***

Jim pulled the truck up to the curb in front of his father's home and sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts. As much as he tried not to, his stomach was always in knots coming here. One look and he reverted back to the old emotions of childhood, defensive and bitter. Even Blair had remarked on the continuing reconciliation within the Ellison family, never hesitating to encourage Jim along. It should be a turning point in the relationship that he had turned to his father and brother for help when he and Blair needed help. They hadn't hesitated for even a moment. So why was Jim sitting here, half dreading this conversation? So stupid. If you can handle terrorists, shootouts, and Sentinel senses, talking to your father should be a piece of cake.

Sally was already at the door, giving him a hug and fussing as usual. Some things don't change, thought Jim. We could have done this scene when I was 10. He forced a smile at William Ellison as he made his way down the stairway, waving the morning paper in his hand.

"Jimmy, can't Tony do anything about this trash? I nearly called his office and demanded an explanation. Don't our public servants get any deference from the press? What's he doing, anyway?"

"Dad, calm down." Jim smiled. His father was the picture of righteous outrage, ready to take the world on in his slippers. "I totally agree, but the Cascade Herald is the least of our worries."

"Well, I thought by now he'd have a better handle on this," his father blustered. Now that sounded more like the old William Ellison, expecting the impossible and chewing out the underlings. At least it was for a good cause.

"Dad, Tony did a great job yesterday under very extenuating circumstances. He's getting Blair ready for another round of questioning." The two men met at the bottom of the stairs. "I think you made an excellent choice recommending him. I didn't even ask you how you got him there on such short notice or how you know him, but I appreciate what ever you did to make it happen."

William Ellison motioned his son toward the study. "We've hired the firm for years. Tony is the best and brightest of the second generation. Now about the papers...."

"Dad, I haven't even read it, but I can imagine. That's not why I'm here. I need information and I need it fast."

They settled down into two overstuffed chairs. Jim was painfully aware that most of his previous visits to this room were for full-blown inquisitions. William Ellison would give Internal Affairs stiff competition in the interrogation department. "Dad, there's more than one thing going on here, and stuff isn't very clear yet. Do you know Norman Tripple? Met him, done business with him, whatever? I need info that I can't get from official channels."

Jim watched as his father shifted into executive mode for real. This was the parent he remembered from his childhood. It chilled him to watch the transformation. "Business, no. Socially, yes. We've been introduced at several social functions. He's a member of the country club. I've played a round or two of golf with him. Knows what he wants, wastes no time in getting it. The man's very confident and extremely astute. On the surface I would have welcomed him in a joint venture, but I would have worried about him as a partner - I can't say he left me with a feeling of trust. He's the kind of guy you need to watch your back with, or you'd turn around and find out it wasn't your company anymore."

"Okay, that's a good start. What does he talk about? What are his goals? Would he worry about the legality of a situation?"

William Ellison frowned, and shifted uncomfortably. "It's hard to say this, Jimmy. The man reminds me of me. He mentions his wife and his son, but only when they reflect positively on him. Like trophies." He looked at a few photos on the wall of Jim and Stephen, his mood tinged with sadness. "I'm ashamed to say I used to look at my boys that way. I wanted to brag about them, but not spend time with them." His voice trailed off, lost in thought.

Jim sat in stunned silence. His dad had regrets. What a shock. "Dad?" he said softly.

William Ellison snapped back to the present. "Right. Sorry about that. Anyway, he talks about his son's winning ways, but not what they do together. Actually, I remember being in a foursome and holding a bet over one of his son's football games - $500 if I recall correctly." He paused and munched on one of the cookies Sally had sent for them. "I'll bet he could tell you the score of every game and the boy's stats, but not his birthday or what ice cream he liked. Mrs. Tripple - well, I don't think anyone sees this as the love match of the century. He barely mentions her; I'd say she's irrelevant other than being a gracious hostess and available for display. My guess is he buys both of them off with what ever it takes. Most of members have their teenage sons at the course at some point; play a round with them, show them off. I've never seen his boy." Jim nodded. He could remember a few of those afternoons on parade. They weren't among his fondest memories. The anger that always welled up cooled as he looked at the older man. The person that found Blair the best lawyer in town wasn't the dad of his memories. Time to let it go.

