Title & Summary -
Excessive Force - A teenager lies dead - was the shooting justified or was it panic?

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 Authors: Takes place after TSbyBS.

Dedication: Written for the Sentinel Angst list. Many thanks to Dawn for creating a S.A., more thanks to Mackie for housing the virtual homeless and to Fidus Amicus for doing a beta on the updated version.

Excessive Force
By Jael Lyn
January 2000
Updated February 2001

Jim faced into the darkness that was the Cascade skyline, lights sparkling in the night. The air on the balcony was chilly, the rain from another of Cascade's unending storm fronts creating a background of sound. Despite his best efforts, Jim's senses careened off into near zone outs. First his sight drifted to the neon of a café blocks away, then touch slid into the cold, wet feel of the beer he held and didn't really want. Rhythmic drips from the gutters pulled at his hearing. He struggled to rein in his senses. Fatigue muddled his thoughts as badly as his wayward senses. Nearly 40 hours without sleep, since a very average day had spiraled into a nightmare. A nightmare without an end, and apparently, without a guide. He willed the phone to ring, but only the rain answered.

He forced his mind back over the last two days, trying to harness his thoughts. Thursday? Was it Thursday? Wednesday hadn't started badly. A normal shift, Sandburg at his side. Blair, still easing into the role of full time cop, trying so hard to do everything right. The frantic pace of police work followed by grinding paperwork. They skipped lunch and dinner; stretched an 8-hour shift into 10 and then 14. Finally, an exhausted dash to WonderBurger.

Sandburg had spotted the discarded paper with the movie ads. Why not? Not a bad part of town. The late showing was still do-able. They were too wound up to sleep - too tired to go back to work or do anything productive. It sounded good, well, maybe sounded okay. A mildly amused Jim had allowed his enthusiastic partner to convince him that the foreign film across town would be the perfect midweek distraction. Why hadn't they just come home?

The truck had crawled through the side streets, looking for a place to park. They were a little late, and the spots near the hole-in-the wall theater were taken. Few pedestrians were out, but that wasn't unusual, considering the time and the drippy weather. The pavement glistened with the dim light that reflected off the wet pavement. So they had to hike a few blocks, it wasn't pouring. No problem. Jim had settled comfortably into Blair's monologue about the demonic copier in Major Crime that ate everything he fed into it. He snickered as Blair considered the viability of some African curing ceremony. It would only require some minor participation from Jim and a teensy little fire, maybe a goat...

Then the edges of his hearing had picked up voices, just out of normal range. An intense, angry argument, by the sound of it. One young voice, one older. Both male, and getting angrier. Threats, accusations, money not delivered, and then the soft sound of metal on metal that Jim identified as the clip of a firearm and a round being chambered. He'd grasped Blair's forearm and shushed the copier diatribe. Sandburg, so skilled at reading Jim in Sentinel mode, followed as Jim dragged him in the direction of a darkened alley and the staccato conversation.

They fell into familiar patterns, Jim on point, Blair, watchful and behind. Two figures, dimly backlit, had been barely visible down the alley. Weapons? One for sure, that was clear. Jim dialed up his vision. The larger man held a high caliber handgun. The second participant, much smaller, didn't seem intimidated. His hands were buried in a down coat. The coat moved as he gestured with his hands still in the pockets. Threat matched threat. The words, the body language... Jim was sure another weapon lurked in those pockets. Two, he signaled back to Blair. He had been so sure.

The argument had escalated - they had no more time to wait. Jim committed them and moved down the alley. He had been dimly aware of Blair as he moved carefully behind him in a defensive position. Jim had just shouted the required, "Cascade PD - freeze" when a shot rang out. The larger figure threw himself back and out of sight behind the cluttered dark of the alley. Then sound. Crashing, roaring sound. Jim, ready for a firefight, was not prepared for an explosion in a narrow brick canyon. Blackness claimed him.

Blair watched Jim crumple and assumed that a shot had found its mark. Later, he'd spoken of what he thought were bullet impacts all around. Though Jim couldn't claim to be an eyewitness at that point, in his opinion, Blair had done everything right. His partner had dashed forward, returned fire, and apparently, taken them a fateful step through the looking glass.

Blair reached Jim, certain he was wounded. Instead, Jim was dazed and barely conscious, but not bleeding. Blair took the lead and moved down the alley. The larger participant was gone. Carefully, Blair had prodded the other figure down on the pavement. There was no response. Jim had struggled to his side when Blair turned the body and, with horror, looked into the face of a now dead teenager. With Jim's condition as a major consideration, no pursuit seemed possible. They had backed off. Blair slumped on a curb, with his head in his hands. Jim could say nothing as his partner faced any cop's greatest fear, the possibility that he had killed a human being in the line of duty. His frustration increased as he sat helpless. Without corroboration, Jim couldn't work alone on a crime scene that he and his partner were so intimately involved with. Accusations of planted evidence were just too easy to make. They might blow the case, if there was a case.

