"Okay, so, here are the files," Haseejian said as he put the cardboard box on the picnic table in Mike's backyard. He reached in, took out the paperwork and laid it on the table. Healey had followed with a stack of legal length pads of paper and a handful of newly sharpened pencils.

Wearing a no-longer-white barbeque apron and holding a pair of long tongs in his left hand, Mike glanced over from the smoking grill just as Steve stepped through the back door from the kitchen with four opened beer bottles in his hands. While Mike was casual in a golf shirt and khakis, the others were still dressed for the office, though the jackets were gone, the ties were loosened and the sleeves rolled up.

Mike put the lid down on the barbeque and crossed to the end of the table, where the sergeants were now sitting, sorting out the paperwork. Steve had passed around the beer bottles, sticking a straw in his. Mike looked pointedly at the bottle in his partner's hand.

"What?" Steve asked, perplexed. "I finished the antibiotics two days ago. I can drink now, Mom," he chuckled as he raised his bottle in a salute and took a sip from the straw.

Feigning exasperation, Mike shook his head, turning to Haseejian. His smile disappeared. "So you guys are sure about this?"

His own expression atypically serious, Haseejian nodded soberly. "We went through everything, Mike – we even set up a sort of Chinese wall for Steve but we all came to the same conclusion. If Abbott is as squeaky clean as we all think he is, then it's the only logical interpretation of the facts we have in evidence."

Mike took a deep cheerless sigh. "The ramifications of this are going to be epic if you're right, you do realize that?" The other three glanced at each other and nodded. "Okay," he said resignedly, "let me get our dinner on the table and you can walk me through it." He went back to the barbeque.

Healey looked at Haseejian and sighed quietly. They all knew how much Mike loved his job and the department, and how deeply hurt he was going to be if what they believed happened actually occurred. But they also knew that his first passion was for the truth, at any cost, even if it meant personal or professional loss.

While the sergeants sorted out the paperwork, Steve went back and forth from the kitchen, setting the table and laying out the condiments and bowls of toppings. Mike brought two plates, with large hamburgers on buns, to the table, putting them down in front of Haseejian and Healey with a "Here you go, fellas", then went back for his own. "Steve," he called over his shoulder, "there's a strawberry smoothie in a glass in the fridge, and there's also a chocolate one ready-to-go in that plastic…thingy – with the handle – you know, from the blender? That's in the fridge too, in case you wanted a second one tonight."

Steve glanced at the two sergeants with a warm, surprised smile. "Thanks, Mike," he said as he got up and went back into the kitchen. Haseejian and Healey looked at each other and grinned.

When Steve came out with his strawberry smoothie and straw, the others had almost finished putting their burgers together. After taking his first bite, Mike asked, "So, where to you want to start?"

Haseejian took the lead, filling Mike in, between bites, as to how they had come to the conclusion that either Madsen or McKinley, or both, had been the 'mastermind' behind the turmoil they had been put through. They had long since finished their dinner by the time he got Mike up to speed.

"So," Healey continued, picking up the narrative, "we went to Personnel today and got their files. We really haven't had a chance to go through them yet – as you well know, the bureaucracy in our department is as red-tapey as anywhere else, and we had to get authorization from everyone, it seemed. But so far, well, as far as we know, Madsen and McKinley have no idea we pulled their files or that we have have any interest in them whatsoever."

"What we thought was," Haseejian took over again, "we'd leave these here with you and Steve tonight and you can go over them, Mike, and see if anything rings a bell. You know what we're looking for, of course, and it just makes sense that we leave it for you right now, 'cause there's really nothing Dan or I can add to this. If, for some reason, one of these guys has a score to settle with you, you're gonna know that better than us."

Mike was nodding. "That makes sense. But you know, just off the top, I don't remember these guys at all. I don't think I've even met either of them, let alone had some kind of run-in with them." He sighed, perplexed. "But, like you said, Steve 'n' I'll go through these tonight with a fine-toothed comb and see if we can come up with something. Right?" He looked up at his partner, who nodded in agreement.

# # # # #

After Haseejian and Healey had left, Mike and Steve had retreated back into the house, out of the encroaching darkness and chilling air. Now, leaning over the coffee table in the living room, the partners were going through the two personnel files. But so far, nothing had rung any bells.

