Thanks for the reviews - I went in and added the Prologue to the front of the first chapter, so you'll see a switch in the chapter numbering. This one is the latest, posted today, 5-12-08.

Santa Ana Wind Part III - Dillon

Chapter 3

Don groaned as the alarm sounded and extended an arm, groping for the off switch. He rolled on his back and rubbed a hand over his face. Somehow, he got his feet planted on the floor, and pointed toward the bathroom. It had been a long night again, filled with nightmares. Since he'd found Charlie in the pit, he had recurring dreams in which he was digging frantically, trying to unearth his brother, who kept sinking further into the earth. Along the way, he'd added a new one; in which they were both adrift in a dark ocean, and a relentless current kept threatening to drag them under. He was only able to get to sleep after a bit of alcohol had numbed his brain, and once there, those dreams, or variations of them, kept wrenching him from desperately needed slumber.

The first thing he did in the bathroom was to take a drink of water; his tongue felt like a wad of cotton, and his head was still foggy from lack of sleep. As he did so, he raised his eyes to the mirror and winced. He really did look as bad as he felt. He set the cup down, and leaned over the sink, supporting himself on his arms, head down for a moment. Although he'd been on plenty of assignments in his younger days in which he'd been severely sleep-deprived, his thirty-seven-year-old body was telling him that he couldn't keep going like this – he needed a break from the relentless stress, the lack of sleep. Thank God, it was Friday.

One hot shower, one protein bar, and three cups of coffee later, he was on his way to work, and actually feeling quite a bit better. Maybe he was still able to function on minimal sleep – it just took a little longer to get going in the morning. Still, a voice nagged in the back of his subconscious that he was pushing the limit; that he needed to take some time and deal with what had happened. He thrust it aside – just for now, he told himself. He had work to do. Work that involved taking down a mob guy named Jimmy "the Snake" Marciano.

He stepped off the elevator, all business. Colby and David were there to greet him with a look on their faces that said they had something for him, and they gathered around Megan's desk.

Colby held up a file. "Remember Charlie saying he was looking for another set of data, or a missing connection somewhere in the tax fraud case? We think we've got it – it turns out Marciano is part owner of a chain of rental outfits. David and I went to pay a visit to the other owner yesterday – he's some poor slob in a cheap dive near Watts. He insists he's part owner, but he didn't look like he had energy to do much other than shuffle down to the corner bar."

David snorted sarcastically. "It'd surprise me if he did that much. He probably sits at home and drinks." He went on, not noticing the flicker in Don's eyes. "Anyway, we think Marciano is paying him to be a front to hide his association with the business. We're going to get this stuff to Charlie, and see if he can tie it in anywhere."

Don nodded. This would indeed be a break; Charlie had hit a point where he could go no further, and had kept insisting that he needed more data, that there was something unaccounted for. The derelict front man was hopefully the missing link. "Good. Anything new on our arsonist?"

Megan spoke up. "Yeah – another fire last night – same M.O. – accelerant sprayed in an outside vent, and the fire started in the building ductwork. We're checking the business records, but the indications are that it's the same as the first two – all of them failing businesses, on the verge of bankruptcy. All different owners though. We could probably use Charlie on this one too." At Don's hesitation, she prodded, "We need to find a common link between them."

Don sighed. "All right. I'll take that one to him this afternoon. David, you can run your info on the front man over to him this morning – maybe he can take a look at that one when he gets a break."

David nodded. "Right on it." He grabbed the file that Colby held out to him as he headed for his desk, snatched another file, and made his way toward the elevator. Don watched him go as Colby returned to his desk, and his eyes caught Megan's.

Megan was good in an interrogation room, not because she was physically intimidating, like Colby, or scarily intense, like David. She was good because she had a look that was frankly unnerving; a look that said she could see right through you. She was using it on Don now, but he pretended not to notice as he turned for his own desk. "You okay?" she asked quietly.

Don shrugged, nonchalantly. "Yeah. Why?"

"You look tired."

He shot her a look. "Still having a hard time sleeping."

"Mmm," was her only response. He didn't look at her eyes; he was afraid she'd see through him, see how strung out he really was.