Jim leaned forward in his chair. "Would he cross the line into illegal? If my hunches about what he's doing to Blair are right, we're way beyond unethical or opportunistic. Tell me what your gut says, Dad. We may have had a lousy relationship most of the time, but I know you can judge men. Would he orchestrate the destruction of Blair's life to serve his own ends? How far would he go?"

"How far, eh Jimmy? I think he'd sell his grandmother with the right motivation. He understands power, Jimmy. He desires to be with powerful people, to influence them, to own them. Grief over a son he didn't really know wouldn't keep him from taking advantage of an easy opportunity. I don't think you fully realize this, Jimmy, and I'm just beginning to understand what's between the two of you, but Sandburg is an easy mark. All truly honorable men are. God help me, I hate to admit I just said that. What kind of a person does that make me? I think I need a drink. Is the sun over the yardarm?"

Jim traced the pattern of the brocaded upholstery with his finger. It was a start, but he really needed something more specific "Don't beat yourself up, Dad. You told me exactly what I needed to know. Could you ask some discrete questions about his business dealings? Would Stephen know anything?"

"He might, and I will ask. People will tell you things at the 19^th hole that would never leave their lips at the office. Should I call - or come over?" The last question sounded almost wistful. Jim almost winced. He'd spent most of his childhood hoping for some genuine interest from his father. Now the roles were reversed.

"Don't come!" he answered sharply, and then regretted it. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out right. It's just that we had reporters camped outside the loft, and I don't want you or Stephen caught up in the feeding frenzy. Why don't I call you in the evening and we can compare notes?" Jim stood and looked around the familiar room. "Look, I need to get to the station before Blair goes back in with IA. You really have been a help - with everything."

William stopped in the entry. "Jimmy, I know this is serious trouble for Blair. Will it be the same for you? Forgive the worries of an old man..."

"I can't give you any guarantees, Dad, but I think you know I won't let Sandburg go down alone on this. I'll do whatever is necessary." Jim's thoughts flashed back to his midnight confrontation with Blair. Promises had been made, promises that would need to be kept. "I won't leave you out of the loop. That much I can promise. I'll call."

"You do that, Jimmy. Be safe." As Jim drove the truck down the quiet residential street, he realized his father stayed on the porch for a long time, watching the retreating vehicle.

Jim's next stop was the Taggert home. He needed a quiet, very unofficial session with the former bomb squad captain.

"Jim, come in... you're the last person I expected on my doorstep. I just got back in last night, but I saw the papers and just got off the phone with Simon. Give me your coat. Same lousy Cascade weather - I should have stayed on vacation."

Jim smiled as he was ushered into a comfortably warm kitchen. He gratefully accepted a cup of coffee. Taggert slipped into the chair next to him. "Jim, I need you to level with me about Sandburg. How is he? I really want to see him. This must be hell for him, and I owe him; you know that. Of all people, why did it have to be Sandburg?"

Warmed by the concern, Jim truly wanted to level with him. "He's having a tough time, especially last night. It kills me to see him hurt this way. I'd be grateful if you could stay with him at the loft later this afternoon. He has another session with IA, and I'd rather he wasn't alone for too long afterwards. He's always been comfortable with you, Joel. You made a place for him before the rest of us got past the hair and the clothes. I think it would do him some good."

"Of course I'll go - it's the least I can do. I wish there was more..."

"Actually, there is." Jim fiddled with his coffee mug. "Think it through before you say yes."

Joel's expression didn't change a bit. "Go on, Jim. I don't have to think too long."

Jim couldn't help but smile. "You want to know some of the details?"

"Minimally. Simon hit the high points when I talked to him. IA views it as excessive force, since the victim was unarmed."

"Actually, that's where you come in. Joel, I watched this guy. I'm the one who thought the kid was carrying, that the weapon was in his clothing. Everything in his body language said he could counter the gun I could see. The kid wasn't scared. How much sense does that make? An eighteen-year-old kid staring down a guy with a gun, and he escalates the argument. I told Sandburg two weapons, and I'm still sure of it."

"But they didn't find anything?" protested Taggert. "The area must have been searched a dozen times by now. I don't know, Jim. That's going to be tough for a review board to get past."

