CHAPTER 5

Juliet knocked on the door one more time and yelled, "This is Detective Juliet O'Hara of the SBPD. We have a search warrant. Open this door, now!"

There was still no sound or sign of life from the other side, so Juliet nodded at the superintendent of the seedy apartment building. He stepped forward and unlocked the door, looking bored, as if he had to do this sort of thing for the police often. Shawn had no doubt that was the case as he stood back behind the three other officers who had accompanied them to the apartment. Gus stood next to him with his hand half-covering his nose. Something was obviously offending the Super-Sniffer, although Shawn didn't think the place smelled half as bad as it looked.

After the superintendent stepped away, Juliet nodded to Sanchez who pushed through the door first, gun raised. Juliet followed on his heels and then the other two officers flanked them. After several shouts of "Clear!" Shawn and Gus stepped through the door. The place had obviously been abandoned. The only sign that anyone had occupied it recently at all was a bag of garbage on the floor in the tiny kitchen area. Shawn figured that Riley North had just used the place as a front for his scam and hadn't actually lived in it full time. Shawn wandered through the small space as Juliet and the other officers did their officer-type things. The apartment only consisted of a living room that contained the kitchen area, one bedroom and one bathroom.

After checking the other rooms, and noting sand on the bathroom floor, Shawn walked back to the kitchen and nudged the garbage bag with his toe, wondering why they hadn't taken it out when they'd left. The whole place had been so meticulously cleared and cleaned it seemed odd that they would leave it behind. The bag wasn't securely closed, so he pushed at it again trying to make the top open a bit more. Juliet shot him a warning look when she saw him pushing at the bag. He gave her his best innocent smile and held up his hands. She narrowed her eyes at him. He grimaced and took a step away from the bag, thinking that Jules was totally catching on to him.

Gus hovered near the door to the apartment. A flash of inspiration hit Shawn and he looked up at the ceiling. "Gus! Check this out!" he said with his head tilted back. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his friend looking up as he walked over to join him.

"What is it?"

"I don't know, man, but it's so weird," he said, watching peripherally as Gus got closer and closer while still looking up at the phantom spot Shawn was studying. Finally, as he stepped up next to him, he kicked over the garbage bag. Its contents spilled across the kitchen floor.

"What are you guys doing?" barked Juliet, walking over to them.

Shawn pointed at Gus. "He did it!" he said as he scanned the garbage, squinting to read some receipts and noticing two pizza boxes.

"Shawn!" said Gus indignantly. "You made me do that."

Juliet sighed and said, "Just go now, you guys. Get out in the hallway, please."

"But..." said Shawn and Gus simultaneously.

Juliet had opened her mouth to lecture them some more when her cell phone rang. She held up a warning finger and answered the phone. After a moment, her expression turned to horror and Shawn felt his heart beat faster as he watched her. She put a hand to her mouth as she listened further and closed her eyes. Her face had drained of all color.

"Jules?" said Shawn, feeling more and more frightened.

"What happened?" asked Gus.

"Okay," she said quietly into the phone. Suddenly her eyes widened at something she heard on the other end of the line. "Follow him! We'll be right there!" She hung up and looked at Shawn and Gus with a stunned expression. "It's Lisa Michaelson. She's been killed."

Shawn and Gus exchanged a confused look for a moment as Juliet spoke quickly to one of the other officers. Shawn finally remembered the name as the woman Jules had sent to Lassiter's place with the delicious-smelling Italian food. "Lassie's date?" he asked incredulously.

Gus's eyes widened as he realized who they were talking about. "Oh my god, just now? Was she with Lassie?"

"Yes, or she'd just left. I'm not sure," said Juliet, sounding more flustered than Shawn had ever remembered her sounding. "That was Buzz, and as I was talking to him Carlton ran off. I need to get over there."

"Ran off?" asked Shawn, shaking his head in confusion.

"We're coming with you," said Gus firmly.

"So, is this related to the shooting?" he asked wonderingly.

Juliet shook her head and shrugged, wiping at her eyes as she walked quickly out of the apartment. Shawn and Gus rushed to follow.

oOoOoOoO

Lassiter could hear voices murmuring around him like a cloud of gnats. Still, he stared, and after a moment or an eternity, he started to reach out. He thought he should touch her, to be sure she wasn't breathing, or to say goodbye, or something. He heard someone say his name, warningly or pleadingly or both. He stood still again, hand outstretched, and when he looked at it, it was red from the flashing lights, causing him to draw in a sharp, choking breath. The world crashed in on him then, sounds suddenly loud and the air crisp in the night and Buzz's hand heavy on his shoulder. He could hear Buzz talking to someone and he somehow knew he was talking to Juliet on the phone, his subconscious having noted it. He blinked as if waking, seeing Lisa's body in the car as if it was a dream, and then he remembered the Buick. He turned and ran.

