"I guess you look all right. Considering." Simon eyed Blair doubtfully. "Do you really feel okay?"

"I feel great. Never better." Blair chuckled at Simon's disbelieving expression. "Never better after getting knocked on the head, I mean."

"Okay, I might buy that. You don't think he needs a doctor's release first, before he goes back out?" Simon turned to Jim.

"Doctor says he's fine. And if you can ignore his tendency to burst into song occasionally, he's the same as he's ever been."

"And the tic, don't forget the tic," Blair offered, drawing up one arm and jerking his head sharply to the right.

"Yeah, that too, and the uncontrolled flatulence--"

"Okay, I get the point. He's his usual, strange self." Simon glared at the two snickering men across the desk from him. "I just want to be sure his head's in shape for another bashing, if you're heading back out there."

"I'll pass on another one for now. Even though the food's great." Blair glanced sideways at Jim and smiled.

Simon shook his head and didn't go there. "Well, while you were convalescing and Jim was catching up the paperwork to the events of the past few days," he patted a small stack of papers on the desk in front of him, "Henri has been working on that to-do list you gave him. David Smith has a few priors, all petty stuff. Irene Anderson did attend that party she told you about -- it even showed up on the society page, with her listed as an attendee. And according to Forensics," he picked up another sheet of paper, "the crowbar Smith whacked Blair with is not the murder weapon." Jim nodded. "You already knew that, of course."

"I was 99% sure. I'm glad to have it confirmed."

"We'll go forward with the assault charges, of course, but I guess we can forget about him as a suspect in the killings." Simon picked up his cigar. "No word on the janitor's location yet?"

"He's disappeared. He may have left town. No one has seen him, or will admit to seeing him. Not that I think anyone would cover for him -- sounds like he's not very popular."

"I think 'creepy' is the consensus." Blair shifted in his chair. "Irene was unconvincingly surprised when I told her he might be stalking her. I think she might have been aware of it already, but she doesn't seem very concerned. She said she'd call if she saw him."

"I won't hold my breath." Simon's phone rang, and he reached for it quickly. "Banks." He was silent for a moment, then covered his eyes with one hand. "Damn. I'll send Ellison and Sandburg over now." He dropped the receiver in the cradle and looked across the desk into the two detectives' expectant faces. "Andrea Padgett was attacked last night. They found her in that little park on the south side of the bay." Blair jumped to his feet, swearing. Jim closed his eyes and shook his head. "But she's alive -- banged up, unconscious, missing a few teeth, but alive. Cooper's at the hospital now."

"Is he the one who found her, sir?"

Simon eyed Blair suspiciously. "I think so, probably. Why?"

Jim stood and herded Blair briskly toward the door. "No reason, sir. We're going now. I'll call in when we know more."

"You do--" the door closed with a bang, "that."

"I'm just saying," Blair shrugged, palms up, "that this time Cooper wasn't on his normal beat, and he was still first on the scene. What was he doing out there? Kind of a coincidence, don't you think?"

"He called for the ambulance, he rode with her to the hospital, and he's been taking down every word she says. Kind of not suspicious, don't you think?"

Blair rolled his eyes, then winced. "That still hurts," he muttered. Jim glared sideways at him. "Okay, so he's trying to throw suspicion off himself by looking helpful, maybe. I don't know."

"No, you don't. So I suggest you drop it."

"I didn't think you liked the guy. Why are you so ready to believe he can't be involved in this thing? The homeless people on his beat don't like him. His fellow officers don't even like him much. You say he's a mouthy S.O.B. He keeps turning up first at the scene, even this one. The question needs to be asked."

"No, it doesn't. Don't ask." Jim jerked the wheel to the left as he changed lanes.

"I don't get you. Is it a cop solidarity thing? I didn't think you--"

"I don't." Jim sighed. "Blair, there are other reasons why he could have been at that park. At night."

Blair blinked at him. "Other -- you mean? Really?" Jim clenched his jaw and didn't answer. "Oh, yeah. Wow. I didn't think."

"No, you didn't. But, fortunately, you didn't have a chance to engage your mouth in front of anyone but me."

Blair shook his head slowly. "Okay. That's definitely a possible explanation. Maybe even a probable one?" He eyed Jim's silent profile again. "Yeah. Right. No questions, then -- don't ask, don't tell, and all that. Being gay and a cop, that's gotta be tough enough sometimes without having to field clueless questions." Blair sighed and stretched. "So, what's up with his lousy attitude?"

"I don't know -- not for sure." Jim frowned. "But depending on where you are and what you do on the force, you can be exposed to different elements, different portions of the public. When I was in Vice, I saw a lot of dark underbelly, parts of the city where we weren't particularly liked or wanted, and a lot of bad stuff went down. And that's pretty much all I saw, for quite a while. It affected my attitude, how I reacted to people. Other cops -- beat cops in tough neighborhoods and undercover types, especially -- go through the same thing. Some can let it roll off them, others can't. When they start to sour, it's time to pull them in and reassign them, give them another perspective. Cooper's well past his expiration date. Maybe he thinks he knows why he hasn't been pulled, and, right or wrong, he's bitter about it."

Blair looked thoughtful. "He's part of an oppressed minority himself, then. I'd think that would make him more sensitive to the problems of other groups, rather than less."

"Like you were open to Mahler's point of view?" Blair opened his mouth. "Before he told you, I mean."

"Um. Okay, point taken."

"Cooper called this one in, and he stayed with Andrea all the way. He could have called it in anonymously or even walked away and not been involved at all. If he was the kind of jerk some people think he is, he might have done it that way. Things aren't going to get better for him when word gets around about where he found her. The rumor mill loves that stuff, and his superiors won't." Jim pulled into the hospital parking lot and flashed his badge at the attendant. "He's not my favorite person, and he's certainly not pleasant to talk to, but I'd have to have a lot more to go on before I'd believe him to be capable of bashing homeless people to death, or anyone else." He pulled into a space just off the main entrance and parked.

"I didn't know. How could I know?"

"You couldn't. But now you do." Jim punched him lightly on the arm. "Come on. Andrea's waiting for us."