Jim shook his head in denial. "Something did happen in that alley. Like an explosion - the sound was huge. My first thought was a flash-bang grenade, and I was just too close. The kid could have that in his pocket."

"But that would have left traces, Jim. Forensics would have been all over it. End of story."

"Exactly, that's the point. I know something went off; Blair heard the aftermath as continued gunfire. So if not a flash-bang, then what? That's where you come in." Jim wavered a moment, as if considering whether he was making the right choice. Finally, he produced a strip of paper with a phone number, followed by a string of numbers and letters.

"So I keep asking myself, what fits with what Sandburg and I remember, but doesn't leave a trace, or at least nothing we recognize? If I could answer that, it would go a long way toward getting Sandburg off the hook. This needs digging, and I don't have the time or the energy to deal with it. Your specialty wasn't ordnance, but you know enough about the materials and the lingo to interpret what you hear. You're still on vacation, and ...well, I hoped you cared enough about Blair to take this on for me." He pushed the strip of paper along the smooth tabletop. "That number will get you in contact with people I used to know in covert ops; people who need very discrete handling. They just might know what's out on the street that fits the bill - maybe it something home grown, I don't know. God knows, you can get anything off the Internet."

Taggert gave Jim a searching gaze. He looked like he hadn't slept in days - and he probably hadn't. He fingered the paper. "I'm not supposed to ever see numbers like this, am I?"

"No. That's why you need to be sure." Jim hesitated again. "I shouldn't have asked, but I have to tell you, we need a miracle right now. This thing is like an avalanche and there are some very high profile people pushing it. Sandburg is highly expendable to them, if you know what I mean."

Joel stood. "Don't give it another thought. I'll do this, and gladly. 'Cause the kid isn't expendable. Not to you and not to me."

*****

Tony Radson shoved the door to his office open, arms loaded with his Pepsi, an armful of files and his raincoat. Damn rain. Three o'clock already. Where had the day gone? He settled in at his desk. Blair Sandburg. An odd, if interesting, match for Ellison senior and his son. Not that the case wasn't intriguing on its own merits. There was something special about the young man. Obviously overwhelmed at the thought of having killed someone. Defending himself but not defensive. His closest co-workers were clearly attached to him. They had nearly been smothered when they had entered the Major Crime area to check in with Banks.

The afternoon's sessions had gone fairly well. Blair had followed his instructions, and Tony had correctly anticipated some of the opposition's new tactics and deflected them, at least temporarily. Jim had spoken with them briefly but was on his way out with one of the other detectives. An older black man had corralled Blair and had taken charge of his transportation back to the loft. At least the guy had looked big enough to run interference through the media vultures that were still camped out in front of the loft. Blair seemed to be holding together. Almost a surprise considering how he looked the day before. Even a little flash of what must be his normal brilliance back at the loft.

Radson dug through the stack of files, searching for the one just produced by his assistant, Lisa. His curiosity had been piqued at his morning meeting with Ellison and Sandburg. A quick phone call had sent Lisa to work, and the results...well this could be interesting reading. Apparently, there was a lot to know. As he settled back to do his research, he idly wondered if Ellison junior had any inkling of the check written by Ellison senior, or of its size. Curioser and curioser.

*****

Jim and Rafe made their way through the halls of Evergreen Prep. They had discretely watched a bit of practice. It didn't take Jim long to spot the kid Rafe wanted to speak with a second time. He was very young and very good. He was also very much resented by his older teammates. The kid was doing everything he could; passing up easy shots in favor of feeding the ball to someone else, but the others were giving him a really hard time. It almost made Jim cringe to watch.

A young, blond haired man, apparently the assistant coach, had slipped over to speak with them. They had adjourned to the hallway and gone through the usual formalities. He introduced himself as Terry Krane. Rafe had explained who he wanted to talk with and why.

"That's Dustin Smithson. He was my best JV player until a week ago. Drew Tripple got sick right before the game with South Cascade. Dustin plays point guard and the JV hadn't played yet. Coach pulled him up to varsity and he scored 22. Thank God, the other regulars played like dogs that night. Maybe they just couldn't get on track without Drew. I have just one request. Let me bring him out to you where the other kids can't see. They've been hard on him as it is, and he's such a nice kid."

