Heartbeat part 4

"Cheryl thinks you were the target?" Mark turned from the spaghetti he was cooking to regard his son with something akin to horror as Steve related to him what Cheryl had said. Then his expression turned contemplative. "You know, she could be right, Steve."
The detective laughed uneasily. "Oh come on, dad. You can't be serious."
"I'm very serious," was the older man's stern rejoinder. "Steve, I wanted to warn you about Dobson and Malone …"
"Dobson and Malone?" echoed the detective incredulously. "They wouldn't …"
"Perhaps not," interjected Mark. "But it wouldn't do any harm to find out where they were at the time of the shooting."
Steve shrugged. "No, it wouldn't," he said. "But they're cops, dad. They wouldn't … " his voice tailed off as his own words sparked an image in his mind. Jesse, pummelled and bloody, helpless in the hands of the two sadistic police officers. "Maybe they would," he murmured, almost to himself. "I wouldn't put anything past them."
"And you're the one responsible for getting them removed from the case. Because of you, they lost face in the department - and probably a lot more. Their careers are at stake, and their names have been tarnished."
"Like they weren't before?" Steve sneered.
"Yes, but what happened to them was so public - in front of their colleagues. They're not going to forgive that easily, son. I want you to be careful."
"Shame you didn't tell me that earlier," Steve said, dryly. "I might have avoided going down to the hotel in the first place."
Mark smiled ruefully. "No, you wouldn't. Nothing stops you from doing your job. You're too good a cop for that, Steve."
"You think so, huh?" Steve grinned at his father. "Don't think you're maybe a little biased?"
Mark feigned shock as he turned back to preparing dinner. "I don't know what you're implying," he said. "I happen to be right."
A hand settled on his shoulder. "Thanks, dad."
"You're very welcome, son. Now, go sit down while I serve this up."

Steve went into the precinct early the next day, heading straight for the Captain's office. Newman sat there, listening in stony silence as his detective told him of his newly aroused suspicions regarding Dobson and Malone, then, after he had finished, reached into his drawer and pulled out a thick file folder, flinging it across the desk toward the other man.
"What's this?" queried Steve
"Why don't you open it and find out," said Newman, evenly.
Steve did so. He was shocked to discover it contained accounts of the two men's activities over the years. He was even more surprised to discover the extent of those activities. They hadn't just been playing 'bad cop/worse cop' in the interrogation room with their suspects. They had intimidated eyewitnesses into making coerced statements in order to make false arrests and it appeared that they were in the pay of some pretty unscrupulous organisations with a stake in seeing certain people 'disappear'. It certainly accounted for some of the mysteries that had surrounded them; witnesses going missing when it came their turn for court appearances, others simply refusing to turn up or changing their stories at the last minute and the fact that they both lived fairly flamboyant lifestyles for two cops.
They were not just bad cops - they were dirty cops. Corrupt and immoral, they had sullied the reputation of the establishment for which they were supposed to work, an establishment which had seen its fair share of corruption in recent years. They were the worst of a bad bunch and it made Steve's blood run cold to think that Jesse had been at their not so tender mercies not so very long before.
"This is unbelievable," he muttered as he lowered the folder, meeting the Captain's steady gaze. "How long have they been getting away with this?"
Newman shrugged. "Too long," he said. "IA had them under investigation before you made your little stand against them, though. I still can't understand why they allowed them to continue with their charade. But that's Internal Affairs for you - a law unto themselves."
"They knew about all this?" Steve demanded, outraged. "They knew and they let them continue?"
Newman nodded. "But it's all out in the open now," he said. "They're going to arrest them both and bring them up on charges. Those boys are going down for a long time. It'll be interesting to see how long they survive in prison - although they've probably cultivated friends even in there. We'll see."
"They haven't been arrested yet," said Steve, flatly.
Newman shook his head. "IA wanted to wait until they'd built a solid case."
"This isn't a solid case?" protested Steve, indicating the file in his hand.
The Captain grinned humourlessly. "It appears not," he said. "But it seems we can now add attempted murder of a police officer to the list."
"You think they did it then?"
"I don't think there's any doubt."
Steve sat back in his chair, his mind reeling. He could barely believe that the two cops had been allowed to get away with what they had done for so long. Who knew how many deaths they were actually responsible for? The witnesses who had 'disappeared' had probably been killed and if they hadn't actually pulled the trigger themselves then they were most certainly accountable for pointing the murderers in the right direction. "Do we have any proof that they shot at us?" he asked.
Newman pulled an envelope from amongst the stack of papers on his desk. "I think you'll find this forensics report interesting reading," he said. "The partial prints match Dobson's bootprints and the shells you recovered came from a weapon stolen from the lockup three weeks ago. A weapon that those two clowns handed in in the first place."
"That's circumstantial at best," mused Steve. "We need to find the weapon on them."
"Oh we will," stated the other man, confidently. "They're not the brightest. If they were they'd have covered up their tracks better and they wouldn't have made it quite so obvious that they were living the good life."
"There is that," agreed Steve.
"Well, now that that's over, I have some work to do," the Captain said. He reached for his phone. "D'you mind?"
"Uh … no …" Steve, having been summarily dismissed, rose to his feet, handing the file back.
"Oh, before you go, your new partner's waiting for you outside."
"I don't want a new partner," complained the detective.
"Tough. You've got one."
"But …"
"Ah ah! Let's not argue with our superior officer." Newman was smirking. Steve frowned suspiciously. The man was up to something. He just didn't know what. With a glare at his Captain, which was totally ignored, he exited the office.
"It's about time," came a familiar voice as he closed the door. "I've been waiting for you since 6:00am, Sloan!"
He turned, eyes wide in astonishment and a broad smile spreading across his face. "Tanis!"