The next hours were a blur. Back up had arrived. The crime scene was sealed. Units were sent out in search of the missing man. Lights were brought in and forensics began their work. Simon had arrived. All normal, but the story that unfolded worsened through the night and into the dawn.

Jim could think of no publicly acceptable explanation to offer for blacking out. A wallet was the only item recovered from the dead teen. More importantly, he had no weapon. The alley was searched and searched again as Detective Ellison repeated his assertion that another weapon was involved. The hail of bullets Blair adamantly reported had no explanation. As Blair agonized over the death of a child, the young victim was traced to a prominent, wealthy family with political connections.

In violation of every procedural consideration, the boy's father appeared at the crime scene, loudly insisting that independent investigators be brought in. Media began to stream in. Over Jim's protests that he and Blair needed to work the crime scene with Simon as an independent observer, in desperation, Simon finally herded them off to a squad car and returned to the station.

With Simon taking the role of lead investigator, they had given their statements. As dawn approached, the forensics evidence began to trickle in. Said evidence did not support their stories. By 8 AM Internal Affairs was interviewing the partners separately. By 9AM, Norman Tripple, the boy's father had conducted a press conference. The bereaved father accused Cascade PD of a cover-up; spotlighting Blair as an unreliable rookie with a questionable past. He even hinted at a possible conspiracy intended to damage him personally. In short, a public relations nightmare for the department, and a disaster in the making for Detective Sandburg.

By 10AM IA questioned them again. The ballistics information revealed that Blair's weapon had delivered the killing shot. No other bullet was located in the immediate area. Blair, distraught over the shooting anyway, could hardly give coherent answers after being told.

Jim's temper frayed. Rafe and Brown, discretely contacted by Rhonda, came in on their day off. Megan attempted to coordinate the evidence, but Major Crime was a madhouse. By 11 AM, Simon was handling a steady stream of brass from the mayor's office, IA, and other departments. Rumors flew. Jim was dismissed, but Blair was retained for further questioning. A heated confrontation ensued. NO, Detective Ellison could not speak with Sandburg. NO, Sandburg would not be released from interrogation. NO, it was not in the interests of the investigation to release the 'additional confidential information', whatever that was, that only IA had access to. Simon was instructed to place Jim on leave with pay and Sandburg on suspension.

In shock, Jim had gone to Simon's office, locked the door and called his father. Sandburg needed the best legal representation money could buy and Jim was determined to get that representation to Cascade PD immediately. A second call to Stephen placed all of Jim Ellison's assets in his brother's hands, with the intention of making as much cash available as possible.

By early afternoon all the players were in place. Simon tried to direct the investigation and run damage control at the same time. Sandburg's counsel emerged briefly. Blair was the sole focus of the investigation. Shaking his head, he explained that 'other factors' were still being hinted at, but were as yet unspecified. An arrest wasn't out of the question.

Jim had gone ballistic, and headed toward the interrogation room. Angry words were exchanged. In desperation, Brown and two uniforms tackled Jim to keep him from conducting his own little in-house investigation. Simon threw him out of the station at that point, and threatened to drag him out in restraints before he made matters worse. As Megan shepherded him to the car, Simon promised to call. Jim had retreated to his balcony, to wait.

So, here he was, still on the balcony and waiting. Megan had stayed, but he finally sent her back. Afternoon slipped into evening, evening into night. No word from Simon. No Blair. His father called. Stephen called. Still Jim waited, and watched the night.

He heard Simon's voice in the hallway and hustled to the door. Banks shook his head as he entered, and turned to gently direct Blair into the loft. Forget macho - Jim grabbed Blair by the shoulders and pulled him into a bear hug.

"What happened? You didn't call. Blair?"

Blair moved back a step, then headed for the couch, eyes downcast. He was silent.

"Jim, maybe we could get him something to eat. Jim, come on." Simon murmured as he pulled him across the loft.

Moving on auto-pilot, Jim put water on for tea and made Blair a sandwich. Simon explained softly as he worked. "There will be a hearing alleging that Sandburg discharged his weapon incorrectly; that as a rookie he panicked and gunned down an unarmed kid. At worst, he'll be brought up on criminal charges. If the criminal charges don't stick, it's highly likely that the board will suspend him permanently. You can testify, but the evidence is the real problem."

"I know what I saw, Simon," Jim answered, trying to keep his voice down. "I've seen IA do some dumb things, but this is nuts. I want to.."

"I know what you want, Jim. Everyone in the station knows after the scene this afternoon. I'm telling you, as your superior and your friend, for Sandburg's sake, back off. Everyone in Major Crime is pulling double shifts tracking down leads. I'll keep you informed, but we need you to maintain some distance. It's a conflict of interest and it won't do him any good."

"Simon, this is ridiculous."

"Hear me out, Jim. There's more. I can't tell you how all the pieces fit together, but Tripple is maintaining that this was the equivalent of a political execution. He's lobbying the mayor to have the DA prosecute this as a premeditated murder. Even if he can't succeed, he's stirring up enough controversy to damage Blair's reputation beyond repair. He's rehashing the whole dissertation mess - he'll destroy him."

