Chapter Three: Off the Edge of the Map

There were no words to express Sergeant Edward Lane's fury and disgust when Commander Holleran broke the news to him and the other Sergeants. How dare IA charge Greg with organized crime when he'd been forced undercover as an Italian mob boss. Forced to deceive everyone he knew and loved – left high, dry, and void of the backup he deserved when the real mob boss came after him. How dare IA charge Greg with murder when he'd had to choose between 'doing the right thing' and protecting his family.

If it had been him, Ed knew exactly what he would've done to protect his Sophie and their kids. And he wouldn't have been as nice about it as Greg. Greg – the honorable, secretly chivalrous knight of a cop – he'd given them a fighting chance. A chance to retreat and survive another day, but if it had been up to Ed… No matter how good Castor Troy and his loathsome sister had been, there was no way they could've survived his sniper's round.

Jason Cooper swore as their commander finished, turning away as if to deny the charges against their leader. Next to him, Troy Vio's expression was closed, with a glimmer of despair in their depths – Ed was reminded of when, years earlier, the lean raven-haired man had been briefing him and Greg about Danny taking over the briefing room. The hesitation right before he'd confessed that Greg's kids were inside the room – Danny's unknown captives.

Nathan Roenick crossed his arms, a savage glitter in the depths of his eyes. Wisely, he kept silent, perhaps realizing that if he crowed over Parker's arrest, Commander Holleran would turn a blind eye to the thrashing he'd get from his fellow Sergeants.

"What now?" Ed demanded, fists clenching by his sides. "There's got to be something we can do to help."

Holleran nodded once. "I still have all the evidence that Greg passed to me via the cemetery dead-drop we set up."

"What about the paperwork for the transfer and the gag order?" Jason asked, swinging back. "That would prove Parker didn't want to go undercover in the first place."

Their commander frowned, considering. "I should have that, but I'll have to find it." He nodded to himself. "Captain Cragen will have all the evidence that was collected after Detective Archer and his family were murdered."

"And the judge," Vio put in, eyes widening. "Didn't Judge Gordinski and his family get murdered after Parker went undercover?"

Nathan snorted. "They could claim Parker did the judge and his family."

"They're welcome to make that claim, Sergeant Roenick," Holleran remarked, tone dry. "It wouldn't fly, though. They'd open the door to admitting evidence from Castor Troy's original trial, where he was convicted of murdering several law enforcement officers and their families in the same manner as Gordinski, Archer, and their families were killed."

Ed's blue eyes widened, right before he frowned. "Sir, why can't we introduce records from the original trial? If Gre… Lieutenant Parker's claiming self-defense, then the original trial would show that he had reason to believe that his family's safety was at risk from Castor Troy."

Commander Holleran stilled, considering the argument. Then he sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm not a lawyer, Lane, but the trial records are still sealed. We'd need to get them unsealed before we could even consider adding them to Parker's defense."

"Get Parker's union lawyer on it," Roenick opined. "What're we payin' her for?"

Their commander stiffened, enough that all four Sergeants stared at him, silently demanding answers. Reluctantly, he explained, "Her name is Claire Kincaid; she used to be an assistant district attorney in Manhattan. She moved up here to Toronto shortly after the warehouse fire – she has no firsthand knowledge of Castor Troy or his activities in this city."

"And?" Sergeant Vio pressed when their commander hesitated.

"I've spoken to all the officers she's worked with thus far – from what they've told me, she's a very good attorney, but none of them want to work with her again."

Roenick allowed a sneer. "I know just the type, sir; too busy lookin' at the law to see the real live guys behind the law."

Ed's heart sank. "You mean, she'd see going lethal on a mob boss as murder?"

"In the context of a hot call, no," Commander Holleran replied. "Unfortunately, Lieutenant Parker was not on a hot call when he took down the Troy siblings."