"She hasn't said much that's clear, mostly just stuff about a basement. There's no basements where I found her, and it didn't look like she'd been moved -- there was a lot of blood around -- so there's no telling what she meant." Cooper shut his notebook with a snap. There was dried blood on the sleeve of his jacket. Blair's eyes lingered on the rusty spots.

"Has she been conscious much?"

"In and out. They cleaned her up and checked her over, then doped her up pretty good before they did the stitches. She was messy, but there's no internal damage that they could find. CT scan looked okay, too. Nothing like the first few victims -- those were clean, single blows with a lot of force behind them. If it weren't for her connection to the Mission, I'd say that this one was done by somebody else."

"And that's all she said? Nothing else?" Jim glanced at the little black book in the officer's hand.

"Nothing understandable. She didn't really know I was there, most of the time."

Jim nodded, then turned to look at the waiting room door. The three men stood up in unison when a nurse entered the room and addressed Cooper. "You asked me to let you know when she was sent up to her room. She's on the way -- 245."

"Thanks." He turned to Jim. "I asked them to put her in a private room when they were sure she was out of the woods, so we could post a guard. I figure whoever did this meant her to be dead, and they might try again if they knew she wasn't."

"You're right. Go on up, and I'll have them send someone to replace you right away." Jim slapped the officer once on the back. "Good work, Cooper."

Blair hesitated, then lightly punched Cooper on the shoulder. "Yeah. It's a good thing you were there." There was a brief silence, and Blair looked a little startled after a few seconds' thought. Jim rolled his eyes.

Cooper studied Blair's face for a moment, then cracked a wry smile. "I guess it was." He smacked Blair on the arm, chuckling, and headed for the elevator.

"D'oh," Blair whispered, miming a smack to his forehead.

Jim suppressed a laugh. "What were you saying about next time I stuck my foot in my mouth?"

Blair rubbed his hands over his face. "It's like I've been struck stupid through this whole case."

"Yeah, I can't take you anywhere. Hang on while I call the PD."

Blair sighed and dropped morosely into a chair while Jim dialed. "And I told Simon I wasn't brain damaged."

Blair slipped the seat belt off his shoulder but didn't move from his seat. "Look, I'm fine, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary." Jim grinned at him. "Really, I'm good. No reason I shouldn't be the one to go over. And it would be better coming from me than from a stranger. I'll ride over with a uniform."

Jim frowned. "I'm thinking it might be a good idea to post someone near her apartment. Even if he's not the killer, the stalking thing seems to be true. According to Munez, everyone who knows him at all has confirmed that he's obsessed with Irene, at least."

"Everyone but Knudson, who seems to be entirely without a clue." Blair shook his head. "I don't understand why she's not more concerned. She seems to think that if he's obsessed with her, he'd be the last person to hurt her. Does she not watch the news?"

"I hope not -- not this morning, anyway. The report of Andrea's attack will be coming out soon. Okay." Jim nodded. "You ride over with a uniform, talk to her, stay with her for a while if she needs it. Then call for a ride back and leave the uniform there to watch the place."

"I suppose if I drove, it might make things easier." Blair raised a hopeful eyebrow. Jim snorted and rolled his eyes. "I know, friends don't let friends drive with head injuries. Not for a day or two, anyway."

"You're learning. I'll probably need the truck at some point, anyway, and you don't know how long you'll be." Both men exited the truck and started for the garage elevator. "I'm thinking she won't have as much trouble with Andrea's attack as she did with losing Lydie."

"No, there's not the same relationship there. And Andrea's alive." Blair stepped into the waiting elevator and ran one hand through his hair. "Thank God for that. And maybe she'll be able to tell us who did it when she wakes up."

"Hope so. We really need a break, here." Jim leaned against the back wall. "Either our killer has changed his focus, or we're dealing with more than one, but the attacks are getting more frequent. That could mean either desperation or escalation. Not good, either way."

"I hear that." The elevator doors opened with a ping and a swish. Blair stepped off, then held the doors back with one hand. "I'll pick up a uniform here and head over, then. Meet you in the bullpen when I get back."

"Right. And, hey, watch yourself over there, Romeo. Don't let the lady take advantage of your weakened condition."

Blair grinned. "She should be so lucky." He pulled his hand back, then waved to Jim a little as the doors slid shut.

Jim pushed the already lit button for the seventh floor again, then rubbed a hand through his hair. "A little luck wouldn't hurt right now."

"Hey, Ellison." Mahler stood quickly when he saw Jim approaching. Jim nodded to him, then dropped into his chair as Mahler resumed his seat next to Jim's desk. "I heard about Andrea. Thought I'd check in, find out what's up."

"She's still unconscious, but it looks good for her waking up soon. We have someone there standing guard and ready to take down anything she says when she does."

Mahler nodded and sat back in his chair, crossing his legs. "That's good to hear. Poor little kid. I hear Cooper found her."

"Yeah." There was a short, slightly awkward silence. Jim met Mahler's eyes squarely. "He probably saved her life, you know. Finding her like that. Might even have scared the attacker away."

"Did he see anyone?"

"Apparently not, but they might have heard him before he could see them."

Mahler cleared his throat. "Might tell us something about our killer -- his choice of the location for this attack."

Jim cocked an eyebrow. "Might, might not. Not everyone knows about that park's, um, associations. Blair didn't."

One corner of Mahler's mouth turned up. "He didn't?" The smile grew. "Did he put his foot in it?"

"You might say that." Jim grinned reminiscently.

Mahler chuckled. "He's a good kid. A little volatile, maybe."

"A little. He wants to be a cop when he grows up, you know." Jim smiled and shook his head. "No, I harass him, but he's a great guy. One of the best cops, best people, I've ever known. And certainly the best partner a cop could have."

"That's saying something, coming from you. I like him, too." Mahler uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "Anyway, I appreciate you keeping me informed. I hear you're not charging David Smith with anything but the assault. You're that confident he's not the guy?"

"Yeah, I think we are. And if we're wrong, he's not going anywhere, anyway. Oh, damn." Jim slapped the top of the desk with one hand. Mahler looked startled. "Andrea. He doesn't know about Andrea." Jim closed his eyes for a moment. "I'll wait till she's awake and talking again before I tell him."