"So what's the motive for this witch hunt, Simon? Why would Tripple even know Sandburg? Why do Blair and I care about this kid? Why would we want to kill him? How did an unplanned trip to a foreign film become a premeditated anything?" Jim sputtered, remembering to lower his voice after nearly shouting, although Sandburg didn't seem to be paying attention. "This cannot be happening. I will not let this happen! Blair's not going as a lamb to the slaughter again. I'll hold my own press conference, fight back..."

"Jim, listen to me." Simon took a deep breath before he continued. "We can't fight what we don't understand. Give it a couple of days. Work with the lawyer. Try to put Sandburg back together emotionally so he's functional. Let everyone work on poking some holes in these allegations before you crash in on your own. Find out who's really involved here. Blair's a mess. He needs you in other ways more than for your police work."

Jim cast another careful look over to the couch. Blair hadn't moved. He seemed unaware of the conversation or even where he was. Jim had seen better-looking cases of battle fatigue.

Simon shook Jim's arm gently. "Look, I'm going back to the station to meet with the Chief and the Mayor. I'll do what damage control I can. The lawyer is coming here tomorrow morning early. I made the appointment before he left. We'll do it discretely, but I'll send someone over with everything I can pull together. No one believes Blair would be party to a killing or crack under pressure. We've seen the kid in action too many other times. If you can get Blair to talk to you, I think that would help. I need you to go over the crime scene, but I'm assuming you need Blair to do it." Before moving to the door, he stopped at Blair's side and squeezed his shoulder. "Don't give up on us, Blair," and then he was gone, closing the door gently behind him.

Jim threw the lock, and joined Blair on the couch. "Try the tea even if you can't manage the food. Want an aspirin?"

Blair sipped at the tea, and shook his head. Struggling with the words, he finally spoke. "Jim, I can't do this. Not again. Please try to understand."

This wasn't exactly what Jim was expecting. "What do you mean? Internal Affairs doesn't have to ask our permission to push this. Come on, Blair. We both know none of these things are true. We can beat this. Just hang in there."

Blair struggled to form the words. "Jim, listen...I thought I was okay with this, but I'm not. Don't take this wrong. I'm not blaming you, but I've been publicly dismissed from one career. I can't face the humiliation again. I just can't. I need to stop this before it goes any further."

"How? Confess to something you didn't do? You're a great cop. You did everything by the book. We just have to prove it."

Blair rubbed his forehead, either in pain or distress. "Jim, its not a matter of proof or not. I can't do the inquisition again. Sometime during all the questioning today I realized it. My life won't bear that level of examination a second time around. I can't endure the scorn of everyone around me, justified or not. It's just too painful. Don't hate me for..."

Panic dawned in Jim's eyes. "You're not think of ...of hurting yourself? You wouldn't, would you? Oh, God, no...don't even think it."

Blair grabbed Jim's wrist and tried to soothe him. "I didn't mean that ...didn't mean to scare you. I meant, I could disappear and just put a stop to it. I could get to Canada and be out to a third world country before anyone knew I was gone. I've been all over the world. I can hide in places people have never even heard of. I would be okay. I'm not proud of running, but the thought of defending my reputation, such as it is, is just too much." He slumped back and closed his eyes, letting his hands drop back into his lap.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" Blair answered wearily. "It's not your decision, Jim."

"I mean no, it's not going to happen, Sandburg. What kind of life is that? On the run, no home, leave everyone who cares about you behind. Always wondering if today is the day they find you? You're an honorable person. It's just so wrong."

"Will you stop me?" Blair opened his eyes and stared into Jim's.

Jim hesitated. The quiet desperation in Blair's face frightened him. He'd seen wounded men on the battlefield do this, when they gave up and were ready to die. "No. No - I won't stop you. I'll do anything you ask, but I wish you would choose differently. Please think about this. At least meet with the lawyer tomorrow before you decide it's hopeless."

"My best chance is to leave tonight. You know this. I'm not officially in custody. You could say I slipped out without your knowledge."

"You're exhausted. Would you at least rest a couple of hours? If you're still determined to go, I'll help. I have some expertise in this covert movement stuff. Please."

"I have your word on this?"

Jim nodded his head slowly. "Yes, you have my word." He picked up the remains of Blair's meager dinner. "Go on - crash - I'll wake you."

As Blair drifted to sleep, Jim heard him whisper, "Why is this happening?"

Jim roused his roommate long enough to drag him into his room and dump him under a quilt. The loft was quickly closed and darkened for the night. Painfully aware of his promise, Jim set an alarm before he collapsed on the couch. The stairs seemed far too much trouble, coupled with the fear that, despite sentinel senses, Blair would somehow slip out without waking him. As his own fatigue swept over him, Jim wracked his brain for the argument that would keep Blair in Cascade. Even if he could come up with one, was it truly the correct choice? Was he putting his own self-interest ahead of what was best for Blair? How many times could he justify putting his own desires ahead of Blair's?