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Agent Pete Wilhelm had gotten to be SAC of the Philadelphia office of the Bureau the hard way, by working his way up. At forty, he was still sharp; in great physical condition – his gray eyes bright, his medium brown hair with just a strand or two of gray. He leaned back in his chair, and studied the man across from him. District Attorney Isaac Shaw was nattily dressed for an elected official, and just as sharp. Sharp, dark, good-looking features, sharp suit, sharp black eyes; young, but with an intelligence beyond his years. He was going places, and he knew it.

"So, tell me what you have on Moran," said Shaw.

"Nothing yet," admitted Wilhelm. "We just got the case this week. I have a couple guys collecting information on his business holdings, but there's nothing suspicious so far."

Shaw's eyes glinted, and Wilhelm could almost smell the ambition radiating from the man. "This is a big one. You need to put everyone extra you've got on it. The L.A. office hired a math whiz, and he found the connection between Moran's L.A. businesses, both legitimate and not. You should be looking at that."

"Yeah, I'd heard that. I was going to try to get hold of A.D. Wright; I thought maybe we could hire the same guy."

Shaw shook his head. "No, you can forget about that. He's the reason they threw out the L.A. case."

Pete frowned. "Wait – he's the reason they had a case to begin with – and he's also the reason they threw it out? Who was it?"

Shaw nodded. "A Dr. Charles Eppes."

Pete stared at him. "Eppes? As in SAC Don Eppes?"

"Yeah, they're brothers." Shaw grimaced. "It was actually kind of a tough break. The professor had been kidnapped by Moran's brothers – I wish I knew all the details, because it sounds like quite a story. Anyway, the judge ruled it a conflict of interest; said he shouldn't have been working on the case to begin with because of the kidnapping, and threw out his work. Moran's half brother, Lenny Angelo, is taking the fall for the L.A. meth lab bust. That's another thing – you guys should be looking for Angelo's equivalent on the East Coast – someone Moran hired to run the dirty side of his businesses. I'll bet he's got a Lenny Angelo out here, too."

Wilhelm sighed. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna have to put some more agents on this one. I'll look at scaring up a consultant, too." He paused for a moment, thinking.

Shaw's eyes traveled over his shoulder, looking through the glass out toward the office, and his eyebrows rose. "Looks like you have company."

Wilhelm turned in surprise, and immediately rose to his feet. "Holy crap. That's the big – guy – Dave Maxwell – what in the hell is he doing here?" His Director, Dave Maxwell, was indeed threading his way through the bullpen, shaking an occasional hand, escorted by Wilhelm's A.D., George Norris.

Wilhelm stepped forward and opened the door. "Director, George," he greeted them, and his eyes traveled to Maxwell's face. "To what do we owe the honor?"

Maxwell stuck out a hand. "Pete. We've got something we need to address." His eyes flickered to the conference room behind Wilhelm. "Can we meet in here?"

"Sure," said Wilhelm easily, stepping back to allow them in.

Shaw had risen to his feet. "George." He nodded at Norris, and stuck his hand out toward Maxwell. "Director, I'm Isaac Shaw, District Attorney's office. I was just leaving."

Maxwell shook his head as he gripped Shaw's hand. "Isaac, we were coming to see you next. Please stay; it will save us a trip."

"Of course," said Shaw quietly, shooting Wilhelm a glance as he shut the door and the men took chairs around a conference table. There was something big going down, and he was going to be right in the middle of it. He ran a tongue over his lower lip in anticipation.

Maxwell fixed them with a direct, troubled gaze. "Gentlemen, we've got a problem."

Out in the bullpen, Mike LaBonte rose casually from his desk, and headed toward the break room, ostensibly for a coffee, but actually to cast a glance through the glass windows of the conference room. He had seen Maxwell and Norris walk through the bullpen, and now they were cloistered in the conference room with his SAC, Wilhelm, and D.A. Shaw. It was unusual enough – Maxwell had only visited the Philadelphia office one other time during LaBonte's entire eleven years there, and he itched with curiosity, wondered what had prompted the visit. Could it possibly be the Moran case? He doubted it, but he knew that Maxwell's visit would be part of his report that evening, regardless of whether or not there was a connection. He leaned against the doorway of the break room, his eyes on the conference room windows, and sipped his coffee, his mind flipping over the possibilities.