"Why tell him? He's not going to be seeing her for quite a while."

Jim frowned. "He asked us to look after her. I told him to be straight with us, and I think he was. I want to be straight with him."

Mahler was quiet for a moment. "Wait to tell him. It'll be kinder. He'll just go crazy over it, stuck in there where he can't do anything." Jim nodded. Mahler stood and took a step away from his chair. His foot struck a small object on the floor near Jim's desk that rattled and skittered a few feet across the shiny tiles. He bent to pick it up, studied it a moment, then held it up for Jim to see. "Whose is this? Miss Anderson's?"

Jim took the little brown prescription bottle from Mahler and looked it over. "Yeah, it is. Must have fallen out of Blair's jacket. He got it from her the night Lydie was killed. He spun some story about being afraid she'd do something rash and she gave it to him."

"I hope she's got some more. It's not smart to quit that stuff cold turkey."

Jim blinked at him. "Sleeping pills?"

Mahler's eyes widened. "Is that what she told him? That's a psychotropic med, a fairly strong one. Yes, it might help her sleep, but it's probably doing a lot more for her than that. My nephew's supposed to be taking it, but his folks don't think he does."

"Really." Jim stretched the word out, his voice soft. "That's interesting." He continued to study the little bottle a moment longer, then looked up at Mahler. "Thanks."

"No problem." Mahler nodded, then turned and headed for the elevators.

"I hope not." Jim tapped one finger against the bottle's childproof cap, then reached for the phone. Before he could pick it up, it rang. He jumped a little, then lifted the receiver. "Ellison."

"Detective Ellison, I wonder if we could trouble you to come out to the Mission again. I know you're busy...." Ron Knudson's tone was apologetic.

"I was planning to come by later today. Is something wrong?"

"No, not really, but we'd like to see you. More specifically, Miss deBurg would like to see you, rather urgently. She's here now, and she says it's important that she speak to you, in person. Could you spare us a moment?"

"Yes, certainly. I'll be there shortly."

"We'll be in Miss Davis' office. Sorry to trouble you."

"No trouble." Jim replaced the receiver, then looked down at the bottle in his left hand. He gazed at it thoughtfully for a moment, then picked up the phone again and dialed a number. He gave the bottle a little shake, rattling the pills inside, then jumped and nearly dropped it when a shrill ring sounded from somewhere beneath him. He set the phone hastily back into its cradle and leaned over, peering under his desk with a frown. Sighing, he squatted down and reached into the dust and lost paperclips, then stood up again with Blair's cell phone in his hand. "Great. Typical. What did he do, stand on his head?"

He picked his own phone up again and punched a button. "Yeah, it's Ellison. Has Detective Sandburg left yet? Who'd he take with him? See if you can raise him, and ask him to call me on my cell when he has a minute. Sometime when Miss Anderson isn't present. No, he left his phone here. Tell him I'm on my way to the Mission. Right." He hung up the phone, dropped the bottle into his pocket and started for the elevators.

"Man, can you believe this?" Blair leaned sideways to look out through the open passenger side window at the line of cars ahead of them, then sat back with a sigh. "Can you find out what the hold up is?"

"Sure." Officer Michaelson slid the gearshift into park, then spoke curtly into his mic. The car radio crackled in response.

Blair groaned. "Terrific. Three cars -- if we'd known, we could have turned off at the last cross street. Now we're boxed in." He glanced back over his shoulder, his brow furrowed in irritation.

"They should have it cleared up before too long." Officer Michaelson's voice didn't come across as confidently as his words.

"Tell you what -- I'll run in there and get us some coffee while we wait. Maybe a Danish? As long as we're not going anywhere." Blair gestured toward a coffee shop in the middle of the block and raised an eyebrow, grinning a little.

"Sounds good to me. I missed breakfast." Michaelson smiled.

"Great. Be back in a few -- don't take off without me." Blair smirked and climbed out of the cruiser.

While he waited, Michaelson whistled and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as his eyes scanned the blocked street and the sidewalks around him. After a few minutes the radio crackled again, and he picked up the mic. "36. Go ahead." He listened for a moment, frowning a little as he watched a ragged form that might have been female shuffle down the sidewalk. "10-4. I'll let him know." He reached to replace the mic just as Blair reentered the car, a steaming cup in each hand and a white paper bag clenched between his teeth. Their hands smacked together, and a little hot liquid escaped through a hole in the lid of the cup and splashed onto Michaelson's leg. He yelped.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry!" The fallen paper sack lay in Blair's lap. He set the coffees down in the floorboard and reached into the bag for napkins. "Hurt much?"

"No damage." Michaelson pressed a napkin against the wet spot. "It's okay, we just collided, there."

"Speaking of collisions." Blair pointed ahead of them to where the stalled traffic was finally beginning to creep forward. Michaelson gave his leg a final dab and stuffed the napkin into the space between his seat and the door. He pressed the accelerator and the engine raced, but the car didn't move. "Crap," he muttered, and shifted into drive. The car lurched forward a little.

"Wait a second." Blair made a grab at the coffees on the floor, rescuing them from a near upset. "Okay." He set one cup in the cup holder and held his own. "Got it." He grimaced at the other man as he buckled his seatbelt. "Not the best idea, maybe."

"I'll tell you after my Danish." Michaelson accepted a sticky pastry from Blair and took a bite.

"Turn here, I think it'll be faster. Unless you think the traffic's better on Franklin?"

"Not this time of day." Michaelson flipped on his turn signal. "It's bad everywhere. Now, usually, if I'm headed uptown...."

Knudson rose and walked around Miss Davis' beloved oak desk to greet Jim at the door. He held out his hand. "Thank you, Detective. We appreciate your time."

Jim shook his hand, a little bemused by the level of the other man's appreciation for his visit, until he looked more closely into the pastor's worried eyes. He glanced quickly toward Miss deBurg, who leaned back rather tiredly in a chair in front of the desk. One of her ever-present silent attendants stood quietly in a corner.

"Ma'am." Jim let a closer scan of the elderly lady's vitals confirm what was already apparent -- she wasn't doing well. This time, she looked much more like the delicate invalid that Lydie had tried to warn them that she was. Jim gently took the frail hand extended to him in his own.