Jim nodded. "We noticed. If they knock him down like that every day he'll be walking wounded before game time. I was kind of surprised the coach didn't say anything."

Krane scowled angrily. "Well, he should. I came here to learn from the best, but I'd like to think I'd do a better job integrating a kid like Dustin."

Jim decided to take a shot. "Did you know Drew well?" Jim asked, hoping for a little glimmer of truth.

"Look, detective, I'll be honest. I'm not in a real viable position here. I want to leave after this year. I care about my teaching. I want to go to a smaller school and run my own program someplace where a kid's value isn't measured by the size of Mom & Dad's yearly donation. I need Coach's recommendation. I think you understand what I'm telling you."

Rafe chimed in. "We do. Here's my card. If you want to visit with us in a more private setting, just call."

Krane took a deep breath. "Let me think about it, okay? Why don't you wait over by the library commons. The players don't ever go that way when they leave after practice. I'll grab Dustin. I've been going over the varsity offense with him after practice, so the kids won't notice anything unusual. They're running lines now. Practice will be over soon."

Rafe shook his hand. "Great. Thanks for your help, and think about talking to us."

Krane only nodded and started back toward the gym. Rafe gave Jim a nudge. "Ellison, lets hit the library. Jim? Hey, Jim! What's wrong?"

Jim was staring intently down the darkened main corridor. At the far end, two figures were in deep conversation. Jim dialed up his hearing. Something about the stance, the height, the voice. He grabbed at Rafe's arm.

"Get Krane back here. Now!" As Rafe darted off, Jim continued to stare at the man silhouetted by the fading afternoon light. "It's you," Jim whispered to himself. "Our missing guy with the gun - and you are not going to lose me this time."

*****

Joel surveyed the scene outside the loft with disgust. Blair had warned him the media might be in attendance, but this was ridiculous. He looked over at Blair, who seemed more numb than anything else. "Blair, we could just go back to my place and wait for Jim. They haven't spotted us. Is there another way in? Through the basement or something?"

The younger man shook his head. "There's a fire escape, but let's just do this. All I need to make the day perfect is to have a news crew fall a couple of stories trying to get a 'film at 11' shot."

"Well, I think we're going to have to walk from here. I don't see anywhere else to park, with all the news vehicles around. Just keep moving, and stay together. You don't have to talk to them, Blair. I'm bigger than anyone milling around down there. We'll just put those 5 extra pounds I put on over vacation to good use and barrel on through." They climbed out of Joel's sedan. "Cheer up," Joel joked. "Pretend you're a rock star. Be imperious."

Blair laughed at that one. "Imperious, huh? Can someone my height do imperious?" As they crossed the parking lot together, the crush turned their direction. "Oh, man. This is gonna be bad, Joel. Where's the riot gear when we need it?"

"You mean bulldozer. Get behind me. Thirty yards, that's all we need."

Joel did indeed clear an impressive path through the human crush. Shouted questions began to roll off in waves as they were pushed and bumped. Taggert plowed doggedly forward. At one point, Blair had to go for a handhold on the back of his belt to keep from going down. They were at the entrance to the building when a question rang out that penetrated through the melee. Joel felt Blair freeze. He turned with a sick heart as he heard the question repeated.

"Sandburg, you're the teacher that killed the kid. How does it feel to betray your former calling?"

One look at Blair's face was all the answer needed. No anger, no defense. Just horror, and guilt. So much guilt. Tape rolled. Joel wanted to vaporize the entire group. "That's enough! Enough!" he thundered. He hoped his size made him look very, very scary. He stepped back a few paces to retrieve Blair. He pulled the young man inside and up the stairs, cursing himself for not preventing this scene somehow. "Keys, Blair. I need the keys. No more of this. Come on, buddy. We're almost in." Joel slammed the door in the face of the oncoming rush and bolted everything in sight. He turned to see Blair, with his head bowed, his arms braced on the back of the couch.

"I can't just be the cop that kills innocent kids. No, I'm the teacher that kills innocent kids. How did this happen?" He looked up at Joel. "Its true. What can I say? I shot him and he's dead. How could he have done anything to deserve to be dead? How can I defend myself when everything they say is true?"

