Rating: PG-13

Category: Case Story/Drama

Series: 13^th in "Daedalus" series

Warnings: Spoilers for all other stories in the series. Caveat Lector for everything else. If you really want to know ahead of time, click HERE.

Notes: This series begins a week or so after "Murder 101" and continues through the fourth season, and beyond. This is the next-to-final chapter of the series.

Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own them, I'm just playing with them.

~*~

"The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist."

--Verbal Kint

~*~

From "The Cascade Times," Sunday, February 8, 2000:

DETECTIVE GUNNED DOWN; OPEN WAR ON CASCADE PD?

~*~

Friday, February 11, 2000

Jefferson Park was little more than a community garden, situated in a vacant lot between Second Street and Wilton Avenue. The lot had once been the location of a complex of low-rent apartments that had burned to the ground eleven years ago when the wiring system went up. The city had donated the block to the neighborhood, and a park had been cut out of the ashes of tragedy. Young trees clustered in the center and along the sidewalks. Several flower beds had been planted, and a small field had been left open for kids to play kickball on weekends. Stone benches sat beneath the street lights, white landmarks under casts of yellow light. A day-old coating of snow covered everything, marred only by the occasional trail of footprints.

Inspector Megan Connor approached the park with her service revolver held steadily at shoulder level, coming at it from Second Street. The row houses that lined the connecting streets were silent and dark at this time of night, a blessing for Connor. She didn't want any more innocent bystanders injured.

As she neared the park, she reconsidered her decision to not call for back-up. From the call she'd made, she knew that Ellison and Sandburg would be along eventually. She only hoped it was soon enough. She didn't have any reason to trust the man she was meeting at the park, only an instinct that told her to do as he asked.

She checked her watch. Ten after three, nearing the darkest hour of the morning. And if all went well, everything would be over before the sun rose.

Her eyes roamed over the park, studying shadows and out of the way spaces, seeking out anything that moved. She continued along Second Street, moving toward the alley that separated it from Chi-Ling's Laundry. At the far side of the park, near Wilton Avenue, she spotted the bench. And the figure sitting on it, facing away from her. Connor's hand tensed around the grip of her revolver, her finger twitching lightly against the trigger.

There.

The only sounds were the soft, steady clicking of her heels on the cement sidewalk, and the low, distance call of a police siren. She closed the distance between herself and the man on the bench, her gun never wavering, her grip never loosening. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs. Acid roiled in her stomach, complimenting the bitter adrenaline in her mouth.

Images flashed through her mind, too many to count or identify. Memories of the last year of her life; friends gained and lost; changes made for good and for bad. Damage done, but not forgotten.

Connor stopped, still fifty feet away, studying the man from behind. He was tall, broad shouldered, she could easily tell that from the distance. He wore a baseball cap on his head, hiding his hair color. A black cap, possibly Jags. No coat, which was odd for this time of winter. Just the same white shirt she'd caught a glimpse of earlier, as he'd fled from the apartment fire escape not five hours ago.

She continued forward, her revolver aimed at the back of his head. Any sudden movement, and she wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger and rid Cascade of a plague the CPD had been seeking to eradicate for months. She cut the distance in half, but the man still had not moved. He continued to face away, toward the street. White clouds of vapor puffed from his mouth, the only indication of life. Ten feet closer, she could see bits of red discoloring the left shoulder of his shirt. The red grew, reinforcing her suspicions that at least one of the rounds she'd shot off earlier had hit their intended target.

Less than five feet away, he still hadn't moved. The bullet wounds were plain to see now, one in the left shoulder and one low in his left hip. A shallow pool of blood had collected on the bench by his leg. The streetlight above cast a shadow across his face, already partially hidden by the cap. He still had not acknowledged her.

"Who are you?" Connor asked.

His head tilted slightly to the right, but he didn't reply. From the blood on his shirt and on the bench, she half-expected him to keel over right then and there.

She moved around so she stood directly in front of him, her gun leveled at his head. "Take off your hat and tell me who you are," she commanded.

Very slowly, his right hand rose from his lap and clutched the brim of the baseball cap. He hesitated then, for just a moment, before removing the cap and looking up. Right into Megan Connor's eyes.

~*~

FEBRUARY 11, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: DETECTIVE JAMES ELLISON, MAJOR CRIME

Q: Are you refusing to answer the question, Detective Ellison?

A: I've answered the question. Repeatedly, and I don't feel like repeating myself anymore.

Q: Okay, then let's move on to something else. Stanley Hawkins?

A: What about him?

Q: Capturing him was the turning point in your investigation into the Daedalus case, wasn't it?

A: I wouldn't say his capture, but you're right about the second part. And since you seem to have all the answers already, why are we going over this?

Q: Indulge me. Tell me about Hawkins.

~*~

Friday, January 21

Two weeks of dead ends were taking their toll.

Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg had spent the morning working with Harbor Patrol on the five bodies found in a fisherman's net the day before. All males between the ages of twenty-five and forty, shot once in the chest. Preliminary autopsies indicated they were dead before they went underwater about ten days ago. The Harbor Patrol was scouring the bay for any other evidence that may have been left behind.

Bloating and fish nibbling had made identification almost impossible. Add to that the little detail of their fingertips being soaked in acid, removing any chance of print matching. Rafe—back from a two week leave of absence—was helping them cross-match the bodies with recent missing persons reports. So far nothing.

Brown and Taggart were put on this morning's discovery of two bodies in a ditch. Both victims were male, in their late twenties, shot once in the chest and missing their fingerprints. The bodies had been found by a man whose dog had gotten off its leash. No witnesses and no leads.

Dead ends.

And the atmosphere in Major Crime was almost as chilling as the weather.

Since her return to duty last week, Megan Connor had been entirely focused on what was now dubbed "The Daedalus Project." The Operations room had been converted into a quasi-staging room. Files, records, autopsy reports, maps, newspaper clippings and every possible scrap of paper related to Daedalus and his peripheral cases -- all organized in that room. Major Crime as a whole was dedicated to finding Daedalus, but Connor had made it her primary goal. Nothing else seemed to matter to her.

When Jim and Blair entered Major Crime that afternoon, they found her at her own desk sorting through piles of mug shots. Blair offered a greeting that was met with a half-hearted wave.

The pair made their way through the bullpen, taking time to dump their keys and coats before heading down to the interrogation rooms. They found Simon Banks standing outside Room One, holding a mug of coffee.

"What's the emergency, Simon?" Jim asked.

Simon nodded his head at the plate glass window. Jim looked inside and saw a young man sitting at the table. He was around twenty-five with sandy blonde hair and wide, staring eyes. His fingers drummed against the fake wood tabletop.

"Who's that?" Blair asked.

Simon looked at them with a self-satisfied smirk. "Stanley Hawkins."

"Hawkins?" Jim echoed. He stared at Simon for a moment before the penny dropped. "Hawk? This is the guy that Sneaks told us about."

"Yes," Simon said. "And he turned himself in voluntarily."

"He did, did he?" Jim said. "Why?"

"Wouldn't say. He wants to talk to you."

"Me?" Jim asked.

Simon nodded. "And if Sneaks was right about this guy," he said, "He's got connections to Icharus and Daedalus. Tread softly on this one, Jim."

"Fine."

Simon took Blair into the next room to observe, while Jim barged into the interrogation room. Hawkins looked up expectantly, almost grinning when he saw Jim. Jim fixed him with a hard stare, crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

"You've got brass walking right into this station," Jim said icily.

Hawkins didn't shrink. He sat up straighter in his chair, his jaw set. "I've also got Icharus and Daedalus," Hawkins said. "And I can give them both to you gift-wrapped, Detective."

He had Jim's attention. "What can you tell me about them that I don't already know?" Jim asked, feigning disinterest.

"I've seen Icharus face to face," Hawkins said. "I can I.D. the bodies you've got in the morgue. I'll lay out the whole game plan. All I want is police protection and complete immunity."

Jim fixed Hawkins with a piercing gaze. "What makes you think I can get that for you?" he asked. "You did ask to talk to me, right?"

Hawkins watched Jim with a look akin to respect. "Because you almost caught me on more than one occasion, Detective," he replied. "You can get this done. You get your answers and I get a new life in a foreign country."

"How do I know you aren't going to set me up?" Jim asked. "You sing a little song, do a little dance. Next thing I know me and my friends are in the middle of unfriendly fire."

"March eighteenth, last year," Hawkins said. "You remember where you were, Detective?"

Jim's eyes narrowed. "A detective was killed that day," he said. "What do you know about it?"

"I know that Terrell Hill didn't kill Andrew Dills," Hawkins said calmly.

Jim bristled.

"I *know* that," Hawkins continued. "I know that because I saw Icharus shoot Dills. Then I was ordered to give Hill the gun that he'd used, setting up Hill for the fall."

Still Jim didn't respond. He was waiting for the punch line.

"You got an anonymous tip the next day," Hawkins said. "They told you that someone was going to die at the Red Piper that night."

"That was you," Jim said.

"Yes." Hawkins crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking Jim's pose. "But I killed Sam Moss and Robert Hill, under orders from Icharus. The two boys Hill shot, Arlos and Vassey, had nothing to do with it."

"Do you remember the names of everyone you've killed?" Jim asked sarcastically.

Hawkins fixed Jim with an even stare. "Don't you?"

Jim didn't reply.

*

"He's telling the truth, Simon," Jim said, pacing the width of the captain's office.

"Sure, he is," Simon said. "But he also just confessed to murder and conspiracy to murder. He'll never stand up in court, Jim."

"Doesn't matter," Connor said. "Daedalus won't make it to court."

Simon hit her with a hard glare. "I don't need to hear things like that, Inspector."

Megan shrugged it off. She looked across the conference table to Blair, who looked away.

"This is huge, Simon," Jim tried again. "You heard what Hawkins said. He's afraid for his life. He said that all the other…what did he call them?"

"Deputies," Blair filled in.

"All the other deputies that worked under Icharus are dead," Jim said. "Except Hawkins. With Daedalus leaving town, there's going to be a major shift in power on the streets. We've got a chance to stop it before it starts, and to find Daedalus."

"I know how important this chance is," Simon said. "Don't talk to me like I don't!"

Jim put his hands up and backed off. Connor, however, moved in.

"If Hawkins gives us a description of Icharus, we'll have it on the wire in a matter of hours," Megan said. "If this man once had some sort of secret identity, it'll be blown wide open. He may even try to come after Hawkins, which puts him on our playing field."

"This isn't just a bunch of career criminals we're talking about," Blair added. "Look what happened when we exposed White. There are probably dozens of other companies out there doing business with Daedalus, whether they know it or not. And if Hawkins isn't stringing us out, then this is happening in other cities, as well."

Simon rolled his head toward the ceiling, as if working out a kink. Then he flexed his shoulders and looked Jim in the eyes. "Make the deal, Jim. Hawkins stays locked up for now, and he gets nothing until we see results. Start with identifying those bodies."

"Yes, sir," Jim said.

~*~

FEBRUARY 11, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: BLAIR SANDBURG, DEPARTMENT CONSULTANT

Q: How is your shoulder feeling, Mr. Sandburg?

A: It tickles.

Q: There's no need for sarcasm, Mr. Sandburg. This doesn't have to be antagonistic. It was merely a polite question. You seemed uncomfortable.

A: Yeah, being shot does that to you. Sorry. Look, we've been doing this for an hour. It's been a really long night. I'm just getting a little punchy.

Q: We'll finish up this part and then take a break, okay? So back to Hawkins.

A: He was as good as his word. We got positive identifications on all of the John Does. He sat with a sketch artist and put together a rendering of the man called Icharus. Jim got that out the same hour. You've read the arrest reports for the next two days, you know how many people we brought in. Drug dealers, underground porn distributors, gang leaders.

Q: Most of their convictions are still pending.

A: Yeah, sad consequence of our modern criminal justice system. They sit in jail for two months before going to trial, while we run around thinking that just arresting them is enough.

Q: Is it enough for you, Mr. Sandburg?

A: It's all there is, isn't it?

Q: So two days went by. Let's talk about January 23 for a while. Tell me about the bomb.

~*~

Blair smelled the coffee half a beat before the well-deserved cut of Starbucks appeared on the corner of his desk. The sharp aroma was so familiar by now he could pick it out of a crowd from ten feet away. He looked up from the arrest report he was reading.

"Thanks, man," Blair said.

