Dead Reckoning
by Laura F. Schomberg
Blair raced down the nearly deserted road. The anthropology faculty meeting had taken longer than expected and now he was going to be late. He was certain that Jim was going to kill him. The Big Guy had gone through a lot of effort to get tickets to the Sonics game and he didn't want to miss a minute. Or get caught up in the crowds arriving at the arena.
Blair was about to make a wide turn, hoping that no one was coming around the corner, when he heard a loud bang. At the same instant, the steering wheel jerked under his hands and the car started to swerve into a pole. Tightening his grip on the wheel, he roughly twisted the front tires into the skid, slammed on the brakes as the car straightened, and managed to bring the vehicle to a halt. Releasing the air that he had been holding during the past few seconds, Blair leaned back in his seat, willing his fingers to relinquish their strangle-hold on the wheel.
Easing himself out of his car, he crossed his arms, shoving his shaking hands under his armpits. He slowly walked around the car, looking for the source of the loud noise that had preceded the near accident. Noticing that the right back end dipped lower than it should, Blair quickly walked over and knelt down beside the tire. It was flat and there was a gaping hole in the dark rubber.
Blair inwardly cringed when he saw the hole. Jim wasn't going to let him live this down. The detective had been telling him for days that the tire needed to be replaced but Blair hadn't had the time or money to get a new one. Not that Jim would accept that excuse. His friend had offered to pay for the tire but Blair was beginning to feel like he owed Jim too much, like basketball tickets, and had refused.
Shaking his head, Blair looked toward the nearest house and waved when he saw a person, no two people, through a picture window. The smaller figure started to wave before being jerked away from the window. Blair shrugged, trudging up to the house. He knew it was useless to try the spare since it was already being used on the opposite side of the blow-out. "I really ought to get my own cell phone," he said to himself as he rang the doorbell. "Not that I can afford that, either."
The door opened slightly. Blair saw a pale, female face staring at him through the small opening. The woman's eyes were wide with fear, startling the anthropologist. He didn't think he could possibly look that frightening.
"What do you want?"
"Sorry to bother you," he answered, flashing his best, most charming smile. "My car had a blow-out and I don't have a spare." Deciding not to press his luck by asking for admittance, he asked, "Could you make a call for me? It's local."
The woman glanced behind her and Blair thought he heard a deep voice say something. She looked back at him, unable to conceal her fright, and shook her head. "Sorry. You'll have to go next door," she said before the door was slammed shut.
It was apparent to the young man that the woman needed help. But he was no idiot. Maybe if he was as big as Jim he could just knock the door down and save this lady. Blair, however, wasn't nearly that big. He saw a male face peering at him through the decorative window to the right of the door. Quickly making up his mind, Blair turned and ran. Bushes on either side of the woman's yard blocked his path so he charged across the street. As he rushed for the blue house a teenage girl came out the door.
"Wait! Don't shut your door," Blair yelled to the blonde girl.
She looked over her shoulder at him as she pulled the door shut. "What's your problem?"
Panting, Blair gestured over his shoulder. "We've got to call the cops. I think the woman who lives across the street is in trouble."
"Why do you think that?" the girl asked, reaching into her leather backpack.
"I had car trouble and went there for help. The lady who answered looked terrified and there was someone behind her."
Pulling out a black, rectangular cell phone, she quickly punched a button before holding the phone to her ear. Looking at Blair, she said, "I've got 9-1-1 on memory dial. Just in case."
Blair nodded, glancing nervously over his shoulder.
"Please send the police to 1874 Robinswood Drive. That's my neighbor's house. I was getting ready to leave for work when I saw a strange man go in her house. I know Mrs. Parker is home." She paused, listening to the operator on the other end. "He looked like the picture on the flier they passed out about the serial rapist whose been working this area." Shrugging, she again waited for the operator to finish talking. "I'll wait right here."
"You know you could get into a lot of trouble for lying to that operator," Blair said.
"Look," she said, putting the phone back in her pack. "I don't care. Maggie is a friend of mine and there really has been a rapist working this neighborhood."
"Great," Blair muttered as the girl ran back into her house, calling for someone. He decided he couldn't wait for the police and dashed back across the street to his car. Digging out his keys as he ran, Blair rushed to open the trunk. He may not have a spare tire but he did have a tire iron. Yanking open the trunk, he started to dig through the mess that had accumulated in the compartment. He finally found the heavy metal tire iron when he heard the girl who had called 9-1-1 talking to someone behind him. Turning as she reached his side, he saw a tall, slim man, roughly a couple of years older than the girl, accompanying the teenager. He was carrying a solid, wooden baseball bat.
"Billy, this is the guy who said he thought Maggie was in trouble."
Billy started to say something to Blair when all three heard the sound of approaching sirens. The sound stopped abruptly as a patrol car rounded the corner, screeching to a halt in front of the three young people.
"I'm glad you're here," Blair said as he ran over to the officers. He quickly told the officers what he had seen. The male officer nodded once, relayed the information back to the station, and asked for backup.
"You three stay here," the female officer said as she and her partner started up to the two-story house. They walked toward the front door, conversing quietly, before splitting. The smaller, female officer walked to the front door while her partner moved swiftly around to the back of the house.
Blair watched the woman pause at the door. Her head tilted toward the radio on her right hip before she knocked on the brown door. Knocking one more time, she waited briefly before opening the door. The three people waiting at Blair's car could see the door's movement stop suddenly. Blair remembered seeing a chain on the door. As he watched the slight female officer surprised the civilians by slamming her shoulder into the door, forcing it open before entering the home with her gun drawn.
Forced to wait for the officers to tell them what was happening, Blair suddenly remembered his roommate. "Damn!" he said, turning to the girl standing next to him. "Can I borrow your phone? I need to let my friend know where I am."
The teenager nodded absently. Without taking her eyes from the front door, she reached into her backpack, pulling out her phone before handing it to Blair. He mumbled his thanks as he quickly punched in the number to the loft.
"Ellison," he heard.
"Jim! Sorry, man."
"Where the hell are you Sandburg? We were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago."
"Sorry, man," Blair repeated. "The meeting ran over and I had a blow out."
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Look, Jim. I went to borrow the phone at this house near where I had the blow out."
"Why didn't you just put on your spare?"
"Would you let me finish?" Blair asked in frustration. "The woman at the house was terrified. I heard someone behind her. After she shut her door I went across the street and the girl there called 9-1-1."
"Is that why I hear a siren?" Jim asked, cutting Blair off again.
"Really? It must be the backup. The first officers are already in the house."
"Where are you?"
Blair glanced to the house then back to the street sign before answering, "1874 Robinswood Drive."
"Stay there, Chief. I'm on my way."
Nodding, Blair ended the transmission before handing the phone back to the blonde standing next to him. Realizing he didn't know her name he said, "Thanks. I'm Blair Sandburg."
"Julie Simpson," pointing to the boy standing next to her she added, "This is my brother, Billy."
"Bill," her brother corrected, reaching out to shake Blair's hand. "I'm eighteen now, Jul."
"That's right. I forgot. You're a man now."
Bill playfully pushed his sister back before turning worried eyes back to the gray, two-story house. The sound of sirens were heard in the distance, quickly approaching before suddenly shutting off. Two more patrol cars careened around the corner, coming to a stop near the first car. As the officers exited their vehicles and moved quickly toward the house curious neighbors began to wander down to the corner.
************
Jim's car arrived shortly after the Coroner's wagon. He found Blair morosely staring towards a gray, two-story house. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Jim said, "Sorry, Chief."
"I should have tried to go in and help her," Blair said, keeping his eyes on the house.
"Then you would be dead too," Jim replied pragmatically.
"From what Julie's been telling me the rapist that's been working this neighborhood only had a knife."
Jim pulled Blair around to look at him. He gently pushed the anthropologist back to sit on the trunk of his car.
"This wasn't the work of a serial rapist," Jim told him.