"Detective." Jim smiled and pressed her hand a little before releasing it. Irene smiled back, a little wanly, then turned to Pastor Knudson. "If you don't mind, Pastor, I'd like to speak to the detective alone."

"Certainly, certainly. I'll be in the lounge if you need me." He inclined his head to her in the manner of an old-school gallant, then walked quickly out of the room.

"Sweet man." Miss deBurg sighed. "Cathy, I won't need you for a while." The quiet presence in the corner stepped forward, a surprised and slightly suspicious expression in her hazel eyes as they looked from her employer to the large man standing by her side. "He's a policeman, dear. I'll be fine." The woman nodded curtly, then stalked from the room, keeping her eye on Jim until she had closed the door between them. "My staff is very devoted," Irene said with a hint of irritation in her voice, "sometimes stiflingly so. Please sit here." She indicated the twin of her own chair, next to hers. "Will Detective Sandburg be joining us?" She glanced toward the office door, her eyebrows raised.

"No, ma'am, he's needed elsewhere at the moment." Jim sat and turned toward her, his expression expectant. He watched her study her hands for a few moments, then spoke softly. "Miss deBurg, there was something you wanted to discuss with me?" When she remained silent, he frowned. "Are you feeling all right, ma'am?"

"Call me Irene, please. May I call you Jim?" He nodded, and she smiled a little. "No, I'm not all right, not really. I think that's probably evident. I haven't been 'all right' for a while, and I'm less so now." She sighed again, and seemed to droop even further back in her chair.

"If this isn't the best time for us to talk--" Jim leaned forward and extended a hand a little toward her, his expression concerned.

"There is no good time for us to discuss this. It might as well be now." She studied her hands again. "I think I mentioned at our last meeting that we were a unique and unusual family, Jim. Our history is rather a checkered one. On the whole, the good we've done has outweighed the bad. On an individual level, however--" She looked up into his eyes. "One of the forms our 'uniqueness' has taken is mental instability. Though I've escaped that particular affliction, my own brother, who was always intended to assume control of the estate and the family interests, was not capable of doing so. He's gone, now." She sniffed a little. "He was very dear to me, as is his granddaughter, Irene. One of his children, Irene's mother, was similarly afflicted. She began to show signs of instability shortly after Irene's birth. Her doctor diagnosed postpartum depression. She left her family a few months later."

Jim nodded and reached into his pocket. "I think I understand."

Irene pressed her lips together briefly. "I'm sure you do. I'm sure you also understand that it was my niece's disappearance that was the inspiration for the Mission. Somewhere out there is a woman who desperately needs a place like my Mission, a safe harbor that may save her life. I pray daily that she may someday find this one. If she's still alive." Irene's eyes filled.

Jim hesitated, then pulled the little pill bottle from his pocket and silently handed it to the elderly woman. She looked closely at it, then back up to Jim, her eyes questioning. "I believe I know what this is, though I'm not sure. Am I correct in assuming that you already knew?"

"Someone told me this morning that this is a psychotropic medication." Irene nodded and closed her eyes, seeming to deflate a little. "You're concerned, because she's receiving treatment for a mental illness, that she may somehow be connected to this case?"

"It's been my greatest fear, yes. When I asked to see you in my home, I wondered if you might have discovered this for yourself, and I was anxious to see if you would question me about it. But now, I'm more anxious to know whether Irene might be a suspect, if there might be any reason for my concern. I couldn't live with my silence if there was any possibility that she was connected to these horrible crimes and I didn't do what I could to stop them. Have you eliminated her as a suspect? Is there any chance that she--"

"Her whereabouts at the time of each attack have been determined. It's unlikely that she could have committed the assaults." A little color seemed to creep back into Irene's pale cheeks. "All except this latest attack. We haven't had time to determine anything there. Andrea," he added when she looked at him inquiringly.

"Dear God! Lydie's little helper." Her eyes filled again and she raised a thin hand to her chest. "How horrible. I hadn't heard."

"No, ma'am. The news hasn't been released yet. But she is alive. Unconscious, but out of danger."

"Thank goodness for that, anyway." She took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Does she know? Irene, I mean. Has she been told about Andrea?"

"Detective Sandburg should be with her now."

"Oh, good. I'm glad it's him. I rather like that young man. I understood Irene's attraction to him when we met."

"I believe he returns your regard." Irene chuckled. "It sounds like your niece shares a great deal with you."

"On occasion. We're all the family either of us has left, so I try to keep her close to me, though I think she felt closer to Lydie. That's only natural -- Lydie was almost a mother to her after her own left her. And I don't make it easy for her, I suppose. I'm particular about how my money's spent, that it be used as effectively as possible, especially when it comes to the Mission. Irene is sometimes more passionate than thoughtful. I find myself having to rein her in at times, and that makes her angry." She looked into Jim's eyes. "She's prone to fits of anger, outbursts that can be rather frightening. Not that I think she'd ever hurt me, but... there have been times when I've been grateful for the presence of my attendants. If only for the sake of the china." She looked troubled. "I hope I haven't done the wrong thing--"

"I appreciate your candor very much, but my discovery this morning already told me most of what you have -- about Irene, anyway. If it ends up having any bearing on this case, I don't think we'll need your statement as corroboration. We can find out what we need to know on our own."

"Thank you, Detective. I'm very grateful to you." She reached out her hand to him again, and he took it and held it briefly. She squeezed his warmly. "I have the utmost confidence in you and Detective Sandburg." She dropped his hand and sat back in her chair again.

Jim noted with concern the taut fragility of the translucent skin that stretched across her cheekbones and the blue shadows under her sunken eyes. He could easily believe that the woman before him could have stirred Miss Davis' maternal, protective instincts. "Can I...." He gestured toward the door.

"Yes, please, ask Cathy to come in."

He rose and strode quickly to the door. Almost before he touched the doorknob Irene's attendant was there, brushing past him with a disapproving frown. He had barely stepped outside before the door was closed briskly behind him. He turned to exchange a bemused look with Pastor Ron, who hovered in the hallway near the door.

"Miss deBurg inspires a great deal of devotion in her attendants." Knudson smiled apologetically.