Jeremy grinned, balancing the cardboard carry-out box on his left hand as he made an elaborate gesture of service with his right. "It's the least I can do for the guys who keep me paying my rent on time," he replied. "Seriously, Sandburg, this was supposed to be a part-time thing to help pay for my photography classes. Never thought I'd be snapping for you guys twenty-four seven."

"Well, not to bust your bubble," Blair replied, "but I think Simon likes you because you don't turn green, throw up, or run away screaming from crime scenes."

Jeremy laughed. "That and I don't mind going on coffee runs during my down times," he added.

"That's definitely it," Blair said. He picked up his cup and sipped at the steaming liquid. He'd been on a steady diet of coffee and protein bars for the last forty-eight hours. There hadn't been time for anything else, save the occasional two hour nap.

"Don't they let you shave, man?" Jeremy asked.

Blair shrugged. "I haven't really looked in a mirror in two days," he replied. He put down his coffee cup and reached up to touch his chin. Sure enough, two days worth of growth prickled his fingertips.

"Well, the five o'clock shadow isn't your style," Jeremy added. He walked over to Jim's empty desk and deposited a cup. He put the last two on Rafe's and Brown's desks. "Usually everyone comes running when I bring coffee."

"Jim's in with Simon and Megan," Blair said. "Rafe and Brown are getting ready to pull a raid on a backdoor gambling operation in Chinatown. They're probably in Operations."

"It'll keep. Caffeine works the same hot or cold."

"Thank God for that."

Jeremy tossed the carry-out tray into a garbage can. "I'll be right back," he said. "That double-tall I drank on the way back is already banging at my bladder."

Blair chuckled, turning back to his paperwork. Most of the files he had on his desk would have be to photocopied and added to the Task Force files in Operations. It was amazing how much paper had accumulated so far for the Daedalus Project. The day they finally closed this case and filed it all away for good, they would need an entire filing cabinet just for Case #384B-332. It was the only case file that Blair knew both my official name, nickname and case number.

He picked up a stack of interview reports and turned left to leave the bullpen for the copier. A roaring sound filled his ears, drowning out the rest of his senses. He felt a dull pain in his ribs as he slammed against the corner of his desk. Then the vaguest sense of force, like being hit from the front. But it was that noise that hurt the most. It filled his ears, his head, his thoughts.

"Sandburg?"

Someone had him by the shoulders, was saying his name. Blair blinked hard, willing the noise to go away. He realized he was half-laying on his left side, covered in shattered glass fragments. Jim crouched over him, eyes wide.

"Chief, you okay?"

"What….?" Blair coughed. Was that smoke? And where did the glass come from? Someone was screaming.

"I don't know," Jim said. "But it looks like something exploded near Operations."

Blair struggled to sit up. "Brown and Rafe were in there," he said.

"Easy, Sandburg," Jim said. "They're both over there, they're fine."

Blair looked across the bullpen. Brown and Rafe both stood at the far entrance to the bullpen, gawking at the destruction. Blair exhaled sharply, then looked around. The blast had left a black, smoking hole where Operations had been. Plaster, wood and glass littered the ground. The glass windows that circled the bullpen along their side had blown inward. The emergency sprinklers kicked in, raining cold water down on the entire floor.

"Sandy, you okay?" Megan asked. She crouched down next to Jim, rivulets of water running down her face.

"I don't know," Blair replied. "Is anyone hurt?" He used the side of his desk and Jim's shoulder to stand. Glass fell off his clothes like snow.

"Someone get the paramedics up here now!"

Blair turned toward the voice. Joel Taggert was in the hallway just outside, amidst the rubble, kneeling next to something. Or someone. Blair took a step forward, but couldn't see who it was for the debris. But in amongst the smoking, wet plaster was an object he recognized. An object that made his vision blur just a bit.

Jeremy's camera.

~*~

FEBRUARY 11, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: CAPTAIN SIMON PHILIP BANKS, MAJOR CRIME

A: ….Jeremy Raines, a freelance crime scene photographer, and Officer Terrence Mabry, a foot patrolman. Both were walking past the office when it exploded.

Q: And it was determined that the explosion was a set charge, operated by remote control?

A: Yes. You keep asking questions you already know the answers to, Lieutenant. Wouldn't this go faster if you just repeated the story yourself?

Q: I prefer getting everyone's point of view on the events that led up to this morning's incident. I have another dead police officer on my hands, Captain. A lot of things led up to that and I need to know all of the details. You've led interrogations hundreds of times. You know the drill, sir.

A: Yes, I do. So let's get on with it.

Q: All right. January 26, the Cannery Sting. You found the location based on information acquired from Hawkins?

A: Tangentially, yes. One of the men we arrested because of Hawkins, a man named Tyrell, gave up more information in exchange for a reduced sentence. He gave us the address of the old Weiss Cannery, said that a store of black market automatic weapons was being stored there until they could be shipped to South America. We set up surveillance and planned a sting.

Q: And what of Hawkins?

A: By this time, he was in protective custody. We had him stashed in a guarded house outside of the city, in Greenbelt. He shouldn't have known about the Cannery, but he found out.

Q: And who is Bette Stabler?

A: According to her statement, she was Hawkins's cousin. Hawkins showed up at the sting because he somehow heard that Icharus was holding her.

Q: Of course you and your team were unaware of this when the operation went down.

A: We would have seriously altered our strategy if we'd known here was a hostage involved, yes.

~*~

Simon, Jim, and Connor held on tight as the van charge forward, breaking through the metal-linked gate that surrounded the defunct Weiss Cannery. It had been closed for the last ten years, after the owners filed bankruptcy. Eight hundred workers had been laid off that year, and the cannery had been closed up ever since.

The trio stood in the back of the lead van, with four members of SWAT, ready to climb out. Two more vans followed. The second carried Taggert and Brown and six SWAT; the third had Rafe and Sandburg and another six. Each van was to cover a specific entrance to the cannery, to prevent anyone from bolting with the merchandise they were here to recover. It was a good plan.

Too bad they somehow lost the element of surprise.

Simon, Jim and Connor led the charge on their door. The moment the last member of the SWAT team had cleared the van, gunfire erupted from above. They scattered, bolting for cover as automatic gunfire hailed down upon them. It echoed all around them, and more could be heard from all sides of the building.

Simon tried to get a look from his position behind a rusted out delivery truck, but couldn't get his head out far enough to see anything. Bullets pinged off the metal. Next to him, Connor was swearing furiously. Simon yanked his radio out of his pocket.

"All units, pull back!" he ordered. "Repeat, pull back!"

<"Copy that, Captain,"> Brown said.

<"We're pinned down, sir."> Rafe's voice betrayed an edge of panic. <"I don't know if--Blair!">

"Rafe!" Simon shouted. His stomach tightened as he waited for his detective to answer him. "Rafe, respond now!" Nothing. He looked up, trying to see where the rest of his unit was. He could see the SWAT team, and Connor was right there. Where had Jim gotten to?

*

Jim felt the draft of warm air on his face moments before he saw the vent grating. Years of rust had worn away the bolts and he had no trouble pulling it off. It didn't occur to him to tell Simon where he was going. He had to get inside and stop those gunmen on the roof before someone was hurt. Simon's voice squawked over the radio and Jim reached down to turn his off. The last thing he needed was his position given away.

He crept down the length of the vent shaft, biting his lower lip to keep from sneezing several times. Mold and grime covered the ground, each step he took tossing up the spores that tickled his nose. He dialed down his sense of smell and concentrated on his hearing. Footsteps shuffled above him and in front of him. He trekked through, coming to the end of the vent.

Through the grate, he could see an open room, probably the once a storage area. Equipment had been piled into one corner, machinery that could have been spare parts for the cannery. Dust and webs covered everything in fine mists of gray. This room obviously wasn't used by the men hiding weapons here. He pushed against the grate. It stuck.

Jim pushed harder and it squealed. He dialed his hearing back to normal levels and pushed again. This time the squeak didn't seem as loud. He managed to squeeze through and stepped out into the storage room. Only one door out and it was unlocked. Jim listened, but no one moved outside. He crept through, into a dark hallway, gun up to shoulder level.

The hallway ended at a stairwell. Jim poked his head inside, listening. The sounds of gunfire was louder here, and he could pinpoint the sources at about four stories up.

White hot dots blurred Jim's vision. His body stiffened, every muscle and sinew shrieking in agony. His free hand clenched into a claw, his other clamped down over the grip of his gun. A high-pitched squeal cut through his head like a blade. He grasped for the dials, but couldn't find them.

The numbing pain ceased, leaving a horrid tingling sensation behind. He fell to his knees, gun skittering across the floor. He heard scuffling, a grunt. Someone shoved past him, slamming through the stairwell door. Jim shook his head, trying to erase the ringing effect left behind. A hand touched his shoulder and Jim jerked backward.

"Take it easy, man!"

Stanley Hawkins knelt in front of him. His lower lip was split and oozing blood.

"What are you doing here?" Jim asked.

"Saving your life, it looks like," Hawkins replied. He held Jim's gun out to him. "Here, you dropped this. Now come on, that was Icharus."

Jim snatched the gun back. "You're supposed to be at the safe house, Hawkins," he snapped.

"Yeah, well, I'm here now," he replied. "And did you hear me? That guy that just tried to take you out from behind is the Lieutenant of this operation. Icharus, man!"

That finally sunk in for Jim. He stood up, but his equilibrium was off and he swayed. Hawkins reached out to steady him. Where was Sandburg when he needed him? Oh yeah, pinned down by gunfire from the roof of the Cannery.

Jim pushed open the stairwell door. Ascending footsteps echoed above, moving fast.

"Stay here," Jim said. He began taking the stairs two at a time, moving as fast as he could. He heard a muttered 'no way' behind him, and footsteps following. So much for keeping their prime witness in protective custody.

He raced up two flights of steps before the lingering effects of the tazer hit him again. His head spun around twice and he gripped the handrail to keep from falling. Hawkins raced past him. Jim reached out to stop him and missed. When the vertigo ceased, Hawkins was already a flight ahead. The footsteps preceding them both had stopped.

Jim started up again, but paused on the third floor landing. The distinct sound of automatic gunfire was behind that door. He opened it a crack and looked out. The door opened out into a catwalk that ran the length of the west side of the cannery. It overlooked the parking lot. Jim could see the distinct black sheen of one of the SWAT vans through the catwalk grate. The catwalk ran above him and below, multi-levels of access.

He raised his revolver and stepped out. No one to his immediate right or left. Jim crept down the right side, toward a curve in the catwalk. The gunfire erupted again, louder this time. Answering shots pinged off the metal wall of the cannery. As Jim walked, the muzzle of an M16-A2 came into view, very illegal outside of the Army. He held his breath and aimed. One more step forward. The gunman saw him in that instant and turned the automatic on Jim.

Jim squeezed the trigger and the gunman flew back against the catwalk, bright red blossoming in his left shoulder. Jim picked up the rifle and stepped over the wounded man, continuing on his way. He picked off three more gunmen, collecting the rifles as he went. Along the way he heard a shout of 'hold your fire!' from below that sounded like Brown.

The gunshots had nearly ceased by the time Jim finished his circuit of the catwalk. He'd left a pile of twelve M16-A2's a few yards behind -- their weight was too cumbersome -- and an assortment of both wounded and cuffed assailants. The PD teams were free to move around below now, but Jim knew that there was still another task left to him.

He grabbed his radio from his jacket and turned it back on. "Simon, it's Jim. I think I've gotten all the shooters, but Hawkins is inside somewhere."

<"How the hell did Hawkins know we were coming here?">

"Don't know, sir, but I last saw him heading toward the upper floors. He claimed that Icharus was here in person. I'm going to try and find them now."

<"Wait for back-up, Jim. Connor and Brown are on their way up with the SWAT team. I--damn! North side of the cannery, Jim! Up on the top level of the catwalk. I think I see them.">

Jim turned and ran the other way, listening for Hawkins' voice. He could see Simon's van below, and Simon himself standing near it, looking up. Jim leaned out over the railing, craning his neck to see up two more levels. At the very top, the catwalk extended over the ground to connect to the next building. Two levels below that catwalk was a conveyor belt, and below that was pavement.

He saw two figures on the catwalk extension. Hawkins hung over the rail, clinging to the bottom ledge of the catwalk. A second man hovered above him. Jim zeroed in on the pair with sight and sound, even as he moved closer. He raised his gun at the stranger. Hawkins had been right. The man Jim was looking at up close and personal with his Sentinel sight was the same man from the Icharus rendering their sketch artist had done two days earlier.

