Back at the station, they took their lunch to the break room and sat down to eat. Since it was so late, they managed to consume their meals uninterrupted. Afterwards, they headed back to their desks and started on the paperwork, Jim working on the robbery, while Blair wrote up their notes on the possible murder/suicide.

Working diligently, they managed to complete their preliminary reports by five p.m. Then they made various calls to request information, checking with Dan Wolf on the autopsies on the Bridgers and the hospital to see how the Shoenfelds were doing. Both of the robbery victims had survived surgery and were in guarded condition, while Dan said that his preliminary report would be on Jim's desk in the morning, with a more detailed report within three days. Thanking the Medical Examiner/Coroner, Jim hung up the phone and could tell by the expression on his partner's face that the news was good from the hospital, as well.

"You two taking up lodging here?" Simon asked, pausing between their desks as he pulled on his overcoat "Go on, get out of here. It's almost six. Go home. It'll still be waiting for you in the morning."

"Sure it will," Blair agreed, "But with how many more cases on top of them?"

"Doesn't matter. Take your partner home and feed him. You know how cranky he gets when he doesn't eat regularly." Simon's tone was only half joking, knowing that the words were completely accurate.

"You don't have to tell me twice, Simon," Jim said, rising and reaching for his coat. "Let's go, Chief. We've done as much as we can today." With that the men said their good-nights and headed for home.

"Jim..." Blair began.

"No. Not tonight. No talking shop at home, please. Just this once, OK? This is recharging the batteries time. Leave it at the office, Sandburg," Jim growled.

"But I was just..."

"It'll keep until tomorrow. If you're worried about forgetting it, write it down..." Jim looked up from the Jags game he was watching, "Unless you think that somebody's going to be hurt if it waits?" He waited, watching as Blair's face contorted with his arguments and then fell.

"No. Nothing like that," he admitted, with disappointment in his voice.

Jim sighed. "Please, Blair, can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I guess so," Blair admitted. "But you know me. How much I like to do everything 'now'." He grinned at his friend. "It will definitely wait... Oh, man. Did you see that? That ref has to be blind to miss that. That was a blatant foul, man..." and their full attention turned to the basketball game.

The news was full of the murder-suicide, even though the determination had not yet been made. Blair stared in shock at the television, "Where do they get off calling it a murder-suicide before the investigation's even really begun? Where do they get this stuff?"

"Oh, come on, Sandburg. You know that when a prominent person dies the media needs the information 'now' and doesn't worry much about accuracy," Jim admonished, "Besides, from the cursory glance, it did look that way. We just have a few questions that we want answered, is all."

"Yeah, quite a few."

"Don't sweat it, Chief. We'll get it figured out. Anyway, I'm going to turn in. I'll see you in the morning." With that, Jim rose and checked the locks before heading up the stairs to his room.

"Good night, Jim. I guess I'll turn in, too." Blair turned off the television, then stood up, turned out the lights and made his way to his own room.

Morning found them back at their desks, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle that was the deaths of the Bridgers. The preliminary autopsy report was waiting on Jim's desk. It was no surprise that the cause of death had been the bullet wound to the heart of Mrs. Bridger, and the bullet wound to the head for Mr. Bridger. However, the paraffin test had indicated that Mr. Bridger had not been holding the gun at any time it was fired, as the blow-back indicated that he had been holding his hands out in front of him, as though to ward off a blow. Although there was also some gunpowder residue on his right hand that could be commensurate with having fired a gun, Dan speculated that it had occurred post-mortem.

"So, we have a double murder, rather than a murder-suicide?" Blair asked.

"Yeah, but we still have to prove it. The blowback isn't enough. We need the rest of the equation."

"Motive, means, and opportunity," Blair recited from his training courses.

"Yep," Jim agreed. Casting an amused glance at his partner, "You got anyone particular in mind for this one?" he asked, even though he thought he already knew the answer.

"The daughter," Blair said, positively.

"Could be, partner, could be."

At that moment, Jim's phone rang. Scooping it up, he spoke into the receiver, "Ellison." He listened for a few moments, reaching for a pen and a notepad to write on. "OK, got it. We'll be down in a little while... Thanks." Finishing his note, he turned to his partner, "That was the hospital, they say we can question the Shoenfelds, now."

The two men rose, grabbed their jackets and headed out, letting Rhonda know where they would be and that their cell phones would be off once they reached the hospital.

