Day 3.

Jim glanced at his watch as he strode into the Major Crime bullpen. The number six forty-six flashed in his brain and lingered as if etched on the back of his skull. Sandburg was probably just getting up, noticing the quiet in the loft, and possibly finding the note his roommate had propped up against the breadbox. Jim could just imagine Sandburg reading the note, smiling with relief, as he headed back to bed. The kid deserved a break. He had worked hard making last night's dinner a success. Jim owed him at least a morning to sleep in.

"Ellison here yet?" Simon's booming voice echoed in the almost empty room. Detective Fielding looked from the captain's opened office door over to Jim, shaking his head in commiseration. Jim broke eye contact with the other detective and went immediately to see Simon.

"I'm here, Captain. What's up?"

Simon waited a second, then looked past Jim into the bullpen. "Where's Sandburg?" he finally said.

"I let him sleep--"

"Oh, hell." Simon ran his hand through his short hair. "Close the door and sit down."

Jim pushed the door shut and waited patiently for Simon to start talking.

"Deputies Rand and Burlington called Dispatch a couple of hours ago with a report of a small U-Haul truck speeding down route sixteen. They put on lights and siren in an attempt to pull them over. Instead the truck took off, going much too fast on a hairpin curve and spun out, taking the patrol car with it, and proceeded to dump most of its cargo all over the road."

"The cargo was...?" Jim asked, knowing there was a point in there somewhere.

"Ink. Bottles of multi-colored gunk splashed a rainbow onto the road, signs, guardrail and even the trees lining the highway. Kinda reminds you of a Skittles commercial."

Jim blinked. "How are the deputies?"

"They're in the hospital, stable. I wasn't even notified about this until about ten minutes ago, as an afterthought." He sounded offended at the slight. "I called the loft, but no one answered. I hoped you were on your way in."

"Are the U-Haul drivers in custody?"

"Nope. They got away."

"Can either of the deputies identify the truck's occupants?"

"They saw two, but Rand is sure that there was a third."

Jim was puzzled. "What do you want from me?" This wasn't really their case.

"I want you and Sandburg to take a look at the accident scene and, uh, do your thing," he answered with embarrassed harshness. "See if you can determine if all the missing ink was in the truck. Also find out how they escaped."

"You don't ask much, do you," Jim commented wryly. "Who rented the truck?"

"Ash Ketchum. It's a phony name. There's no record anywhere that substantiates the existence of an Ash Ketchum."

"Guess I'll call home and light a fire under Sandburg. He'll have to shower and get dressed-- then have breakfast. We should be ready to leave in about an hour."

Simon grunted. "Guess I'll have to go with you. We need to get there as soon as possible. They want to get the place cleaned up and I asked them to hold until you took a look. Forensics has already been there. The place is a mess, so they put up a roadblock, detouring the traffic around the scene." Simon slipped on his gun's shoulder harness, grabbed his coat and put it over his arm. "I'll drive."

Jim acquiesced gracefully.

It took them over an hour to arrive at the roadblock. Simon flashed his badge and they were let through. Almost immediately the smell of burned rubber, fuel and diesel exhaust assaulted Jim's nostrils. He really wanted to ask Simon to roll up his window, but he knew that he'd have to deal with it sooner or later--it might as well be sooner. Closing his eyes, he pictured the imaginary dials and turned down his sense of smell. As soon as his nose stopped hurting, he turned up the dial, trying to filter out the caustic engine odors and differentiate the innocuous ones. Waves of a particular scent that Jim identified as the ink from the warehouse drifted through the window.

Simon pulled his car behind a deputy's car and Jim jumped out. Walking purposefully around the wreckage, he mentally calculated how much ink was present. Simon stood talking to one of the deputies, who signaled to Jim that he could open the rear of the truck. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves, stepped around a large puddle of purple mixed with yellow-gold, and climbed up on the truck's rear bumper.

"You need me to do anything?" Simon asked hesitantly. Jim knew that Simon hoped for a negative answer.

