by K Ryn
Disclaimer: All of the characters -- except Bob Ryan, Anton Delvenko, Crazy Addy, Little Boy, and Sandra Abrahms, who popped up out of nowhere -- belong to the guys at Pet Fly, not me. I just borrowed them for a while -- kind of a long while as it turns out -- but I'm returning them unharmed at the end, I promise. Oh, and no money exchanged hands, yadda, yadda...
Author's Notes: I confess to being GUILTY of scene(s) stealing for this one. The story sort of assembled itself around a couple of good visual scenes from Secret. I know it's bad form, but I couldn't resist. You could think of this as a 'missing story from...' piece, instead of a 'missing scene from...' piece if it makes you feel better. Dedicated to Majik, who brow-beat me into finishing this with unstinting flattery and shameless begging. (Besides, she made good on our deal -- see Withdrawal on her page!)
Set-Up
by
K. Ryn
[email protected]
.
"Ellison... wake up," urged a voice that seemed to come from miles away.
Groggily, Jim raised his head and tried to concentrate on the blurry shape in front of him. Joel Taggart's face finally came into focus.
"Jim, can you understand me?" Taggart asked again.
"Yeah..." Jim murmured, suddenly aware that his truck was surrounded by squad cars, their lights strobing in the darkness. He caught a whiff of fish and brine and realized that he was somewhere down on the docks.
"Jim, I'm sorry to have to do this."
"What?" Disoriented, he stared up into Taggart's troubled face. He caught a glimpse of another figure standing just behind Joel. It took Jim's confused mind a moment to recognize him -- Bob Ryan, another detective who'd recently been assigned to their department. There was an odd look on Ryan's face, too, although not one that matched Taggart's.
"Jim Ellison," Joel said in a grim voice, "I'm placing you under arrest for suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain silent..."
"Murder?" The image of Sorenson, dead in his car in the parking garage, filled his mind. "Sorenson was dead when I got there."
Taggart stared at him blankly for a moment, then shook his head.
"Jim... I don't know who this Sorenson is, but the charge has nothing to do with him. You're being arrested for the murder of Blair Sandburg."
Stunned, Jim offered no resistance as Joel locked a set of handcuffs over his wrists.
Run... They're coming... Pain... Jim... no... don't shoot... Pain... Darkness...
Jim rubbed the side of his neck and looked up abruptly as Simon entered the interrogation room. "Simon," Jim almost gasped in relief. "What's going on? What's happened to Sandburg?"
"That's what I'm hoping you can tell me. Right now he's missing... presumed dead."
Simon's words hit Jim like a physical blow. For a split second, his whole world lurched and his senses spun out of control. A part of his mind screamed in panic at the loss of his Guide, his friend. But his heart pounded even louder in denial. Blair couldn't be dead. There had to be a mistake. He clenched his fists, using the physical sensation as a point of focus. Slowly, the world stopped spinning.
"What happened?" Jim was surprised at how calm his own voice sounded.
"I checked my voice mail when I got home from the Commissioner's dinner and there was a message from you," Simon explained, his expression grim. "Something about a lead on the Anderson case and to contact you at the loft at 4:00 am. When I did call, Sandburg answered the phone. Sounded like I'd woken him up. When he realized you weren't there, he started to go ballistic. Said you'd gotten some strange call to meet an informant. Someone named Sorenson. He was rambling on about the fact that you were supposed to be back by three and that he was worried about you. He was convinced that something was wrong. I tried to calm him down, but he wasn't buying it. Then he said that he heard someone at the door. He called out your name, there were gun shots and the line went dead. By the time we got there, the place looked like a shooting gallery and there was no trace of Sandburg. We put out an APB on both of you. That's what turned your truck down at the pier."
Simon took a deep breath and dropped a manila file on the table in front of Jim. "Forensics ran a match on the bullets we found. They're from your gun, and your prints are the only ones on it."
"But you didn't find a body..." Jim murmured, his mind racing. "What about blood stains?"