"Apparently. Quite a testament to the lady's character." Jim looked up and down the echoing hallway. "Pretty quiet."

"There are only a few people staying with us now. I think we have you to thank for the referral."

"I'm glad they decided to come. I'm going to check in with Officer Daniels and then head back, unless there's anything else?"

"No, I don't believe so. Thank you again for coming on such short notice. I hope everything went well."

Jim suppressed a smile at the openly curious expression on the other man's face. "I think so. Thank you." He turned on his heel and walked down the hall toward the lounge, where Officer Daniels watched daytime television with the last remaining residents of the Mission.

"Just let me out here, I guess. Circle the block again, maybe a spot will open up. When you come in, find an out of the way place in the lobby where you can watch the entrance." Blair unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the passenger door. "I don't know how long I'll be, but I'll find my own way back to the station. I'll check in with you before I go."

"Right."

Blair slammed the door closed and the officer pulled forward and cruised slowly around the corner. Blair turned and looked up at the tall, elegant apartment building, then passed through the lobby doors and into its plush interior.

"No one's had anything more to say about Ray Svoboda?" Jim kept his voice low. The two men stood near the wall on the side of the lounge opposite the television. Some of the residents watched them with frank curiosity, while others pretended not to notice them. The two children played a board game on the floor in front of the set.

"Not a word. It's been the same everywhere -- strange guy, weird about Miss Anderson, not a sign of him since the Davis killing. No one's been able to learn anything else about him, not where he came from or where he might have gone. It's like he's been sucked off the face of the earth."

"Hmph." Jim rolled his head from one side to the other and sighed. "Have you been able to look around much?"

"A little. Hard to get off by myself -- my posse tends to follow me around." He grinned at the children on the floor. The little girl waved back. "They all seem to feel safer if they can keep me in sight. That's a good thing, I guess."

"Yeah, I suppose it is. Okay, I'm going to take a quick walk through, then I'm heading back. Don't work too hard," he added, glancing over to where an old science fiction movie now flickered on the TV screen.

"I do my best." Daniels grinned and walked back to his chair, a little behind the group seated in front of the television.

Blair stepped off the elevator into the beautifully appointed anteroom on Irene's floor. Three doors on different walls led to luxury apartments. He ran his hands quickly through his hair, straightened his jacket and brushed at the front of his pants, then approached the door directly across from the elevator.

He knocked softly at first, then more sharply. He glanced up at the peephole, imagining what he looked like through its fisheye lens, then reached for the ornate doorbell. Before he could press it, he heard a soft tread on the wood floor on the other side of the door. There was a short silence, then the snick of locks being turned. The door opened a fraction.

"Irene?"

The door opened a little more.

Jim stood in the alley behind the Mission looking down at the spot where Lydie had been found, flat on her face beside the garbage. He scanned the narrow space, noting dumpsters, crates and doorways similar to those in the alley where the group of people inside had concealed themselves. So many hiding places.

He walked a little way down the alley, his eyes traveling over the ground, the walls, the empty windows high overhead one more time. Ten feet from the door he'd come through he stopped abruptly, raising his head slightly and sniffing. He walked a few hurried steps forward and lifted the lid of a dumpster, peering into its depths for several moments before dropping it back into place. He took a few steps away from the dumpster and stilled, his head lifted again and his eyes a little unfocused. His head turned slowly from side to side, then his eyes cleared and his gaze settled on a stairwell leading down to the basement level. He jogged quickly down the steps to the weathered door, noting fragments of broken glass from a light fixture scattered on the damp cement of the landing. He tried the doorknob -- locked. The small glass pane high up in the door was too dirty to see through. He breathed in deeply, then coughed a little and cleared his throat, taking a step back. Careful to avoid the glass, he ran up the stairs and back into the building. He passed quickly through the kitchen and dining room and out into the main hallway.

"Pastor Knudson?"

Knudson was walking down the hall toward him from the direction of the front entrance. At the urgent note in Jim's voice, he quickened his step and met Jim in front of the lounge door. "Yes, detective?"

"Has anyone searched the basement recently?"

"Yes, Officer Cooper came by this morning, and he and Officer Daniels went into the basement. What is it?" His eyes searched Jim's face anxiously.

"I need to go down there." He turned and took a step through the lounge doorway. "Officer Daniels, would you come with me, please? The officer only, if you don't mind," he added when several other people rose from their seats. They looked at him doubtfully, but sat down again.

"You'll need the key." Pastor Knudson trotted toward Miss Davis' office.

"How do we get down there?" Daniels gestured and led him to a back stairwell to the second floor. Around the corner was a door set in behind the stairs. Knudson met them there in less than a minute with a ring of keys.

"Is this door always locked?"

"Yes, it is. The basement is only used for storage, now." He unlocked the door and the three men descended into a dim, dank warren of dusty rooms filled with boxes and assorted junk.

"Who has access to these keys?" Jim's eyes swept the room as he oriented himself, and he sniffed quietly.

"Besides myself, Miss Davis did, and Irene, and Andrea was allowed to use them as needed. The night manager, and the janitor, though he kept his own copies of a few keys, for convenience. Not to the front doors or any restricted areas, of course. He may have had a basement key."

Jim pushed through an assortment of cardboard boxes toward a small, grimy room on their left. A few abandoned pieces of rotting furniture were stacked around the room. Watery light filtered through the grimy pane high up in the door on the outer wall.

"Did you look in here?" Daniels nodded and followed him into the room. Knudson was close behind them. "Sir, I think it might be best if you waited by the door." Knudson blanched slightly at Jim's words, then nodded and backed up into the doorway.

Jim moved forward cautiously, doing his best to disturb the debris on the floor as little as possible. He gestured, and he and Daniels slowly approached opposite ends of a tattered sofa sitting about a foot away from the wall. Both men leaned around to peer behind it, then moved to stand in front of it. Jim pinched a corner of one battered seat cushion between thumb and forefinger and lifted it carefully. Daniels took a step back.

"My God!" Knudson grabbed at the doorframe. "That's Ray!" His knees buckled a little and he clamped a hand over his mouth.

Under the sofa cushions, in the space left by the absent springs, lay the very dead body of a tall, thin man, a bullet hole drilled into his temple.