"No, I'm fine," he reassured his captain.

Twenty cardboard cases were piled inside. Jim saw at once that the boxes were different from the ones at the warehouse. He opened the first one and saw that bottles had been repacked loosely inside. Many of the bottles were cracked; some were shattered completely. The thieves were having a hard time keeping their booty intact. Jim went through all the boxes. If his mental math was correct, only eight of the fourteen cases could be accounted for in this truck. He had to assume that all fourteen had originally been full, as the ledger from the warehouse had stated. Six more cases must have been in a different truck or shipped using a different method. Finished, Jim jumped back to the ground and told Simon of his findings.

"I believe you've made a mistake," the deputy informed Jim. "Burglary was here earlier and they're positive that all the ink is here." He spread his arms, encompassing the multi-colored highway.

Jim bristled, but there was little that he could do except incorporate his conclusions in a report, send it to Burglary, and see what they did with it. He looked over at Simon for a hint as to their next move.

"Let's go," Simon answered.

As soon as they were back in the car, Simon told Jim what he had learned. "The deputy said that Rand and Burlington have identified one of the suspects from mug shots as Jack Teale. Wasn't he one of the employees from the warehouse that you investigated?"

"Yep," Jim replied. "I've been positive that Teale was involved because of the ink stains we found at his apartment."

"That he abandoned the day after the burglary," Simon added. "I remember you mentioning it."

Both men sighed. It was an unsatisfactory end to a case. When Jim started something he generally liked to see its conclusion. But until they were asked, both men found their hands tied.

As they entered Cascade's city limits, Jim's cell phone rang. With an apologetic shrug, he answered--fully expecting it to be Sandburg. Nonplussed, he found his father at the other end.

"Jimmy, it's very important that I see you as soon as possible. I'm at my office. Could you come here? Or would it--"

"No, I'll come there. I'm just getting back from an investigation. Let me get my truck and I'll be right over. Give me," --he paused as he looked at his watch-- "thirty minutes."

"Fine."

Jim hung up and looked at Simon. "My father has been acting strange lately. Maybe he's ready to explain."

"I've found it hard to get an Ellison to explain anything until he's ready."

Jim glared at Simon, then resumed brooding about his father.

Blair paused at the threshold of the bullpen, gazing with astonishment at the scene within.

"Why don't you sit here?" Rafe suggested, tripping over his tongue as he dragged Simon's chair from the captain's empty office.

A strikingly beautiful woman was standing next to Jim's desk. Blair was too far away to see her facial expressions, but her body language spoke disdain and a weariness of the antics around her.

"I brought you some coffee." Henri was twitching in his readiness to hand the cup to her.

Blair sauntered over to his own desk, wanting to keep his presence undetected, to better observe the woman and the other detectives who were making fools of themselves. It was almost better than a Three Stooges movie. She gave Henri a condescending smile as she received the styrofoam cup and lowered herself into the chair. Her eyes shifted over to Blair then dismissed him just as readily. Blair took his attention off her for a second and looked to see if Jim had left a note or a message on the phone mail. Nothing. He thought it was too bad his partner wasn't here; Jim would have enjoyed the entertainment.

The woman's simple movement of crossing her legs drew Blair's focus to her once again. She pulled her skirt down over her knees; then, as she removed her hand, the skirt slid up once more. She repeated the action as if she were uncomfortable with the length of her skirt. Her legs were slim but muscular, very well proportioned. Exercise was not a foreign concept to her. Blair's eyes drifted upward. Top designers made her clothes, an indication that she was in a high socioeconomic class. Very dark hair contained strands of gray and her face showed a few wrinkles. Her age had to be over the forty mark, maybe higher. She could afford the pricey beauty treatments and even plastic surgery. She must have sensed his scrutiny--her cool, challenging blue eyes caught and held his. Blair was stunned. Up close, those eyes held the same power that made Jim so formidable. He took a deep breath and found himself propelled toward her. His curiosity overwhelmed his need to study.

