by Beth Manz
Ellison pulled to a stop in front of a modest ranch home and cut the engine. "Is this it?" he asked, glancing at Blair.
"According to the file, yeah. This is it." Blair looked past Jim to the house across the street with its overgrown lawn and peeling paint. "Looks sort of run down."
Jim snorted derisively. "That's being kind, Sandburg," he observed. "Come on." The detective pushed open his door and headed toward the house. Blair fell into step beside him.
/
/
/
Jim knocked on the door to Ida Hillman's home, sending out his hearing, listening for any suspicious sounds from inside. All he could hear was a soft shuffling of feet and then the door was pulled wide.
An elderly woman in her mid to late seventies smiled up at him. "Yes?"
Jim flashed his badge. "I'm Detective Ellison. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. We're here to talk to you about Peter Latimere's disappearance."
"Oh, please come in." She stepped aside, indicating the living room behind her. Although the outside of the house appeared shabby, the inside was warm and inviting. An overstuffed couch with hand-embroidered pillows sat tucked between two pinewood bookcases, the shelves decorated with photos and small knickknacks. The smell of freshly brewed coffee permeated the air and soft light filtered in through the sheer drapes.
Jim ushered Blair ahead of him, nudging him toward the sofa where Ida Hillman had asked them to be seated. Both men remained standing until Ms. Hillman had seated herself in an overstuffed chair beside the sofa. She was a small woman, dainty and gray-haired. But a spark of determination blazed in her light blue eyes, and Jim knew immediately that the elderly woman was far from feeble.
He removed a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket and looked over at Ida, prepared to ask her a few questions regarding the disappearance of her most recent tenant. But as he looked at her, he realized that she was staring quite unabashedly at his partner, a fond smile gracing her delicate features. The detective cleared his throat, hoping to draw Ms. Hillman's attention away from Blair so he could begin questioning her, but if she heard Jim's attempt to gain her attention, she ignored it.
Her gaze remained fixed on Blair, and after a few seconds she spoke: "Mr. Sandburg, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you don't really strike me as a police officer."
Jim glanced over at his partner, saw him smile warmly. "I'm not, ma'am. I'm a consultant to the department."
"A consultant? Then you're not a detective?"
"No. I work at Rainier University."
"Rainier! Why, my last tenant, Peter Latimere, was a student at Rainier, too!"
"Oh, I'm not a student," Blair corrected her, blushing. "Actually I'm a professor there--in the anthropology department."
"A professor," she breathed out quietly, clearly impressed. "Well, my goodness! And you seem so young to me."
"Ma'am, if we could just ask you a few questions..." Jim interrupted, scooting forward until he was perched on the edge of the couch.
"Oh, of course," Ida waved her hand at him. "I'm sorry. Now, about Peter..."
"You told the responding officer that Mr. Latimere has been missing for two days?"
"Well, three, actually," Ida corrected. "Since Monday morning. He didn't come to breakfast and when I checked his room, he was gone. I thought he'd just gone on to classes early, but then when he didn't come home that evening... well, after the other two boys disappearing..."
Jim frowned. "The other two disappeared? You mean they just never came back? Left all their things behind?"
"Oh, no, nothing like that. They just...well, they were just gone one day. I went out to the store and when I got home, the room was cleaned out. I suppose it's possible they just got tired of living with an old woman," she said softly, sadly.
"I can't imagine that," Blair chimed in, reassuring her with another warm smile.
"Thank you, young man." Ida flashed Blair a sweet smile. "But it wasn't that way with Peter...his things are still here. And now, now I guess I'm just a bit paranoid. What if those other boys didn't just leave on their own like I thought?"
"That will be easy enough to check," Jim said jotting down notes based on her explanation. "As far as Peter Latimere goes, did you notice any unusual behavior on his part? Strange phone calls or visitors?"
"Nothing. Everything was just as it should be until he disappeared." Ida dropped her gaze to her lap where she wrung her hands together nervously. "Peter was such a dear boy. So sweet and kind." She looked up at Blair and smiled sadly. "You remind me of him, Mark."
