A Fair Distance Comes a Time

by Laurie-ky

Sentinel. J/B. Following the events of A Fair Distance. Ball and Chain, Jim and Blair return to Cascade to try and catch the person responsible for sending hitmen after Blair. Chapter Six - Warning for triggering.

5. Chapter 5

A Fair Distance: Comes a Time Chapter Five

I dry swallowed my antibiotic and debated wandering over to Rhonda's desk to talk to her again, but decided not to bother her. I knew she was trying to work, although she'd been nice to me the last two times I'd stopped by her desk. Instead I slouched a little lower in Jim's chair and eyed his computer. I probably shouldn't touch it. It was no doubt on the long list of things Blair Sandburg was forbidden to do whilst on the grounds of the police station.

I decided that I didn't care. I was bored. Very,very bored. I'd been that way ever since Joel had deposited me in the bullpen after we'd finished going over my testimony again. I'd tried to observe the people around me with an anthropological mindset, but that attempt had fallen flat. I just wasn't in the mood to do it.

Remembering that I'd wanted to look up that quote by Nelson Mandela, the one about coming back to the world you'd left, I turned on Jim's computer. Then I put in his user name and password.

Crap. He'd changed his password. I attempted to hack in for a while, but I wasn't getting anywhere. I was getting ready to call Jim and get it when Simon walked into the bullpen, stopped in front of me, and looked pointedly at the computer.

I shrugged. "I need something to do. I was going to surf the web for now, but Jim's picking up the subpoenas and I can help check the phone records or bank statements."

Joel walked over to us, carrying printouts. "I heard what Blair said. We could use his help, Simon. Jim had the subpoenas faxed to Bergman's phone companies and bank and they're faxing everything here." He motioned with the forms. "I just got the home phone records."

Simon blew out his breath, and he actually looked like he was considering Joel's request, but in the end he turned me down.

"Sorry, Sandburg. I wish you could help, but at the meeting today it was strongly reiterated to me that you were not to aid, observe, or be 'hanging around the investigation' anymore. They had to admit, though, that you acting as bait yesterday was crucial to advancing the case. I thought Sullivan was going to choke when I gave you the credit for coming up with the idea."

He rolled his eyes and I could see his resemblance to Daryl. "I was ordered to end the stakeouts, but as I told Jim earlier, I was going to pull those anyway. There weren't any takers for our planted information. It was a good idea, though, Blair." He landed one of his big hands on my shoulder and squeezed.

Joel shifted the printouts in his hands, drawing Simon's attention. "I can't give you Sandburg, but I'll assign someone to help you go through the records." He glanced around the bullpen and stopped when he spotted Henri with his feet up on his desk, yakking on the phone.

"Brown can do the phone records. When are you going to interview Bergman again?"

"He's conferring with his lawyer at the moment. I was waiting to see if his lawyer advised him to try for a plea. If he still won't cooperate, then I thought I'd give him another go, bring up how he can protect his family from some of the publicity by taking a deal. If he doesn't confess by the time Jim swings by, he can stew on it while we execute the search warrants on Bergman's office and home. "

Joel glanced at me, an apology written all over his kind face, then addressed Simon. "I know Jim wants to take Blair along, but I'll remind him that he can't."

Simon turned to me, a warning in his eyes. "Brown can take over your protection. Just stay here in the bullpen, okay? If you need the facilities or to go to the breakroom Brown is to accompany you. Do you understand me here, Blair? I repeat, do not lose your protection."

"I said I wouldn't, Simon. But... can I use a computer to do non-police stuff? I could do some job hunting, maybe. Or look at porn."

Simon's lips twitched but he slapped his serious face back on.

"Sorry. People might go to the division head or one of the assistant chiefs if they were to spot you using P.D. equipment. Remember what happened before when Jim had you riding with him, even though you kept your ass parked in his vehicle?"

"After my interdiction, you mean?" Wow, Blair. Way to sound bitter. Maybe I should go hide in a closet and try some meditation.

"Look, I don't want to have to write Jim another reprimand or have Sullivan threaten to bring you up on obstruction of justice charges again. You're going to have to stay here for now. I was able to keep you in protective custody until we get some idea from Bergman about any more hit-men out there. Jim will take you to a safe house when he's freed up. Or I can send you over to Connor's place. She offered."

"Megan needs her sleep. Don't call her, okay? I'll wait for Jim." I wasn't at my best here and I know I didn't sound very thankful. I made an effort to sound more pleasant. "Umm... I have an idea. Can I ask Jack Kelso to stop by and talk to me? If he's not tied up, that is. He already knows I'm in Cascade. If he can come, I'll ask him to bring his laptop."

Jack had worked with the police before and Simon knew him. Jack had told me to give him a call, and I didn't think he was just making polite noises. Besides, I valued his advice. He always knew the political issues at the university, and I wanted to enlist his help in refiling my grievance. He'd know which arms could be twisted. I wanted the university to agree to my completing a dissertation, without any fees tacked on. Getting hired there was not going to happen. Just like at the P.D., there was a point where the negative energy of hanging on outweighed any positive gains. It was time to move on. I'd known that before I'd left Cascade.

If Jack agreed to help, then I'd ask him to be a reference for me. I should have mentioned it to him before, but Nathan's offer to provide a recommendation had made it seem unnecessary. Jack and I could check out some of the companies that listed positions in the help wanted section. If I ended up working for a business, I wanted to make sure I'd been hired on at an ethical one.

If they'd hire an admitted fraud, that is. Even if he did have a glowing letter of reference.

xxx

Henri shot me a reproachful look when I entered the bullpen.

"Jim, babe, how's about I go along as Joel's sidekick for searching Bergman's digs, and you trawl through his phone records." He dropped the pout and smirked at me instead. "You could hang out with your honey."

So H knew about me and Blair. The grapevine was alive and well. Good to know. I gave H back what might have passed as a smile. Not that I was concerned about him. He'd be cool. Well, except if he could pull some kind of prank on us he would, like taping lube to my computer monitor or putting on a screen saver that said "Ellison and Sandburg sitting in a tree, K I S S I N G."

"Yeah, yeah, Sandburg and I are together. Pass the word, but remind the gossips that I'm a mean son-of-a-bitch when I get cranky. And anybody giving Sandburg a hard time is going to make me cranky."

H pushed up out of his chair. He slung an arm around my shoulders and hugged me. "Relax, bro. Blair told me a little while ago, when he got handed off to me to babysit. Seriously, all kidding aside, you two have always had a vibe. About time you acted on it. If you want me to pass the word, I will, and I'll mention that Major Crimes takes care of its own."

He stepped away but managed to plant his elbow in my ribs as he did. "And shee-it, Jim. You been one cranky mother for a while now." The smirk re-emerged on his face, his brown eyes looking mischievous. "You tell Hairboy that we'd all take it as a favor if he made sure you got some on a regular basis, so's your grumpy ass is a little more pleasant to be around."

I sighed. "Sorry, Henri. I know I've been an asshole. I'm pretty lucky that Sandburg agreed to put up with me."

"Amen to that. And he didn't do so bad himself." He pointed to Simon's office. "He's in there, with that guy from Rainier. Simon told him he could use it, easier than parking the guy's wheelchair up at your desk, and also for some privacy. Simon had to meet with the other department heads about the budget. Now, talk about cranky. There's nothing like a budget meeting to put our Cap'n in a sour mood."

I already knew where Blair was, but I'd outed myself enough today with the gay news. I didn't need to add the sentinel stuff into it, too.

H caught my arm again. "Hey, Jim, I was serious about swapping jobs. Maybe if Hairboy could help, like he used to, it would go a lot faster, but Simon won't let him. Wouldn't let him use the computer and hardly even the phone. Said there were eyes watching, and mouths ready to pass along that Blair was doing police work again, and it would just heap more trouble on the kid."

I shook my head. "Sorry. Joel needs me along, and I'm meeting up with him in a few minutes. But I'll give you a hand after the search, okay?"

He made a pouty face again, and I shrugged my shoulders before walking over to Simon's door.