And that, Ed realized, was enough. Because Greg had gone outside the letter of the law, his own lawyer believed him guilty of murder. His stomach lurched; if Greg's lawyer didn't believe in his innocence, then the odds of him winning at trial – even a bench trial – were extremely low.

So low, in fact, that even Roenick had dropped the devil-may-care attitude and bore a grim, serious expression. And that was the most frightening fact of all.

Silverock fidgeted as he entered the human law office. Initially, he and his honored sire had intended to contact the United States Navy lawyer who'd assisted the House of Calvin before, but Lord Calvin had put paid to that plan. Not without regret, as Bud Roberts – recently promoted to the rank of full Commander – was an honorable man and an excellent lawyer with a great deal of experience defending clients in the courtroom, but he wanted nothing more to do with the wizarding world.

Fortunately, his sire had anticipated that Lord Calvin might refuse to override Commander Roberts' stated wishes; even as he'd been planning on contacting the Navy lawyer, he'd set Silverock to investigating alternatives. Of course, Silverock had started with lawyers in Toronto, but not long into his investigation, another name had come across his desk. Not Canadian by any means and potentially difficult to lure from his native territory, but the man's record was most intriguing. If convinced of his client's innocence, he was ruthless as a goblin in court. Perhaps even outside of court if Silverock's suspicions were correct.

One hand lifted briefly to his shoulder, checking that the goblin glamour was in place and active. Then he stepped forward, nodding greeting to the woman behind the desk in the small office. "Good day, Madame." The goblin extended his card, waiting for the secretary to take it. "I have an appointment with Mr. Matthew Murdock of Nelson and Murdock."

"Oh, yes, his 8:30 appointment," the secretary replied, consulting a book on her desk. "Let me show you in, sir."

Silverock inclined his head. "My thanks, Madame."

Brisk, the redhead stepped around the front of her desk and guided the goblin through the small office to a plain door without any adornment – not even a nameplate. Inwardly, Silverock was surprised, but then he reconsidered. Despite the small law firm's many successes in court, the majority of the firm's clients were too poor to fund larger, more elaborate premises. It stood to reason that the two lawyers of the firm would forego any unnecessary expenditures.

He therefore made no comment as his guide opened the door and announced, "Mr. Murdock, your 8:30 is here to see you."

"Thank you, Karen," the man inside the office said, rising to his feet to greet his perspective client.

The goblin moved past the secretary, nodding to her in thanks as humans were expected to do. Then he turned his full attention to the young lawyer, evaluating him even as he was evaluated in turn. Tall and lean, Murdock wore the customary business suit of his trade – a dark gray suit and starched white shirt adorned with a gray and black striped tie. Silverock judged him to be a brunet, albeit with hair dark enough to be mistaken for black, particularly when paired with the dark-red glasses he wore.

A cane leaned against the wall behind Murdock's desk, within easy reach of its master. The handle was a deep red hue – crafted of fine, quality wood. The stick itself was white, though there were dark rings between each extended section and Silverock caught a glimpse of an emblem at the very top of the cane, one he would've liked to examine up close.

Murdock tilted his head, a frown appearing on his face. "You're shorter than I expected."

Silverock chuckled, a gravely sound in the small office. "A lack of height runs in my family, Mr. Murdock. We have learned to compensate with our minds."

The frown shifted to a brief smile, there and gone in an instant. "I apologize; you didn't come here for me to insult your height." Or lack thereof.

The goblin waved the apology away, smirking when Murdock's head shifted in time with his movements, as though the blind lawyer could see his movements. "I shall overlook the matter, Mr. Murdock. If we may proceed to business."

"Of course," the lawyer replied, gesturing to the seat before his desk. "I understand from your message that you're looking for a defense attorney?"

"My client is," Silverock corrected, ignoring the way his feet dangled once he was sitting in the human-sized chair.

Murdock frowned and steepled his fingers. "I prefer to meet with my prospective clients myself, sir. Nelson and Murdock only takes cases where our clients are innocent."