Joel moved across the room and stood behind Blair. Expendable. He remembered Jim's words. Jim was right. It was agony to watch Blair deal with this. His large, capable hands settled on Blair's shoulders. He rubbed at the knots as he spoke. Suddenly disarming a bomb seemed like child's play.

"What they said is accurate, but it is not the truth. The truth is that you returned, I repeat, returned fire to protect your partner in a dangerous situation. He had a weapon. We just don't have it in our hands at the moment. A child with a weapon is no longer a child. Whoever was in the alley when this went down didn't have the label of young or old. The only label at that moment is armed and dangerous. Don't you forget it. That is the truth, Blair Sandburg."

Neither man spoke. Physical comfort would have to do what words could not. Joel's thoughts ran to the tiny slip of paper that now resided in his wallet and the contacts made at Jim's request earlier that morning. There had to be an answer somewhere. He needed to get home and wait for those calls, but no way was he leaving before Ellison returned to the loft. Blair would not be left alone.

*****

Jim watched his new quarry move down the corridor, laughing and joking with an older man in a suit. They had moved into a lighted area near the main administrative offices, and had paused near a series of double doors. Rafe came skittering back, clearly confused, with Terry Krane in tow.

"Who is that guy down there?" barked Jim. Krane peered down the hall, clearly baffled by the fuss. "Our Dean of Students. Do you need to talk to him, too?"

"No, not him," Jim answered impatiently. "The young one, in the fancy clothes. Do you know him?"

"Him? Rick Peters." Jim didn't have to be a Sentinel to recognize the scorn in that reply. Whatever reticence Terry Krane may have had concerning Drew Tripple and the basketball team didn't extend to this guy. "He graduated from here, he's around a lot. Maybe five years older than I am. Calls himself a sports agent, whatever that means. Always has tickets to the Jags or to stuff at Rainier. Knows all the players. He doesn't spend a lot of time at what most people would call work. He played for coach, so he has his blessing to drop in whenever."

"Come on, Terry. Give." It wasn't Jim's longest interrogation, but Krane got the point.

"Another sore spot. I wouldn't let him hang around, if it were up to me. He invites kids to parties they shouldn't be at, stuff like that. I don't trust him. He could screw up their eligibility. Coach doesn't see what he doesn't want to see." He dug out his wallet and produced a business card, handing it to Rafe. "He gives every varsity kid one of these at the beginning of the season. Coach thinks it's a harmless gesture."

"And you don't," finished Rafe. "Say what you really mean. This is important."

"I think...I think there's an implied promise that they can call if they need something. Kids this age think they need a lot, and not all of it is good for them. Coach is playing with fire. I can't prove anything, but I don't think you'd have to dig very deep. Another reason I want to get of here." He recoiled. "I've said more than I should. This is a dream job for someone who wants to coach as a career."

"Jim, the guy's on the move. Do we need him? What now?" Rafe looked expectantly at Jim. He might be on leave, but clearly Ellison was the one to make the decision.

"Terry, go get Dustin. Just like we planned." Krane nodded, and moved back towards the gym. "Rafe, tail that guy. He's the missing man from the alley. I'm sure of it."

"What?" Rafe stared at Jim in shock. "You're sure? Why don't we grab him? We all but tore up asphalt looking for that guy."

"Rafe, I'm sure he's one of the pieces we're missing. We need to talk to the boy, and I can't take a PD car and go chasing after this guy Peters when I'm officially on leave. We can pull him in later. Right now, I think he'll give us more information if he's unawares. Go...and don't lose him! Call Brown when you're on the move and see if he can get any info on this guy. Call me at the loft."

With a nod, the two men separated. Jim followed the signs to the library. "Ah, Blair," he thought. "what weren't we looking for, indeed."

Almost twenty minutes went by before Terry Krane walked into the commons with Dustin Smithson. Apparently he hadn't showered or changed. The boy was still in his practice clothes. Jim could smell the fear pouring off the boy.

"Dustin, this is Detective Ellison. He needs to speak to you. I'll go pick up some papers from my classroom so the two of you can have some privacy."