I just wanted to check on Blair, make sure he was feeling okay, and maybe slip him a little tongue. It would have to hold us until we could hopefully go home, or at least to a safe house.

xxx

I was smiling the whole way to Bergman's house, and had to make myself focus when Joel brought up the case.

Life was good. Blair and Jack had hammered out a new grievance about Blair's treatment by Rainier staff, and it was a doozy. If those assholes didn't give in and allow Blair to finish his diss and get his doctorate, then I'd eat my Jags cap.

Blair hadn't been running a fever, although he'd admitted his head still hurt a little. He'd promised to take some Tylenol if it got any worse. He and Jack were going to spend some time researching possible jobs, and Jack had presented him with a letter of reference. I'd read it; it was a very well written document, extremely flattering about Blair, who had blushed when I told Jack he'd gotten it right.

Jack had tactfully decided that he'd take a bathroom break, and had wheeled himself out of Simon's office. I'd locked the door, made sure the blinds were down, and then I'd smooched Blair until he had been hard and panting. I'd patted him on the cheeks and run my finger over his kiss-swollen lips and then, just for the hell of it, I'd kissed him again.

He'd looked flushed and lovely and I'd stared at him so long that he'd finally muttered, "Gee, Jim. Take a picture, it'll last longer."

"I'd love to have a picture of you looking like this. I'd keep it in my wallet to remind me that you're mine. I'm not going to screw us up this time, Blair."

He'd kissed me then, sweet and loving, and not the down and dirty kisses I'd given him.

"When can we go home, Jim? "

"I'm not sure. Joel and I are going to toss Bergman's place. He wants me to figure out if Bergman's wife is lying to us, and to see if I notice anything he might miss during the search. It's probably too much to hope that Bergman's got the Volvo in his garage, but you never know. People can be stupid, especially if they think there's no way they can be caught. After that, we're going to search his office."

Blair had pushed himself away from my arms and stepped back a few paces. "You told Joel about your senses? Jim? Why would you do that?"

"I haven't told him anything, but Joel's a smart man. He figured out the score a while ago. Remember when he wanted to take the same special classes that I had, so he would become a more efficient detective, too? He's been watching me for ages, and, Blair, he never believed you were a fraud. He's found ways of letting me know that. We've had an understanding for a while now. If he thinks I can help, he'll ask me to check things out with him."

Blair had gotten a faraway look in his eyes and dropped back down on the couch, next to a laptop; Kelso's, I'd guessed. He'd opened his mouth, and with a long-practiced response, I'd said, "Later, Chief." He'd narrowed his eyes and I'd known I'd be answering his questions in a lot more detail - but later. I'd gotten out my cell phone and dropped it in his lap.

"Keep it. If you need me, call Joel and I'll call you back. This way nobody can complain that you're using police equipment."

"Good idea. And Jim, do you have an extra key to the loft, in case I get freed up before you do? I can take a bus home, or maybe H can drop me off, if we get the all clear and you're still tied up. I... I don't really want to hang out here if I don't have to, I mean, I've caught up with everybody, but they're busy, and I'm not, you know what I mean?"

"Sure, Blair. Actually, I have your old key." I'd pulled out my key ring and worked his loft key free, handed it to him, and watched him shove it in his jeans pocket.

Then I'd yanked him up from the couch for one last kiss, leaving him looking a little debauched as I'd pushed him back down. It had been either besmirch Simon's couch again, or leave the hell now. I'd had to adjust my pants before I'd unlocked the door.

I'd left then and had given H the finger when he'd smirked knowingly at me. As I'd walked down the hall I'd listened to Blair whisper "goodbye" and that I'd better finish what I'd started when we went home this afternoon.

On the drive over, Joel and I'd worked on the list of questions he planned on asking Bergman's wife. The woman had been horrified when she'd been notified about her husband's arrest, and kept insisting that there must have been some mistake. Joel had questioned her after Bergman's arrest, and hadn't come away with much. She had refused to let the police search the premises last night; now she didn't have a choice – we had a search warrant.

xxx

The patrol car backed out of Bergman's driveway and I gave them a wave of thanks. They were taking Bergman's files and computer back to the station, to be logged in as evidence and gone over in more detail.

"Well, let's hope we find something useful at Rainier."

Joel nodded his agreement, and I started up the truck.

The search at Bergman's house hadn't given us anything we could use. There was no green Volvo stashed away in his garage, and he didn't have any outbuildings where he might have hidden it, just a small tool shed.

We'd looked through his desk, file cabinet, and computer for evidence of any payments or communication with the middle man who'd arranged for those two assholes back in Sweetwater to try to kill Blair. We hadn't found anything, or any hint of where he'd stashed the Volvo. Joel wondered if it wasn't sitting at the bottom of a lake, but I didn't think Bergman would have done that. Hiding it, not destroying it, seemed more in line with his personality.

Joel fastened his seat belt. "You know, I'm surprised Mrs. Bergman talked to us as much as she did. I don't think she was lying, except about how her husband felt about Edwards. He probably vented to her sometimes. There anything you feel I missed, Jim?"

"She wasn't lying about never having heard anything about Blair or his car. And yeah, Bergman did not consider Edwards a good friend and boss. She was lying when she told us he did. She doesn't think he's guilty, though. She honestly expects us to find the real killer and clear her husband. She's not seeing us as the enemy, not yet."

Mrs. Bergman, a small obese woman, expensively dressed, had become upset when we'd identified ourselves as police officers and shown her the search warrant. She'd cried several times while Joel gently questioned her about her husband's behavior.

Joel got her talking about her house, which was damn near a mansion, and how she and Bergman had met. She was happy to talk about that instead of answering questions about Chancellor Edwards, and we learned that she came from a very wealthy family and that she and Nathan had met during college. Her father had insisted on a prenuptial agreement; Bergman would lose everything if they divorced. She'd been puzzled that Joel wanted to know about "those silly financial things" but she answered him honestly.

Joel had asked her if she ever had concerns that her husband would kill her, but she'd protested that he loved her and he would never do anything to hurt her.

She'd told the truth, according to the Ellison lie detector system. She didn't think Bergman was any kind of threat to her.

I drove past the other fancy houses on this road. I was glad that my father hadn't chosen to exhibit his wealth in the grandiose fashion these home owners had. His house was big, and expensively furnished, but it wasn't the overblown mansion these places were. My old man considered it vulgar to advertise your wealth like that. I turned my attention back to Joel.

"If Bergman doesn't cooperate and do a deal pretty soon, and we make our case against him, you know he's going down for a capital murder charge for Edwards' death, as well as the attempted murder on Blair."

Joe shifted on the bench seat. The truck seat wasn't as comfortable as his car would have been, but his vehicle had been needed by his wife today, so we'd gone with my truck.

Joel shifted again. "Maybe by now his lawyer has given him a reality check, explained all about death row at Walla Walla, and he's ready to spill his guts. He could probably get out of this with twenty-five years, if he does a deal. But if we find that car first, and the evidence shows he hit Edwards, then he'll have his choice – lethal injection or hanging. If he doesn't die from a heart attack before that. Prison is rough on older prisoners."

Cynically, I thought that the prison system would be just as happy not to have him stay until he was an elderly, frail prisoner who would use up a lot of resources. Probably let him out on parole, instead of paying his hospital bills.

Joel looked thoughtful. "I'm thinking that in order for Bergman to risk his status and lifestyle, Edwards must have had a stranglehold on him. Perhaps he started thinking with his other head. Had an affair with another woman. Could have been an undergrad, which would cause a scandal at Rainier, maybe lose him his position. Even if he kept his job, his reputation would be shot."

"And Edwards found out, knew about his prenup and what he'd stand to lose if she contacted his wife, and blackmailed him into toeing the line for her. Blair always said Edwards was a control freak."

"We didn't find anything in Edwards' files or home that would indicate she'd been blackmailing Bergman."

"Yeah, but Joel, Major Crimes didn't get the case right away. At first, Accident Investigations thought this was a simple hit and run. They turned it over to us after Campus Security notified them that they'd ticketed Blair's Volvo at a Rainier parking lot that night and explained the history between Blair and Edwards. Bergman could have had time to locate and get rid of any blackmail material she'd been holding."