Shortly after midnight, the alarm jolted them out of an exhausted sleep. Jim stood pensively at the French doors and watched Blair stuff various essentials into his backpack, then unpack them again and grab something else. He'd kept up a steady stream of Sandburgese, no doubt to avoid any real conversation. Jim took a deep breath. Time for the performance of a lifetime.

"Uh, Jim, maybe I could catch one of the ferries to B.C. That'll work. You could be back by morning. If anyone asks you could just say I ditched while you were asleep and you were driving around town looking for me. I need to get some cash from the ATM...by the time they think of looking, it won't matter much. Could you see if my gloves are around somewhere? Glasses, I need my glasses..."

"Chief, couldn't we discuss this for a minute? There are other alternatives. We haven't taken time to think this through."

"I meant what I said earlier, Jim. We are not thinking through anything. If I'm gonna go, it has got to be now. Hey, man, I can understand if you don't want to get involved with illegal flight. I can take the Volvo and then ditch it en-route. Its okay, you know. I can do this. Not like I haven't moved on in a rush enough times with Naomi."

"Sandburg, shut up for a minute." Blair looked up startled. "Take it easy, Chief. I'm not mad at you. Just have some coffee. We can talk long enough for that. You're not awake yet. Look at you." Jim gestured toward his clumsily dressed friend. You just packed only one shoe. You're wearing your glasses on the top of your head." Jim almost laughed as his partner grabbed for the glasses. "We're talking ten minutes here. And I will take you where you think you need to go. You're my partner. How can I not be involved?"

With Blair slumped in one of the kitchen chairs, Jim started coffee. His mind raced ahead. Maybe the direct approach. Just tie him up and talk sense into him, or maybe skip the talking and just tie him up. "Blair, I know you feel bad, but we both know that wasn't some innocent, unarmed kid that went down. I heard the conversation. We know there was nothing planned about our jaunt last night." Blair stared silently at his coffee mug, as if it would be providing all the answers. "We've got two issues to sort out. Why I blacked out, and why you thought there was more gunfire. You didn't panic and you didn't imagine this. Second, why the victim's father suddenly thinks we're a hit squad. If you ask me, this is not the reaction of your typical grieving parent. We don't know anything about the kid, the other guy in the alley, or the father, for that matter, other than he's a prominent local. We haven't even started, since those idiots from IA kept us captive all day. If you leave now, nothing will convince those vultures that you aren't culpable somehow. Please wait. I give you my word, this will not go down like the dissertation and Rainier."

Blair finally gave up on the mug. "Jim, you mean well, but you just can't make that promise. I know I look out of it, and maybe I am, but I can figure out where this is going. Shooting a civilian without justification, maybe even murder charges. I won't be able to start over again. Never. We can't prove anything."

Jim slid into the chair next to his partner. At least Blair was still there, listening to what he had to say. "We haven't even had a chance to talk, much less produce proof. Chief, with the diss, you were alone and I pretty much dumped the resolution on your shoulders. You've got the important people in your corner this time. No university administration waiting for an excuse. Simon knows the score. It looks really bad, and I know you have every reason to be pessimistic, but please give your friends a chance. Give me a chance."

"Man, this is just too hard. Is it really that different? Just swap Chancellor Edwards for IA. You and Simon can't really shield me here. I'm a fraud in most people's eyes to begin with. I'm toast, and this doesn't have anything to do with trusting you." Blair vaulted out of his chair and across to the balcony. He kept his back turned toward Jim. Nice try, Blair, Jim thought. I don't have to see your face to know what's going through your mind.

"Sandburg, Simon's sending the cavalry in the morning. Review what evidence there is with me. We can go back to the scene. I hate lawyers, but Tony Radson is a good one. He'll buy us some time so we can get some work done. Either that or we both get on that ferry."

Blair exploded, whirling around to face his friend. "Don't be dumb, Jim! That suggestion is beyond dumb. Forget driving me. Forget the ferry. As of right now, you don't know anything about my plans." He stomped off in the direction of his backpack.

Jim grabbed him as he tried to storm past. Blair tried to jerk away, but Jim persisted. "I gave you my word that I wouldn't stop you. I meant it. So what's it going to be? Are you going to try and stop me from going with you? Don't I have the right?"

"Ellison, this is blackmail and I won't have it!" Blair tried to wriggle out of Jim's grip. "Both of us down the tubes is not my version of improving the situation. Don't try to pull this with me. Like I said, I may be out of it, but I'm not that out of it."

"Tough. Here are your choices. You can sit down, have another coffee, and be quiet while I pack. You can leave now and see if you can lose me." Jim released his arm, but stayed in Blair's face, arms crossed. "Fat chance. With your sense of direction, you'll probably end up in Spokane and I'll be right by your side. Or you can stay here and try to fight. Three guesses what my first choice is."