The knock at the door startled Jesse. Barely awake from another disturbed night filled with nightmare images and Susan's screams he practically fell out of bed and stumbled into the living room. Heavy-lidded and barely able to focus, he fumbled with the lock for a moment before opening the door, then stepped back in alarm when he recognised the person who stood before him.
"Ryan!" he gasped.
Susan's brother smiled hesitantly at the bleary-eyed young doctor. "Um … Jesse?" he said. "C … can I come in?"
Barely knowing what he was doing, Jesse stepped back, allowing the other man through the door. He kept going, soon finding himself backed up against the breakfast bar. Feeling like a trapped animal, he kept his eyes fixed on Ryan, waiting for the animosity to spew from his mouth in vile words of accusation. His legs were shaking, he realised and he felt dizzy and sick. He didn't know whether it was fear or the fact that he had barely eaten or slept over the past few weeks. "Wh … what d'you want, Ryan?" he asked, in a hoarse whisper.
The young man shuffled his feet and smiled awkwardly. "Um … I came to apologise," he said.
"A … apologise?" echoed Jesse, disbelievingly. "I … I don't understand."
"My .. my behaviour at the funeral was … well … it was unforgivable." Ryan was looking anywhere but at Jesse, obviously he was finding this as difficult as the young doctor was. "I shouldn't have blamed you. I was just … I needed someone to blame and you were there."
"Th … that's all right." Jesse heard his voice as if through a tunnel. It was distant and muffled and he desperately wanted to sit down. He grasped the edge of the counter and hung on. "It's okay. I understand."
Ryan stepped forward. "No!" he cried. "No, you don't understand! I didn't mean it, Jesse. I didn't! You were always so good to Susan. She told me all about you. She said you were the kindest man she'd ever met and she hated hurting you like she did. She … she dated some real losers before you and the guys after? They treated her badly. You were the only one that really cared about her. You loved her and she would have been happy with you!"
Jesse felt the familiar jolt through his heart at the words. 'She would have been happy with you!' 'Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Yes, I will marry you!' He felt his legs buckle, knew he was going to fall, then strong arms wrapped themselves around him, helped him stumble across to the sofa and he sank into its welcoming softness, leaning his head back and trying to will the giddiness away.
"Jesse, are you all right? God, I'm sorry! Speak to me!"
He heard Ryan's desperate cries, wanted to reassure him, but he could barely find the oxygen to breathe, let alone speak. Darkness was zeroing in from both sides and a black vortex was spinning toward him, threatening to carry him away. He strove to avoid it, but he was sucked in and before he could utter a sound, the world slid away.

"Jesse? Jesse! Jess, can you hear me?"
The sound seemed to be coming from a long way away. The voice was familiar though, and filled with concern. He struggled to speak, but his head seemed to be filled with cotton wool and he couldn't formulate the words. He opened his mouth; nothing emerged except a piteous mewl. "It's all right, Jesse. Just take it slowly."
Great advice. It seemed that his body was dictating that he take it no other way anyway. He felt strange, numb, disconnected and all he really wanted to do was float off into the nothingness which beckoned at the edge of his vision. But the voice wouldn't leave him alone. It was demanding that he pay attention, that he come back. His tongue felt three sizes too big for his mouth and his limbs were too heavy for his body. It was too much.
'Leave me alone!' he wanted to say. 'Go away!'
"You're going to be fine, Jess. Drink this."
He felt something against his lips. A drop of something cool flooded his mouth and he couldn't help but swallow. It felt wonderful. Greedily, he gulped more of the liquid down.
"Easy," cautioned the voice. "Just sip at it, Jesse."
His breathing was laboured. His heart was beating too fast. And his head started to pound.
He yearned for blissful oblivion but it wasn't to be. He groaned as the liquid was taken away, felt the warm hand on the back of his neck, heard the murmur of voices expressing their anxiety about someone, then he blinked his eyes open, gazing groggily upward.
A man's face came into view.
Mark.
"Well, hello there," he said. He was smiling. It was a kind and gentle smile and it made Jesse feel safe and protected. "We thought you were going to sleep the day away."
"'Ve … bin …'sleep?" he mumbled.
"Well, actually, you passed out," Mark said, his smile fading a little as he scrutinised Jesse carefully. "Ryan here found my number and called me. That was about two hours ago."
Jesse stared at him in astonishment. Two hours? He'd been unconscious for two hours?
Oh god.
He tried to rise. His head swam alarmingly and he felt nausea swell. Closing his eyes against the twin sensations, he strove to quell the latter, letting the former fade away of its own accord.
"Don't try to sit up yet, Jess," Mark said. "I've called an ambulance and we're going to get you admitted.
'Aw, no!' Jesse wanted to protest but didn't have the strength. He opened his eyes again, saw Mark regarding him with quiet concern and smiled sheepishly.
"'M sorry," he whispered.
"I know you are," said Mark, sadly. "Jesse, you're suffering from exhaustion and malnutrition. You can't keep going like this. Your body can't take it. It's just made that very clear."
Tears sprang to his eyes. He felt so terribly guilty for upsetting everyone. That was the last thing he had wanted to do. He had to tear his gaze away from Mark's. He couldn't look at him. Instead, his eyes alighted on Ryan. Susan's brother was hovering nervously in the background, staring at him fearfully. Jesse suddenly had a flash of insight. He had collapsed and Ryan probably thought it was his fault! He couldn't let him labour under that delusion. It wasn't fair!
"Ryan," he murmured. "Ryan, it's okay."
"Are you all right? God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean …" the young man's voice tailed off into a sob and Jesse felt guilt flood through him.
"It's not your fault," he tried to assure him. "I … I haven't been doing real well since Susan … since she … " he couldn't finish the sentence. The words choked him. He smiled shakily. "It wasn't you," he said, as firmly as he could.
Ryan stepped forward hesitantly. "You … you're sure?"
"I'm sure," Jesse replied. God, he was so tired. He closed his eyes and before he knew it had drifted away again.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to focus on Amanda's face. She smiled fondly as a puzzled frown creased his face. "Wh … where …?"
"You're in Community General, Jesse, " she explained, in a gentle voice. "Mark brought you in a few hours ago. Don't you remember?"
He thought for a moment, recalled waking up to find Mark and Ryan in his apartment, remembered how tired he had felt, Mark's words, "I've called an ambulance and we're going to get you admitted." And his assertion that Jesse was suffering from exhaustion and malnutrition. "Um … I guess," he murmured. Drowsily, he let his gaze slide downward, finding an IV attached to the back of his hand, and feeling the slight pressure of heart monitor pads on his bare chest. "Uh …"
"Mark wanted to keep an eye on your heartrate," Amanda told him, noticing his expression of bewilderment. "You're on a drip, too. And you're under strict orders not to move from that bed till he's happy with you."
"He … he's not happy with me?" he asked, forlornly. He hadn't meant to anger his friend.
"I didn't mean it like that," she said, slightly exasperated. Her hand moved to enclose his. "You're not well, honey. You collapsed because you haven't been eating or sleeping. He's put you on a strict diet and you're to get some rest."
"If I haven't been eating why's he put me on a diet?" he wondered aloud, not quite awake enough to comprehend what Amanda meant by the term.
"Carbohydrates and proteins," she clarified. "You're wasting away. We're all worried about you."
That hurt. He was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry, 'Manda," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to …"
"Ssshh!" she urged, placing a gentle finger over his lips in an effort to still the words. "It's understandable, Jesse. It's okay. Don't apologise. It's nothing you can help. Just promise me that you'll do your very best to eat and get some rest, okay?"
He smiled wanly. "Okay," he said, in a low voice. "I promise."
His words were rewarded by a grateful smile. "Good. Now, you go back to sleep."
"What're you going to be doing?" he asked.
She pointed to a large hardbacked book that was lying on his bedside table. "I have a trashy novel to finish," she confided. "Maybe I'll let you read it when I'm done."
There was no point in him protesting that he didn't read that kind of stuff. She knew him too well. "Okay," he said, and closed his eyes. Incredibly, he found it easy to slip away into sleep once more.

