. "My partner. Leyland Walters. He was twenty-four years old. We were answering a call. A young girl threatening suicide. He was driving. Drove way too fast. But he wanted to save the girl. He had to save her. And we hit ice, and we hit a pole, and Leyland died. You get it now?"

"No," Cutter said. "No. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your name was Diane," Monica said coldly. "Your screen name was LadyDi. You said you were fifteen and your step-father was sexually abusing you. You said he got you pregnant and was going to force you to have an abortion the next morning. You said you were going to kill yourself because you couldn't stand it anymore. The other people on the forum panicked. They were afraid for you."

"And one of them," Edwins added, "happened to have the resources to trace your IP address. So she called the police. With this address. Leyland and I got the call."

"Mr. Reese, are you hearing this?" Finch asked in his ear.

"I'm hearing it," Reese said grimly. He'd left the elevator on the second floor and ran down the stairs to the ground level; he didn't want to risk them hearing him. He hurried down the access hall and stopped just outside the door to the loading dock. Then he stepped to the side of the door and studied the scene on his phone. "I'm not seeing any weapons so far."

"So far. But I remind you …"

"The Machine doesn't notify us about people who are just going to talk? I know, Finch." Reese studied the door. It was closed tight, which meant it was locked. His key card would get him through it, but it wouldn't be quiet. There was another entrance to the dock on the other side, but it would take time to get there, and the door was locked the same way. He would need to swipe his card and crash the door. He needed the pert p to be in just the right place.

And he didn't know yet who the perp was going to be.

He stayed clear of the small window and watched.

Finch grabbed his cell phone and dialed. "Lab," a bored man answered on the fourth ring.

"This is Detective Fusco," Finch lied, "Badge number 7645. I sent a sample over for analysis earlier today and I wondered if you had the results yet."

The bored man sighed heavily. "If the results were up, they would have sent you an e-mail."

"I'm not able to access my computer at this time," Finch snapped. "Please read me the results."

"Yeah, yeah, hang on."

Cutter put one hand on his hip. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't do anything. And even if I did, even if you could prove it – it's not illegal. I didn't take anybody's money."

"You killed my son," Monica said.

"Sounds to me like he killed himself."

Edwin bristled. "Shut your mouth, Cutter."

"Do you know?" Monica asked. "Why he was so desperate to save you? To save 'Diane'? Do you?"

"Because he was a good cop?" Cutter said, with a hint of a sneer.

"Because his sister killed herself when she was fifteen."

In the hallway, Reese stiffened. He studied the view on his phone again, then chanced a peek through the window. The three were standing in a triangle, about five feet from each other. Cutter was to the right of the door, Edwins to the left. Monica was furthest away, facing them. "Not good," Reese muttered. "Not good."

"You still there, Detective?" the bored man from the lab said.

"I am," Finch snapped. "Do you have the results?"

"Yeah. And you aren't going to like it."

"His sister died," Monica said. "He didn't want anyone else to go through what he did. What we did. So he would have done anything to help her. You understand that? He thought you were like her. He thought he could save you. And he got killed for nothing. For nothing."

"I'm real sorry for your loss," Cutter said. He sounded a little scared now, but his tone was still dismissive. "But it was his choice. I was just messing around. He didn't have to get killed on my account."

"You're not even a little bit sorry, are you?" Edwins asked, incredulous.

"I knew he wouldn't be," Monica said in disgust. "I knew."

She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a gun, and pointed it at Cutter.

"Mr. Reese?" Finch said, his voice edged with panic.

"I see it," Reese said. "No way to get to her yet." He thought again about going around to the door behind her. But it would take too long, and it would still be too loud. He drew his own weapon from his ankle holster, gripped it and the key card in one hand, and held up his phone with the other. "I'll have to wait for an opening."

"Don't wait too long," Finch cautioned. "She's already tried to kill him twice."

"The furnace vent?"

"More than likely. And definitely the arsenic in his coffee."

Reese turned so that his hand hovered just over the scanner for the door.

"Monica, what are you doing?" Edwins demanded. "You said you just wanted to talk to him."

"Talk to him? Did you hear him? There's no point in talking to him. He killed Leyland and he doesn't even care. I'm done talking to him."