"You make me so mad - you promised!" Blair was angry, but he wasn't moving.

"Good. Mad is better than defeated. What's it gonna be? Maybe I can find your other shoe before we leave. I'll try to smell it." Jim hoped his teasing grin would be answered, but Blair remained grim.

"Forget the shoe. I'll go barefoot if you'll forget this little scheme." The anger melted into pleading. "Can't we do it my way? You can still try to clear me - I could come back."

"Won't work, Chief," Jim answered, shaking his head. "You're right, it will be an uphill battle even with you here. Our best chance is as a team. If you decide to go, I think it's a lost cause. We're doing this together, one way or the other. Now, do I pack, handcuff our sweet selves together or go back to bed?"

"Stupid. Stubborn, sneaky, stupid. I'll..."

"...make a decision right now." Jim finished and met Blair's gaze. "Come on, Blair. Make the right call."

Blair sighed. Jim could briefly see him flirt with the idea of appealing to Jim's sense of guilt or protective instincts, or try to lose him somehow. He could almost see the wheels turning. This could be Blair at his most devious. "Well?"

Blair 's shoulders sagged and gave up. "What time is the ambassador from Major Crime coming? You're going to regret this, Jim. I'm going to regret this." Blair turned in the direction of his room.

Jim snagged the back of his shirt before he got very far. "Oh no, you don't. Upstairs, rookie. I'm beat. I'm not putting my senses on alert to make sure you don't try for the great escape. You get the bed."

"Come on, Jim. I don't need a guard or house arrest."

"You most certainly do. You gave up too easily."

"Talk about trust! Don't you trust me?"

"No dice, Sandburg. We're not talking trust here, we're talking predictable. Now get up there." Jim detoured quickly to grab some bedding from Blair's room to throw on the floor. "You're my partner and my best friend and I know how you think. House arrest is exactly what you're going to get. We're wasting perfectly good snoozing time." He started herding Blair up the stairs. "Go on - go on. Not another word."

Jim flipped the covers back on the bed and stared sternly until Blair started to peel off layers. "Hey, I'll take the floor," Blair protested. "Don't make me feel guilty on top of being hopeless."

"Not a chance. You're just trying to get closer to the door. Bed. Now. No more arguments." Jim continued to push Blair gently onto the bed. "Morning will be here soon enough."

As Blair's head hit the pillow, he turned. "Jim, I don't know about this....

"It'll be okay, Sandburg. We just need to get started. Now go to sleep." As Jim's eyes finally closed, he was painfully aware that the lump in his throat seemed a lot harder than the floor at that moment.

*****

"Hey, Ellison. You holding up okay? How's Hairboy?" Brown spoke in hushed tones as he and Rafe entered the loft, loaded with files and computer printouts. "Sorry about getting physical yesterday. Believe me, I would have been happy to pull those turkeys limb from limb if it would help. No hard feelings?"

"You did the right thing...I shouldn't have lost it." Jim clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Is Simon coming? You guys look like you could use coffee. We're short on groceries, but..."

"Not to worry, Jim," answered Rafe, displaying two white bags. "We brought bagels and the trimmings, but the coffee sounds good. Simon might be along later. He said he'd catch you at the station if he didn't get here."

"Well, come on, show me what you've got."

In short order, files, ballistics reports and evidence summaries were scattered across the coffee table and reviewed. Blair joined them a few minutes later, dressed in sweats, looking decidedly rumpled. He nodded to his colleagues, but sat quietly, almost detached.

"Our big problem with IA right now is the lack of the weapon. We've been back to the crime scene twice. No bullet fragments, no ballistics evidence. We took your description of the second subject and canvassed the neighborhood. No leads." Brown sighed, fiddling with the forensics report. "Can you guys think of anything else that might help?"

Jim shook his head; Blair just looked down at the floor.

Finally, Blair whispered, "I know I heard something, more than one something. I didn't make this up. I was sure Jim was going to be full of bullet holes by the time I got to him. Man, I just couldn't have screwed up that bad and killed a kid for nothing." He ran his hands through his hair and rocked backed and forth in the chair.

"Come on, Sandburg. We'll get it figured out." Rafe picked up another file. "This is the info on the kid." He halted as he saw Blair shudder.

"Go on, Rafe. I can't make it go away by hiding from the ugly realities." Blair cast a despairing look across the room at Jim.

Rafe hesitated a moment and continued. "Drew Tripple was 18. We've got a couple of pictures." Jim picked them up, studying the face. "Senior at Evergreen Prep, high profile athlete, the works. Star player on the basketball team that's contending for the city championship."

Jim nodded as he made the connection. "Okay, I remember reading about this team. It's a big deal, if you follow local athletics." Although he rarely thought about it, he had once moved in that world. "So what else? Any trouble? Grades?"

Rafe snorted. "According to what the media is spouting, from his dad, he was the perfect child and the future architect of world peace."

"Don't be sarcastic, Rafe," Blair snapped. "He's dead."