"Blair's been pretty sick, hasn't he?"

"Mono and strep, but I think he's starting to shake it now. He was worn down before that, I suspect. He, uh, he had a hard time of it this past year." I looked at my watch. "I figure he's going to run out of steam pretty soon. I'd like to take him home, let him really rest there, but we've got to have some assurance that he isn't a target anymore. If Bergman cracks, and we believe him that Blair doesn't have a bulls-eye painted on him anymore, then that would be great."

"If Bergman had a line on hit-men here in Cascade, he wouldn't have had to try to kill Blair himself."

"That's what I've been thinking, too. He must not have been able to reach the guy who arranged for the hit in Sweetwater after Blair called him last night. Panicked, I guess. Afraid that if he waited Blair might get picked up by the cops and prove he had an alibi for the night of Edwards' death. That would have had us looking at other people with grudges. Or maybe he was sweating over Blair making a racket on campus about being treated unfairly and bringing unwanted attention back on the case. But I won't take a chance. Blair can stay at a safe house for the night."

Joel eyed me, a skeptical look on his face. "Well, as long as you're not in danger I guess he'll do as he's told. But I wouldn't trust that boy to stay put if he thinks you need him."

"I know. It's just not in him to sit back and not help. It's been hard for him being at the station today, when he has to just twiddle his thumbs. And Findley – the cop from Tennessee I worked with – I called him this morning and he told me those two assholes who'd tried for the hit on Blair haven't given up any new information. They're going back to prison on parole violations – the guns that were in their vehicle. There wasn't enough hard evidence to bring them to trial for attempting to murder Blair."

"But you knew."

"Yeah. I heard enough. They were going to rape him, kill him, and then bury him on some backwoods mountain. And then buy themselves lottery tickets with the money they'd earned." I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles were white.

"He's fine, Jim. Henri will make sure of that. Do you want to call Blair?"

I thought about it and then shook my head. "He's got a buddy working with him on job opportunities. I don't want to disturb him. We'll wrap up the search at Rainier, and then, if we don't hit the jackpot, call it a day and go back to the station."

"All right, Jim. Sounds like a plan. And I'll see if Bergman is ready to confess when we get back. You look like you could use some sleep. Weren't you up most of the night?"

I fought off the urge to yawn. "Yeah, I was. I think I need some coffee."

"And I could use a late lunch and to hit the can. Wonderburger okay with you?"

"More than okay. Blair fusses every time I stop at one when I'm with him."

Joel just grinned. "'Great men are not always wise.' Job 32:9."

I snorted. "Yeah, he'd agree with you. So we just won't mention it to him, right?"

Joel started to laugh, and I found myself smiling as well.

Wonderburger it was, then.

xxx

"If you'll just tell me what you're looking for, Officers, I'll get it for you." Bergman's secretary must have repeated those words five times already, and we'd only been here a few minutes. She'd been hovering over us ever since we'd handed her the search warrant.

Joel answered her patiently, just like he had the previous times. "Thank you, you've been very helpful. I'm afraid we'll have to keep looking. The information is probably hidden."

She fluttered her hands, her voice quavery. "I just can't believe what the news stories are saying. Chancellor Bergman arrested for attempted murder? He's such a good man, there must be some mistake. That boy, the one they say he tried to kill? I recognized his name. Blair Sandburg, wasn't it? I remember Chancellor Edwards had to fire him, and I believe he was always causing some sort of trouble around here. Why, now that I think about it, she fired him twice; she decided to give him a second chance when he'd been shirking his teaching responsibilities and then he went and falsified his research. Why, he's the one that should be arrested, not poor Chancellor Bergman. He's lying, he has to be, and he's dragging a good man's name through the mud!"

"Ma'am, I know this is hard to take in, but we arrested the correct person. We're trying to locate any records that might indicate where Chancellor Bergman has been keeping a green Volvo. Did he ever speak to you about that?"

She sat down abruptly, her tall frame crumpling. "Oh my God. Do you mean like the car that killed Chancellor Edwards? Michaels, from campus security, he told me that car belonged to that Sandburg boy. I thought the police were looking for him. We all thought he was the killer."

I kept pulling out files and looking through them, and then setting them aside. Nada so far. Joel asked the woman if she needed a drink of water. She did look a little shocky. I glanced through the open door into the outer office and read the name on her desk. Annie Kolander.

"Ms. Kolander, Blair Sandburg is innocent of any wrongdoing. He's the victim in this case. You can quote me on that. Perhaps you could help us. We'd like a copy of Bergman's address book, or Rolodex, or whatever you use to keep track of phone numbers. Could you do that for us, please?"

She nodded shakily and walked slowly to her desk, and I kept going through files. Joel resumed looking through Bergman's desk.

"Jim, think there's a safe in here somewhere?"

I nodded. "I found it when you were talking with Ms. Kolander when we first came in. It's on the wall under that picture of horses jumping hurdles. I can probably open it, but I was hoping to find the combination somewhere."

We worked in silence for the next twenty minutes. The files were a bust, but I noticed my father's name listed in one as a donor. He'd been very generous, too. I wasn't surprised. My father supported a number of Cascade institutions. The hospital, several museums, and the theater were some of the ones I'd known about. There were probably more. Dad didn't brag about things like that.

We asked the secretary about the safe, but she didn't have the combination or know where Bergman kept the numbers.

I opened it in about a minute. There was some money in there, a few sensitive documents that were about the university, and a key. No notation on it, nothing to indicate what its purpose was.

We showed the key to Ms. Kolander. And the walls of Jericho came tumbling down.

xxx

I walked with Jack as he maneuvered his way out of the bullpen. We'd finished researching the companies that might hire an anthropologist with a master's degree.

Trouble was, two of the current listings were for overseas jobs. The other company didn't have a good reputation. Based on what we'd learned, they were more than willing to cross ethical lines. I'd rather dig ditches than work for a place like that.

We'd discussed that also. Digging ditches, that is. I had enough background in archeology that I could work for the state certifying that roads were not being built on burial grounds. I'd considered it before when Jim and I had gotten together, but I hadn't wanted to work out of town and leave him. Those jobs required you to travel and stay gone for weeks at a time. Truck driving did too, so I'd passed those jobs by also. I'd felt too dizzy with love at first to consider it seriously, and then too insecure to leave Jim when everything started falling apart. I'd tried a couple of times for archeology-related jobs during the last year, but Edwards' damning letter was tied to my transcripts and I couldn't get hired.

Jim and I would have to discuss the possibility of me working out of town, only being able to come back once in a while. I would hate it, and so would Jim, but I needed to work and those jobs were in my field. Maybe if I worked those jobs I could regain some credibility and build on that to find work eventually in Cascade.

I thanked Jack as I held open the door for him, and we made plans to get together again in a few days.

Now that I wasn't pumping up my energy levels to keep up with Jack, I could feel myself wilting. Simon had returned and was in his office, which was one reason Jack and I had called it a day. I didn't think Simon would appreciate me sleeping on his couch again, and actually, I didn't want to remind him of what he'd seen this morning. I'd been embarrassed enough for one day.

I headed over to talk to Henri instead, but I changed my mind. Henri was busy using the reverse phone directory and making notes. I'd just distract him. Instead, I snagged the pizza box he'd stuck on top of a file cabinet and went to eat at Jim's desk. I grinned, thinking of how Jim would be exasperated and look pointedly for any crumbs that might have landed on his pristine desk top if he caught me doing this. Oh, who was I kidding. He'd know, all right, even if he didn't actually see me scarfing down the pie.

While I consumed the cold sausage and mushroom pizza, I daydreamed about how he'd be annoyed at my messiness and then he'd demand that I pay for my crime. In my fantasy, he'd have me get down on my knees under his desk and blow him. I couldn't sustain that happy thought, though, because I knew good and well that what he'd really demand was that I get out the environmentally recommended mild cleaner from his bottom drawer and scrub his desk top with it.

Simon's deep voice caught me by surprise. "Sandburg, I don't think I've ever seen anybody smile so much while eating pizza. You know, I'm surprised you even want to eat pizza again in the bullpen."

