Arts and Crimes

by Cindy Combs

  "Do you want someone to get a second shot at burning down your work?" Jim asked icily. Pascalle frowned. "Then I suggest you cooperate. My partner will take your statement." Ignoring Blair's 'oh-thanks-a-lot' glare, Jim waved him over as he himself stepped back. Jim knew another minute with the Frenchman would have ignited his temper and quite possibly ruined any chance of getting meaningful information from their victim.

  Besides, the sentinel wanted to use his own 'forensics lab' on the flash point before the official unit arrived.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Simon stormed through the spectators. "You know, I'd barely reached my car when the call came in," he grumbled to Ellison.

  Jim simply shrugged and got down to business. "I think our saboteur is getting creative." As Blair joined them, Jim pointed his gloved finger at a small mass of metal and wiring he had carefully pulled out of the trash can. "This looks like it was set on a timer to start the fire."

  Blair glanced around them worriedly. "Do you think there could be more of them?" The three men exchanged looks, then Simon stepped back and pulled out his phone. "What do we do now, Jim?" Blair whispered.

  "Stay alert," Jim replied grimly. He waved at Serena and her team as they waded through the spectators. "I have a feeling our saboteur has more than these 'toys' up his sleeve."

  While pointing out the areas he wanted checked, Jim heard something that seemed out of place. He tilted his head, picking up the faint sounds of excitement and panic through the crowd noise. In the background, Simon closed his cell phone, only to have it ring again.

  "What do you hear, Jim?" Blair asked softly.

  "Something's wrong on the other side of the bridge," Jim replied, his brow wrinkling as he tried to sort out the sounds he wanted from the chaos.

  "WHAT!" Simon roared suddenly, causing Jim to wince. "Is he okay? Is the fire out?" Both Jim and Blair turned to stare at their Captain. "Okay, Brown, we'll be there in a minute." Simon flipped his phone shut. "Let's go. Brown and Rafe just put out another fire."

  * * *

  As they arrived at the scene on the North side of the bridge, Brown and a young couple were carefully stacking mounted photos away from the blackened section of a booth. Nearby, Rafe sat on a stool as a pretty blonde poured water over his hand.

  Frowning, Jim walked over to Rafe. "You okay?"

  Rafe glanced up at the senior detective. Jim could detect traces of soot on his face along with faint lines from the pain. "Yeah, I'm okay."

  "He burnt his hand saving my work," the blonde inserted. Jim could detect a slight German accent to her words. "He was very brave."

  Noting the obvious hero-worship in her blue eyes, Jim forced back a smirk as he gently lifted Rafe's injured hand. "I was a medic in the army," he assured the young woman as she frowned. After a quick examination, Jim nodded. "Mostly first degree, but a few places are starting to blister." He smiled at the young woman. "Keep pouring the water over it slowly until the EMTs get here." He patted Rafe's back then walked back over to the rest of his unit.

  "...the photos while I and a couple of the other vendors beat out the flames," Brown was reporting to Simon. "I think Rafe burnt his hand on one of the hot frames."

  Blair sent a worried glance at his partner. Jim returned a quick smile, reassuring him that their co-worker would be okay. Blair nodded then pointed out, "It started in a trash can again."

  "I've ordered all the trash cans replaced and checked," Simon added. He shook his head. "Wonder how many more of these we'll find?"

  Blair glanced at the banner on the outside of the booth. "Meta Snyder," he softly read. His eyes narrowed as his mind began making connections. "Sounds German."

  "She does have the accent," Jim told him, wondering where his partner's thoughts were going.

  "And much of her work deals with Bosnian and Kosovo refugees," Henri added.

  Blair's eyes widened as he put it together. "So we have sabotage at a French painter's booth, a German photographer's booth..."

  "And Buddha's Mexican grill," Jim groaned, catching on to the trend. "He's going after the 'outsiders'."

