The hallway off the elevators was almost loud in its silence. Blair followed Jim into the bullpen, and noticed all the officers, both plainclothes and uniformed, watching them walk to his desk. As much as Blair wanted to believe it was sympathy they were feeling, the hairs on the back of his neck said otherwise.
"Here, Chief, why don't you take this and sit in Simon's office?" Jim handed him an incident report and a pen. "You know the routine."
Blair accepted the form and nodded. "Yeah." He hesitated for a moment as Jim sat down, turning on his computer. Normally, Blair sat beside Jim's desk, and just filled in his side of whatever he'd seen after Jim was finished with the rest of the report. He wanted to ask why they were doing things differently now, but he feared he already knew the answer. The short walk to Simon's office had never seemed so long.
Blair shut the door and sat at the table with his back to the windows that faced the bullpen. All right, Sandburg, stop imagining things. An officer just died. A member of a very close-knit society. And now, every member of that society was feeling the pain of that loss, and banding together in a sense of unity and support. Typical social reaction. Nothing personal or antagonistic. Next, the micro-societies would split, and the uniformed officers would block out the detectives, who would feel the support staff couldn't understand their pain, and they in turn would push out all higher ranking authorities. Then, the uniforms would subdivide more to separate the patrolmen from the women, the rookies from the veterans. It was a predictable cycle that would eventually smooth itself out and life would return to normal.
Then why do I feel guilty? Was Jim separating himself from Blair out of a need to side with his fellow officers? Or was he just sending Blair into a safe zone, to buffer him from any odd feelings or comments outside? And why would he think there should be comments or feelings? He sighed, trying to concentrate on the report in front of him, trying to write down what little he could add. And trying to figure out just why he felt so odd about being there. He started to describe his location in relation to the other officers at the scene, as Jim had taught him, replaying the afternoon in his mind.
He was standing close to officer Simmons, Jim was off to their left, just turning to say something. He shouted, and Blair turned to look in the direction Jim was looking when he was pushed down. Jim covered him with his body and arms while several shots were fired. Jim then got up, and they both saw officer Simmons was down and bleeding. Jim went after the shooter, and Blair called for an ambulance while officer Blake stayed with her partner.
Pretty simple. Very tragic.
He was just now beginning to understand the implications of what had happened. Jim had saved him. An officer had been killed. Could Jim have saved her? Had there been a choice, or did Jim simply act on cop's instinct? Blair glanced behind him, into the bullpen where officers were milling around and working at desks. Mike Jenkins was standing next to Jim's desk, talking to him. At the other end of the room, three uniformed officers were standing together, watching Jim and occasionally looking in Blair's direction. They were taking sides already. But this wasn't just the usual, predictable groupings for mutual support and understanding. No, there was something almost hostile about what Blair was seeing. And it wasn't just directed at him.
Blair caught sight of Simon entering the room, stopping at Jim's desk for a moment before heading to the office. He quickly assessed the looks on both men's faces, and fleetingly wondered if the baseball practice had been just that morning, or weeks ago.
When they entered the office, Simon acknowledged Blair with a quick nod before walking to his desk. Jim shut the door, then sat down in front of the Captain. Blair decided it was best if he remained where he was, sitting now behind and to the left of Jim.
"I just got off the phone with Dr. Stohs. She was Kingston's shrink over at the VA." Simon leaned forward, resting both arms on his desk tiredly. "He'd been in and out of the hospital over the past three years, being treated for Gulf War syndrome, as well as some other psychologically-based problems."
"Did she have any reason to suspect Kingston was capable of this?" Jim asked.
"No." Simon took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "She said he used to hear voices, but that had stopped since he was put on medication 6 months ago."
"Maybe he stopped taking his medication," Blair offered, eyebrows raised. He couldn't help shooting a glance back out to the bullpen, seeing the officers still standing together, talking amongst themselves.
"Forensics found a prescription bottle in the house, but it was dated three months ago. They checked with the pharmacy, and it hadn't been refilled since."