Blair looked into his friend's eyes, confused. "What? How do you know?"
"Simon called me right after you did. Maggie Parker's husband was found dead in his car outside of the bank he manages. The preliminary report says that there is at least one million dollars worth of cash and Bearer Bonds missing."
"I don't get it."
Jim looked back to the house before answering, "Let's walk and talk. I've got to take over the case." He pulled Blair back off the car. "We got a warning a couple of days ago of a team of bank robbers who might be heading this way," Jim said as they walked to the house. "The team kidnaps the bank manager's family and forces the manager to let them into the bank."
"Do you know how many people are in this gang?"
Jim sighed. "No. They don't leave any witnesses."
Blair suddenly remembered the face in the window. Grabbing Jim's arm, he stopped the detective before he could enter the house. "I may have seen one."
"When Sandburg?"
"When I knocked on the door. Right after Mrs. Parker told me to leave I saw a man's face in that window," he answered, pointing to the decorative window to the right of the door.
"What did he look like?"
Blair's face fell. "I don't really know. The lighting wasn't too good and that filigree blocked some of his face."
"Great," Jim grumbled as he went into the house, Blair following behind him.
The detective walked over to a male officer Blair recognized as one of the first officers on the scene. He quickly directed both men into the living room where they found two men wearing Coroner's jackets waiting for the police photographer to finish taking pictures of the victim's body.
"Has the ME been here yet?" Jim asked the closest man to him.
"Yeah," the black man answered. "She's in the kitchen writing up her report."
Jim thanked him and herded Blair out of the living room, following the familiar scent of Carol Lobb's perfume to the kitchen. The ME leaned over a counter, engrossed in her report, and didn't hear the two men enter. Jim placed a hand on her shoulder causing her to jump back from her work, slamming into Blair.
"Sorry," Carol said, looking from Blair to Jim. "You startled me."
"I didn't meant to," Jim replied before getting down to business. "What can you tell me?"
"Thanks to Mr. Sandburg we can narrow down her time of death to roughly thirty minutes ago." Pointing to her chest, Carol added, "One shot, to the heart, at close range. There were gun powder burns around the entrance wound but not as much as would usually be seen in a close range strike."
Jim shook his head, confused. "Why do you think she was shot from close range?"
Carol nodded toward the living room. "I found a throw pillow next to her body. It had powder burns on it. It looks like it was used to muffle the sound of the shot."
Jim nodded once. "Thanks, Carol. Let me know if you come up with anything else." He turned quickly and went into the dining room. As Blair followed him into the room, Jim whispered, "I don't see or smell anything here that could help out with this case. Why don't you go put your spare on and go back to the loft. I'll catch up with you when I get done."
Blair looked sheepishly at the floor. "I meant to tell you about that," he said, looking into Jim's pale blue eyes. "The spare is on the other rear tire."
The detective shook his head, rubbing a hand on his clenched jaw. "I don't have time for this. You do have a tire in your trunk?"
Blair nodded.
Digging his keys out of his pocket, Jim handed them to the younger man. He then pulled out his wallet, quickly took out a credit card, and handed it over to Blair. "Take the tire in your trunk and get it replaced," he ordered. "Better yet, take the bad tire off your car and get both tires replaced. I don't want to have to go through this again in a few days."
"Wait a minute, Jim," Blair protested. "I can't let you pay for this."
"You can owe me."
Holding up Jim's credit card, Blair asked, "How am I going to sign for this?"
"You're getting pretty good at forging my signature. Remember? Besides, half the time they don't even check the signatures."
Blair started to protest further but saw the irritated look in Jim's eyes and changed his mind. Vowing to get retreads or at least the cheapest tires he could find, he nodded his thanks and left.
************
After purchasing new tires, Blair drove back, put one tire on his car and one in his trunk, and walked back to the house. He flashed his identification card as he passed the officer at the door and went looking for Jim. The detective was talking to Simon when Blair finally found him. Grunting, Jim took the keys, credit card, and receipt offered by the anthropologist and shoved them into his pocket.
Simon quickly turned to Blair and said, "Jim tells me you may have seen the killer."
"Sorry, Simon. I didn't get a good look at him."
Simon looked disgusted. Before he could respond Jim said, "I've been thinking about that. You probably got a better look at this guy than you realize."
"Sorry, man," Blair said, shaking his head. "The lighting sucked."
"Hear me out, Chief. You once helped me remember something I didn't even realize I had heard. Why can't we do the same thing to help you remember what you saw?"
A quick laugh escaped Blair's lips as he thought over Jim's suggestion. "You know, I never even thought of that," he said, surprised that Jim had. Shrugging he added, "Let's do it."
Jim quickly lead the trio to a quiet bedroom. Flipping on the lights, he nodded toward the bed in the center of the room. Blair hopped onto the bed, pushing himself back against the headboard. Before either Jim or Simon could say anything, the young man had already put himself into a light trance. His roommate shook his head, amazed at how easily Blair could do something that he could only do with help. Jim eased himself onto the foot of the bed so he wouldn't disturb the kid.
"Okay, Chief. You're talking to the woman who lives here." Blair nodded. "What do you see?"
"She's terrified. Someone's standing behind her."
"Who?" Simon asked.
Blair shook his head. "I can't see him. He has a deep voice."
Jim remembered when the anthropologist had said he had seen the killer and said, "All right. Maggie Parker has shut the door and you're looking in the window. Who do you see?"
"A man."
"What does he look like?"
"I can't tell," Blair said, shaking his head. "There's not enough light."
Jim heard Simon give a disgusted grunt behind him. Taking a deep breath, he tried to use the same type of quiet voice that Blair used with him. "Look again. Focus on the man's face. Bring it in close to you and tell me what you see."
The long-haired man was quiet for a moment. The detective was about to give up when Blair said, "He's got brown hair. Curly. Cut short. Not as short as Jim's." Moving down the man's face, he continued, "His eyebrows are thick. Almost touching in the center. Dark eyes." He shook his head. "I can't tell what color. A long thin nose and a small mouth. His face seems almost too small for his head."
"Can you tell me anything about his build?"
"Tall. Over six feet. Thin."
Pleased with what the young man had been able to tell him, Jim said, "Okay, Chief. That's good."
Blair lightly shook his head, coming out of his trance. Grinning widely he said, "That was great!"
"It sure was, Sandburg," Simon said. "Now we have a face to send out to other cities."
Frowning, Blair asked, "You're not going to look for them here?"
"We've got roadblocks and we'll notify all the airlines and such," Jim explained, standing up. Reaching out a hand, he pulled his friend off the bed and to his feet. "If they follow their m.o. then they're already out of Cascade."
"I don't understand."
"These particular perps strike once," Simon explained. "They hit a small bank either first thing in the morning or late in the evening by kidnapping the branch manager and his or her family and using them as hostages. As soon as they've got what they want they kill their hostages and move on."
"So all of this was for nothing," Blair said, glumly.
"No," Simon replied. "Until now we've never had a description of any of the men. Now, thanks to you, we do."
************
"Any news?" Blair asked as he came over to Jim's desk.
The detective shook his head. It had been only five days since the young man had seen Maggie Parker's killer and already his constant need to hear about the case was getting on Jim's nerves. Not that the kid could help himself. He'd never been the sole person able to identify a killer. "Not yet."
Blair, looking disappointed, moved back to pull an empty chair over. He plopped into the chair, shaking his head as he look around the department.
"Come on, Sandburg," Jim said, getting out of his chair and walking around his desk to put a hand on Blair's shoulder. "I feel like going out for lunch."
Shrugging, the young man allowed his friend to lead him out of the Precinct. As they walked out of the elevator, Blair said, "Let's take my car. I need to get gas before I head back to the university."
