Title & Summary -
We Gather Strength - While Detectives Ellison and Sandburg investigate three deaths, they discover that not all painful memories remain buried forever.

Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The SciFi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.

Note from the Author: Takes place after TSbyBS.

Dedication: Written for the Sentinel Angst list, with special thanks to Izzy.

WE GATHER STRENGTH
By Jael Lyn
August 2000

"We gather strength from sadness and from pain
Each time we die we learn to live again."
Author Unknown

"There's nothing wrong with experimentation, Jim. That place is the hottest thing going in Cascade right now. You can't get a dinner there without a reservation weeks in advance." Blair popped out of the elevator, walking backwards so he could continue this discussion face-to-face.

"Sandburg, I don't know how I let you talk me into these new-age things. Why can't we get pizza with normal stuff? You know; cheese, pepperoni, more cheese."

"Are you really going to tell me you didn't like it? You ate more than your half." He waved a white takeout box in front of Jim. "We were supposed to have leftovers and not cook dinner. There are just two pieces left. That isn't even a snack."

"So I was hungry, " replied Jim, with just a touch of embarrassment. It wasn't the first time that he'd ended up with more of Sandburg's lunch than Blair did. Still trying to carry on the conversation, Blair backed sharply into the door of the bullpen. Jim rolled his eyes and reached around to open it for his partner. "It had leaves on it, Sandburg. How can you call that pizza?"

"Those are spices, Jim. Red onion, rosemary, feta, mushrooms. It was great."

"Sandburg, I know what spices are. Spices are little chopped up things that come out of a jar. That rosemary was a branch."

"It was fresh!"

"It was a tree!" Jim answered emphatically. "Most restaurants finish cutting things up before they charge for it."

"I don't suppose I could interrupt with something work related, gentlemen? The annoying stuff that the people of Cascade pay us for?" Despite the stern voice and the imposing presence, Simon Banks was smiling inside. The last few months had been a struggle for the Ellison-Sandburg team. Sandburg had a lot of baggage to carry as he made the transition from academic to cop. It was a relief to see them relax into comfortable bantering. Unwilling to spoil the mood, Simon liberated the take-out box and peeked inside.

"We went to Fraley's, Simon," bubbled Sandburg. "It was great."

"Captain, Sandburg, Captain."

"Oh, yeah. It was still great, Captain." Blair gave Ellison a mock glare, daring him to contradict his endorsement. "Interesting menu. Very creative."

Jim ignored his partner. "You have something for us, Captain?"

Simon set the box down on the desk. "I hate to do it. I know you've already pulled a long shift, and you went to lunch late. Henri and Rafe just called in. They responded to a call while you guys were out and asked for you specifically. Didn't elaborate. In fact Rafe kind of hung up, and he sounded pretty stressed. Here's the address."

Sandburg was already halfway out the door. "We'll keep in touch. Why don't you finish the pizza, Simon?"

His long-suffering Captain would have corrected his newest detective, but Sandburg was already gone. No fault in his enthusiasm. Ellison shrugged with a smile as he grabbed his keys. "I'll remind him, sir." Jim tapped the white cardboard with a finger. "Between you and me, it is pretty good stuff. Weird, but pretty good."

Simon grinned. "I won't tell him. Get out of here. Thanks for the pizza." Back at his desk, he took a healthy bite, hoping to shake the sense of foreboding he had about this. Ellison and Sandburg were his best, but something just didn't feel right.

*****

The address was in a very exclusive area of Cascade. It wasn't a gated community, but it could have been. The atmosphere screamed privilege and a sense of membership. Immaculate homes with perfectly groomed landscaping lined the street. The occasional vehicle not safely parked in the spacious, three-car garages were new, expensive and luxurious.

"I don't know, Jim. Maybe we should have checked something out of the motor pool. Sweetheart doesn't belong here."

"A classic makes its own place, Sandburg. Now if we were in the Volvo, that would be different. We would need to park the Volvo back on Pine Grove and walk in."

"My Volvo is just as classic as this truck!" Despite Sandburg's chronic problems with the Volvo, he loved that car beyond reason.

Jim wheeled around another corner. "Your Volvo is a classic heap of junk. It doesn't run, Sandburg. We could go car shopping tomorrow on our day off. Have you saved enough for a down payment?"

Blair shook his head. "I made my student loan payments. I need another couple checks before I can car shop."

"Sandburg, you need a car. Borrow some money from me and let's go shop."

"I can't do that, Jim. I have so many debts as it is. A little patience won't hurt. Besides, the Volvo isn't really bad until the weather gets cold."

"How do you define 'really bad' ? I consider refusing to start for days on end 'really bad'.

Blair ignored him with a good-natured smile. "There's the address, Jim. Up there on the right. Brown's car is up there behind the patrol car."

Jim snorted. "Yeah, his rig is easy enough to spot. It's the only one on the street that costs less than a third world nation." As they advanced up the walk, they heard Henri Brown's voice from the back yard. They skipped knocking on the door and followed the sound around the side of the home.

"Henri doesn't sound very happy about something, Chief. Looks like we just got here in time."

As they skirted around the last planting area, a broad tile veranda spread out before them. Brown was in a heated argument with an elegantly dressed woman and an older man, who looked as though he'd just come off the golf course. Could be my father, thought Jim ruefully. As he moved to join the little discussion group, he knew Blair was moving off in a different direction. Sandburg could track down Rafe and the uniformed officers who must be around somewhere.

The argument escalated to a shouting match by the time Jim got there. He didn't miss Henri's relieved expression. Flipping open his badge, he plunged in. "Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. What's going on, H?"

The golf course refugee interrupted. "This is outrageous, Detective. This,,.individual...has no respect for decency." A sly smile appeared in the tanned face as he eyeballed Jim and the badge. The tone of voice changed. "I'm sure your approach will be more sensitive. I believe I know your father, Detective."

I'll bet you do, thought Jim. You're out of luck, buddy. I was a big disappointment to him, too. "Please stay right here, sir. I need to speak with Detective Brown." They took a few steps away. "It's a potential crime scene, Jim," hissed Brown. I wouldn't let them take the bodies out of the pool, or move anything, until you got here. They have some cocktail party tonight that they're freaked about. We've got three kids dead and all they're worried about is that we're delaying the caterers." Brown was trying, but he couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice. "What if it isn't an accident? How many time do three people just drown simultaneously?"

"Drown? Did you say drown? Oh no, Sandburg." The look on Henri's face reflected his own as realization dawned. Outraged homeowners would have to wait a bit. "Keep everybody right here, Brown!" Jim dodged the expensive garden furniture and the market umbrellas at a dead run, heading in what he assumed must be the direction of the pool.

The pool wasn't visible until you got close to it. Designed to look like a tropical lagoon, a series of stone terraces dropped ten feet to the water's surface. Instead of typical materials, the sides were lined with boulders. A cascade of water created an artificial waterfall. There was a fountain and a slide. There were also three bodies, face down. Two teenage girls and a young man.