"…noble effort to save her, Hawk. And after all you did to attempt to ensure your own survival." While the face was unfamiliar, the voice of Icharus rang in his ears like an old friend. Jim just couldn't place it, not yet.

"Bette's safe, that's all that matters now," Hawkins replied, voice strained. Jim watched his fingers loosing their grip on the metal rail.

A pistol appeared in Icharus's hand. Jim tensed, focusing his aim on the man's chest. If he raised it….

"Your part in this little drama is over, Hawk. You should have died with your partner."

Icharus raised his gun. Jim squeezed his trigger. He watched the bullet strike Icharus in the throat, just above the breastbone. Icharus wheeled backwards, colliding with the back rail and tilting. Unable to balance, he toppled over and fell. He didn't scream. Jim didn't watch him hit the pavement, but the sound his body made echoed loudly in his sensitive ears.

Feet pounded across the catwalk extension. Two SWAT officers ran across the metal grid, toward Hawkins. Hawkins turned his head, looking right at Jim. He seemed to shrug, to say 'sorry, man,' and then let go.

~*~

FEBRUARY 11, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: BLAIR SANDBURG, DEPARTMENT CONSULTANT

A: Hawkins died on the way to the hospital. Joel found Bette tied up in the back of a delivery van. She was alive. Of course, all this is second hand, since I was in an ambulance while it was happening.

Q: No identification was ever made on the man called Icharus, is that correct?

A: Yeah, that's correct. The ME's van was run off the road and the body was taken on the way to the coroner's office. The couple of photos we had of him didn't yield any more results than the artist rendering did.

Q: In the days following--

A: I thought we were taking a break after this part.

Q: Do you need a break, Mr. Sandburg?

A: No, I want to get this over with.

Q: You returned to work January 30^th.

A: I tried to return, but you guys suspended my credentials. Cascade was getting more and more dangerous, and you gave my partner a rookie.

Q: Everyone was getting a rookie, Mr. Sandburg. We needed more police officers on the street and that was the only way to get them there. We were at war.

A: Yeah, I sort of remember that part. Gangs going at each other in broad daylight for a block of territory. Cops getting shot at in their cars. Tourism dropping off. I even remember the rumors of the governor sending in the National Guard to help out; although I still think that was just someone's idea of a bad joke. But more importantly, I remember the fear, Lieutenant.

Q: Another reason why civilian consultants were being released from duty.

A: Oh, I get it, believe me. The department was covering its own ass.

Q: You did get your credentials back, though.

A: Yeah, when I became useful again.

~*~

February arrived with a snowstorm that coated Cascade with three inches of powdery whiteness, making the entire city sparkle. It hid away the dark underbelly beneath a sheen of purity. But all snow eventually turned brown and yellow, from the dirt and mud that still remained below.

Blair tracked his way carefully across campus toward the Anthropology building, trying to keep to the less icy spots on the sidewalk. He'd returned to Rainier University yesterday as a temporary substitute for Professor Zaplan. It had taken a few stern words from Simon Banks to both the brass and the Dean to allow it. Blair had even been given his own shiny-new rookie to look after him on campus, in the guise of a Teaching Fellow. Too bad he wasn't here to carry Blair's stack of graded papers, courtesy of Zaplan. Balancing those, his backpack and a coffee was hard enough on a good day, but he was one arm down.

The sling was hiding under his winter coat, leaving his left sleeve dangling uselessly by his side. He almost slipped on the ice twice, but by some miracle, made it to his building. Snow melted into his hair and dripped down his face as he walked toward the classroom where the Modern Anthropology class was probably already waiting for him.

Sure enough, forty-five faces watched as he backed into the room, shoving the door open with his backside. His TF and temporary partner, a nice enough kid named Grant, rushed over to take his coffee and paper stack. Grant was twenty-three, half a foot taller than Blair, with short blonde hair and brown eyes. He also had a grating, eager-to-please smile that never seemed to go away.

"Sorry I'm late," Blair announced, dropping his backpack into a chair. "I didn't expect to wake up to snow this morning."

He shrugged out of his coat and heard a cacophony of muttered questions and comments the moment his sling was revealed. He had no intention of telling this class he'd been shot six days ago, but he also didn't want to lie to them. Some of the students he'd had in previous semesters knew that he worked with the CPD. He had used stories of his work there as class examples. But they didn't need to know just how dangerous it could be sometimes.

"Shoulder surgery, nothing major," he said, a confession by way of omission.

"How are the pain meds?" The shouted question came from the back row, probably from one of the basketball players.

Blair laughed. "Not quite figured out yet, which is why you'll be listening to your new Teaching Fellow today," he said. "Class, this is Grant Harper. He's working on his Master's degree is Anthropological Studies and will be with the class for part of the semester."

Grant stopped shuffling paperwork and waved at the class. He and Blair had talked briefly the day before, and again this morning, settling on his backstory. Blair hated lying to the class, but with Rainier a possible target for violence, the CPD needed officers both in uniform and undercover. It was a compromise on all sides.

"Good morning," Grant said, taking a step forward on the lecture platform. "Feel free to call me Grant. Mr. Harper was my father. I come to you from the sunny city of San Diego, California, by way of Mira Costa College. And while I'm certain that a majority of you are here to fill a Humanities credit, I'd urge anyone who finds this class even mildly engaging to consider Anthropology as their field of study."

Blair grinned as the free advertisement and settled into the chair behind the desk. He sipped his coffee, trying to ignore the throb in his shoulder.

"But we've only got an hour, and a lot of things to cover," Grant continued. "You should have noticed on your course syllabus that you have a paper due in three weeks." A chorus of groans greeted the reminder, and Grant laughed. "You're upset? I'm the one who will have to read and grade forty-five papers. Ten pages each, no less. So if anyone wants to start the bribes now, meet me after class."

Blair suppressed a guffaw of laughter. Grant was good. Very good. Disarming and engaging. If he was this good at undercover work, he would make one hell of an addition to Major Crime one day.

~*~

FEBRUARY 11, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: INSPECTOR MEGAN ELIZABETH CONNOR, MAJOR CRIME

Q: You were partnered with Lena Cortez, is that correct?

A: Yes, that's correct. We were assigned to a sector downtown that bordered the Rainier campus. Jim and Officer Ryan were nearest to us, assigned to the campus itself.

Q: To keep an eye on Blair Sandburg?

A: Partially, yes. Sandy is very dear to the department, even though most of the brass is slow to recognize his contributions. But also because the school was considered a turf border. It was being fought over, and we wanted to keep the violence away from the students. Things were getting tense on campus, there were rumors of classes being cancelled until things were sussed out.

Q: A public relations nightmare.

A: The last two months have been a PR nightmare for the police department, I'd say. Why do you think we're all cooperating with you?

Q: Cooperating?

A: Yes, cooperating. I don't suppose it's escaped your attention that Internal Affairs is pretty well hated by the department at large. I'm actually surprised that *you* are going along with this.

Q: I don't have much of a choice, do I, Inspector?

A: None of us do. Not when the Chief has a full house and all you've got is a high card.

Q: When did you first meet Grant Harper?

A: January thirty-first, the same day I was partnered with Lena. We were all there to meet the rookies. We got our first assignment the next day.

Q: Did you speak with Harper?

A: I introduced myself and told him to watch Sandy's back.

Q: Anything else?

A: I told him that if he had anything on the gangs that were fighting over the University to call me.

Q: Isn't it standard procedure to pass on that information to Captain Banks first?

A: Of course it is. But I suppose you noticed that I've been taking this entire case very personally. I wanted to know right away.

Q: And Harper agreed?

A: Yes.

Q: And he called you?

A: Yes, the evening of the next day. February first.

Q: Go on.

A: He said he'd met a girl named Gracie. She'd invited him to a party for grad students the next night, and he'd agreed to go.

Q: What made this party special? Why did Officer Harper feel compelled to attend?

A: Because he saw and recognized a tattoo on the girl. On the back of her neck, a black noose. It's the sign of the Hangmen, one of the gangs we suspected of wanting control of Rainier. He wanted to see if he could ingratiate himself, to get information. I told him to keep his head down and be careful. But he made a rookie's mistake.

Q: What's that?

A: He wasn't careful enough.

~*~

FEBRUARY 11, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: DETECTIVE JAMES ELLISON, MAJOR CRIME

Q: Your partner has a knack for getting into trouble, Detective.

A: Which partner would that be, Lieutenant? Officer Ryan?

Q: No, I'm referring to Mr. Sandburg.

A: Oh. Yeah, I've said that on occasion. He walks around with Murphy's Law surrounding him like a little bubble.

Q: On the night of February 2, you and Officer Ryan responded to an call on Glengarry Street. Heroine lab explosion, according to the official report. Tell me about that.

A: We got the call around four o'clock. The lab was in the basement of a boarded up storefront. The fire department couldn't save the building, and they lost two adjoining stores in the process. There was a witness, a man who owned a Korean grocery across the street, who said he saw a black car drive up and someone toss a Molotov cocktail through the front door. The Hangmen are the big smack movers in Cascade, so we assumed it was one of their labs. We just didn't know who had hit them. Ryan and I went to see a CI.

Q: Whose name is?

A: Nice try, but there's a reason they are confidential informants. I rat him out to you or anyone else, and I can kiss my inside info good-bye.

Q: Fair enough. This informant told you what?

A: That he kept hearing conflicting information about the Hangmen, the Carbines and the Hellriders. Everyone complaining about hits that the others didn't know about. The Hangmen were saying that the Hellriders blew up the lab, but the Hellriders denied it. Usually when this sort of thing happens, they jump at the chance to show their hand and take responsibility. His conclusion was that someone else was pulling the strings.

Q: And you believed him?

A: I've heard dumber theories than that, and we've seen it before. People behind the scenes, pulling the strings. Only we knew it wasn't Hawk or Icharus this time.

Q: What time did you get the call from Mr. Sandburg?

A: Around ten-thirty. Ryan and I were heading back to the office when Sandburg called. He said that Grant had been to a party hosted by some grad students, and a handful of Hangmen showed up. He said Grant had some information about a rumble and that they were meeting in Blair's office in ten minutes.

Q: And what did you do?

A: What the hell do you think I did? Ordered pizza? I turned around and headed for Rainier.

~*~

Blair fumbled with his keys, dropping them on the tile floor with a clatter that echoed loudly in the deserted corridor. Fortunately, the Anthro building wasn't locked up until eleven, so he still had a few minutes to meet Grant. He squatted down and picked up his keys.

The key turned easily in the lock. Too easily.

"That's weird," Blair muttered. He was sure he'd locked Zaplan's office after he left this afternoon. But he'd given Grant a key, so maybe he was already there.

He realized the flaw in that logic the moment he opened the office door. The light was off, the room bathed in darkness. A strange odor tickled his nose and he sneezed.

"Grant?"

Blair's hand reached out toward the wall and hit the light switch. The overhead florescent runner flickered to life, illuminating the room. The odor wasn't chased away by the light. But the shadows were, and he knew he was alone in the room. He took a step forward and his shoes slipped. He looked down. His stomach heaved. He was standing in a pool of blood. The pool ran out a few inches in front of him, but puddled backward under the door.

He turned around and pulled the door forward, as if to close it. Blair backpedaled, nearly slipping in the blood, stumbling backward until he hit the corner of Zaplan's desk. A chill spread a jagged pattern through his body. He bit hard on his lip to keep from throwing up.

Grant had been nailed to the wall by his wrists, suspended several inches from the floor. His throat had been cut, and his clothes were soaked through with the blood that hadn't made it to the floor.

Blair was frozen in place, unable to process what he was seeing. The graphic image of Grant, a young man with so much ahead of him, crucified on the office wall was almost too much. His vision blurred. He closed his eyes, willing himself to not pass out. Jim was on his way, he'd take care of it. But Blair knew he couldn't wait in the office, the smell was too much. He opened his eyes and bolted toward the door.

He slammed into someone just outside his office. "Oh, Jim, thank…" Blair looked up into the black-masked face and jerked. "Holy hell."

A fist slammed into his jaw, sending Blair sprawling backward. He hit the floor hard, jolting his wounded shoulder. The momentary flash of pain slowed his reaction time down. A heavy foot pressed down on his chest. His eyes watered as he stared up into the muzzle of a gun.

"This don't involve the cops," the masked man said. "You keep gettin' nosey, you keep gettin' your asses capped."