"Nothing in the apartment. We're still canvassing the neighborhood, but so far no one's seen anything."
"Then there's a chance... Simon, you've got to believe me. I never left you any message, and I didn't kill him," Jim swore, looking up into Simon's eyes. "The last time I saw Sandburg, he was alive. I did get a call. From an old informant."
"This the same guy you told Taggart and Ryan about?"
"Yeah... he said he had some information for me... wanted to meet right away."
"At the parking garage at 1st and Belmont?"
Jim nodded. "Sorenson had been an addict. He'd been clean for a long time, but he sounded shaky. Like he was either using again and needed a fix, or he was scared. Sandburg and I were supposed to take off at three and get in some fishing this weekend, but I decided to meet Sorenson anyway. He'd given us with some good information a year or so ago... I figured maybe we owed him some help. He was dead when I got there. I heard someone in the shadows, but before I could even get my gun out, I got hit with some kind of dart." Jim touched the red welt on his neck. "The next thing I knew, I was in my truck down on the docks and Taggart was shaking me awake."
"Jim, we sent a squad over to that garage. There was nothing there. No car matching the description you gave Joel, and no body."
"Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like I killed Sandburg. It all fits. Except for one thing. Why would I do it? There's no motive."
"Internal affairs and the DA's office don't see it that way," Simon said quietly, reaching into a brown evidence envelope and dropping a plastic bag filled with white powder on the table. "Forensics found a dozen of these when they went over the apartment."
Jim stared down at the bag, shaking his head in denial.
"They'll submit this as evidence that you were dealing, Jim. That Sandburg found out about it and you took him out to keep him from turning you in."
"I give you my word Simon, I've never seen this before. Whoever planned this must have planted it when he went after Blair. It's a set-up."
"Of course it is," Simon growled. "Unfortunately, it's a damn good one. Even if we don't find a body, there's enough incriminating evidence to paint you as a cop gone bad."
"Finding out who's behind this will take care of countering the evidence," Jim responded grimly. "And I don't care about my reputation right now. The important thing is to find my partner."
"Jim, it's been nearly four hours. If he is still alive, why hasn't he tried to contact us?"
"I don't know," Jim answered worriedly, rising to his feet and pacing the small room. "Maybe he's hurt. Maybe he's just scared and he's running without thinking." Jim stopped pacing and looked at Simon evenly. "I need to get out of here, Simon. I can find him. I know I can."
"Jim, you're a prime suspect in his murder, or at least his attempted murder," Simon protested. "I let you out of here and the Commissioner's going to have my head."
Jim opened his mouth to argue, but there was a soft knock and the door opened. Jim caught a glimpse of Ryan standing outside before Joel's massive bulk filled the doorway. The look on his face froze both of them.
"Simon," he said softly. "They want you downstairs... Coroner just brought in a body... cause of death was two shots in the back... the ID says it's Sandburg."
All the way down to the morgue, Jim held onto the belief that there had been some mistake. That hope was crushed when saw Blair's suede jacket amidst a pile of clothing on one of t
he exam tables.
In silent shock, Jim picked up the jacket and carried it with him to the lockers where the bodies were kept. Numb, he stood next to Simon as the morgue attendant twitched the sheet back from one of the corpses.
The sight of the body on the table caught both of them by surprise. Jim's grip tightened spasmodically on Blair's jacket, but it was Simon who finally spoke. "That's not Sandburg," he exclaimed, looking up at the attendant in anger. "What kind of bad joke is this?"
"No joke, Captain. We ID'd him off the wallet we found in the jacket pocket," stammered the man in defense, moving swiftly to the pile of clothing and plucking out Blair's wallet.
"It's Sandburg's," Simon muttered, snapping the wallet shut and handing it to Jim.
"So's the jacket," Jim added softly. "It's the one he's been wearing all week."
"How the hell did this guy end up with them?"