Rafe was nowhere in sight. Sandburg was frozen on the first terrace, staring blankly at the water and the victims. Jim slowed his headlong rush and approached carefully. Damn, he thought. I should have figured out what was going on here before we split up.

"Sandburg?" No response. Jim put an arm around his partner's shoulders. "Chief? Why don't you sit down, just for a second." Jim gently steered his silent partner toward a lounge chair. "Come on. There you go." Jim knelt in front of him, hoping for a response from his silent partner. The too-blue eyes in the ashen face rotated to hold his own.

"Oh, God. Did I look like that? Is that what you saw, Jim?" Blair's voice was soft and strangely detached, his breathing shallow and rapid. This had all the makings of a full-blown panic attack.

"It's okay, buddy. This is kind of like a flashback. It's okay." Blair wasn't paying attention. His eyes were back to the three bodies in the pool.

"So still. You can tell they're gone." The usually animated voice was still a hushed monotone, which was a bad sign. Behind him, Jim could hear Brown and the golfer guy going at it again. He didn't have much time.

"Look at me." Jim gently gave his partner a shake. Blair was still spiraling away from reality. He needed to draw Blair's attention away from the tragic scene in the pool. Jim forcibly turned the pale face to fasten Blair's eyes on his own. "Sandburg, listen to me and concentrate. That's all in the past. Over. You're here, I'm here."

Blair gave him a shaky nod. "Okay, Jim." He turned to face away from the pool and stood up. "I'll be fine. It was just a shock, ya know?"

"Yeah. Understandable. Just shut it out for now, and we'll talk later, right? I kinda need your help here." Blair was nodding, and seemed to be gaining some control. "Just stick with me here, Chief. No more solos for you at the moment. Let's figure out what the story is."

They rejoined the group on the veranda to sort out the particulars. A few facts came out quickly. The older gentleman, one David Calvin, was the owner of the home. The elegantly dressed woman was his new wife. One of the victims in the pool, Marnie Jacobs, was David Calvin's step-grandchild by a previous marriage. The other two kids were unknowns. The Calvin duo wanted the bodies out and the caterers in. Jim bit back his anger over their callous attitude. The fact that none of the victims was a blood relative struck him as a poor excuse.

It took awhile, but they gradually got the chaos under control. After making it clear that the Calvin social gala was not the first order of concern, Jim divided up the grim tasks among the participants. Sandburg was given the duty of interviewing the housekeeper. She had returned from shopping to find the bodies and called 911. Sandburg had good instincts interviewing witnesses. It would also keep him away from the drowning victims for the moment. Blair seemed grateful for the diversion and vanished into the house.

Rafe was sent with the Calvins to get contact information for Marnie's mother, who was on a honeymoon tour of Europe with her new husband. She'd arranged with her former stepfather to have Marnie spend the summer in the guesthouse at the back of the property, to which he had agreed. David Calvin and his wife claimed to have rarely spoken to either mother or daughter. Brown would seal the guesthouse and make a preliminary check of the premises. They needed to identify the other two victims and notify their families. The uniforms would coordinate with the coroner and forensics, who were due to arrive any minute. Jim wanted to scan the pool area before anyone else tromped through it.

When the group dispersed to their own tasks, Jim walked to the edge of the tiled veranda. He had only a few minutes of solitude and he knew it. He scanned the area with sight and scent. He really didn't want to push it without Sandburg nearby, but he wasn't about to drag his partner down here right now, and he needed to start somewhere. The pool area was spacious. Lush plantings bordered it on three sides. They wouldn't get any information from casual onlookers. The site was too private. A narrow path through a vine-covered archway apparently led to the guesthouse. In addition to lounge chairs scattered around the pool edge, an umbrella table sported a nearly-empty pitcher of punch and a basket of tortilla chips.

Walking slowly to the table, he noted three margarita goblets in bright, fashionable colors. Two were by towel-draped lounge chairs. One more balanced precariously on the pool edge. He dipped a finger into a glass and tasted. Alarm bells went off. It was sangria, but a bitter chemical tang alerted him to the presence of something other than fruit and alcohol. These kids could have been flying high on purpose, or maybe someone helped them along into this disaster.

Alcohol and drugs could be a deadly combination. He'd worked a case in vice, years ago, where a strung-out, drunk couple had passed out and quietly drowned in a hot tub. A nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels was still bobbing in the jets when he'd arrived. At the time, the image had ruled Jim's nightmares. That one had been an accident. So what did they have here? A party that got too hearty or murder?

He knelt by the pool. He'd let the coroner retrieve the bodies. He could always review the results with Dan Wolfe after the autopsies were complete. Both young women were rather petite. Any reasonably fit adult could have gotten them into the pool if they were unconscious. The young man, however, was at least six foot and built like an athlete. It would have taken considerably more effort to drag him to a watery death. Just one more thing to consider.

By the time the first forensics team arrived, he had a fairly long list of things for them to check. Jim ignored their skeptical looks and insisted they write each item down. Fluid samples from all three glasses. The glasses themselves, the pitcher, and any mixing utensils or ingredients in the guest house. Every towel at poolside. The last thing he did was mark off a section of the pool edge where he wanted a careful search for blood and tissue. That task complete, he headed for the guesthouse.

*****

It took hours to even figure out who the victims were and begin the sad process of notifying the families. There was no ID with the victims other than Marnie Jacobs. A canvas of the neighborhood finally turned up which cars along the street "didn't belong", which yielded a name, an address, and a physical description that matched their unidentified male. With Rafe still tied up with the Calvins, Brown left to track the boy's family and get a positive identification. A second search of the guest house eventually yielded a purse and a driver's license that seemed to match the second girl. After having no luck at the family home, Blair and Jim resorted to backtracking numerous phone messages and numbers scattered around the guest house. They ended up at a nearby Wal-Mart where the mother was employed.

The Wal-Mart was clear across town. Sandburg was all business and uncharacteristically quiet. Jim figured it was as good a time as any to make a more thorough check on his partner. He discarded at least four approaches before blurting out, "So tell me about the pool, Sandburg."

"Nothing to tell. It just caught me off guard and I freaked a little."

"Come on, Chief. It was a bad scene for everyone, including me, and I don't have your history. You could ask Simon for some down time, talk to somebody ..." Jim's voice trailed off. They were tied up in traffic, but even a few sideways glances were enough to know his partner wasn't happy.

"Jim, I'm fine. Don't mother hen me and blow stuff out of proportion. I want you to let it drop."

"What if I don't think that's such a good idea," replied Jim tersely.

"I will remind you of the million and one times we've ignored some sensory thing for your because we were busy at the moment. We're busy now."

Jim tried to gauge Blair's mood. The man could be world-record obstinate. "I'll let it go for now, because we are busy, but you're not off the hook."

"Just drive, Jim. Just drive."