Blair had a brief, lucid moment to wonder how he'd pass along that message if he was dead. He heard the gunshot. The pain followed a moment later.

*

Jim heard the single report as he climbed out of his truck. He took off running toward the Anthropology building, circling around the fountain. He didn't bother to see if Ryan was following. He pulled his gun from its holster as he slammed through the main doors. He found himself running instinctively toward Blair's old office, and had to remind himself that he didn't work there anymore. He was using someone else's office.

He didn't have to search too hard to find the correct office. He smelled the metallic scent of blood before he even turned the corner, mixed with the sharp odor of gunpowder. A booted foot protruded from an open office door.

Two bodies were sprawled on the ground just inside of the office. A tall man dressed in black lay across Blair, enough to almost completely cover the smaller man. Neither moved. He saw a hole in the back of the tall man's neck. He crouched down and pulled him off of Blair. Jim grimaced at the jagged hole in the front of the man's throat. He let the body fall to the side.

Jim pressed his fingers against Blair's carotid, even though he could plainly hear his partner's heartbeat. Blair's face was pale, but he didn't appear to be injured. But where was all that blood from?

"Sandburg?" Jim said.

"Is he okay?" Officer Ryan asked.

Jim nodded. "Call it in, get us some back up out here," he said.

"Jim?"

He looked down, relief hitting him hard. Blair's eyes were open, panicked.

"You okay, Chief?" Jim asked.

Blair's head turned left. He saw the dead man and looked away immediately. If possible, paler than he'd been before. "I thought he was going to kill me," Blair said.

"Who shot him?" Jim asked.

Blair blinked. "Didn't you?"

"He was dead when I got here," Jim replied.

"Oh God," Blair said. "Grant's dead. He's behind the door, Jim." He leaned forward and Jim helped him sit up.

When he was certain Blair wouldn't topple over backward, Jim stood up and walked behind the door. The sight of the rookie officer nailed to the wall set his teeth on edge. His fists clenched by his sides. Had the dead man killed Grant? And if so, who had killed the killer?

"Jim."

He looked over at Blair. Blair held a playing card in his hand. A king of hearts. He could see writing on the edge of the card, and he zeroed in on that. An address, on the south side of town. 4530 Lafayette Avenue.

"Looks like your guardian angel left something behind," Jim said.

~*~

FEBRUARY 12, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: SERGEANT CHARLES LAWRENCE, PORTLAND PD

A: I came down here to help you make sense of all this, Lieutenant Brody, not to help you drag people's names through the proverbial mud.

Q: And I appreciate you making the trip, Sergeant. But I'm not asking you about your relationship with Detective Noble. I want to know about your conversation with Detective Ellison.

A: Which conversation?

Q: I was only aware of one.

A: We spoke briefly back in December, when he first made the connection to our case. But I take it you want to know about the conversation we had after David Noble's funeral.

Q: Yes.

A: Have you spoken to Detective Ellison about it?

Q: We've spoken at length, yes. But I've gotten his take on the conversation. Now I want yours.

A: I stopped by the station to offer my condolences to the Major Crime team. Detective Ellison and I spoke briefly over coffee.

Q: What did you speak about?

A: About a case that I'd worked on with Noble in Portland. We called it the Suicide King case, because of playing cards that were left behind at crime scenes. Ellison thought someone in Cascade was using the same MO.

Q: Not the same killer?

A: There was no way it could have been. We caught the man, Joe Stinton, and held him on seventeen counts of murder. He had a heart attack inside before he could go to trial.

Q: So you never convicted Joe Stinton of being your Suicide King.

A: No, but the case was closed and the matter dropped.

Q: Do you still believe that Stinton was your man? Now that you know what you know?

A: Right now I'm not sure what I believe. But I'm not going to reopen the case based on your evidence. I won't drag the families of the victims through that again.

Q: Most of his victims were killers and rapists, Sergeant.

A: Yes, but their family members weren't. Having a murderer for a son doesn't mean you deserve the grief of losing him to another murderer.

Q: That's a very interesting perspective.

A: One that's not always shared by my colleagues, believe me.

Q: So what did you think was going on in Cascade?

A: I thought it was a coincidence. That someone knew about our case and was using the same MO to either confuse the local police, which it did, or because they couldn't come up with anything creative on their own.

Q: What do you think now?

A: I think my opinions are irrelevant since we know now that the cases are related. And that Joe Stinton was a scapegoat for the real mastermind. The man you here call Daedalus.

~*~

Blair refused to be left behind when Jim headed for the address on the card. He was shaken up, yes. He was in a little pain, yes. But he was still part of the case and was going to see it to the end. He caught the time on the digital clock atop the Cascade Bank. 12:01, February 3rd.

Jim drove them through downtown, toward the south side. Jim said he knew the street, but not the particular address. The section of town was mostly low rent apartments and businesses. Not exactly a prime location for a rumble, if that was what was going on. Blair was convinced of it now, but Jim was less sure. Still, something was going on at that address.

Back-up was on the way. Simon and Connor were meeting them there with a slew of uniforms. Traffic was at a minimum at this time of night, so they were making good time across town. Each bump and bounce sent a fresh sting of pain through Blair's healing shoulder, but he kept it to himself. Nothing would keep him from seeing how this turned out.

The truck turned onto Lafayette Avenue at the 2400 block and began driving south. The street was quiet, most of the lights in the apartment buildings off. They passed several blocks of row homes, and drove through a string of small businesses. Several strip clubs and an adult bookstore were the most prominent signs still lit up.

"We're at least ten miles from Rainier, Jim," Blair said. "Seems like a strange place for a turf war, don't you think? It doesn't make sense."

"None of it makes sense anymore, Chief," Jim replied. "This whole case left sense about three exits back."

Blair watched a sign for the 4000 block pass. "Grant was just a kid."

"He knew the risks when he put on the badge," Jim said.

"That's a little cold, isn't it?" Blair asked, turning to look at Jim.

"Yeah, it is," Jim said. He shrugged, glancing toward Blair. "But it's all I've got for you, pal."

Blair nodded. He understood.

4530 Lafayette Avenue was, in fact, not a specific address. The entire 4500 block had been converted into a neighborhood playground. One section had a swing set, merry go round and monkey bars, all painted bright colors. Next to it was a fenced in basketball court. Picnic tables were set up under a pair of young trees. Street lights along the block perimeter cast enough light to see the entire length and width of the park.

And the park was empty.

Jim parked across the street. He and Blair leaned forward, looking out the windshield.

"I think we were played," Blair muttered.

"Maybe," Jim said. "The address didn't come with a time and date. Call Simon and tell them to hold back for a little while. We're going to wait here. See if anyone shows up."

*

Jim turned on the overhead light long enough to check the time on his watch. It was a few minutes after three a.m.. The light went back off, welcoming back the darkness. The truck's engine was still running, spitting out warm air to keep the pair from freezing. Another light snow had begun to fall, but Jim didn't dare turn on the wipers. He'd backed the truck into an alley facing the park, so that the exhaust from the tailpipe couldn't be seen. The windshield, however, was still very visible to any passersby. And was now almost completely covered over.

He relied on his hearing, listening for car engines or voices. It was possible that nothing would happen tonight. It was also possible that they'd been given the location as a decoy, to keep them across town. And the later into the morning the time stretched, the more he believed in the latter.

The voices were faint, at first, but grew steadily louder. Jim leaned forward, concentrating wholly on the voices. His hearing was already stretched out to its maximum. He turned off the truck's engine, grateful for the silence. In moments, he began to hear distinct words.

"They don't give it up, we'll bury 'em."

"It don't make good sense, though, man. Callin' us all out here like this."

Jim reeled his hearing back in. "Sandburg, call Simon," he said. "Tell him we've got some action, but to hold back for my signal."

Within minutes, dozens more voices had joined the first two. They came from different directions, in twos and threes, but they all merged together on the basketball court.

"What's going on, Jim?" Sandburg asked.

Jim listened, trying to make sense of the overlapping words. "There are at least three different leaders here, but no one's using names yet," he replied. "No one seems to know who called the meeting."

"That's weird, isn't it?"

Jim shook his head. "Not if someone is setting them all up, Chief."

There it was, on the very edge of his hearing -- the distinct click of a clip sliding backward, and a bullet locking into place.

Jim opened the door and stepped out into a swirl of snow and icy air. He lost the sound of the gun, and now switched his dependence to his eyesight. Something glinted from a rooftop on the other side of the park. He squinted through the heavy snowflakes, zeroing in on the scope of a rifle in the instant that it fired.

"Get back-up here now!" Jim shouted.

A mad fury of gunfire erupted from the basketball court. The thirty-odd people standing there in uneasy circles scattered, most of them drawing their own guns. People screamed, cursed, shouted for help. Jim tried to ignore that, concentrating on the gunman on the roof. He raised his service revolver and fired, watching his own bullet shatter the scope and enter the gunman's left eye. The body flew backward, out of sight.

Department cruisers and several unmarked cars squealed to a stop in front of Jim, blocking his path to the park. Simon, Connor and Taggert climbed out of cars and took cover behind doors as the men on the basketball court turned their weapons fire on the police. Jim joined them, but held his fire for a moment, trying to get a bead on what was happening.

Several bodies were sprawled on the cement court, the snow turning red around them. Most of the shouts were of anger and confusion. No one seemed to know who the enemy was. Two young men had dropped to their knees and tossed away their guns, waiting to either give up or be executed.

"This is the Cascade Police!" Simon's voice boomed over the hand-held megaphone. "Put your weapons down now!"

A handful complied and dropped to their knees. A majority continued to fire, turning completely against the police. Jim joined in the return fire, aiming to maim rather than kill. The CPD had the advantage with their cars as cover. The men in the basketball court were in the open, being picked off one by one. Less than five minutes passed from the inception of the gun battle until it ended. The last of the gang members were either wounded, or laying in the snow with their hands up in a gesture of surrender.

Jim led the charge forward, keeping his gun up and level. The odors of gun powder and blood were overpowering, and he dialed down his sense of smell.

"What the hell started all this, Jim?" Simon asked, approaching him from the left as they crossed the park.

"Someone on the roof over there," Jim replied, pointing. "No one here seemed to know what was going on before the shooting started. I think someone set them up. Got the major players of three gangs together to kill each other."

"But who?" Simon asked.

"I don't know, sir," Jim said. "But I'd start with identifying the man on the roof." His cell phone chimed. He fumbled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Ellison."

<"You got my message, Detective.">

An electronically filtered voice, but Jim bristled nonetheless. He knew who it was.

<"We lost the balance of power in Cascade. But one way or another, this war will end.">

The call ended as abruptly as it began, and Jim closed his phone. Had Daedalus set this slaughter up, or had he warned Jim so he could stop it? Was he working against the Cascade Police? Or for them?

~*~

FEBRUARY 12, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: DETECTIVE JAMES ELLISON, MAJOR CRIME

Q: Did you recognize the voice on the telephone?

A: I already said I didn't. It was filtered. There was no way to recognize it.

Q: And after that night things tapered off a little?

A: If by 'things' you mean gang activity, then yes. Crime rates dropped back to normal, but you could feel something in the air. On the streets. Our informants didn't want to talk to us. Some of them skipped town. But the all-out war against the police seemed to stop. The rookies were transferred back to their standard assignments.

Q: You requested and studied case files from Portland, on Joseph Stinton, is that correct?

A: Yes, that's correct.

Q: What were your conclusions?

A: All of the evidence against Stinton was circumstantial, even if there was plenty of it. Lawrence and Noble put together a good case with the D.A., but no one ever saw Stinton commit the murders. There was no DNA evidence linking him to the crimes. Stinton died before he ever went to trial.

Q: But what was your conclusion, Detective.

A: Stinton felt like a scapegoat. A lot of things about Portland starting feeling…off.

~*~

The steady bang of hammers slamming nails into place had been a part of the standard bustle of the Major Crime bullpen for the last six days. Megan was eager to see the evidence of the bombing disappear from the sixth floor for good, but the cracks, clangs and bangs of the builders were stretching her nerves to the snapping point. Unfortunately, with Operations gone, the bullpen was the only place left to work.

She shuffled through the stack of case files that had been Fed Ex-ed in from Portland, picking one at random to read. All seventeen of the murders pinned on Joseph Stinton, and thirty-seven more files that were tangentially connected. The Portland Suicide King's M.O. was so close to that of Cascade's Daedalus, she was certain they were somehow connected.