  * * *

  Rooftop

  The lanky body stretched on the rough surface shifted stiffly, painfully. Yet in spite of the complaints from the old injuries, the man of the shadows still trained his attention on his prey below. The high-tech binoculars focused on Ellison, watching as he lifted the hand of the injured detective, noting the gentle pat on the back before Ellison returned to the others. "Is that weakness I see, Captain Ellison? Do you, once a man of ice, care about the others you serve with? My, aren't we getting soft?"

  * * *

  Two hour later, food booths on South side of Riley Dam District

  Blair drew a long slurp of raspberry banana smoothie into his mouth. Leaning back against a tree, he slowly swallowed the cool, tangy drink as he willed his muscles to relax. The day was only half over, yet it felt like two long ones. He and Jim had managed to catch two more trash can devices before they ignited while Brown and Rafe had found a third. The People Defenders caught a fourth one once the trash inside was fully engulfed. Finally, the festival crews had replaced all the receptacles within the area, so the danger was now over. Yet Blair suspected there would soon be something else to take its place.

  Sighing, Blair glanced over to his partner. Jim was rubbing his forehead, practically ignoring the buffalo burger in his other hand. Blair frowned, then glanced around. The crowd was growing as people who could take a half-day off work arrived. The afternoon sun was heating the exhibits, intensifying the fumes from paints and glues. Plus, Jim's senses had been in a constant state of alert since they'd arrived. Add in the performing arts students down the street, banging on gongs and shouting rap to the crowd, and it would be a miracle if Jim didn't have a headache. The commissioner's project for them was becoming much bigger than Blair ever dreamed it would. A project they were pulled into simply due to the forced revelation of Jim's senses.

  At the touch on his arm, Jim lifted his head and blinked at his partner. "You okay? You want to move away from the gongs?"

  Jim forced a smile for his friend, though he suspected it came out more like a grimace. "Yeah. They're starting to get to me."

  "Can you tune them out?"

  "No, I'm afraid I'll miss something if I do."

  "Okay, let's walk." They turned in the opposite direction, quietly strolling along with the festival-goers. After several minutes, Blair softly whispered, "I'm sorry, Jim."

  "Sorry?" Jim, totally baffled, glanced down at his partner. "Why? You didn't cause my headache."

  "Yeah, but if it hadn't been for my diss, we wouldn't be on this assignment."

  Jim sighed. He really didn't want to have this conversation now, though he had been expecting it. He tilted his head toward an empty alley. "Come on, Chief." Once they were safe from any prying ears, Jim leaned against the brick wall. "Okay, spill it."

  Blair took a moment for a deep breath, centering his thoughts. Then the deep blue eyes met his partner's. "I'm sorry, Jim." Unable to stand still with his unsettled emotions, Blair began to pace. "Because of that whole dissertation fiasco, you and Simon had to tell the commissioner about your senses. So now he can jerk us around whenever he wants. Otherwise, we wouldn't be on this assignment, you wouldn't have a headache, and Rafe wouldn't have a burnt hand. And that makes it all my fault."

  "Sandburg." The quiet growl halted Blair's feet, turning him to face the speaker. "It wasn't about the dissertation, Blair. It was about me needing you to back me up full time."

  "Yeah, but if I hadn't had to declare myself a fraud, you and Simon wouldn't have had to sell your souls to the commissioner to rescue me from my own disaster."

  "You did it to protect me. No one has ever done that before."

  "You wouldn't have needed protecting if my dissertation hadn't hit the media."

  Jim shook his head. "You still don't get it. The only thing that matters here is that we are officially partners. W
e don't have to worry about someone coming in and revoking your observer pass like Finkleman did. If that means we have to take a special assignment from Mathews every once in a while, so be it. If the assignment's tough and gives me a headache, I'll handle it. It's a small price to pay to keep the best partner I've ever had."

  Blue eyes drilled into blue, trying to force the other to understand. Finally, Blair took a deep breath, releasing some of his tension and guilt. His eyes glowed with the warmth Jim's words had generated in his soul. "Thanks, Jim."

