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Long Island City, Queens, NY

Wednesday, May 21

After Ben Beldsen left the office, Alex touched Bobby's shoulder. He turned halfway toward her. His left side was a mess from all the blood.

"How bad is it?" she asked.

"Mmm," was his vague reply. He lifted the handkerchief away from his head momentarily, and the blood immediately resumed flowing freely. The cut was on his left temple near his hair line – his eye was uninjured, she was relieved to see.

"Whoa." She pushed his hand back down on the wound. "Don't let go yet. Keep pressure on it."

It was impossible to maneuver in this cramped space. Alex was quickly becoming frustrated. She turned to study the desk, hands on her hips. It was old, made of metal, and heavy, but it might slide on the linoleum floor. She braced her feet and hands and shoved as hard as she could. Once it started moving she kept pushing until it pinned Beldsen's chair against the back wall. A stack of papers tilted and cascaded off the far edge.

"Wow, Eames!" Bobby looked terrible, but he was watching her in amusement. "Hey, I need to move this hide-a-bed at my apartment..."

"Shut up," she said, not able to respond to Bobby's humor.

Ben Beldsen reappeared, bearing a large first aid kit that looked brand new, a roll of paper towels and a packet of antiseptic wipes. "Detective, I am so, so sorry! It was a stupid accident..." His bravado had evaporated.

Alex took the things, set them on the desk, and held up her hand to silence him. Marie stood just behind him, peeking in at Bobby. "Mr. Beldsen," Alex said, "we know you're sorry."

"Should I call for an ambulance?" asked Marie.

"No!" Bobby replied.

"No," Alex said, "I think Detective Goren will be okay, but I need you to clear out so I can take care of my partner. Why don't you go get the surveillance video from Monday night."

She waved them away, cleaned her hands with a wet-wipe and then rummaged through the kit's contents.

She held up a bottle of liquid bandage. "This is good stuff," she said. "My mom always keeps it in stock for the grandchildren."

"Eames," Bobby said, "you don't have to do this. Just give me-"

"Sit still and let me do my Florence Nightingale routine, will you? You've only got one hand free."

"It's not that bad." Bobby started to rise, but Alex put her hands on his shoulders and firmly pushed down. Her adrenaline was still high.

"I mean it, Bobby. You stay right where you are." She glared at him until she felt him relax and sit back.

Alex pulled a couple sheets off the paper towel roll and yanked out a few more wet-wipes, then turned to Bobby again. "Here's the plan: if it's not still bleeding like crazy I'm going to clean you up and see if the liquid skin stuff will hold. Okay?"

Bobby didn't answer, but at least he didn't try to get up again – she took that as a Yes. She found a pair of latex gloves in her pocket and pulled them on.

"Let go slowly," she said, "and we'll see how it looks."

He obeyed. This time the blood only oozed.

"Not too bad." She plucked away the bloody handkerchief and gave him several wet-wipes. "Wipe off your hands," she said. "I'm going to clean around the cut so I can see how bad it is."

Bobby hissed as alcohol touched the wound. He leaned away from her.

"Sorry, sorry," Alex said. She rested a hand on his shoulder at first, then on his jaw as she carefully cleaned his temple, his hair and the side of his face. The cut was about an inch long, and it didn't look deep. That was a relief.

Bobby finished scrubbing his hands and tossed the wipes onto the floor. He raised a hand to his forehead, but Alex pushed it away. He tried again, twisting his neck to avoid her touch.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked.

"No, it's just... I'd rather..."

She blocked him again. "Bobby, this will go a lot quicker if you hold still. Please - get your hands away!"

Bobby finally held out his arms in surrender. Alex moved a little closer, standing between his legs. She tilted his chin up to give herself a better angle to work.

"Do I need stitches?" Bobby asked. He'd calmed down now, and was watching her intently. She focused on the cut, but she could see his eyes moving all around her face.

"No. It's not deep," she said, blotting with a paper towel. "If we can just stop the bleeding – good old head wounds!"

Alex flinched in surprise as Bobby's hands settled gently on her waist. Her eyes snapped to his. He returned her gaze steadily, unapologetically. "I have to do something with... my hands," he said with a tiny shrug.

The two of them remained frozen in place for a few moments, staring at each other. Alex knew he'd release her if she gave even the smallest signal of disapproval. But she didn't disapprove.

