Progression Series 15 Buried Fears Page 2

  Suddenly his office seemed close and stifling. Standing, he stuffed the papers that still needed grading into the box Eli had used to package the new backpack. That done, he carefully placed the backpack on top of the papers and replaced the box lid. Retrieving his keys from his desk drawer, he grabbed his jacket, hoisted the box up into his arms and made his way out of his office.

  As he exited Hargrove Hall and crossed the nearly empty parking lot, his gaze swept across the shadowy campus grounds. No one is watching you, he told his overactive imagination. But he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was hiding within the darkness, their predatory gaze following his slow progress toward his car, waiting for just the right moment to pounce....

  What I wouldn't give to have Jim's heightened senses right about now. To be able to check for heartbeats, running footsteps...

  The phone in his jacket pocket rang and he jumped, startled by the sound. Shifting the box under one arm, he dug out the phone.

  "Hello?"

  "Sandburg, it's me," Jim's concerned voice reached him. "Where are you? You said you'd be home by dinner and it's almost seven o'clock. That's long past dinner and I--"

  "I'm on my way to my car right now," Blair cut in, annoyed.

  There was a pause, then, "Are you alone?"

  "Yes, Jim, I'm alone," he sighed out. "And I'm fine. I'll be home soon."

  "Don't hang up," Jim said suddenly. "Stay on the phone until you reach your car."

  Blair stopped in his tracks and rolled his eyes. "You're kidding me, right? Tell me you're kidding me."

  "I'm not," Jim answered, a somewhat apologetic tone in his voice. "Just humor me, Blair," he continued, his voice firmer and without apology this time. "Okay?"

  Cut him a break, Sandburg, Blair told himself, taking note of the reluctance that had been in Jim's voice just a few moments earlier. He's trying. Sighing inwardly, Blair started walking again. Attempting to make light of the situation, he teasingly filled Jim in on his every movement, assuring the overprotective sentinel that he was all right.

  But Blair wasn't quite as successful in convincing himself that everything was okay. He still felt as if he were being watched, still imagined leering eyes peeking out from every shadow, stealthy steps in every sound. This has to stop, he told himself. I can't live like this. We can't live like this.

  /

  /

  /

  Jim lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. He'd tossed and turned for well over an hour and was no closer to sleep than he had been when he'd first come upstairs. He knew he was driving Sandburg crazy with all his worrying but he just couldn't help himself. When he didn't have Blair with him, all he could think about was what might be happening to him, who might be watching him, how he could lose him again.

  The fact that they'd been unable to obtain even the slimmest lead on Marcus Grant didn't help matters. The man could be thousands of miles away...or he could be waiting just around the corner.

  A familiar feeling of rage welled up within the detective as he thought again of the smug psychiatrist--standing at Blair's funeral service, inwardly reveling in the pain he'd caused; watching Ellison behind dark glasses, observing his grief.

  Why the hell didn't I know it was him?

  That was the question that was eating away at Jim. The question for which he had no answer. He was a sentinel. He should have recognized his voice, his scent, something. But he hadn't, and because he hadn't Blair had been locked away, declared dead.

  Instantly, Jim's thoughts turned to the funeral itself and a deep, remembered sadness and sense of irrevocable loss pushed up to drive the anger from him. Too vividly he could still remember that warm morning, the polished casket gleaming in the sun, the aroma of loose earth surrounding the open grave. And the crushing sense of loss--loss of the man who meant more to him than he had words to express.

  A long, rattling sigh escaped him as he rolled over onto his side. It was always this time, in the stillness of deep night, that was the worst for him. It was the time when he thought about losing Blair the most, worried the deepest that Grant would be successful next time.