Both Madsen and McKinley were relative newcomers to the department – Madsen a four-year veteran, McKinley a little over a year. They had been partners for six months. As Mike and Steve had been partners for longer than either patrolman had been on the force, any interaction Mike would have had with either of them would most probably have been with Steve as well. But so far, neither detective could recall having met the pair or spent time at a crime scene with either of them.

Both patrolmen had exemplary records; Madsen had one commendation already, for his quick response saving a driver from a burning vehicle. Neither had any disciplinary infractions, and evaluations from superiors were always above reproach.

"These guys could be the poster boys for our next recruitment campaign," Steve said with frustration as he closed McKinley's file. "I don't know, Mike, I don't see anything in either of these files that tells me one of these guys could suddenly go rogue and want to trash your career. It just doesn't make sense." He looked up at his equally baffled partner. "You?"

Mike shook his head. "Nothin'." He put Madsen's file on the table and sat back, taking off his reading glasses. "You're right, it doesn't make any sense…but it has to." He looked up and met Steve's eyes. "I know what I saw, Steve. I saw that knife in Pettet's hand, I'm absolutely sure of it. I didn't put it under him and I know you sure didn't." He leaned forward. "Tell me again what you remember at the bottom of the stairs."

Steve stared at his partner, frowning, then began to speak slowly. "I was in and out of consciousness, I'm sure, but I remember McKinley holding me, telling me everything was gonna be all right, that Andy was gonna find you and that back-up and ambulances were on the way."

"What else?" Mike asked encouragingly, somehow knowing there was a memory there that Steve hadn't recovered yet. "You were at the foot of the stairs with McKinley. Where was Madsen?"

"He'd gone upstairs, to find you."

"Alone?"

"Yeah."

"What happened next?"

"We were waiting, waiting for him to yell down that he'd found you, I guess. It seemed like a long time but I'm sure it was only seconds…less than a minute, it had to have been."

"Then what?"

"Then an ambulance arrived. I remember them running up to us and McKinley telling them to go upstairs first – I guess he figured that you were hurt worse than me because we hadn't heard anything from Madsen."

"So McKinley never went upstairs?"

"Not while he was with me, he never left me. Not until you came out on the gurney, I remember seeing that and then I guess I passed out."

Mike leaned back, smiling slightly, like the pieces were beginning to fall into place. "I want to see those reports, the ones from the Pettet scene – Madsen's, McKinley's, the second unit to arrive, the ambulance report, everything. I want to nail down that timeline, because right now I think our Patrolman Madsen might have some explaining to do."

# # # # #

"What are you doing here?" Olsen asked from the office door.

Mike Stone looked up over the top of his reading glasses and smiled devilishly. "I haven't been barred from the building, have I? I'm on sick leave, Rudy, remember? I'm here on my own time."

"Whose file is that?"

"Don't worry, it's mine."

"Yours?"

"Yeah, mine. Is there a problem with that?"

"Uh, no, I guess…."

"Good."

"Excuse me, Rudy," came a quiet voice from behind Olsen and he turned to see Steve standing there, a file in his hand as well.

Olsen took a step back and Steve slipped past him into the office, sitting in the second chair. The inspector looked up with an open, inquiring expression. "Anything we can get for you, Captain?" he asked pleasantly.

"Um….no," Olsen said tentatively, then turned from the door and walked slowly across the squad room.

Steve looked at Mike and they both chuckled. "I don't think he was expecting to see me here," Mike grinned, then looked back down at the thick file on his desk.

"Any luck?" Steve asked, tossing the file in his hand on the desk.

Mike stretched slightly, working his right shoulder as he continued to stare at the papers before him. "Naw, nothin' –" He froze in mid-motion, his right arm slightly elevated, his left hand on his right shoulder.

Steve hesitated for a couple of seconds but when Mike didn't move, he leaned forward. "Are you okay?"

Still staring at the file, Mike slowly lowered his hand and arm, then looked up into his partner's now very concerned eyes. The tiny traces of a disbelieving smile were playing across his lips.

"What?"

"I, uh, I have to make a phone call, but I think I may have just found our Rosetta Stone."