She patted his cheek softly and returned her attention to his wound, which had almost stopped bleeding. He relaxed under her touch as she dabbed on some of the liquid bandage. While that first layer dried she loosened his tie and collar, and used a fresh wet-wipe on his neck.

"You're really a mess, Bobby – this shirt belongs in a Friday the Thirteenth movie. We're going to run by your apartment before we go anywhere else today."

She felt the warmth of his hands as she worked. Bobby was quiet – he looked content. The office door was wide open, and Beldsen might pop in at any moment, but she didn't care.

In that instant, Alex had a revelation.

Perhaps the close physical contact had stimulated her thoughts. She was suddenly sure she understood Bobby's mysterious behavior over the last few weeks. He wasn't sick, or in trouble with his brother.

No. He'd been cautiously searching for a way to expand their personal relationship. His hesitation, which she'd misread as distress, was just Bobby trying to gauge her interest.

Alex knew he was very careful about her boundaries – he would never push for any intimacy that made her uncomfortable. She also knew he cared deeply for her, as she did for him. Right now she felt that affection flowing out of him and right into her. She felt very comfortable.

She met his eyes once more, and was sure he knew where her thoughts had turned. Neither said a word, but Alex pondered: did she want to make another attempt at dating? It hadn't quite worked out the last time they tried, but clearly Bobby was hoping for another chance. Did she want the same?

Maybe.

Several years ago, during her surrogate pregnancy, Alex and Bobby had briefly dated. Bobby had badly missed her at work, and she'd felt cut off from her normal life. She didn't remember which of them had suggested it, but they'd both eagerly agreed.

They'd gone out regularly for a month or so, and it had been a lot of fun. After she returned to work it gradually tapered off. They didn't break up. There was no blow-out fight to end it. They simply didn't feel the need to continue.

They probably should have talked about it more, but at the time their partnership had been strong, and Alex felt their friendship was strong as well. She saw their dating as an experiment that succeeded – it filled a need at a particular time, and then was put aside.

But now, as she added another layer of liquid bandage to the cut on Bobby's temple, Alex knew they had to re-open the discussion. It was a hopeful sign that she didn't dread it. In fact, standing there with Bobby holding her so intimately, she realized she wanted something beyond their work relationship.

For the moment, however, they had to keep their focus on the case.

"Beldsen certainly has the temper to be our killer," she said quietly, glancing at the doorway. She peeled off her latex gloves.

"Well," Bobby said, finally releasing his hold on her waist, "he might have shoved Mr. Winter in anger, but he wouldn't have stood back so coolly and watched him die."

"No, he wouldn't. He freaked at the sight of blood," Alex replied, lightly touching the wound to confirm that the seal was holding. "I sort of did, too." She swallowed hard – her heart was just now returning to normal speed.

"You did fine."

She stroked his cheek one last time, and then withdrew her fingers. "I don't see Beldsen stealing the money."

"Let's confirm his alibi," Bobby said. "The surveillance tapes will show if he was here. But I want to check out what he said about Ron Winter. There's something going on with him – I think he's in debt."

"I agree." She stepped away from Bobby, and he slowly rose. He seemed steady. Alex asked, "You feel okay?"

"I'll be fine." He gingerly picked up his bloody handkerchief. "That's the end of this one," he said.

"We have ibuprofen in the car," Alex said. "You should take a couple – this is all going to catch up with you eventually."

"Thanks, Doctor Eames." He winked at her.

"I need you feeling well enough to cook tonight," she said. "You're not backing out because of this little excuse."

Home of Ron Winter

Middle Village, Queens, NY

Wednesday, May 21

Rick Winter answered the door at the detectives' knock. He broke into a big grin as soon as he looked at Bobby's forehead, which had swelled a bit and now sported a bruise nearly as colorful as Rick's. Rick opened the door wider and stepped back to let them enter. "How'd you get that?" he asked. "Chasing the bad guy?"

"Nothing as exciting as that, unfortunately," Bobby said. "It was, uh..." He glanced down at Alex, silently asking for help.

"It was an accident," Alex said. There was no need to tell the whole ridiculous story of Ben Beldsen's dangerously cluttered office. "You're home from school again today?"

"Yeah, because this afternoon is the viewing for my grandfather." He was still staring at Bobby's bruise. "So... an accident?"

Alex replied, "Someone we interviewed was very clumsy."

"Oh." Rick clearly wanted to probe further, but they were spared by the appearance of his mother.

Alex recognized Ron's wife: she'd been among the crowd at Nancy Winter's home on the previous day, but they hadn't been introduced.