"Blair." The face that met him at the door was almost unrecognizable. "I'm glad it's you." She turned and walked away from him, through the foyer and into the living room. Blair hesitated a moment, then followed her in, closing the door softly behind him.

"Irene?" He found her perched on the edge of a chair, shoulders hunched, rocking slowly forward and back. Her elbows rested on her knees, and her hands were tangled in her disheveled hair. "Irene, what's wrong?" He sat on his heels and lay a gentle hand on her back. She flinched. "Has something happened? Have you heard--" He stopped abruptly and stared at her left hand. "Something did happen." Very gently, he slipped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand toward him. Strands of blonde hair slipped between her fingers and across her scratched and bloody knuckles.

"Irene, tell me." He touched her chin, urging her to turn her face toward him. There was a faint bruise over her left eye. "Do you need a doctor? What's happened?"

She barked out a parody of a laugh. "Happened?" She pulled her hand away from his and looked down at it. "What happened?" Her face crumpled and she began to cry, bending forward slowly until her forehead rested on Blair's shoulder. He laid one hand lightly on her back, steadying her as her entire body shook with her sobs.

"Irene. Irene," Blair repeated desperately. "Please talk to me. It's going to be okay, but you have to tell me what's wrong. Tell me, so I can help you."

"You can't help me. You can't." She choked a little. "She's gone, she's gone, I can't get her back."

"Andrea? Did you hear--"

"Lydie! Lydie, I need Lydie!" Her voice rose to a screech and she shook beneath his hands. "I need her, I need her and she's gone!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Blair held her writhing shoulders a little closer. Her hysteria was becoming really alarming. "I'm here, I'll try to help, I will, but you have to tell me--"

"You can't!" she cried, and twisted away from him to bury her face in the back of the overstuffed chair. Blair rose to his feet and leaned over her, smoothing his hand gently up and down her back.

"Let me try, please." She shook her head vigorously. "Irene, I'm going to call someone who can help. We need to get you to--"

"No! No, we can't go anywhere. We have to stay here." She sat up and grabbed his wrist. She gulped a few times and seemed to try to pull herself together. "We don't need anybody. It's better here. You don't want those people. You're safer here with me." She gasped. "They don't like you either. They'll say things about you, too. Like they did before."

"Like they--" Blair's eyes widened and he sat down on the arm of her chair. "You mean, like when I was at the University."

"It's much better if you stay here with me. We don't need anybody else. We can do fine by ourselves." She raised her swollen eyes to look into his. "I don't care about what they said about you. I never did. It doesn't matter to me. And you don't care what they say about me, either. Do you? We can stay here together. We don't need anybody else."

Blair stared at her. "You've always known... who I am. You said you didn't."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I didn't want to upset you. I wanted us to be friends. Because I knew I needed you." Her lip trembled again. "I didn't know how much I'd need you. I didn't know he was going to kill Lydie. Why her? She wouldn't have told, not if I'd asked her not to! She'd do anything for me." Her chest heaved. "Would you, Blair? You'd do anything to help me. You said you'd help me. I do need your help."

Blair swallowed. "Who killed Lydie, Irene?" She hiccuped a few times and sniffed loudly. "Was it Ray?" She stared at him. "It was Ray, wasn't it?" She closed her eyes and nodded, just barely. Blair swore softly. "Was he here, Irene? Did he hurt you?" He looked up quickly and scanned the room around them, then reached slowly for his front jacket pocket.

"Not here. In the basement." Blair froze. "But when he called me, I took my gun. He couldn't hurt me. I had a gun. And he'd already killed Lydie." Her face crumpled again. "He killed her. He couldn't hurt me any more after that."

Blair took a deep breath. "Irene, where is Ray now? Is he still in the basement?" She nodded. "Downstairs? Here in the building?"

"At the Mission. It's okay. He's at the Mission." She trembled a little. "It's okay."

"Okay, that's fine. He's at the Mission, and we're here. That's good." Blair took Irene's battered hand in his again. "Irene, is Andrea at the Mission, too? With Ray?'

Irene pulled back from him a little. "Of course not. With Ray? She hates Ray." She shook her head. "What do you mean?"

"Is she, is she okay?" Irene stared at him. "Is she in the park, maybe?"

She frowned. "In the park? In the park?" She pulled her hand from his and scooted back against the cushions. "What park? Where?" She rubbed at the back of her hand. "She called me. She said, she said something about Ray. And me, she was talking about me. She said he had told her something. She hates Ray. She was talking about me. It isn't my fault. I didn't do anything--"

She stopped speaking, her mouth still slightly open, and all the color drained from her face. Her eyes went wide with horror. "The park! Oh, God, oh God, the park! Andrea's in the park!"

Blair's hands started to tremble. "She was in the park, but she's not there now. Did you take her to the park?"

"It wasn't the same! It was easy before, with Ray. I'd never let someone like that touch me. But not with a, it wasn't like that, it wasn't the same. She was screaming--" She shook violently all over. "I couldn't do it like he did, make it the same. It's so much harder than it looks. You have to be strong. I thought I was stronger than that, stronger than her, she's so little...." She looked up into Blair's horrified eyes. "If you care what people say, what they think about you, they've won. You have to be strong. You have to not care. Aunt Irene told me that." She shook her head. "But I'm not strong. I thought I was, but I'm not."

"Yes, you are, Irene. And you're going to be fine. You're going to be good. But we need to let everyone know that you're okay. They'll worry. You don't want anyone to worry about you, I know you don't. I'll tell them that you're here, at home, and that you're okay." Blair slipped one hand into his front jacket pocket, then frowned and pulled it out again. He looked down at himself, patting his hands quickly over his jacket, then his pants pockets. "It'll be okay," he said, and looked up just as the marble ashtray connected with the side of his head.

"Try the number again. He has to be there by now." Jim tapped one impatient foot on the floor. "No, he doesn't have his cell with him. What's the name of the officer that went with him -- Michaelson? Tell him to go up and check on him. Tell him to move fast." Jim snapped his phone shut and turned to Daniels. "I'll leave you here to wait for Forensics. Backup will be here in a few minutes. I'm going to Miss Anderson's apartment."