"Monica, listen to me. I know he's a shitheel, I know. But this isn't the way to fix this. I have a plan, okay? I'll make sure he goes to jail. I've got this handled."

"I'm not going to jail," Cutter protested. "I didn't break any laws."

"Shut up!" Edwins snapped.

"She's not going to shoot me," the young man said. "I know what this is. She threatens me, you save me, and then I'm supposed to turn my life around, right? Scared straight? Well it's not going to work. I'll do whatever the hell I want and you can't stop me. So put the gun away. I'm leaving."

He strode to the door. Reese flattened himself against the wall.

"You're not going anywhere!" Monica shouted. She raised the gun higher.

"Monica." Edwins stepped toward her. "I'm not going to let you kill him."

"He killed Leyland!"

"No," Edwins said sadly. "No, Monica. Leyland hit that pole all by himself. Cutter wasn't in the car with us."

The woman began to cry. "But he …"

"Monica. Put the gun away. I won't let you kill him. No matter how much he deserves it. I'll take care of it. I'll make sure he goes to jail. But he's not worth wasting the rest of your life over. That's not what Ley would have wanted and you know it."

"But …"

"Put it away. Please."

The woman lowered her gun, very slowly.

"I knew it!" Cutter said. "I knew she wouldn't do it!"

The gun came back up.

Edwins reached for it, grabbed her wrist, pulled the weapon down. "Let it go, Monica. Just let it go."

She released the weapon into his hand.

Cutted lunged at the former cop. Edwins jerked backward, gasping, and fell.

"Knife," Finch said in his ear, but Reese was already throwing the door open.

The woman and Cutter froze for an instant. Edwins continues his slow slump towards the floor. There was a blooming red stain on the back of his sky-blue shirt. "There was no one at the front desk," Reese announced. He grabbed Cutter's hand – knife and all – and threw him into the wall.

Monica bent and grabbed her gun from Edwin's hand. Reese took her wrist and bent it until she dropped it again.

Cutter came at him from behind. He might have been aiming for the woman. It didn't matter. Reese half-turned and sheltered her. He felt the knife blade scrape along the back of his arm. He kept moving, shoving Monica in front of him. The door was still half open. He pushed her through and pulled it shut behind her. The he turned to deal with Cutter.

The young man had a wild look in his eyes, more frightened than dangerous. He dropped into a wide crouch, his hands out to his sides. No doubt it was something he'd seen in his video games. Reese was not impressed. He moved fast, into Cutter's body, and threw two punches into his soft belly before the man got his arms down. Then he grabbed the elbow of Cutter's knife arm, twisted, and threw him head-first against the wall again.

This time Cutter dropped and didn't get up.

Monica shouted and pounded on other side of the locked door.

Reese went and turned Edwins over. The man was dazed but conscious. He was bleeding pretty heavily from the knife wound in his shoulder, but he was breathing okay and didn't seem to be in immediate danger. John looked around, then crossed the dock and opened a cabinet of cleaning supplies. There was a stack of clean rags. He grabbed a handful and returned to the injured man.

"Here," he said, helping him to sit up. He put one rag over the wound and pressed it hard with the heel of his hand. "You'll be okay."

"Monica …"

"She's fine." He glanced toward the door. The woman was jumping to peer through the window, and she was still pounding on it, shouting, but she was safe. "Not happy, but fine."

He stood up and walked over to Cutter. The young man was stirring, but not much. There was a big bruise darkening on his forehead. Reese used a zip tie to secure his hands behind him, then dropped him back to the floor.

He tugged his collar open and shoved a rag over his shoulder and down his shirt sleeve. He couldn't see much of the wound on his arm; it was all on the back. It stung, and seemed to go from his shoulder all the way to his elbow, but it wasn't bleeding very much.

"Mr. Reese," Finch said tightly in his ear. "You need to turn around."

Reese turned back to Edwins.

The former police officer had his weapon aimed at him.

"What?" Reese asked calmly.

"Monica," Edwins said. His face was full of regret and determination.

John gestured toward the door. The woman was still shouting, though her voice was going hoarse.

"She wouldn't have killed him," Edwins said.

"I know."

"Who are you?"

"Put the gun down, Edwins."

"You a cop?"

"No."