They found the manager at Wal-Mart, and located Tara Longs' mother in record time, but deferred any questioning until they had a positive ID. Sylvia Long, a frail looking woman in her early sixties, was driven by her supervisor directly to the morgue with two friends from work for moral support. She identified her daughter's body and promptly collapsed into hysterics. Her husband was a self-employed long distance trucker and completely out of reach. According to her co-workers, it was normal for him to be out of touch for a couple of weeks at a time. Tara was the only other family anyone knew of. Mrs. Long ended up at Cascade General under sedation, with her co-workers taking turns at her bedside. As a source for leads with the investigation, the situation was hopeless until she recovered. With that end of the investigation at an apparent dead end, the two detectives headed back to the station.

After the brilliance of a long summer afternoon, the inside of the conference room in Major Crimes seemed especially bleak. It was nearly seven in the evening when Jim slumped into one of the chairs. His partner was already transferring notes to the board, beginning the tedious process of coordinating information from so many sources. The set of Blair's shoulders told Jim the state of his partner's emotions. No matter what time they got finished tonight, Jim was going to have to talk to him about his flashback, for want of a better word.

This case was going to be a nightmare. They had gotten one bad break after another. Bad Break #1 - The Calvin family either had no information about the life and times of Marnie Jacobs, or they weren't about to volunteer it. Their cooperation was questionable; they were not pleased that their property was now off-limits as a crime scene. Bad Break #2 - Their male victim, Bruce Price, was the son of Councilman Andrew Price. Bad Break #3 - They still couldn't rule out murder as a possibility. Bad Break #4 - The media had picked up the scent. The death of three young people in the ritziest area of Cascade was just to juicy to miss. It was the lead story on the six o'clock news, and would probably be the lead story for days to come. Rumors were flying, ranging from a deadly lovers' quarrel to a new serial killer in Cascade to a suicide pact.

Well, at least in the opinion of some individuals. Jim watched his partner print more information on the white board. Blair usually had a real gift for looking at possibilities that would never occur to anyone else. He seemed uncharacteristically eager to write this one off as an accident and close the case. He had come to rely on Sandburg's quirky thought patterns to catch things he otherwise might miss. The absence of their unique system of checks-and-balances made Jim uneasy.

The other members of the team drifted in one by one, each with a little piece of news. Blair dutifully organized and recorded, but remained quiet and withdrawn. The three victims had graduated from Cascade High together in June. All were eighteen. One of the phone numbers found in the guesthouse was for a hotel in France. Rafe was using it as a starting place to track Marnie's mother. The woman apparently didn't place a high priority on maintaining contact with her daughter. Brown arrived with a pile of interview notes from the Price family. Poor guy. It had certainly been his day to deal with the wealthy and obnoxious. Mrs. Price had, however, identified Tara Long as her son's current girlfriend.

Simon showed up with a pizza. Jim was surprised, until he saw the look on his face. Something else had gone wrong. This was Simon's way of softening the blow. He was delaying the inevitable by handing out soft drinks and slices of pizza and napkins, but everyone knew. He waited until Brown and Sandburg added all the new information to the board.

"Good job, everyone. I want all of you back here first thing in the morning. We'll do a briefing and have a clear game plan before everyone heads out. It's a complicated case and we're getting a lot of scrutiny. I won't bore you with my detailed conversations with the mayor this evening. We need first class coordination every step of the way. I'll handle all the statements to the press." He munched another bite of pizza.

Years of working with Simon Banks told Jim the man was stalling. They may as well cut to the chase. "What's the bad news, Captain?" Jim asked quietly. "You may as well tell us."

Simon sighed. "It's hell to be the parent of a teenager. Dan Wolfe just called. He started the autopsy on Tara Long, since she was the first one identified. She was about ten weeks pregnant." His detectives shuffled in silence as the news sank in. "We can't ignore it. For all we know, it's a motive. Unfortunately, I have a hunch neither set of parents knows, although Mrs. Long is pretty much a blank slate at this point. Someone's going to have to follow up that line of questioning tomorrow."

*****

"Are you sure you're up to this, Sandburg? I don't want to, but we could wait until morning."

"Relax, Jim. You already know I think it's a wasted trip, but I'm fine." replied Blair as he fussed with the seatbelt. "I had a bad moment this afternoon, not a meltdown. We have better light now than in the morning before the meeting, not that you really need a lot." Jim didn't answer, but Blair could see the teeth grind and the jaw clench. Jim meant well, but his overprotective streak could be a real pain. Besides, he hated it when they were at odds on a case.

"I'll let it go for now, Sandburg. I'm still worried about you. Remember me, the king of repressed memories?"

"I won't point out to you how ironic any 'let's talk' speech is coming from you."

"I'll agreed to let it drop earlier, and if it's still too soon, I can wait. Tell me what you got from the housekeeper. Your summary was good, but I want to hear the whole thing. We've got the time. It'll take a good twenty minutes to get across town." Jim pulled the truck out of the PD parking lot into traffic.

Blair tried to cover his sigh of relief. He hated Jim in mother hen mode, and he hated this case. He chided himself for overreacting. "Her name is Claire Williams. She's worked for the Calvins for years. I think she's the only one who actually talked to Marnie on a regular basis. The girl moved in right after graduation and her mom's wedding. Middle of June, something like that. Calvin gave her a key and that was it. She had permission to use the pool, but only came to the main house to visit Claire. She never had dinner with the family or anything."

Blair turned sideways to look more directly at his partner, completely into the story now. "Marnie came up to the house this morning to get a recipe for sangria. Claire swears she doesn't know she was getting the alcohol. Marnie seemed to be able to get whatever she wanted and bought her own groceries. She picked up a couple hundred dollars a week from her mother's bank every Monday."

Jim snorted. "You need to speak with Naomi. Obviously she didn't read the correct Mother's Handbook when she sent you off to Rainier at the tender age of sixteen."

"Well, she got the 'detach with love' part out of the same book. Claire says Marnie only heard from her Mom twice since June. Marnie came up to talk to her pretty regularly, and acted like she wanted the company. Anyway, when Claire left to run errands about noon, Marnie was coming back from the store. She was with another girl and a guy. When Claire came home at about 3:30 or so, she walked out to remind Marnie about the Calvin's party. She saw the bodies, ran back into the house and called 911. End of story."

"Everything rings true for you?"

"Yeah. She was pretty shook up, and I think she genuinely liked the kid. I got the impression this wasn't the first party at the guesthouse. She claimed not to know any of the other kids Marnie had over. Tomorrow, if the case is still active, I can to take photos by, and maybe an annual from the high school. Maybe she can pick someone out who had been over to the house before." Please, please, please, let it be an accident by then. Case closed.

"Good thought. Rafe has the school on his to-do list. We can ask him to get an annual while he's there. What else is bothering you? I can see the wheels turning from here."

Blair leaned his head against the glass of the back window, obviously distressed. "We already know we see this case differently."