"Actually, Coach Krane, I'd like you to stay." Jim sat down, hoping the boy would do the same. "Dustin, let me make something clear. You're not in trouble, and you don't have to talk to me. I really need your help, but say the word and we stop. Okay?"

"Okay, Detective." The boy shifted his weight from side to side, holding his gear bag. Jim pulled a chair out, and Dustin sank down, perched on the edge of the seat.

Jim smiled. Roll back the clock 20 years and this was Jimmy Ellison, having a session with his dad. "Relax. It's not a court martial. No firing squad." He took a deep breath. A lot was riding on the next few minutes. Part of the answer was here, if he just had the wisdom to find it. "You looked good in practice tonight. Are the seniors always so hard on you?"

Dustin jumped like he had been stung. This wasn't what he was expecting. He looked at Terry Krane, who nodded in encouragement. "Well, yeah, I guess they don't like me much. My mom says it happens when you get moved up like I did. I didn't mean to do anything to make 'em mad."

Jim heard the boy's heartbeat spike. There was more to this. "Son, you might need to tell us what's going on before we branch off into other things. Coach Krane cares a lot about you. This is a safe place, and we'll be careful with what we hear." Time to follow his instincts. He wished again that Blair were by his side. Sandburg would have had an instant rapport with this young man. Blair had spent enough of his young life as an outsider trying to fit in with new faces. Dustin shivered a bit; cooling down from practice. Odd. He hadn't told Terry to hustle the kid along or anything. "Why didn't you change?" Jim asked. The boy said nothing, but Jim could hear his heart rate increase beat by beat. "Has this moved off the floor? Are they hassling you off the court?"

Dustin's face dropped. He tried to control his expression, but his eyes told the answer. The proverbial cat out of the bag, whether he meant to let on or not. Krane swore under his breath. "Why didn't you tell me, D? What did they do?"

"Someone took my clothes out and peed on them. I didn't have anything else to change into, and getting naked just then didn't seem like a good choice. I just left 'em there. My mom's gonna be so mad. Those were new jeans." Krane surged to his feet. "I'll take care of this. Don't worry about your clothes. I'll make sure you get new ones." He started for the door.

Dustin panicked. "Coach, don't! Please don't. It's Okay. I'll go get the jeans when everyone clears out."

Jim interrupted. "What else did they threaten you with?" The boy shook his head. "I can make a pretty good guess, but I want you to tell me. Come on, Dustin. You don't need to do this alone."

They waited. Dustin was tried for a poker face and failed miserably. After one last look at his coach, the words tumbled out. "They want me off the team. They trashed my locker, my clothes. If I didn't carry my books with me all the time those would be gone, too. I've been giving stuff to friends so they can't get to it." He struggled to keep his composure. "It's not just the team. I took a test to get into this place - I'm on scholarship. It's a great school academically. My mom could never afford to send me here. It's just the two of us. The best chance I have for college money is to go to a place like this and ace everything I take. They can have the basketball. I want to be a doctor, and I don't want to be one blown knee away from not making it. I can't let my mom down. They can do anything they want. I don't care."

"So what's the threat?" Jim asked? "That if you complain to anyone, that they'll turn it back on you? Get you kicked out anyway?"

"I told my mom I wanted to quit basketball and she had a fit. She might actually agree with me, but I don't want to tell her the rest. I know she would come right down here and demand to see God Himself. She wouldn't see that these guys could trash our car or our apartment, and we couldn't afford to replace it." Jim could see the pride and love in his eyes. "You don't know my mom. You can't even imagine. If she knew, she'd just walk into the fire anyway."

Jim had a brief vision of Naomi and a high school aged boy named Blair Sandburg. "Well, kid, you might be surprised. I get the picture, though. Were you just going to tough it out? Tell me exactly how it went down."

Dustin looked despairingly at the two older men. "I just didn't know. After the South Cascade game, well, that was Friday. We played Saturday, and they kinda got in my face, but I came late with Coach Krane, because they didn't decide about me until the last minute."

"That's right." Krane had returned to his seat, but was still upset. "Drew couldn't give Coach a straight answer about how he felt, so he sent me to get Dustin from home. We got there right before game time. Dustin played most of the first half, then Drew said he wanted to go back in. Since Dustin hadn't practiced anything but point, we kept him out most of the second half. When did they hassle you?"