  Sending out his hearing, he listened to Blair's sleeping heart rate, his calm even breathing. He supposed he should broach the subject of the funeral with Sandburg, but inside he knew it would be better to let the kid bring it up in his own time. Sometimes it seemed like Blair wasn't concerned at all about knowing what had transpired during his absence...about visiting his "grave" or asking about the service. But thinking about it now, Jim realized why this was all so much easier for his partner. He knew he was alive. He never had to deal with his own death. But Jim had lived through Blair's death, was still living it, replaying it over and over in his mind, and worse--in his heart.

  Part Two

  Jim glanced toward the doors of the bullpen, overtly watching for his partner's return. Blair had gone down the hall to the vending machines in hopes of finding "something edible," as he'd put it. Jim had been tempted to accompany him under the pretense of getting a snack for himself as well. But he knew Sandburg would see right through the transparent ploy. That he'd know Jim was only joining him on his mission to find a snack because he didn't want him going alone.

  We're at the station. The place is crawling with cops. Grant is not going to try anything here.

  But the worry didn't let up until Blair strolled back through the bullpen doors, oblivious to Jim's torment, happily munching on a bag of pretzels. Jim's gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. Sandburg would be leaving in just under an hour, heading back to Rainier for the afternoon to finish up the last of this year's school work. After that the kid was finished with the university for the summer--the next three months would be spent working full-time at the station...and Jim was more than happy about it.

  He had never really minded the time the two men spent apart; he thought it was healthy, necessary. In fact, he knew that if he and Blair had to both live and work together full-time, they'd probably end up killing each other. Therefore, Blair's work at Rainier, his time spent teaching, actually helped to keep them both sane.

  But right now, today, Jim hated the idea of Blair leaving to go back to Rainier. Hated the idea of his partner working in a half-empty building, most of the other professors having probably finished their work yesterday or this morning.

  When Jim had asked Blair when he thought he might be finished, he'd said he wasn't sure. That most likely he'd be late. Not good enough, Jim thought as he watched Blair slip his glasses on and turn back to the report before him. There was simply no way Jim was going to sit home at the loft that evening and wait around until Blair finally came home. No way he was going to let Sandburg work in his office alone after dark, either. He'll be grateful when I show up with dinner, he told himself. And even if he's not, I'll deal with that when the time comes.

  Satisfied with his plan, he smiled to himself and turned back to the file before him. They were working a fraud case, trying to find a paper connection between a Cascade bank employee and the business they thought he might be using to launder money. Jim had barely read through the first set of bank statements when Simon's door was pulled wide.

  "Sandburg. Ellison. My office."

  Jim looked up. There was something about the tone of Simon's voice...something wrong....

  He glanced at his partner, saw the same unease he was feeling mirrored in the deep frown pulling down the corners of Blair's mouth.

  "What's up?" Blair asked as he fell into step beside Jim.

  The detective shrugged. "Don't know, but my guess is it's not good."

  "Close the door," Simon instructed as they stepped inside his office.

  Jim did as he was told before taking a seat in one of the chairs flanking the captain's desk. Fidgeting a bit, Blair sat down beside him.

  "Is something wrong, sir?" Jim asked immediately.

  Simon clasped his hands on his desk and exhaled a long, weary breath. "I'm afraid I have some disturbing news." He paused only briefly,
his gaze cutting from Jim to Blair and back again. "I just received a phone call from downstairs. It seems Tom Brayden...." His voice trailed off and he shook his head. "Damn, there's no easy way to say this. Brayden was killed this morning."

  "What?" Jim blurted out. Instantly, an image of the young officer who had been so helpful during the Kelso investigation flashed through his mind. But it wasn't just the Kelso case. Brayden had been the one who had noticed Blair's deserted car during the Edwards' case. It had been Tom who had first alerted Jim that something was wrong, that Blair was in trouble. Jim had always credited the young officer with helping to save his partner's life that night.

  "You're sure?" Blair asked, his stunned voice drawing the detective away from his thoughts.

  "There's no doubt, Sandburg." Simon rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I wish there were."

  "What happened?" Jim hadn't heard about any big busts going down today. And he just couldn't image the responsible young officer stepping into a dangerous situation unprepared. So how did this happen?