She clearly knew who they were. "You're the police detectives? Please come in. I'm Sharon Winter." She eyed Bobby's fresh injury, but she made no comment as she ushered them into the living room.

Sharon seemed to share Ron's expensive tastes. The furniture, carpet, curtains and paintings looked top-quality, and the flat-panel TV mounted on the wall was huge.

Sharon began to send Rick away, but Alex held up her hand. "If you don't mind, we'd like to talk to Rick, too. It's standard procedure to get statements from family members." She didn't add that they were hoping to glean information about Ron – something that might connect some of the dots.

Rick seemed pleased to be included, and he dropped into the leather recliner before his mother had a chance to respond.

Sharon sighed, but nodded as she took the love seat and indicated for the detectives to sit on the couch. "We were all here at home," she said, "when we got the call about Ron's father."

Bobby opened his binder and shuffled the pages of notes. "Rick was hurt at baseball practice at school that same evening, right?"

"It wasn't practice, technically," Rick said. "It was a scrimmage game between Varsity and JV."

"Right, you said that yesterday." Bobby nodded. "Mrs. Winter, were you or your husband there at the time Rick was hurt?"

"No," she replied. "I try to make all of his games, and Ron comes when he can, but I didn't know about this... scrimmage."

Bobby turned to Rick. "When you were injured, the coach called your mom to come get you?"

Rick nodded. "Yeah – Coach Tracey. I tried to tell him I was okay. I put an ice pack on it right away. The game was nearly over, and I wanted to stay in, you know? But he was all into policy and insurance and all that, so he made me come back to the locker room with him while he called."

"Were you here?" Alex asked, turning to Sharon.

"No," Sharon said. "I was just walking into the pharmacy when my phone rang – in fact, with everything going on, I still haven't gotten back there to pick up my prescription."

Just then a loud ring-tone sang out: "Take Me Out to the Ball Game". Rick had pushed the chair into the reclined position, but now he slammed the foot-rest down as he scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket and turn off the music.

"Sorry," he said as he finally silenced it. He poked the screen a few times. "I get daily updates for my fantasy baseball team."

"Can I?" Bobby leaned over to pluck the phone from Rick's hand. "That's a special app, right? It looks like you have a lot – aren't they expensive?"

Rick slid over onto the couch next to Bobby. "Some, but I get most free or for ninety-nine cents. Also, there's other app sites now besides the Apple Store. Look here." He took the phone back and tapped the screen a few times. "My dad found this one that shows the current stats on any team I want, and then it drills down to individual players."

"Was it ninety-nine cents?" Alex asked.

"Not this one – it was, like, six dollars." Rick glanced at his mother, suddenly looking guilty. "Dad got it for me - he knows all the good sites."

"I hope the department gets us iPhones soon," Bobby said. He set his binder on Rick's lap, and reclaimed the phone. "Could - could you write down the names of those web sites for me? Thanks. Oh, I see the Mets are first on your stats list. You're a Mets fan?"

"Of course," Rick replied. He paused in writing to look up suspiciously.

"Me, too," Bobby said with a grin, "but my partner likes the Yankees."

"Loves the Yankees," Alex said. "But anyway..."

"Rick, honey," Sharon said, arching her eyebrows at her son, "the detectives didn't come here to discuss baseball."

"Sorry about that. Umm," Bobby said as he retrieved his binder and ran his finger over a page of notes. He looked back up at Sharon. "So, you were at the pharmacy... What time was that call from Rick's coach?"

"It was about... six-thirty?" Sharon replied.

"Yes, it was," Rick said. "See, Coach called home first, but Dad must have been out in the yard or something, because he didn't pick up. The answering machine came on."

That was interesting. Ron had claimed he was home watching television before six o'clock – why did he miss the school's call half an hour later?

Alex didn't turn to look at her partner, but she could practically feel him coiling up to spring on that bit of information. She moved slightly to let him know she wanted the next question – he sighed and leaned back into the couch.

"Oh," Alex said, keeping her voice casual, "so I guess the school has a list with a primary contact number, secondary and so forth?"

"That's right; at the beginning of the school year we had to give at least two numbers for emergencies," Sharon replied. "Our home number was the primary."

"Did Ron say why he missed the call?" Bobby asked.

"Honestly," Sharon replied, looking at her son, "I never even thought to mention it. Rick is probably right, though – he might have been watering the garden."

"Is he usually home at that time?" Alex asked.

