Part Seven

"What's this about a dog, Cartwright?"

"It was an argument with his neighbors. Look." Annie handed Gene a thin stack of paper, maybe only three or four pages, which he took with a sideways look at her. "I think I'm onto somethin', Guv."

Gene leafed through the pages, hoping that she was right, hoping that this incident with the dog was more than it seemed. As he read—as quickly as possible—about the argument over the stray creature, he wondered if such an argument was enough to cause someone to kill... He sighed and handed the papers back to Annie. "We'll look into it. Seems a stupid thing to kill someone over, but most killers I've run across are a little lacking in the brain department."

"Not like Sam," Annie said quietly, holding her DCI's eyes.

"Not like Sam," he echoed, then shook himself mentally. "Keep looking into this, Cartwright. See what you can turn up."

"Right, Guv. Where do you want me to start?" she asked.

"You can start by trying to find the dog," Gene said.

Annie blinked. "What good would that do?"

"About ten minutes ago, Ray discovered some sort of animal hair on that bloody shirt of Tyler's," Gene explained. He was trying to sound calm, but this could be something good. This could be hope. "See if you can find the dog and get a sample of its hair."

"Yes, Guv." There was hope in her, too, he could tell. She held herself a little straighter, and her eyes were a little brighter. "I'll get right on it."

"Snap to it!" the Guv ordered, and Annie hurried to obey, grabbing up her notepad and pen and slipping into her jacket. She also took an evidence bag with her, Gene noticed. Good girl. Quickly, he turned to Ray before he could start getting sentimental about his team. "Raymondo, you still got that dog hair?"

"It's a dog hair, is it?" Ray asked, looking up from whatever he was doing.

"I think so," Gene answered. And he did. He had a hunch that the hair from the disputed stray would match the hair found on the shirt.

"Right here, Guv." Ray held up a small, clear bag.

So he was using the evidence bags, too. It was starting to be a good habit. And that was due to Sam. A bittersweet smile fought for leeway on Gene's face, but he fought back. "Keep it where you won't lose it," he told his DS.

"Right, Guv." Ray nodded and set the bag on the desk. "What's this about a dog?"

Again, Gene almost smiled. If his DI wasn't accused of murder and an innocent man wasn't dead, the whole dog situation might be funny. "Seems as though our victim had some sort of spat goin' on with his neighbors. Summat about a stray dog."

"A stray dog?" Ray's eyebrows rose in a look of skepticism. "You think that bloke's head was bashed in because of some mutt?"

"We've put away bastards who've killed for less," Gene replied.

"True, Guv." Ray nodded.

Gene frowned as he realized that something was missing... someone was missing... "Where's Skelton?" he asked sharply, inexplicably worried about the blundering young copper.

"In the collator's den," Ray replied with a nod in that direction. "Siftin' through paperwork. Said you told 'im to look for some connection with a snotty restaurant."

"I did." Gene stood akimbo. "I didn't expect him to listen so well."

Ray shrugged. "Chris's growin' up, Guv." He winced. "' Least, I hope so..."

Chris sneezed once. Then twice. Then three times. Three might be a lucky number. He wasn't sure, but he hoped so. He deposited the large stack of old papers on the edge of the nearby table, then bent over them and began slowly reading over them, looking carefully for any mention of The Gilded Button.

They had been working on two cases when the Boss had gotten himself arrested. One was an armed robbery case, in which a witness had been shot and nearly died. The other was the murder of a vagrant who called himself Gypsy Tom. On the surface, neither of them seemed to have anything to do with the fancy restaurant.

But apparently, there had been a connection, and Sam had been looking into it. Could it be that someone didn't want him to find out more? Is that why Sam had been framed? But what about the victim? Did Robert Boardman have something to do with one of these two cases, too?

Chris was almost lost in thought when something pricked his subconscious. He blinked, shook himself and looked down at the paper on top of the stack. It was the record of a phone call from The Gilded Button to the police station. Apparently, a waiter and a patron had complained that a suspicious-looking man was hanging around the back entry to the building...

Chris's eyes widened as he read the details of the call. "Gypsy Tom..."

When he read the name of the patron who had complained, his eyes widened even further. "Robert Boardman!"

He thought he would faint when he read that the policemen who responded to the call had been DCI Gore and DS Babbin. His eyes narrowed as he frowned down at the paper. "Now why would a DCI and a DS respond to a call about a vagrant?" Maybe they had just been the closest coppers to the restaurant that night. Or maybe something else was going on...

"Apparently, there wasn't much interesting about Robert Boardman at all." Annie sighed and leaned her chin on her hand. "He didn't have many friends. He did his work quietly, then he went home every night alone. His hobbies seemed to be sketching animals and bird watching. Nothing unusual. He ate at the same restaurants at a strict routine. The only break from habit came recently, when he got into that row with his neighbors over that dog...which I haven't found yet."

"His boss said his work was a little slack lately, but he thought that was because Boardman seemed to have caught a cold," one of the other DC's spoke up.