He heard Buzz's surprised shout behind him and after another moment the pounding of feet, but he just ran. How could I be so stupid? Why didn't I watch her get in her car and drive away? I knew that car shouldn't have been there. I just got her killed. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. His brain kept repeating the phrase to the beat of his running steps. He knew the car would be gone, but he ran anyway. It was the only thing he could do for her now. He stumbled around the corner of his street, catching himself with his hand again. This time, he felt the sharp pain in his hands and knees. He glanced down, noticing the bloody scrape across his palm. He could feel that his knees were in the same shape. He just kept running. Buzz called out to him as he followed, but Lassiter wasn't going to stop until he did what he needed to do.

The car was gone. Its absence was an accusation, and he slowed to a faltering walk as he approached the space it had occupied. There was a fresh oil spot on the asphalt, shining in the street lights. He walked slower and slower until he was standing where the driver of the car would've been, then he looked around. The car was nowhere in sight. Buzz was just catching up finally, gasping and staring at him as if he was some kind of monster. Lassiter put his hands on his hips, realizing that he was wheezing and having trouble catching his breath. He looked down at the parking space again and noticed something on the ground. It was a cigarette butt, freshly spent. He squatted down and grabbed it before Buzz got too close. He slipped it into his shirt pocket as the junior officer reached his side.

"Detective," gasped Buzz. "Why did you run back here?"

Lassiter stood up and shook his head, noticing once again that he was having difficulty breathing. A small corner of his mind registered worry, finally. Buzz seemed to notice as well.

"Are you okay? Maybe you should sit down," he said, motioning to the curb next to the oil spot.

Lassiter shook his head again and turned away. He didn't want to be near the space any longer. He started to walk towards his house. Buzz followed, radiating concern. When he reached his sidewalk, he turned and sat down heavily with elbows on knees and lowered his head, but the position constricted his straining lungs. He reversed and laid out on his back instead, knees still bent, and put his hands on his head as his lungs continued their rebellion. He could hear Buzz talking into his radio, then he felt his looming shadow as he stepped up to his side.

"Breathe through your nose," said Buzz as he squatted down next to Lassiter. He reached a hand out. "Pinch one of your nostrils closed."

Lassiter slapped at Buzz's hand, not sure if he'd been about to touch his nose and not caring to find out. "Back off," he hissed.

"I'm sorry, detective," said Buzz with one of his standard puppy-dog looks. Then his brow furrowed. "Why did you run back here, sir?"

Lassiter focused on his breathing for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. Then he realized what he was doing and had a small, quick argument with himself. Why are you hiding things? I'm going to fix this. What do you think you're doing? I'm doing what needs to be done. She was killed because of me. They're going to hold me back. They're going to think I'm in danger now. Vick is going to put a guard on me. I need to fix this. He blinked up at the faint stars struggling to be seen through the haze of a city night. What am I doing? He felt a strange detachment, as if his real self was suddenly pushed into the background by the shock and horror of the night. And by the seething anger that he felt boiling up from his core. He had to keep a rein on it, though. He had to figure out how to do what he was suddenly driven to do. For the first time since the shooting, things seemed clear to him. He had a single, simple goal. Get Riley North. He took what finally felt like a normal breath and said, "I thought I saw something over there earlier. Before it happened. I wanted to see if it was still there."

Buzz twisted to look across the street. "What did you see?"

"I don't know. Maybe a person. I don't know."

Buzz's brow furrowed deeper as he looked back at Lassiter. He seemed to have more questions, but he held them in. The sound of sirens reached them. Buzz stood as cars pulled up nearby. Lassiter kept staring at the hazy sky, preparing himself, making plans. Footsteps approached.

"Detective Lassiter, are you injured?" said Chief Vick as she stepped into view next to him.

"No, ma'am," he said evenly.

She squinted her eyes at him and then looked around, her gaze obviously lingering for a moment on his slashed tires. "I think we should move indoors. Can we go into your apartment, please?"

"Okay," he said. He sat up and felt both Buzz and Vick put their hands on his arms as he got to his feet. He closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness, then he turned and walked up his steps, knees stinging badly. The door was still standing open.

