"Take your time, and rest when you need to. And if you feel you have to stop at anytime, then just stop; we can finish this later, okay?"

Olsen stepped back to sit in a chair near the door of the ICU cubicle. Haseejian and Healey, both smiling warmly, moved closer to either side of the bed as Mike nodded in understanding and agreement. The two homicide detectives had looked in on both their injured colleagues a little earlier; this visit was an official one, and their professional demeanors took over.

"You know what we need, Mike," Haseejian prompted gently, "but don't rush it, we don't have to do this all at once, okay?"

With a grateful smile, Mike nodded again. "Thanks, Norm." His voice was weak and hoarse.

"Mike, if I may," Healey began as he flipped his notebook open, "what were you and Steve doing there in the first place?"

"Sudbina," Mike said with a tiny smile. At Healey's frown, he continued, "It's Serbian. It means fate." His smile disappeared. "We were a couple a blocks away, trying to locate one of our witnesses, and not successfully. We were just getting back in the car when this young guy walked up to us, he was carrying a couple of suitcases, and asked if we were cops.

"He told us he lived in this hovel, he called it, a couple of blocks away and he'd literally just packed up and moved out because he was afraid of his neighbour." Mike paused and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.

"He was very calm about it all; he told us he was used to his drug addict neighbour getting wasted and throwing stuff around and screaming like a banshee, but this time he seemed to have acquired a gun. He said he was sitting on his couch when a bullet came through the wall and almost hit him. So he packed up and got the hell out of there."

Healey and Haseejian exchanged a look, a move not lost on the lieutenant, who chose not to comment on it.

"Did you get the guy's name?" Haseejian asked.

Mike nodded. "Steve has it in his book."

They had noticed the last entries when they went through both detectives' notebooks; now they knew the significance of the last one in Steve's.

"We drove over there and went in. The entire building seemed to be empty; there was no one around. We went up to the apartment in question; the front door was open. We had our guns out and I identified us as we entered.

"We went through the whole place and there was nothing. It was filthy and it reeked and I didn't want to touch anything, but we didn't find anybody. We did see the bullet holes in the bedroom walls."

Mike paused again, closing his eyes and holding his breath. After a few seconds he opened his eyes and reached for the glass of water on the table beside the bed. Haseejian beat him to it and held the glass for him to take a sip through the straw.

Mike nodded his thanks as Haseejian put the glass back on the table.

"We can take a break if you want…"

"No, no," Mike said slowly and carefully, "you need to hear this and I'm fine, really. I'm not in much pain, I'm just really weak. But thanks."

"Sure, but….take your time, okay? Like I said, there's no rush."

Mike took a deep break before starting again. "We put our guns away, well, at least I did, I'm not sure about Steve, he was behind me. We started to walk back to the front door when we heard this sound from the kitchen. It sounded like a rat skittering across the floor."

Mike gaze had drifted down from Haseejian's face and he was now staring unfocussed towards the foot of the bed. His already low voice got even quieter. "He was on the floor in front of the sink – the cupboard door was open…he must have been hiding in there. He looked like a teenager, a kid… he was almost naked and covered in…filth… his eyes were wild and he was grinning at us…" Mike almost shuddered.

"I think I was reaching for my gun when he shot me…I don't think I even saw the gun. It was like my shoulder exploded and I was slammed backwards…against the fridge I think…" He paused again and took another deep breath. "I remember sitting on the floor leaning against the fridge…my whole right side was numb but I could feel the blood soaking through my clothes…

"I must have blacked out or something 'cause the next thing I remember was hearing this horrendous racket coming from another room…thumps, like bodies being hit, this horrible screaming and Steve yelling and then gasping in pain… I knew I had to help him." He swallowed, breathing shallowly. Olsen leaned forward, as if to say something, then thought better of it and waited.

Mike took a deep breath and seemed to steady himself. "I, ah, I managed to get to my feet and down the hallway…I could feel the blood dripping from my fingers and that scared me…They were, ah, they were on the bed, the kid had a knife and Steve was trying to hold him off…Steve's face was covered in blood and I knew he was in real trouble," Mike's voice cracked slightly but he continued, "I, ah, I had my gun in my left hand – I knew I was losing consciousness - I leaned against the doorframe and I pulled the trigger… there was nothing else I could do except pray that I didn't hit Steve …" He stopped, his breaths now coming rapidly, still staring into nothingness.

