He had been watching the closed door for what seemed like forever, but when it was wrenched open the Governor of the prison still jumped.

He was sitting there with the displaced guards…waiting.

Normal "Interrogation" procedure was that when the interviews were terminated, the visiting police/investigator would press a small button under the counter, signalling that it was time for the guards to re-enter the room. Instead, the first the waiting staff outside knew of the cessation of the interview between Mikey and Rich was when the door to the room swung open so forcibly it crashed into the wall.

The Governor looked up his face clearly showing his surprise – which turned to outright shock at the sight of Mikey Essen's face. Mikey/Derek wasn't known for his temper. He spent more time looking for ways to twist situations to his advantage rather than bothering with the effort of getting angry about them. His serious temper bursts were rare, although not unheard of.

That he was angry now was clear.

Derek glanced behind him into the interview room and then turned forwards again, stepping across the threshold and towards the Governor.

"Get him whatever privilege he demands." He barked jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards where Rich was and then, as if considering something, "Assign a guard to him, personally; only people you would trust with your grandmother. Get it?"

The Governor, though normally someone with a backbone, nodded weakly and Derek walked past him without any acknowledgement as he made his way to the guard station where he could sign out.

Hobbling with his cast and solitary crutch, Jazz followed. He looked pale and somewhat shell-shocked but he didn't enlighten the authority figure in front of him, with either the subject of Rich's statements – or the specific part which had made Mikey look suddenly angry...ill even.

In fact, it wasn't until Derek and Jazz were once again outside of the prison and walking to the parking lot that either of them spoke. This time it was Jazz, and he spoke only as he answered his ringing cell. Derek ignored him.

"Yeah. We're just leaving the prison now." Jazz told the unidentified caller. "How was it? Hmmm...Interesting."

Derek snorted to himself as he deduced who was on the other end of the phone and what they were talking about.

"Yes. I agree. I don't like being in the dark either. Give us forty minutes." Jazz went on and the anger in his voice became evident. "I know it's only a twenty minute drive. My partner and I have stuff to discuss first."

Derek swung round. "Tell him we'll be there in twenty." He said quietly but forcefully. "I'm only discussing this once."

"There" turned out to be the rooftop level of a high-level parking garage.

Derek knew it already.

It was disused, difficult to access and somewhere that he had used to meet Spike before. It was also not overlooked and was located in a fairly remote part of town; useful for when the "discussion" you were going to have was likely to be a loud one. Derek was convinced this would be the case right now.

Spike was already there when they arrived. He was standing near the edge of the level peering down at the depths below, looking almost gangster-like in a thick camel coat, a dark brown silk scarf hanging loosely round his neck.

"You look like Don fucking Corleone." Derek greeted his boss which made the guy turn around sharply. There was no humour in Derek's voice.

Spike shrugged. "Christmas presents from the missus." He said matter-of-factly. "She thinks they make me look distinguished."

"They say love is blind." Derek retorted.

Spike sighed. "Don't fucking start. I was having a good day until you decided to come into work on your day off."

Derek snorted. "So was I until I realised someone wasn't being honest with me." His eyes bore into Spike. Rich's revelations had opened Derek's eyes in many ways.

"That's a fucking joke." Jazz spat out from beside his friend. "Pot meet kettle."

Jazz was biding his time, holding his temper in. He didn't like being lied to and it was clear from the conversation with Rich that Mikey or someone was lying to him. He had a burning suspicion it was Mikey and Jazz had every intention of making sure Spike knew it. There was no room in their department for secrets any more.

Spike glanced at Jazz when he recognised the angry tone in the guy's voice. Then he glanced at Derek and raised an eyebrow.

"I let Jazz sit in on the conversation with Rich." Derek explained.

"Oh?" Spike hoped he didn't know the reason behind the tension between them all...except he was fairly sure he did.

Derek ignored him. "Why do I get the feeling you've been holding out on me…sir?"

Spike looked taken aback. "Meaning?"
"Where's Papillion?" Derek asked firmly whilst not explaining the reasoning behind his question.

His boss shrugged. He wasn't explaining either even though he was now certain that he knew at least something about Rich's revelations.

"Spike. Don't fuck with me. I have every belief that we are going to get word any minute that fucker Rich wants to go into protective custody."

Spike despite his own suspicions was confused. "Why?"

Derek sighed. "Rich said some stuff back at the prison which should make him a dead man if Papillion was still around. He gave me information that he'd kept back as a Get-out-of-Jail but he didn't use it sooner…why? Conclusion? Despite his blasé attitude the guy is scared. He thinks that by telling us he knows stuff we will protect him." He looked at Spike. "He's never shown any sign of being scared for himself before, but he's always avoided doing anything which would put his daughter in danger. What's changed? Has Papillion stepped over the mark? Is his daughter not a consideration any more? The stakes have been upped Spike and I want to know why. I think you know."