The file she picked was the thinnest of the stack. Jennifer Stevens, aged 34. Arrested June 4, 1995 for the murder of her live-in boyfriend and business partner, Ronald Jeffries. Acquitted in October. Found dead in her home, November 7, after chasing a bottle of sleeping pills with a bottle of wine. Ruled a suicide.

The case had been originally part of the case against Stinton, but the suicide ruling held up too strongly against scrutiny. Megan picked up one of the crime scene photographs, a far away angle of the bedroom where Jennifer's body had been found. A black marker had circled something in the bottom corner, almost out of frame. Megan peered through a magnifying glass at the circled area. The corner of a playing card - king of hearts.

A quick search through six more of the files found similar things circled on crime scene photos. Some had been part of the case against Stinton, others were not.

"Inspector Connor?"

She looked up. A uniform she didn't know stood by her desk with a package.

"This was mixed up with Vice's mail," the officer explained, handing her a white Federal Express envelope.

"Thank you," Megan replied.

She took the envelope with a dismissive nod and ripped open the perforation strip. A thick file slipped out onto her desk. Seeing it almost made her smile. It was the file she'd been waiting for since last week. It must have gotten well and truly mixed up to have taken this long to get to her desk. She opened the front cover to a photograph of a familiar face. She'd seen the woman's picture many times in David's apartment, both before and after they were together. She had never begrudged David his memory of Emily Tabitha Frank, and she hated that she had to dig into that memory now that he was gone. It felt like a betrayal.

She read the file anyway. Everything was the way David had once described it to her. April 19, 1995, found dead in their shared apartment, her throat cut.

Megan almost breezed over the coroner's report, but something caught her eye. She read it more closely. Her heart thudded. The laceration on her throat had been made post-mortem, according to the ME's official findings. The official cause of death was anaphylactic shock brought on by exposure to South Sea Conch venom.

She closed her eyes, trying to allow her thoughts to process. David had never mentioned personal experience with that venom, not once last year. It was possible that he'd never read the official ME report, but she highly doubted that. Why keep it a secret? Someone had murdered his girlfriend using the same toxin that was being imported by White Industries, and being sold around Cascade.

Megan continued to look through the file, but there was nothing useful. It was still an open case, because Tucker Dodds had never been found. His file wasn't included, and that frustrated her beyond words. She'd been told when she had requested it that the file was sealed. When she finally broke through the mountain of red tape surrounding it, she was told that the file wasn't even in their records room anymore. It had been removed. No one seemed to know when or by whom.

She sagged against the back of her desk chair, more confused that she had been five minutes ago. She tossed the file onto the stack on her desk. Several of the pictures inside fell out and skittered across the floor. Megan sighed and bent down to pick them up. Crime scene photos she really didn't want to see. One of them didn't fit. It was a smaller picture, from a mug shot book. She held it up, studying the face. A narrow chin, dark eyes, mustache, bald. The name spelled out on the board, in little while letters, was TUCKER DODDS.

Megan checked the back. It wasn't an official mug shot, it was a copy. Who had put it into Emily's file? That question was pushed into the background the longer she stared at the man's face. He seemed familiar somehow. She was positive they'd never met, but that didn't quell the sense of identity.

She pulled open her top desk drawer and looked inside. She kept a snapshot in there, taken during Sandy's graduation party last December. She and David, dancing in the loft. He'd just told her a joke and they were both laughing. Jeremy had snapped it, if she recalled correctly.

"Who has that file, Boomer?" she whispered.

She thought back to their own stacks of files, the ones that had been destroyed in the Operations Room explosion. Cases that were joined by one factor - a king of hearts playing card. There had been a timeline written out on a white erase board, listing the Cascade cases in order of occurrence. It hadn't started with Rolph Kroeger, but he'd been one of the first. David Noble had come to Major Crime during that case, a true turning point in Megan's life. He'd left Portland just after Stinton's death, which came only weeks after Emily Frank's murder.

Had he really been trying to leave things behind and start over, as he'd said? Or had he followed someone to Cascade? The man he believed was really the "Suicide King," or the man they now called "Daedalus."

Megan slammed the desk drawer closed. She grabbed her car keys and stood up, snagging her jacket on her way out of the bullpen.

*

They hadn't been certain what to do with David's belongings after his death. He had no family that they could find, but Megan had hesitated to donate everything. She had put it in storage, at one of those U-Lock places, telling herself that she'd go through it all one day soon. One day soon had turned into three weeks. Today seemed as good a day as any to get started.

She parked in front of number 234. It was the size of a one-car garage, with climate controls and a lifting door. Snow crunched lightly under her feet. The owners had apparently not gotten around to shoveling after the last snowfall. The warm temperatures were something that she well and truly missed about Sydney. Cascade seemed to have nothing but endless varieties of rain and snow and fog.

She slipped the key into the lock and turned. There was a little resistance, then it popped open. She put the key back into her pocket and pulled up on the door. It squealed on its hinges, and seemed to echo more loudly than it should.

When she looked inside the storage shed, she realized why -- it was empty.

~*~

FEBRUARY 12, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: WALTER CHARLES PETRIE, AKA TUSK

Q: You were arrested on February 6, for possession of narcotics.

A: Yeah.

Q: The arresting officer, Inspector Connor, found you with fifty kilos of cocaine in the trunk of your car. What were you planning on doing with that much coke?

A: Man, I already answered these questions last week. I thought I was here to talk about Daedalus.

Q: We're getting to that, Mr. Petrie.

A: Tusk.

Q: Tusk, then. Where did you get the cocaine?

A: At the meeting. It was an incentive to agree to the new terms.

Q: Tell me about that meeting.

A: Daedalus called it, day before I got pinched. He wanted all of the gang leaders together, plus a few old dudes I didn't know. Probably his legit help. He said just because he was leavin' town, that didn't mean there had to be disorder on the streets. Made a good case, too. Divided up our territories nice and fair. Everyone got incentives. He knew my trade, so I got the coke.

Q: Did you ever see Daedalus face to face?

A: Naw, man, he never shows his face. But he ain't got his Lieutenant anymore, neither. He talked through a little box, like that dude in the angels show. Charlie?

Q: How did you know you were speaking with the actual Daedalus?

A: Didn't. But no one else coulda gotten all those people in one room together.

Q: What was the next step?

A: Business as usual. He said he was leavin' town the next week, but he'd have eyes on us.

Q: Eyes?

A: Spyin' and shit. The man knows things. That's why he's so good at what he does.

Q: You might want to check your verb tenses, Mr. Tusk. The last time I checked, Daedalus was dead.

A: Then what are we still talkin' about?

Q: The deal you made with Detective Ellison. Information for immunity.

~*~

Getting a good turn for Tusk had been one of the hardest deals Jim had ever had to put together. Complete immunity was something that was very rarely given out by the District Attorney, and convincing him that this was worth his time was a task worthy of Sisyphus. Then again, pushing that boulder uphill for all eternity could seem easy by comparison. Once they had the deal in place, Tusk started talking.

Five hours of talking, no less. And it had gotten them to one of the few places in Cascade that Jim had never wanted to see again. The defunct Edward James Jones High School gymnasium. He'd been here once before, nearly a month ago. The yellow police line tape had been torn down, but the CONDEMNED sign across the entrance still remained. The same scuffed basketball court, with a faded Hornet mascot. The mountains of pallets and rotting classroom furniture.

If Tusk was right about one thing in his statement, then at least thirty people had been in this room in the last forty-eight hours. As Jim led the way across the gymnasium, he could smell a swarm of aftershaves and colognes and deodorants, remnants of the gathering. The area of the floor that had once been swept clean was now freshly polished. Someone wanted to make a good impression.

He stopped in the center of the gym and looked over his shoulder. Brown and Connor were bringing up the rear with the uniforms. They had managed to get out here without Rafe, but God knew Connor didn't need to be here, either. She stood next to Brown, waiting for Jim's orders. If one good thing had come out of revealing his senses to his friends, it was this. They would wait, let him listen or smell or look, without interrupting or questioning his sanity.

He'd known right away that no ambush was waiting for them. At least not in the form of men with guns. But there was likely to be evidence in abundance left behind, of all the men and women who had come to this supposed meeting.

"Let's get Forensics in here," Jim said. "I want this place swept top to bottom." He almost added 'again' to that statement, but held it back. Given its history, this gym well and truly creeped him out.

Jim continued to walk across the gym, drawn by a draft of cool air. Something was open over by the coach's office, a door or something. He could barely see through the grime covering the glass partition. He tried the knob, but it didn't move. He drew back and kicked, knocking the old door completely off its hinge. Cool fresh air puffed out at him and he sneezed.

"Find anything?" Connor asked. She appeared by his shoulder, gazing past him into the office.

"Maybe," Jim replied. He let his eyes adjust to the dim light and stepped inside. All around him were boxes. File-sized boxes, like the ones used in the paperwork morgue, where reports were filed away long before the days of computers and electronic storage.

Jim used the muzzle of his gun to lift one of the lids. Inside were stacks of news papers. "The New York Times." The top one was dated July 3, 1992.

"What is all this?" she asked. She peered into a box. "Newspapers from Atlanta and Miami. That box over there has what looks like ledgers of some sort."

Jim opened another box and pulled out a thick, rubber band-bound manila envelop. He pulled off the rubber band and leafed through the papers inside. "These look like shipping receipts from a trucking company," he said. "Denithor Shipping. Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Jim, why didn't we find all this before?" Connor asked. "When you were hear the last time."

"I don't think it was here," Jim replied. He sniffed the air. "They haven't had a chance to absorb the odor of the room. And the boxes are clean, not dusty. Someone put them here pretty recently."

"Planted for us to find?" she asked.

"Maybe," he said. "But that doesn't make sense."

"Nothing about this case makes sense," Connor said.

"I can't argue with that." Jim moved to another box and raised the lid. He dropped it again and glanced at Connor. She was busy with another box, sifting through what looked like more receipts. He looked at the box again, wondering just what to do about it.

The sharp odor of sulphur tingled his nose and Jim froze.

"Jim?"

He didn't see where it began, but the flash of fire shot across the floor of the gymnasium right in front of the office door. Jim took a startled step backward, slamming into Connor. The heat leapt toward them. Somewhere nearby he heard the sound of an explosion.

He dashed toward the door, trying to see past the high wall of flames that had them trapped. Brown and the other officers were cut off, even as more fires sprung up around them.

"He set us up!" Connor said.

"We have to jump through," Jim said.

"Are you nuts?"

"Do you have a better idea?" The office had no outer windows, no other exits. Just the door and the fire.

"Not really," she replied.

"Go!"

Connor gave him a baleful look, then took a step backward. She ran and leapt, graceful as a deer, and landed on the other side of the flames. When she moved out of the way, Jim moved into position.

He paused for a moment. He grabbed the last box he'd looked at, too curious about the meaning of the things inside to leave them behind to be destroyed. Holding it as tightly as he could, he dialed down his sense of touch and backed up. He raced forward and sprang up and over. He landed and his knees buckled, but he remained upright. Connor grabbed his arm and they ran.

~*~

FEBRUARY 12, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: INSPECTOR MEGAN ELIZABETH CONNOR, MAJOR CRIME

A: It took almost six hours for the fire department to control the blaze. We weren't hopeful that we'd find anything once it was put out. It's likely all of that was put there to be destroyed. We just happened along at the right time.

Q: The right time?

A: If you look at it from my perspective, yes. The box that Jim pulled out of the fire is what gave us the advantage. It helped us end this.

Q: When did you first open the box?

A: Outside, by the car, while we waited for the fire department. It was like looking at a scrapbook of yourself. Of myself, I should say. There were press clippings of my cases in Cascade, and even a few from Sydney. My home address, surveillance photos of my apartment. Someone had been watching me, and we had a pretty good idea who.

Q: What did you do when you saw all of this in the box, Inspector?

A: Had a nutty for about two minutes. Then I got angry. Very angry.

Q: What angered you about it?

A: What do you think, Lieutenant? The clear invasion of privacy? The fact that someone had been watching me for over a year? The photographs of Rolph Kroeger, dated the day we found him dead? Pictures of me with my friends, at work, with….with David.

Q: Do you need another break, Inspector?

A: No, I believe we're almost finished. And the best part of the story is coming up, isn't it?

Q: Detective Ellison told me that he believed the evidence in the box supported his theory about Daedalus.