Steve and Tanis divided their day between tracking down more proof to link Dobson and Malone with the shooting and poring over the evidence Jesse had garnered into the holding company behind the 'Swanson'. They had slipped easily back into their working relationship. It was almost as though Tanis had never been away. Every now and again, the Lieutenant caught himself glancing across at his erstwhile partner, thinking how great she looked and how good it was to have her back at his side. Not that he didn't miss the easy camaraderie he shared with Cheryl. He did. Each woman offered something different yet in one respect they were very much the same. They were both possessed of a level headed composure which complemented his more explosive temperament perfectly.
"So what made you come back?" he queried as he studied the names in front of him. Jesse's information might not be complete but it certainly was extensive. He felt a burst of admiration for his young friend's initiative, even if it had provoked his arrest.
Tanis glanced up at him from her laptop. "I needed a change of scene," she replied, somewhat cryptically.
"Change of scene?" He lowered the file he had been scrutinising. "Why, what happened?"
"Nothing happened," she said, "I was bored. Needed some excitement. And, you've gotta admit, Sloan," she continued, with a sly grin, "Life as your partner was never dull!"
"Don't know what you mean," he mumbled.
She stared at him, sceptically. "Oh come on, you mean you don't remember the psycho who tried to get you to kill him? The bombers who tried to blow you up, kidnappers who made you run from phone booth to phone booth?"
He shrugged. "I remember," he said. "But none of that was anything out of the ordinary."
"Maybe not in your life!" she retorted. "Some of us lead more mundane careers!"
"So you're saying you missed me?" he asked, hiding a smirk.
"I didn't say that at all," she stated, coolly. "Get over yourself, Sloan!"
"I would," he snorted. "But I … hang on, I think I have something."
She resisted the urge to say something cutting in response. Instead, she placed her laptop on the desk, rose from her chair and walked round to read over Steve's shoulder.
"You know I always hated when you did that," he grumbled.
"Yeah, that's why I do it," she replied, dryly. "So, what've you got?"
"Bank records," he declared.
"Bank records? Travis downloaded bank records? Wow. I knew he was resourceful but … bank records?"
Steve smiled grimly. "He had his gaming friends helping him," he informed her. "I suspect they've installed a hacking device."
"Impressive," she remarked. "So, whose bank records are they?"
"The holding company's."
"Any clue as to individual names?"
"No, but I think a visit to this bank is in order."
"We'll need a court order," she pointed out. "Banks aren't exactly famous for giving our information on their customers."
"We don't have any basis for a court order," he said. "We have no proof that whoever is behind the holding company is the same person that shot Susan."
"Well, how about that hacking program?" she suggested. "It'll be on Travis's computer, won't it?"
He stared at her in admiration. "I knew there was a reason I was glad you were back!"
"Hey, I'm not just a pretty face, you know!" she responded, with a sardonic smile.
"No," he mused quietly as she turned to get her coat. "No, you aren't."

Jesse eyed the contents of his meal tray with a complete lack of interest. He was pretty sure that he wasn't going to be able to eat a morsel of it. He was able to recognise that this in itself was a symptom of the depression that had swiftly taken a hold of him since the night of the shooting. He was still a doctor, after all, even if Mark wouldn't allow him to practice at the moment. He still resented that fact, although he had to admit that he didn't feel capable right now of dealing with the stress of the ER. He might end up killing someone in his present state and putting someone else's life at risk was definitely a no-no.
He had barely been alone since his incarceration in the hospital. When Amanda hadn't been sitting with him, Mark had. He began to wonder if they had their own lives any more. He seemed to be taking up all their time and that only added to the feelings of guilt which seemed to grow in intensity every day. There was so much for which he was culpable. Ryan might have absolved him of any blame in Susan's death, but that didn't mean the weight of responsibility had lifted. Quite the opposite. It seemed to be weighing even heavier on his shoulders than before. He constantly questioned what more he could have done that night, unable to believe the notion that he had been absolutely powerless.
Susan's death had affected so many people. Her parents, her brother, his own friends … He pushed the tray away as tears flooded his eyes again. That was another thing. He was mortified that he seemed constantly on the verge of crying all the time. What the hell was wrong with him?

Mark watched from the doorway as his young friend stared miserably into space, ignoring the food that had been brought to him. The older doctor, knowing Jesse's distaste for hospital food, had had the meal specially prepared and brought in. He didn't care about the expense. All he wanted to do was see Jesse gain some weight and start getting better. Instead, he seemed to be getting worse.
He had too much time to brood. That was one problem. Unfortunately, he was stuck here for the time being. His body had taken enough punishment - even if it had been unintentional and a symptom of the depression that had descended since Susan's death. Jesse saw his inability to help her as a failure on his part and no matter how many times Mark had tried to persuade him otherwise the belief grew stronger every day. So much guilt rested on those slender shoulders. It was too heavy a burden for him to carry alone, yet he refused to share it or even admit that anything was wrong.
He needed help. That was evident. Unfortunately, Mark recalled that the one and only time he had suggested outside assistance with an emotional problem, Jesse had rounded on him, accusing him of not believing in him, of abandoning their friendship and then he had bolted.
He couldn't take that risk again. If he ran this time they might never get him back. He would have to be sneaky about it, and even then there was the distinct possibility that Jesse would figure out that he had instigated it. The younger man was depressed and mourning. He was far from stupid.
The decision made, although it lay heavily on his heart, he turned away, his heart lurching as he saw the glimmer of tears in his friend's eyes. Jesse needed help. He could provide it. That was all there was to it.