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Charlie closed his eyes tight, his arm trembling with effort; his back against the blackboard.

"Hold on," said Larry, as David stepped up to the doorway of Charlie's office and paused, wondering whether or not to intrude.

Larry finished marking the line under Charlie's arm, and set the chalk back down in its tray. "Okay, you can step away."

Charlie moved away from the blackboard, rolling his shoulder, as Larry grabbed a protractor from the desk, measuring what looked like the latest in a series of radiating lines on the blackboard. "Nine degrees above horizontal," proclaimed Larry. "You're up another two degrees from last week."

Charlie sighed. "Which is negligible, given the measurement error." He craned his neck, looking for chalk dust on his shoulder, and brushing off his jacket.

"We've minimized the relative error by examining the R-squared, and accounting for variation as much as possible," Larry reminded him. "Even with error, you can't argue that there is still an upward trend here. I commend you on your continuing efforts with your therapist."

David knocked on the doorframe. "Excuse me. May I interrupt?"

Charlie whirled with a startled expression; and his eyes traveled anxiously past David to the hallway outside. "David! Ah, yes, of course, come in."

Charlie looked decidedly nervous in spite of his welcoming statement, and David put a slight smile on his face, which he hoped was reassuring, wondering what was generating the anxiety. "I just was dropping off some new information for you on the tax fraud case. We found another link – a phony part-owner of a rental chain." His eyes traveled toward the lines on blackboard as Charlie took the files from him, leafing through them. "R-squared? R as in radius?"

Larry jumped on the question eagerly. "R as in Repeatability and Reproducibility. It's a means of calculating measurement error, commonly used in quality control. We've reduced one of the aspects of variation by having the same operator, namely myself, record the measurement each time."

He opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by a voice from the doorway. "Charlie?"

Charlie's head shot up, and he blanched, his eyes widening as he caught sight of Amita, who had paused, one hand on the doorframe. She had a smile on her face, but it looked frozen, and her expression was decidedly suspicious. "Am – Amita," he stammered. "Yes, what is it?"

Her eyes rested on David, who could see suspicion transforming into anger. He looked at Charlie – never had a man looked more guilty, David thought, beginning to realize why Charlie had seemed so nervous.

"That's what I'd like to know," replied Amita, the anger now leaching into her voice. "What is this?"

Larry scratched the back of his head with an uncomfortable expression, as Charlie raised a hand in a placating gesture. "It's nothing, really, just a quick question on a tax fraud case. I – ah – can we talk later? I'll tell you about it." He turned pleading eyes on her, begging forgiveness and understanding, neither of which was forthcoming.

Amita was trembling with anger, and she could feel tears threatening. He'd lied to her, she thought. After everything that had happened, after everything he'd been through, everything he'd put her through, he was consulting again, and he'd lied to her about it. Even Larry knew – apparently everyone did but her. "I can't believe you did this," she whispered, her voice shaking.

"Amita – please – I'll explain, I promise," Charlie implored.

"I've got to go – I have a class," she said abruptly, and whirled in the doorway, as Charlie took a step toward her. He stopped in his tracks, his shoulders drooping, and David and Larry exchanged a commiserating look.

David scratched the back of his head, unconsciously imitating Larry's earlier gesture. "Well, I guess I'll give you some time to look at that data. I'll see you later." He put his head down and beat a hasty retreat for the door, as Charlie turned worried eyes to Larry.

"What should I do? How do I fix this?"

Larry sighed. "I fear the only thing you can do now is to be truthful." He looked with sympathy at his friend. "Something, perhaps, which you should have considered from the start – although frankly, I don't know much benefit you would have accrued. I'm afraid she was bound to be irate, either way."

Charlie moved slowly to his desk, threw the files on it and sank onto a chair. He propped an elbow on his desk, and put his head in his hand, as if it weighed too much to support with merely a neck. "I think I blew it, Larry," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "I think I really blew it."

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End Chapter 3