"I didn't mean anything, Blair." A frown of frustration crossed Rafe's face. "It's just that we got a lot of hassle when we tried to get anything confirmed yesterday. The kid had all the trappings of a spoiled brat rich kid. If circumstances were a little less crazy, people would be thinking more along the lines of obstruction. We went by his school yesterday afternoon, to talk to his teachers or friends. You know, try to figure why he was down in that part of town in the first place. It was weird. For someone supposedly that popular, the other kids just didn't seem to be real grief stricken.

Henri chimed in. "I had the same impression. No one wanted to contradict Daddy, and I think they were hedging. Something about this just doesn't ring true. School administrators didn't want to give us anything. Dad's a big contributor to the school and they don't want to offend. Of course, they don't come out and say that. We just got a lot of smoke about confidentiality and how privacy was what their patrons were paying for. I guess we'll have to get a court order, but Simon was having trouble convincing anyone that this was normal procedure to check out everyone involved."

"As if they don't know," groused Rafe. "Raises my red flags to be warned off that way."

Brown continued. "We talked to his basketball coach and sort of met his teammates. They weren't real talkative. You know how hard it is to get kids that age to tell you the truth. Anyway, there was one kid, real young, just a sophomore. Got brought up to varsity a couple of games ago, real suddenly. Definitely doesn't fit in with the group. Looked real uncomfortable. He hung back a little, as if he wanted to talk, but didn't want to be seen. We're going to follow up with him. Maybe we'll get some kind of a break."

"I want to come along when you go back," Jim stated flatly. He wasn't taking "no" for an answer.

"Ellison, you're officially on leave. You can't be that visible in the investigation," protested Henri. "Simon will kill us."

"So Rafe and I will go watch a little practice, play it low key," Jim retorted.

"Jim Ellison and low-key do not belong in the same sentence," Henri responded sarcastically.

"I'll leave the tough stuff to you. If we can't find the other suspect, the kid's the only angle. I'll just be another face." The other two detectives looked unconvinced. " Come on guys," Jim wheedled. "I'll be good. Besides, there's something else. You guys have been detectives long enough not to be put off by people not wanting to talk to you. What else is bugging you."

"Yeah, well don't get your hopes up. It might be nothing." Brown pulled out some computer printouts. "It took us a while to run down. Came as a shock considering the public performance his father is putting on. Turns out Norman Tripple is not the boy's real father."

That got a rise out of Blair, but he didn't speak. Jim knew this was an issue he was sensitive about. "What do you mean?" Jim asked.

"Drew was the son of Tripple's first wife. We haven't tracked the father listed on the birth certificate. They were married when Drew was a toddler, and we haven't located any formal adoption paperwork either. The new Mrs. Tripple isn't much older than her stepson. The boy apparently has no blood relatives that were part of his life. Kind of interesting when you consider that his death has been turned into a media moment by said 'loving father'. The guy strikes me as being a barracuda, not a devoted dad, especially to someone else's kid."

After another twenty minutes of serious review, Jim had to admit that despite the myriad of folders scattered around them, they weren't any closer to clearing up this mess. Blair looked increasingly more depressed. Jim could read his thoughts. He was regretting not taking off last night when he had the chance.

A call from Simon broke up the meeting. The two on-duty detectives were needed back at the station to prepare for a meeting with the DA. Jim asked permission to attend; a request Simon turned down. Seething, Jim hung up the phone. "H, I need you to call me if anything takes a turn for the worse."

Brown cast a sympathetic look in Blair's direction. "Sure. Honestly, I can't see the DA pressing this. We haven't uncovered a shred of evidence to support any of Tripple's accusations. We even interviewed the kids working at WonderBurger. One of them remembers the two of you joking about the movie. The time logs and everything objective jives with your story. If we tried to make an arrest under normal circumstances, they would be having a fit about insufficient evidence. The guy may have pull with the powers that be, but wild claims from the grieving parent don't make a case. Even if the jerk can get it printed on the front page of the morning paper."

Blair's head shot up. "This crap is in the paper? On the front page? How much? How bad is it?" He stared at Jim, betrayal written all over his face. "Jim, did you know this?" He surged toward the door.

Jim dragged him back, shooting an icy stare at Brown. "No, I didn't know. I haven't gone to get the paper, and you're not either. I'll go down and get it, and walk them out. Now stay put, Sandburg." He pointed Blair back in the direction of the kitchen and firmly shut the door behind the three of them, locking it as well. Just outside the door, Jim couldn't stop himself from venting at Brown. "Great. Just great. He could have done without that, you know."

"I'm sorry, Jim. It just didn't occur to me..."

"Well, it should have!"

"Come on, Ellison, lay off. Henri didn't mean anything by it. How long did you think you could keep this from Sandburg? He would have found out, and it would have been worse if he thought you were trying to keep him in the dark."

"In case you didn't notice, I think he already does," snapped Jim.