"Hey, Blair. When did you sneak in?" Henri said, sounding shocked at having missed Blair's entrance.

"Guess who this is?" Rafe was bursting with the information.

Blair didn't have a clue.

The woman stood up and Blair found himself looking up at her. She was tall, another fact to add to his list.

"My name is Grace Ellison." Her voice had a pleading quality to it. "I'm here to see my son, Jim Ellison? Do you know him?"

Blair heard Rafe and Henri start to laugh, almost hysterically. "Does Blair know Jim?" Henri spoke first. "They're partners and they live together."

The eyes that had dismissed him previously now appraised him with more interest. Blair couldn't understand how her eyes could be so cold, yet her voice so warm. When she said the word "Jim," it flowed, like warm honey. She was a mass of contradictions.

Blair decided he'd better speak for himself. This was Jim's mother and he had lots of questions for her, but--he didn't feel as if he could ask any personal ones until after Jim had met with her.

"Jim's my roommate. He left early this morning. I thought he'd be here."

"You must know him pretty well," she commented, watching him closely.

"I like to think so."

Her demeanor changed. She became eager, like a student who had just discovered that anthropology was an interesting subject after all. She pulled Simon's chair closer to Blair's desk and made herself comfortable. Blair followed her over and sat back down in his seat. He gave a casual glance around the bullpen and saw Simon standing in the doorway, no doubt wondering why the lady had his chair. Blair guessed that he'd heard her introduce herself, which was why he hadn't demanded it back.

Henri had also followed them over. "Jim couldn't get by without Hairboy--"

Blair shot him a glance, but it was Rafe who got his attention. "I think we'd better--"

But Grace had latched on to what Henri had said. "Couldn't get by? Does he depend upon you? Are you lovers?"

Blair felt shocked to the core. Was she deliberately misunderstanding him so as to get a rise out of him? Well it worked, he conceded silently. "Hell, no! We're partners here at the station. I watch his back and he watches mine. I just happen to also have a room at his loft."

She leaned forward. "Tell me about him," she begged, acting unconcerned about Blair's discomfort. "I haven't seen him in such a long time. In fact, I thought he was dead." Her voice cracked a little when she said "dead."

Blair felt his insides melt. "He's very much alive, let me assure you." So many people had given up hope when Jim's plane had crashed in Peru. It was good to know that at least she had kept track of where her son was, even if they didn't have contact. Blair remembered Jim saying that his father had put together a scrapbook of clippings, including his wedding picture and the News article about his return from Peru. Her outward cool was a lot like Jim's, hiding a soft mushy center. She did love her son despite her apparent abandonment of him. The reserve he had felt dissolved. "Is there something in particular that you want to know?" Blair asked, watching out of the corner of his eye as Simon walked through the bullpen and went into his office.

"Has he ever been married? Did he have any children?"

"Yes," Blair responded and saw her stiffen, more alert than before. "He was married briefly, but they're now divorced."

"Kids?" she asked again.

Blair found it endearing that she seemed to long for grandchildren. Was this in an effort to make up for what she'd lost by leaving her own children when they were young? "No, they didn't have any kids." Blair expected to see disappointment, but all he saw was a flickering of an eye.

"Did you know him when he was in the military?" she probed.

"No. I met him just a couple of years ago."

"I see."

Blair was burning to ask his own questions. Where had she been? Why was she here now?

"Sandburg! My office!" Simon ordered, standing in his office doorway.

Blair jumped up, wondering why it had taken so long for the captain to summon him. He had to be dying of curiosity. Blair smiled an apology. "The captain wants to see me. I'll be right back."

"I want my chair back," Simon said gruffly as Blair walked past him.

"That's Jim's Mom. Rafe figured that she--"

"Take her to the loft, to a restaurant, anywhere but my bullpen. Jim wouldn't appreciate an audience when he confronts her for the first time."

Damn, he should have thought of that. "When's Jim gonna be back?"

"We just finished looking over an accident scene when he got a call from his father. I drove back to the garage where we separated. He took his truck to go see his old man and I came up here."