  Jim stood away from the wall and shrugged. "That's just the way it is, Chief. Besides, if we weren't on this assignment, Buddha would have blown up with his grill and several artist would have lost their art. Not that Pascalle's stuff would have been that great of a loss." Blair couldn't help but chuckle, further lightening his mood. "And I wouldn't worry too much about Rafe. His injured hand paved the way for a night out with the pretty Miss Snyder."

  "Really?" Blair exclaimed. "Maybe I should try that approach."

  "Don't even think it, Sandburg." Jim turned towards the main street. "We should get back on patrol."

  "What about your head?" Blair asked as he trailed him.

  Jim shrugged. "I'll survive."

  * * *

  The watcher laid a hand against his earpiece as he glanced at the tape recorder next to him. He wanted to be certain that he had that informative conversation on tape. "So, your little friend declared himself a fraud to protect you. Does that mean you are the real thing?"

  * * *

  Two and a half hours later, south side of the bridge

  "Here," Blair shoved the cold drink into his partner's hands. "Maybe this will help."

  Jim sighed as he took a sip of the lemonade. "Thanks, Chief." Eyes closed, he tossed two aspirin into his mouth, washing them down with more lemonade. He forced his eyes to open. "How're Brown and Rafe doing?" Rafe had managed to convince the paramedics and his captain that he could continue the patrol with H., but Jim knew his hand had to be hurting nearly as much as Jim's head.

  "Everything's still quiet," Blair reported.

  "'Quiet' being a relative term," Jim commented softly. He winced when a little girl squealed nearby. "I will definitely be glad when this day is over."

  Blair studied his sentinel. "You think you can handle two more days of this?" Jim's face had grown paler as the day progressed.

  "I can if we have to," Jim replied. "I want to catch this firebug before he actually hurts someone." A faint 'crack' reached his ears. Taking another swallow of his drink, Jim began to listen for a repeat of the noise.

  "There has to be an easier way to do this," Blair grumbled. "You can't be expected to find any little thing that just might go wrong in this entire district."

  ~creak~ Determining the direction of the noise, Jim pushed away from the tree. His pain was forgotten as he stepped towards the noise, focusing his senses on that which was out of place.

  "I mean, it would be a whole lot easier if we had some clues and could start looking for the bastard instead of just searching for his handiwork," Blair continued. Suddenly, he noticed his partner was moving away, his head slightly tilted. "Jim?"

  Jim's feet slowly moved in the direction of the sound. When another, louder creak rang in his ear, Jim picked up the pace.

  Realizing his partner was in sentinel mode, Blair swiftly caught up. From the tilt of the head, Blair guessed Jim was listening for something. That kept him quiet, not wanting to upset the delicate balance shifting around in his friend's sore mind. When Jim turned to the right and started to trot, Blair stayed beside him.

  ~groan~ The sound was closer now. Jim suddenly stopped in the middle of an intersection, glancing around as he searched the area.

  "Jim?" Blair barely whispered.

  "Metal under stress," Jim forced out. With most of his concentration on finding the problem, his sentences were short and abrupt. "Louder. Nearby."

  Blair's eyes immediately joined the search. A flash of red drew his eyes to the stage tucked into a courtyard. "What about..."

  "The stage," Jim finished, his feet already racing to the source. As they approached, Jim noticed three young teenage girls in brightly colored silks, their painted hands and feet moving intricately to the sounds of eastern music. Then Jim noticed a very subtle shift of the platform. Damn

  With a quick burst of speed, Jim raced to the front of the stage just as the front of the platform dropped several inches. Two girls fell hard and struggled to keep from sliding off the smooth surface. However, the third, who had been balancing on one foot near the front, tumbled off the edge. Vaulting over a couple of spectators seated on the ground, Jim barely managed to catch the slim girl before she could fall four feet to the concrete sidewalk below. As he realized what he had just done, Jim's eyes met the large brown ones looking at him in shock. "Hi," he stuttered.

  "Hi," replied the soft, shy voice.

  "You okay?"

  The girl nodded. Jim gently sat her onto the ground as applause erupted from the audience.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, under the stage

  "This is the bolt," Jim pointed.