"A pregnancy might change things."

Blair grimaced. "Do you seriously think the Long girl's pregnancy is a motive? Women have plenty of options in Washington state. I just don't see it."

"You never know, Sandburg. I've seen it go a lot of ways. You can have a boyfriend that doesn't want the responsibility of a child, a woman who doesn't want the pregnancy and the guy does, parents who don't want the shame. With that many conflicting emotions, things can get pretty volatile. I busted a guy once who killed his wife because she got an abortion without his permission. They were getting a divorce a the time. Go figure."

"You're kidding! People are just nuts. This is so be hard for me. I can't claim to be unbiased on the subject. Naomi certainly could have made different choices in my case." He paused. "It really makes me sick to think we lost another innocent life in that damn pool."

"Don't go there, Chief. You can make yourself crazy thinking that way." Jim pulled to a stop in front of the Calvin home. For all their surface perfection, these people were largely a mystery. "We could have a tough time digging out the truth."

"We haven't found anything that says 'MURDER' to me. I know, I know. We agree to disagree." Blair looked up at the nearly dark house. "How much are they obligated to tell us if it stays classified as an accident?"

"Enough for us to find out if it was an accident. I have a gut feeling on this one, and Brown agrees with me. It's murder, not an accident." A few lights gleamed from the second floor. "I'm going to go around back. Would you let the household know we're here?"

"Sure." Blair headed up the front walk. "You'll wait for me?" he called back over his shoulder.

"You got it, Chief. If there's a clue back there, I don't want to miss it."

They started at the pool edge. There weren't many objects that would hold a scent, but Jim tried anyway. All he could detect the faint smell of suntan oil still on the chairs. The cloth items, like the towels and seat cushions had already gone to the lab. Hearing was a non-issue in this case. At Blair's suggestion, they quickly switched to sight. The fading sun was turning the western sky into streaks of pink and purple. They wouldn't have the light forever.

Jim knelt down, intending to scan the pool edge. He still hoped the forensic analysis would find some tissue scrapings or blood somewhere on the rough stone surface. As he turned in a slow search of the area, his eyes were drawn to a blue smudge hidden deep in the foliage. Leaving Sandburg, he picked his way through the shrubbery and flowers. His prize was another brightly colored blue goblet.

This had been a party of four. A fourth person that sure wasn't in the morgue on this summer night. Henri Brown had been right. This was a murder, and they were one step closer to their murderer. He was sure of it.

"Sandburg, get something to wrap this in. We have some ..." He didn't finish the statement. He was alone. Where the hell had Sandburg gone? "Sandburg?"

Jim waited for a few moments, and then retraced his path carefully out of the garden. He was going to wring Sandburg's neck. When he heard the door of the truck slam, he grimly marched around the house, muttering expletives as he went. What was Blair thinking?

The truck was empty. The street was deserted. On the seat lay a large evidence bag and a scrap of paper that said "LATER" in Blair's familiar scrawl. Seething, Jim realized he didn't have time to chase around after Sandburg. This could be critical evidence, and he needed to get it back to forensics immediately. His partner's bizarre behavior would have to wait.

*****

Jim smacked his pillow one more time, then flipped to his back, staring at the ceiling. He checked the time. After one in the morning, and still no Sandburg. He tossed the covers back and slid his feet onto the cold floor. Sleep was not going to come and it was time to admit it.

At nine, when he'd first gotten to the loft and found it empty, he had been furious. At ten, he was furious and triumphant. Forensics had called. The prints on the blue goblet matched none of the victims, but they did match a partial print found on a prescription bottle retrieved from the trash of the guest house earlier in the afternoon. The chemical traces in the sangria also matched the prescription. Jim was sure the user of the fourth goblet had also added the prescription drugs.

At eleven, he didn't feel like giving Sandburg a dose of "I told you so" anymore. Jim finally sulked his was through reheated leftovers. At midnight, he'd gone to bed, aware that his anger was sliding into genuine worry.

He stood in the kitchen, torn between making coffee or downing a beer. When the phone rang, he pounced on it like a desperate man. "Ellison," he barked.

"Um, I'm sorry to call so late." Jim didn't recognize the young woman's voice. Irritation surged again. If this was one of Sandburg's female escapades he was going to... .the hesitant voice interrupted him, breaking his train of thought. "My name is Cecily Marshall. I work at Charlie's Island, you know, the dance club? I'm calling about Mr. Sandburg. He's your friend, isn't he? I have the right number?"

Jim forced himself not to shout. "What's the problem, Miss?" He could hear the sound of music in the background. She must be calling from the club.

"Well, Mr. Sandburg's here. Actually, he's been here a long time, and I don't think he can get home. He's a....look, he was my teacher and I really like him. He's not doing too well. The club is closing in a little while, and if he doesn't get out of here, they'll call the cops. I don't want him to get into trouble."

"Can you keep him there?" Jim was already walking up the stairs to find his clothes.

"Yeah. I don't think he'll try to go anywhere."

"I'll be right there." He took the stairs two at a time all the way to the ground floor.

*****

Charlie's Island was a very fashionable club, catering mostly to the young and professional. It wasn't the kind of place Blair would have hung out in during his university days, and his social life had dwindled to non-existent since he entered the academy. Jim broke a few speed limits and was tempted to run a few red lights as the truck zipped through the mostly deserted streets. A cop, any cop, picked up for drunk and disorderly, or drunk driving, was in a world of hurt. Introduce Sandburg's....unique circumstances....to the mix, and you had real problems.

The parking lot wasn't quite deserted when he pulled the truck in between a Lexus and a Spyder. At least the club wasn't closed. Your average bartender or server didn't drive anything like that. A pretty, dark-haired woman intercepted him two steps past the front door. Jim allowed her to lead him through the club, past the dance floor and into a lounge area. His partner was alone in a back booth, sitting behind a table covered with beer bottles. Lots of bottles.

Cecily Marshall must have anticipated his question. "He wouldn't let me take any of them away," she whispered. "I tried to visit with him on my break, slow him down a little. He didn't tell me to get lost, but he wouldn't say much either." She seemed near tears. "Mr. Sandburg's a wonderful person. He helped me a lot when I was a freshman. Do you know what's wrong?"

"No, but you did the right thing. Blair might not tell you that tonight, but I know he'll be grateful. I can take it from here." Jim gave her a smile, trying to telegraph an assurance that he didn't feel himself.

Blair didn't look up when Jim crossed the room, or when he slid into the booth next to him. He downed the remaining third of his current bottle as if Jim weren't there. The bleary eyes looked angry, or pained. Maybe afraid. Jim was absolutely at a loss. Blair knew how to enjoy a party, but he'd never known Sandburg to drink like this, alone and to excess.

Blair picked at the corner of the label on his newly-emptied microbrew. "Ya ssshouldn't be here, Zjim," he slurred. "Go hoome."