"Right before we came out of the locker room at half time. They kind of pushed me around, but I was so confused it didn't really click in. I mean, I'd scored 10 points and we were winning. I could understand them getting hostile if I was messing up. Anyway, I didn't play a lot after that, so I blew it off."

Krane was clearly horrified. "I should have figured it out and stopped it right then. I'm so sorry, D."

"Well, I guess I should have paid attention, because stuff started happening Monday after coach announced I was moving up for good. Drew and two of the other guys followed me out of practice on Monday, but my mom came early to pick me up. She pulled up to the curb practically on Drew's toes, and they backed off. Mom thought they were just fooling around or something. Tuesday and Wednesday, every time I turned around, something else was happening. I was mad, then I got scared. Then Drew died, and things were kinda weird. No one said anything to me. It was like they forgot about me. Who knows? Then stuff started up again today. I'm sorry, Coach. I know you would have tried to help. I should have told you."

Jim sat back, considering the timing. Suggestive, but not conclusive. Maybe one gigantic coincidence, but maybe not. Where was the connection? "Dustin, did you have any contact with Drew before this? Meet him, talk to him, anything? Trip over his feet in the hall? Bump into him at practice?"

"No way. I'm a sophomore insect to those guys. I don't think I ever spoke to him until he followed me out of practice on Monday."

"Okay, Dustin. Let's hope we can get this straightened out before you come back to school on Monday. You take my card." Jim quickly scribbled some numbers on the back. "Those will reach either me or another Major Crime detective anytime, day or night. Don't be a hero. You even see a shadow, you call. Terry, what's the usual procedure before a game?"

"Varsity plays at eight. We usually meet here, dress, have a team meeting and bus over at about 6:30 or 7:00."

"Well, you make up whatever excuse you have to, but Dustin goes to the game just like he did last Saturday, with you and at the last minute. Okay, Dustin? Coach Krane is your shadow. Make it easy for him to keep track of you. Is this an important game, Terry?"

"Well, playoffs are next week, and we're already in. It wouldn't be a screaming disaster if we lost, but it would be better to win. We go back to high stakes next week. Now that I know what's going on, I can keep an eye on things." He looked at Dustin and smiled reassuringly, but Jim could tell he was seething.

"Alright, I will talk with both of you before Saturday night. If either of you think of anything else, call. We need every drop if information."

"Detective, would you stay here for a minute with Dustin while I see to his clothes? I don't want to drag him back in there, and I don't want to leave him alone. Was your mom coming tonight, D?"

"Uh, no. She works tonight. I was going to ride the 341 home."

"Well, forget that plan," said Krane firmly. "You're not making a 45 minute bus ride in sweaty shorts and a practice jersey. Go in the library office and call your mom. Tell her you're coming home with me and give her the address. It's on Highland, remember? Ask her to pick you up there after work. You and I can work out what to say to her about this situation so she doesn't go ballistic, and we have a chance to sort things out before she takes matters into her own hands. Like you said, D, your mom is a very capable lady." He patted the boy on the shoulder. "I'll be right back. Ellison told you the truth. You've spent your last day flying solo."

He glanced calmly back at Jim. "Ellison, our earlier conversation? Well, you can put that in the round file. Whatever you need from me, you'll get. Without reservation." The door shut softly behind him as he left.

While Dustin made his call, Jim produced his cell phone. He reached Simon between disasters, and arranged for him to pick him up. Jim wanted to sound optimistic. He badly needed to hear from Rafe and Brown about their mystery man, Peters. It was probably too soon to hear from Taggert. That little assignment was iffy. Joel would do his best, but it was a long shot. He checked his watch. He had hoped to go to the crime scene with Blair, but the light would be fading. He sat back to wait as Dustin reappeared. He sat on a long, padded bench, and fiddled with his bag. His heart rate had slowed, but Jim could sense the shivers that ran through his body. Jim said nothing, but gently draped his own jacket over the young man's shoulders and smiled. There was a lot to like about this kid. A murmured "thanks" was the only spoken conversation. Jim heard the hiss of the heat turning on.