Blair considered the information. William calls Jim--wants to see him. His mother shows up at the station, looking for him. What were the chances that the two were connected? Duh, a four- year-old would be able to figure that one out.

"I'll suggest to her that we wait at the loft for Jim. I'll try the cell phone, but I bet he left it in the truck. If he shows up here first, send him home."

"Good idea," Simon responded.

When Blair returned to his desk, Grace Ellison looked pissed. There was no other word to describe her expression. Blair looked around the bullpen, wondering who could have said something nasty--but everyone looked innocent. "I think we should continue our discussion in less formal surroundings."

"How about the home you share with my son?"

"Great idea. I see we're on the same wavelength."

Jim entered his father's office, closing the door behind him. William was walking along the large picture windows that made up an entire wall of the office. Turning, he looked at Jim. "Thank you for coming."

The phrase grated on Jim's nerves. A father shouldn't have to thank his son for a simple visit. Naomi sure as hell would never thank Blair for visiting her. "What do you want to talk to me about that's so urgent?" His question sounded harsher than he had intended.

His father resumed pacing. As Jim looked more closely, he could perceive hints of nervousness. There was almost the scent of fear surrounding his father. "Your mother's in town," William blurted out.

Jim felt the strength leave his legs as he collapsed into a nearby chair. Father and son stared at each other, both in shock, neither sure what to do next.

"I told her," William began when the silence became unbearable, "that it wasn't a good idea. She wouldn't listen. Her determination is unbreakable."

"Why now?"

"I wish I could answer that." William slumped into his chair. "When I asked her the same thing, she avoided the question."

"How long have you known?" Jim asked accusingly.

"Just a couple of days. She called on the phone, told me that she was in town. I arranged to have lunch with you, but then Steven showed up with that woman and then--I--I--couldn't tell you. I did try."

"And then?" Jim prompted, knowing that there was more.

"Last night she came over."

Jim thought back to when Sally mentioned that William seemed relieved that she was going to be gone. "What did she say?"

William swallowed heavily. "Not much. Just that she wanted to see you. And Steven," he added, almost as an afterthought.

For a second, an excruciating pain racked Jim's body. His chest was held in a vise-like grip. There wasn't enough air in his lungs. His brain couldn't seem to hold onto the fact that his mother was here and she wanted to see him. He closed his eyes, vying for control over his involuntary functions-- heart rate and breathing. All the dials that Sandburg had preached to him were gone. A world of wonder was there for him to grasp. All he had to do-- ~growl~ --Jim turned in time to see a flash of a blond cat as his black jaguar swiped at it, then both were gone.

Reality hit him like a ton of bricks. His spirit animal brought him back from some kind of zone--one of emotions--not senses. The vision of the golden cat flashed before his eyes. Had he been imagining it? Suddenly an overwhelming need to see Blair swept through him. "Listen Dad, thanks for the warning, but--"

"What did you see? You focused on something over there." He pointed in the direction where the jaguar and the other cat had been. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

Instead of answering, Jim reached for the phone on his father's desk and punched in the station's number. The rerouting process took infinitely longer than usual, before he ended up in Sandburg's phone mail. Frantic, he went through the process again, this time ending up connected to Simon's office.

"Major Crime, Captain Banks, here," Simon spoke abruptly into the receiver.

"This is Ellison. Is Sandburg there?"

"Well, hello, Jim," he said with false cheeriness. "Your partner is home entertaining a woman who claims that she's your mother. You know anything about this?"

Jim's eyes widened in shock. "She came to the station looking for me?"

William stood up and came over next to Jim.

"After we parted company in the garage, I came up here to find her firmly ensconced in my chair beside Blair's desk. I told Sandburg to find a more appropriate place for your family reunion. Watch out for that woman, Jim. She plays with people."

Jim took deep breaths, trying to calm his shattered nerves. What in the world would Blair find to talk to his mother about? Sandburg should have just sent her packing until Jim found the time, or energy--or guts, his mind whispered--to see her.