A: Jim had a lot of theories about Daedalus. We all did. But if you mean the Theory of Me, then you're correct. After we went back to the precinct, we began going over our cases again. We found the inconsistencies, that dated all the way back to Kroger's death. Conveniences in finding evidence, in confessions. I was proud of my arrest record, but now it was starting to seem…easy.

Q: Like someone had been pulling the strings.

A: Yes. And then Rafe came into the bullpen after taking more of Tusk's statement, absolutely furious. Tusk had repeated a rumor to him, about Tracey and David's murders. We had already suspected that White ordered the….the hit, but what we didn't know is that he'd originally wanted Rafe and me dead. The rumor was that Daedalus refused.

Q: That couldn't just have been that he didn't want the deaths of two police detectives on his hands?

A: Possibly, but at the time, it fit perfectly into our Theory. That he agreed to a compromise. To kill not just any police detective, but the one I was sleeping with. I didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was just…there.

Q: What did you do next?

A: We took what we had to Captain Banks. He wanted to know how we could use that information against Daedalus. I didn't know, but Jim had a plan. As always. He looked at me and asked if I trusted him.

Q: And what did you say?

A: With my life.

~*~

Simon Banks always used the same argument with Daryl whenever his son insisted on becoming a police officer like his father. That it was dangerous work for not a lot of pay. At times, it was dangerous work that Simon would never want to give up. On the good days, you went home and felt like you'd accomplished something. Made the streets safer for kids, put a killer behind bars, kept drugs off the playground. Those were the good days.

It was on days like today, when the odds were against you but you laid down your hand anyway, that he agreed the most with his original statement. Sometimes it just wasn't worth it.

He stood by Jerry's Newsstand, waiting for Connor to pay for her coffee. Today's paper, February 8, had one banner headline. DOWNTOWN BLAZE STUMPS FIREFIGHTERS. Someone had leaked it to the papers that the Fire Inspector's office was having a tough time identifying the material that had caused the old gymnasium to burn like it had. Jim had suspected jet fuel, but that hadn't panned out. And for once, Simon's best detective was willing to leave the arson investigation to the Fire Inspector. Jim had enough on his plate.

Simon picked up the "Times," just once wishing to see a happy headline on the front page. But that didn't sell papers, did it? Death, murder, mayhem, that sold papers. It also gave Simon gray hair and the beginnings of an ulcer. Another reason he was foregoing coffee with Connor that morning. He'd left his bottle of Tums at home and didn't want to upset his stomach worse than it already was. Stress did that to him.

Connor wandered over, blowing on the lip of her cup lid. Her breath puffed out in white clouds of vapor.

"Thinking about tomorrow's headline?" she asked.

"You could say that," Simon replied. "Headlines are almost always bad news, did you ever notice that?"

"It gets people's attention," she said.

Simon shrugged. "So what does that say about us as people?" he asked.

"That we have short attention spans," she said. "And we prefer to read about the misery of other people, rather than have to experience it for ourselves."

"When did you get so wise?"

Connor smiled. "When I started experiencing the misery for myself, I suppose," she replied.

"Connor--"

"Hey, no worries, right?" She turned and started walking back toward the precinct, taking careful steps on the still-icy sidewalk. Another light snow had fallen overnight, and the city was having trouble keeping up.

"How can I not worry?" he asked. He caught up in several long strides, keeping pace next to her.

She stopped and turned to face him, her back to the street. "Simon, I could have gone back to Sydney at anytime during all of this, but I haven't," she said. Her jaw jutted out stubbornly, a trait he'd thought he would only see in Jim. Apparently she had picked it up. "I believe in this case and am going to see it through, no matter to what end."

"I know that," he said. "I just…"

He heard the squeal of tires nearby, and his expression blanked out, much the way he imagined Jim's had a thousand times in the past when he heard something no one else did. But Simon knew this sort of sound, he'd heard it dozens of times in his life. He looked over Connor's shoulder, at the four lanes of mid-morning traffic. A dark green Probe sped toward them, it's passenger window rolling down.

The shock of the actual moment slowed his reaction time down by a few seconds. As the car passed in front of them, Simon saw the muzzle of the gun. He grabbed Connor by the shoulder, pulling them both to the sidewalk as bullets peppered the building where they had just been standing. He covered her head with his arms, the icy cold cement leaking through his jacket as he lay there.

The moment the gunfire stopped, he leapt to his feet and ran out into the street, drawing his own service revolver. But the Probe had already turned a corner out of sight.

"Dammit!" Simon shouted.

Someone screamed. Simon pivoted. Connor still lay on the ground where she'd fallen, eyes closed. A patch of crimson seeped out from beneath her left arm, staining the grayish snow a bright red.

Simon pulled out his cell phone as he ran back, dropping to his knees next to Connor while he dialed. Dispatch picked up right away.

"This is Captain Banks," he said. "I need an ambulance and back-up on the corner of Gramercy and Pender. I have an officer down."

~*~

FEBRUARY 12, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: BLAIR SANDBURG, DEPARTMENT CONSULTANT

Q: That was an enormous gamble you took with Inspector Connor's life. Not to mention the possibility of injury to bystanders.

A: Everyone knew the risks going in. It was debated for hours, believe me, I was there. But Megan was taking the biggest risk of anyone and she was willing to do it. We picked that newsstand because it was relatively quiet at that hour of the morning. Simon wanted as few people to be there as possible.

Q: One witness is a case, two witnesses are an opinion.

A: Something like that.

Q: It was widely broadcast that a police detective had been shot, but when it was announced that they had died, no name was released right away.

A: Part of the plan. The department won't release names until the next of kin has been notified. We had called Megan's boss in Sydney so he could keep Megan's father busy for a few days. All we needed was for Daedalus to think she was dead. There was no reason to tell the whole city.

Q: Especially considering she wasn't dead.

A: Yeah.

Q: Who else knew, besides yourself, Captain Banks, and Detective Ellison?

A: No one else. Not at first. We had to have believable reactions. Trust me, the others are still pissed off at us for not telling them right away.

Q: When did you tell them?

A: When we were sure that Daedalus had taken the bait. The story on the street was that we'd released Tusk, insufficient evidence to hold him. But he supposedly lost a lot of money from the arrest, and wanted payback on Megan. We needed Daedalus to come after Tusk.

Q: You put a protected witness in danger.

A: He volunteered, Lieutenant. He seemed to believe that once Daedalus found out that he'd ratted him out, leaving town or not, he'd be a dead man. Getting Daedalus first was the safer road.

Q: And Daedalus took the bait?

A: Obviously.

Q: Mr. Sandburg--

A: Sorry. Yes, he took the bait, eventually. One of Jim's informants said it was all over the streets that Daedalus had one more job before leaving town at the end of the week. No one would say what, but we took the chance and staked out Tusk's apartment. We brought in Brown, Rafe and Taggert, and told them about Megan. Everyone took rotating shifts around the clock in an apartment across the alley. We had a good view of three windows and the fire escape.

Q: Was Inspector Connor part of the surveillance?

A: Yes, she stayed at the stakeout full time.

Q: How long is full-time?

A: Forty-eight hours. We sat on the apartment for nearly two whole days. Simon was getting antsy, Megan was getting angry, and we were running out of time.

Q: And on the evening of February 10?

A: The shit hit the fan. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

~*~

Megan shifted in the hard wood chair, trying to get some feeling back into her rear end. She'd been sitting in the same chair for the better part of fifty hours, give or take time for sleep and bathroom breaks. She had eaten her meals, spoken on the phone and written progress reports from that chair, positioned just two feet from the window that looked directly into the fire escape of Tusk's building. The alley was a good fifteen feet wide, but not too wide that she couldn't look out without the aide of binoculars. She preferred her own eyes, anyway. A streetlight at the end of the block cast beams of pale blue light through the alley, but not into the darkened apartment room.

She crumpled up a hamburger wrapper and dropped it over her shoulder. She heard the familiar crinkle as it hit the waste basket there, already overflowing with take-out boxes and Styrofoam coffee cups. Thank God for a natural metabolism, or this stakeout would have had her up two sizes.

She glanced at the clock on their recording equipment. 10:43. February 10^th, another Thursday come and almost gone. As she stared, the last number on the clock changed to a 4. Doubts had begun to creep in on her, doubts about their theories and the plan to capture Daedalus. Manpower wasted here, that could have been spent on another method of pursuit.

The bedroom door creaked open. Jim walked in with two cups of coffee in his hands.

"Should I bother asking?"

"Nothing," Megan replied. She took the coffee gratefully, inhaling the aroma. If nothing else, her stay in the Pacific Northwest had certainly increased her appreciation for a good cup of coffee. The local gas station brand wasn't exactly high on her list of "good" coffee, but it was tolerable. And it reminded her that she'd had much worse during her tenure as a police officer.

"You don't have to stare at it all night long, you know," Jim said. He walked over and sat down in a chair opposite hers. "We rigged the windows and door with a silent alarm."

"I know," she replied, as she had done last night when he'd said the same thing. "What is so special about me, Jim?"

"What?"

Megan shrugged. "What makes me so special that it makes someone hurt so many people because of me? The truth?"

He didn't answer right away. "You know you're going to get a biased answer, right?" he asked. "Because we're friends, Connor. So I can tell you why I'd go after someone who tried to hurt you. Like I'm doing now. But I can't tell you why a stranger would do that."

"I suppose for the same reason stalkers go after celebrities," she said. "They're insane."

"Some are, but I don't think our guy is insane," Jim said. "I think he's meticulous, calculating and bold. I also think he's got a very unhealthy crush on one of my best friends and I don't like it."

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I suppose this all could be much stranger," she said.

"How's that?"

"He could have had a very unhealthy crush on Sandy."

Jim stared at her for a split second, and then laughed. Megan allowed herself a true smile and almost laughed, too.

"Yeah, well Sandburg has had his own stalker issues in the past, believe me," Jim said. "Did you hear the story about…."

As he trailed off, that look appeared. The look he always got when he was listening to something she couldn't hear. It was as familiar now as it had been disturbing then. On a hunch, she looked toward the window. Jim's head pivoted at the same moment.

A figure crouched on the fire escape across the alley. A dark, ankle-length coat hid the person's build pretty well, and a hat was pulled low over their face. But even from behind, Megan was certain about who it was. The window to the other apartment was open, but the man wasn't going inside. He pulled something from his pocket - an aerosol spray.

"Damn," Jim muttered. He fumbled for something. "It's Ellison. We've got movement on the fire escape. Back-up units, prepare to move in."

The man sprayed a fine mist across the window. From the angle, Megan couldn't see the red alarm beams appear, but she was certain that he could. The can went back into the coat. Megan's hand went absently to her shoulder holster and she pulled her service revolver. The man didn't move for nearly a full minute. Megan's heart pounded loudly in her ears as she waited for something to happen.

The man's head turned toward them, his face still hidden in shadow. But for the darkness, he seemed to look directly at them. The moment seemed suspended in time.

And then he bolted, climbing up the fire escape steps two at a time.

"Move in now!" Jim shouted into his radio.

Megan leaned out the window, gun raised. "Cascade Police!" she shouted. "Freeze!"

The man didn't stop his ascension, but found the time to pull a pistol from his coat. Megan ducked back inside as bullets struck the glass above her head, shattering it out. Seconds after it stopped, she leaned back out and fired. Her own bullets pinged off the metal fire escape and the brick of the building. The man faltered once, but didn't stop. Megan held her breath and took careful aim, following him up. As he reached the top of the fire escape and swung one leg over onto the roof, Megan fired.

She watched him pitch forward, onto the roof of the building. "Got him," she hissed.

*

Megan stared at the smear of blood on the roof gravel near the fire escape. Less than sixty seconds to get from their building to the roof of this one, and he was already gone. She knew she'd shot him, that was evidenced by the fresh blood on the ground where he had fallen. But there was no sign of him on the roof, or any of the surrounding structures.

"Search the building, every apartment," Simon said. He gave his orders from near the roof access door, addressing a trio of uniformed officers. They nodded and went back downstairs.

Jim already had units searching the streets in a five block radius. If that had really been Daedalus, and he was injured, he wouldn't get far. Hospitals and clinics were being notified, patrol cars were alerted. The gamble had paid off, but it had also failed. Daedalus was not yet in custody.

"Get some of that blood to the lab ASAP," Simon gruffed. "I want a full DNA analysis."

"On it, Captain," Serena Chang replied. She led her forensics team to where Megan stood. It took her a moment before she realize whom she was looking at. "Inspector?"

