Will Pope blinked as the two women emerged from the elevator. He stood between the two repairmen who'd fixed the fault in the wiring, expecting to have to referee immediately. But they just nodded as they brushed past him, discussing interview techniques. Interview techniques? Pope turned to the man to his left.

"They weren't fighting." He sounded stunned.

"No sir. They seemed fine. Guess we fixed it in time." The repair man started to turn away.

"Used to be, 15 seconds wouldn't have been 'in time'. What on earth is going on?" Pope may have been a desk jockey for a while, but his sixth sense for mysteries hadn't gone completely away. He was going to figure out the change in that tide, before it backfired.

Sharon opened the passenger door to her car, holding it while Brenda settled herself inside, then pushed it closed. Getting in on the passenger side, she grinned to herself, and hitched her skirt up before sitting down, exposing a significant expanse of creamy skin. She saw Brenda glance down, and blush.

"If it's any consolation, Chief, I've been checking you out for ages. You have, despite your tendency towards florals, a certain presence, that commands my attention." Sharon put the car into gear, and started out of the garage.

"So what if I like flowers on my dresses? Flowers are pretty, and lord knows this job comes with enough ugly to last a lifetime." Brenda replied hotly.

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it." Sharon chose to ignore the ire in the other woman's voice.

"So, does this thing have a radio?" Brenda asked, looking at the complicated console in the middle of the dash board.

Sharon reached down, and clicked a button, and music filled the car. Brenda leaned back in her chair, trying to place the artist. The music was slow, and rhythmic, and the singer had a low, husky voice, as she sang about no ordinary love. The lyrics spun in Brenda's mind, curiously fitting. She cleared her throat.

"This is nice. Who sings this?" She asked, conversationally.

"Sade. The song is called No Ordinary Love. I have an Mp3 player hooked up in the trunk, with over 2000 songs on shuffle, so you never quite know what you're going to get when you turn the music on in here. I like it, it keeps the drive fresh. Like the radio, only it's all music I like, and there are no commercials or annoying Djs." Sharon replied, braking at a red light.

"I see. I don't even think there ARE 2000 songs I like. I'm terrible with technology. Usually, Fritz puts the songs on my Ipop." Brenda flushed.

"Ipod." Sharon murmured.

"What?"

"Ipod. Not Ipop. How did you explain the Melissa Ferrick song?" Sharon wondered.

"Oh. Well, I just sort of muddled through. I'm still not sure I did it right. It seems to be on there three times. But I didn't want any help, with that one." Brenda smiled a little. "That was just for me."

"You know, when it played in the car, I knew that you'd been listening to the same station driving home that night, that I had. That's not a very popular song, you see, and it rarely gets radio play." Sharon smirked then, and continued. "I find the irony appealing."

"Yes. Well. I liked it. It had a good beat." Brenda took deep breaths, trying to keep from blushing again.

They drove in silence for a while, and Brenda enjoyed being able to watch the Captain surreptitiously. The easy grace with which she handled the steering wheel was sending maddening jolts through Brenda's system, at the memory of those hands handling her. Sharon sometimes squinted, the corners of her eyes crinkling in the same way they did when she smiled, so that Brenda was praying for direct and bright sunlight. She was startled out of her quiet observations when Sharon began to sing along in the middle of the tune that was playing.

"I could go crazy on a night like tonight

When summer's beginning to give up the fight

And every thought's a possibility

The voices are heard

but nothing is seen.

Why do you spend this time with me

maybe an equal mystery.

But you like the taste of danger

it shines like sugar from your lips

and you like to stand in the line of fire

just to prove you can shoot straight from your hip

there must be a thousand things you would die for

I can hardly think of two

but not everything is better spoken

not when I'm talking to you."

Sharon's voice was clear, and strong, and unexpectedly beautiful. Brenda was captivated, and she sensed that Sharon chose the lyrics to sing along with for a reason, since there was more to the song, but she stopped singing before it was over. She pulled out her phone, and sent herself a text message, with the words 'I could go crazy on a night like to night when summer's beginning to give up the fight' to remind herself to get on that Google later, and find the song. Charlie had tried to show her how to surf the Google on her cell phone, but Brenda had only managed to master texting, before Charlie gave up, exasperated.

"You have an incredible voice!" Brenda exclaimed, as she typed.

"Thanks. I was in choir in high school. Alto, obviously." Sharon replied, smiling. She wondered if Brenda would understand, if it would occur to her that sometimes she felt like music said it better, that she was afraid to say certain things, without the support of an artist saying it first.