"Either Sandburg gave them to him, or he took them," Jim responded, extending his senses to scan the body. "Probably the latter. This guy's been living on the street... pretty rough territory, too. He took two in the back?"
The attendant nodded, his eyes moving nervously between Simon and Jim.
"About Sandburg's build, and in the dark..." Simon's eyes narrowed as he studied the corpse. "I'd say whoever was after Sandburg took this guy out by mistake. That could mean that Sandburg's still alive somewhere. Question is, where is he, and does whoever's hunting for him realize that he's made a mistake?"
Jim examined the jacket, opening his senses. He identified the rents where the fatal shots had shredded the suede and shuddered as he picked up Blair's familiar scent under the stronger odor of the John Doe. He pushed the flicker of fear aside, reminding himself that it wasn't his partner that had taken those bullets. He concentrated, trying to focus on the other clues that clamored for his attention. There was a blood-stained hole in the front of the left shoulder and on the left collar there was an odd chemical smell that he immediately recognized, along with another blood stain.
"Does he have a cut or wound along the left side of the head or neck?" Jim grilled the attendant. "Any wound in the left shoulder?"
"No... nothing. Just the two bullet holes to the back."
Jim nodded his thanks and stepped away from the table. He moved to the pile of clothing, searching through it for other traces of his young friend.
"You log this guy as a John Doe," Simon ordered the attendant. "I want Sandburg's name off this chart."
"Wait a minute, Simon," Jim interrupted. "Leave it for now. The fewer people who know that Blair's still alive, the better the chance we have at finding him."
Simon considered Jim's words and nodded. He turned back to the attendant and Jim heard him threatening the man with vivid details of what would happen if anything leaked out about the true identity of the corpse. Jim turned his attention back to the items on the table. In a small plastic bag, he found the beaded wrist band that Blair had worn for as long as Jim had known him. Beyond that, there was nothing else that belonged to his friend.
"He's out there Simon... he's got to be... but he's running out of time... he's hurt, maybe even drugged," he murmured softly as Simon joined him. "From what I picked up off the jacket, he could be lying in some alley or basement, bleeding to death."
"Jim, slow down. There were no blood stains in the apartment."
"Have forensics take another look at his jacket. There's a third bullet hole. In the left front. There's no damage to the back, which means the bullet didn't go all the way through -- it's probably still in his shoulder. And there's a good-sized blood stain inside. The suede and the lining absorbed most of it -- probably why you didn't find any in the apartment. Either that or he got hit after he left there. There's also blood and a trace of something chemical on the collar. It's the same smell that I picked up from the dart that took me out."
Jim paused, letting his instincts direct his thoughts. "We've got to find out where our JD hangs out. That's where we'll find Blair."
"That's assuming you're right about this guy rolling Sandburg for his jacket. What if the kid just dumped it or gave it away to the first person he saw and kept moving. It'd be a smart move. That jacket's distinctive."
"Blair knew someone was after him. There's no way he would have put someone el se in danger. Our John Doe must have found him and figured him for either dead or no trouble. He took this too," Jim said, holding up the wrist band. "It's been cut -- Even if Sandburg had given up the jacket voluntarily, he would never have parted with this."
Jim stared at Simon, his eyes unfocused, his mind racing. "Where'd they find the body?"
"About twelve blocks from your place... Hamstead and thirty-first," Simon answered, checking the log. "We could concentrate the search in that area. If our JD did roll him, could be he's still there."
"Doesn't make sense," Jim muttered. "That's a pretty ritzy neighborhood. That guy's been living near something that's generating a lot of diesel fumes. The smell of it permeates his clothes. Sandburg couldn't have made it that far with that drug in him... he's got to be closer to home. That still leaves us with a lot of places to search."
Jim tried to sort out the possible locations in his neighborhood where his roommate might have taken refuge. "There's an old foundry about five blocks east of the apartment. Those diesel pumps put out a lot of fumes. And there's a big garage about a mile south. I'll have to start at the apartment and see if I can pick up anything..." He was so focused that Simon's next comment caught him off guard.