I knew what he was referring to. "I'm pretty sure there's no Golden on this pie, since Henri ate most of it and he's over there working hard. And you know, why should I let those bastards who poisoned me rob me of doing something that I enjoy. That would make it their victory, and I'm not going to live my life like that."

Simon laid his hand on my shoulder. "How much do you remember about that day?"

"It's all hazy and weird. I don't remember how I got down to the garage, or how I got the gun. I remember being so scared of the fire people and that I had to protect you guys and especially Jim from them. I remember Jim telling me to trust him and me clapping my hands and then I don't remember much at all except Jim holding me. Jeez, I must have looked like I was clapping for Tinkerbell." I smiled up at Simon, inviting him to laugh with me at how silly I must have looked.

Simon wasn't smiling though. "We almost lost you, Blair. Believe me, nobody was laughing about you clapping your hands. You know, I should have realized how Jim felt about you that day. He was hugging you and rocking you when you passed out. You stopped breathing."

He shook himself, breaking his mood. "I don't want to hear about you getting poisoned anymore, you hear me, Sandburg? I will personally kick your ass if you put any of us through that again."

"Okay, I promise not to eat any poisoned apples, no matter how safe the apple seller looks."

He made a grumbling noise and muttered something about smart asses. "Actually, Snow White, I came over to tell you that Jim and Joel have found the Volvo. I'm sending evidence techs out now. This means that Jim will probably be later than he thought getting back here. I'm setting up a safe house for you, and Brown can take you there, until Jim's free. Just let him know when you want to leave."

Leave without Jim? Maybe if it was to go home, but I didn't want to go to the safe house without him.

"I'm fine, Captain Banks."

"Uh-huh. I remember how 'fine' you were when you told me that before, up at Clayton Falls. Right before you fainted."

Jeez. He'd mentioned that before, when I'd gotten wired up at the truck stop. Man had a memory like an elephant for my less than stellar moments.

"I didn't faint. I passed out. In a very manly way and... wait. Wait, wait, wait! They found the Volvo? Really? Where?"

"In a storage unit. I don't have the details. And the fact that it took that long for the news to sink into your head ought to tell you that you're more tired than you realize. You and Brown should head out. He can work on those phone numbers there as well as here."

"No. I'm really okay, Simon. But thanks."

He cuffed me gently on the back of the head and walked over to Henri.

Wow. I picked up another slice of pizza and bit into it. They'd found the car. My poor baby, turned into a murder weapon. Maybe Nathan would agree to a plea now that this evidence had turned up. I hoped so. I didn't want to think of him on death row. Even if he had tried to poison me.

xxx

I only closed the blinds in my office if there was a need for privacy. Otherwise, I liked to be able to keep an eye on the bullpen, since fathers and police captains both needed to be able to have that "eyes in the back of their head" reputation going for them.

Right now, I wanted to keep half an eye on Blair. He had a stubborn streak and had always hated to admit he couldn't keep up due to being sick. I'd seen him deny feeling bad when he should have been home in bed. He was a grown man and I wasn't his father, so most of the time I'd let his feeling under the weather slide in order for him to stay with Jim on a case.

But he couldn't be with Jim at the moment, so there was no point in him staying here and not at the safe house I'd set up, where he could get some sleep. He looked on the edge of exhaustion, even though I knew he'd slept on my couch last night – other than that make out session I'd caught him and Jim engaging in like they were a couple of teenagers. I grinned, remembering the chagrin on Jim's face and the blush that had stained Blair's cheeks red. I rubbed the smile off my face, and glanced at Blair. He was somewhere around thirty years old now, not blessed anymore with a teenager's metabolism. I'd had mono when I was thirteen, and I remembered how it had wiped me out for weeks. I might not be his father and he wasn't part of Major Crimes anymore, but he was my responsibility for the moment, and I'd make him take care of himself, if he wouldn't do it.

He was writing something, the pizza box pushed to one side on Jim's desk. Well, if he had the energy to do that, I'd let him stay. Joel had called and updated me on the case; he and Jim would be tied up at the rental storage unit with the techs a while longer. Joel had asked me to go put the screws to Bergman, see if he'd cave when he knew we'd found the car.

I stopped watching Blair and readied some forms for Rhonda. She was on the phone when I stopped by her desk, but gave me her "good job, Boss" smile when I handed them to her. I still needed to ask her some questions before heading downstairs, so I glanced around, observing the bullpen while I waited.

Blair wasn't writing anymore, he was just staring at his paper. Brown was making his own lists, still compiling names to check out from Bergman's phone records. He stopped and chewed on his pen for a moment, then called Blair's name.

Blair didn't seem to hear him. I watched, more entertained than I would ever let on, as Brown balled up a piece of paper and threw it. He hit the kid square on the back of the head.

Blair startled and turned around.

Brown flashed him a grin. "Hairboy, got a question for you. What's Jim's old man's name?"

"William. Why?"

"Bergman's called a William Ellison regularly from his office phone. If it's Jim's dad, then I'll call Jim to see if he knows about it. Have you been to his dad's place before? Got an address?"

"Yeah, a couple of times. He lives on Fremont Street."

"This is him, then." Brown reached for the phone on his desk.

Blair waved a hand towards Brown. "Hey, H. Call Joel. I've got Jim's phone."

Brown dialed and I turned back to wait for Rhonda. She finally ended her phone call, and I asked about Form 156-B. Afterwards, I walked over to Brown's desk. I wanted to follow up on what he had discovered. He hadn't talked long to Jim.

"I overheard. What'd Jim say?"

"Jim's dad was listed as a regular contributor to the university in a file they found in Bergman's office. Bergman kept a phone log in the donor files, with notations on what they discussed. William Ellison funded a number of special projects. They're going to send over a copy of the file, so I can eliminate the other donors, too." Brown stood up and stretched. Blair kept quiet, just watching the two of us.

"Okay, keep at it. I'm going down to question Bergman, see if he'll go for a plea. Save us all a lot of trouble if he did. Once the techs prove that his Volvo was the one that hit Edwards, then the deal goes off the table. Bergman better jump on it, or he's a dead man."

Henri nodded his head. "Man, I would love it if he'd cooperate. I could stop tracking down the rest of these numbers."

"Sure I can't help, Simon?" Blair sounded wistful.

I shook my head. "No. Sorry."

I left then, to beat Bergman over the head with a reality stick.

xxx

I felt myself ascending from a deep level of sleep into an awareness that my shoulder was being shaken. No, I whined to myself. Let me sleep.

I mumbled for the shoulder shaker to go away. No such luck. If anything, the shaking intensified.

My eyes still shut, I reached for blankets to pull up over my head. I felt a hard surface instead. After a while I realized this meant I wasn't in bed. So where was I? Had I fallen asleep at the kitchen table again?

"G'way, Jim. Lemme sleep."

I heard laughter, and it dawned on me slowly, as the shaking continued, that it wasn't Jim laughing.

"Sandburg, wake up. Time to go." I knew that voice. Why was Simon at the loft? Was it poker night, and did I pass out, or something?"

"Sandburg. Wake up, kid." Simon again. Okay, okay. I'd get out of the way. Really, who could play poker with me asleep in the middle of the chips?

"Hairboy, we aren't playing poker." That was Henri. He was the one laughing at me.

I felt myself really waking up and I lifted my head. Simon was standing next to me, his hand on my shoulder, and Henri was there, holding the jacket Jim had bought me at Walmart yesterday.

Not the loft. Not asleep at the kitchen table in the middle of a poker game. I was in the bullpen. I'd fallen asleep on top of the case files for the Edwards murder. I remembered now pulling them forward from the back of the desk to use as a pillow.

"Sandburg, are you ready to make sense now? You know we're not playing poker, right?"

That was Simon. I yawned, and nodded and then stood up and stretched. I took my jacket and shrugged it on.

"Where's Jim?" It was a stupid question. Obviously Jim was still tied up, or it would have been him shaking me awake.

"Still with the techs. I'm sending you to the safe house, and don't bother arguing; if you can't stay awake, then you can't stay here."

Simon sounded... I don't know. Like he was talking to Daryl, maybe. I frowned. I hated it when people treated me like I was still a kid. Hell, I had hated being treated like a kid when I was a kid.