Jesse knew Sam Stuart by reputation. He had never had much to do with him, except for the occasional referral that he had made to the psychologist. He wasn't surprised when the man turned up in his room later that day. He suspected that Mark had something to do with it, especially as the older man hadn't paid his usual visit that morning and he knew that it wasn't because they were over-run in the ER.
Sam was pleasant enough. He was also a magnet for the ladies with his dark hair, deep blue eyes and chiselled features. A slight scar above his left eyebrow was the only imperfection and it only added to his charm, or so Jesse had heard on the hospital grapevine.
They regarded each other in silence for a moment; Sam seated beside him on the chair, Jesse propped up in bed, his face the picture of misery.
"You know why I'm here, Jesse," said Sam, his melodious voice breaking in on the hush in the room.
"I'm fine," muttered Jesse, tightly.
The other man sat back in his chair, folding his arms. "Okay," he said, easily. "So why are you here?"
"Philosophy, doc?" quipped the younger man, although there was no humour in his tone.
"You know what I meant," replied Stuart, mildly. "Why are you here in this hospital bed?"
Jesse's eyes slid away from the other man's penetrating gaze and he refused to answer.
"You're determined to wallow in your own misery, aren't you?" came the challenge.
Jesse didn't rise to it, although to his horror, he felt a sob rise in his throat. Ruthlessly, he suppressed the emotional response.
"Jesse, you went through a horrendous ordeal and you're not dealing with it," Sam said.
"Gee, thanks for pointing that out," came the caustic response, although the sarcasm had been an effort.
"You want to talk about that night?"
"No!" Jesse swung around at the gentle question. His mind was suddenly filled with images - Susan throwing herself into his arms; Susan stumbling along behind him; Susan, terrified out of her mind as the black-garbed man aimed at her then … "God, no," he moaned, covering his face with his hands as the final image tore through him with the force of a bullet. A bullet that had ended the life of the woman he loved. "Please, please don't make me go there," he begged. "I just want to forget."
"But you can't," insisted Stuart, patiently. "You never will. Jesse, I don't know much about that night, but I know you feel guilty about it. Like there was anything you could have done to stop it."
"Please, don't …" came the forlorn plea.
"You really couldn't, you know. Any more than you can help what's happening now. It's perfectly normal."
"If it's so normal, then why are you here?" demanded Jesse, in a rough, pain-filled voice.
Sam shrugged. "You really need to get it all out in the open," he said. "You do, your friends do … but none of you will talk about it. Not to each other."
"I … I don't want to impose on them," Jesse murmured, surprised despite himself that Mark, Steve or Amanda might feel the need to talk about the shooting. Somehow that had never occurred to him and he felt terrible for not being there for them when they had needed him. "I just …"
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Doesn't sound like nothing."
Jesse shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. "I can't," he said, raggedly. "I'm sorry, Sam. I just can't. Please, just leave me alone."
"I can't do that, Jesse."
"I don't want to talk to you," Jesse insisted, obstinately.
"Then who are you going to talk to?"
"I'll deal with it."
"But you're not dealing with it," Sam pointed out.
"Just go, Sam, please," Jesse said, weariness lacing his voice. "I don't talk to shrinks."
Defeated, for the moment, the psychologist rose to his feet. "I'll be back, Jesse," he said. It was a promise, not a threat but Jesse shivered at the prospect.

When Mark finally came to see him a little later, Jesse immediately turned on him. "You sent Sam Stuart!" he accused the older man, angrily.
Mark sank into the chair beside the bed - the one Sam had vacated a couple of hours previously. "Yes, I did," he said, regarding his friend steadily. "I'm sorry, Jess. I needed to do something to help you."
"A shrink?" Jesse's voice trembled and he strove for some measure of calm. "You sent a shrink, Mark?"
"You're not eating, Jesse," Mark pointed out, sombrely. "You're not sleeping. I'm worried about you."
Jesse bit back the furious retort he had been about to make. Concern radiated from the figure at his side. It was evident in the bags under the older man's pale blue eyes. It was present in the eyes themselves, as Mark gazed at him. Wordlessly, Jesse turned away, feeling suddenly humbled and filled with remorse.
He heard a heavy sigh, felt a warm hand settle on his arm. What right did he have to be mad at this man? Mark had done everything for him. He had only been doing what he thought best. "I'm sorry, Mark," he mumbled. He reluctantly returned his gaze to meet his mentor's. "I didn't mean to snap at you."
The older man smiled at him. "I know you didn't, Jess," he said. "The problem is that you're not allowing yourself to grieve and so it's manifesting itself as depression instead. That's why you're not eating, not sleeping … and we need to address the cause before we can do anything about the symptoms."
"So what do we do?" It was the softest of whispers and the sadness in it almost broke Mark's heart.
"Why don't you tell me?" he suggested, appealing to not only his friend's sense of responsibility but also his instincts as a doctor - instincts which he knew would never desert Jesse and had probably already told him what was wrong even if he refused to admit it to either himself or anyone else.
The ghost of a smile appeared on Jesse's lips but was quickly gone again. "I don't think I can talk about it yet," he admitted, quietly. "I almost wish I could but … "
"It's still too recent, too raw," Mark finished for him, raw sympathy in his voice. "I do understand, Jess." His hand moved toward the younger man's chin and he gripped it firmly, turning the woebegone face toward him. "I just which there was something I could do. Anything. I hate seeing you like this."
Jesse bit his lip. It was trembling and he felt his emotions start to spiral out of control again. "I know," he said in the smallest of voices, hearing the treacherous quiver in it and hating himself for his weakness. "I …"
"Please don't say 'I'm sorry'," implored Mark. "I'm not blaming you, son. It's not a condemnation. It was just a statement of fact."
The blue eyes lowered. Mark had seen the sheen of unshed tears in them however and cursed himself silently for further upsetting his young friend. But he was getting desperate. Jesse hadn't eaten his breakfast and had left his lunch completely untouched. They were going to have to resort to drastic measures before long and he was trying everything possible to avoid that.
"I … just want it all to go away."
The declaration was one of the saddest that Mark had ever heard. Yes, he wanted that, too. Unfortunately this wasn't something that Jesse would ever forget. God knows, he had tried to forget how his own wife had died and that had been years ago. His memories of her were forever tinged with sadness now. He doubted that he would ever be able to remember the wonderful life they had shared together without also recalling the anguish of her illness and her eventual passing. "I'm afraid that's not going to happen, Jess," he said, softly. "And I think you know that."
Jesse looked up at him and nodded. "I know."
"So what are we going to do?"
"You could always try force feeding." It was a feeble joke and it was far too near to the truth. Mark shuddered. That was something he was trying not to contemplate. Not yet.
"I think we'll consider that a last resort," he said. "But we have to do something."
"It's not like I'm doing this on purpose, Mark. I'm not, honestly," said Jesse, earnestly, "I just … it just makes me sick to my stomach and I don't know why."
"Oh, I think you do," came the affectionate response. "Look, I have another patient I need to check up on. I'll be back."
Jesse was a little surprised by Mark's rather abrupt departure, but as the older man closed the door behind him, he lapsed into thought.