Mark? Jim glanced at over at his partner, who shrugged slightly then looked at Ms. Hillman. "Um, it's Blair," he corrected the elderly woman
Ida laughed, embarrassed. "Oh, of course it is. I'm sorry. That was silly of me."
"Ms. Hillman," Jim said, hoping to steer the conversation back to the case at hand. "We'd like to have a look at Peter's room. Also, would you happen to have a picture of him here? Anything that would help us recognize him should we find him?"
"I have just the thing!" Ida said enthusiastically, standing and moving to a chest of drawers near the windows. "I snapped a picture of Peter when he was trimming the hedges a few weeks back. He helped out a lot around here, you know..." She dug through the top drawer until she came up with the picture she was searching for. Crossing the room, she handed it to Jim before taking her seat again.
Jim's heart froze in his chest as he stared down at the image of Peter Latimere. Blair, evidently sensing his concern, scooted closer and tried to peer at the photograph. "Jim? What is it?"
Jim shook his head, then passed the picture to Blair. He expected Blair to pale when he saw the image of Peter, but instead a wide smile broke across his partner's face. Looking up at Jim, he chuckled. "Hey, Peter looks a lot like me."
Jim stared at his partner, dumbfounded at Blair's nonchalant attitude toward the likeness between himself and the missing student. The resemblance was uncanny. And scary. Jim hadn't liked this case from the very beginning and right now -- he didn't know if it was the case itself, too little sleep or too much worry about his nightmares -- but all of a sudden this entire investigation was making him uneasy. He didn't try to ignore the uncomfortable feeling, choosing instead to let his instinctual protection toward his partner guide him. He wanted Blair out of this house... now.
"About those questions," Ida's soft voice interrupted the sentinel's thoughts.
"Um... yes," Jim fumbled, forced to push his misgivings to the back of his mind--for the moment at least. "About these other young men who lived with you." Jim glanced down at the folder in his lap. "Larry Wyman and Eric Lawrence. I'll need any additional information you may have on them. Emergency phone numbers they might have provided, names of next of kin."
She nodded. "I can get all that off of their rental applications."
Jim reached over and withdrew the picture of Peter Latimere from Blair's hand. Placing it into the open file, he stared down at it. "Can you describe them for me, please," he asked, never removing his gaze from the photograph.
"Actually, they all resembled your young partner here." The words caused Jim's head to snap up, attention riveted on Ida. "They all had dark curly hair," she was saying, "And those same deep blue eyes."
He heard Blair chuckle beside him. "You have a thing for blue eyes, Ida," Blair charmed, chuckling again.
"Oh you!" Ida dropped her gaze, blushing slightly at the young man's attention.
Jim gaped at Blair, but his partner seemed oblivious to any discomfort on Jim's part. The detective certainly didn't find anything about this to be amusing. Most especially Blair's resemblance to three missing men who had all lived, at one time or another, beneath this woman's roof.
"I think that's enough for now." Jim slipped his notebook into his pocket. Closing the file, he stood and tucked the folder under his arm. "We'll run the information you've provided through our computer and get back to you," he told Ida. Turning to his partner, who n
ow stood beside him, he placed a hand at the small of Blair's back and motioned toward the door.
But Blair didn't move. Looking up at him, he raised his eyebrows. "Um, Jim? Don't you think we should get that information off the rental applications and take a look at Peter's room before we go?"
Ellison stared down at his partner knowing he was right. Get a grip, Ellison. The detective closed his eyes for a brief moment, then took a deep breath in an attempt to allow his professionalism to override his uneasiness, his need to get Blair away from this place. "Good point, Chief," he conceded after a few seconds, giving Blair a weak smile.
Sandburg stared up at him, his brow creased in obvious confusion. "You feeling okay? You look kind of pale."
Jim waved a hand, dismissing the concern. "I'm fine. It's just a little warm in here."
"I'm sorry, Detective." Ida pushed up from the overstuffed chair she occupied. "These old bones need more heat than most people, I'm afraid." She shifted her gaze to Blair. "You're okay, aren't you, Mark?"