"I am aware of your ethics, Mr. Murdock," the goblin replied. "But I am afraid it is quite impossible for my client to travel to New York at present. He has already been arrested and is being held until trial." He let that sink in, then added, "In Toronto, Canada."

Murdock stiffened, eyes widening behind his glasses. "You're coming to New York for a defense attorney? I don't even have a license to practice in Canada!"

Silverock was caught off guard and it was his turn to frown. "Forgive my ignorance, sir; my client's current attorney also hails from Manhattan and used to practice here as a district attorney. I was not aware that she was required to obtain a new license to maintain her profession."

"Who is your client's current lawyer?"

"Her name is Claire Kincaid."

The young lawyer blinked, then sighed and reached up, removing his glasses to briefly rub at his eyes. "I heard she moved out of New York and went into private practice." Shifting back to his guest, he added, "She's a good attorney; your client should be in good hands with her."

The goblin scowled. "My client's friends and family are not so sure, Mr. Murdock. The circumstances surrounding the crimes my client is accused of are somewhat…murky. For those who know the full story, his actions are quite understandable, but Miss Kincaid views the law very…narrowly." Spreading his hands, Silverock continued, "You are known to be zealous in defense of your clients – so long as you believe in their innocence. Also, you and your partner tend far more towards the spirit of the law, then its letter."

"I still don't have a license to practice law in Ontario," Murdock pointed out. "I'd have to pass the bar exam before I could even think about accepting your client as my own."

Silverock fell silent for some minutes – he knew how slow the Muggle world could often be. Lieutenant Parker did not have time to wait for Murdock passing the Canadian bar – and that was assuming that Murdock could go straight to the bar exam and not be waylaid by other bothersome bureaucratic requirements.

At last, choosing his words with care, he said, "Would you be willing, Mr. Murdock, to come to Canada to meet my client? There may be ways to overcome the obstacle you have outlined, but there is little point unless you are willing to take the case." The goblin dipped his head. "As you have stated that your firm does not accept clients unless you believe them to be innocent, only a face-to-face meeting will do for your requirements." He studied the young lawyer and added, "We would, of course, pay for your time and all travel expenses, regardless of the outcome."

Murdock's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "If your client is already in line for a trial…" he began.

"Allow me to worry about that, sir," Silverock countered. "I have simply asked you to come and meet my client, with no expectations about what happens after that."

The young lawyer frowned deeply, but finally agreed to the proposal.

Foggy offered to come with him, eager to escape the Big Apple, if only for a few days. Matt accepted with a wry grin and even paid Karen to take the rest of the week off out of the expense money he'd gotten from the mysterious Mr. Silverock. Foggy whistled low at the advance funds and Karen gasped at how much their prospective client was already paying them – Matt knew his two friends were already very willing to take the case, despite the fact that he and Foggy were only licensed to practice in the State of New York.

Despite his own misgivings, Matt Murdock was curious – what was it about this case that had driven a client from Toronto, Canada to seek out a New York lawyer? After all, a city the size of Toronto was sure to have many attorneys – good, bad, and indifferent. Surely there was a local attorney – who already had a license to practice law – who could take the case?

Claire Kincaid met them at the hotel – Matt and Foggy had never met her in person before, but they knew her reputation as a tough, but fair assistant DA. There was a tartness to her voice as she brought them up to speed on her client, a local cop with an excellent reputation who'd been accused of organized crime and double homicide. Murdock stiffened, thinking of Fisk and how the ruthless crime lord hid beneath his masquerade as a respectable businessman. Fooling nearly the whole city of New York even as his thugs ran amok.

Kincaid couldn't tell them everything, of course; there was a great deal that fell under attorney-client privilege, a privilege that neither Matt nor Foggy were bound to. Nevertheless, by the time she was done, the two New Yorkers knew for a fact that Kincaid believed her own client guilty of the crimes he stood accused of. Turning his head ever so slightly, Matt nodded to Foggy, agreeing with his partner's unspoken conclusion that Kincaid wouldn't represent her client to the best of her ability. How could she, when she was a former DA accustomed to trying criminal defendants. Her own convictions would hobble her efforts to defend the man.