He was still deep in contemplation when Mark returned. His face had paled by several shades though - which the older man hadn't thought possible - and his breathing was ragged. The older man hurried toward him, recognising instantly what was happening. Jesse was experiencing a flashback to the shooting. He wasn't sure what had triggered it. Whether it was his words, the visit by Sam Stuart or if it was just mere coincidence. But he couldn't sit by and simply watch. "Jesse!" he exclaimed, grabbing at his protégé's shoulder's. "Jesse! It's all right! You're safe! Jess! It's Mark. It's all right!"
Slowly, inexorably, Jesse's glassy-eyed stare cleared and he focused dazedly on his friend. "M … Mark?" he squeaked. "Mark, I was … it was …" He was unable to take in enough air and was on the point of hyperventilating. Without even thinking, Mark wrapped his arms around the slight figure, holding him tightly. He could feel the frantic beating of the younger man's heart, heard the struggle to catch his breath, intermingled with the occasional sob, then, gradually, Jesse calmed, and, at length, pushed himself away from the embrace. But there was no embarrassment this time. Only anguish and a haunted expression in the deep blue eyes.
"Jesse?" Mark's voice was infinitely gentle, infinitely caring. "Do you want to talk?"
Desolately, the young man nodded. Then, slowly, haltingly, he recounted the events of that awful night, leaving nothing out. He began with the account of his nervous proposal and Susan's ecstatic acceptance, went through the kidnap and the torturous walk where he thought they were both going to be killed and ended with Susan's murder.
He had related it all before, of course, but it had been a more clinical account, albeit emotional, for his witness statement. This time, however, he included how he had felt at the time, what his thoughts had been and his reaction to what he had seen. "I was so scared, Mark," he confessed, in a strangled voice. "They didn't speak, except to threaten me or Susan and I thought I was gonna die." He was shaking uncontrollably beneath the arm Mark had wrapped around his shoulder but the older man didn't say anything, not wanting to disrupt the flow of words. "They … they tied me up to a tree and then the guy pulled a gun on her. Oh god … " his voice faltered. "I … I knew then that he was gonna kill her. She was so scared and she called out to me. I tried to stop him. I did, but … I … I couldn't and … and then he shot her." A sob burst through, "He … he shot her and … when I … when I looked up again they'd gone and … and I was alone. I tried to save her. I did CPR for what seemed like forever. But … but she was gone. They'd killed her, Mark. They'd killed her and left me alive. I … I wanted to die."
Mark inhaled sharply at the last few words. That was the first time he had heard his friend admit to such a thought. But then, it was the first time Jesse had acknowledged how terrified he had been. He waited, but there was no more. Jesse had lapsed into soft sobs, his head falling forward to rest against Mark's shoulder. He was exhausted, physically as well as emotionally. He couldn't have uttered another word even had he wanted to. But the huge weight that had been crushing his heart had somehow been eased. He didn't know how or why and although he was crying as though his heart would break, somehow it felt like a catharsis.

A few minutes later, Mark realised that Jesse had fallen asleep in his arms. 'Best thing for him,' was his first thought before his second - a despairing realisation that Jesse still hadn't eaten that day.
However, now that Jesse had finally unburdened himself, owning up to the terror that he might be killed, the agony of not being able to help Susan and then the sheer torture of seeing her mown down in front of his eyes, coupled with the revelation that he had made a lengthy and ultimately futile attempt to breathe life into her dead body, Mark was pretty sure that he could begin the road to recovery.
It would be hard, and he still had to deal with his grief at her brutal death. He was still denying that and it would only harm him in the long run.
Gently, he settled Jesse back into bed, tucking the covers around his slender form and affectionately brushing back the stray strands of hair which had fallen across his forehead. "Sleep now, Jess," he whispered. "You're safe now."

Mark didn't leave Jesse's bedside for the rest of the day. He couldn't. There was too much to consider. His young friend was totally devastated by events and his breakdown had been inevitable - although long overdue. He had placed his trust in Mark by releasing all the pent up emotions he had been trying so desperately to suppress. Mark felt both humbled and honoured by the privilege and he was going to ensure he never, ever betrayed that trust, because it was not placed lightly.
He didn't know if Jesse would want to relate it all again - even to such close friends as Steve and Amanda. He had a feeling, though, that even if he didn't, he would want them to know. And Mark was quite prepared to do it for him if he didn't feel ready to go through it all again.
That wasn't all that was troubling him, however. There was still the note to consider and the threat it implied to Jesse's life. He felt he had been vindicated in not revealing its existence to his friend. Jesse would never have been able to cope with that on top of everything else.
Then there was the shooting. He agreed with Cheryl - the patient he had gone to visit when he had left Jesse earlier - the gunmen could only have been Dobson and Malone. They were just vindictive enough - and, from what he had discovered recently, ruthless enough - to have ambushed Steve. He worried for his son. The detective didn't have Cheryl to cover his back any longer. Steve wasn't careless by nature and he would be extra vigilant now he knew that he was a target, but that didn't negate the risks. Those two were gunning for him and they wouldn't stop until they succeeded in their quest.
If anything happened to Steve he didn't think he would ever recover.

Steve and Tanis had appropriated Jesse's laptop from his apartment. Tanis had raised her eyebrows as Steve unlocked the door with his spare key but had not commented, much to her partner's relief.
The computer had been loaded with a hacking program, just as they had suspected - a very advanced one at that. Tanis was impressed with its sophistication and Steve enjoyed the little dog icon that sniffed at 'back doors' before gaining entry. The bank records were, of course, sealed but this proved no impediment to the program as it ran through a series of numbers and letters swiftly in order to locate the passwords for each account.
This wasn't exactly legal - in fact, it was as far away from legal as they could get, but then, they weren't planning on using the information for anything other than a clue as to whom could have ordered the hit on Susan. Any proof of involvement in that would come from other sources and they would have to verify it anyway. They could always subpoena the bank records later in order to check them - the legal route.
It took a couple of days. The programme was good, but it was, of necessity methodical and the closer it got to its objective, the more backdoors it had to open and the more passwords it had to gain access to.