"All right, I see your point." I held up my hands, placating him. "I'm not arguing about heading for a bed. So what happened with Bergman while I was snoozing?"

"He was really shook up when I informed him that we'd found the car. He's agreed to the plea. His lawyer and an ADA are coming over to hammer it out. He's not going to talk until then."

Wow. It looked like closure was just around the corner. Bergman would confess and get his plea. No more hit-men after me; no more protective custody. I could go back to the loft, maybe not tonight, but surely by tomorrow it would be safe.

Simon laid his hand on my shoulder again. "Get some rest. I know Jim didn't get much sleep last night, so as soon as we've got Bergman's confession, I'll send him to the safe house, too." He stepped back and turned Henri's way. "You can leave when Ellison gets there."

"Sure thing, Cap'n. C'mon, Hairboy. We'll swing through somewhere and get some takeout. You want some Chinese or Thai? Barbecue? The P.D. is paying for it, so let's live a little."

Simon said mildly, "You go over the allotted expense and it comes out of your wallet, Brown."

"Right." Henri winked at me. "We'll stick to the specials."

Simon snorted. "Get out of here, and Blair, I meant it when I said to get some rest." Simon went into his office and shut the door. Henri and I walked out of the bullpen, after I gathered up my meds and notes on job hunting. Jim had bought us some new clothes, but they were in the truck. I missed my backpack. I wished the hospital hadn't kept it.

We'd almost gotten to the elevator when Jim's cell phone rang. I was smiling when I answered it, and waved to Henri to wait for me, while I stepped away out of earshot for some privacy, sure that it was Jim checking in with me.

It wasn't Jim.

"Who is this? Is this... Blair Sandburg?"

"Hello, Mr. Ellison. Yes, this is Blair. Jim's letting me use his phone, but I can get a message to him, if you like."

There was silence on the other end. I looked at the phone to see if the call had been lost, but the connection was still good.

"Mr. Ellison? Are you still there?"

No answer. "Mr. Ellison?"

"Jimmy's not with you?"

"He's in Cascade but he's working on a case. Should I have him call you or do you want to leave a message with me? I'll be seeing him tonight."

He didn't answer right away. "Mr. Ellison? I have to go; what do you want me to do?"

He finally answered me.

"I'll talk to Jimmy later; it wasn't anything important. But I would like to talk to you. In person. There are things I've wanted to discuss with you, about... you know. I don't like talking over the phone about it. And I don't want Jimmy, or anybody, to know we've talked. Can you come over now? Privately, by yourself? I'm asking you in confidence. It concerns Jimmy's future, and I believe you're a part of that future. There are things that concern Jimmy that you should know."

I hedged. "It's not really a good time, Mr. Ellison. Could we do it in a day or two?"

"No. I'm afraid that what I have to tell you shouldn't wait. I can't stress this enough, the urgency and the need for this to stay private, just between you and me. Please, Mr. Sandburg. I wouldn't be asking if I didn't have Jimmy's best interests in mind."

"I don't like the idea of keeping secrets from Jim. Doing that has messed us up in the past, and Jim and I are trying not to make the same mistakes again."

"Then tell him afterwards if you feel you must, but I'm begging you, Mr. Sandburg, I need to see you tonight, privately. Jim's life is at stake."

I caved. I'd talk H into letting me stop by and see Jim's dad. He sounded frantic, for him, and if William Ellison, the poster child for stoicism, and Jim's role model in that regard, was losing his cool, it must be as important as he was saying.

"All right. I'll come."

"I can't stress enough the need to keep our meeting private. Tell no one, and especially not Jim, that you're coming here. Please, Mr. Sandburg. I have my reasons."

"I'll be there soon. Goodbye, Mr. Ellison."

"Thank you." He ended the call and I put the phone up to my forehead, thinking.

It must be the sentinel stuff. Jim had said that he and his dad had been close over the last year. What did William Ellison know about Jim that was scaring him so badly? Maybe it wasn't anything, and I could lay the man's fears to rest. Maybe he'd seen Jim in a zone or something and was terrified about Jim's health. He hadn't been open to discussing Jim's abilities with me in the past. He might well clam up again in the future. If he wanted to talk, then this was a golden opportunity for me to develop some rapport with the man who was in effect, my father-in-law.

I beckoned Henri over. I'd have to tell him that I needed to see Jim's dad before going on to the safe house. Maybe a small obfuscation was in order.

xxx

Henri had parked two houses down and across the street from William's big house. He had a good view for surveillance from there, even inside the garage, since it was wide open.

My conscience was twinging a bit about letting Henri think it had been Jim who'd called me and asked me to stop by his dad's house. I hadn't actually stated that it had been Jim. I just hadn't corrected Henri's assumption.

There wasn't any danger in stopping and seeing William, but by the time I would have talked Henri into letting me go without Jim's approval, William and I could have finished our talk and I could be in bed. I was tired.

Anyway, we'd arrived in a roundabout way, making sure nobody had followed us from the station. Once there Henri had agreed to keep a low profile, after he'd used binoculars to cautiously check out the perimeter of the house. I wondered where Sally was, since her car wasn't in the driveway. She lived at the Ellison residence, but she didn't work twenty-four hours a day there. I knew she sometimes visited relatives and went out with her friends.

My conscience was clear about Jim, though. I'd returned to Jim's desk and left a note about where I'd gone and why on the top of the Edwards file, where he couldn't miss it. By the time Jim read the note William and I would be done talking and I would be released from William's insistence on keeping the conversation private.

I knocked on the door, thinking that William needed to get his porch light turned on. Maybe he needed the light bulb changed. I'd offer to fix it before I left. He really shouldn't be on a ladder and he'd need one to reach the fixture.

He opened the door and ushered me inside, murmuring that he'd take my jacket. I quickly eyed him and he looked in good health. He was standing straight, and his body was tall and strong, with good muscle tone even though he was somewhere in his sixties.

However, he was clearly upset. I summoned up the energy to look at his aura. The muddy tones of red, green, and blue that were woven throughout his aura and the gray shimmer around his heart told me that his spiritual health was not great. Still, I was pretty sure that he would never allow me to try to do what I had done for Jim. Maybe, just maybe, if I pumped my energy levels up, my aura might blend somewhat with his, and maybe I could do something to help him recover, even if just for a little while. I would listen to his concerns, try to help him with his anxiety about Jim. I had a feeling that this was something counselors did, as well as shamans. I wasn't really either, but I'd do my best to help him.

I thought this panic of his was more about William's perception that something was not right with Jim, rather than anything that was actually wrong. I'd been up close and personal with Jim's spiritual self a lot in the last week. After the extraction I'd done, Jim's aura had kept shimmering with strong, clear colors.

Jim was good. I was sure of it.

"Please, come into the kitchen. Sally made apple turnovers this morning – they were always Jimmy's favorite – and I've made a fresh pot of coffee. I think it would be easier to discuss the problem fortified by some good strong coffee." He took my elbow and steered me towards the brightly lit kitchen.

I wouldn't say no to anything Sally baked – maybe there would be enough turnovers to take some with me, for Jim – and tired as I was, coffee would help me rev up my energy levels.

He waved me to a kitchen chair and set a plate of the pastries on the beautiful cherry wood table. He busied himself with filling a mug with coffee and a splash of creamer, and set it before me, then fixed his own mug and sat down on the other side of the table.

We sipped our coffee, and I waited for him to bring up what was bothering him about Jim.

"Please, Mr. Sandburg, try one of Sally's turnovers. I... I'm thinking about how best to explain to you about... well. Give me a few moments, if you don't mind." I nodded.

I'd finished my coffee and a turnover before he began speaking.

"I love my sons. I wasn't particularly a good father to them when they were boys, but I didn't know I was failing them so miserably. Looking back, I can see where I made my mistakes. I can't change the past, but I hope that I've become a good father to Jimmy and Stephen now. I would do anything to save my boys. You aren't a parent, are you, Mr. Sandburg?"

"Blair, please, call me Blair. And no, I'm not."

"You're very close to Jimmy, I know. I suppose that at this point we should drop the formality of titles. Please, Blair, feel free to call me William."