He walked into his kitchen and looked down at the two wine glasses on the table. He put his hands on his face and turned away, walking into the living room instead. He looked at the couch and images surfaced. He put his hands on his head, turning again, looking for an escape. Chief Vick stood in his kitchen watching him with an expression of helpless concern. Although, to him it looked more like pity. A strangled growl escaped him before he could stop it as he paced back into the living room.

"Carlton, can you sit down?" she asked calmly, as if talking to a frenzied animal.

He gave a half-shrug, half head-shake movement that probably looked like some kind of odd convulsion as he continued to pace. He held his hands out in front of him to look at his bloodied palms, but doing so brought more unwelcome visions.

"I need to wash my hands," he said, hearing the echo of himself from two days earlier. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, fighting for control. He tried to focus on his new goal, on the simplicity of it and on how he was going to make it happen. It promised salvation from the haunting images and smothering guilt.

"Can you do it over here, in the kitchen sink?" asked Vick.

Lassiter's eyes snapped open and he turned to look at her. She still just had a concerned look on her face, but he wondered if she'd said that because she didn't want him to go into the bathroom alone. A coldness filled his chest. His eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat. "Of course," he said, walking into the kitchen. Vick stood nearby and watched as he rinsed off the road grit and streaks of blood. Buzz hovered near the open door, looking like he wanted nothing better than to escape into the night.

"Carlton, can you tell me what happened?" asked Vick with the soothing voice again.

He turned off the taps and grabbed a dish towel to dab his hands dry, then he turned and leaned back against the counter. "Lisa brought over some food for me," he began, voice monotone. "We ate and talked for a while. About an hour or so. She left..." He trailed off then, stumbling into the issue of the phone calls.

He was saved for the moment by the sound of voices outside as Juliet, Shawn and Gus arrived. The three of them rushed into the apartment with Juliet in the lead, but when she saw Lassiter at the sink, she stopped suddenly, causing Shawn and Gus to bump into each other in their effort to not plow into her.

"Carlton," she said, sounding breathless and appearing slightly nauseated. She looked like she wanted to say more, or wanted to run over to him, but there was suddenly a yawning gulf between them. She managed to whisper, "I'm so sorry."

He stared at her, not sure if he was glaring, and finding himself oddly not caring. He thought about how she'd sent Lisa over with the food, how she'd encouraged him to date her, and he felt what he knew to be unfair anger. But then he thought about how she was supposed to be the one at his house that evening, and a spike of fear or guilt or both stabbed at his gut. Maybe she had been the target. He could've lost his partner. He dropped his eyes to the floor under a wave of despair. It was all on him, not Juliet or anyone else. It was simple. He was the cause of all of this suffering and he had to set it right. He swallowed thickly. "Me too," was all he said.

Shawn looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment in puzzlement. He said with a subdued voice, "Lassie, we're going to figure out who did this."

Lassiter looked at Shawn, feeling the coldness in his chest spreading throughout his body. He needed to get away. He had to figure out how to get away from them all. He had to find Riley North. Alone. But he didn't know where to start. He hadn't been involved in the investigation since the shooting. But Shawn and Gus had. Lassiter's eyes narrowed. "I hope so," he said evenly.

oOoOoOoO

Shawn's eyebrows raised at Lassie's weirdly cold tone and he shot Gus a look. Gus pursed his lips and gave him a hint of a shrug. Shawn turned back to scan the room, noting the two wine glasses and the rings from those glasses on the coffee table. It looked like they'd sat on the couch for a while, talking, he supposed. He rubbed a hand across his mouth, remembering the images from the crime scene. They'd driven past Lisa's car on the way to Lassiter's place, so Juliet had pulled over to check the scene and talk to the detectives who had taken charge of it. Shawn had gotten out and looked into the car. Lisa had been in the driver's seat, so whoever had shot her had been in the passenger seat. She'd been shot in the right side of her chest. Shawn had noted some sand on the passenger-side floor of her car, and none on the driver's-side floor.

Chief Vick cleared her throat. "Okay people, we need to get on this. First, we must determine if this...incident...is related to the North case," she said.

Shawn shook his head, incredulous. "Well, of course it is," he said. "Who carjacks a woman in this neighborhood, from in front of a cop's house no less?"

Lassiter crossed his arms tightly and closed his eyes.

"Did you see anything Carlton?" asked Juliet, voice quiet. She still seemed shaken, and Shawn felt like putting an arm around her shoulders in support.

Lassiter shook his head, staring at a spot on the floor. "No. When she left, I saw her to the door, but I didn't watch her get into her car," he said as if he was confessing to her murder himself. "I was putting things away, and I heard something outside..." He paused again as a red flush crept up his face.