Jim nodded, holding the outer door to the building. Blair quickly walked past the detective. They strolled one block down the street before coming to the Corvair. The anthropologist was reaching into his pocket to retrieve his keys when Jim noticed a flash of light come from the roof-top of the building across the street. His vision telescoped to give him a clear view of a man standing behind a high-powered rifle aimed at them as the muzzle flared.
Reacting instinctively, Jim shoved Blair down. He was dropping for cover behind the car, pulling his gun out of his holster, when he felt a sudden, burning pain in his head and then nothing else.
Blair yelled as he hit the ground hard. He twisted around in time to see Jim's head jerk back, sending him spinning into the car. The detective fell to the ground in a heap as Blair scrambled to him.
"Jim!" he yelled. Blood was flowing down Jim's face. The anthropologist's fingers were shaking as he felt for a pulse, his shoulder's slumping in relief when he found one. He turned quickly and saw several uniformed officers heading towards them. Shouting for them to get an ambulance, Blair took off his jacket, folding it before putting it under Jim's head. He was afraid to move him further so he sat beside the older man, talking to him quietly as he waited for the rescue workers to arrive.
************
"He's actually a very lucky man," the doctor said to Blair and Simon as he explained the results of the CAT scan and x-rays. "His skull isn't fractured and there are no bleeds."
"So he's going to be fine?" Blair asked, anxious to see his friend.
"He should be fine. We'll know for certain in a few days."
"Should be fine?" Simon asked, taking his glasses off to pinch to bridge of his nose. "What do you mean, 'should be fine'?"
"Detective Ellison has some swelling in the area of the occipital lobe."
"And?" Blair asked, impatient for the doctor to tell them that Jim was just fine and could come home in a few minutes.
"And it's causing blindness."
"What?!?" Blair and Simon said at the same time.
Holding up his hands, the doctor said, "It's usually temporary."
"Usually temporary?" the Captain asked.
"Wait a minute," Blair said before the doctor could explain further. "How could he be blind? The bullet struck him in the front of his head."
"Actually the bullet just grazed him," the doctor corrected. He touched the front right side of Blair's head, saying, "Right here. That blow sent his brain slamming into the back of his skull." The doctor's hand moved from the front of the anthropologist's head to cup the back of his skull. "The occipital lobe took the brunt of the injury resulting in swelling."
"When will we know if the blindness is temporary or not?" Simon asked.
"In a few days. His eyesight should start returning in a few days. Not all at once, though."
"Can we see him?"
"Certainly," he said, turning quickly and leading the men down the hall.
************
Jim, sitting up in his bed, heard the trio walking down the hallway. The doctor was telling the other two men that he wanted to keep him in the hospital overnight as they opened the door to his room.
"No way, Doc," Jim said, feeling a hand lift his left arm up and check his pulse. "I'm not staying here overnight. We've gone over this already. Either you let me out or I'll let myself out."
The doctor sighed. Putting Jim's arm down, he said, "You wouldn't get far, Detective, but you could cause yourself more harm. I'll make a deal with you. You stay here until nine o'clock tonight and I'll release you. Interested?"
"Why nine o'clock?"
"Humor me, Detective. I like to believe that I have some control over my patients."
Jim shrugged. "All right. Nine o'clock."
"Good," the doctor said. "I'll check in on you again about an hour before I release you." Turning quickly the man left the room.
Blair pulled a blue hospital chair away from the wall, sitting down next to Jim. Hesitantly he reached forward and touched his roommate's arm. "How are you feeling?"
"Just great," Jim replied sarcastically. "I've always wanted to be blind."
The younger man pulled back. Simon stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Jim's shoulder.
"Take it easy, Jim. Sandburg's just concerned."
"I know," he said, rubbing his hand against his chin. "Sorry, Chief. I just don't like not being able to do anything."
"Sure, Jim," Blair said, leaning forward in his chair. "I understand, man."
Deciding the only way to keep from thinking about his current situation was to get back to work, the detective asked, "What can you tell me about what happened today?"
"Not much," Simon grumbled, turning around to pull another chair near the bed. "Whoever it was didn't leave any clues."
"Great," Jim responded, leaning back into the bed.
"I still don't see how something like this could happen so close to the Precinct," Blair said.
Simon took off his glasses, placing them on the tray next to Jim's bed. "It's not like we have guards on all the nearby buildings, Sandburg. All whoever it was needed was the balls to do this."
"Do you think Jim was the target?"
"I don't know."
"They could have just been aiming for a cop," Jim added. His head was beginning to ache again and he closed his eyes against the pain.
Blair noticed his friend's slight wince. "We probably should let you get some rest," he said, rising slowly out of his chair and pushing it back to it's original location.
"Yeah. Get some sleep, Jim. I've got a guard on the door."
Blair and Simon were almost to the door when Jim's eyes flew open. "Sandburg!"
"What, Jim?"
"Don't forget. I get out of here at nine o'clock."
"Don't worry, buddy. I won't forget."
************
Blair didn't forget. Not that it mattered. He breezed into Jim's hospital room at 8:30, fully expecting to find the doctor finishing up his final check of Jim's vitals. Instead he found his friend, fully dressed, sitting on the side of his bed, and complaining about people not keeping appointments. The young man tried to pacify him with little success. The detective hated not being in control and he was definitely not in control here.
Jim's doctor, Dr. Peters, finally entered his room at 9:45, apologizing for being late, explaining that he had to respond to an emergency in the ER. He quickly checked Jim's vitals, declared him fit to leave, and made him promise to check in on Friday, sooner if his condition worsened. Once he had finished the doctor called for a tech to wheel the detective out of the hospital.
It was almost 10:30 when the two men finally got back to the loft, past the officer Simon had stationed at the door. The pain killer that the doctor had prescribed for Jim earlier in the day was beginning to wear off. Blair lead his roommate up to his bed, suggesting Jim try to control the pain like he had when Angie Ferris had accidentally shot him in the arm. The detective almost said no, remembering how he had slept through his gun being stolen by Angie's daughter, Pam, until another stabbing pain struck. Blair waited until Jim was ready for bed, putting the detective's clothes in the hamper, before sitting on the edge of the bed. He quietly talked Jim through the steps to reduce the pain. He sat by his friend's side until he was sure the older man was sleeping and then tip-toed down the stairs and to his room. Grabbing a blanket and pillow, Blair quietly went back up the stairs and laid down on the floor beside Jim's bed. He stayed up a long time, listening to his friend's breathing, before finally falling asleep.
************
Jim awoke to the smell of eggs cooking and coffee brewing. He inhaled deeply before opening his eyes. Only then did he remember the previous day's events and his blindness. Dr. Peters had told him it was probably temporary but that didn't ease Jim's fears. What if it wasn't? What would he do for the rest of his life? He shook his head, worrying about what may be wasn't going to help him right now.
Jim lay in the bed, trying to decide what to do. He quickly decided that calling Blair and asking him to help him get some clothes and get dressed was out of the question. After all, it was his loft, his bedroom, surely he could navigate well enough to put some clothes on, even if they didn't match.
Jim didn't realize he'd been focusing on his lacking sight until his head began to ache. He switched his focus, trying to hear Blair's location in the loft. Instead he heard the sound of someone singing quietly. The voice was feminine, definitely not Blair's. He didn't hear the anthropologist's voice at all. Jim moved instinctively to his dresser, quickly pulling out clothes and putting them on, before heading down the stairs, tightly gripping the rail. He hesitated when he reached the bottom step, trying to remember the layout of the loft. They had recently rearranged their furniture and painted and Jim wasn't sure if he was picturing the old setup or the new one. Deciding to take a chance, he quietly released his death-grip on the rail and walked forward until his hands touched the kitchen island.
The quiet singing had never faltered during Jim's trip. "Good morning," he said. He was rewarded with a small screech and the sound of the refrigerator door slamming shut. "Who are you?" His sensitive ears picked up the slight tap of flesh against cloth amid the galloping beat of the woman's heart.
"You scared the hell out of me."