The younger Mr. Shoenfeld was awake and anxious to learn about his father's condition. His memories of the previous day's events were quite lucid. "I was working the counter, polishing the glass, when the door opened and a man came in," He began.

"What did this man look like?" Blair interrupted.

"He was probably about fifty, between six foot and six-foot-two. Medium build, getting a little paunchy. Graying hair, brown eyes... uh... oh, he had a foreign accent!"

Jim and Blair exchanged pleased looks; the description matched their suspect exactly. "Any distinguishing marks, tattoos, scars?" Blair asked.

"Well, he smiled the entire time, even after he shot me and turned to shoot my dad," He looked concerned, "They won't tell me how he's doing. Could you find out for me?"

"He's doing well enough that they're going to let us talk to him," Jim reassured the young man. "I don't know any more than that, though."

"Well, at least he's still alive," the young man replied.

"So the man came into the shop while you were cleaning the glass counters. What happened then?" Jim gently encouraged.

"He looked around for a few seconds, long enough for me to finish up the case I was working on and call my dad out from the back. He came out and the man smiled at us and said he was looking for something special in diamonds. Dad said he had an excellent selection of stones and did custom work all the time. Dad turned to pull a tray from the little vault and the man pulled a gun. I yelled, and he shot me. I tried to stay up, but I fell against the counter. Dad turned around, and he shot him, too. I managed to hit the silent alarm as I slid down the side of the case. I couldn't tell if Dad was dead or alive, but I heard the guy humming as he came around the counter and started pulling out all the loose stones from the safe. Then I passed out. The next thing I remember is waking up here." He heaved a careful sigh, his speech wearing him out.

"Thank you, Mr. Shoenfeld. You've been a great deal of help. Do you think you could recognize the man if you saw him again?" Jim asked gently.

"In a second." There was defiant determination in the young man's voice, which reflected from his expression, as well. "I'll never forget that bastard. I bet I could pick him out just by his voice," He declared.

"Thank you. I'll see about bringing back some pictures for you to pick him out from, if you don't mind," Jim assured him, scribbling down some notes. "I can see you're getting tired, so we'll go ahead and leave you now. We'll try to stop by after we see your father and let you know how he's doing," Jim promised.

"Thank you. I'd appreciate it."

With that the two police officers turned and left the room. Waiting until they were outside and the door had closed, Blair then asked, "His description was dead on, Jim. Do you think we have enough?"

"Yeah. Now if he can pick him out of a photo lineup, we'll be home free," Jim agreed, "Let's go see his father. If his statement agrees, we can get this one sewn up and off to the DA." Smiling, the two men headed for the second victim of the previous day's robbery.

The elder Mr. Shoenfeld was in much worse condition than his son, but looked to make a full recovery, given time. The older man's description matched his son's, but he put the man's age somewhat younger. Both were reasonably close enough to be considered a match. When they finished, they stopped back by the younger victim's room to inform him how his father was doing. Then, they returned to the station to fill out more of their reports and to gather enough pictures to have a photo lineup that would preclude anything the defense might try to throw at them.

"I don't get it, Jim. I mean, we practically caught the guy red handed, but we still need the victims' identification of the perp. It's nuts, man," Blair complained as they drove back to the station.

"It's how we make a case stick, though, Chief. No one else actually saw him shoot the victims. Sure, we found him on the scene and subsequent tests indicated that he had, indeed, fired a gun, but proving that it was the gun that fired the shots is a little harder. He was wearing gloves, don't forget, so there wouldn't have been any fingerprints at the scene."

"Yeah, I know. And fingerprints aren't usually much help, since most of them are smeared and illegible. I know. I think I remember most of what they taught at the academy. It just seems so, so..."

"Frustrating?" Jim finished for him, "Yeah, it is. But the courts have made it damned hard for us to prove that someone committed a crime, unless we literally catch him in the act, and even then, they don't always convict. Try to think of it as finding all the pieces to a puzzle. We put most of it together, then the DA tries to show it to the jury and convince them that all the pieces are there. It's pretty convoluted, but that's what we have to contend with. If we're really lucky, the perp will plead guilty, since both victims can ID him. That's a plus, that they survived."

"Yeah. Just a few minutes later and we'd have lost one or both of them. Scary, man," Blair shuddered at the thought of how close it had been.

"Yeah. You never know, though. We just got lucky, this time," Jim agreed.