"You shouldn't be here, either. Can you walk out of this place?" Blair looked back at him. Jim could read that expression; defiance. If words weren't such an obvious problem, he would be getting a smart-ass comment right about now. "Look, if you don't walk out of here with me right now, your next stop will be in the drunk tank. Just stand up, and I'll do the rest. No hassles, Blair, not right now." Please, Sandburg, don't shred another career. Not this way.

The use of his first name got Sandburg's attention. With a look of terrible weariness, he pushed himself across the seat of the booth. Jim was there to meet him. Blair didn't utter a word as Jim helped him to his feet. The back exit wasn't more than twenty feet away. With one arm firmly around Blair's waist, Jim steered the reeling man out the door and into the parking lot.

Jim weighed his options. He could leave Sandburg here and get the truck, or drag him nearly a block to where the truck was parked. It was deserted back here, and Sandburg was already sagging badly. Jim opted for discretion. He lowered Blair to the pavement. Blair seemed to curl in on himself, sprawling across the curbing. At least he wasn't going anywhere. Decision made, with a last look at his stricken friend, he jogged off to get the truck.

*****

Jim was still in his robe when he downed the last of his coffee. He felt lousy. Three or four hours of sleep just didn't cut it anymore. His morning bagel had all the appeal of sawdust. To top it off, he had the nagging feeling that whatever Sandburg's problem was, somehow he had made it worse. He needed to leave in less than 30 minutes or he'd be late to Simon's morning briefing. He fervently hoped he'd made the right call on this one. He was past the point of no return.

Jim poured coffee into Sandburg's favorite mug and dropped it off in the bathroom. He turned on the shower and adjusted the water to cool, but not cold. Time to get Sandburg up. A few firm shakes about an hour ago had been a waste of time. Sandburg really hadn't had enough time to burn all the alcohol out of his system. This was going to be brutal.

Sandburg was still exactly as he'd left him last night, or more accurately, this morning. Conversation, hell, walking, had been a lost cause for Sandburg when they got back to the loft. Jim had dumped him in his room and stripped him down to his boxers. Now, after his earlier attempt failed to get a response out of Blair, there was no point in going for subtle and dignified. Jim grabbed the sleeping man around his waist and pulled the mumbling, limp figure across the floor into the bathroom. He dead-lifted Blair into the shower stream, soaking the sleeves of his own robe as he held him upright. The pathetic lump sputtered and flailed at the water, but coherent speech was apparently still out of reach.

"You on your feet, Sandburg?" A nod. "I'm letting go. Don't fall." A strong hand steadied the sway. "Duck your head under the water. That's right." Jim rubbed shampoo into the bedraggled locks. "You stink, Sandburg. Lather this up."

Jim rung out his sleeves and stood nearby a Blair weakly followed his directions. When the lather streamed down his friend's chest and back, he handed him a bar of soap. "Finish up. We don't have much time." Blair stared at the soaked boxers as if it was all too much to comprehend. "Just leave 'em on, Chief. We don't need any other complications this morning. Wash. You've got one minute."

"Water's cold."

"He speaks. It's staying cold, too."

A minute passed as Blair scrubbed awkwardly with the soap. Jim shut the water off and threw one towel over the hair, draped another around the shoulders. Blair fumbled with a third, managing to wrap his hips, boxers and all, before Jim dumped him on the commode. He wrapped one of Blair's hands around the mug of coffee. "Drink. I already let it cool." Blair finally made eye contact after the third gulp. He had two hands on the mug and was hanging on for dear life. Jim dropped three aspirin onto the counter. "Chew 'em if you have to, Sandburg. You're going to wish for more. Drink the coffee."

Leaving Sandburg to air dry, Jim got a glass of orange juice and a glass of water from the kitchen. He returned to the bathroom and plunked them down on the counter. Sandburg hadn't moved and looked decidedly green. "Water first, then the juice. If you throw it up, I'll bring you more." Blair swayed as if his head was too heavy. "Straighten up, Sandburg," Jim snapped. "Finish the water before I come back."

By some miracle, Blair was working on the juice by the time he returned with clothes, or at least what he could find. It took awhile to unearth socks that matched. Blair's wardrobe organization was one thing that hadn't changed when he joined the police force.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Really, really, sorry."

"Sorry for yourself or sorry for me?. You're going to be sorry most of the day, my friend. Brace yourself." He toweled Blair's hair off vigorously, sure that it sent the huddled man into agony. "You'll have to put it back. Hair is not my specialty."

Jim pulled an oversized polo shirt over Blair's head. "Stand up and lose the wet stuff." He would have loved to leave Blair on his own at this point, but as the elastic waistband was peeled down the thighs with shaky hands, the poor guy didn't look too steady on his feet. "I swear, Sandburg. Sit down and I'll help you with the rest."

*****

Jim checked the time again when he finally got Blair into the kitchen. He was excusably late, maybe, but he still wasn't dressed. He put three pieces of dry toast in front of Blair, along with more coffee. "I need to dress and leave." Five minutes later, as Jim pulled on his shoes, he could hear the sound of retching in the bathroom. Predictable. The kid was definitely in for a rough ride this morning.

He found Blair was back at the table, looking at the remaining toast as if it were nuclear waste. He'd managed to tie his hair back after losing what passed for breakfast. Jim doled out more aspirin and refilled the coffee, checking the time. He was moving from seriously late to irredeemably late, and hadn't called Simon, mostly because he didn't want to lie to his captain directly if he could help it. "I'm going to cover for you, Sandburg. Officially, you're checking out a lead. If Simon sees you in this condition he'll suspend you. I'll pick you up after the meeting. You're going to have to function today whether you like it or not."

A pathetically bloodshot pair of blue eyes peered over the edge of the mug. "Thanks. For everything. And I am sorry, Jim."

"My pay-back will be some serious explaining, but that will have to wait until you're coherent. Right now, we have a job to do, and I expect you to..."

"I'm not that much of a screw-up," interrupted Blair. The head dropped down again. "I'll be ready."

Jim tapped his finger by the aspirin tablets. "Take those. You need them. I'll be back in an hour or so." Blair didn't answer. As Jim pulled the door shut, he wondered if they'd be able to sort this out without leaving their partnership, much less their friendship, in tatters.

*****

Jim made one last check of the time before he got out of the elevator. Late, late, late. Simon would not be pleased, especially since he hadn't called. Knowing he was in for a well-deserved dressing down, Jim mentally braced himself and opened the conference room door. He was surprised to see Dan Wolfe and Serena seated next to Simon, along with the Deputy Chief-of-Police and a guy he recognized from the mayor's office. Great - since everyone and his dog is here already, let's just have the court martial and shoot me. Jim met Simon's glare head on. No point in making excuses.

"About time you showed up," growled Simon. "Where's Sandburg?"

"I left him to do a follow-up. I'll pick him up later." He willed Simon not to press for more details. Considering their extra guests, it was a phenomenally bad time to look disorganized.