"Sorry. Now tell me who you are?" She sounded vaguely familiar and he tried to place a face with the voice.
"Your neighbor, Krys. In 304," she said. A slender hand firmly grasped Jim's right hand. "I've got the Great Dane."
Jim nodded, able to place the voice with the mental image of his neighbor. She was tall, standing just over six feet, with an athletic build, dark blonde, chin-length hair and dark gray eyes. The detective wouldn't say she was a stunning beauty but she was an impressive sight, especially when walking her massive Harlequin Great Dane. She had moved into the loft across the hall about four months before he had met Blair.
"Where's Sandburg?" he asked.
"He had to run an errand. We ran into each other as I was coming back from walking the dog. He told me about your injury. I'm sorry to hear about it."
"He asked you to baby-sit?" Jim asked, not sure if he should be annoyed that Blair didn't think he could take care of himself or grateful that there was someone here he could talk to.
Krys laughed. "Actually we struck a bargain. I thought, hmmm, he's desperate and I'm desperate. So I got him to agree to watch LD. If you ask me I got the better deal."
"He agreed to watch the dog?"
"Oh, don't worry," she said. Jim felt an hand on his arm and allowed himself to be lead to the table. "LD will stay at my place. Blair's just going to walk him and feed him while I'm gone for a couple of days. He told me you liked eggs. I hope you don't mind but I made enough for two."
"Thanks," Jim said, sitting down as he listened to Krys walk back into the kitchen. "I've been wondering about this since you moved in; is Krys short for Krystine?"
He heard her pause before saying, "I wish. It's short for Krystal."
"Krystal." Remembering her last name, he asked, "Isn't your last name Klear? Krystal Klear?"
"It gets worse. My middle name is Lynn. Krystal Lynn Klear."
Jim chuckled, listening to his neighbor prepare the breakfast plates. The smell of eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee mixing with the musky smell of Krys' perfume. There was another smell. One he couldn't place until he remembered she had been walking her dog before she came over.
"I'm glad you find my misery so amusing," she said. The clink of china against wood announced the arrival of Jim's breakfast. He heard the scrape of wood on wood, first moving away from him, then a double scrape moving closer. "Now you know why my parents live in Minnesota and I live here."
Jim stopped laughing, feeling for his fork. He found it and lifted it, pausing when he realized he didn't know where the food was on the plate. He was about to use his sense of smell to locate the food when Krys said, "Eggs are at six o'clock, the toast is at two o'clock, and the bacon is at ten o'clock."
Jim nodded his thanks, using her instructions to lift some eggs to his mouth. The eggs were scrambled but not quite the way he liked them. He didn't say anything, though, realizing that Krys didn't know his tastes the way Blair did.
"Where did Sandburg say he was going?" he asked, feeling for and then picking up a piece of toast.
"The Precinct to pick something up."
"What is he picking up?"
"Sorry," Krys said. The crunch of something between teeth met his ears before she continued, "He probably told me but I was too excited about someone watching LD to hear him."
Jim frowned. He didn't like it when Blair took off without telling him where he was going. Too many things could go wrong and he wouldn't be there to help the kid. "Any idea when he will get back?"
Fabric rustled against skin. "Any minute now."
"How long has he been gone?"
"About an hour."
Jim's fork stopped midway to his mouth. He quickly put it down, leaning back in his chair. It had happened again! Blair helped him numb the pain so much he'd almost slept through Krys' baby-sitting job. Did the kid do it on purpose? He sighed. Blair wasn't to blame. He wasn't the one who had to control these damn senses.
"Something wrong?" Krys asked, pulling Jim out of his reverie.
"No," he answered, not willing to tell the woman his concerns. Deciding to change the subject, he asked, "What does LD stand for?"
Krys laughed. "Lap Dog." Jim's cheek twitched in confusion. "LD weighs almost 200 pounds. Even so he seems to think he is a two pound lap dog."
The detective chuckled and was about to respond when he heard his front door opening. He quickly turned his head toward the door, trying to discern who was coming into the loft.
"Jim! You're up," Blair enthused. "How are you feeling?"
The detective listened to Blair's footsteps, felt the slight vibration in the floor as he walked over to the table. "Okay, I guess. Pain's not so bad this morning." Jim pushed away from the table and slowly rose out of the chair. "You should have let me know you were going out." He felt a breeze against his face and guessed Blair was waving his comment away.
"I didn't want to wake you. It was hard enough getting Krys past the guard Simon's put on our door." He didn't add his concern that Jim would be more willing to ask for help from a neighbor, especially a female neighbor, than he would from a fellow cop. If he needed it that was. Looking from his friend to the remains of breakfast he figured that Jim could manage on his own better than he realized.
"Speaking of me," Krys said. Wood scraped against wood again. "I'll just clear the table, clean the dishes, and head on out. Blair, I'll bring the keys by before I leave."
Blair nodded. "You can leave the plates. I'll take care of them."
Jim felt the vibration of her footsteps as Krys came out of the kitchen. She was offering her farewells when Blair called her over. Jim could hear her wiping her hands against her pants, nervously he thought, as she slowly came over to join them.
"Did you tell Jim what happened yesterday?"
The detective focused on the whispery sound of hair being pulled through a person's fingers. He'd listened to a similar sound many times before whenever his roommate ran his hand through his long, curly hair. Blair, however, was standing in front of him and the sound had come from his right. From Krys.
"No. Look, I've got to go."
Her words were accompanied by several quick squeaks. 'Rubber soled shoes?' Jim wondered. "What was that all about?" he asked as soon as the banging from the front door being slammed shut quieted down.
"You weren't at all curious as to why she wasn't at work today? It's after ten."
Jim shrugged. "I thought it was earlier."
"No, man. You slept late."
The detective chalked this information up to turning down the pain. He quickly realized that Krys would typically be at her job as a teacher of a handful of emotionally handicapped high school students by this time. That she wasn't, that she was planning on leaving for a few days, and Blair's question to her sparked his interest.
"So, Chief. What was that all about?"
"Ah. It's been on the news... One of her students pulled a gun on another student yesterday. She managed to get the gun away from him."
Jim shrugged. "That doesn't really explain her reaction just now."
"Oh, there is more to it than that. She has a set of nasty cuts from where the student smashed his pistol against her face." Blair lightly touched Jim's face, along his right cheek. "She broke the boy's arm getting the gun away from him. Her principal told her to take a couple of days off," Blair continued. "Krys wants to get away from Cascade. She said her phone didn't stop ringing until three this morning. And only then because she took it off the hook."
Jim rubbed his hand across his chin. Things suddenly made sense. Krys had never struck him as the type of person who liked a lot of attention. Something that was hard for her to avoid, given her stature. Deciding to change the subject, he asked, "So, where did you go, Chief?"
"That can wait, Jim. I have a couple of ideas to help you out," Blair said. He then asked Jim to sit back down.
Footsteps retreated into the kitchen. Listening carefully, Jim tried to form a mental image of Blair's movements. Hinges protested. He imagined his roommate opening cabinets, thinking 'Those hinges need oiling.' Glass chimed against china and possibly against itself, Jim couldn't be sure. There were too many items the young man could be removing from the cabinets, so the detective gave up on his mental picture, turning his focus down slightly. Jim heard Blair come back to the table and put something down before sitting.
"I had an English Lit professor once who was blind," the young man said. "You wouldn't know it though, by the way he moved around the class room. Before he was blinded he was in the navy. He always said he navigated by dead reckoning."
"Where is this going, Chief?"
"I'm getting there. Actually it's an old navy term. Dead reckoning is navigating without a fixed set of directions or something to use as a landmark."
Jim nodded. "I know, Sandburg. I was in the military. Remember? I may not have been Navy but I know the term."
"Yeah. Right. Right."
The detective could picture Blair, his shoulders pulling back, startled eyes blinking, and suppressed a grin. The kid was easy to read even without his sight.