Blair glanced up at Jim briefly. "I'm fine," he smiled, not bothering to correct her this time. "I'm almost always cold, so this is perfect for me."
"It's the way you dress," she scolded in a motherly tone. "That coat is no protection against this weather."
She started to move toward Blair, but Jim stepped in front of his partner, blocking her way. Looking down at the tiny woman, he mustered a professional smile. "Now, if you could show us to Peter's room..."
/
/
/
"So what did you think she was going to do to me, Jim?" Blair asked as he fastened his seat belt across his lap.
"What're you talking about, Sandburg?" Jim countered irritably.
"I'm talking about Ida Hillman. You think I didn't notice how you blocked her from me?" He could hear the tinge of sarcasm in his own voice, knew he was pushing his partner but he continued anyway. "What'd you think, man? She was going to throw me over her shoulder and spirit me off to some deep, dark cave somewhere?"
Jim shot him a pointed glare before pulling out onto the street. "You can make light of this if you want, Sandburg, but let's not forget that three men have disappeared while living with that woman."
"From what I heard, two moved out and one is missing."
"If you believe her version of events," Jim muttered.
Blair let out a short, humorless laugh. "What is that supposed to mean? You think she murdered them? Come on, Jim! You saw her. She's a harmless old lady."
"Serial killers come in all shapes and forms, Chief."
"Yeah, but they don't usually inhabit the hundred pound bodies of elderly women who live in ranch houses and have doilies on their furniture."
"So you don't think she's capable of murder?"
"No, Jim, I don't," Blair shot back adamantly. Softening his tone, he reasoned, "I mean, don't you think we'd be able to tell if she was a little... you know... off?"
Blair wasn't prepared for the look that his partner cast his way. Jim's eyes held a haunted look and... fear. But the expression lasted for only the briefest moment; Jim's blue eyes turned steely as he pinned Blair with a no-nonsense glare. "We've had a serial killer in our midst before and didn't know it," the detective reminded him pointedly. "What makes you think this woman is any different?"
"You're patronizing me," Blair stated, annoyed at the fact that Jim thought he wasn't looking at the case objectively.
"I'm not patronizing you. I'm protecting you." Jim gave him a sidelong look. "I just don't want you underestimating this woman, that's all. Ida Hillman showed an awful lot of interest in you... and you do resemble all three of the missing men..." He let the sentence trail off as he shook his head. "I just don't want you getting hurt," he concluded, his voice deep and quiet.
Blair sighed. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to make it sound like I was trivializing this case. I mean, I still don't think Ida Hillman is a killer, but... I'll try to take it a bit more seriously. Okay?"
"Yeah, okay." Jim stared straight ahead, but his tone held none of its previous anger.
"So what are we going to tell Simon?"
"What do you mean?"
"About the case? Are you still going to try to convince him to let someone else work it?"
Jim laughed, a mirthless sound. "Not unless I want my head handed to me on a platter." He smiled and Sandburg was relieved to see that some of the tension had left his expression. "We'll keep working it. But I intend to keep you away from Ida Hillman until I've figured out where she's coming from."
Blair laughed. "No problem, man. With my schedule over the next couple of days, I doubt I'll be much help to you on this one anyway." He gave Jim a sidelong glance, gauging the detective's mood. Taking a chance, he whispered conspiratorially, "And I promise that when I'm on campus and I have to go to my car after dark, I'll be especially watchful for little old ladies wearing camouflage clothing and wielding tire irons."
He saw the backhand coming, but he wasn't able to move far enough away to avoid it.
/
/
/
The bullpen was bustling with police personnel and an unusually large number of civilians. Winding their way through the noisy crowd, Jim and Blair made their way to Ellison's desk. Jim took Blair's coat from him and hung it, along with his own, on the rack behind his chair.
The detective glanced over at Simon's office; the door stood ajar and it was obvious that the captain was not inside. "Hey, H," Jim called out to Henri as he passed on his way to the bullpen doors. "Simon around?"