"Yeah. Lucky," Blair's tone of voice showed his skepticism. "When are you going to realize that your abilities aren't simply 'luck'?"

Jim sighed, "Sandburg, it was lucky that we were close by, that we decided to take the call, that I looked beyond the guy in the suit who told the uniforms that he accidentally hit the silent alarm. It was luck that there was a blood smear on the counter, and it was luck that I pushed it. I used my senses to check things out, but if we hadn't been there and if..."

"If you weren't paranoid to not believe everything you're told... Yeah, you're right. It was partly luck, but a lot of it goes to your Sentinel senses, man."

"I agree, Chief. I've pretty much come to accept them. In fact, I use them a lot. Automatically." Jim waited for the explosion he expected. He'd never admitted that he had such control of his senses or that he used them automatically, before.

Blair stared at his partner, his eyes narrowing, "You've never mentioned that you automatically used your senses, before, Jim. How long has this been going on?" There was an edge to his voice that caused Jim to wince, just a bit.

"Well, at first, it was only once in a while, when I needed to see something far away, for example. It would just happen. Over the past year or so, it just seems to have gotten a little easier, and it happens more often..." he looked away, a faint flush creeping up his face, "And lately, it happens a lot."

"How recent is 'lately', Jim?" Blair asked, a combination of annoyance and excitement in his tone.

"Um..eversinceyou'vebeenmyofficialpartner," he mumbled quickly.

"What?" Blair asked, shocked.

"Ever since you've been my official partner. It just happens. It works." Jim's blush deepened and he had to force himself to meet his friend's eyes.

"Like it was meant to be," Blair softly declared, a touch of awe in his voice. "Oh, man. This is like, so cool!" And suddenly, the bounce that had been mostly absent in the past year was back. "This is great, man." Blair gently punched Jim's arm. "Why didn't you tell me?" His eyes sparkled as he hadn't seen in some time, and Jim couldn't help smiling.

"I wasn't sure how you'd take it."

"How I'd take it? Oh, man. Don't you get it yet? It doesn't matter about the diss. Not really. I've told you that, more than once, man. This is great! I mean, you're finally getting it all together, Jim."

"But I wouldn't have, not without you, Chief," Jim's soft, self-deprecating tone stopped Blair's enthusiasm for a moment.

"We're partners, right, Jim?"

Jim looked over at his best friend. "Always," was his simple, heartfelt reply.

Blair's response was cut off by the radio blaring to life to announce a major accident just a couple of blocks away from their current location. As Blair picked up the microphone and responded to Dispatch that they were on their way to assist, Jim changed lanes to make the turn to get them on scene.

Approaching the intersection, Jim abruptly slammed on his brakes and pulled to the side of the road. Blair looked askance at him as he peeled himself back from the dashboard. "What was that for?" he asked.

"Gasoline. A lot of it. Let dispatch know that we need a HAZMAT team and the fire department."

"I'm on it," Blair replied, picking up the microphone and calling Dispatch. When finished, he climbed out of the truck to join his partner as he cautiously approached the intersection.

From first appearance, the scene didn't really look all that bad. A semi, hauling fuel, had been making a left-hand turn when it was hit broadside by a city bus. The impact had ruptured one of the tanks and fuel had spilled, covering the intersection and draining down the storm drain. The passengers on the bus had escaped through the rear doors, since the front door was embedded in the side of the tanker. They retreated to the sidewalk, the injured being assisted by their uninjured companions. The bus driver had been pulled out and was laying on the sidewalk, with one woman passenger performing CPR on him. Their biggest concern, at the moment, was to ensure that no sparks accidentally ignited the spilled fuel. Fortunately, the traffic had halted immediately, and no one was trying to get through the intersection by maneuvering around the crashed vehicles. As they crossed to the passengers, several patrol cars pulled up and prepared to direct traffic, first by closing off the next nearest intersections, then by directing the vehicles near the accident to turn around and go back and work their way around the snarl-up. As the uninvolved motorists were cleared from the area, it allowed the rest of the emergency vehicles to gain access to the accident. In the meantime, Jim and Blair made their way through the spilled fuel and moved to assist the injured.