"I'm going to pour some water into a glass. I want you to listen. The sound the water makes will change as it gets close to the top of the glass." Jim focused his attention to the sound the water was making, noting with surprise and satisfaction the gradual change in pitch before Blair stopped pouring, carefully setting the pitcher on the table with a clunk.
"I never noticed that before."
"Actually, Jim, anyone can hear that if they are listening for it."
"How does it work?"
"Basically the glass forms a tube and the sound waves bounce around in there. Once the water level reaches a certain point you wipe out most of the node and antinodes and the sound changes."
"How do you know all this?"
"I took a physics course as an undergrad."
"You took physics?" Jim asked. Somehow he couldn't picture Sandburg taking such a dry course.
"I had to meet my science requirement," Blair explained.
Jim reached forward. "Let me try." He felt the younger man press the pitcher handle into one hand and the glass in the other. The detective carefully picked up the pitcher then set it down again.
"What's wrong, Jim?"
Jim shook his head, his jaw clenching in irritation. "How do I know that the pitcher will pour into the glass?"
"Kinesthetics."
"What?" he asked, wishing Blair speak in English.
"It's how you can touch your nose with your eyes closed. If you're not drunk that is. It's how your body knows where it is in relationship to itself. Hold the pitcher against the glass, near the spout, and then pour."
Jim took a quick breath, picking up the pitcher and bringing it against the glass with a clink. He eased it down till he felt the spout against his fingers near the top of the glass. Hoping that he was on target, Jim tilted the pitcher, slowly releasing his pent up breath as the water poured into the glass. He listened for the change in the sound of the water before pulling the pitcher up and setting it aside. Not only had he heard the pitch change, he had also felt the pressure of the water against the glass.
"You did great, Jim," Blair said. "The next part is going to be more difficult. It will take a lot of concentration."
Jim felt Blair's hand on his arm and let his friend lead him away from the table. "Just what are we doing?"
"Air pressure changes when you get close to an object. You should be able to feel an ever so slight resistance just before you walk into something. It'll be easier to find a wall than a piece of furniture."
Jim snorted.
"I didn't say it would be easy, Jim. Just that it will be easier to find a wall," Blair said. "At least give it a try."
"All right," he said. "What do you want me to do?"
"Walk forward slowly. Slowly. Pay real close attention to what you feel."
"What am I trying to feel?"
"A slight resistance as the air pressure builds up between the wall and you."
Jim shrugged once again. He felt silly but he decided to move ahead. Closing his sightless eyes, he took one step forward, then another, focusing on his sense of touch. He started to take another step closer to the door, stopping suddenly, his heel off the ground, when he felt a change in the pressure against the palm of his raised hand. Smiling, he took a small step forward, feeling the pressure build until he confidently placed his hand against the door.
"You did it!?"
"Yeah, Chief. I did it."
************
Thirty minutes later, Blair heard a quick rapping on the door. He stopped watching Jim move around the room feeling for changes in air pressure and swiftly walked over to open the door. Not surprisingly, Krys stood on the other side, her keys swinging on one finger. She waved to the officer standing near the door as Blair let her in.
"I wish I could have my own personal guard."
"No you don't," Blair said. "I have to show my identification every time they change shifts and I know most of these people. What direction are you taking?"
"Nowhere in particular." She dropped her spare key in Blair's hand. After a quick thank-you and a promise to call, she was gone.
"Why isn't she taking her dog?" Jim asked, startling Blair as he stepped beside him at the door.
"Geez, Jim. Give a guy a heart attack." Turning to lean against the door, Blair continued, "She didn't tell you?"
"No," Jim said, shaking his head. "I've never seen her go anywhere without that dog."
"LD won't fit in her rental car."
"Come on, Chief. Don't tell me this in drips and draps," the detective complained when Blair didn't add any information.
"Sorry. They took her to the same hospital you were at yesterday. When they released her, she went to pick up her car only to find that someone had smashed it with a bat or something." He shook his head, remembering the Polaroid's she had shown him this morning. "Really did a number on her car. Smashed all the windows, punched holes in the doors, sliced the tires to shreds."
"This all happened at the school?"
"Yeah."
"Any witnesses?"
"A whole parking lot full. Only no one seemed to see the people's faces."
Sudden understanding filled Jim's head. "Gang related?"
"Krys thinks so. The guy whose arm she broke trying to get the gun away belongs to a gang."
"Did she tell you if she had been getting threatening phone calls?"
"Yes, she has."
Jim rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. Why hadn't he found out more about what was happening with his neighbor before he let her leave? He should have known something was wrong earlier this morning when he woke-up to find her fixing breakfast. Even if he had thought it was early, he should have questioned her presence. Usually she would be getting ready for work, if not already on her way.
"Jim," Blair said, sensing his friend questioning his own actions. "Look, man. Don't blame yourself for what happened to her. Or that you didn't figure all this out sooner. Krys is possibly the one of the most tight-lipped people I've ever met. She only told me what she did because I wouldn't agree to watch the dog until she told me what happened to her car."
"But you didn't insist she tell you about the phone calls," Jim pointed out, not so easily deterred.
"I didn't have to," Blair responded. "We were talking in her place when she got another call. She let her machine pick it up and I heard the whole thing."
Deciding there was nothing he could do at the moment anyway, Jim turned away from Blair, carefully making his way back to the table. The anthropologist followed him over, saying, "I also think she wanted to leave LD behind to protect her place."
Sitting down, Jim chuckled. "That dog has never struck me as being very vicious."
"Think about it, Jim. If you saw a 200 pound dog coming toward you would you stick around to see if it was vicious or not?"
"No. I guess I wouldn't."
"I got something for you," Blair said, picking up his backpack from where he had dropped it near the table. He pulled out a black, plastic, computer disc, setting it on the table in front of Jim.
"What is it, Sandburg?" All the detective could tell for certain was that the item his friend has just laid on the table was plastic. He picked it up, lightly feeling it all over. The plastic was covered with metal on part of one end, had a few ridges he couldn't quite make out, and more metal in a circle on the other side. Feeling the metal circle move under his fingertips, Jim asked, "A computer disc?"
"I knew you'd figure it out," Blair said. He turned and swiftly walked to his room, tossing over his shoulder, "I'll be right back."
"Here we go," Blair said, quickly coming back with his notebook computer. He placed the computer on the table, quickly sitting down across from his roommate. As he waited for the machine to charge up, making sure there was enough juice in the battery, he said, "I checked with Simon. Everyone that you've gone after since I've known you is either dead or still behind bars." He picked up the disc and slid it into the computer, swiftly bringing up the desired file. "He had Rhonda create a list of every case you've worked on since joining the force. Leaving out the ones from the past few months."
Jim could feel the muscles tensing in his jaw as he clenched his teeth together. 'At least someone was thinking about this case,' he thought bitterly. He should have asked Simon to pull the list together yesterday but hadn't. Was he being forgetful because of his injury? Would his forgetfulness go away?
"Jim," Blair quietly said. "You're bound to have some problems thinking of things. It's the head injury. Don't beat yourself up over it."
Jim shook his head, trying to banish the questions he couldn't answer. Sandburg was right. Blair was the easiest person to read, everything showed on his face, in his eyes. Jim knew he wasn't as easy but the kid still seemed to know when he was being hard on himself. Besides, they didn't have time if they were going to figure this out before his attacker struck again.
"Okay, Chief. Let's start at the beginning."
************
It took them over seven hours to get through the entire list. The search had been futile, no one that Jim had ever put away had the same m.o. as his attacker. Jim had wanted to go through the list again until Blair remembered his promise to walk their neighbor's dog. Asking to borrow Jim's vehicle, claiming that his wasn't big enough, he had told the detective he was going to take the dog to the park.
As soon as Blair was gone Jim called Simon. Once they were past the usual pleasantries, Jim said, "You can call off the guards."
"No luck with the list, eh?"
"No."