"Can you get us in to meet Parker?" Foggy asked.

"I've already arranged it," Claire replied. "Can't say I'm surprised Parker's people went to New York for a lawyer, though."

"What makes you say that?" Matt questioned, arching a brow behind his trademark dark-red glasses.

Kincaid shook her head and didn't reply until she'd gotten them out of the hotel and to her car. Once they were in the vehicle and headed towards the Toronto prison where Lieutenant Parker was behind held, she spoke again, as if no time at all had passed between Matt's question and her response.

"I haven't been here very long, Murdock, but there's all kinds of rumors about the Strategic Response Unit. Most cops around here call them the cavalry, you know."

"What, like they're the SWAT big guns?" Foggy asked.

Air shifted in the car, as if Claire had nodded. Then she huffed. "Sorry, Murdock, forgot. Yes, that's right. But don't call them SWAT – they'll insist that they're 'talk before tactics'. At least, that's what Sergeant Lane did when I went to talk to them about Parker's case."

"Being Canadian SWAT doesn't sound like much of a rumor, Kincaid," Matt observed.

"No, but try this on for size, Murdock. While he was still a Sergeant, Parker disappeared for two months, right after a four-alarm fire. Even his own team thought he was dead. Then, just about the same time his team ended up in the middle of a bombing case, he reappears. Fit as a fiddle and they say he rescued his old team leader from a burning building. Got him out right in the nick of time." She let that hang, then added, in a very dry tone, "His team was suspected of setting the bomb that caused the fire, but once it was all over, everything got hushed up and swept under the rug. And that's not even the wildest rumor I've heard, boys."

"You've got wilder than coming back from the dead?" Foggy blurted – Matt knew his best friend's eyes were wider than saucers.

"Yep, sure do," Claire replied. "Supposedly, a year or so back, his nephew got in a car accident the same day he got his license. Not the kid's fault – the other driver was so drunk, she'd already had her license suspended a couple times. Lost it for good after that accident."

Matt whistled low from his spot in the backseat and heard Claire nod agreement with Foggy's slack-jawed astonishment.

"Long story short, Parker's car burned to a crisp – coroner issued a death certificate for the kid – but a week or two later, the kid turns up alive. Supposedly, some lady walking down the street kidnapped the kid 'cause he looked like her dead son. And get this, the one of the guys who found the kid was his team leader's younger brother. Heck of a coincidence."

Murdock frowned, seeing Claire's point. Convenient. Very convenient. Maybe someone could get that lucky once. Maybe, although he doubted it. But twice? Three times? No way – that screamed cover-up. For what, he wasn't sure, but he could understand why Kincaid found it so hard to believe someone who resorted to such ridiculous cover stories. And apparently covered for his own team's criminal activity.

Matt Murdock settled in his seat and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the metal table of the prison interview room. Next to him, Foggy was fidgeting, rustling through his briefcase in search of pen and notepad. Kincaid was standing by the wall, waiting for Parker to be brought in by the guards.

The blind lawyer tilted his head, hearing the sound of footsteps from outside the room. The soft jangle of cuffs around a pair of wrists. A frown threatened; the person wearing the cuffs was limping. Not a great deal; Matt doubted either Foggy or Kincaid would notice anything once the man was in sight; but for Murdock, the difference in tread between right and left was plain.

One hand lifted into Foggy's line of sight; his friend stilled, then lightly nudged Matt's elbow in acknowledgement. Murdock nodded thanks for his partner's ready acceptance, then shifted his attention back to the door.