"Then how did you end up on the beat, instead of on Broadway?" Brenda asked, shifting so that her body was angled towards Sharon.

"I come from a family of officers. There was never any question of what I was going to be when I grew up. My blood runs blue, thanks to my father." Sharon pulled the car into a parking space.

Brenda wondered if Sharon regretted following in her father's footsteps, but held the question back. She reached down to unbuckle her seat belt, deep in thought. Sharon's hand on her knee jolted her back to the present. She looked up.

"I just wanted to say...that I'm very glad you agreed to go to dinner with me tonight. I wondered if you would say no, now that you'd gotten it out of your system." Sharon spoke quickly, then exited the car before Brenda could respond. Brenda, for her part, stayed frozen with her hand on the seat belt for a moment, before remembering that they had to conduct an interview, still, and that the poor man was probably waiting for his pain meds since they were already late. Snapping into action, she pulled the belt off, and stepped out of the car, catching up with Sharon on the steps. As they reached the landing, Sharon rang the bell, and Brenda moved to stand behind her, but leaned close enough to whisper in her ear.

"It's not out of my system. Not by a long shot, Captain. And I'm looking forward to dinner as well." Brenda moved so that she was standing next to the Captain, as the door opened.

"Can I help you?" An elderly woman peered at them through the screen door.

"Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson, and Captain Sharon Raydor, here to interview a mister Elijah James, may we come in?" Brenda let her drawl creep out, as she flashed her badge at the woman.

The woman nodded, and pushed the screen door open, then stepped back to allow them entrance. She motioned for them to follow her, as she started down the hallway.

"Eli's right back here. He's late for his meds, so I hope this won't take long. We thought you people were coming an hour and a half ago." She frowned as she paused near a door.

"We're so sorry ma'am. We were in an elevator for just over an hour, because it stalled, and they took a good while to solve the problem. We got here just as soon as we could, and If now isn't a good time, we can come back, but I promise you we won't take too long." Brenda gave the woman her brightest smile, as she poured on the southern charm.

"All right then. He's just in here." The woman turned the knob on the door she'd stopped in front of, and pushed it open, gesturing for Brenda and Sharon to enter before her.

The room was small, and filled mostly with a full-sized hospital bed, and several monitors. There was a chair near the bed, and another against an adjacent wall. Brenda moved to sit in the chair near the bed, smiling down at the man occupying the bed. She held her hand out as she introduced herself.

"Mr. James. I'm Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson, and I have a couple of questions to ask you about the shooting that occurred at your restaurant." She spoke sweetly, smiling as the man shook her hand.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. James. I can't imagine the pain of losing a child to a violent death, but I want you to know that we are doing everything in our power to find out who did this. So I need you to help me by answering my questions, even if they might seem like they don't have anything to do with what happened. Okay?" Brenda continued, pulling out a note book and pen.

"All right, Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson. I can answer your questions." The old man rasped, struggling to sit up.

The old woman rushed to his side, and slid her hand behind his back, helping him shift. He groaned at the movement, but settled back into his pillows, slightly more upright, and looking alert.

"Now, you've owned your business for the last 20 years, correct?" Brenda asked, leaning forward.

"That's right. Started it just before Emma and I got married. Her daddy give me a loan for it." He nodded as he spoke.

"And you've been involved in the day to day running of it, up until you were diagnosed, right?"

"And some more beyond my diagnosis. I didn't quit til I couldn't stand any more, you see? Man only has his family and his work. No good quitting before your time, on either of those things."

"And your daughter, she was in line to take it over, according to your will?" Brenda adjusted her glasses, and met his gaze.

"Yes ma'am. She had a good head for business, that girl. Made me damn proud." His voice broke, and Brenda leaned forward, patting his hand.

"What about your sons? Were they next in line?"

"No ma'am. They weren't interested in learning about the restaurant business. Too busy running in the street, chasing tail instead of their dreams. Nope, after my girl, Alessia, then my best friend and business partner Jerome. He been with me from the start." The man was wracked with a coughing fit, and the older woman flitted to his side, offering a small cup of water, as she smoothed her hand across his head.

Brenda averted her eyes, realizing the personal nature of such a tender exchange. She thought about Fritz, and how she'd expected to grow old with him. She tried to imagine them, as this couple. But if Fritz had been so ill, Brenda knew she wouldn't have been the attentive care-giver this Emma was. She closed her eyes, grief at her inability to think of anyone other than herself, and her career washing over her.