There was a long pause as Simon considered this new information. "So you think it was a random attack?"
"Must have been."
"But there haven't been any other attacks," the Captain pointed out, his voice sounding unsure over the line.
"That doesn't mean that there won't be."
"Are you sure about this?"
"Yes."
Simon was silent for a moment and Jim knew he was going over all the reasons he could think of not to relieve the watch. Not being able to come up with a reason the detective wouldn't argue against, he said, "I don't like this."
"I know, Simon."
Jim heard Simon blow air out of his mouth. "I'll take the guard off your door and off the door of the building but I'm going to put a car outside the building. We've got pictures of all the people who live there anyway."
"Thanks, Simon," Jim said before turning off the phone. He walked carefully to the kitchen, intending to get something to drink. Finding the refrigerator, he counted cabinets until he reached the one containing the glasses. He was pulling one out when the phone rang, startling him. Tightening his grip on the glass, he put it on the counter before pulling the phone out of his front pocket.
"Ellison."
"Hi Jim," a female voice said. "It's Krys."
"Where did you end up?"
"In Canada." She quickly told him the name of the hotel and her room number.
"You know taking off like that is very dangerous. So is not telling people where you were going."
"I wasn't sure where I was going."
"That's no excuse," Jim replied, trying to make up for not bringing this up with the young woman before she left. "You're a teacher. You should know better than to do something like this."
The detective heard her sigh. "Fine, Dad. I'll make up an itinerary tonight and call you about it in the morning."
Jim smiled. "That's all I'm asking."
Changing the subject, Krys said, "How's LD?"
"Fine. Blair's taking him to the park in my car."
"What?!" she yelled, forcing Jim to pull the phone away from his ear. "Shit! You let him take my dog in your pickup truck?!? I don't fucking believe you!! Don't you know how many dogs are injured not to mentioned killed each year because of idiots who drive around with them in the back of their trucks?!? You're lecturing me about doing something stupid and you let your roommate take my dog in your truck?!? You son of a bitch!!"
The tirade that flowed through the phone stunned Jim. He tried to say something, tell her he didn't have the truck anymore, but she wouldn't end her sizzling onslaught. When she finally paused long enough to take a breath, Jim said the first thing that came to his head, "You teach with that mouth?" As soon as the words left his mouth Jim knew he had made a mistake.
The sudden silence was deafening. Jim started to apologize for his remark but the connection was broken from the other end. His ears rang from the sound of Krys slamming the phone. Shaking his head, Jim quickly thumbed off the phone and put it on the counter near his glass. He slowly moved his hand to the left, felt the back of his hand connect with the cool glass, and picked it up. Easily taking the few steps to the sink, he turned on the faucet, letting the water run into the glass until the sound quality changed. He was about to go to the refrigerator to get ice when the phone rang again. He placed the glass next to the phone and thumbed it back on.
"Ellison."
"Sorry, Jim," Krys said. "I just remembered that you didn't have the truck anymore. Even so, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. You two are just trying to do me a favor. I just kinda lost it." The words came out in a breathless stream, laced with regret.
"That's all right. We've both been having a bad couple of days."
"I guess." She chuckled. "I don't know why I got so upset anyway. It's not like Blair's going to be able to get that dog in your car let alone a truck."
Jim placed the phone between his shoulder and his ear before picking up his glass. He walked carefully over to the refrigerator, saying, "I wouldn't be too sure about that. He can talk anyone into doing what he wants."
"Talking won't help in this case. Have you ever seen me try to get that dog in my car?"
Jim shook his head. "No."
"Great Danes aren't too bright when it comes to getting in cars that are more than a few inches off the ground. LD will get his front half in the Suburban and then kinda drop. His back end will be hanging down. You have to get behind the silly thing and push him up and in." She chuckled. "Not an easy task since the dog starts backing up while you're trying to push him in."
Jim grinned. "I wonder how long he'll try to get the dog in before he gives up?" Changing the subject as he put ice in his drink, he asked, "What happened yesterday?"
Krys' quiet laughter cut off and Jim realized there was much more to her story than anyone had told him. "I got hit in the face while taking a gun away from a student. They gave me a couple of days off."
The detective tried to think of a way to get the young woman to open up to him but he didn't want her to think that he was grilling her for information. He wished Blair were here. Jim was well versed on interrogation techniques but his friend was better at getting people to open up when no one else could. He remembered a time when Joel Taggart, the Precinct's bomb expert, had been unable to confess his fears to anyone, even the police psychologist. Blair had told him about his own fears and how he had overcome them. Actually the kid had lied but it had worked. Taggart talked about his problems and Blair helped him through the rough times.
Jim didn't want to tell her about his own concerns but he didn't want to lie either. Deciding that honesty would get the best results, he quietly said, "My doctor has told me that I'll get my eyesight back in a few days but I still worry that I might not. I don't know what I'll do then."
He held his breath, uncertain if Krys would reciprocate with her own fears. Jim was about to give up when she said, "They didn't give me a couple of days off. I was told to take a few days off or be suspended."
Jim put the glass back down on the counter. "Why? You didn't do anything wrong."
Bitter laughter crackled through the ear piece. "That's not what the kids in the room where saying. The boy I took the gun from said the gun was mine and I broke his arm and cut my face when he tried to get the gun from me."
"What do the witnesses say?"
"You have to understand something, Jim. There were four kids in that room. The one with the gun and another belong to the same gang. Another kid wants to be in their gang. They are backing each other up."
"What about the kid he pulled the gun on?"
"Too frightened to disagree with the boy's story."
Jim considered this new information. Now he could understand why Krys had been so quick to fly off the handle earlier. He didn't think she should worry, though. He quickly told her the boy's story sounded too far-fetched to be believed for long.
"Want to hear a story?" she asked in response.
Jim shrugged. "I guess."
"There is a teacher who was charged with having sex with one of her students. That student had a juvenile record and had been failed by her. Of course that doesn't mean that she didn't have sex with him. However, half of the incidents the boy claimed happened couldn't have possibly occurred since either the student or the teacher were out on the days in question."
"Sounds like a bogus charge to me."
"Tell that to the teacher who is currently spending six years in a Florida jail."
Jim was quiet for a long time. "I'll call Captain Simon Banks, my superior, and ask him for an update on the case. In the meantime I think you would do yourself a favor by coming back to Cascade."
Krys sighed. "You're probably right. I'll come back in the morning."
Not wanting to leave this hanging over her head all night, Jim said, "Why don't you call back in about twenty minutes. I'll see what I can find out."
Krys agreed and hung up. Jim quickly called Simon, briefly telling him about his neighbor's situation.
Simon chuckled. "I know all about that one. Only two sets of fingerprints were found on the gun. The kid's, Postell's were all over the gun and on the bullets. Miss Klear's prints were only on the barrel."
"Which supports her story that she took the gun away from Postell."
"Right. When the investigating officer confronted the 'witnesses' with this evidence and a threat of perjury charges, two of them broke down and told the truth. Postell and his gang pal are still claiming that the gun belongs to Miss Klear but the DA isn't planning on pressing any charges against her."
"She'll be glad to hear that," Jim said.
Twenty minutes after hanging up, Krys called back.
"Good news," Jim said.
"They aren't going to press charges?"
"Right. Two of the boys and the evidence support your version of the events. You aren't going to be charged with anything."
"Oh good."
Jim was about to ask her what time she expected to be back when she said, "Not to change the subject but what did happen to you yesterday? I missed the news and all Blair told me was you had been hurt and temporarily couldn't see."
Seeing no point in trying to lie to his neighbor, Jim explained, "Blair and I were walking to his car when I got shot. I don't really remember exactly what happened."
"So you were at his car when you got shot?"
"I remember arriving at his car but nothing else."
"That's weird."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"You'll probably say that I read too many mystery novels but if I were going to shoot someone I wouldn't wait till they were beside a car. What if they ducked down out of the way?"