"You know detective, I guess I did kinda run into Drew one other time. I don't know whether it really counts."

Jim's head snapped up. "Dustin, at this point, everything counts. Tell me."

"It was at the South Cascade game. I was so messed up and confused and nervous, I went out for the second half without my shoes."

Jim chuckled. "Well, look at the bright side. At least you didn't forget your shorts. Why did you have your shoes off?"

"I don't wear my game shoes outside. I have an old pair I wear to and from games and save the good ones. I got to the game so late, I played the first half in my old ones. I was trying to change at halftime, but I got so distracted, I ended up in the gym in my stocking feet. I had to go back to the locker room to get my shoes."

Jim almost laughed out loud. He could just imagine. Fifteen years old, playing your first varsity game and no shoes. Lifetime embarrassment came from moments like those - and great stories to tell at parties. "So how does Drew fit in here?"

"I ran back to the locker room to get my shoes. Drew was supposed to be sick with the flu, so he wasn't always on the bench. He was still in the locker room, and he and this other guy were really going at it. Keeping their voices down, but yelling all the same. I was running so fast, I didn't even clue in until I was practically in their laps. I grabbed my shoes and got out of Dodge. I wasn't welcome and I had somewhere else to be."

"Did Drew say anything to you?"

"No, but if looks could kill, I'd be long gone. I thought he was going to rip my head off. He didn't look like the guy who could barely drag himself around to throw up."

"Who was there with him?" Jim asked. "A coach? A friend?"

"I don't know the guy, but I've seen him around. He's not a student or anything, or a teacher."

"Think hard, Dustin. What were they saying? You said they seemed angry. Can you remember any phrases, anything?"

Dustin's eyes opened wide. "I think Drew said something like, 'It's not my fault' and 'this should have worked out.' The other guy...I think I heard him say something like, 'this is a big time problem.' I just wasn't paying attention, you know. I had to find my shoes."

Jim closed his eyes. He saw the alley, Blair a reassuring presence behind him, tuning up his hearing. He had heard the entire phrase. "It's a big time problem, with a big time price tag, and you're paying the bill, kid." He could replay it like the script from a movie. It was in his statement. The all-important connection they had been hoping for.

He took Dustin by the shoulders and faced him. "Dustin, I need to know who was in that locker room with Drew. A description - a name, anything. You've been a big help, and this is really important. Try to remember." Although Dustin couldn't see, Jim was aware that Krane had come back into the room.

"He's 'Fancy Man'. That's what I call him, anyway. Remember, I'm just a worm 10^th grader. All the seniors know him. He stops by practice and gives them tickets and stuff. You're in the big time if he pays attention to you."

Krane's eyes had gone cold when they met Jim's. "Peters - he's talking about Peters, the guy that should never be in our locker room. And he's there during a game? With our star, suddenly sick, senior point guard? Oh, no. Oh, God, no."

A decidedly cranky Simon pulled up outside of Evergreen Prep. "Ellison, you had better have a really good reason for being out on the street when you're on leave, and an even better reason for making me into a taxi driver. Tell me something that will brighten this day from hell."

"Did you see Blair after IA this afternoon? Was he okay?"

"I want answers, not more questions, detective. Blair was fine." Simon chewed on his cigar. "IA was not fine. Someone from higher up wants to bring Sandburg into custody."

"Custody!" Jim exploded. "For what?" As if you don't know, he thought. I may be swimming to Canada with him. "Come on, Simon. Rafe and Brown said our story was being corroborated on a couple of key points. There's got to be some justification for an arrest."

"Simple. Public relations. Someone thinks it makes the investigation look more evenhanded and less like a cover-up. This could be very damaging to the department. Any youth shooting can be. What we really need is a war or a major earthquake somewhere to buy us a break with the media. Strike me dead for saying that."

"We may have a break." Jim gave him a quick summary.

"Well, how am I supposed to explain that you took the statements from the kid and the coach? We need good, solid procedure here, Jim. We're in enough trouble as is."

"Couldn't be helped. It was better to send Rafe on pursuit. Besides, Rafe might never have recognized where the stories crossed over. We were lucky. Very, very lucky."

Continue on to Part 3 ...