"She wouldn't have killed him," he said again. "I can't let you turn her in."

Reese nodded calmly. "You in love with her?"

"No. It's not like that. Not that it matters. I got to protect her. I owe that to her. To Leyland. I'm really sorry you walked into this. Really. But I can't let you hurt her. Can't let anybody hurt her."

"John …" Harold said.

Reese tapped off his earpiece. He crouched on his heels in front of the man. The gun didn't waver, but it didn't worry him much. "Tell me about Monica."

"She's all I got left."

John waited.

Edwins shifted so he was sitting a little more upright. He fussed with the makeshift bandage. His eyes never left Reese's. "You hear about guys sometimes, in the department, lone wolves. The ones who go it alone, you know? But me? I could never be one of them. Never been any good on my own."

Reese nodded his understanding.

"I played football in high school. I was never much good, never a starter, but those were my guys, you know? My team. I was one of them. One of the pack. And then I joined the Army, and my unit was my team. Even the guys that were tools, the loud mouths, the idiots - they were still my guys."

His eyes flicked toward the door. Monica had stopped shouting. She still pounded on the door, but at a much slower rate. Rhythmic, token protest.

"I had a family," Edwins went on. "A wife, kids. And the force. I had a big pack then. All the company I needed. Then my wife died, my kids moved away – but I still had the force, you know? Still had my brothers in blue?"

"And Leyland," Reese prompted.

Edwins smiled softly. "Ley was a good kid. Young. God, he was young. But smart. He would've made detective in no time. Good kid. And he didn't have anybody much, either. His sister killed herself, and then his dad left, it was just him and his mom. Monica. So I – I took him under my wing, I guess. Good kid." He nodded. "This one time, Monica blew a tire out on the GWB while we were on duty. We drove out there and changed it for her. Ley was all worried we'd get in trouble, that I'd be mad at him. And I told him. I told him. She's your family. That makes her my family. We take care of each other. That's what family does. What the pack does.

"And now Ley's gone, my badge is gone. All I got left is Monica." He raised the gun a little. "I got her protect her. I'm real sorry. But she's family."

Reese stood up. "Put the gun away, Edwins. You're not going to shoot me. Or him."

"I have to. He'll tell …"

"Doesn't matter. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to go upstairs and steal one more I-Pad. I'll bring it to you, and then I'll take Monica home. When we're gone, you're going to call the police. You're going to tell them that you caught Cutter stealing, you confronted him, and he attacked you with a knife. You subdued him. That's all. Whatever story he tells – you're a retired cop with a good reputation, and he's a punk kid with a box of stolen property in his apartment."

Edwin's jaw dropped. "Who are you?"

"I can't be here when the cops show up," Reese continued. "You're going to tell them you were working short tonight. Holt was supposed to cover for Vincent, but he called off at the last minute. Stomach flu. You sent an e-mail to the head office two hours ago."

"But … the cameras …"

"We'll fix the footage. The only ones who have been in the building tonight are you and Cutter. The police won't ask many questions anyhow."

"But …"

"Put the gun away."

Edwins did.

Reese opened the door and let Monica in. He took her gun, gave Edwin Cutter's knife, and went upstairs. On the way, he tapped his earpiece again. "Finch? You up on this?"

"I am, Mr. Reese. On the cameras now. How badly are you injured?"

"Not as bad as it looks."

There was a pause. "You know that we're releasing a woman who's attempted murder no less than three times."

"Yes."

"I suppose Mr. Cutter will be charged with attempted murder in her place."

"That's the plan." Reese reached the office, found the stash of client I-Pads, and snagged one. "If it's any comfort, he did attempt to murder us."

"All right." Then, "I suppose the wire transfers are unnecessary now."

"Might as well send them anyhow."

"Very well."

Reese grinned. He went back down, got his things from his locker, and returned to the loading dock.

Edwins was on his feet, with Monica hovering at his side. Cutter was a little more awake, but he wouldn't give them any trouble. Reese passed the package over to the retired cop and slipped on his coat. "Give us a few minutes to get clear," he said.

"Who are you?" Edwins asked again.

John thought about it. "I'm a guy who lost his pack, too," he finally said. "And who was lucky enough to find a new one."

He took Monica's arm and led her out into the night.