"Jim, check out the bus driver, see what you can sense," Blair whispered to his partner, who merely nodded and crouched down next to the woman performing CPR. Listening carefully, he realized that the man was having a heart attack and that what he really needed was the paramedics with a defibrillator, which could, conceivably cause just enough of a spark to ignite the fumes from the surrounding fuel spill. As the woman tired, Jim took over performing CPR, telling his partner to check on the rest of the injured and if no one was in immediate need, to go wait for the paramedics and let them know that they had a heart attack victim who would need to be moved before they would be able to safely work on him.

When the paramedics finally arrived, nearly thirty minutes after the accident, Blair was waiting for them and directed them to bring the gurney to move the bus driver to a safer location to work on... like the ambulance. Considering the severity of the danger, they readily agreed. The paramedics inserted a breathing tube and took over the job of forcing air into the man's lungs, while Jim continued compressions, even as they moved him to the gurney and transported him out of the danger area. Meanwhile, Blair helped guide the rest of the bus' passengers away from the spilled fuel.

As Jim and Blair helped with the victims, the fire department arrived and began spraying fire retardant on the spilled fuel and the HAZMAT crew began the onerous task of cleaning up the mess. Fortunately, there was a system in place that could seal off sections of the storm drain system, permitting the city to control the flow of the system, just in case of an incident such as this.

"Hey, Ellison!" a gravelly, yet almost shrill voice called out as Jim finally gave up his position performing CPR. Looking toward the voice, he spotted a uniformed sergeant and raised a hand in greeting.

"Who's that, Jim?" Blair asked curiously.

"Tanner, Traffic Investigations," Jim replied as they waited for the man to get to them.

"What brings you into my bailiwick, Jim?" the rather raspy-voiced man asked, looking up at Jim, not even deigning to notice Blair's presence.

"We were in the neighborhood, Tanner. Have you met my partner? Blair Sandburg. Blair, this is Sergeant Alfred Tanner; he's the head of Traffic Investigations and the stuckee of the day, it would appear." He smiled; watching closely as the irascible older man finally took notice of Blair.

Blair stared, the sergeant was probably even shorter than he was, mid-fifties, with dark curly hair that was going gray and a lined face that probably smiled as much as it scowled. It was rather neutral at the moment as he looked him up and down.

"Partner? You got another partner? I thought you worked alone?" The sergeant's face showed no emotion as he turned to ignore Blair and refocused on Jim.

"Nah. Sandburg's a great partner. He's one of the best," Jim insisted. Tanner had the grace to look surprised and give Blair a second look.

"Really? So, Sandburg; what's your take on the accident, hmmm?" Tanner pulled a partially smoked stogie from his shirt pocket and stuck it in his mouth, his body language and expression challenging the younger man.

With an uncertain glance at his partner, he took a deep breath and answered the question. "Well, it looks like the truck was making a left-hand turn when the bus broadsided him. From what I could observe and from what the passengers were saying, the bus driver may have suffered a heart attack and lost control. There are no skid marks, so he never hit the brakes. The bus probably wasn't going very fast, though, since the tanker wasn't moved sideways," Blair began.

"How do you know that?" Tanner interrupted him.

"There would be marks from the tires if they were pushed sideways, also, the second trailer wouldn't have still been in the position it was, in the middle of a turn, the juncture of the trailers would have been more jack-knifed," Blair explained.

Tanner took the cigar from his mouth and spit a shred of tobacco out. Glancing briefly at Blair, he smirked at Jim. "The kid's pretty good. Where'd you find him?" He tried to be nonchalant, but Jim wasn't buying it.

"He's my partner, Tanner. You can't have him."

"Oh, come on, Jim; you can't tell me you actually want a partner? I remember you from your days in Vice. You're the loner-est of loners, pal. Besides, why would you want to be stuck with a baby rookie?" There was a sneer in his voice.

Jim just grinned. Seeing Blair's worried look, he winked at him. "Alfred, Blair and I are partners. We like each other. We work well together. He's the best cop I've ever known, and I can trust him to back me up. He's quick and smart and makes me laugh. I'm not about to give him up. Certainly not to you."

Tanner sighed. "Figures. Finally some rookie comes out of the academy with a few smarts and they give him to an old lone wolf like you. I can't win."

Jim laughed, "Sorry, Alf. Like I said, I'm keeping him." Seeing Blair's still confused expression, he continued, "So, his take on the accident matches what you think happened?"

"Yeah. Dead on." He shook his head, "Damned shame, too. I really could use a few good people. Most of them wouldn't have gotten the lack of speed on the bus thing. Good call, kid." Taking his now well-chewed cigar out of his mouth, he put it back in his shirt pocket. Turning away, he added, "If you ever change your mind, let me know, kid. I'll see you around, Jim."