  Serena hid her smile. If she had any doubts before, this certainly cleared them. No average person could see anything in the gloom under the stage. But then, she never really believed Sandburg would commit fraud, either. No wonder Ellison always seemed to find tiny bits of evidence her team had missed. She carefully swung her flashlight to where Jim was pointing, giving the man a chance to adjust to its light. She didn't want to hurt the Cascade PD's secret weapon.

  Focusing on the area, she picked up a bolt from the ground. Her gloved hand turned it around under the flashlight as she studied it. "Yes, this definitely looks like it was cut part way. That stressed it enough that it would eventually give way."

  Jim grimly nodded as Serena confirmed his suspicions. "So it could have been done earlier in the day." He glanced around, thinking of the crowds and performers that had surrounded the stage since the start of the festival. It would have been hard for someone to slip underneath unnoticed.

  "It probably was done very early. I can't believe three slim girls could cause this much stress."

  "No, but there was a polka demonstration on right before them," Jim replied thoughtfully. He caught the eye of the forensic technician. "Let me know if you find anything else."

  Serena nodded, then touched his arm, "Jim? The components for those arson devices were purchased locally. Sam is trying to hunt down who bought them right now."

  "Thanks." Jim tipped his head to her, then climbed back into the sunshine. Spotting his partner interviewing one of the festival organizers, he turned towards that direction when he was stopped by a small hand placed on his arm. He glanced down to see the teen he had rescued.

  "I wanted to thank you for saving me," she said softly, her warm brown eyes sincere.

  Jim gave her one of his rare, warm smiles. "It was my pleasure, Miss...?"

  "Asha Lemke."

  "Miss Lemke. I hope the rest of your performances go much smoother."

  "Me, too," Asha giggled.

  "Asha!" Jim glanced over the teen's shoulder to see an older woman who looked to be of full Indian blood.

  "There's my mom. Thanks again!"

  "You're welcome," Jim replied, returning her wave as she ran to her mother. Taking a deep breath, the detective could feel anger stirring in his chest. If he hadn't reached her in time, that sweet girl would be on her way to the hospital with broken bones instead of going home. Jim turned to join his partner, more determined than ever to stop this would-be terrorist.

  Blair had finished his conversation with the festival worker as Jim approached. "After the Bharatanatyam dance performance, this stage had a Scottish Highland bagpipe group scheduled. Earlier, there was a Salsa band, the polka group from Wisconsin, and an Irish dance troupe from overseas."

  "Outsiders," Jim groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Did Brown and Rafe check the North side
stage?"

  Blair frowned at the evidence of Jim's continuing headache, but continued. "Yeah, but no evidence of sabotage. However, Henri said that stage had acts like folk dancing, jazz, and country swing. Basically, your traditional American venues and all local acts."

  Jim lifted his head to squint at his partner. "So all the so-called 'outside' groups were concentrated on the sabotaged stage, while the others were on the safe one?"

  Blair nodded, his eyes growing wider as he caught Jim's implication. "So which came first? Was that stage sabotaged because of the concentration of foreign acts?"

  "Or did someone schedule it that way?" Jim finished the thought. He and his partner traded looks, each having the same thought: Was this an inside job?

  A sudden ring from his cell phone broke the silent exchange. Jim yanked out the phone and answered, "Ellison." Blair watched intently as Jim listened. "Okay, We'll be there in a couple of minutes."

  "What's up?" Blair asked worriedly as Jim clicked the phone shut.

  "The committee just received another letter from our saboteur."

  * * *

  Simon's tall frame was easy to spot over the crowds around the festival headquarters. Jim zoomed in and soon he and Blair were standing next to him. Simon indicated the trailer with a tilt of his head, and soon was leading his men inside.

  Once they had entered the bedroom they had used earlier, Simon turned to his men. "Any luck with the stage incident?"

  Sentinel ears picked up movement behind the thin RV wall. Not wanting to reveal what they suspected to someone who might be involved, Jim replied, "A few theories."

  Simon glanced at his best detective. When Jim didn't continue, his eyes narrowed.

  "Will tell you later," Jim explained with a tug on his ear. Blair's eyes grew wide at the implication.