Jim didn't answer. Suddenly he hoped that Blair couldn't get the dog in the car. His roommate would be back sooner and Jim needed him to clear up some information.
"I better go," Krys said. "I want to be able to afford to check out tomorrow."
"Bye," Jim said absently, thumbing off the phone. He tried to remember the events of the day before but couldn't get past walking up to Blair's car and seeing a flash of light on a near-by building. Did the flash come from the other side of the street? Or from the building above them? He focused on the flash. It came from the other side of the street.
Jim had been practicing getting around the loft by feeling the change in pressure the entire time he and Blair had been going over Simon's list. His actions then had been hesitant, uncertain. After getting off the phone with Krys he quickly picked up his glass, taking it and the phone with him as he crossed over to sit at the sofa in front of the TV. He was so lost in thought he didn't realize that he made the trip without a single mishap.
Sitting down he recalled a news broadcast from the day after the Parkers' murder. A picture of the suspect Blair had seen was shown and viewers were asked to give any information possible to the police. Thinking the perpetrators were long gone at the time, Jim had been grateful the press was cooperating. Even if he didn't expect to receive any useful information. He had forgotten one very important facet to these criminals. They didn't leave any witnesses.
Jim ran a hand over his jaw, feeling his muscles clench. He had no excuse for overlooking that aspect the night the Parker's were killed. There was no head injury at that time to cloud his thinking. He and the Captain had been so certain that the murderers had skipped town they hadn't even considered the possible danger to Sandburg.
How had they traced Blair to the police station? Jim wasn't sure but it wouldn't surprise him if someone had been watching that night. One of the milling neighbors. He could have easily gotten Sandburg's license plate and left the scene without raising suspicion. Luckily current laws to guard against stalking made it more difficult to get a person's address through their plates. But Blair owned a unique car, the killer could have been following him for days.
If he had been following Blair since the night of the murder, whey hadn't the guy tried to take Sandburg out sooner? Maybe even when he went for the tires? Jim violently shook his head. This wasn't getting him anywhere. The problem at hand was simple: Where was Blair? The detective called Simon, briefly explaining his theory and asking him to put an APB out on Sandburg.
************
Blair placed his left shoulder under the Great Dane's rear and lifted him up. As he tried to force the dog up and into the Ford the dog started pushing back against him. He felt the animal slip away from his shoulder and cursed. The creature's back legs slammed into the ground while Blair leaned against the vehicle, his eyes closed. "How does she get you into her car?" he asked. The dog turned mournful eyes toward the anthropologist but didn't answer.
Four attempts was enough, he decided and carefully pulled the dog out of Jim's car. He stepped on the leash as he closed up the car, making sure it was locked. Leaning down, he grabbed the cord hanging from the dog's neck, letting it run through his fingers until he reached the handle. "Just don't tell Jim I couldn't get you in the car," he said, leading the dog out of the parking lot and down the street.
Without the trip to the park the walk took less time than expected. Still the young man was stopped several times by people wanting to admire the dog. Most were young women. Intellectually Blair knew that people were attracted to pets and babies but he'd never thought too much about it. His mind started devising ways he could see what drew people's attention. Was it the size of the animal? The breed? The baby or animal's appearance? Was the effect different if a woman was with the child or animal? He decided he'd have to talk to Krys about these questions.
Blair saw the officer in the car across the street waving to him as he brought the dog back. He waved back before turning into the building. LD began to pull against the leash, growling, as Blair checked the mail. The young man looked around, seeing only the police officer, now out of his car. The dog's behavior was making him nervous but he couldn't see anything that would set the dog off. Shaking his head, he pulled the dog toward the stairway.
When they reached the third floor landing the dog barked sharply and then went silent. Thinking he heard footsteps below him, Blair shoved the landing door open, pulling the dog through. Ruling out taking LD back to Krys' loft, he swiftly jogged down the hall to the home he shared with Jim. Quickly he opened the door, the dog slipping in past his legs, and entered the loft, shutting the door with his back. He closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing and reduce his fear.
"Sandburg. Where have you been?"
Blair's eyes flew open. He resisted the urge to rush over to Jim and touch him, make sure he wasn't seeing things. "Walking LD."
Jim tilted his head, hearing Blair's heart race, his attempt to slow his breathing, and a quiet panting. "What happened? Why did you bring the dog here?"
"Something upset the dog," Blair explained. "I thought I heard footsteps in the stairwell."
The older man was about to respond when he heard footsteps in the hallway. Quickly closing the distance between himself and the anthropologist, Jim reached up and grabbed at the position where Blair's shoulder would be. His hand closed on the man's jacket and he pulled him away from the door. He was reaching for the gun he had retrieved after talking to Simon when a voice on the other side called, "Detective Ellison? It's Officer Sanders. I heard the APB that Captain Banks put out on Mr. Sandburg."
Jim visibly relaxed. Opening the door to let in the policeman he heard Blair ask, "Why did you have Simon put out an APB on me?"
"I'll explain later," he answered, tilting his head in the direction of their new guest.
"Sorry to come up here and bother you but I couldn't get Mr. Sandburg's attention before he came in the building."
LD began growling as soon as the officer cleared the doorframe. Looking down at the dog, Blair realized that the creature had reacted to the policeman following them into the building. He grinned sheepishly. "You must have been the person I heard in the stairwell."
"Yes, sir." Observing the large dog's full contingent of huge, sharp teeth, Sanders began backing away from the dog. He felt the doorknob against the small of his back and quickly turned, opening the door. As he left the loft he said, "I'll just let the Captain know that Mr. Sandburg is here now."
Jim heard Blair chuckling and snapped, "Don't laugh at him. He's afraid of dogs."
"Sorry."
"Just take LD back to Krys' place. I'll wait in the doorway for you to get back."
Blair didn't argue. He swiftly took the dog to the loft on the opposite side of the hall, checking his food and water before returning to his own place. "So what's up?" he asked as Jim shut the door behind him.
Jim answered Blair's question with a question. "Do you remember where I was standing when I got shot?"
The anthropologist shrugged. "You were behind me. You pushed me down and when I turned around you looked like you were dropping to the ground and then your head snapped back."
Jim walked over to Blair, placing a hand against his arm then running it up until he found the young man's shoulder. Bending slightly, he brought his head level to Blair's and asked, "Was I this far down? Or this far down?" he continued, bending until his head was even with his partner's chest.
Blair closed his eyes, bringing the scene into focus and trying to judge the height from ground level. Shaking his head he said, "I don't know. If I had to guess I'd say you were roughly at chest level."
"So the bullet that struck me in the head would have hit you in the chest if I hadn't pushed you away."
Blair's mouth fell open at the detective's words. He briefly stood in stunned silence. "Are you suggesting that the shooter was trying to kill me?" Jim nodded. "Why?"
"Remember the killer you saw the other day? The man who killed Maggie Parker?"
"Yeah."
"Do you remember what Simon and I told you about the gang?"
Blair thought for a moment. "They do one job and leave town."
"What else?"
"They don't leave witnesses," he whispered.
"Yeah," Jim said. "Simon is setting up a safe house for you."
"Just me?" Blair interrupted.
"Don't worry, Chief. I'll be there with you." 'For whatever good that will do,' he thought to himself.
************
"What are we going to do aboutAuthor's note: Th
"Simon will take care of him. Krys is coming back tomorrow anyway," he answered, his voice trailing off as he attempted to place the popping sound he heard coming from outside the building. It sounded like a gunshot but not quite. Blair recognized the detective's look of concentration and tried to be as quiet as possible as he stepped beside him.
The sound wasn't repeated. Jim was about to chalk it up to a street light burning out or a bottle breaking when he heard the door to the stairwell open. Quiet, deliberate footsteps moved quickly down the hall toward the loft. He smelled gun oil but not Simon's cigars.