Shawn studied him intently. Something seemed off. Of course he wasn't acting normal, who could? But still, his behavior had Shawn's internal alarms sounding.

Lassiter cleared his throat. "I heard an engine rev, and tires screeching. I ran to the door and saw the car driving away. I could tell there was someone else in it." He spoke the last words with an even more dead sounding monotone, and then he fidgeted and cleared his throat. "I grabbed a gun and my car keys and ran outside, but my tires have all been slashed. So I ran after them and called in while I was running."

Shawn walked over to stand next to Gus.

"Excuse me, sir," said Buzz from the doorway. "You said you thought you saw someone across the street? Or something?"

Lassiter skewered Buzz with a glance and then nodded as he returned his gaze to the floor. "Yeah. When Lisa first arrived, I just glimpsed someone over there, but I didn't pay attention. I was...preoccupied. After..." he stopped for a few long moments and everyone started to shift around uncomfortably in the silence. "After I caught up...I..." He straightened abruptly and put his hands on his face as he started to pace back and forth across the kitchen floor. "I ran back here, when I remembered, to see if anything was there." He finished the last part in a rush, as if he was pushing unwanted words out of his mouth, then he just shook his head, as if to say he'd found nothing.

Shawn sidled up to Gus and gave him a nudge with his elbow. Gus looked at Shawn sadly, appearing almost on the verge of sympathy crying. "I think he's not telling us something, Gus," whispered Shawn as quietly as he could.

Gus's eyes widened, but then he reined in his reaction when Shawn held up a warning hand.

"He's holding something back," said Shawn.

Gus looked flabbergasted. "Why would he do that?" he hissed.

Shawn just shook his head as Juliet spoke up again.

"Carlton, you couldn't have prevented this," said Juliet, sounding desperate to lend some kind of support to her partner. She still looked completely shaken and on the verge of tears. Shawn realized that she must be feeling responsible since she'd sent Lisa over with the dinner.

Lassiter chopped his hand through the air sharply and barked, "Not that! Not now!" His face darkened as he visibly stopped himself from continuing the outburst. He turned away from them all and leaned on his hands against the kitchen counter, head lowered.

They had all jumped at his yell, but Juliet flinched the worst and had to choke back a sob as she started to lose ground on the fight against crying. Shawn took a step towards her. Chief Vick ran a hand through her hair and cleared her throat. "Let's all just take a few moments to relax, here," she said. "I'm going to step outside to coordinate the investigation. All of you, just stay put, for now. When I get back, we will discuss the next steps we're going to take."

Shawn moved to Juliet's side as the chief walked out the door pulling Buzz along in her wake. He could see that she was shaking as she stood with her fingers pressed to her temples and her eyes squeezed shut. "Hey, Jules," he said gently, putting out a hand to touch her arm. "Don't blame yourself. You couldn't have known. Right, Lassie?" Shawn asked the last part sharply, hoping to snap Lassiter out of his emotional turmoil enough so that he could help his partner out of hers.

Lassiter tensed, but he straightened and turned to face them, his expression cold and emotionless again. A hint of pain flashed through his eyes, though, when he looked at Juliet, and he said, "It's not your fault, O'Hara."

Juliet looked at Lassiter again and repeated, "I'm so sorry, Carlton."

More pain crossed Lassiter's face and he nodded, but then he took a breath and the icy glare returned. Shawn studied him for a moment, but he could feel that Juliet was still shaking, so he stepped closer to her and put out his arms as an offer. She hesitated briefly, but then she leaned into him and accepted a hug as she continued to fight for control. Shawn looked at Lassiter over Juliet's shoulder. Their eyes met for a moment, and the cold anger in Lassiter's gaze set off Shawn's alarms again. Shawn could see that he was fighting for control like Juliet, but he thought it was more of a fight against pure rage than grief. Lassiter seemed to sense that Shawn was catching on to him. He cleared his throat and fidgeted. He pulled his car keys out of his right pocket and tossed them onto the counter. Juliet pulled out of the hug at the sound and wiped at her face. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"Let's talk this through," she said, voice stronger as she got back to business. "Lisa was carjacked right after leaving. It's improbable that a random carjacker would be in this neighborhood at this time of night. If it was just someone stealing a car, they would do it much later when people are more likely sleeping."

"Robbery? You know, a mugging gone bad?" asked Gus. He was leaning against the wall near the front door, arms crossed tightly.

"No," said Juliet grimly. "Lisa's purse and wallet were still in the car."

Lassiter flinched. He put his hands in his pockets and then pulled something halfway out of his left pocket which Shawn saw was his cell phone. Lassiter looked down, as if he didn't know what it was, and then he suddenly looked frightened. He looked up again and caught Shawn studying him. He grimaced and shifted his feet.