"Yes," Sharon said. "Six to six-thirty."

"Okay, thanks." Bobby looked up at Sharon from writing. "One last question. What time did you and Rick get here?"

"It was seven o'clock," Sharon said. "I remember because I usually watch the news, but Jeopardy was already on when I turned on the TV in the kitchen."

"You've been very helpful. Thank you for your time," Alex said. She tilted her head to see if Bobby had any more questions, but he closed his binder.

Bobby shook hands with Rick and had a quiet conversation with him as Sharon showed them out.

The front door had barely closed behind them when Bobby leaned down and spoke quietly. "I need to call Jeanne at Safety Shield – did you save her business card?"

Alex paused at the bumper of their car. She pulled her notebook out of her pocket – the card was tucked between the pages. She held it up, but snatched it away as Bobby reached for it.

"Are you sure Jeanne didn't give you a card herself?" she asked with a grin.

Bobby placed his binder on the car's roof. He peeked back at the house, then quickly, lightly grabbed Alex's wrist and neatly plucked the card from her fingers.

"Hey, no fair," she said, breaking into a laugh.

He was already dialing. As he waited for the call to go through, he shrugged sheepishly at Alex.

She smacked his arm before walking around to the driver's side to get in. Bobby also climbed into his seat, his phone pressed against his ear.

"Hello, Jeanne?" he said. "This is Detective Goren. I wonder if I could... Thanks for your help yesterday... No, actually, I was wondering if... Well, um, there is something you could-"

Alex didn't start the engine yet – she was enjoying Bobby's side of the conversation. Jeanne seemed to be gushing.

Bobby held the phone away from his mouth as he cleared his throat, then tried again to squeeze in his request. "Jeanne? You mentioned yesterday that the smart phone app is coming out soon... Yes, right. Could you tell me if the software is already configured to receive smart phone commands? Uh, huh... But could you check anyway?"

Alex realized where Bobby was going, and held her breath. If smart phone access was enabled on the security system, and if someone found a way to use it before it was officially released, that might explain why no normal ID tags appeared for those commands.

"Sure, I'll hold." Bobby covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Alex, "The development team isn't allowed to roll out any changes without the IT director's permission, but she says they've been known to sneak patches or pieces of code into production before-" He returned his attention to the phone. "Yes... I see..." Bobby was nodding his head seriously. "Thanks, Jeanne," he said. "If you can look into that... We'll be in touch." He snapped his phone shut.

Alex said, "Let me guess - the smart phone part works after all."

"Since May first. Eames," he said, "Rick told me his dad downloads apps all the time. What if Ron found a ninety-nine cent security app? He could be the one sending the shutdown commands."

"What a bargain that would be," she said, turning the key to start the engine. "It only cost his father's life."

Grover Cleveland High School

Queens, NY

Wednesday, May 21

The baseball coach looked up from his desk as Bobby knocked on the doorframe. "Come on in," he said. "Have a seat. I'm Len Tracey."

"Thanks for seeing us on short notice, Coach," Bobby said. He held a chair for Alex and then squeezed around the desk to study the case of trophies.

"We won't take up much of your time," Alex said, smiling at the coach to draw his attention away from Bobby. She opened her notebook. "Tell us about Rick Winter's injury at the scrimmage on Monday evening."

"He had a good solid hit, down the right-field line," the coach said, "and Ricky's a good runner, so the third base coach let him stretch it to a triple. He actually beat the ball, and was safe, but the throw was off-target."

"A baseball to the face..." Bobby said, turning from trophies. "That could cause serious damage to the bone structure, the eye..."

"Believe me, I thought of those possibilities," the coach said. "But fortunately the third baseman got a piece of his glove on the ball, so it wasn't full speed when it hit Ricky's cheek. It didn't hit him straight-on, see?" He gestured with his hand around his own face. "I told Mrs. Winter the school insurance will cover x-rays if her family doctor wanted it."

"So," Alex said, "you pulled him out of the game and called his parents?"

"Right, but it went to voice mail at the house, so I tried the second number, which was Mrs. Winter's cell."

Bobby asked, "And she got here... when?"

"About six-forty-five, give or take."

"Okay, thanks – we'll let you get back to your students," Alex said.

"I was sorry to hear about the grandfather," the coach added. "How's Ricky doing?"

"He looks a little better than I do," Bobby said, tapping his temple. He held out his hand to the coach. "Thanks for your help, Coach."

"Next time, Detective" the coach said with a grin, "duck."