Spike looked uncomfortable. "It's not Holly and it's not Papillion." he stated and Derek gave him his full attention as he sensed he was finally getting somewhere.

"How can you be sure?" Derek asked.

Spike sighed knowing that his next words would not be well received.

"Because they are both dead."

"What?" Derek was astounded. This was the first he had heard. "When?"
"About two weeks after we arrested Rich we found their bodies..." Spike held a hand up, anticipating Derek's next question. "...confirmed by DNA." Spike went on. "Rich knows. He was allowed to attend Holly's funeral."

Spike looked at Jazz. The latter man knew he should feel guilty that he too knew this and hadn't told Derek, but he didn't feel guilty because "Mikey" had been withholding information from him too.

"You knew that Papillion was dead and you never told me?" Derek was livid. "I've been worrying about the bastard coming after me...coming after Casey. You''re telling that it was all for nothing?"

Spike shook his head vigorously. "No! It was for something." He admitted. "We think...we have strong suspicions that Holly and Papillion were killed..." He stared pointedly at Derek. "...murdered by someone connected to the Sanchez murder."

Derek felt his stomach fall away. The murder of Tina Sanchez, third year Sports Science major at Kingston pre-dated his own "death" but it was still his first "case". When they realised there was a link between the steroid scandal amongst the hockey team and the death of the former cheerleader-cum-track star, Derek had been assigned to the case. The trouble was he had picked up the paperwork a year after the murder. The trail was too cold to follow.

"You're telling me that you've known for months that Papillion and Holly were killed by Sal and you didn't tell me?" Derek's voice was ominously quiet. Spike sighed.

"I knew there were similarities between their deaths and that of Tina Sanchez. We never officially linked her death to the Venturi case. We never got a name for her killer."

Derek screwed up his face in disgust. "That's just semantics, boss. We knew there were links we just hadn't found them."

"You were on leave when Papillion's body was found and we knew nothing at the time about Sal being involved...not until the similarities in the scarves used to strangle them came up. Even then there was nothing to indicate that Sal knew of your involvement with Papillion. It just seemed like a coincidence. There was no reason to tell you...to worry you."

Derek snorted. "No reason huh? Yeah well you might want to reassess that little conclusion."

"Oh...why?" Spike asked tilting his head slightly to look at Derek but it was Jazz that answered causing Spike to swing his head round to regard him.

"Rich says that Papillion was killed by Sal because he gave him the information he desperately needed and he wanted to cover his tracks."

"What information?" Spike asked his heart sinking as he guessed for himself.

Jazz shrugged and fixed "Mikey" with a strong look of his own.

"The whereabouts of Derek Venturi."

Spike swore. Derek straightened. "Yeah...shit! Now do you see where your secrecy has got us?"

Jazz folded his arms. "You're hardly one to cast accusations about secrecy and withholding information. Who is Derek Venturi? And what is he to this department?"

Spike turned away prepared to leave Derek to answer the questions but Derek was having none of it.

"Yeah Spike...What is Derek Venturi to this department?" Derek said. Spike went to answer the question but Derek shook his head and held up a hand.

"I'll tell you what...you fill Jazz in...I have other places to be." He turned on his tail and started walking towards the exit. He would take his car, the fuckers could call a cab or something.

He hadn't walked more than six steps when Spike called after him.

"Derek!"

Derek paused and turned around, ignoring the disgusted look on Jazz's face.

"Where are you going?" Spike asked sounding uncertain.

Derek shrugged with more nonchalance than he felt.

"You've put my whole family at risk. Especially Casey." He said. "I don't have time to sit and rehash old bedtime stories with a guy who doesn't trust me and another who I'm not so sure I trust any more. You two get your stories straight and I'll see you when you can do something useful for me."

And with that, he walked away.

Jazz raised an eyebrow as Spike, concern written all over his face eventually lost sight of Derek's back and gave his attention to his remaining subordinate.

"I guess you've got some talking to do." Jazz said.

Spike nodded. "This damn roof top is freezing. Let's go find a hot drink and something dripping in butter and syrup. I need comfort food and screw my wife's healthy eating plan."

It took them a while to get to a diner because they had to find a cab, but eventually they were settled in a corner booth where they could see the rest of the clientèle and were far enough away from strange ears to make sure the story would remain between them. They ordered and waited for the food before beginning.

Spike sipped his coffee and then got started, sensing that his junior was going to get vocal if he didn't get on with it.

"I've only been in this department for seven years." Spike began. "Before this I was based in Toronto doing stuff that was a bit more mainstream; a bit more police work and a bit less 007– James Bond I am not...nor did I ever want to be. I worked in the Organised Crime section, headed it up actually, and I flatter myself that I was moderately successful at it: I brought down several big shot gang leaders – people who would have given some of the old British gangsters a run for their money, lock stock and nine smoking barrels." he paused and Jazz thought maybe he was expected to laugh, but he couldn't. Spike moved on.