Blair looked back at Simon, trying to force his attention on the room. It was normal for the officers to be talking, after all. There was nothing going on that wasn't expected in a situation like this.
"Sandburg, IA's gonna want to hear what happened from you as well as Jim."
"Me?"
"You were there, Chief. This isn't an inquest, just standard.."
"I know, standard procedure when an officer is killed." Then why did it feel like everyone was forming sides, with Jim on the wrong one?
"That's right." Simon reached into his desk and retrieved a fresh cigar. "The two of you head down there now, talk to Sheila, then go home. I think we've all had enough to deal with for one day."
Jim stood and Blair followed him out the door, staying close. He was sure all the eyes in the room were on them as they walked first to Jim's desk for their jackets, then out and down the hall. Jim was quiet, his jaw clenched. Being alone in the elevator gave Blair a little courage.
"Jim, why does it feel like there's something going on here, more than just a reaction to an officer's death?"
"It happens, Chief." Jim glanced down at him and his features softened just a little, but then tension in his face and jaw returned. "An officer's death isn't easy to take, for anyone."
"Yeah, I understand that, Jim. But it feels like there's more to this."
He shook his head. "Talking to IA after something like this is normal." The elevator doors opened and Jim stepped out.
Blair followed, trying to decide if Jim was misunderstanding his question on purpose or not. Before he could rephrase it, they were stepping into Sheila's office.
"Jim, Blair, come in." Sheila smiled politely and indicated that they should sit.
Blair couldn't help but wonder if he was sitting down in front of the woman who had stayed up all night talking with Jim, or the one who had once tried everything in her power to convict Jim of a murder he hadn't committed.
"I hope you realize this is just a formality. Paperwork has to be adhered to." She glanced from Jim to Blair, then back again.
"Of course." Jim sat down. "It was pretty straightforward."
"Why don't you tell me what happened?" She sat back, elbows on the arms of her chair, fingers pointed together just under her chin.
She was looking at Jim, so Blair remained quiet. He wasn't even sure why he was there.
"Sandburg and I arrived on the scene after Blake and Simmons. They said there was a shooter on campus, but so far no one had spotted him, and the shots had stopped before they arrived. I was assessing the situation when I caught sight of the shooter on the roof of the next building. He was taking aim, so I shouted at Blair and Janet. They were right in the line of fire." Jim's hands rose in a gesture of helplessness. "I got Sandburg to the ground, but Simmons wasn't fast enough."
Blair heard the tension in Jim's voice increase and glanced at Sheila. She was watching Jim, nodding slightly, but her face was unreadable. He couldn't help the uneasy feeling that continued to spread through his guts like warm milk. There was something else happening...something he couldn't control.
Part 2
* * *
"What about when you found the shooter? What happened then?"
Jim shrugged. "I told him to drop it. He looked at me, said "Drop me" and started to fire. I had no choice."
Sheila nodded. "I sp
oke to Captain Banks after he talked to Kingston's therapist. Sounds like the guy was a ticking bomb."
"Yeah."
"Well, I don't think we have to worry about the shooting. It was clearly justified. And if this guy was psyched out, he was dangerous and you had no choice."
"So that's what this is about? Whether Jim killed this guy out of anger or not?" Blair felt a small sense of relief, but it was short-lived.
"Basically, yes," Sheila replied, glancing at Blair. She turned back to face Jim. "I'm sure you understand what's going on right now."
Jim nodded. "Yeah. It's not too surprising, considering."
Blair looked from Jim, to Sheila, then back again. He wanted to ask what they were talking about, what was expected, but he didn't want to know. Blair never liked to ask Jim to clarify something in front of too many other people. Especially people who had at one time thought less of Blair's position as Jim's partner.
"Well, I think that's all I need right now. I'll read your reports, and talk to Captain Banks, but I think this one is pretty cut and dried." Sheila stood and they followed suit. "These things are never easy. Thank God they're as rare as they are."