"Perhaps Detective Ellison doesn't understand the gravity of the situation," sniped the Deputy Chief. "It reflects badly on the department and the city as a whole not to have this matter resolved. If it was a tragic accident we need to put the rumors to bed."

Jim decided to ignore that comment. Murder had a way of being embarrassing. He was interested in the truth. Those kids deserved it. He turned his attention to Dan Wolfe, who almost never ventured up to Major Crimes. "Surprised to see you here, Dan. Must be a reason."

I finished the last autopsy this morning. All three kids had enough sedatives and alcohol in their blood to put them out on their feet. Death was by drowning, but it's entirely possible that someone put them in the water after they passed out. I can't rule it out."

"No sign of struggle?" Jim sifted through the pages of one of the autopsy reports.

"No bruising. I did look for scrapes consistent with dragging, like you suggested. The boy has scrapes on the back of his heels that would be consistent with that theory. Doesn't prove anything, but it fits the scenario."

"We'll just have to find our proof elsewhere. Are you running a DNA test on the fetus?"

"I thought it was an odd request at first, but now I see where you're going. Results won't be back for a couple of days. I'll let you know." Dan stood up. "Gotta go. I need to finish the paperwork to release the bodies. I will tell you one other thing. Based on the absorption levels, those kids had consumed quite a bit of alcohol before someone introduced the drugs into the equation. You can read that a lot of different ways"

"Thanks, Dan," acknowledged Simon. "Appreciate you coming up." He went back to glaring at Jim. "Serena, you go next. I'm sure you have other things to do."

"No problem, Captain. I contacted the prescribing physician about the empty bottle we found in the trash. Marnie Jacobs had a perfectly legal prescription, and never showed any indication of abusing the drugs. It had been nearly a year since her previous refill. Her doctor said she was upset about her mom's new husband, and he refilled the prescription last Tuesday, so nearly a full bottle probably went into the sangria. It's all hypothetical, but based on the doctor's reaction, I'd be surprised it Marnie put them in herself." She gathered up some papers. "I really do need to get back to the lab. I'll call if we turn anything else up."

"Thanks, Serena. Sorry for holding you up." Jim's only answer was a smile and a look of concern. Serena was far too kind hearted to hold a grudge.

Henri and Rafe were taking turns with the forensics report. "So where are we going with this one, Captain?" asked Rafe. "Take your pick: accident, suicide, or murder. It would help to have a little more direction."

"Maybe Detective Ellison would like to share with us now that he's arrived," drawled the Mayor's aide sarcastically. "If he has the time."

Jim wanted to respond to that sarcasm, but kept his face impassive. Simon had every right to be angry, but he wasn't about to get roasted by this insect. "I think that blue goblet points to murder. Let's say, for the sake of argument, our mystery guest shows up, has a drink, and leaves. Why chuck the goblet into the shrubbery? This fourth guy didn't want anyone to know he was there."

"Or she?" asked Rafe.

"Agreed. Could have been a she. Could have been Santa Claus. We need to cast a wide net, and see if we can find a motive." He saw their two remaining guest about to protest. "I'd just as soon keep it between us that murder is a possibility. We don't have to make any official statements about the direction of the investigation." He looked at Simon, who had clearly not let him off the hook yet. "Sound reasonable to you, Captain?"

"I think it's the best we can do right now," replied Simon. "If you two gentlemen will give me a few minutes, I'll draft and statement and we can review it. Shall we say at 9:30 in the Chief's office?" He ushered their clearly reluctant guests to the door. His smile vanished as soon as the pair was out of earshot.

"Since you weren't here, I assigned Brown and Rafe to follow-up at the school and run down friends, employers, that sort of thing. Ellison, you and Sandburg get to interview the parents." Henri and Rafe, sensing the tension, were on their way like a shot.

"Guys," called Jim, "when you're there, get an annual or some pictures. Sandburg has an idea he wants to follow up on."

"Sure, Jim. Check in at noon, Captain?"

"Right. Get to work, everyone, and keep in touch. No media statements." Simon tossed the remaining case files and forensic reports in front of Jim. "Catch up on what you missed, and see me in my office before you go." Jim winced as the door slammed behind his captain.

*****

Blair forced down another swallow of toast. He'd thrown up again, but there was no help for it. He had to get his act together fast. Jim was obviously not in a forgiving mood, and he was hardly in a position to complain. He owed his partner and roommate big time for this one.

As he picked at the crust of the toast, he wondered idly how Jim had tracked him down. Jim would want an explanation. Chicken and egg. He'd ended up in the club to avoid the explanation that he now needed to explain. Talk about stupid things to do.

He was going to have to come clean with Jim. The short version was that Blair Sandburg was totally out of control here. His mind started to wander. Current reality slipped to be replaced by images better forgotten, images that he had hoped to escape last night.

He caught himself. Not doing that again, Blair. Not going there. Nausea washed over him again. He looked around the kitchen, searching for a distraction. He could feel his heart pounding, and the air seemed too thin to catch his breath. His eyes landed on the tiny cabinet where Jim kept his hard liquor. Oblivion sounded so good right now.

*****

Jim knocked softly before entering Simon's office. Captain Banks was in official mode, obviously having another phone conversation with the Mayor. The same Mayor who happened to be the close personal friend of Councilman Andrew Price. There would be no happy campers in Major Crimes until they had this one solved and off their backs.

Conversation complete, Simon waited until the Mayor disconnected. Then he slammed the phone down, venting a little frustration. Jim groaned inwardly. This was not a good time to have your commanding officer displeased with you.

"I want an explanation, Detective. I'm not running a drop-in program here."

"No, sir."

"And? Dammit, Jim, we both know something's up. Where's Sandburg?"

"At home. He needed some time this morning. I'll pick him up and get to work. End of story."

The two men faced off in silence.

*****

Blair stood in the kitchen, eyes closed. The coffee pot was four steps left. The cabinet was four steps right. He stamped his foot, reminding himself that he was in the loft.

Water over his head. He could see morning sunlight filtering through the ripples.

NO. Kitchen. Loft. Home.

Water burned his nose, his lungs. He could hear Alex laugh.

Make it stop. Please, please make it stop.

*****

Jim jogged up the stairs rather than wait for their temperamental elevator. He and Simon had left it at a standoff. Sandburg had better be ready to go, because he sure didn't want to push Simon's patience any further. He had just pushed his key into the lock when he smelled blood.

The heavy door banged as it smacked into the wall. Sandburg was huddled on the kitchen floor. Jim dropped to his knees beside him. The ceramic coffee mug was crushed in his hands. Blood was dripping slowly through his fingers and onto the floor. He was rocking ever so slightly.

Jim pushed him up so he could look at the damaged hands. He gently uncurled the stiff fingers one by one. Blood oozed from dozens of tiny cuts, but most of the damage was from a large chunk deeply buried in the heel of Blair's left hand. Jim carefully extracted the thick fragment. It came out cleanly, and blood gushed from the newly opened wound. Jim grabbed a dishtowel from the counter and wound it tight.