"Alive and well," Megan said. "We need to know whom this blood belongs to."

"You'll have it as soon as I do," Serena replied.

"Thanks."

Megan walked away, hugging her arms more tightly around her chest. The winter wind cut across the roof like a frozen blade, cutting right through her jacket. She stood at the edge of the roof and gazed out over the city, still blazing with light at this time of night. Daedalus was out there somewhere, hiding in their city.

"You okay?"

She looked up, startled by Jim's voice. He stood next to her, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets for warmth. "I've had better days," she replied. "Had worse ones, too, though, so I guess I shouldn't complain."

"At least now you can come back from the dead," Jim said.

She sighed. "I guess shouting at him like that wasn't a good way to keep my cover, was it?"

"No," he replied. "But he won't get far. He's been shot at least once, and we've got every officer in the city looking for him tonight."

"Tall man in black coat and hat," Megan said. "In the middle of winter, that'll be hard to find."

"Bleeding from a gunshot wound," Jim added. "That part of the description should narrow down the search a little."

"Good point." She looked at him. "I don't suppose you can still pick up on his trail?"

Jim shook his head. "I lost it before we even got to the roof," he said. "With the wind blowing like this, it's hard to tell from what direction anything is really coming from."

Megan nodded and looked back out over the skyline. "So what do we do now?" she asked. "I honestly hadn't thought anything out past slapping my handcuffs on Daedalus tonight."

"Next I take you home," he replied.

"Jim--"

"A couple hours of sleep will do you good," he insisted. "I'll pick you up first thing in the morning and if there's no word yet, we'll come up with Plan B. Deal?"

She hung her head, but saw no real alternative. "Deal."

~*~

FEBRUARY 12, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: DETECTIVE JAMES ELLISON, MAJOR CRIME

A: The gamble paid off. Our hunch about Daedalus was correct, and we flushed him out into our playing field.

Q: But you failed to capture him.

A: At the time, yes. We didn't know where he was, but we knew he was wounded. I had a car placed at Connor's building, just in case he showed up there. We had every patrol in the city looking for him, every hospital and private clinic on the look out for gunshot wounds. There wasn't a lot else we could do that night. We just put out a net and hoped we'd catch something.

Q: Describe what happened after you left the Greenbrier Apartments.

A: I drove Connor home. Dropped her off in front of her building and waited until she went inside. I checked in with the patrol car parked across the street and then I went home. I was planning on getting a shower and a few hours of sleep.

Q: Did you?

A: I almost got the shower.

~*~

Megan was glad Jim hadn't insisted on seeing her to her door. That would have been one display of friendship too many right now. Her frustration level was higher than ever and all she wanted to do was lash out at something. Or someone. So being alone was probably a better option.

She flicked the light switch and blinked against the sudden glare in the apartment. She turned the florescent floor lamp down to a manageable level. Had she really left it up that high? She couldn't remember that last time she'd spent more than a full hour in her apartment.

The bathroom beckoned. A shower sounded like heaven, but that would probably relax her. She didn't want to be relaxed. She wanted her emotions up, her senses sharp. At any time she could get a call, telling her that they had caught Daedalus, so please come down to the station and beat the shit out of him.

No, she would never get *that* specific call, but she could dream. There were only two pieces of the puzzle to answer, and she wanted to know - Who? Why? Two simple words with such complex answers. Who are you? Why did you do this?

She walked into the kitchen and took a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She briefly considered the bottle of Grey Goose in the icebox, but walked away. She twisted the cap off the water and threw it into the sink. It pinged around several times before falling silent. She'd never gotten around to that last cup of coffee, and fatigue began to settle in like a fog.

Megan walked past the kitchen table, intent on the comfortable corner of the sofa. Something on the table caught her eye, something out of place next to the napkin holder and stack of coupons waiting to be clipped. She picked up two small items with trembling fingers.

The first was her apartment key. Or rather, a copy of her key. She'd given copies to several people in case of emergencies. Jim, Simon, David…. Someone had used theirs -- or a copy of someone's copy -- tonight, but purposefully left it behind. Left it behind with the other object in her hand: a playing card. She turned it over. An ace of spades. Seeing that card made her stomach bottom out, more so than if it had been another king of hearts. Having a different card in a different suit scared her.

An address was written on the card in blocky print, identical to the writing on the card that Jim had found last week at Rainier. "Jefferson Park, Wilton Avenue side."

She put the key and card back down, exactly as she'd found them. Her eyes darted to the telephone. No, not yet.

*

Jim let loose a jaw-cracking yawn the moment he walked into the loft. He was worn out, more worn that he'd been in months. The warmth of the loft didn't help matters much, either. He hung up his coat and did a quick search of the loft. He located a single heartbeat in Blair's room. For a minute, he thought that his roommate was asleep. Then the French doors opened.

"Jim, you're home," Sandburg said. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes. "I fell asleep reading. Everything okay?"

Jim threw his keys into the basket by the door. "Well, part of the plan worked," he said. "We drew Daedalus out, but he still got away."

"Aw, man," Sandburg muttered. He padded over and leaned against the kitchen island. "How's Megan?"

"Pissed," Jim replied.

"I guess that was a dumb question, huh?"

Jim shrugged. "If we don't get this guy before he goes underground for good…"

"Yeah."

"Listen, I'm going to take a shower and then catch some--"

The telephone rang, cutting off the rest of Jim's statement. He reached over and snagged the phone off the wall cradle. "Ellison," he said.

<"It's Megan. Go to my apartment. You'll find something on the kitchen table.">

"Connor?" He blinked several times, perplexed. "What's going on? What's at your apartment?"

<"Just go, you'll see.">

He could hear the sounds of an engine. She was probably already in her car, heading somewhere. It was difficult to determine.

"Connor--"

She hung up. Jim stared at the handset for a moment, and then dropped it into the cradle.

"Grab your coat, Chief," he said.

For once, Sandburg did as he was told, without question or explanation.

*

Jefferson Park was little more than a community garden, situated in a vacant lot between Second Street and Wilton Avenue. Megan Connor parked her car and approached the park with her service revolver held steadily at shoulder level, coming at it from Second Street. She walked its border, moving toward the Wilton side, until she saw the bench. And the figure sitting on it.

She stopped, still fifty feet away, studying the man from behind. He was tall, broad shouldered, she could easily tell that from the distance. Just as he'd seemed on the fire escape. He still wore the hat, hiding his hair color. She could see now that it was a baseball cap, possibly Jags. No coat, which was odd for this time of winter. He must have gotten rid of it along the way.

She continued forward, her revolver aimed at the back of his head. Any sudden movement, and she wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger and rid Cascade of a plague the CPD had been seeking to eradicate for months. She cut the distance in half, but the man still had not moved. He continued to face away, toward the street. White clouds of vapor puffed from his mouth, the only indication of life. Ten feet closer, she could see bits of red discoloring the left shoulder of his shirt.

Less than five feet away, he still hadn't moved. The bullet wounds were plain to see now, one in the left shoulder and one low in his left hip. A shallow pool of blood had collected on the bench by his leg. The streetlight above cast a shadow across his face, already partially hidden by the cap. He still had not acknowledged her.

"Who are you?" Megan asked.

His head tilted slightly to the right, but he didn't reply. From the blood on his shirt and on the bench, she half-expected him to keel over right then and there.

She moved around to she stood directly in front of him, her gun leveled at his head. "Take off your hat and tell me who you are," she said.

Very slowly, his right hand rose from his lap and clutched the brim of the baseball cap. He hesitated then, for just a moment, before removing the cap and looking up. Right into Megan Connor's eyes.

At first all she saw was a pool of green so familiar she thought she would scream. The pool focused and coalesced into twin orbs that gazed at her with more pain and sorrow than had any right to be in someone's eyes. So deep she was almost lost in them. They blinked and that pulled Megan back into herself. Her finger twitched against the trigger of her gun. She peered down the sight at a face that was at once familiar and foreign. Friend and foe.

"Daedalus," she whispered.

"Don't call me that," he said. His voice reinforced the fact that she wasn't dreaming this. That he was there, on that bench in the snow.

"What should I call you?" she asked venomously.

He licked his chapped lips, leaving behind a light pink film. "What you always called me," he replied. "Boomer."

~*~

FEBRUARY 12, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: INSPECTOR MEGAN ELIZABETH CONNOR, MAJOR CRIME

Q: Do you need to take a break?

A: Will you stop asking me that? No, no break.

Q: What did you think?

A: I couldn't very well think about anything. I was in my own episode of the "Twilight Zone," but I couldn't seem to understand the punch line. The point of it all.

Q: Seeing him alive again had to have been quite a shock, Inspector. It's to be expected.

A: No, it wasn't that. David Noble died on January 7. That was the man that I knew, the man I cared for and worked with. Whomever it was that died yesterday morning…wasn't him. He was just…Daedalus.

Q: You can make a distinction between the two?

A: Yes.

Q: Why?

A: I have to, or else I'll go crazy. David died once already…Daedalus once more. And I killed him both times.

Q: You didn't--

A: I shot him. The lab already concluded that both bullets came from my gun. So don't try to tell me--

Q: Inspector! I wasn't…I was going to say that you didn't call for back up right away.

A: Oh. No, I didn't.

Q: Why not?

A: He asked me not to.

~*~

"Am I going crazy?" Megan asked.

"No," he replied. "And you don't have to keep pointing your gun at me. I'm in no condition to try and run. Promise."

She couldn't make her limbs respond right away, but after a concentrated effort, she began to lower her gun. She was cold, more cold inside than she could blame the weather for. It went deep, right to her core. A light snow began to fall again, whispering its way down from the sky.

"Why?" she asked.

"There's no simple answer to that," he said. "No easy why. No one good reason. Just lots of little ones."

"You were always him," she said. "The whole time we knew each other, you were him."

"Yes." He closed his eyes and for a moment, she thought he would pass out. But he opened them again, blinking away a snowflake that had fallen into his lashes. "I was only Daedalus here in Cascade. Just Cascade."

"But why?" she asked again. Her gun dangled by her side, but she took a step closer to the bench. "Why become him at all? You were a cop! How could you betray everything that you swore to protect?"

"So I *could* protect them," he replied. He coughed, a deep, wet sound. More pink foam tinged his lips. "I pursued the Suicide King in Portland, you know that. But he wasn't Joe Stinton. The deeper I dug into it, the more I understood how their system worked. It's not just Cascade, Megan. Dozens of cities have this hierarchy, and the one in charge is always…powerful. In control of things. Different names, of course." He seemed to fade out for a moment, as thought talking in his sleep. "But I always liked the myth of Daedalus. He was an inventor."

"If Joe Stinton wasn't the Suicide King, then who was?" Megan asked. A thousand questions swirled around in her mind, and it was difficult to pick out just one.

He blinked, grief passing briefly through his emerald eyes. "Tucker Dodds."

She had always scoffed at books and movies that had heroines swooning, or fainting at shocking information. But when he said that name, her vision blurred out of focus; enough to make her stumble backward a step. She righted herself and shook her head hard, cursing herself for the weakness.

"I know it's hard to understand," he continued. "Sometimes I don't really understand it all, either. I never lied about Dodds killing Emily, only the reason for it. He didn't kill her because I interrupted a heroine deal. He killed her to make sure I agreed to move to Cascade and take over as Daedalus."

"But why?" she asked. Nothing made sense. He was giving her bits of the puzzle, but not enough to create a picture worth looking at. "Why do it at all? Why not arrest him and expose him? You didn't *have* to do this. To become this."

"I wish you'd been able to know me, Megan," he said. "To know who I was before. Seven years ago, when I'd never heard of the Suicide King, or the Network, or Daedalus, or Tucker Dodds. When I was an inexperienced Vice detective, in over his head in his first assignment. I liked that guy. He wasn't as self-assured as I am now, but he was a good guy. He just had the unfortunate luck to get trapped in a room with four men who were pissed off that he was an undercover cop."

Megan bit her lower lip hard. Her stomach quivered, out of fear and a queer sense of empathy.

"Afterward, while he was on medical leave, he was approached," he continued. "The man called himself Achilles. Achilles said he worked for someone who could help, but at the cost of a future favor. At the time he wasn't dealing well with what had happened to him, so he figured he didn't have anything to lose. Within a week, all four were either dead or missing. Completely unconnected to him."