"Okay, William. Thank you." I smiled at him, hoping to put him at ease. This was good, William and I talking, and once I'd laid his fears about Jim to rest, this might be a turning point in our own relationship. It would be nice for Jim to have his lover and his father getting along with each other, although William hadn't been told yet that his son and I were in a committed relationship. We were waiting for things to die down with the case first, then we'd have a long talk with William.

"I don't know, since you are childless, if you can really comprehend the fears parents have for their children. I had plenty of them for my boys. The world is not a kind place, not for those who are different; I wanted to spare my boys the pain of being taunted, hurt, or rejected." He looked at me, willing me to understand.

"You didn't want Stephen or Jim to have bad experiences because of who they were or what they did." I knew, of course, about how William had pounded into Jim's head that he should hide his sentinel abilities when he was a kid. I also knew that he had done that thinking he was protecting his son. But I kept silent. It was my role to listen to him tonight, not point out to William how he had screwed Jim and Stephen up.

Something occurred to me... William's reaction to Jim being different from other boys had always seemed to me to be an overreaction. Had something happened to William when he was a kid? Had he been seen as different, been treated harshly because of it? Could William have also had sentinel senses as a boy, and repressed them? My research indicated that being a sentinel was tied to genetics. I'd always wondered about Jim's mother being a sentinel, since the little Jim knew and had shared with me indicated that his mother seemed to have had some health problems before she left her husband and her boys. But what if Jim's abilities came from William?

"William? Were you treated badly as a kid because you were different in some way?"

He looked at me, and I could see his eyes becoming wet.

"Excuse me. I'm afraid that at my age I must visit the facilities more often than young men like yourself. Please, would you like another turnover? Or help yourself to more coffee, if you would like."

He left the kitchen, but he didn't stop at the downstairs bathroom. I heard him go up the stairs. Probably felt more comfortable in his own bathroom.

I passed on eating any more turnovers. I thought I should get up and pour myself another cup of coffee, but it seemed like too much trouble.

William took his sweet time in the john, but I reminded myself to have patience. He'd seemed to be on the edge of crying when he'd excused himself, and might take a while to pull himself together. Or, you know, just needed that long to take care of business.

That coffee didn't seem to be having any effect on me at all. I wondered if it had been de-caf, because I was getting so tired. Damn this mono. It kept just knocking me off my feet, and if William didn't come down pretty soon, he'd find me asleep at his table.

I yawned, and felt lightheaded. Whoa. I closed my eyes and decided it would be a bad idea to move for a while. Let my head settle back down first.

I'm not sure how long I stayed like that, just sitting quietly, eyes shut, but the dizziness kept increasing and I thought that whether or not William liked it, I was going to have to take off soon.

I decided to go knock on the bathroom door, tell him that I really had to leave now, and it was shit or get off the pot time. Not that I'd actually phrase it like that. I wasn't going to be a jackass and be all rude. This was Jim's dad; I wanted him to have a good impression of me.

I wanted him to like me.

I opened my eyes and stood up. When I did, my stomach started doing flip-flops and I staggered away from the table. I made it out of the kitchen, and into a large study sort of room, with bookshelves, a desk, a big stuffed chair, and a couch against one wall. I realized that I'd gotten turned around, because this wasn't the way I had come into the kitchen. It seemed easier to stumble to the door on the other side, and hope that it would open back out into the hallway so I could find William. I wasn't able to walk very well, more of a zig-zag than a straight line, and then the room started spinning around and around, a countermelody to the acrobatics going on in my gut.

Fuck. This felt like I'd gotten very, very drunk. A part of my brain wanted to pout about that, being this hungover without the fun part of getting sloshed. The more intelligent bits of gray matter were screaming at me that this wasn't right. Either I was getting very sick – and what new hell would that be about – or I was having a bad reaction to the coffee or the apple turnovers.

Crap. What if Sally had put some spice or something In those turnovers and I was having an allergic reaction to it?

My smart ass comment to Simon about not eating any poisoned apples was coming back to kick my butt. Karma. When was I going to realize I shouldn't tempt Karma like that?

The door out of the study was locked. I turned and lurched back towards the kitchen, and stumbled into a small table that was laden with books and files. I knocked them all over.

Oh, wonderful. What a great way to make a good impression on your father-in-law.

I fell to my knees and tried to sort out the jumbled mess and re-stack them, but I wasn't having much success.

My head began pounding, and my heartbeat started skipping around. Shit. I might need medical help. I called out for William, but I couldn't seem to get my voice to work loudly enough. I fumbled for Jim's cell phone. Henri was right outside, and I was sorry that William would know that I hadn't come alone, but I was starting to get very scared.

I got the cell phone out and promptly dropped it. Shit, shit, shit. It hit the floor and skittered out of my reach. I made a long arm trying to reach it, my other arm braced against the floor, and William walked in the door.

"I'm..." I was feeling so weak and too warm and there were colored dots dancing in front of my eyes. He reached down and grasped me by my biceps.

"Are you not feeling well? Perhaps you should lie down, go to sleep." His voice sounded odd to me, but then my ears were fucked up, too, because there was this loud ringing noise.

He raised me up and the vertigo hit me full force again. My vision narrowed down to a tunnel, the orange and red and green dots disappearing into blackness as he turned me towards the couch.

"M' sick. Hospital. Jim."

"You're going to lie down. Everything will be taken care of."

It felt like my arms and legs didn't belong to me anymore. William tightened his arms around me, my back against his torso, and then blackness swallowed me up.

xxx

Joel and I were elated about Bergman's decision to quit dicking around and take a plea, and on the drive back to the station we discussed our next steps.

Joel would handle the interrogation; he'd make sure the cameras were working, see if the other players had arrived yet, arrange for Bergman to be brought into the room.

I'd go grab the files on both the Edwards case and the attempted murder on Blair and set up shop in the observation room. The ADA would want to go over the evidence – the written testimonies, the confirmation of acrylamide in the thermos Bergman had handed to Blair, the letters Blair's bosses had received that indicated harassment from Bergman, the forensic evidence from the scene of Edwards' murder – to use as leverage against him. I'd listen in and confer with Joel on lines of questioning, since I was more familiar with the cases.

Hopefully, we could get things wrapped up without it taking all night; if Blair wasn't deeply asleep when I got to the safe house, we'd go home. I just needed to be able to read Bergman about whether there were still hit-men that he'd hired lurking around waiting to fulfill the contract on Blair. I didn't think so, because it didn't make much sense to hire someone to do your dirty work and then try to do it yourself.

I parked the truck and we rode up in the elevator, Joel getting off on the third floor and me on the seventh. Once at my desk, I quickly dropped the files I'd been carrying that contained the copies of the subpoenas on top of the other case files, since the message light on my desk phone was blinking. I checked my messages but there wasn't anything that needed my immediate attention, so I grabbed the stack of files and went to get organized in the observation room.

I met Simon in the hallway, shooting the shit with Beverly Sanchez. "Simon. Beverly, you're the ADA on this case? Who'd you piss off to get stuck working this late?"

Beverly smiled at me. It wasn't a nice smile. Not at all. "Oh, I asked to be assigned to this case, once I heard about it. Blair risked taking a bullet for me, and I'll never forget that. How is he, by the way? Simon mentioned that he's been sick."

Simon interrupted us. "Bergman's cooling his heels in there," he pointed to the interrogation room, "and his lawyer should be here any minute. Joel's escorting him up. I'll be sitting in, at least for a while, to help keep Bergman rattled."

"A teddy bear like you coming across as intimidating? You're kidding, right, sir?"

Simon snorted. "Better be careful, Jim. Sandburg's smart mouth must be catching. I'll be back in a minute. I could use some coffee." He strode down the hall and around the corner.

Beverly touched my arm. "So, how is Blair? I always liked him. Is he just here for the case, or is he moving back to Cascade?"

"He's had a bad time with mono and strep, but he's turned the corner on it. And he's staying. Um, with me." I was willing to stop right there, but Beverly is a very perceptive woman.

"With you? Like roommates again? Friends?" She must have seen something in my expression because she smiled again, only this time in a warm and friendly way.