"I need to go do something," he said vaguely as he headed to his bedroom. They all watched him go inside and shut the door.

"There's something wrong with him," said Shawn, gazing at the closed door for a moment while trying to figure out Lassie's odd behavior. When he turned around he saw Gus and Juliet both looking at him like he was an idiot. "I don't mean that! I mean...oh never mind." He walked over to Lassie's room.

"Shawn!" hissed Gus. "What are you doing?"

Juliet simultaneously said, "Shawn, don't!"

Shawn strode purposefully over to the door and opened it without knocking. Lassiter was standing by his bed with his suit coat on. His back was to the door and he was looking down at something in his hands. He whirled around at Shawn's entrance, looking surprised and guilty. Shawn saw that he was holding a gun.

"Whoa, dude!" hissed Shawn as he closed the door quickly behind him. He wasn't sure what Lassie was planning with the gun, but he didn't want to cause Juliet undue concern until he figured it out. "What are you going to do with that?"

Lassiter gazed down at the gun for a moment, an indecipherable look on his face. Shawn's mind was racing. Maybe Lisa's murder had been the last straw, and Lassie's odd behavior was due to him having a breakdown. Shawn still couldn't imagine Lassie ever being suicidal, but how could he be so sure? The guy was awfully cranky most of the time. And he was lonely. Shawn swallowed and tried to think about what you were supposed to do when talking down a suicidal person.

"I was, uh," stuttered Lassiter, keeping his eyes down, then he tossed the gun onto the bed. "Nothing."

"Look, Lassie, don't, you know, don't give up, man," said Shawn, trying desperately to think of something better to say. "It was a horrible thing, but we'll help you get through it. And we'll catch the guy, too."

Lassiter glanced at Shawn looking more surprised than anything, but then his eyes narrowed for the briefest of instants as he took a step back and sat down on the bed. "It's just, um," he began, then he scrubbed his face with his hands as a low sound of frustrated agitation rumbled in his throat. He looked up with an expression of pure anguish. "I killed her. I didn't pull the trigger, but she's dead because of me."

"You know that's not true," said Shawn.

"How is it not true?" he asked with an edge to his voice as he put his hands down to grip the edge of the bed tightly, arms stiff and shoulders hunched.

Shawn shrugged helplessly and put his hands out. "It's just...not!" he said. He looked at Lassiter sitting there with his rumpled shirt and scuffed up pants. He could see rips in the fabric of the pants at the knees and stains coming through. And then he had the fresh suit coat. He looked like a hobo who had found a new coat in a dumpster. "Look, I want to help you. I'm going to help you, okay? Just hang on. Juliet needs you, so you can't do anything stupid or we'll all, like, totally hate you. Or something."

Lassiter closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm just so sick of feeling useless and pitied. I can't work on the case. I can't even know what's happening on the damned case!" he growled, looking like he wanted to punch something and having to settle for gripping the edge of the bed until his knuckles turned white.

Shawn looked around as if for help, noting the tie on the bed under the gun. He realized Lassie had probably been thinking about wearing a tie or not for his date and had decided against it. The thought of Lassie getting ready for the date sent a shock of despair through Shawn. The guy had such bad luck with women, and then it looked like he'd had a nice evening. He'd made the right choice to go without a tie and they'd shared a bottle of wine and then she'd been ambushed and killed. And it really was because of him, Shawn knew. Lassie had killed Riley North's son, and now Riley North had taken revenge. Lisa had just been in the wrong place. Juliet's place, Shawn remembered with a flash of anger. It could've been Juliet. They really did need to catch the guy, as soon as possible.

"Hey, I know there are rules, or something, about you and the case, but I could keep you in the loop," said Shawn tentatively, half-expecting Lassiter to lecture him about procedure. He figured if feeding Lassie some information would keep him from falling into despair, though, then the rules could take the abuse. "Maybe you'll have some ideas to add, to help us out."

Lassiter's brow furrowed as he considered Shawn's words. He looked like he was having an argument with himself. After a moment, he looked at Shawn with a faintly hopeful and slightly guilt-tinged expression. "Have you found Riley North?"

"Almost," said Shawn with a grimace as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "We got an address, but it's been abandoned already."

Lassiter's eyebrows shot up at the news. "Damn. No other leads?"

Shawn shrugged. "Well, I have an idea..."

"What is it?"

"I think they're probably on or near the beach now."

Lassiter blinked and said dryly, "There's a lot of beach."