"See you, Alf," Jim replied, to which the retreating figure casually waved a hand back at them.

"Jim? What was that all about?" Blair asked as they turned to make their way back to Jim's truck to continue their way back to the station.

"I worked with him in Vice for a while. He's a good cop. Competent. Lousy bedside manner, but he gets the job done. That was quite a compliment he paid you, by the way."

"Really? How could you tell?"

"He didn't call you 'Shit-for-Brains'." With a gentle shove, Jim piloted his partner back to the truck, just smiling when the younger man spluttered, trying to decide on a comeback.

"Gee, what a compliment," he finally managed.

"It is, from him. Come on, it's handled, here. Let's get back to the station and try and catch up on the rest of the workload, OK?"

"Fine by me."

When they returned to the station, they headed directly for Simon's office, only to be waylaid by their colleagues.

"Oh, man, what'd you two do, bathe in unleaded?" Henry Brown asked, holding his nose. Jim and Blair stopped and exchanged glances.

"Oh, come on, H. It's not that bad," Blair replied.

"You just can't smell yourselves, guys." Megan Connor added, as she waved a hand in front of her face. "If it's just on your shoes, why don't you try washing them off?"

Exchanging looks, Jim and Blair turned around and headed back out the door. Taking the elevator down to the basement, they headed for their lockers, where they pulled out their running shoes and fresh socks. Laughing over their friends' reactions, they changed their footwear and put their gasoline-tainted shoes and socks in plastic grocery bags, before putting them away and heading back up to Major Crime.

"Much better," Megan murmured, with a smirk, when they returned.

Shrugging, the pair made their way back toward the captain's office. Knocking, they opened the door when bid to enter. Simon Banks looked up from the paperwork spread across his desk. Seeing who his visitors were, he settled back in his chair and waited for them to settle themselves in the visitor's chairs.

"So, is this about the Bridgers or the Shoenfeld robbery?" he asked.

"We need to put together a photo lineup for the Shoenfelds, but they both gave the same description and indicated that they would recognize him if they ever saw him again. The son even remembered that he had a foreign accent," Jim informed their captain.

"Good," Simon approved, nodding. "What about the Bridger thing?"

Casting a quick glance at his partner, Blair explained their concept, "We think it was a double murder. The blow-back residue and patterns don't match what would be normal if he had shot her and then himself."

Jim joined in, "The blow back appears to indicate that his hands were up in a defensive position, as though trying to ward off a blow or perhaps trying to push someone away. Also, the angle of trajectory indicates that for it to have been self inflicted, he would have had to fire the gun with his thumb, plus the way the body landed is a little odd."

Simon nodded, "Dan Wolf called me, he feels the same way. The trajectory angle is all wrong for a self-inflicted wound; and you're right about how the body landed. What do you want to do now?"

"Well," Blair began, with a quick, uncertain look at his partner, "I have a feeling that we need to go back to the Bridger's house. I think that someone tried to make it look like suicide and that we'll find a third bullet in a wall, somewhere. Remember Dan's initial report? It indicated that he may have fired the gun, but that he thought it might have been after he was dead? If we find the bullet, it will go a ways toward proving it, don't you think?"

Simon looked at his men, "Who do you like for a suspect?" he asked.

"Well, there's the daughter, but the housekeeper could be just as possible," Jim admitted. "The daughter disliked the step-mother, and showed no remorse over her father's death. The brother and sister are out of town... we haven't been able to contact them, yet. The housekeeper has been with the family for thirty years, but there's no real reason to suspect her," Jim rambled through the possibilities.

"You know," Blair mused, drawing the attention of the other two men, "What if the housekeeper was in love with her employer?" he lifted his gaze to his companions. Seeing their expressions, he asked, "What?"

"Good call, Chief," Jim said. "She certainly had the best means and opportunity."

Simon nodded his concurrence. "Well, gentlemen, it sounds like you have your work cut out for you. Do you think you'll need any backup?"

"No. There's no reason for her to think that we may suspect her, Sir. I think we'll head out to the Bridger house and take another look at the scene," Jim said, standing, with Blair quickly rising to follow his partner.

"Well, be careful. Keep me informed."

"Yes, Sir," Jim replied, opening and holding the door for his partner to precede him.