"What should I do about...." Daniels gestured over his shoulder at the six pairs of eyes peering at them from the doorway of the lounge.

"They'll be fine there for now." Jim was already walking toward the door. "We may have to--" He stopped abruptly and looked back at the radio on Daniels' hip, eyes wide, then broke into a run, straight-arming the door open in front of him so hard that it hit the side of the building with a crash.

Daniels stared after him, then turned up the volume on his radio.

"All units, officer down, 14th and Lexington...."

Jim bounded through the elevator doors and into a welter of uniforms. He brushed past a man with a clipboard in the doorway of Irene's apartment, just in time to see two paramedics raise a gurney to its full height with a gentle snap. The figure under the sheet was... not Blair. Jim watched the still form of the young officer as the gurney rolled past him, then turned to face the crowded room. Forensic types were snapping on gloves and rifling bureau drawers, a uniformed cop was laying out tape lines, and Blair was sitting on a pale yellow sofa having his vitals taken and his head probed by a second set of paramedics. Jim nearly vaulted the coffee table in his haste to reach his partner's side.

Blair grinned at him, his right eye already swelling. "Hey, the cavalry's a little late."

"Don't even joke about that. How are you?" Jim squatted down to look him in the eyes.

"We're working on determining that, Detective, if you'll give us a little room." Jim stood and took a reluctant step back. The paramedic smiled. "He looks pretty good, though, considering."

"Are you kidding? I look like crap."

"You look like you got clobbered with bookends." Simon walked around the other side of the coffee table to stand behind the busy medics. "You'll have a nice matched set of shiners."

"It's a good thing she got his other side. Another hit to this one could have been pretty bad." The female medic slid one gentle hand over Blair's left temple, and he winced a little. "You'll definitely need to get CT scanned again, though."

"Wonderful. Maybe they could just reserve an hour for me on the machine every Tuesday and Thursday."

"What did she get him with?" Blair pointed, and Simon and Jim both turned to see an officer slide a large marble ashtray into a plastic bag. "Ouch." Simon grimaced.

"Merely a glancing blow, as they say in the movies." Blair grinned weakly.

"I thought it was 'it's only a flesh wound'."

"I save that one for when I get shot."

Jim frowned at him. "I'm not laughing. She could have killed you, Blair."

"Well, she did kill Ray, and she tried to kill Andrea. And that officer, she nailed him pretty good with that ashtray after she stunned me, but they think he'll be okay. She told him Ray had hit me, that he was in the kitchen, and then she clocked the poor guy on the back of the head when he told her to get behind him. But, in an amazing feat of masculine strength, I did manage to wrestle an ashtray out of a hysterical woman's hand and hold her down until backup got here, once I recovered my faculties. Hooray for me," Blair sighed.

"Very macho," Jim agreed. Simon smiled.

"Well, macho man, let's get you on a gurney and down to the ambulance." Jim and Simon stepped back as the paramedics rolled a gurney near the sofa. The young woman gestured invitingly at the sheet-covered cot.

Blair opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. "You know, I'm not even going to argue with you." Each medic took an arm and helped him to settle himself comfortably, then lifted it gently into position and rolled it toward the doorway.

"I'll be right with you," Jim called to him. "Behave yourself."

"Bring Thai food," Blair called back as he rolled out of sight.

Jim chuckled, and Simon raised an eyebrow. "It's an old head-injury custom, sir." Simon held up his cigar hand in an 'I don't want to know' gesture. "If you can manage without me, sir...."

"Go, go with him." Simon waved Jim toward the door. "Get your food, whatever."

"Thanks, sir." Jim smiled and trotted briskly after Blair. "Hold the elevator!"

Andrea's eyelids fluttered, then blinked slowly open. Her gaze wandered a little, then stopped on the man standing at her bedside. "D'tective Ell'son," she slurred slightly, then blinked again and focused more intently on him. "Hi."

"Hello, Andrea. Still pretty sleepy?"

"No, just takes me a minute to wake up." Her speech was a little slurred. Her eyes traced the path of the IV tube from her arm to the bag hanging overhead. "They're giving me stuff for pain. Works pretty good." She smiled a little slyly.

Jim laughed. "I'll bet. You feeling better? I was here earlier, but you couldn't really talk to me then."

"I think I remember that. I'm doing okay." She reached up to touch her bandaged face. "They said they can fix my mouth okay. It doesn't hurt much now. They had to shave off some of my hair." She grimaced. "But that'll grow back. Just as long as I don't have any scars. They don't think I will." She glanced quickly around the room. "Where's, uh, the other one? Has he been here?"

"Detective Sandburg? No, he's in another room. I'm going to visit him next. I'll tell him you asked about him."

Her eyes widened. "What happened to him?"

"He hit his head again. Good thing he has such a thick skull. He'll be fine." Jim pulled a chair a little closer to her bed and sat down. "I hear you've been remembering some things."

She nodded. "Yeah, some. Stuff pops into my head every once in a while. The doctor said that's how I'll remember it, because it was so bad. Little bits at a time." She plucked at her sheet. "I didn't think nothing about it when Miss Anderson said we should go to the park to talk. I just thought, you know, she wanted to keep it quiet, go where nobody would hear us. I got that part right." She frowned and moved restlessly in her bed. "I never believed that stuff Ray said. I just thought he was making it up to make himself look like a big shot. He was always talking about how great he was." She sneered. "He was such a loser. It's so gross that he was down in the basement. Like a dead rat."

Jim blinked at her. "That's one way to look at it, I suppose."

Andrea grinned at his uneasy expression, then sobered. "When Miss Anderson told me he was down there, I didn't know what she meant, at first. I figured it out when she started hitting me with the tire iron. She was so nuts." She shivered. "Why was he even down there? Is that where he hid when he took off?"

Jim nodded. "We think so. Miss Davis probably asked him about some of the stories he'd been telling, and he got nervous and hid down there, both before and after he killed her."

"He must have told Miss Anderson where he was, then. Called her, maybe, and then she went and killed him. Or maybe he left and then came back." She looked hopefully at Jim for confirmation, but his face remained carefully neutral. She sighed. "You know, I never believed nothing he said about Miss Anderson. I knew he wasn't with her. And I didn't think she did nothing bad to those dead guys. It sounded so made-up, like all his lies. I just wanted to ask her about it, you know, and just tell her, so she'd know what he was going around saying." She rolled her eyes. "Big mistake. I'm never telling no one nothing again."