"Right." Jim glanced at Blair and nodded toward the door.
"Oh, Sandburg, I understand you play?"
Blair stopped and turned around, totally confused. Judging by her reaction, it showed on his face.
"Baseball, Sandburg. You were at practice today?"
"Oh, right." He tried not to blush when she shot Jim an amused look. "Yeah, I play."
"I guess I'll see you out there for Saturday's game, then?"
Blair's eyebrows rose. "You?"
"Yep, second base." She nodded. "Does that surprise you?"
"No, not at all," he hastened to reassure her, then opened the door, anxious to get out of her office.
Back in the hall, he walked with Jim to the elevators. "I don't know, man. She scares me sometimes."
Jim smiled. "That's her job, Sandburg." He reached out and pressed the elevator button. "It's not easy being the one who polices the cops."
"No, I mean SHE scares me." Blair heard the elevator arrive and Jim's laughter at the same time. The doors opened and two uniformed officers stepped out, glancing from Blair to Jim as they entered the hallway. Blair could practically feel their thoughts as the officers pushed past them.
Jim immediately put his hand on Blair's shoulder and ushered him into the waiting car. He pressed the 7th floor button, then turned to Blair. "Listen, I have to finish my report, shouldn't take more than 10 minutes. Why don't you go wait in the truck?"
He was tired of this already. "No, Jim, I can wait upstairs." Was he trying to protect Blair, or himself? "I'm not blind, Jim. I can see what's happening here."
"I never said you couldn't, Chief."
"Then why send me into Simon's office? And now down to wait in the truck? Look, Jim, I can understand your need to show your solidarity, especially at a time like this. I just want to know that's what it is, that's all."
Jim shook his head. "No, Sandburg, trust me." The elevator doors opened and he stopped talking for a moment, glancing into the hall. "You've got this all wrong, and we'll talk about it later." He reached back into the car and pressed the garage button before Blair could get out.
"Yeah, I hope I've got it wrong, Jim." Blair replied to the closed doors. He sighed, rubbing his forehead for a moment before pushing his hair back. It still amazed him just a little, how a day with Jim could go from a pleasant afternoon of baseball, to having your world turned upside down in such a short span. The ball practice seemed like days ago, but the stiffness in his throwing arm told him it had been earlier that day. And now, the camaraderie and acceptance he'd felt while pitching out there, surrounded by uniformed and plainclothes officers alike, was gone. Like lightning, Blair had gone from one of them, to an outsider. And what's worse, they were taking Jim down with him. Guilty by association.
But what had Blair done to be guilty of? Other than being the one Jim had saved, while an officer was shot. Would they be happier if Blair had been killed, and officer Simmons was alive? Stupid, of course they would. The elevator doors opened and Blair stepped out, walking straight to the doors that led to the parking garage. He passed one Detective on the way, who looked at Blair and smiled. In the garage, two motorcycle officers walked by, also nodding and saying hello. He returned the pleasantries and crossed the garage, heading for Jim's truck at the far end. Just as he reached the door, another officer walked by, glaring at Blair with an expression that came as close to one of Jim's ice-cold spearing looks as anything he had ever seen.
Blair forced himself to return a mild smile, then hurried into the truck, closing and locking the door.
"Just calm down, Sandburg, this is normal." Sure, from an anthropological viewpoint. But Blair hadn't been the brunt of something this typical and emotionally killing before. So, had the other officers not heard yet? Or were they dividing among themselves already? Instead of the entire group banding together against the one outsider, were they forming groups within groups at such an early stage? And if so, what group had they placed Jim in? Or, more importantly, what group was Jim placing himself in? And was Blair anywhere near it?
After what seemed like an eternity sitting in that truck waiting for Jim and trying not to make eye contact with any of the other officers, his partner came through the doors and headed for the truck. He had a look of darkness about him that Blair wanted to attribute to the death of an officer, but he wasn't so sure that was all there was to it. No, there was more. He watched as Jim walked past two officers who had just driven in, and a blind man couldn't have missed the looks they gave Jim.