The guards ushered their prospective client inside – a man that was perhaps about Foggy's height, though there weren't enough echoes in the room for Matt to be completely sure. He moved with a grace that intrigued Murdock – a student of the martial arts, possibly even a master. He accepted the guards' manhandling without a wisp of objection, sitting down in the single chair on the opposite side of the table and waiting patiently for the guards to cuff him to the metal ring beneath the table's surface. Even when the guards departed, he didn't speak, waiting for his guests to make the first move.

Murdock allowed a tiny smile. "Lieutenant Gregory Parker, I presume?"

"Greg is fine, Counselor," the other replied.

The blind man tipped his chin in a nod. "Matt Murdock." He tilted his head sideways. "My partner, Franklin Nelson." He waited a beat, then asked, "So…Greg…when were you injured?"

Parker inhaled, caught off guard, and Murdock heard Kincaid straighten up, examining her client with razor-sharp eyes. "I haven't been injured recently, Counselor."

The lieutenant's heartbeat never faltered, a sure sign he was telling the truth, but Matt frowned anyway. "I could hear you limping," he pointed out.

"Ah." The other man shifted in his seat, fidgeting as best he could. "It's an old injury, Counselor. Been acting up ever since my first night here."

The lawyer winced, filling in the details. Prison beds weren't comfortable and he could easily see how the metal frames and hard, thin mattresses could aggravate preexisting injuries.

Glancing towards Foggy, he nodded once before turning back to their prospective client. "Perhaps you could fill us in on your side of the story, Lieutenant Parker?"

"You aren't under attorney-client privilege," Kincaid pointed out.

"This conversation is under attorney-client privilege, regardless of the outcome," Murdock replied, firm and unyielding. Shifting back to Parker, he explained, "My partner and I aren't licensed to practice law in Canada."

"Then why come up here?"

Murdock acknowledged the question with a tip of his chin. "Your representative, a Mr. Silverock, came down to New York and asked myself and my partner to evaluate you as a potential client. We have…strict requirements for any of our clients."

Parker considered, though Murdock heard him huff and mutter, "Silnok," under his breath in an exasperated, yet affectionate tone of voice. Then he lifted his head. "All right, Counselors. One question of my own – have either of you ever heard of Castor Troy?"

Matt blinked and glanced towards Foggy, one brow arched in question. His friend shrugged and answered for both of them. "Nope, can't say we have, Lieutenant."

The officer exhaled, the sound one of exhaustion and resignation. "Copy that. From the top, then."

"I'll let the guards know we'll need more time," Kincaid announced.

As she left, Murdock felt his other brow go up and interest feathered at his insides. Something told him he was about to find out why someone from Canada needed a lawyer from Hell's Kitchen.

Matt Murdock didn't need his long-lost sight to know that Foggy had just turned a very vivid shade of green at the photos in the Archer murder file. He turned his own head to regard the still closed file on Commander Holleran's desk – the murders of retired Toronto Judge Dale Gordinski and his entire, extended family. The blind man's hand clenched around his cane, fingering the silver devil's head that adorned the top ring of white.

"Does the MO of the recent murders match to the historical ones?" he inquired.

"If anything, the newer murders were more brutal than the ones back in the day," Commander Holleran replied. "But his grudge against Archer and Judge Gordinski was a lot bigger, too."

"What 'bout the prosecutor?" Foggy asked, hurriedly flipping the folder in front of him shut.

Holleran's voice turned wry. "He was fortunate enough to die of a heart attack several years before Troy broke out of prison. His widow moved to be with her family – she might've been a target once Troy took care of the others, but Lieutenant Parker was the one opponent he couldn't beat. Then or now."

Murdock stiffened. "Then or now?" he repeated.

The commander audibly hesitated, then sighed. "Two years after the trial, Counselor. Constable Parker's patrol car went up in flames; car bomb."

Foggy whistled low and Matt tilted his head. "How did Parker survive?"