"Thanks, Simon. I'll try the loft."

Jim hung up the phone and started to leave.

"I'm coming with you," his father stated unequivocally.

Jim didn't want to waste time arguing. It might be interesting to see his parents together in the same room. It might even make the notion that his mother was returning to his life more real. On the other hand, it might make it more surreal. He wouldn't know until he saw them.

Jim drove in record time from his father's office to the loft. He was amused by the whiteness of his father's knuckles as they gripped the door handles. As they pulled into a parking spot, Jim noticed a Mercedes Benz rental.

"That's the car she's using," William said without emotion.

Jim turned off the ignition and looked at his father. Maybe it wasn't the driving that made him nervous. For the first time, Jim realized that this reappearance was more difficult for his father than him. Why was she doing this to them now? It made him angry, defensive--almost protective. What an eerie thought--to be protective of your father because of your mother.

As they got out of the truck, Jim concentrated, trying to hear her voice. He had no conception of what it might sound like. His emotions kept swinging from anxiety to anger.

"What's this?" a soft, inquiring voice asked.

"That's a mask from the Moche tribe in Peru. The matrons wore it during their fertility dance in an effort to assure that their daughters would conceive, thus making the tribe more powerful."

"Are most of the artifacts in this room from Peru? Do you have more than a passing interesting in that country?"

"I'm an anthropologist, or at least I used to be. I've studied many aspects of ancient Peruvian cultures. I find it fascinating how ancient customs are still around but disguised in 'modern ways'-- you know?"

Jim was in the elevator, waiting for the thing to finish its climb. He would have taken the stairs, but his father would never have been able to move as quickly.

"Yes, I agree. Many modern traditions have their roots in ancient customs. But why do you need to study it? What do you hope to learn?"

Jim hurried down the hall. The loft's door was ajar. The doorknob on the outside was missing, but the interior one was still loosely attached. He had to remember to fix that, he thought absently. His hand reached out and pushed the door open.

A dark-haired, statuesque woman was returning a figurine to a shelf. She was looking at the little artifact and conversing with Sandburg. The words were unintelligible because of the rushing within his head. This was his mother. The hand on the door began to shake.

Jim took tentative steps further into the room. His entrance caught the other two occupants' attention. His eyes connected with the woman's, which were startled, defensive. Anger turned all his senses on alert. This was the woman who bore him and then abandoned him. She didn't care enough to see him grow up. What a difference that would have made. After taking a step forward, she backed up. Her heartbeat sped up and sweat coated her neck. He could almost smell her fear, an elemental one of prey for a hunter. Then it vanished and her personality asserted itself.

"Hello, Jimmy. I'm so sorry for springing myself on you. I just couldn't find a way to make this easier."

She was lying. This was exactly how she had planned it.

"Ease up, man." Blair came up beside him and patted him on the arm. Her eyes narrowed at the action. "She stopped by the bullpen because your father wouldn't give her our address." He tried to defuse the tension, but Jim wasn't going to cooperate. "Why don't we all take a seat in the living room?" Blair sounded so hopeful--so encouraging.

Jim agreed. He walked into the room and sat down on the couch. His mother tried to sit next to him, but he got up and sat next to Blair. That left his parents to sit next to one another. Blair didn't touch him again, but he felt his guide's presence keenly. His deep well of anger was difficult to suppress.

"Why are you here, now?" he asked, his words clipped.

"I saw an article about you. I usually don't read newspapers and magazines, but this one was left lying around and I picked it up."

"You were curious," William added with scorn.

Her control slipped a little and he saw simmering anger lying beneath her external persona-- then it was gone. "I realized just how many years had gone by. I wanted to see my son." Her voice cracked, but Jim couldn't detect any real emotion. Blair must have, because he went all mushy.

"Mrs. Ellison. All that matters is that you're here now, wanting to get to know Jim again."

"Like hell!" Jim stood, as he vented his anger. "Who says I want to get to know a mother who would abandon her kids when they needed her?"