"There was one guy that I couldn't rein in though, one guy we tried for years to put away but there was never anything concrete enough to stand up in court. We cleared case after case, filled prisons full of guys who looked like small fry in comparison to Sal, but though we could nearly always identify the scams, jobs and deaths that he had a hand in, we could never build a case to take him down – a fact that amuses the hell out of him to this day. Nothing stuck and we gave him the nickname "Teflon Sal".

Just over seven years ago, I get a call from one of my former army buddies who was working for the RCMP in London to say that he'd been contacted by a college kid with a really far-fetched story but that the guy was so obviously shit-scared he didn't know what else to do but to pass the case to me."

Spike stuck a mouthful of pancake into his mouth, washed it down with coffee and contemplated Jazz over his coffee mug.

"That was when I met Derek Venturi." he took a deep breath. "Derek back then was a different sort of guy to the Derek we work with. I didn't get time to look into his background before I saw him which was probably a good thing for Derek because otherwise I might not have given him the time of day. Although maybe a "good thing" is a relative term." Spike's voice trailed away as he realised that if he hadn't seen Derek, he wouldn't have been persuaded to get involved in the case against one of the most dangerous men in Canada. He would still have his old life and who knew where he would be right now.

Spike coughed bringing himself back to the subject at hand. "Derek was a Sports major at Queens University. He was their resident ice hockey star – truly amazing on the ice." He smirked. "He knew it too."

Spike went on, telling Jazz about Derek and how they first met. He told him about the decision to use Derek as a source...and the subsequent decision to try for a conviction with its disastrous consequences. Relating the circumstances of Derek's "death" was not easy for Spike. He still felt immensely guilty about what that decision had done to Derek's future – even though he had carved a new one out for himself, and just lately seemed to be happy again.

A full hour after the tale had started, Jazz was in possession of all the facts – yet he still had two questions.

"Why didn't you trust me?" he asked. "I've never given you a reason not to trust me."

Spike nodded. "I know. But you have to understand that by the time you came on the scene, we were so used to not telling anyone it was easier to stick to that policy. The fewer people who knew his real name, the better. It's really hard to keep calling him Mikey knowing that it isn't his real name."

"And Casey?" Jazz asked. He was still reeling from the revelation that the girl he thought had bowled his friend over was in fact the guy's sister. Had Jazz really mis-read the signs so badly.

"She's his step sister." Spike explained. "On the face of it the relationship is complicated. In reality, it's actually really straight-forward."

"He wants her."

"It's a bit more than that...and I'd say it was mutual."

"Is she a security risk?"Jazz asked.

"Is she a security risk?" Spike echoed. "No more than any of us. In fact in some ways less so. Casey feels the need to stick her nose into Derek's business yes, but she is also fiercely loyal. They are incredibly protective of their family – but more so of each other. You heard the debrief on the Papillion case. They are quite a team when they need to be."

Jazz nodded. "So what now?"

Spike finished up the last of his pancakes and sat back.

"Now, I want to know absolutely everything about your visit to Rich."

Derek pulled up outside his apartment block and quickly made his way into the building. He barely nodded at the security guard in the foyer, instead choosing to sprint for the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

He let himself into the apartment quickly and closed the door behind him.

It was strange coming home when Casey wasn't there. Her absence wasn't unusual because they often worked different shifts but there was something about the atmosphere right now as if the living space was bigger, less homely and colder than normal. Her coat wasn't hanging by the door, and her shoes were missing from the rack; a rack that just a few short months ago hadn't even been there.

Derek walked into their bedroom, retrieved his small "carry-on" case from his closet and placed it on the bed. With a practised ease he began to fill the bag with items for a short stay away from home: underwear, sleepwear, day-wear and the necessary toiletries.

Going away at short notice wasn't unusual for him. The urgency and the fear behind the trip were.

The most important items packed were the ones he placed in the side pocket of his suitcase: his documentation to travel. It consisted of identification documents in his alter ego of Michael Essen and the licence to carry side-arms which applied even on board an aircraft. There were few people in Canada who had the rites of passage owned by Derek and his team.

Before Derek left the apartment he considered phoning Casey, but decided against it. What good would it do? It would make her behave differently and if he knew her, the differences would put her in more danger rather than less. Despite the irritation he felt over Spike's secrecy, he knew his boss and he knew that by now there were probably at least two protection details outside of Casey's London apartment. Telling Casey that his cover was blown would make her jump on the next flight to Ottawa to "protect" him. He chuckled and although he felt little humour in the idea of Casey protecting him, he did acknowledge that the idea of her caring about him was a nice one.

He zipped the bag up, checked the chambers of his gun and then when he was satisfied that he was prepared, Derek Venturi left the building.