"True," said Shawn with a faint smirk. "But not a lot of beach that has a Jo-Jo's Pizzeria. I'm not sure, but it doesn't sound like a chain."

Something bright flashed in Lassiter's eyes and his face hardened. He looked down at the floor as if lost in thought. There was a knock at the door.

"Carlton, Shawn, the chief is back and wants to talk to us," said Juliet through the door.

"Okay," said Shawn loud enough for her to hear. He looked at Lassiter again. "Come on, man. Let's get to work. Maybe the chief will let you in on the investigation."

Lassiter looked around, keeping his eyes from meeting Shawn's. "Go ahead. I still want to change," he said, picking at the fabric sticking to his knees. "I'll be out in a minute."

Shawn regarded him closely, wondering if he should leave him alone. He didn't seem as depressed and wasn't acting so strangely anymore, so he decided it would be okay. He was pleased with himself for helping Lassie out of the funk he'd been in. "Okay. I'll cover for you," he said with a grin.

Lassiter gave him a quick, half-smile and nodded. "Thanks."

oOoOoOoO

As soon as Shawn had closed the door, Lassiter grabbed the gun from the bed and tucked it into his waistband at his back next to the other one he'd put there before Shawn's intrusion. When he'd gone into his room, the first thing he'd done was turn off his phone in case Braden called again. He didn't want the phone ringing in front of everyone else. Then he had put on the suit coat to hide the guns. He was just checking the second gun when Shawn barged in, but it had turned out to be fortuitous timing because of Shawn's incorrect assumption about his intentions. He'd been trying to figure out a way to corner the psychic and grill him for information on Riley North. Letting Shawn assume that he'd become suicidal had worked better. Now he had a location, and he intended to get to it as quickly as possible. He grabbed his regular phone and punched in the number for the taxi service he used whenever he went out drinking. He arranged for a cab to pick him up three blocks away and was told it would arrive in ten minutes. He could hear the voices in his living room and felt a pang of guilt for what he was about to do, but he pushed the feeling aside and focused on his objective. He tried not to think about how his venture might end up being suicidal anyway, career-wise if not literally.

He went into the bathroom and shut the door. He studied the window dubiously. It was a normal window with frosted glass, but it was still fairly small and he wasn't sure he'd fit through it without making noise. Then he gave himself a mental head slap and turned on the water in the sink to full. He opened the window and stuck his head and shoulders out of it. He looked from side to side, but the window opened on the narrow gap between his building and the next, so there was no activity or prying eyes. He spent a few moments pushing himself further through the window, wriggling and using his feet to brace himself on the sink and toilet until he could twist around and sit on the window sill. He raised a leg to pull it through and scraped his already abused knee against the edge of the frame. He gritted his teeth and hissed at the pain, feeling a spark of anger that seemed to ignite the simmering blaze in his chest. He was going to find Riley North, consequences be damned. How could they get any worse than the last couple of days had already been?

After picking his way around the back of his building, he jogged across lawns, keeping to the shadows to avoid being seen by uniforms who had been sent by Vick to canvass the neighborhood. He slowed to a walk when he was on the next block and continued to the arranged corner, lost in thought. He remembered his phone and pulled it out of his pocket to turn it on again, just in case Braden called back. He doubted the kid would call, now, but he didn't want to miss it if he did. When the cab arrived, he told the driver to go to Jo-Jo's Pizzeria on the beach. The guy didn't know where that was either, but at least his GPS unit did. Lassiter sat stiffly in the car, the guns digging into his back, as he watched the city flash past the window. Unbidden images haunted him-Lisa's expressions while they talked, the way her fingers curled around the wine glass-and he felt hollowed out. He thought about how odd it was to feel simultaneously empty and to also have a crushing pressure squeezing his chest so tightly. Crushed and filled with a yawning emptiness. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense anymore.

The neighborhoods and businesses began to get more rundown as they got closer to the pizza joint. Lassiter recognized the area as one rife with criminal activity and inhabited by several gangs. The cabbie pulled up to the curb outside Jo-Jo's. Lassiter looked inside but saw that it was a pick-up only place.

"Keep driving," he said. "Around the block."

"Just around the block?"

"I'm looking for someone. I just want to drive around."

The cabbie shrugged and pulled into the street again. Over the next twenty minutes, Lassiter directed him to drive in an ever-widening circle outwards from the pizza place. He would have him circle a block, then the next, until a loop was complete, then he'd tell him to move to the next block out from that loop and they'd do it again. He was looking for the Buick, mostly, but he scanned every pedestrian too for anyone who could even possibly be Braden or Riley. He was working on total instinct for that one since he wasn't privy to their descriptions, but it was all he had to work with.