"How long was his work slack?'" Gene asked, recognizing a pattern.

"For the past two weeks or so," the DC replied.

"When was that row with the neighbors?" Gene inquired of Annie.

Annie's eyebrows rose. "Two weeks ago."

"Looks like a pattern, Guv," Ray spoke up.

A pattern. That's what Sam would want us to look for... "Right. So we look into everything that happened two weeks ago and a little before. What happened to change Robert Boardman's life? And did that change have summat to do with his murder?"

That was when Chris burst into the room waving papers and blurting out something unintelligible about a button.

Of course, the Hunts' phone was in their kitchen. Sam groaned when he heard it ring. So no sneaking around on the phone for him.

Somehow, he had to find out if what he'd suspected about the incident at the restaurant was true. He had to find a phone so he could call the restaurant and speak to that waiter... What was his name? Stanly! That was it. Stanly Summers.

For perhaps the billionth time, Sam wished he had his mobile. Then he could just call the restaurant and ask to speak with Stanly and that would be that.

Maybe I should just ask Alice. Maybe she'll let me call. He listened quietly as Alice laughed with the person on the other end of the line. No. She'll say I need to get my rest.

Sam appreciated what Gene and Alice had done for him. They had practically saved his life. But he was about sick of mothering. He needed to get out and get to a phone and do some work. So while Alice was on the phone, Sam carefully stood and started tiptoeing toward the front door. His body screamed at him to stop, achy, shuddery, feverish pains pinching at his muscles. But he had to keep going. There was a killer out there. People were in danger—possibly people he knew.

When he was halfway to the door, Sam stopped to catch his breath. His head was spinning. He was still sick, he knew, and sore from the beating he had taken. "That doesn't matter," he muttered to himself. "I have to help." He forced himself to keep walking, forced himself to make it to the door. He wanted to laugh in triumph when he finally reached it and leaned against it. For a moment, he closed his eyes and smiled, feeling the cool wood against his cheek...

"Sam Tyler, you're not thinking of walking out of that door, are you?"

Sam groaned and opened his eyes, still leaning against the door, to see Alice approaching him. "Yes. Yes, I am thinking of it."

"Well thinking is as far as you're going to get." She crossed her arms over her chest. "And if you don't come back to the sofa right now, I'll drag you there."

Sam considered her proposition and sighed. "Well, you might have to drag me anyway, because I feel like-"

A sudden booming and popping sound caused Sam to lurch back from the door, staggering against Alice's proffered arm. "Alice, what-?"

"I don't know." Her eyes were wide. "Maybe we should call Gene."

"Let's see what it is." Sam withdrew from her grasp and staggered toward the door.

"Sam-" Alice cautioned.

"I just want to see what that sound was." A sinking feeling gripped Sam's stomach. It didn't feel good, especially mixed with the nausea that was already there. But Sam didn't let that distract him. Slowly, he opened the front door of the Hunts' house and peered outside. At first, he saw nothing that could have caused the noise. Then, his sharp eyes picked up a familiar sight. He grimaced and closed the door, turning to face Alice. "Alice, we probably need to call your husband. I think we've been given a warning."

"What do you mean, Sam?" Alice asked, her face calm and still, though her eyes were wide.

"Firecrackers," Sam told her with a wry smile. "Someone just tossed firecrackers in your yard."

"Are you sure it wasn't just some wild teenagers or something?" Alice suggested, but she didn't sound very sure about that.

"Let's just say I have a feeling about this," Sam told her slowly. And he did. It was that not-so-nice, sinking-and-nauseated feeling.

"Who would want to warn us, Sam? And about what?" Alice asked.

"I don't know." He bit his lip and shook his head, thinking hard. It had to do with the case, he was sure. "Could be someone who's mad at Gene—"

Alice rolled her eyes, grinning a bit. "Can't imagine why anyone would be mad at Gene."

"-or it could have to do with this case," Sam finished. And that was what he really thought. He took a deep breath and gathered his courage. "We should tell the Guv—I mean, Gene—soon. I'd also like to use your phone to make a very important call. It's about the case."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "Sam-"

"Please." He gave her what he hoped was his best and most fervent pleading look. "Please. It's important."

Alice sighed. "Fine. But we'll have to ask Gene about it first."

"Fine." Sam shrugged, then winced at the aching that assailed his body. "And if you don't mind... I think I'll need a little help getting back to the couch."

Alice moved quickly to his side. "Maybe if you weren't so stubborn, trying to sneak out of the house, you wouldn't be feeling so bad."

"Maybe," Sam admitted a bit breathlessly as Alice helped him across the living room and back to the sofa, that blessedly soft sofa that he was going to miss when he was back to sleeping in his bed. "But I had to try."

"Next time you try it, I'm going to smack you," Alice told him, and he wasn't sure that she was entirely joking.

But as he relaxed against the pillows of the couch, he grinned. He had accomplished something today. He was going to get to help with the case!