There was a satisfied glow on her face. Was she happy that he'd spoken his mind? "I didn't abandon you, exactly. I just had to leave. You were in my thoughts, constantly." Her voice rang with truth.

This did little to alleviate his hostility. "Not enough to come home again."

"Listen, I'm trying now. I want to get to know you. We could do things together, just you and me."

"It's too late. You can't make up what was lost years ago."

"That's it? You're going to take his side in all this?" She sent a withering look toward William. "I can't believe that you'd accept everything he says." She stood up and stalked to the door. "Well, I tried," she tossed back, halfway there. "You just remember that." Her heels made a rhythmic clicking noise as she crossed the hardwood floor. When she got to the door, she grabbed hold of the doorknob and pulled sharply. It came off in her hand. With absolute fury, she turned and flung the knob. It sailed through the air, over their heads and connected with a loud crack into the glass patio door. In the total silence that followed, everyone heard the knob thud as it bounced and then rolled across the balcony floor. Grace flashed them all a glare, took a measured breath, then stalked out the door, leaving it wide open.

In a state of shock, Jim stood, walked to the door and began to replace the broken knob with the new one they had purchased the night before. He couldn't look at the broken glass, though the sound of it breaking reverberated in his head. For several minutes he worked in silence. Blair joined him when it became evident that he was all thumbs and couldn't get the screws tightened.

"Let me help," Blair insisted, gently removing the screwdriver from his hand.

With a nod, Jim returned to the living room and stared at the broken glass. Gathering his courage, he turned his attention to his father. He expected to see a gloating, triumphant expression. Instead, the man looked gaunt, haunted. "Did you want me to pretend that all is forgiven?" Jim asked defensively.

"No. I just never want to see her again." There was such infinite sadness and defeat in William's tone. "I think it's time for me to leave."

"We could use some help cleaning up the glass," Blair suggested.

Jim smiled. His friend was always trying to patch things up--make things right in Jim's world. Now Blair was including his father in a chore to make them all seem cohesive. "Yeah, Pop. Although I'm not sure you know how to use a broom."

Blair handed William a broom, and the two of them swept. Jim went to the phone, called a glass company, and arranged for someone to repair the patio door that afternoon.

"I'll make lunch," Blair offered.

The three men sat around the table. William looked a little uncomfortable, but seemed to be coping. It was his first visit to Jim's home and so much had happened.

"Do you think she'll come back?" Jim asked.

"I think you scared her off pretty good." Blair looked curious. "Why were you so hostile?"

"I don't know. I thought she had a lot of nerve to waltz into my life and expect me to forgive her and act like we're gonna be best buddies."

"I think you were too hard on her. She was trying."

Jim grunted, not really sure what he thought or believed. He remembered the scene in his father's office with his jaguar and the golden cat. He had forgotten it until just that minute, but now he believed it was instinct that made him antagonistic toward his mother. Did he wish he could take it back? Not really. The cat was a warning. He had learned to accept the warnings his spirit guide gave him. Anything else usually led to catastrophe. He'd tell Sandburg about the cat after things settled down.

"You think I should call Steven and tell him about her visit?" Jim asked his father.

"Yes. I think he needs to be warned and if I try, he'll just hang up."

"That's okay, Pop. I'll take care of it."

After lunch, Jim asked if Blair would run his father back to his office. He planned to wait for the glass door to be delivered and installed. Then he'd at least have to make an effort to get to the station today. He still needed to write his report and see what Burglary was going to say about it. He smiled in anticipation.

Like this episode? Email the writer: lwright3@rochester.rr.com
Want to comment on production? Contact Black Panther Productions: bpproductions@wildmail.com

Stay tuned in two weeks when the latest bombings in Cascade remain unsolved as the members of Major Crime continue to dig for answers. Will their investigation uncover a link to an old nemesis or tear apart the Bomb Squad? Find out in "Sins of the Father, Sins of the Son" an all new The Sentinel.

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