The cabbie shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Hey, buddy, if you want to tell me what you're looking for, maybe I can help," he said, the implication clear that he was tiring of the random driving. "Two sets of eyes looking, y'know."

"Sure, okay," said Lassiter, figuring a cabbie would probably have a good eye for other vehicles. "Old Buick, gray with rust spots and some heavy dents in the driver's-side rear panel."

They kept driving in the search pattern. Occasionally Lassiter would tell the cabbie to stop so he could peer down an alley or a side street. He started to get anxious as more time ticked by, knowing that Juliet and the chief had probably put out a BOLO for him by now, after his stunt at the house. Spencer would've told them what they'd talked about and they would know to look in the area of the pizzeria. They had already passed one squad car on the street. Lassiter had ducked down a bit, just in case. The cabbie had noticed and had narrowed his eyes at him, which nearly brought a smirk to Lassiter's face at the ridiculousness of it all.

Finally, as they were cruising down a street about six blocks from the pizza place, Lassiter spotted the Buick parked in an alley. It was off of a street occupied by various small businesses in buildings that had apartments on the upper floors. He saw at least two pawn shops along the street, and three bars. He glanced at the street sign, noting that it was named Olive Street and thinking about how much he hated olives.

"Stop here. I'm done," he said, handing over three twenties to the cabbie to cover expenses and inconvenience.

The cabbie's eyes lit up happily at the tip. "Okay, man. Take it easy."

Lassiter got out of the cab on the other side of the street from the alley. The area was quiet and mostly deserted, only a couple of cars were on the road and a homeless guy was shuffling along further down the block. After the cab drove away he scanned the second-floor apartments, but most had the lights off. He'd lost track of what time it was, guessing it was getting near midnight if not later. He looked around for a good spot to use for his stakeout. A shadowy doorway two buildings over looked promising, so he started to walk towards it. Across the street, a dark figure turned the corner from a side street and walked along the sidewalk. It was a man in a hooded jacket, with the hood up. Lassiter jumped into the shadows of the doorway and studied the figure intently. He thought the size and shape of the man looked familiar, as well as the way he walked. It could be the guy from the Sommer house robbery, which would mean it was either Braden or Riley North. His heart started to race as his adrenaline surged at the thought. The hooded guy hadn't been the shooter. So, it was probably Braden. Part of him tried to argue that he could just be thinking the man's figure and gait looked familiar as wishful thinking. But that was the same part of himself he'd been ignoring since he began hiding things and jumping out of bathroom windows. He'd chosen his path, and he was going to follow it.

When the man reached the alley, he turned down it. Lassiter could see he was smoking a cigarette and remembered the butt he'd found on the road by his place. He stepped out of the shadows and jogged across the street. He entered the alley about thirty feet behind the figure.

"Braden!" he yelled.

The kid spun around and faced him as he rushed forwards. He was about Lassiter's height and was thin and lanky. Lassiter still couldn't see his face in the dark alley with his hood up but he knew he had the right guy now.

"Who...wait...holy shit!" said Braden as he took a step backwards.

"Freeze right there or I will shoot you," said Lassiter. The kid froze. Lassiter walked up to him and grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands, pushing him over to the wall of the building. "You know who I am?"

"Detective Lassiter," said Braden. "I saw you...at your house."

Lassiter scowled. "Where's Riley?"

"How did you find me?"

Lassiter could see the kid's face now in the glow of a security light. He was scared, and an image flashed across Lassiter's memory of his brother Justin having the same expression. He grimaced and gripped Braden's jacket more tightly. He leaned closer and said, "Tell me where your father is."

"Why?"

"He killed my friend," gritted Lassiter through clenched teeth. He was pushing the kid into the wall with some force, and the kid grabbed his forearms, trying to push back.

"What are you going to do? I don't see other cops here. Are you going to shoot him? You just said you'd shoot me," said Braden, his initial shock wearing off enough for him to start protesting. "What kind of cop are you? Did you just kill my brother that way too?"

The words hit Lassiter like a blow. He straightened and eased off the pressure on Braden's chest, although he kept a hold of his jacket. "No! Of course not! I only said that, just now, to make you stop."

"Well then what the hell are you doing? I called you to try to help fix things, not to help you kill my dad."

"She was an innocent woman! A friend!" he yelled into Braden's face. "She had nothing to do with this!"

"I'm sorry!" yelled Braden back, face twisting in anguish. "I didn't know he was going to do that! I tried to help!"