"I hope you don't mean me." Jim smiled gently at her.

"No, cops are different. A lot of people, they don't like cops. But I think it's okay to tell you stuff, and Detective Sandburg. Especially you." She blushed a little. "Even if you put David in jail, because he shouldn't have hit your partner. He didn't need to do that. I know he's probably sorry. He's not a bad person." She stopped speaking suddenly and gasped, looking anxiously into Jim's face. "Is that why he's in the hospital? Because David hit him? Did he get worse?"

"Well, no, not really. Getting hit in the head twice is what made them think he should stay here for a while. It's a little more often than he's used to." Jim smiled reassuringly at her. "He'll be okay. He's feeling good enough to be grouchy about being kept here, so I'm taking him this." Jim held up a slightly damp paper bag. "I'd better go up and see him. But I'll come back to visit with you some more, see what else you've remembered, when you're feeling more up to it."

Andrea's eyes were beginning to droop again. "S'okay with me. You know where I'll be." Jim stood and took a step away from her bedside, but stopped when Andrea raised one hand. "Will you... would you tell David that I'm okay? And that I'll come visit him soon, when I'm better?"

Jim smiled. "I can do that. He'll be glad to hear it."

Andrea yawned. "Yeah, he worries about me." Her eyes drifted shut. Jim stepped softly out of the room.

"Ice cream is better for you, anyway." Jim slurped a spoonful of vanilla.

"Not if you eat it too fast." Blair pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead. "Ow."

"Idiot." Jim's smirk was unsympathetic.

"And why always vanilla?"

"I like vanilla. What's wrong with vanilla?" Jim looked offended.

"I'm at the mercy of the vanilla king for three days," Blair muttered before taking another bite.

"Only because you've run out of sides of your head for people to crack. You're safer in the hospital for a while." Jim pointed at him with his spoon. "Although, if you keep harassing the nurses, I wouldn't vouch for your safety. A good slap right now could leave you more mentally deficient than you already are."

"The nurses love me." Blair pouted.

"Notice how they always come to check your vitals while I'm here?" Jim smirked.

"Notice how you always come to visit me when it's time to check my vitals?"

"You envy my way with women, obviously."

"I do right now, actually." Blair closed his eyes. "I can't get Irene out of my head. I keep wondering what's happening to her."

"After an observation period, she'll be committed. You can be pretty sure of that." Jim took another bite and let it slide down his throat. "The deBurgs can afford the best care money can buy, though. She'll be all right."

"The look in her eyes, when she said she knew I'd help her...." Blair sighed. "She knew who I was all along, and she thought I'd be more inclined to be on her side because of my history. That's sobering."

"That's pretty twisted, actually, which shouldn't come as a surprise. You knew she was a little off since our first meeting with her."

"I suppose. But it was Lydie's death that really broke her. She didn't have much of a chance after that." Blair stared sadly down at his ice cream.

"Yeah, and neither did Ray. He signed his own death warrant when he killed the person Irene loved most. She must have known he'd done it the moment she heard about it." Jim slurped another bite. "The fact that she stopped taking all of her prescriptions when she gave you that bottle didn't help her much, either. It was the beginning of the end for her reason."

"She had enough reason left to lie to Officer Michaelson when he came looking for me. How is he doing?"

"He's good. Hell of a headache."

"I sympathize." Blair grimaced. "I'm just glad the gun didn't make an appearance while I was at her apartment."

"They found it under her bed."

"Comforting thought." Blair shuddered. "The last straw for Irene's sanity had to be the attempt on Andrea. Poor kid. She didn't even really understand what she was saying when she asked Irene if the things Ray had hinted at were true. In the state Irene was in by then, Andrea's questions must have sounded like accusations."

"There again, her attempt to make that attack look like another basher killing points to more reasoning ability than defense lawyers like to see in an insanity plea. It even makes it more plausible that she could have been involved in the killings of those three men, or could have at least known about them."

Blair frowned. "I don't think so. He did it to impress Irene, to eliminate some 'troublemakers' who'd upset her by not taking part in her programs. Why he dropped the hints to Andrea I can't figure, unless he was trying to get to her, too. Or maybe he just wanted to creep her out. He managed that, all right."

"You don't think maybe Irene knew, or suspected?" Jim looked down at the melted puddle in his bowl.

"And let it happen? No. At least, I don't want to think so."

"Those bursts of anger Miss deBurg told me about...."

"Yeah, I thought about that. I don't know." Blair sighed. "I don't think I want to know. We probably never will, anyway. Any more than we'll ever know what Lydie had on Ray that made him want to kill her, or which Irene she was calling out to when she died. It could have been Miss deBurg, but I think she was afraid for Irene and wanted to warn her about Ray, as much as she could manage with a severe head injury."

"That would make sense, if Lydie had overheard some of the things he'd told Andrea and asked him about them."

"Or maybe," Blair set his bowl on the side table, "he killed her to hurt Irene, to take away the person she depended on most and make her vulnerable, or to make her fear him enough to give him what he wanted. But then, he couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't turn him in once he told her what he'd done."

"He, um, might," Jim said slowly, "if there was any reason for him to feel that the two of them were connected in the earlier crimes, in any way, that he could implicate her, too. If he could hold that over her head...."

They sat in silence for a few moments, neither wanting to continue that line of thought. Jim looked over at the clock on Blair's bedside table. "Hey, it's almost Marcy time."

"You don't have a snowball's chance with Marcy," Blair smirked.

"And you think you do? Would you care to make a friendly wager?"

"You'd both lose." Marcy slipped into the room. She brushed nimbly past a blushing Jim and lightly picked up Blair's wrist, then smiled slyly at both of them. "I got a man."

"I think I'll go get a cup of coffee. If you'll excuse me." Jim stood with a little bow, turned on his heel and left the room. Blair laughed out loud.

"What?" The nurse reached for the blood pressure cuff.

"He hates hospital coffee," Blair chuckled.