Blair reached over to unlock the door as his partner approached.
"Let's go home, Chief." Jim dug the keys out of his pocket and started the truck.
"How'd it go up there?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean, Jim." Blair was turned around in the seat, trying to face his partner as they drove out of the garage and into traffic. "This would make a very interesting case study, if it weren't so personal."
"Sandburg, that's exactly why I sent you into Simon's office, and down here to wait." Jim glanced at him, then looked back at the road. "I've seen this before, and it never changes, as I'm sure you must know with all your studies of human nature."
"Yeah, but Jim, these are your friends."
"My co-workers," Jim corrected. "Some of them are friends, yeah. And some of them are just your typical red-necked jackasses, who figure anyone who doesn't dress like them, talk like them, and cut their hair like them isn't worth the time of day." They turned down Prospect and Jim started looking for a parking spot. "And that attitude goes for some of the men and women they work with, too." He found a space close to the front of the building and parked, looking at Blair when he shut off the ignition. "I sent you into Simon's office so you could fill out that report and not be bothered by the crap that was going on in the bullpen. Crap that I was expecting. I can deal with it, Chief. I just didn't want you to have to."
Blair laughed shortly, but he was far from amused. "Afraid I'd think less of the men in blue?" Jim started to get out of the truck, so Blair opened his door and climbed out.
"No, Chief, afraid you'd think less of me."
Jim shut his door and Blair stood there, his own door half-closed, trying to understand what he'd just heard.
"You gonna give me a hand here or what?"
Blair shook himself, realizing Jim was pulling their baseball gear from the back. He shut the door and grabbed one of the two bags, then followed his partner up the stairs.
Once inside, Jim went straight for the kitchen and took a beer from the fridge. He held it up questioningly.
"No, no thanks. You hungry? I thought I'd make a sandwich."
"Yeah, I could eat." Jim crossed the room and sat down on the couch, sighing quietly.
"Listen, Jim, seeing you dealing with other cops that way wouldn
't have made me think any less of you." He reached into the refrigerator and began to remove meats and cheeses. "I mean, I see you deal with jerks every day, right? Why would this be any different?" He found the bread and mayonnaise. "In fact, I think I'd have appreciated seeing it." Blair finished that sentence quietly, almost not wanting Jim to hear, but knowing full well he would.
"Appreciated it?"
Of course he heard you, idiot. "Yeah." Now you have to explain. Well, maybe it was about time he did. Jim was on the couch, facing Blair as he stood in the kitchen. "I mean, you're my Blessed Protector, remember?" He picked up some bread and started to fuss with the meats, trying to use a distraction to keep from having to look at Jim while he spoke. "That is, if you were protecting me in there."
"Of course I was, Chief. What did you think?"
Blair shrugged, trying to get into anthropologist mode as a way to separate himself from what he was feeling. "Jim, it's common for people in your situation, cops that is, to form strong bonds that only become truly evident in times of stress. I don't mean the usual blue-brotherhood stuff, but really close." He continued to make the sandwiches as he spoke. "Even tribes that have feuding family units will all pull together against a common enemy, or during times of death or famine. Anyone that tribe perceives as being outside their small community is the focal point for the entire group in an antagonistic way. It's a human need to ban together and find that common enemy." The sandwiches were finished, so he put them on plates and started to put the rest back into the fridge. "In fact, it was during the cold war that America was its strongest. We all, as a unit, had one common threat: Communism. Anyone perceived as being one of "them" was attacked in some way." He finished cleaning up, then picked up both plates, balancing one on top of the other so he could also carry a bottle of water, and walked out to the couch, since the table was still covered in papers and books. Blair couldn't help but be slightly surprised to find Jim listening intently, or at least seeming to. He reached out and took the top plate.
Target Page 2