"Meeting all afternoon with the chief," Henri called back over his shoulder.
"Hmmm, lucky him," Jim intoned dryly.
"Hey, what's this?" Blair questioned, reaching out to pick up a thick file folder from Jim's desk. A yellow post-it note was attached to the front. There was a brief message written in flowery script and a small happy face had been drawn at the bottom of the note. Blair read aloud: "Jim, here is the file you asked for. Let me know if you need any more help. Hannah."
"Give me that," Jim growled good-naturedly as he reached over and gruffly pulled the file from Sandburg's grasp. "Don't you know it's rude to read other people's notes."
Blair waggled his eyebrows at Jim. "Hey, the note was right there in plain sight, man. Public domain." The younger man sidled over to Jim and looked up at him. "So, Jim, have you asked Hannah out yet? I mean, she really wants you to, you can tell!"
"I am not having this conversation with you, Sandburg," Jim muttered, pulling the post-it note from the front of the file and wadding it into a ball. He stepped back and lobbed the wadded note at Blair's forehead.
"Oh, I think you are," Blair persisted as the note went high and landed on the floor behind him. "C'mon, Jim," he prodded smoothly. "She's so nice. Are you afraid to ask her out? You want me to ask her for you?"
Jim fixed Blair with a disgusted look. "I am perfectly capable of getting my own dates."
Blair snorted. "Apparently not. You haven't been out on a date in almost a month."
"Sandburg..."
Blair stepped back and held out his arms in gesture of appeal. "Hey, I am just offering my services, that's all."
Jim turned to the coat rack behind him. Fishing through his pockets, he located and withdrew the notebook he had used to record notes at Ida Hillman's house. Reaching out, he grabbed one of Blair's hands and shoved the notebook into it. Closing Blair's fingers around the small book, Jim squeezed his hand and smiled. "You want to help so much, type up those interview notes for me."
Blair pursed his lips, giving him a look of faux defeat. "Come on, Jim. I always type up the notes."
Jim stared at him, silent, then pointed at the desk behind them, the one that had been assigned to Blair when he came on board as a paid consultant to the department. Sandburg exhaled a deep sigh, turned without a word and made his way to his desk, where he slumped down into his chair and pulled himself close to the PC monitor.
"Fine," he mumbled un
der his breath, obviously aware that Jim could hear him. "Try to help a guy and what do you get? Type up these notes for me, Sandburg," he mocked. "By the time he asks Hannah out they'll both be in a nursing home. Their first date will be an exciting game of bingo in the recreation hall..."
Jim chuckled at the one-sided conversation, then turned back to his own desk. His smile faded as he sat down and pulled the file folder that Hannah had left to the middle of his desk. Unbidden, the unease that had been haunting him all day washed over him full-force, stealing his breath and causing him to swallow against the tight constriction in his throat. Taking a deep breath, Jim tried to ignore the terror that threatened to overwhelm him. Finally, opening the folder, he thumbed through the documents. He glanced quickly at Blair to make sure he was busily occupied with his typing before continuing to work down through the file, searching for the photograph he so desperately needed to see.
Flipping past the autopsy report, he found what he'd been seeking. There, in black and white, was the coroner's photograph of David Lash. Skin pallid, Lash lay on the sterile examination table, eyes closed in death.
Jim ran his gaze over the picture, studying it, memorizing it. After several long moments, he exhaled a relieved sigh. Lash is dead. He's been dead for over three years.
Closing the file, he stood abruptly. "Chief, I'm going to run this file back down to Records, then I'm hitting the candy machine. You want anything?"
Blair pulled off his glasses with a dramatic flair and glared up at Jim. "What's the matter, Jim? The pastrami and onion rings weren't enough junk food for you today?"
"Dessert, Sandburg," Jim quipped, reaching over and playfully backhanding Blair on the side of his head. "You didn't bring me any."
Blair rolled his eyes, then turned his attention back to the work before him. Returning his glasses to his face, he mumbled after Jim's retreating form, "Gonna have a heart attack one of these days and then he'll expect me to take care of him."