Lassiter glared at the kid. Braden turned his head to look around and Lassiter noticed with a shock that he had a black eye and a cut on his cheek. His eyes narrowed, wondering if Riley had done it. The idea of abuse stoked his anger again, "You can help by telling me where your dad is. He needs to pay."

Braden's eyes flashed with anger as well as a stark hopelessness. "By dying? By being murdered right back? What the fuck is wrong with all of you? You're just like him! Aren't the police supposed to stop murders?" he asked with a gasping sob. Lassiter was taken aback by the kid's desperation. "I just wanted to help. I wanted someone to help me stop him from doing these things. But it's only gotten worse! I wanted to stop my brother from turning into a fucking thug, and then suddenly it's been all death and killing. I just want it all to stop!"

Lassiter growled and released his grip on Braden. He spun in a circle with his hands on his head before running them down over his face, then he turned back to face Braden and put his hands on his hips. He tried to pick through the turmoil of rage and frustration to organize his thoughts. This wasn't going the way he'd expected. The clear, simple purpose had suddenly muddied. Braden stared back at him accusingly. They just regarded each other that way for several long moments.

"She shouldn't have been killed," said Lassiter, voice subdued, the anguish ringing through clearly. "She didn't deserve that."

Braden gave him a helpless look. "No shit, man," he said with exasperation. "My brother shouldn't have been killed either."

Lassiter's face hardened, "Look, I already told you..."

Braden waved his hands at Lassiter dismissively. "I know, dammit! I know. He shot at a cop," said Braden as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'm just...I'm sorry. I'm so damned sorry! But how is killing my dad going to fix it? It won't bring my brother back, and it won't bring your friend back."

Lassiter blinked as the bubble of his righteous purpose burst. Of course it wouldn't fix anything. Nothing could fix what had happened. The agony flooded into him again, twisting and cutting him to the core. He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head for a moment. He felt like he'd hit the bottom at last, rock bottom and he was buried by tragedy. But feeling that he couldn't get lower, in some odd way, helped him come to terms with it all. Finally, the part of himself he had pushed aside resumed control. The part he could always count on, that was always solid and clear. His belief in the law. He looked up at the kid and saw someone who needed help, wanted help, was asking desperately for help. And the kid was asking specifically for his help. He took a deep breath and realized with a flash of relief that he was ready to do his job again.

"You're right. It wouldn't fix anything," he said contritely. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry all of this has happened."

Braden looked at him warily.

"But he still needs to pay for his crimes," said Lassiter. "He needs to be arrested and put on trial for two murders."

Braden eyed him suspiciously. "I'm not just going to tell you where he is," he said, obviously unconvinced of Lassiter's change of heart.

Lassiter grimaced. "We can call it in, right now, together. We'll wait for units to arrive and then you can tell us where to go."

"How do I know you won't go in shooting?"

"Look," said Lassiter, getting frustrated but trying to rein it in. He didn't want to scare the kid off now. "If he's got a gun and resists arrest, I can't promise anything. But if we can go in and get him disarmed and cuffed, then I will promise you, right now, that he won't be hurt."

"You won't kill him?" asked Braden, clearly asking Lassiter directly and not just generalizing to all police.

"I won't kill him," said Lassiter. He felt something loosen in his chest at the words, as if he'd tied a knot inside himself with his desire to kill the man, and now it was gone. "I promise."

Braden's expression was desperate as he considered turning in his father, but there was also a hint of hopefulness. The kid had been going through a lot too, Lassiter realized. He was torn between wanting his father to stop without getting him hurt in the process. Lassiter felt genuinely sorry for the kid, now, and his new purpose became helping him get through this situation. Braden took a deep breath as if he'd come to a decision.

The sound of rough voices drifted to them from the mouth of the alley. Braden's head snapped up and his eyes widened in fear. Lassiter looked over and saw two large men coming towards them. They were obscured by the darkness of the alley.

"Those are dad's friends," hissed Braden, the whites of his eyes shining from his hood. "They can't see me! They'll tell him."

"Hey! Who's down there?" yelled one of the figures.

"Tell me where he is," growled Lassiter in desperation, feeling the opportunity to capture Riley North suddenly slipping away. "We need to bring him in."

Braden started sidling away along the building's wall. "No time. I'll call you. Don't tell them who you are!" And with that he turned and ran full pelt down the alley and around the nearest corner, hunched over as if ducking gunfire.

Lassiter watched him go, wanting to yell his name to call him back, but he took the kid's warning to heart. He turned to face the two men and saw that they were growing ever larger as they got closer. He took a deep breath and set his jaw.