"Sandburg? Can you put pressure on this while I get some first aid stuff?"

"Yeah."

Relieved to get even that response, Jim dashed for the bathroom.

Blair was silent as Jim washed and disinfected the raw cuts. He was silent when the butterfly bandages were stretched across the worst slash, and as the gauze and tape were wrapped and secured. They were both still seated on the floor.

"I want you to tell me what happened, Chief. Either you talk to me or I'll have to call Simon and tell him you're unfit for duty." A listless nod was his only answer.

"Come on, Sandburg. You are really scaring me here. First you take off, then you damn near drink yourself to death, now this." Jim wanted to shake him. He knew that his voice was edged with impatience. "Look, I know you were pretty freaked by seeing those bodies in the water, and that's understandable, but this is..." He stumbled, searching for the right words.

"... out of control," finished a hushed monotone. Jim was shocked. This voice could not be Blair Sandburg talking.

"What do you mean, Chief? You freaked for a minute, but then you were okay. No meltdown, like you said yesterday. You started to get weird when we started talking about murder. The poor kids drowned. What difference could it possibly make..." Jim didn't finish the statement. Sandburg's face was twisted with emotion. He was shaking, and his heart rate jumped off the chart. "Blair? Come on, buddy. I'm sorry I yelled. Tell me."

"You...don't die right away. You watch."

"What did you say? Sandburg?" Something clicked. A memory. A horrible image of Blair face down in the fountain, hair fanned out on the water's surface. The worst moment of Jim's life. "You knew you were drowning?"

The disembodied voice droned on. "I could hear her laugh. I watched the light. What if they watched the light, Jim? What if they knew, like I did?"

Jim felt his own panic rising. Sandburg had never, NEVER, talked about this. He'd always assumed he was unconscious when Alex dumped him in that damn fountain. Jim started to blurt something, anything, out and then bit the words back. You couldn't screw something like this up. He reached both hands behind Sandburg's neck, pulling him over so they were facing each other, foreheads almost touching.

"I didn't know," he answered softly. "You never told me. Tell me now, Chief. You need to tell it and I need to hear it." He massaged the impossibly tight neck, hoping it would calm and reassure. The words came, but they were hushed and halting. Every syllable dripped out at a price.

"I was awake...when she dumped me in. Couldn't move. Eyes open. Breathed in the water...it burned...in my lungs. Knew I shouldn't breathe...but couldn't stop. The light sparkled through the water. I watched it a long time...really long time."

"Okay." Jim struggled to sort through, frantically trying to remember anything that helped with traumatic stress. "Did you forget? You came to Sierra Verde, you were fine. You seemed fine."

"Just pushed it aside. You needed me. I came."

"You're doing good, Chief." Jim wanted to die inside. How could he have not known, or suspected? How could anyone be so clueless about the most important person in their life? "Tell me about the first time, when we found the kids." He tried to keep his voice soothing, non-threatening. God, this was so bad.

"Scared me. So sad they were dead. You saw me that way at the fountain. You had to know I was gone. Why...why did you think I was still there?"

"I just knew. I couldn't let you go." Jim struggled to find the right words. "The vision; you knew about the vision. We talked about it. Why didn't you tell me the rest?"

"Put it away. Bad karma. Just put it away." Blair rocked slightly, curling in on himself.

"Stay with me, buddy. So you put it away again, huh?" A nod. "And then we went back?"

"You found the...it had to be murder. I could see them dumped in the water. Drag them in to die. Watch the light and die. It was the same. I knew what they saw, what they felt."

"Shit. So it all came back, and you ran. Why did you run?"

Blair leaned against his shoulder, his eyes hidden from view. "Couldn't say the words. Not to you. Kept seeing it over and over. Make it stop, you know?"

"Yeah, Chief. I know." Jim pushed him away slowly, until he was sitting straight. He remembered all too clearly painful nights while one comrade or another worked through a living nightmare. Some of those memories could eat away a life from the inside out. "Again this morning? I shouldn't have left you alone. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone."

"It was like the tide coming in. It wouldn't stop." Blair's voice had a steadier note, a little more normal. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm a mess"

"Sandburg, this is serious post traumatic stress we're talking about here. I'll call Simon. I won't mess this up again. We can get whatever you need. Anything you need."

"Jim, I don't want you to do that." He could feel the anxiety rise in his friend. Blair was going to lose it again, right in front of him.

"Okay - okay. Let me make a call." Blair gripped his hand, pleading without words. "I won't say anything. I promise."

His first call was to Rhonda. Pure smokescreen. They'd be out of touch. No cell phone. Be in at noon.

Eyes still on Sandburg, his second call was to Dan Wolfe.

"Dan? Ellison. You still got the bodies?"

"Yeah. Paperwork's done. Just about to call the funeral homes."

"I can't talk right now. Don't let 'em go. Go over them again."

"What? And just what am I ...?"

"Check the skin, check the nails. Especially on the boy. Think. What would you see if he wasn't completely out when he went into the water?"

"OOOkaay. Why am I doing this? Give me a hint, so I don't feel like an idiot when I'm stalling grieving parents." Jim didn't miss the note of irritation. He was asking a lot of Dan.

"Call it the Sandburg zone. It's there, Dan. We just have to be smart enough to find it."

*****

He'd gotten Sandburg off the floor. He coaxed some mint tea into him. He waited, pushing all thoughts of losing more time and Simon's fury aside. He sat with his friend and let touch take the place of words. This was no time to fuss over convention. You weren't afraid to hold a wounded man on the battlefield.

"I'm okay now." The voice was low, but firm. It was like watching a switch being flipped.

"Don't do this, Sandburg. It's a bad plan. You can't just....what did you say? Put it away? I screwed up before. I'm not doing it again."

"I mean it, Jim. We need to get to work. I need to talk to the housekeeper, Claire. She trusts me." The eyes were focused, but he still looked like shit.

"The case doesn't matter right now. I'm not going to let you put the immediate before the important. We are not doing a Sierra Verde rerun."

"You know now. It's just like a zone out. You can pull me back. I want to finish this."

"Sandburg, it doesn't work that way." The slumped figure in the chair didn't look capable of getting out the door, much less chasing around town on a murder investigation.

Sandburg was on his feet. The pale face was set and determined. "It can work. For a little while. I need to punish this person. I can finish this if we catch them. Punish them."

A stunned Jim Ellison sat and stared. This was nuts. Certifiably crazy, but in a convoluted Sandburg way it made sense, and he could make a guess at what his partner was trying to tell him. What would Blair call it? Closure. There had been no closure with Alex. This would be the substitute.

"Try, Jim. Just try?"

"Okay. We can try." Simon is going to kill us both. May God have mercy.