"Well , what are we waiting for?"
"We? What about the Commissioner?"
"You're in custody... mine. If he's got a problem with that I'll let the two of you explain it to him -- after you've figured out what this is all about," Simon answered firmly.
Pain... Jim... where are you?... Pain... No, don't... Darkness...
Jim stared out of the car window, trying to concentrate on solving the puzzle of his partner's disappearance. His own fears kept intruding, making it difficult to stay focused. His senses weren't cooperating either. They surged against his control, and he had to fight to keep them dialed down. He didn't want to risk a zone-out -- not until he had his Guide back at his side.
After stopping at the lab to have a sample of Jim's blood drawn for analysis, they'd gone down to the garage to pick up Simon's car. Simon had been adamant about driving. "You're in custody remember? You get your head together and start trying to figure out who could have orchestrated this mess."
Jim shook himself and took several deep breaths, pushing his concerns for Blair to the back of his mind in an another attempt to do just that. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the whole picture of events -- Sorenson, the phone call, the darts, the drugs, the message to Simon and the attack on Blair. One by one, the pieces began to settle into place. A name suddenly floated into his mind.
"Delvenko."
"Anton Delvenko?" Simon asked in confusion. "The drug dealer you put away three years ago?"
"He was more than just a dealer, Simon. He was the major supplier for the entire northwest coast. He was a smart operator. It would have been child's play for him to set this up."
"He's in prison, Jim. Granted, that doesn't mean he's lost his connections on the outside, but if he was going to come after you, why wait three years?"
"Because his parole was just denied." Jim recalled the look of hatred that Delvenko had directed toward him when he'd been on the stand. "I testified at the hearing a month ago, remember? And it was close. He'd spent the last three years being a model prisoner and the board was leaning toward an early release. The DA had pushed for the admission of new evidence that we'd uncovered about his dealings since the trial and that changed their minds."
"I agree he's a candidate, but he's not the only one. You've managed to generate a fairly long list of enemies who wouldn't mind seeing you taken out of the game."
"But not many of them have the sophistication to pull off a set-up like this. He does," Jim answer
ed, his instincts telling him that he was right. "And like you said, in prison or not, he's still got the connections to pull it off."
Simon nodded and pulled to a stop in front of the apartment. Jim shifted out of the car, examining the building and the surrounding streets with a critical, searching eye. As they moved inside, he tried to look at everything in a different way, as if seeing it for the first time. He allowed himself a quick smile. Blair would have approved.
Simon pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. "No sign of forced entry," he murmured as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.
"They probably used my keys and put them back on me when they returned the gun," Jim speculated. "You said Sandburg called out my name?"
"Yeah, he must have heard the key in the lock. Thought it was you coming in."
Jim nodded and moved forward into the apartment. He took three steps into the room and stopped, scanning it slowly, his senses accumulating information that he'd try to assimilate later. Simon had been right when he'd said that it looked like a shooting gallery. He could still smell the gunpowder fumes hanging in the air. The thought struck him that there was far too much damage for just one gunman.
"How many bullets did forensics recover?" Jim eased around the overturned kitchen chairs, crossing to where the phone still lay on the floor in front of Blair's bedroom door.
"Ten or twelve, I think."
"And how many shots did you hear?"
"Two... no, three," Simon replied after a moment of consideration.
"Doesn't make sense. Sandburg would have been out of here long before they shot off a dozen rounds. Did you find any in there?" Jim asked, gesturing toward the bedroom.
"Most of them," Simon answered grimly.
"Overkill," Jim muttered, crouching to examine two splintered holes in the wooden doors. "I'd bet these are the ones that you heard. The rest were added for effect, and to make sure you'd ID my gun as the weapon. That might even mean that there was more than one shooter."
"One to take him out and one to dress up the scene and plant the drugs," Simon nodded, following Jim's train of thought.