"Or friends who've realized their potential? Jim? Should I be congratulating you?"

"Yeah, we're together. It's good, Bev." I looked at her pretty face, and remembered when we had kissed, trying out a tentative attraction. It hadn't taken long for us to decide to shelve that attraction in favor of being friends. I'd never regretted it.

"I can't say I'm surprised You know, you talked more about Blair whenever we got together than anything to do with us. He's a genuinely nice man, and a real cutie. I hope you guys are very happy together." Her dark eyes took on a mischievous look. "I could throw you a coming out party."

"I'm letting the grapevine take care of spreading the news. But if you do want to help, how about keeping an eye open for a job for Blair? You know Bergman and Edwards shafted him about his job opportunities, right?"

She nodded. "I know, the bastards. Like Blair was their puppet, a doll to manipulate instead of a human being. Sure, I'll ask around about a job for him. And maybe we can all go out for a beer when he's feeling better, have some laughs."

I could hear Bergman's lawyer and Joel getting off the elevator, but they were too far away for Beverly to notice yet. Simon was on his way back, too.

"Thanks, Bev. And yeah, Blair and I would like that. Say, I'll talk to you later; I need to get my stuff organized. Good luck, Counselor."

I ducked into the room and set down the files. I was sorting them into piles when Simon came in and placed a large coffee in front of me.

"Thanks, Simon." He went back out and I watched through the one-way mirror as Bergman's lawyer, Beverly, Simon, and Joel entered the small room. Bergman was handcuffed to the table and looked terrible.

Show time was about to begin.

xxx

I found Blair's note in the middle of the stack of files while the lawyers worked out the plea. They'd get the legal mumbo-jumbo completed, then Bergman would make both a verbal and written confession. Joel would painstakingly go over that confession, making sure there were no loopholes a defense lawyer could use. Bergman could change his mind and ask for a trial even while he was in front of the judge accepting the plea formally, and in that case we wanted the evidence and confession ready to nail his ass.

It'd been about an hour and a half since Blair had left the note; he'd scribbled the time on it. What on earth could my father want to talk to him about that had to be done privately this evening? Blair had written that Dad was pretty upset, was worried about me, and that he'd get to the bottom of it and try to calm my dad down about whatever he thought was wrong.

I was sure their talk could have waited, and I'd call Blair first chance that I got, probably when Joel took a break, since didn't want to miss anything during Bergman's confession. There was a phone jack in this room, but no phone. I suspected it had been liberated to replace one that wasn't working correctly somewhere else in the building

After the plea forms were signed, Bergman's lawyer took a hike, and Beverly came in to say goodbye and look over the evidence.

After she left, Bergman started to lose it.

Joel was playing good cop now, making supportive noises, making sure that Bergman had a glass of water, and pushing a Kleenex box over to him when tears began running down his face.

Simon didn't say much, just glowered at the man. He stood directly across from Bergman, and as big as Simon is, Bergman would be forced to notice him. I expected that Simon would leave shortly, once he was convinced Bergman was going to sing like the proverbial canary.

I think it was actually cathartic for the man. He admitted that Edwards had blackmailed him about an affair he'd had with a student, a seventeen-year-old girl. Edwards had pictures of him with this girl in compromising positions, and had threatened to expose him to his wife and bring about his ruin at the university. He'd broken it off with the girl, and she'd transferred to another school, well fortified with guilt money from him.

Edwards had used him like a dog, he said, his hands gripping each other now that Joel had removed the handcuffs. She'd foisted a lot of her job responsibilities off on him and taken credit for a lot of his own work, and silenced him when he wanted to protest the policies she was endorsing. He'd hated seeing what she was doing as chancellor. She'd turn a blind eye to abuse if it meant cover-up money from rich parents, to make sure their little darlings didn't have to face any consequences. He mentioned Brad Ventriss and Blair's involvement as an example.

He'd tried to escape, to transfer to another department, to even get a job somewhere else. She wouldn't have it. She didn't demand money from him, although she did expect him to pick up her tabs at any restaurant meetings they attended. She constantly punished him, though, and he choked out how demeaning it had been for her to order him around, and how he felt as if his soul was shriveling from having to dance to her tune.

He said he didn't want to admit what he'd done with that girl because he didn't want to hurt his wife. He denied being concerned about losing her fortune if they divorced, but his body language expressed to me that he was fudging about that. He'd miss the money and the prestige he'd married into.

Okay, background motivation established, Joel led him to surrender details regarding his plan to kill Edwards and why he'd involved Blair Sandburg.

Bergman said he had hated Edwards' policy decisions as chancellor, things like blocking changes that would have benefited the teaching assistants, or shifting funds earmarked for counseling and educational resources into accounts he knew would not help the students . He passionately believed her actions would end up hurting Rainier, and finally concluded that she had to be removed.

And Blair? Well, he'd known for some time that Blair, who'd been one of the few to oppose her publicly, would make a good scapegoat. Blair had wanted to file a grievance against her, based on the letters she had sent out to his prospective employers in Cascade. Bergman had pretended to have advocated for Blair, but in reality he hadn't addressed Blair's grievance with the committee. He'd wanted to keep alive a reason for Blair to be angry with Edwards.

I shook my head, listening to this well-respected and educated man describe how he'd set Blair up to be his patsy. It might have worked, too, if Blair's alibi hadn't cleared him. If he'd been arrested, though, those of us on the force that knew him would have worked day and night to find the actual killer. Even if Blair and I hadn't gotten back together, I would never have let him take the fall for a crime he hadn't committed.

Bergman stopped talking to blow his nose and wipe at his face. Joel gently prodded him to continue talking, and he took a deep breath and went on.

He said that at that point he hadn't totally decided on killing her, though he'd thought about it a lot. He'd begun trying out different methods in his head, ones that would not implicate him.

He'd kept tabs on Blair's whereabouts, not hard to do since Blair's transcript files were flagged for notification to Edwards whenever they were requested by Blair's prospective employers. It had actually fallen to Bergman to be the one to make sure the letters were sent. He knew Blair was struggling to keep a job, and he remembered conversations he and Blair'd had about Blair's car. He remarked that he was a classic car buff himself, but his wife didn't see the point of buying old vehicles, so he hadn't indulged his desire for one.

He realized that if he bought Blair's car and didn't change the registration, he could use it to run down Edwards. If he made sure to have the car ticketed, it would be proof that Blair's green Volvo had been on campus that day. He would wear a wig, pick a deserted time and day. He and Edwards attended many meetings together and he felt sure he could do it. He didn't own a gun, didn't know how to shoot one, poisoning might bring suspicion on him since he was a chemist, and he didn't want to touch her to strangle her, besides the danger of leaving evidence on her body.

Blair was jumping around the country; he'd be hard to find. If the police came to Rainier looking for any useful information on Blair Sandburg's current whereabouts, the files could be hidden or doctored. Blair would be safe enough from police questioning, and if it came down to it, it would be his word against Blair's. He was respected in the community; Blair had a reputation as a liar who'd forged his research. He thought that since Blair's history of disagreements with Edwards was public, and his own was not, Blair would seem the more credible suspect.

So he flew into New Mexico. He'd gotten Blair's address from the welding shop Blair worked at by spinning a story about updating the University's records. Then he went looking for him. Pretending that he'd run into Blair by chance, he'd treated him to dinner and offered to buy the car. Blair had agreed, and left it to him to complete the paperwork for registering the car in Bergman's name.

Joel asked him what he had done with the Volvo. Bergman broke down for a while, and he took a few minutes to regain his self-control. Finally he drank some water and continued with his confession.

He'd hidden the car at Pacific Storage, but he'd been careful not to have the unit listed in his own name. One of his friends, another professor who was on sabbatical in France, had emptied his house of furniture so that it could be rented out. He'd had his furniture stored, leaving the care and bill paying in Bergman's hands. The storage manager had been told Bergman was in charge, papers signed to that effect, and it had been simple for Bergman to request another unit in his friend's name for additional space.

He'd kept the folder and key for his friend's unit in his secretary's office. Unluckily for him, she had recognized the key from the safe as being the same sort as the key in the folder. The file the secretary gave Joel and me had supplied Pacific Storage's name. The subpoena had covered rental units as well as Bergman's home and office, and the manager's records had identified which units were under his friend's name.