Sharon leaned against the doorjamb, observing the whole scene. She wondered why Brenda looked so sad. The man was dying, that much was clear, but he was dying in his home, with the woman he loved taking care of him, and guiding him through his last days with dignity. Sharon thought it was beautiful. She cleared her throat, and Brenda opened her eyes and looked at her.

"Chief Johnson, do you have any more questions for Mr. James?" Sharon spoke softly.

"Just one more, Captain, then he's all yours." Brenda replied, taking a deep breath.

"Mr. James, I won't take up much more of your time, but I have one more question. If your partner Jerome is unable to assume leadership of the business, what happens?"

"Well, he's younger than me, so he'll be fine. But if he can't, then it goes to my oldest son. He'll probably sell it. Hope he keeps it in the neighborhood, and doesn't turn it into a Starbucks or something like that. Neighborhood needs a good family restaurant, place they can take their kids and not worry about leaving if the kid starts to act up, you know? It's good for the community." He answered earnestly, his eyes bright.

"Thank you so much for your time. I can't tell you how helpful you've been. We'll be in touch. My associate has a few questions for her investigation, and then we'll be out of your hair." Brenda stood, shoving her notebook and pen back into her bag, and gestured to Sharon.

Sharon moved to take the seat by the bed. She took her glasses off and smiled, offering her hand.

"Mr. James, I'm Captain Sharon Raydor. I'm in charge of investigating the officer who fired his weapon on your property. His name is Charles Taggart. Does that sound familiar?"

"No ma'am. We have a few beat cops who are regulars, we give free coffee and pastry to them, you know, in thanks for looking out for our neighborhood. But I don't know an officer Taggart, unless he's a rookie, new to our community, and just hasn't heard about the free coffee." James coughed out a laugh at that.

"No sir, he's not a rookie. He was off duty, and at the mini-mart next door." Sharon replied.

"That place. That place has gone to the dogs. Used to be run by a nice Indian family. They moved out to Laguna bout 3 years ago, and now some Russians own it. They let the dealers loiter, and deal out of there, in exchange for protection. It's a damn shame. Those dealers deal to school kids! Babies! I called and called the police, but it never seemed to be a priority. Finally, I just started chasing them off with a broom when they'd hang out front. Bad for my business, all those thugs hanging around. People scared to come eat." He frowned.

"Do you know the names of the new owners?" Sharon poised her pen over her note pad, sensing this may be relevant in the future.

"Petryskova. But they say Peters, cuz most folks in this neighborhood don't do so well with foreign sounding names. It's cousins, you know. Gunter and Robert. Gunter's an okay sort. Goes to college for some philosophical something. Robert runs the business, mostly. He's the one who said okay to the gangs and the drugs. Gunter always has his nose in a book, can't be bothered to notice the shady people Robert takes up with." The old man coughed again, and Sharon handed him the cup that Emma had left on his bed side table.

"That's all for now, Mr. James. Thank you for being so forthcoming with your information. I greatly appreciate your time, and I'm sorry we took so much of it. If you think of anything else, please call us. Otherwise, we'll be in touch." Sharon left a business card on the table, and walked to the door, where Brenda and Emma stood waiting.

Emma walked them to the front door, pausing with her hand on the knob. She turned and pinned them with her watery gaze.

"You find the people who killed my baby. You find them, and you make them pay." She said, her soft voice not easing the venom of her words.

She jerked the door open, and nodded at them, as they stepped out into the fresh air. Brenda stopped on the top step, and turned to look at the woman through the screen door.

"I will." She said simply, before starting down the steps.

Sharon followed close behind, her thoughts focused on the new information about the Russian owners of the mini-mart the Officer had been in at the time of the shooting. Distractedly, she opened the door for Brenda, then walked around and got into the driver's seat. She keyed the ignition, and waited til she heard the click of Brenda's seat belt before she put the car in gear, and pulled out.

"Well that went well, don't you think?" Brenda asked, thoughtfully.

"Yes. I'm especially interested in the Russian cousins." Sharon replied, putting on her turn signal.

"Really? I want to know more about the sons." Brenda mused, flipping through her notebook.

They sat in silence with their thoughts, until Brenda's phone rang.

"Johnson." She spoke into the phone.

"Uh huh. Okay. What about the other one? Well, where do we find him? Really? All right. We're on our way, then." She slid the phone shut, and looked over at Sharon.

"The oldest son is at the restaurant, and he's apparently quite distraught. I'd very much like to talk to him, and while I do that, you could interview the Petryskovas. What do you say?"

"Excellent. I have a good feeling about this." Sharon replied, moving into the left lane, to turn back towards the restaurant.