Mark released Jesse two days after his incarceration in hospital. He was under strict supervision at the beach house, however, where Mark could prepare things to tempt his slowly returning appetite.
As his intake of food slowly increased from virtually nothing to at least two square meals a day, so Jesse's unhealthy pallor faded, although he was still gaunt and his weight would take a while to increase. They had run some tests, including LFT's, electrolytes and calcium and kidney scans and fortunately he hadn't managed to do any lasting harm to his body, for which Mark was immensely grateful. Jesse was subdued and the sparkle was still missing from his eyes; the ready smile still too sad when it made its rare appearances but something had changed for the better. He couldn't quite define what it was but it was though a dark shadow had lifted from the young man's soul.
He had encouraged his protégé to take some walks on the beach. Jesse had always loved the place, seeming to derive immense pleasure from the vast expanse of sand where the Pacific ocean came to rest, crashing constantly to the shore. He had virtually made the beach house his own upon his arrival at Community General a few years ago. Indeed, Mark had often had to remind him that it was actually his house, although it had always been pointed out with a modicum of humour and not a little pride that his young friend felt so at home there.
Jesse had often joked that they didn't have an ocean in Elgin, which was true enough. His proficiency on a surfboard, therefore, was inexplicable and he had never chosen to enlighten them on how his ability had come about. He enjoyed nothing better than surfing to 'wind down' after work, or as a precursor to his shift. It had been a source of mystery to Mark, who had once made the mistake of asking why he didn't simply get some sleep if he wanted to 'wind down'. The expression of utter incredulity that comment had provoked lived on in his memory.
There was no doubt that Jesse and the beach were made for each other. It was also, inevitably, where he wound up when he was feeling miserable or troubled. Steve had found him there on the day of the tribunal when his residency had been in jeopardy after the death of the star player of the basketball team for which he had become temporary team doctor. He had been staring out to sea mournfully, convinced his career was over before it had even begun. The detective had told his father later that Jesse had confessed that he was, in his own words, 'so scared'. He had been awake all that night and had never revealed just how long he had been standing there, watching the undulating motion of the waves, his slight figure in dire peril of being bowled over by the strong wind.
Now, as he watched the slender form stroll through the gate at the end of his property, Mark sighed. He seemed so insubstantial, so frail. The slightest breeze would topple him.
But Jesse was made from sterner stuff. He would survive this. He had already turned a corner and he was set once more on the road to recovery. The journey would not be without its twists and turns and there were bound to be some stop signs along the way but his friends would walk beside him and all he had to do was keep going.

"Thought we'd come by and see how my dad's favourite patient was doing," said Steve as he walked into Cheryl's room a couple of days later. Tanis followed him in, smiling amiably at the other woman.
"I'm doing okay," Cheryl replied, with a grin at her two colleagues. "Tanis. I see you've been assigned to keep Sloan in line."
"It's a tough job," deadpanned the other woman. "But someone's gotta do it."
"Put in for your medal of valour yet, have you?" Steve demanded, huffily, not missing the gleam in his partners' eyes at his obvious discomfort.
"I think it's on its way," replied Tanis, not missing a beat.
Cheryl snorted inelegantly into her hand at the reply and Steve's response to it, which was a dramatic roll of his eyes. "Be careful there, Tanis," she warned her counterpart. "I don't think the Lieutenant appreciates our sense of humour."
"I know. I never understood that about him."
Steve had had enough. "When you two have finished… " he sniffed.
"Oh, I think we're finished, don't you, Cheryl?"
The other woman shrugged, not quite able to conceal the wince of pain this slight movement elicited in her injured shoulder. "I am if you are," she replied, through gritted teeth.
"So you're not quite ready for some weight training yet, huh?" Steve's teasing comment was tempered by the concern in his eyes - a concern which Cheryl silently noted and appreciated.
"I will be," she warned. "Don't get too comfortable with my replacement, Sloan."
The easy camaraderie between the three of them meant a longer than intended visit, but Steve and Tanis had their caseload to get back to. They had dropped by to get a fresh perspective and also take a break. They had been working practically non stop since the shooting, well aware that time was a factor in both Susan's murder and the incident at the Swanson. If the trail went cold in the former, they may never catch the man responsible for the former and they had yet to prove Dobson and Malone's culpability in the latter. The fact that IA were investigating the two cops didn't mean anything to Steve. He wanted the evidence on them to be strong and reliable so that they would have a watertight case against them in court. The sooner those two were out of circulation, the better he would like it.
The trail of the bank records had led to an interesting development. A name popped up which was surprisingly familiar - or at least similar to another name, which Steve and Cheryl had come across in their investigation into Susan's movements over the past couple of years.
"Philip Stonehouse," Steve mused as he read the name off the computer. "Stonehouse … that rings a bell."
"I've seen it somewhere," muttered Tanis, searching through the pile of papers on the cluttered desk. She reached for a sheet of pink paper, inadvertently knocking Steve's coffee mug to the floor, where it broke into several pieces.
"I hadn't finished that," he complained, sulkily.
"Oh shut up," she chided him, with a smile to take the sting out of the words. "I'll buy you another. Now, where is it … Ah! Here it is!" she announced, triumphantly, pulling another piece of paper out. "Here … yes, your probe into Susan's background yielded two names. A Simon Stewart, who's married with an expectant wife and a Jeremy Stonehouse."
"Jeremy Stonehouse?" Steve took the paper from her, studying it intently. "He's the attorney. We dismissed him from our investigations because we couldn't find anything on him - at least nothing suggesting he was dirty."
"Maybe he isn't," she suggested. "Is this Philip Stonehouse related?"
He smiled devilishly at her. "Let's find out, shall we?"

A couple of phone calls determined that Philip Stonehouse, the name which was linked to the holding company that ran 'The Swanson' was the younger brother of Jeremy Stonehouse. Steve and Cheryl had been to Jeremy Stonehouse's office in San Diego and enquired about his relationship with Susan. He had not mentioned a brother at that time.
"I think we need to pay Mr Stonehouse another visit," declared Steve, rising from his desk and pulling his jacket from the back of his chair.
"You really think that his brother has something to do with Susan Hilliard's murder?" queried Tanis. She mirrored his movements, donning her own jacket as they hurried out of the office. "Seems a little coincidental."
"Yeah, and sometimes coincidences pay off," muttered Steve, darkly, remembering other incidences of relationships such as these two brothers proving to be the solution in various mysterious deaths over the years. "Why is it always siblings?"
"Huh?"
"Siblings - brothers, sisters, twins," he clarified. "Every time we encounter them one of them is always a murderer. Sometimes they even murder their own brother or sister - usually to try and escape conviction from the first murder they committed. The Sweeneys were the worst - planting bombs and killing dozens of people. Then there was Warren Decker and his brother, the Strattons, Jeff and Jim Briggs, Frederick and Lilly Wilson … " his voice trailed off as he recalled with a pang of sorrow the woman he had fallen in love with and who had been killed by her long lost brother who had been masquerading without her knowledge as a doctor for many years.
"I'm sorry," she said, softly. "I know that one was hard for you."
"Yeah, it was," he admitted. "Even my own sister was murdered. I gotta tell you, Tanis, going by our track record in these things, this is a lead that's definitely gonna pan out."