*****

They wanted to start with Councilman Andrew Price. That was the plan, anyway. Logistically, they had a few difficulties. Jim had to tie his partner's shoes; the act of bending over was not on Blair's dance card on this particular morning. Once fully clothed and out of the loft, Blair took one look at the elevator and began a slow, cautious journey down the stairs. Jim bit back any impatient comments about their pace. He had a fairly good idea of how much discomfort each step produced.

Blair clambered carefully into the truck and rolled down the window on his side. They'd only gone a couple of blocks when Blair started squirming.

"We need to stop for gas, Jim. There's a station on the next block."

Jim stared at the gas gauge. "What are you talking about, Sandburg? The tank's full."

"DAMN YOU STOP FOR GAS! NOW!"

The simple fact that Sandburg rarely shouted startled the driver into compliance. Jim's brain clicked into gear about the same time the truck bounced into the lot. Blair fairly vaulted from the car and disappeared into the 'Mens'. Jim shut off the truck, cursing himself for being so dense. He didn't need enhanced hearing to know that his partner was once again facing the day on an empty stomach. To pass the time, he found a vending machine and bought the stricken man a 7-Up. It seemed the least he could do.

*****

Golden retrievers look like this, thought Blair. He hanging out the passenger window, hoping that the brisk morning air in his face would miraculously cure his hang-over. He fingered the cold, slick sides of the soft drink can, basically wishing he was dead. Jim was making a great leap of faith in not reporting him to Simon. He closed his eyes, even though he knew it would send his head spinning. More payment for last night's indiscretions. Pushing his physical discomforts aside, he went through a meditation he'd known since childhood. He was determined not to further embarrass his senior partner.

Not that Jim wasn't watching every move he made. Probably listening to every heartbeat and monitoring every breath. He concentrated on the rush of air across his skin, imagining wind in the trees, or sailing above the clouds. Any image that kept the memories of the fountain far, far away.

Blair was caught of guard when the truck stopped. He hadn't been paying attention to their progress. "We're here, Chief. You still with me?"

"Don't hover, Jim. You have cause, but I'm doing okay. I'm going to let you take the lead on this one. I need to lose the headache before I cross swords with Cascade's very own representative from the 18th century." He answered Jim's snicker with a grin. They'd spent many an evening discussing the views of Councilman Price. Blair firmly believed he was a pen pal with Newt Gingrich.

Considering the number of calls Simon had taken from the Mayor, it wasn't a shock when they found Andrew Price waiting at the front door for them. He quickly ushered them to a comfortable office in his home overlooking a most of Cascade and the mountains. The halls were lined with family photos. Several Blair recognized as their victim. Bruce Price was a fine football and baseball player, and his father had clearly been proud of him.

Councilman Price was gracious enough, but made it very clear that he was not pleased with the pace of the investigation. He peppered them with questions as soon as they were seated. Jim was more cooperative than usual, including a detailed explanation of why Bruce's body was still not at the funeral home. Andrew Price did not take that piece of news calmly.

"What? A homicide? Why wasn't I informed of this earlier?"

The critical piece of evidence wasn't discovered until last night, sir. We needed information from forensics before we could proceed."

"I still think it's outrageous," fumed Price. The is difficult enough for my wife and our other children without having wild speculations floating around."

"We're certain that there was a fourth person with your son yesterday afternoon. Unfortunately, we don't have an identity. Any help you can give us about Bruce's friends, his routine, who he dated, might be important. We don't know enough right now to rule anything out."

"His best friends are on the baseball team. It's a city-wide all-star team. Here." Price carefully pulled a team photo from a frame on his desk. "The names are listed at the bottom."

"Thank you. We'll be sure to return this to you." Blair accepted the photograph, gave it a quick glance and slipped into a case folder. The perfect all-American kid on the perfect all-American team. He waited expectantly, wondering where Jim was going to take this next. His partner had been a part of this world. Blair trusted his instincts.

"Last night, your wife said that one of the victims, Tara Long, was Bruce's girlfriend. Could she tell us anything further about their relationship?"

"Detective, my wife isn't up to another interview right now. Bruce was a good-looking boy. There were no shortage of young ladies in his life. We've known Marnie Jacob and her family for years. We helped host her mother's wedding reception in June. Marnie and Bruce were just good friends. The other girl, Tara, did you say? He'd been seeing her for a couple of months."

"Were they serious?" Jim probed.

"Bruce was as serious as you would expect a senior in high school to be. Like I said, there were lots of pretty girls. He had plenty of growing up to do."

"Would that include sowing his oats, sir?" Blair almost dropped his pen. Nice, Jim. Go for blunt.

Price, however, didn't miss a beat. "I never expected any boy of mine to be a monk, Detective Ellison. I'm sure your father had the same conversations with you that I had with Bruce." Blair noted the shrug, the half-smile. Just one member of the club to another. He was willing to bet said discussion differed significantly from Naomi's conversations about sexuality.

"What if I told you the young lady was pregnant? Would that be ... unexpected?"

Price stiffened, but didn't lose his temper. "Well, Detective, I would think my son knew better." His eyes narrowed. "Will that information be released to the media?"

"Not at this time. It may have a bearing on the case, however. Assuming your son knew, would he have told you?"

"Yes, I think he would have." He continued with ice in his voice. "You're making quite a jump here. Perhaps the child wasn't his."

"We're waiting for DNA results," answered Jim coolly.

"I can't see how this has anything to do with my son's death. Do you seriously think someone would murder my son and Marnie over another girl's illegitimate child?"

"I'm not implying anything, Mr. Price. It's simply good procedure to investigate every possible angle." Jim wasn't letting him off the hook. Blair sensed they were about to lose this man as an ally. He took a deep breath and decided to butt in.

"Mr. Price, if someone intentionally harmed your son, we don't want that person to go unpunished. We're well aware of how painful this must be, but maybe you could tell us what you would have expected your son to do? Did you ever actually discuss this possibility with Bruce?"

Price softened, as if the idea of dealing with a unexpected child would be a picnic in comparison to arranging a funeral. "I would have expected my son to come to me. My position on social issues are well known. I seriously doubt that Bruce would have paid for an abortion, or helped the girl arrange one. I also doubt he would have seriously considered marriage, or abandoning the girl entirely. I suppose I would have contacted the girl's family and made the appropriate financial arrangements for her." He stood abruptly. "I'm sorry gentlemen, we'll have to continue this another time. I think I should speak with my wife and prepare her."

"We can show ourselves out," volunteered Jim. "We will be in touch as soon as we know anything."

Price's composure melted for just a moment. "My current outburst aside, I want you to find out the truth. It's such a shock. I will let you know if I think of anything else, or if my wife has some insight I'm unaware of. I will call you. I promise you, I will not allow my personal feelings or my position in city government to interfere with your investigation." He shook hands with both men. "I understand through the Mayor and Captain Banks that you two are the best Major Crimes has. Do whatever needs to be done, gentlemen. I mean that sincerely."

Continue on to Part Two...