"I hate to break the news to you, but he would have known as soon as you set foot outside this place. You've got reporters staked out in the parking lot. The only reason we got through is because they didn't connect us with you and Sandburg right off."

"Damn. Where is the chopper on the roof when I need it?" growled Jim. He shrugged in disgust when the elevator never made an appearance and the three men trooped down the stairs.

They heard the commotion before they hit the last landing. Fighting his way through the media crush was a slim, dark-haired man in his early forties. The divergent groups crushed together at the entrance to the building. Rafe and Brown shoved their way out, creating a serious roadblock to the oncoming media. Jim retreated with the new arrival and hit the stairs running. Together they dashed up the stairs, two at a time, hoping to keep some distance between themselves and the reporters.

The newcomer made the introductions. "Hey," he panted, "I'm Tony Radson, Blair's lawyer. You must be Ellison. You look like your father."

"Sorry - we didn't really have a proper introduction yesterday. One more flight."

"You were more interested in ringing a few necks, if I recall. You got another way out of here? I hate to drag my client through that mess."

Jim finally got the key into the lock while he sized up his fellow stair-climber. "Thanks for coming. We can try the fire escape on the way out. I don't suppose they'll get bored and go away?"

"Not a chance. How's my client today? Yesterday was a tough one."

Jim shook his head. "Come on in and ask him."

Blair was flaked out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He seemed a bit startled as they entered, but composed himself quickly. He stood to greet his lawyer, looking embarrassed and flustered. "Hi, Tony. I guess I forgot you were coming. I can't seem to concentrate on anything. What do we need to do today?"

Tony Radson shrugged out of his suit coat and crossed the room to shake Blair's hand. "Don't apologize. It's perfectly normal to be distracted. You've had a huge shock. I've had clients who couldn't answer the simplest things because of the stress." Jim listened in silence, relieved by Radson's easy competence and acutely aware of how different it was to be a bystander in an investigation, especially one he cared about. "I've notified both the District Attorney and Internal Affairs that you will submit to further questions only in my presence," Radson continued. "It's courtesy that they should route any further requests through me. We'll see IA again at one. No word from the DA, but I'm expecting some sort of contact." He joined Blair on the couch and spread a jumble of papers and notes on the coffee table. His next question was directed at Jim. "Captain Banks said you would have the current evidence. Anything that helps us?"

Blair sat back and let Jim carry the ball. Jim's summary was concise and professional, and he ventured quickly into conducting a little impromptu investigation of his own.

"Tell me what you know about Norman Tripple. He's the wild card I just can't figure out here."

Tony Radson didn't seem surprised by the question. "I agree. His reaction has complicated Blair's situation immensely. I know of him, rather than personally. Norman Tripple moves in the power circles of Cascade, of the whole Northwest actually. His money is a little bit of a mystery, and the family hasn't always been prominent. Appeared on the scene in the mid-eighties. Made a well-documented killing in real estate and junk bonds. I know through other sources that he has money in shipping and international commerce. Most people speculate that he makes his money behind the scenes, very private and very discrete. His financial interests are apparently well away from the spotlight."

"Legal?" Jim's eyes narrowed.

"Can't say," Radson answered with a shrug. "He's very visible at charity and cultural events. Always at all the right social occasions, donates generously and very publicly. Has a beautiful trophy wife who's a champion spender, but those are the only parts of his life that are public. Everything else isn't common knowledge. He might have aspirations for public office, or he may just want to have lots of influence over those in public office. He's cultivated all the right contacts. It's hard to tell. He's positioned himself to go either way."

"Sandburg's paying the price for those contacts." Jim's concern grew. "The reports said a first wife died in a car crash."

Radson gave him a sly grin. "If you talk to the right Cascade matron, you can hear some whispers that it wasn't an accident. Nothing came of it at the time, and the guy was the most sought after eligible bachelor until a few years ago when he picked up the most recent Mrs. Tripple. A real piece of work, that one."

Jim started to pace. "So why the media blitz? I can understand why he might blame the PD, but this business with Sandburg is a complete fabrication. What is he gaining? Why does a guy that keeps most of his affairs under wraps suddenly float this one on the open market?"

Radson studied Jim carefully before he answered. "Inconsistent, isn't it? All I can tell you is that the guy does nothing without a reason. For all the sophisticated patina, I wouldn't want to cross him. I was hoping you could shed some light on his motivation. As we already know, he has very close connections to our current mayor. He's using that relationship to create quite a stir, and the mayor doesn't seem to object much to being swayed. I give Banks credit. He stood firm in the path of a real maelstrom yesterday. He obviously thinks a lot of both of you. In my experience, most people in his position would have found a reason to cooperate a little more fully. I was impressed."

Jim made a mental note to thank Simon again. He had been so preoccupied he hadn't really considered that angle. Simon's position wasn't above pressure from above. "It just doesn't add up - we're missing something."

"Maybe that's the point." Jim and Radson had almost forgotten the third party in the room.