"I'm telling you, I know nothing of my brother's business dealings. We barely even speak," Jeremy Stonehouse insisted. Steve and Tanis had called the man's office and requested an urgent meeting with him. Saddened by his ex-girlfriend's death and wanting to be co-operative, the attorney had agreed without protest. Now he was beginning to feel besieged as they threw question after question at him about his sibling.
"Yeah, I've heard that one before," muttered Tanis, disparagingly. "A suspect of ours called Warren Decker tried to use it. Thought he was being clever. He's in jail for murder now."
Stonehouse regarded her with utter indignation. Sergeant, I can assure you that I am telling you the truth!" he exclaimed. "I'm a respected attorney. I would never do anything to break the law!"
"We had a DA like that once," Steve observed, mildly. "She maintained the same thing. She ended up in prison for blowing up a suspect who had walked free from her courtroom."
The man dropped his head into his hands. "What can I say to convince you!" he moaned. "I have never done anything wrong! I haven't even had a speeding ticket! Investigate me - please, I implore you! I don't have anything to hide!"
"What about your brother?" demanded Steve, implacably.
"What about him? I told you, I don't have anything to do with him."
"Why?"
He shrugged helplessly, looking up at them. "We've never gotten along," he confessed. "We're just … different."
"In what way?" Steve pressed, relentlessly.
"He's … I don't know, he's hard-nosed, unfeeling. He just lives to make money. I don't see the world that way. Sure, I practice law, but I do mostly pro bono work. I don't work for a big corporate firm. My partners and I barely manage to clear in a month what most lawyers make in a week. But that's not what's important to us. What matters is that we're helping people. It's how Susan and I became involved in the first place."
"You told us," said Steve. Jeremy and Susan had met at a fundraiser for a homeless charity. They had found a common interest and had gone out to dinner the next night. It had led to a steady relationship. Susan had put an end to it when she found she was unable to forget about Jesse. "How did you feel when she came back to LA? Came back to Jesse?"
Stonehouse smiled ruefully. "I didn't like it," he admitted. "But what could I do? I mean, I could tell our relationship was never going to last. She was hung up on this Jesse guy throughout. She tried to forget him. She even told me what she did to him. I thought he'd be a fool to take her back. Then again, I also thought he'd be a fool not to. She was gorgeous and funny and smart … " his voice trailed off as he reminisced. "I don't know who would want to kill her," he went on, in a low, strained voice. "I can't imagine … I mean, what does that do to someone when they love that person? It nearly destroyed me when I heard, I can tell you. I just … all I wanted to do was go out and find whoever was responsible and … well, you know."
Steve smiled weakly. Yes, he did know. He also recognised that the man was telling them the truth. "What about Philip?" he asked. "Any kind of relationship between him and Susan?"
Stonehouse stared at them in incomprehension for a moment. "Philip and Susan?" he gasped. "God, no! I don't even think he knew her. As I say, we're not close. We don't see each other. I have no idea if he has anyone in his life and could care less - except for feeling sorry for them. It's probably the same for him."
Tanis and Steve exchanged glances. Whilst they believed Jeremy Stonehouse was sincere, there was an undercurrent of something in his voice. Something just didn't quite gel.
"Where can we find your brother, Mr Stonehouse?" Tanis asked.
He shook his head. "I don't know. Have you tried his office? 1331 East Boulevard? If he's not there, then I think he has a club he goes to. His secretary can probably give you the address. I have his home address here." He rifled in his drawer for a moment, pulling out a tatty slip of paper which he handed over to them. "Here," he said. "There's a security gate so you'll have to announce yourself."
"Thank you," said Steve. He rose to his feet, Tanis following him. Stonehouse did the same. "We'll be in touch."
They turned to go. "Please," begged the attorney. "If you find anything, would you let me know? I .. I need to know who killed her. For my own peace of mind or … whatever."
Steve nodded. "We'll do that," he promised.
As they exited the office he looked at his partner, who was regarding him with a sardonic smile. "I just hope we're not responsible for another fratricide," he joked, feebly.

Their interview with Philip Stonehouse didn't proceed quite as smoothly, nor as they had planned.
"Lieutenant Sloan, Sergeant Archer," he greeted them, coolly, when they were finally granted access to see him - after cooling their heels in his outer office for over an hour.
"You're a difficult man to track down," was Steve's opening gambit. "Your secretary stonewalled us all morning before finally admitting that you were here."
He smiled. There was no humour or warmth in it. "I train my staff very well," he replied. He turned to the man standing next to him. His companion was tall and lean with a thin, hawk-like face. Beady brown eyes peered at them from behind thin-rimmed glasses which did little to enhance his looks. "Let me introduce you. My attorney, Myles Bradford."
"Lieutenant, Sergeant," the lawyer said. The formalities over as far as the two men were concerned the attorney motioned them to a couple of chairs which were situated in front of a large ornate mahogany desk. Placed upon it was a laptop, a telephone and a gold cigar case. The latter was the only obvious trappings of wealth evident in this not so lavish set up. Behind the desk and the huge leather chair into which Philip Stonehouse sank was a dark mahogany bookcase, crammed with all manner of reading material, from business journals through science books to several large tomes on alligators, wolves and poisonous reptiles. The subjects were appropriate, considering Philip Stonehouse's vulpine grin and, from Steve's first impressions, he was also a slippery customer.
"Mr Stonehouse will be answering all your questions through me," Bradford told them as they took their seats. "Now, proceed."
Steve valiantly suppressed his resentment at the condescending manner in which they were being treated, but it was all he could do to hang on to what little was left of his patience after having been kept waiting for so long. "I'll get right to the point," he said, tersely. "Mr Stonehouse, did you know Susan Hilliard?"
"No," came the immediate response from the attorney. "Next question."
"Just a minute," Tanis cut in, angrily. "How could you know that? Do you keep track of all the people your client has met?"
"Yes," replied Bradford, brusquely. "When you arrived, I took the liberty of telephoning Mr Stonehouse's brother to ascertain the reason for your visit. At first he was reluctant to tell me, but we soon reached an understanding - lawyer to lawyer, you understand. I then appraised Mr Stonehouse of the facts. He has assured me that he has never met Miss Hilliard. He and his brother do not exactly travel in the same social circles as I am sure you will appreciate, having met Jeremy. Now, if that is the sole reason for your visit and I am well aware that it is, I suggest that the interview is at an end. I shall be instructing Mr Stonehouse not to say anything more. Goodbye."
"But …!" spluttered Tanis, furious at being so summarily dismissed.
"Leave it, Sergeant," interjected Steve. His tone was icy, but it was not directed at her. "We're not going to get any further information today." He rose to his feet, dragging his protesting partner up with him. Halfway to the door, however, he paused and turned around, directing a venomous look toward the two men. "This isn't over," he said in a low, angry voice. "We'll be back."
Stonehouse's facial muscles didn't even twitch at the threat but the icy blue eyes were guarded and that, more than anything else, told Steve all he needed to know. The man was hiding something and he became even more determined to find out what it was.
"Are you threatening my client, Lieutenant?" demanded Bradford.
Steve smiled nastily. "No, Mr Bradford, I'm making him a promise. And I keep my promises. We'll be back."