"What was the favor?" Megan asked. It was surreal, listening to him talk about himself in the third person. But hadn't she done the same thing? Thought of him as two different people? As the man she'd loved and the man she'd hunted. Somehow it made all of this easier to process.

"Sabotage a stakeout so that Achilles could get a shipment of firearms down the Willemette River from Vancouver," he replied. "He did it and the guns got through. For a while he thought they were done."

"Why didn't you--" She stopped, backtracked. "Why didn't he walk away after that? It couldn't have been too late."

"He couldn't. Achilles had videotaped their conversations. He had enough, from just two meetings, to bury David Noble. He had no choice."

"He did have a choice," Megan hissed. A drift of snow fell off her hair and into the collar of her coat, melting ice cold against her skin. "We always have a choice."

"Well, he chose his career over jail," he said. "He chose Emily over jail. Her job was threatened, her car tires were slashed. The Network is very serious about getting what they want. They wanted him and in turn, created me."

Megan's knees buckled, and she felt physical shock setting in. She sat down on the snow-covered bench, keeping an arm's reach between herself and him.

"Why did we have to meet like this?" she asked. "Why couldn't you have just crawled away into a hole to die, and left me with my memories? Do you know what telling me this means? For the department? For the city?"

"I don't care," he said. "It's selfish, but I don't give a damn about the city anymore. When I thought you'd been killed--"

"Oh, please," she snapped.

"Stop. I never lied about loving you, neither one of us did," he said. "David fell hard the day he met you, but I held him back for so long. Because I knew what it could mean one day, how much it would hurt you to know the truth."

"So come to me now?" she asked. "Did you think it wouldn't hurt now, because the better half of you is gone? When I thought David was dead--"

"David *is* dead, Megan. I'm all that's left."

She paused. "Daedalus," she said.

He nodded. "Yes."

"So who was Icharus?" she asked. "I take it you're responsible for his body disappearing before we could identify him."

"I was," he replied. "I was still desperately trying to salvage what I could here in Cascade. Icharus was Parker Dodds. Tucker's brother."

There is was, that sense of familiarity in the picture of Tucker that she'd found. It made sense, as much as anything else about the case did. She needed to know all of this, but the enormity of the confession hurt deep inside, where no physical comfort could ever reach.

"And you've come to me for what?" she asked. "To cleanse your conscience before you die, too? To reveal your master plan to me so we can all understand just how clever you were in fooling everyone for so long? To forgive you for all of the people you had killed?"

"I didn't want to see you for a confession, Megan," he said. His eyes squeezed shut and his mouth drew into a thin line. His entire body seemed to tense, and she noticed for the first time just how pale he was. As ghostly as the snow that fell around him.

"I need to call an ambulance," she said. She reached into her coat pocket for her cell phone. A hand clamped down on hers, staying it. She looked up, into his eyes, wide with fright.

"Don't," he said. His breathing changed, became more labored. "Not yet."

She pulled her hand away from his, leaving the cell phone in her pocket. "Why am I here?" she asked. "Why not Jim, or Simon, or Rafe? You could have told any of them this. Why me?"

"Because in the end, for better or worse, it all comes back to you," he said. "It had to be you. I don't regret much in my life, there's no point in regretting. You accept and move on. That's what I've always done. Except for one thing. One betrayal."

Megan's hand jerked. "Jim's senses," she said. "He told us all about them at Christmas. Who did you tell?"

"No one," he replied.

"I swear to God, if you--"

"No one," he insisted. "It isn't that, Megan. Jim told David that in confidence, as a friend. David never told a soul. I promise you. Our combined sense of integrity probably doesn't mean anything to you anymore, but I did try to keep that part of my life separate from this part. David was a good man. A different man."

The constant third-person references were growing less confusing, less tiresome. The man in front of her wore the face of her former partner, but everything else was different. The manner of speech, the way he held himself. Only his eyes betrayed a sameness that she couldn't reconcile.

"Then what was the regret?" she asked. "What was the betrayal?"

He seemed to shrink just a little bit then, to lose the presence that had walked ahead of him into a room. He looked like a child, admitting to breaking the window with his baseball. "Tracey," he replied.

Megan's stomach contracted. In all of her confusion and misery over this man's appearance, she had forgotten about the vibrant young woman who had died with him.

"I owed Alexander White a favor," he said, unable or unwilling to mask the misery in his voice. "He wanted you and Rafe dead, but I couldn't do that. I couldn't kill *you*, Megan. So I gave White an alternative. Killing David was difficult, but Icharus was the only man who knew about my double life. We both agreed it was time to let go, to leave Cascade behind. The only thing I couldn't fake was Tracey."

A hot flush of anger crept across Megan's face. "You faked your own death, and you couldn't fake hers?"

"I never saw it coming down to this," he said. "And if the Network had thought for a second that I had cheated, they would have come after Rafe. And Amy, and the rest of their family."

A hard lump formed in Megan's throat, and she tried to beat it back. No sense in breaking down in tears.

"Tracey is my one regret," he said. "The one thing I'll never be forgiven for."

"Oh, I think that's only the beginning of the list," she said.

"It's the only thing that matters to me," he added. "The rest of it I went into willingly. I regretted her every step of the way."

"And yet you sent her ashes--"

"No," he said firmly. "No, those weren't hers. Christ, I couldn't do that." He blinked hard. "I buried her. There's a key in my breast pocket. Safety deposit box. There's papers, maps. You'll find her."

Megan pulled off her leather glove and leaned forward, her fingers slipping into the pocket indicated. They closed around a slip of metal and she removed it. Sure enough, it was a copper deposit box key.

"Everything you need to know about the Network is in that box," he continued. "Get it fast and use it."

"How can I trust you?" she asked. "How do you expect me to trust what I find in that box? If there's anything there at all?"

"Because David is asking you to," he replied.

Megan looked away, across the park, blinking furiously against the sharp stinging in her eyes. Something cold closed over her hand and she looked down. His hand, startlingly white against her skin. She looked up, into his face. His lips were stained with blood, contrasting sharply with the pallor of his cheeks. The spark of life was gone from his eyes and they stared back at her dully, their color faded and worn.

Headlights flashed across the park from the Second Street side. They remained focused on the bench, illuminating the couple with an eerie glow. Megan didn't have to look up to know that her back-up had arrived.

His hand squeezed hers gently. "Emily was a vegan," he said. His voice was barely a whisper, his struggle to find the words visible. "When we went out to those fancy places, she'd name all the lobsters so I wouldn't be able to order one."

Megan shook her head. "I don't underst--"

"Don't make friends with your food," he said. "Or in my case, fall in love with it."

He lost the fight then, and slumped sideways, all energy gone. Megan reached out instinctively, catching him and sliding backwards on the bench until his head rested in her lap. His eyes had closed. She placed one hand on his shoulder, watching the uneven rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to breathe.

This time she didn't stop the tears that spilled, leaving hot tracks down her frozen cheeks.

"You're under arrest," she whispered. "You have the right to remain silent."

Twin shadows fell across them and Megan looked up. Jim and Blair stood side by side, identical statues. Mouths open, unable to ask questions; eyes wide, trying to reconcile what they saw with what they knew to be true.

She looked away, back down to the man in her arms. "Anything you say can and will be used against you…" He breathed a shallow breath in, and there was no exhale. "… in a court of law." The rest of the words caught in her throat, blocked by a lump she couldn't manage to swallow.

"Connor?" Jim's voice.

Megan looked up, blinking through tears and the falling snow. "He's dead," she said, almost choking on the words. "We caught Daedalus."

~*~

FEBRUARY 12, 2000

INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT

CASE # 384B-332

QUESTIONING OFFICER: LIEUTENANT, FIRST CLASS DANIEL BRODY, IAB

WITNESS: CAPTAIN SIMON PHILIP BANKS, MAJOR CRIME

A: We didn't allow the press any access to the crime scene. Everyone who was there was told to keep quiet until we knew for sure what we were dealing with.

Q: And what did you think you were dealing with, Captain?

A: A lot of unanswered questions, for starters. Ellison and Sandburg didn't know for sure what had happened in the park, and Connor wasn't talking to anyone yet. All I knew was that I had the body of a detective that I thought had been dead for over three weeks. The ME's came, we cleared the scene, and put the neighborhood back to bed.

Q: Who first indicated to you that David Noble and Daedalus were the same person?

A: To hear Connor tell it, they weren't.

Q: Do you believe that?

A: Truthfully, I just don't know. I'm a cop, Lieutenant, just like you. I tend to see things as pretty black and white. You're a good guy, or a bad guy. What do you do when you can justify the belief that someone was both?

Q: I suppose that's what we're here to find out, isn't it?

A: I suppose so.

Q: Who first indicated that to you?

A: Connor. She'd already shown Jim the deposit key, and he called in for a warrant to open the bank and get at the box. As soon as we got the warrant, she took off. It was all Jim and I could do to follow her.

Q: Why didn't you take Inspector Connor off the case immediately? She was your key witness.

A: Because it was her case, and she shared Lead Detective on it with Ellison. If I didn't let her see it through, she'd be there anyway. I wanted to keep an eye on her.

Q: Did you think she would do something drastic?

A: At the time, I had no idea. She'd been through a lot in a short period of time. I don't think the shock had quite worn off. She's an excellent inspector, Lieutenant, but she shares one common flaw with the rest of us.

Q: What's that?

A: She's human, and she lets her emotions drive her.

Q: Fair enough. What did you find in the deposit box?

A: Computer disks, several file folders, an account register, maps of the city. We logged it into evidence, and then took it back to the station. The information we found was staggering. A layout of what he'd called the Network. The hierarchy, the names of major players in twenty-two other major cities.

Q: Have you shared that information with the police departments of those cities?

A: Not yet, no.

Q: What stopped you?

A: Well, I've spent the better part of two days talking to you, Lieutenant. As have the rest of my detectives. Makes it a little hard to get other work done.

Q: You don't think this is important, Captain? If the press finds out that a police detective was, in fact, the Keyser Soze of Cascade, Washington, this department will be ruined. People won't trust the police anymore.

A: I understand the implications of this, Lieutenant, I'm not a child!

Q: I apologize.

A: I'm certain that the Chief will come up with something.

Q: As a matter of fact, Captain, the Chief has already proposed something.

A: Oh? When did this happen?

Q: About an hour ago, when we broke for lunch. We just need you and your detectives to agree to the story.

A: What's the story?

~*~

Simon had never seen so much gloom contained in such a small space. The conference table in his office was surrounded on all sides. Ellison and Sandburg sat side by side, with their backs to the windows. Joel on Sandburg's immediate left, Henri two seats down from Joel. On the other side of the table, all the way at the far end, was Rafe. Megan sat on the same side, in the furthest seat away from him. Simon, for his part, sat behind his desk, fingers steepled together.

No one spoke. No one smiled. No one was happy today.

The decision had been made, the story made public. Now all they had to do was find a way to swallow it, to make the "truth" part of their daily lives. If that was even possible. How did such a close-knit team bounce back from something like this?

"It's here," Jim said.

His announcement destroyed the silence like breaking glass. Simon started to ask what was here, but his office door opened. Rhonda stepped inside and handed Simon the Sunday newspaper, evening edition. She didn't look at the table as she turned and left, seeking instead a quick retreat.

Simon unfolded the top page, the headline glaring at him in bold, black letters. He cleared his throat and began to read.

~*~

From "The Cascade Times," February 13, 2000:

CRIME RING BUSTED, HERO COP MOURNED

In a joint Sunday morning press conference geared toward city officials, Chief of Police Roger Dennings and Captain Simon Banks of Major Crime announced the collapse of a major crime ring in Cascade due, in part, to the efforts of one undercover detective. Detective David Noble, believed murdered last month by the same ring under investigation, had in fact gone undercover with the organization. Widely known as The Network, this organization has been connected to a series of murders, armed robberies, illegal drug sales, and extortion scandals.

"The deception was regrettable, but necessary," Dennings said. "We needed someone who could be trusted by their higher ups, and have him free to move around within their organization. We don't know what went wrong, or how he was found out, but the department has lost a good man."

Noble died early Friday morning from gunshots wounds sustained, officials say, during his attempted escape from the Network. His body was discovered in Jefferson Park by his former partner, Inspector Megan Connor. Inspector Connor was not available for comment.

"Noble was an excellent detective," Captain Banks said. "He assisted in the apprehension of a very dangerous criminal, and his contribution will never be forgotten."

A private service will be held Wednesday morning.

~*~

TO BE CONCLUDED…

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