Turning to Blair, Jim whispered, "Turn off the lights and go into the kitchen." He didn't want to send his roommate so close to the front door but he didn't have a choice. His only chance to hit his target would be in the dark, at enough of a distance that he could judge the man's height by listening to his breathing.
Blair didn't move fast enough. He reached the lightswitch beside the door at the same time the green door was forced open. A tall, thin man with short curly brown hair stepped into the loft. The anthropologist immediately recognized him, it was the man he had seen in Maggie Parker's window. The man looked at Jim standing in the middle of the room, his gun drawn, and made a grab for the anthropologist. Blair hit the lightswitch, plunging the room into darkness, and skipped out of the killer's reach. One more step sent him into the bike they stored behind the fireplace. Anthropologist and metal went down in a crashing heap, momentarily distracting Jim as he tried to shake the sound of the crash out of his head.
The only light in the room came from the open door. It wasn't much but it was enough to show Blair's location. It was also enough to show the killer's position, if Jim could have seen him. The tall man jumped on his witness, pulling Blair to his feet. One arm wrapped around the man's neck, the other shoved the gun into his left side as he dragged him further into the room, away from the light.
"Jim," Blair called, desperate to let the detective know their location.
"Quiet!" the man holding him hissed, shoving the gun against Blair's ribs. He bit back a cry of pain.
Jim tracked their movement with his gun. He knew exactly where they were but couldn't risk firing for fear he would hit Blair. Listening carefully, he could make out two heartbeats. The louder one was racing and seemed to be coming from about the spot where Blair's chest should be. The other heartbeat was slightly muffled, probably by his roommate's body. Or head. Jim remembered the description of Maggie Parker's killer. Tall. Over six feet. He shook his head. That information didn't do him any good. Blair was still in the way.
Jim focused his attention on the man he was certain was his partner. He heard him say two words so quietly that only someone with Sentinel abilities would be able to make them out. "On three."
The kid was going to make a break for it. Blair's total faith in his abilities even under these conditions amazed Jim. Still, he didn't like his friend's apparent plan. He didn't have to time to respond in any way other than to prepare to fire at the suspect. Blair quietly counted to three before slamming his right elbow into his captive's stomach. The man gasped in pain, releasing his hold on his hostage. Blair dropped to the ground before the man could recover. Jim, who had been listening for the murderer's heart to beat loudly, letting him know his friend was out of the way, fired his gun once. Almost at the same time he heard the other man's gun fire. Blair's voice cried out in pain, causing Jim's blood to run cold. 'I failed,' he thought.
He started to make his way carefully across the loft when the sound of running footsteps stopped him. Jim swung his gun around to train it on what should be the door if he wasn't turned around. The faint, familiar smell of cigar smoke that followed Simon Banks around where ever he went hit the detective's nose and he relaxed.
"Jim! Sandburg!" Simon yelled as he came to the room, automatically turning on the lights.
"Help me find Sandburg," Jim asked, stumbling into a sofa in his haste to find his friend.
"Over here," Blair's voice called.
Jim and Simon raced over to the young man. The Captain stopped only long enough to make sure that the man laying near the anthropologist was dead. He kicked the gun away before dropping down next to Jim.
"Are you all right?" Jim asked.
Blair, holding his arm nodded. "Yeah. God, it hurts, though."
Simon carefully pulled the man's bloody fingers away from his arm. Tearing the fabric of his shirt to give the dark man a better view of Blair's injury, he lightly probed the area around the wound. He pulled a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and carefully cleaned up the blood. When Blair hissed in pain, he said, "Sorry, Sandburg. You'll be happy to know it's just a flesh wound. You may not even need stitches."
"It still hurts," Blair grumbled.
"I could probably take care of this right here," Jim said.
"No way, man. You can't see what you're doing."
Simon turned surprised eyes from Blair to Jim. Seeing his detective standing in the middle of a room with his gun drawn and their suspect dead, he has assumed the man's vision was returning, that he could at least see shadows, something. "How did you kill him?"
Jim shook his head. "It's hard to explain. Blair helped, though. If he hadn't gotten away when he did that man would have probably killed us all when you came in. By the way, how did you know something was wrong up here?"
"Besides the gunshots?" Simon asked. "When I got here I checked on Sanders. He's dead."
Jim remembered the popping sound he heard earlier and cursed.
"Yeah." Helping Blair to his feet, Simon said, "Backup should be here any minute now. When they get here I'm going to take both of you to the hospital."
"Both? But Simon I'm fine."
"Humor me," Simon said, echoing the doctor's words from the day before. "I like to think I have some control over my detectives."
************
They had gone to a hotel for the rest of the night, Blair insisting they take Krys' dog with them. It had taken a lot of convincing and finally Simon had flashed his badge and thrown his weight around a bit but they finally found a place that would let them bring the dog. Both men staked out a bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.
The first thing Jim noticed when he woke up the next day was light streaming into the room. It was fuzzy and filled with blobs of black but it was still light. He rolled over to see if Blair was still sleeping and landed on a large, unyielding mass. Dog breath assailed his nose and a huge tongue caressed his face. "Sandburg!" he yelled, waking up the young man sleeping in the next bed.
"What?"
"Get this dog off of my bed!"
Blair started to laugh. Seeing the angry look on his friend's face made him laugh even harder. He grabbed the dog's collar and pulled him off the bed.
"How's your arm?"
"It hurts. How are your eyes?"
"I can see light."
Blair pounded Jim on the back. "That's great! See. The doctor said you'd get your sight back."
Jim nodded, stretching. They hadn't packed any clothing for their one night stay. Standing and quickly walking over to a nearby chair, Jim started pulling on the clothes he had worn the night before.
"When did Simon say he was going to pick us up?" Blair asked, also putting on his clothes.
"About nine."
The young man looked at the clock between the beds. "It's nine now. Did you hear the wake up call?"
Jim shook his head.
"Great. You call and ask for an eight a.m. wake up call and they don't follow through."
"It happens, Chief."
"Jim," Blair hesitantly said. "Do you think anyone will come to avenge that guy's death?"
Shaking his head, Jim replied, "That would be a mistake. No one knows what they look like. They'll probably just lay low for awhile and then find someone to replace their dead partner."
A knock at the door kept Blair from responding. Pulling his shirt over his head, he went to the door, opening it to let Simon in.
"You two ready to go?"
"Yeah. Jim's sight is coming back."
"Great," Simon said, gesturing impatiently for the two men to hurry up. He held the door for them as they exited the hotel room, Blair leading the Great Dane.
************
By the time Krys quietly knocked on their door the loft had been cleaned and Jim could see colors as well as light. If he focused on his vision he could see everything clearly but it gave him a headache. Finally confident in the doctor's prognosis, Jim stopped trying to force his sight to get better. He had even considered canceling his appointment with his doctor later in the afternoon but Blair was adamant about keeping it. He left the kitchen, where he was cleaning dishes, and let Krys into the loft.
"How's your vision?" she asked.
"It's coming back.
"Oh good." Looking around the apartment she asked, "Thanks for taking care of LD. Where is he? I went by my place and he wasn't there."
"Sandburg took him for a walk." He started to chuckle, remembering Blair's tales of curious females drawn to the dog and thus to him on their walk earlier in the day.
"What's so funny?"
"Blair may ask to walk your dog for you again. He seems to enjoy the added attention it brings him."
"I could let you keep him next time I go out of town," Krys said with a sly grin.
"No way," Jim replied. He motioned his neighbor over to the couches. They each sat on one and he explained, "I like having my bed to myself."
"What? Did he hog the bed?" Krys asked innocently.
"As a matter of fact, he did. And I could have done without his wake-up kiss."
"Wait a minute," Krys said, suddenly realizing what Jim meant. "Why did LD stay here last night?"
"Actually we stayed at a hotel."
"I just asked Blair to watch my dog. Not take him out for a night on the town."
"Let me explain." Jim preceded to tell Krys an edited tale about the previous night's excitement.
The End