Healey put a reassuring hand on Mike's left shoulder but didn't say anything. He looked up at Haseejian and they exchanged a quick look. After several long moments, Mike breaths became longer and deeper and he continued so quietly that they had to strain to hear him, "The kid, um, he seemed to fly off the bed so I knew I'd hit him…Steve looked at me, he looked so bad, then he started to crawl across the bed towards me…then, uh, I don't know how, but he got up, the kid, he got up and he still had the knife in his hand and he lunged at Steve and I shot again and he went down…"

Haseejian and Healey had stopped writing and froze, their eyes boring into the lieutenant's face. They resisted the urge to look at each other, knowing that Mike would most likely see them do it.

Mike continued to stare unfocussed at the foot of the bed. He didn't move. No one said a word as they waited, knowing he only had a little more to tell them. Very slowly his eyes seemed to focus and he looked up at Healey.

"I think I lost consciousness after that; I don't remember anything else." Mike looked slowly from Healey to Haseejian. "I killed him, didn't I? The kid?"

At Haseejian's commiserating nod, Mike closed his eyes and seemed to sink even deeper into the pillows.

Olsen, Haseejian and Healey looked at each other, at a loss. Eventually Olsen got up and approached the bed. "You didn't have a choice, Mike, it was either that kid or Steve. You did the right thing."

When there was no response, he turned briefly to the others, uneasy, then said a little louder than necessary, "Well, we've got all we need for now. You just rest." He patted Mike's left hand as he nodded towards the door, Healey and Haseejian preceding him out.

They walked to the waiting room in silence. Then Haseejian turned to Olsen. "Rudy, we may have a problem."

"What do you mean?"

Haseejian and Healey exchanged a glance before Healey said, "Look, we haven't gotten the complete autopsy report yet, or a toxicology report, but ballistics have already told us that both bullets in the kid were Mike's."

"Well, we kinda knew that already, what's this problem you're talking about?"

Healey glanced at Haseejian, who took the ball. "The first was into his chest from the kid's left side, and the second was straight into the heart through the sternum."

"Yeah, so?"

"Rudy, we found the knife under the kid when we lifted him. If the kid had the knife in his hand when he was shot in the heart, there's no way it would've ended up under him when he fell back." He paused, glanced at Healey again then sheepishly back at Olsen. "We've been running through every possibility, we even borrowed some dummies from the lab to do a few simulations. There's no way the knife would have ended up under the kid if things went down the way Mike says they did," he finished almost apologetically.

Olsen hesitated for a second then growled with studied deliberateness. "So what you're trying to tell me is Mike put the second shot into a dead man? Why? Why would he do that? Rage? Vindictiveness? He was bleeding to death, for Christ sake, it doesn't make any sense!"

The two homicide detectives held their ground silently, fully aware the captain needed to vent his sudden fury. Realizing he was 'shooting the messenger', Olsen put his hands up and smiled with reluctant acquiescence. "I'm sorry, fellas, I shouldn't be taking this out on you, you're just doing your job. Look, ah, just keep this under your hats for now, okay, until you can talk to Steve and hear what he has to say. I mean, after all, he was in the room as well and even though he was no doubt in a lot of pain, he didn't pass out like Mike did. When are you going to get a chance to talk to him?"

Haseejian brightened. "He's doing a lot better but he still can't talk to us yet, what with the broken jaw, until the swelling goes down some more. They're moving him into a private room tomorrow morning, so we're gonna see him tomorrow afternoon. He asked us for a typewriter," he said with a chuckle. "He said he can type faster than he can write. It might end up being the world's most labor-intensive interview, but he's well enough to go through it, he says."

"Well, don't read me wrong on this, fellas, but just make sure you talk to Steve before he and Mike get to see each other."

Both Haseejian and Healey looked at the captain with barely concealed shock.

"It's not what you're thinking," Olsen said quickly. "I'm not implying that Mike and he would collude on a cover story." When neither detective relaxed, he continued firmly, "I just want to make sure all our ducks, and I meant all our ducks are in a row and everything is above board. If, for any reason whatsoever, there are legal or disciplinary complications stemming from this down the road, I want to be absolutely sure we've done everything we could possibly do to ensure that we went by the book on this one. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," they mumbled, recognizing that Olsen was right but loath to acknowledge the truth behind the words.

Olsen glanced at his watch. "Look, it's been a hell of a couple of days. Why don't you both go home and get a good night's sleep and start again with fresh eyes tomorrow, okay?"

Haseejian glanced at Healey before nodding. "I think that's a good idea, sir. Listen, ah, can we give you a lift downtown?"

"Don't worry about it," Olsen said kindly, "I have my car here. Besides, I'm gonna go back in and check on both of them, just to make sure, you know…"

Healey smiled at the badly hidden affection in the captain's voice. "If either of them is awake, give 'em our best, okay?"

"Will do."

Haseejian and Healey watched as the older man walked back across the waiting room towards ICU. They turned to each other with concerned looks, then silently the two worried, heavy-hearted sergeants headed for the exit.