The second one we had opened revealed a green Volvo. Bingo.

Joel explained to Bergman the process by which we'd located the car. Bergman put his head in his hands, and Joel offered him more water and allowed him a minute to regain his composure.

In answer to Joel's next series of questions, Bergman described Edwards' murder and how he had hidden the car afterward back in the storage unit.

"Why did you keep the car, sir?"

"I thought eventually I could drive it, after things had calmed down. I would have had it painted, figured out how to get a different title. I didn't want to sink it in a lake or drive it off a cliff, and Detective Ellison asked me about a chop shop, but my knowledge of such things are from the movies. I don't know anyone who runs one. I don't even know anyone who would know anyone who runs one. I'm not a criminal."

Nope, I thought. Not a criminal. Just a murderer. And almost one twice over.

More questions. More answers. More details about how he'd decided Blair had become a risk he couldn't afford anymore, not since Blair had contacted him and talked about moving back to Cascade.

Joel walked him through the steps he'd taken to kill Blair when they'd met for coffee.

All of those details meshed with what we'd known from observing him.

Joel looked sternly at Bergman. "Tell me about the hit-men you hired to kill Blair Sandburg while he was in custody in Sweetwater, Tennessee." Now we were heading to the unknown parts of this story.

Bergman frowned and looked confused.

"Excuse me?"

"Your plea covers those charges, also, Chancellor, so there isn't any reason to keep that information hidden. We know you hired two hit-men to kill Blair Sandburg. We want the name of your contact for those hit-men, and we want to know how you knew Sandburg was incarcerated at Sweetwater."

Bergman held up his hands. "I don't know what you're talking about. Blair had dropped off my radar. He wasn't contacting the university for his transcripts anymore. And hit-men? How would I know how one goes about hiring a hit-man? I didn't have anything to do with any hit-men."

I stood up. He was being truthful. Shit. Blair was still in danger. But from who?

Simon excused himself and joined me. Joel was still questioning Bergman about hiring hit-men and he kept protesting his innocence.

"Jim, is he telling the truth? He's coming across to me as being honest."

"I'd bet on it. Damn it, there's another player at work here."

I sat back down, thinking. After Edwards' murder, Bergman had kept sending the letter trashing Blair along with his transcripts. He'd admitted that he did it to keep Blair on the run. We'd assumed he'd sent the other letters, the ones that warned employers that they'd hired a bad apple, that Blair was going to be investigated on various fraud charges and had hinted that he was also a sexual predator. The ones signed "James Ellison" that had pissed Blair off so much, since he'd thought I'd sent them.

Maybe Bergman wasn't responsible for the second type of letter.

At any rate we needed to see if he had or hadn't sent them. I picked up the folder that contained a faxed copy of the letter that one of Blair's former employers had received. Restless, I stood back up and handed it to Simon.

"See if he recognizes this letter. At the very least, I'll get a reading on his reaction."

Simon opened the folder to familiarize himself with the letter. I hadn't bothered to read it myself yet, since Blair had described the contents with a lot of force back in Sweetwater. I moved a little closer to him and glanced at it, then I grabbed it out of his hands.

"Jim? What is it?"

My heart rate picked up, sounding like thunder in my ears. Oh, no, there must be some mistake, I wasn't seeing what I thought I was seeing. Oh, dear God, please let me be wrong.

I moved past Simon, ignoring his demand for me to stop and talk to him. I flung open the interrogation room door and in a few strides was looming over Bergman.

Oh, dear God, let Bergman have written this.

I shoved the letter under his nose. "Did you write this?"

He pushed it down so he could see it properly and began reading it. After his eyes had glanced down the first paragraph he stopped and shook his head.

"Are you positive?" Bergman's eyes widened, and Joel looked at me with alarm.

"No! I didn't write that. I don't know who did."

Oh my God.

"What connection does William Ellison have with you?"

He glanced to the right and then upwards. "Your father? He's been a very generous donor to the university."

He was being truthful but he wasn't telling all the truth. "What else! All of it, now!"

"He, he arranged for Chancellor Edwards to send to Blair's prospective employers an extremely negative letter regarding Blair's university work history. And he wanted her to send him any new information she received, such as updated addresses for Blair. After she died, he came to see me and explained the arrangement they'd had, and that if I would continue it, then he would continue to generously fund my special projects."

Oh my God. And Blair had gone to my dad's house.

I couldn't get my head around what I was learning.

Simon grabbed my arm and propelled me out the door, Joel following. I broke loose and practically ran down the hall to the elevators and hit the down button. Joel and Simon caught up to me there.

"We need to call Blair right now, he's got my phone. Make sure he's okay." Oh, God.

Joel made the call.

Simon said quietly, but with force, "Explain what's going on here, Jim."

I held up the letter. "I'm pretty sure that's my dad's signature. He's not even lying on it. His name is William James Ellison. Simon, he bribed Edwards and Bergman to harass Blair. Blair and Henri stopped at his place on the way to the safe house. Blair left me a note telling me that my dad wanted to see him privately. Simon, what if it's my dad who..." I couldn't finish that thought.

Joel said, urgently, "Blair doesn't answer and neither does Henri. We should roll."

Grasping at straws, I told them, "Cell phone reception is spotty out by his house. Maybe that's why we can't reach them."

Simon ordered, "Joel, contact Dispatch to reach Brown by radio. See if there are any units in the area for backup. Jim, what's your dad's phone number?"

I gave it to him. Simon called but only got the answering machine. Joel called Dispatch and also arranged for Bergman to be returned to his cell. I heard the elevator rising to our floor and willed it to work faster.

I felt hot, then cold, and my gut was roiling. Finally, the elevator door opened and we rushed inside. Joel hit the button for the garage, and tried again to call Blair, then Henri, as we descended.

Simon grasped my shoulder. "Jim. I need you to listen to me. And I'll have your ass stuffed in a patrol car and you handcuffed to the grill if you don't do exactly what I say. You can not enter your dad's house or talk to him. Somehow, this is all about what Blair is to you. You're the key, the connection. If your dad's holding the kid hostage, then seeing you might be the trigger to kill him. I hope to God I'm wrong about all of this. Maybe he just took a dislike to Blair after the publicity over that damn dissertation, and just wanted him away from you. Maybe he's not the one who hired the hit-men. But you know, he's looking awfully good for it." Simon shook my shoulder.

"I need your word, Jim. You've been a cop for a long time now. You know what usually happens when the catalyst comes on the scene."

He was right, I knew he was right. But... "I can sneak in, get Blair out. Simon, I have to -"

Simon swung me into the elevator wall and pinned me there. "Jim, if I'm not making myself clear, then I'm putting you in handcuffs immediately. You can not make contact with your father. If he does have Blair, then we'll hold seeing you as a delaying tactic and a bargaining chip. Get your act together here. Your father is obsessed. He's risked a lot already to get at Blair, and if he thinks you know what he's doing then he's got every reason to kill Blair anyway, and maybe himself so he doesn't have to deal with you knowing what he's done."

The fog that had been in my head cleared. Simon was right. "I got it, Simon. But I have to go! I can listen for what's going on when I get there. God, I hope this is a false alarm, and that Blair's asleep in the safe house."

The elevator opened onto the parking garage and I headed for my truck. Simon grabbed my arm. "You're not driving. I am. I'm parked over here." He let go and I followed him; we were all practically running, although there was no way that we'd be the first ones on the scene.

And then I stopped dead in my tracks, skidding a little. The panther, snarling, tail lashing, was pacing on top of Simon's black Ford Explorer. He let out a roar that was loud enough to crumble stone. But Joel and Simon were oblivious and continued to move to the car at a fast clip.

I couldn't. A terrible, horrific fear had hit me like a tidal wave.

Blair, the image of Blair, was floating before me. His feet were inches off the floor, putting us at eye level. He was translucent.

"Blair, oh God, are you still alive?"

He put his hands on my cheeks. I couldn't feel him. He looked at me with such love in his eyes.

And then he disappeared.

xxx