"His patrol car, but he'd switched with another constable that day," Commander Holleran explained. Pausing, the man fixed them both with a stern glare – despite his lack of sight, Murdock shifted uneasily in his chair under that glare. "I can get you the full file on the car bombing if you need it, gentlemen, but one thing I know for a fact – if Greg had had any inkling that there was a bomb in his patrol car, he would've sounded the alarm. The man driving was a friend of his; one of the few he had back then."

Matt didn't reply – here was yet another coincidence in a long line of coincidences that favored one Gregory Parker. So many times when he shouldn't have survived and yet he had. It didn't make sense – little wonder that Claire Kincaid was doubtful of her client and ready to believe he'd orchestrated far more than just the crimes he was accused of. Even Foggy, normally game to believe in their clients – albeit not without his fair share of grumbling over the many barter arrangements – was uncertain of Parker.

Oddly enough, Matt was not. The officer had answered all his questions – even the insulting ones, when he'd been doing his best to push the other man's buttons. Never once had Parker's heartbeat faltered, confirming he believed in what he was saying.

Murdock considered the possibility that Parker had a pacemaker – those tended to screw up his normally impeccable sense for if someone was lying or not – but somehow, he didn't think a SWAT cop could maintain his position if he had a pacemaker. Surely, any form of physical impairment would disqualify him for duty – and from what he and Foggy could gather, Parker was still active in the field despite his promotion to lieutenant.

The blind lawyer lifted a hand, drawing Holleran's attention. Waiting a moment for Foggy to look up as well, he asked, "Commander, how many miracles would it take for you to stop believing in Lieutenant Parker?"

There was a long, long silence. Then the commander sighed heavily. "You've picked up on all the gossip, then?"

"All of it?" Murdock mused. "I don't think we've been here long enough for that." His teeth bared in a grin. "But definitely enough to wonder when your unit fell off the edge of the map."

Holleran barked a laugh and sat down in his chair. "I suppose it does sound rather unbelievable from the outside." He considered, steepling his fingers together as he regarded the two Americans. "Lieutenant Parker and Team One have my full faith and trust, gentlemen. They've had each other's backs through thick and thin – I'd trust them to get the whole of Toronto through the Apocalypse intact, if it ever came to that. They are the finest officers – the finest men – I have ever had the privilege to command."

The older man paused and air shifted, enough that Matt could 'see' the commander glance down at his desk, gathering his thoughts. Then Commander Holleran looked up again, determination shining. "If my unit is off the edge of the map, Mr. Murdock, then maybe you need a bigger map. One that includes the many, many monsters my people have dealt with for the past five years."

Matt's scalp prickled – because the commander wasn't kidding. At all. And all of a sudden, he was remembering a time during his childhood when one of his friends had gotten a toy pirate's map. They'd both been fascinated with it, particularly by one side of the map that was all dark with tiny creatures depicted in the waves and a flowing script atop the whole thing.

You're off the edge of the map, Mate. Here there be Monsters.

Author Note: A very happy Friday to one and all. My parents are flying in today and I have a week of vacation ahead of me!

Additionally, since next Saturday (September 14th) is my birthday, I intend to treat you all to another of Gaia's beautiful Art Commissions for It's a Magical Flashpoint. Now, as per usual, this will be over on Archive of Our Own since this site doesn't support images, but I'll be introducing all of you to another one of our Team One Animagi. = )

No news to report on Small Beginnings, I'm afraid. I probably won't hear anything from the Story Coach until near the end of September.

Thank you all for your reviews and support over the past - gosh, has it been over eight years now? Wow!

I pray I can continue this series until we are all the way through Flashpoint's finale and even a few post-series stories. As the Lord wills, though.

I also hope and pray that someday, I will be able to make a happy announcement that Small Beginnings (or whatever the publisher ends up re-naming it to) will be coming to a bookstore near you! Or Amazon. While I absolutely intend to buy hard copies of my own book in an actual bookstore (someday!), I totally understand those folks who prefer to shop online.

As always, please read and review. And I wish the Lord's Blessings to all of you, on the other side of the screen.