Jim stopped his pacing, totally focused on Blair. "What are you thinking, Chief. You got an angle?"

"We've been looking for a connection, you know, something that makes sense." Blair's voice was quiet and detached, but Jim knew the look. His partner's legendary curiosity had finally been tweaked, which was an encouraging sign. "Maybe it doesn't connect at all, and that's the point."

Radson interrupted. "Far be it from me to critique your theories, since I don't have any, but I have to anticipate the opposition's next move, and you're losing me here. He could make a fuss from a straight police brutality angle. Why drag in premeditation and conspiracy theories? Why make this about you personally?" He watched Blair, fidgeting. Jim could see his intensity. This guy was made for the courtroom. His father had made a sound recommendation. Another thank you Jim needed to attend to in short order.

The ghost of a smile flashed across Blair's face. "Someone once said, 'If you're going to lie, lie outrageously'...so while we're wasting our energy chasing after something that can't be true, what are we missing in the process? What if the point is what we aren't looking for?"

The statement took Jim's breath away. "Damn, Sandburg. A diversion. I spend years in covert ops, and miss a simple diversion when it smacks me in the face. That's got to be it." He looked triumphantly at Radson. "There is something he doesn't want uncovered by the investigation of his son's death. He needs the publicity to stifle the investigation. Every move Rafe and Brown made yesterday, he had someone stonewalling, claiming cover-up, invasion of privacy, and harassment of the victim's family. So what if we have a new question? What is this guy trying to steer the investigation away from?" Inwardly, he marveled. He knew firsthand how shaken Blair was by this whole thing, and then he turns around and makes the intellectual leap that eluded all the rest of them.

Radson seemed impressed, but still worried. "Well, I'm glad you're pleased detective, but in the short run, it doesn't help me. We have to go through another round of questioning with IA, and Blair and I need to prep his responses. Yesterday was just minimal damage control. It couldn't be helped, considering the sudden nature of the situation, but we were on the defensive. Today I want to put Blair on a more assertive footing with his questioners." He paused, focusing on Jim again. "I take it there's no change in your stories. Anything you want to add? It's important for Blair's sake that I know the real story in every detail." Jim heard his partner's heartbeat spike. Now wasn't that a question that they really didn't want to answer in full.

"No, other than I support my partner's actions completely." Jim's voice was firm. "I don't think there is anything new in the evidence that they will spring on you. If there is, don't let Blair answer until we can check it out." Realizing his pacing was making Blair uncomfortable, he settled back into a chair.

"We're still in the preliminaries, not the formal hearing. They'll be pressuring you to make a confession, Blair. That you panicked, that it was all a rookie mistake. They'll probably offer dismissal with minor charges and a sentencing recommendation if you'll get them out of this mess. It might look pretty tempting." Radson watched Blair for a reaction, but when there was none he continued, "Don't be surprised if they drag Jim back into it."

"But he was unconscious," Blair protested, obviously upset by the possibility. "You can't let that happen. They can't..."

Radson interrupted. "Yes they can. They let him off too easily. I think Jim is their trump card. It won't be their first choice, but at some point they may threaten to take disciplinary action against Jim and use him to leverage your decisions. It's dirty, but it depends on how desperate they are. That's where Tripple's pressure can hurt us. They just might be that desperate. You both need to be prepared for the possibility."

"I won't let them ruin Jim's career, too," Blair answered firmly. "I'll agree to anything if it comes to that."

"No you won't!" Jim shouted, coming out of his seat. "You just forget that, Chief. Radson, you make sure it doesn't happen. I mean it, Blair. Not again. Not again!" He choked on the words.

Radson sat silent. He was savvy enough to realize this was a very private argument, one that went far beyond the current situation. Maybe he'd need a little additional research about these two. He watched Ellison, trying to analyze this relationship. For all practical purposes, he was no longer in the room as the two partners confronted each other.

"Blair, you give me your word, just like I gave you mine. You know what I'm talking about. Look me in the eye and promise me."

The silence stretched between them. "Okay, Jim. Fair is fair. I'll work with Tony, and I'll do what you two say." Blair sighed. "When do we have to go before Internal Affairs? Do you want to go straight from here?"

"That was my plan." Radson smiled reassuringly. "Let me do my job for you, Blair. The battle has just begun, and we're not out of it. Not even close."

Jim crossed the room, and grabbed his coat and keys. "Then I'll leave you two to get on with it. I need to talk to Brown and Rafe again. I'll be in touch. I'll be at the station before you go in to IA - I'll meet you in Simon's office."

"You can't go hanging around the station, Jim. It'll look bad." Blair looked worried. He had heard how close Jim had come to ending the previous day in lock up.

"I'm not going to the station right away - I'm going to check out our new best friend Norman Tripple, and I know just where to start."

"And just out of curiosity, detective, where might that be?" Radson asked. "We don't need any additional complications right now."

"To the best source of information about cutthroat business dealings and ruthless social climbing a man could have - my father. See you in a few."

Continue on to Part 2 ...