Still fuming, both police officers had exited the building when Steve's cell rang. "Sloan," he answered, curtly. Then, "Mr Stonehouse? What? Yes, all right. We'll be right over."
"What?" demanded Tanis as he turned off the phone and pocketed it.
"That was Jeremy Stonehouse," he told her, looking perplexed. "He wants to see us."

"So, did you get anything out of him?" was Jeremy Stonehouse's first question when they entered his office not fifteen minutes later.
"No," Steve replied, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "But you didn't think we would, did you?"
The man smiled. His features were entirely more pleasant than his brothers. In fact, they didn't have any physical similarities in common. Where Philip Stonehouse was tall and well built, with bulging muscles beneath his expensively cut suit, Jeremy was more diminutive. He wasn't classically handsome but he was what women would have termed 'cute'. In a way, he reminded Steve of Jesse. His blond hair had a habit of falling over his face like the young doctor's and, like Jesse, it irritated him as he constantly swept an exasperated hand through it. "No," he admitted, answering the query. "No, I didn't. My brother is very cagey, Lieutenant. He keeps all his cards close to his chest. I suppose it's what makes him so good at business."
"How did he make his money?" queried Tanis as she sank onto the comfortable old sofa to which he waved them.
He shrugged. "Investments, loans - to others, I mean. I suspect he charges a high interest rate, which probably makes him a loan shark. It wouldn't surprise me if he had enforcers to ensure that his money came in on time."
"D'you know about his holdings?" queried Steve.
Jeremy nodded. "Yeah. Well, not from him, obviously. He owns hotels both here and in LA - but not the kind you or I would ever want to stay in."
"Low rent," Tanis murmured.
"That's right," he confirmed. "It's a disgusting, amoral way to do business. I hate it. Taking advantage of the people who don't have anything. It's partly why I do what I do - I go after people like him. I guess I'm hoping that one day he'll make a mistake and I can go after him, too."
"You really don't like him, do you?"
The other man smiled sadly at Steve's statement. "It's awful, isn't it?" he commented. "Two brothers - hating each other like we do. There's something sort of 'Greek tragedy' about it all."
"We asked him if he knew Susan," said Tanis. "His attorney denied it."
He stared at her appraisingly. "You think he did it," he said, flatly.
"Mr Stonehouse …" Steve began.
"No, no," he cut the detective off. "You do. I'm good at reading people, Lieutenant, sergeant. I can see it in your faces. You think he's responsible for her murder."
"Look …"
"I don't know how he could be," he mused, as though he hadn't heard the attempted interruption. "We hardly move in the same social circles after all, but it's not impossible. I mean, that man would do anything - and I mean anything to protect himself. Maybe Susan found out something about him and he wanted her shut up. Or maybe there's another reason."
"You've been thinking about this," Steve accused him.
"Yes, yes I have," he confessed. "I admit, it didn't make any sense at first. I mean, as I say, we're hardly alike and we don't know the same people. But I have this feeling … I don't know what it is. I just … he had her killed. I just know he did."
Tanis sighed. "Well, that's all very well," she said. "But we need proof."
"How can I help?"
"What?" Steve exclaimed.
"I want to help," Jeremy said. He leaned forward, fixing his steady gaze on the two officers. "Tell me how. Look, I may not be rich and powerful - or as unscrupulous - as my brother, but that's not to say I don't have my own resources. I know people who know people … " he laughed humourlessly. "When you do the work I do for the people for whom I work, you get to meet all kinds of … well, let's just say that I could help. Please, let me help."
Steve studied him. "Is this revenge?" he asked.
"Partly," came the immediate response. "Yes, of course. You have to understand, Lieutenant Sloan, I loved Susan with all my heart. I hated that she left me, but harm her? No, I could never do anything that would hurt her in any way. I was hurt when she left, although things had been cooling for some time. There was something she wasn't telling me. Something she kept a secret. I know it wasn't about the love of her life, because she told me about that. She started getting … restless, there was something disturbing her but she wouldn't tell me what it was. I was worried about her but before I could find out what was wrong, she'd ended our relationship and left to go back to LA. Now, if my brother was threatening her …" He left the rest unspoken .
"It's a possibility," acknowledged Steve, thoughtfully. "Did you know any of her friends?"
"All of them," came the reply. "Have you spoken to them all?"
"Except for one," the detective said. "She moved away shortly after Susan did. We're still trying to trace her."
Jeremy grinned. "Let me help. I have someone who's good at tracing people. I've done him a few favours in the past in court, and thrown a lot of paying work his way. He owes me."
Steve and Tanis exchanged looks. "I think we're perfectly capable of tracing people on our own, Mr Stonehouse," said Tanis, evenly.
"I'm not saying you're not," he replied. "But if I can help, then let me."
"This 'contact of yours …"
"It's perfectly legal, if that's what you're worried about," he said, forestalling Steve's question. "I wouldn't be able to present the evidence I do in court if I did anything against the law to acquire it. It would be ruled inadmissible and there'd be no point in going to all the trouble to acquire it in the first place, would there?"
Steve had to agree. "All right," he agreed, grudgingly. "See what you can do. In the meantime, we'll see what we can come up with from another angle."
"Thank you," said the attorney, gratefully. "I'll let you know if we find anything. Okay?"
"Okay."
They were interrupted by the sound of the telephone. Jeremy Stonehouse rushed to answer it then, after speaking for a few minutes, he replaced the receiver. "It's my four o clock appointment," he said. "He's been waiting for ten minutes. I'm sorry."
The detectives rose. "Don't apologise, Mr Stonehouse," said Steve. "It's your job. We'll speak soon."
"We will," he promised, reaching out to shake first Steve's and then Tanis's hand warmly. "Thank you."
"For what?" asked Tanis quizzically.
He shrugged. "For believing me, for listening to me and for letting me help. It helps me … it makes me feel like I'm doing something for Susan. It's not enough. It will never be enough but it will have to do."

"Well, what d'you think?" Tanis asked of her partner once they were outside the law offices - which stood in a row of once grand but now sadly dilapidated buildings.
Steve frowned. "I think he's entirely too eager to see his brother put away for this and we haven't even got any proof yet," mused Steve. "But I also believe he's sincere. I guess we wait to see what pans out from his search into Susan's friend. But there's another angle we can go at in the meantime."
"What's that?" she asked as she opened the car door.
"The shooters themselves," he replied. "Let's see what we can turn up on them. Someone, somewhere must know something."

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