  "From all accounts so far, it was a routine traffic stop near the university," Simon explained. "Brayden pulled a car over for a faulty taillight. When he failed to check back in with dispatch, a second car was sent to the scene. They found his body."

  "Oh, man," Blair muttered, the color draining from his face.

  Jim glanced at his partner, then looked back at Simon. "The perps?" he asked.

  "The car Brayden stopped was long gone by the time the backup unit arrived. The responding officers only found Tom and his cruiser. But we have the car's plate. And with any luck, Tom was running his video surveillance at the time. That's what I want you two to find out."

  Jim's eyes widened. "You're giving us this case?"

  Simon nodded. "You're my best team and I want my best team to find out who killed that boy." He pushed a folder across the desk toward them. "Rhonda's put everything together that we have so far. The officers at the scene are preserving it until you arrive."

  Jim hesitated only a moment before taking the offered file. It wasn't that he didn't want to help find Tom's killer. Actually, he welcomed the opportunity. He just hated the idea of Blair getting anywhere near this case. Whoever did this is not above killing cops. He glanced at Blair as he stood to leave. His partner didn't stand with him. Instead, he remained in his seat, his gaze distant, introspective--and Jim knew he was thinking about Tom, grieving for the young officer.

  Not thinking about his own safety.

  "Chief?" he called out softly.

  Blair jumped slightly, then turned to look up at Jim. "Oh, man. Sorry about that." He stood quickly when he realized Jim was waiting, offering an apologetic smile to both men as he moved. "I was lost in thought."

  Simon waved off his concern. "It's okay, Sandburg. We're all having a hard time with this." The captain stood. "Find the person responsible for this, gentlemen. I won't have cops being gunned down in my city."

  /

  /

  /

  Blair stared blankly ahead as Jim steered the truck toward the scene of Tom Brayden's death. Memories of the friendly young officer flashed through his mind. He hadn't known Tom very well, but he'd respected him, liked him. Had even thought that at some point Tom would get promoted to a position in Major Crimes. He'd looked forward to getting to know the likable officer a bit better.

  Tom was young...even younger than me, Blair thought suddenly.

  "Sandburg, are we supposed to go east or west on Clement?"

  "What?" Blair blinked at Jim, pulled abruptly from his thoughts by the question.

  "The location Simon gave you. East or west on Clement?"

  "Oh. Let me look." Blair slipped on his glasses and opened the file. "West." He closed the file, pulled his glasses off, and settled back against the truck seat with a sigh.

  "You all right?"

  He glanced over at Jim. "Not really. I just ...I can't believe it. I keep thinking it's some mistake. That we're going to get there and find out it wasn't Tom or that he's just at the hospital. You know what I mean?"

  "I know exactly what you mean."

  Something in Jim's tone caught his attention and Blair turned to study his partner. And as he watched Jim, jaw clenched and eyes focused straight ahead, he knew the detective hadn't been referring to Tom Brayden when he'd answered Blair's question. Jim had been thinking about him. About the call he'd received telling him Blair was dead.

  Sandburg turned and settled back against the seat again. His heart beat faster in his chest and a feeling of deep sorrow swept over him. Sorrow over what Jim must have endured during those days he was in that mental institution.... He'd never asked Jim what he'd been told, who had given him the news regarding his "death." He hadn't really wanted to know. But now....

  "Jim--"

  "It was Simon," Jim stated softly, as if he'd been reading his thoughts, anticipating his question. "I was waiting for you at the station and you were late. I'd just called Eli to see if you were still with him at the university. And then Simon came out of his office...and he told me that there'd been an accident, that you weren't all right."

  Blair could see the whitening of Jim's knuckles where the detective gripped the steering wheel.

  "I didn't want to believe it," Jim continued. "And I really didn't believe it--not until I saw your backpack in Collins' van. When I saw that...that was the first time I thought it might be true."

  Blair swallowed. "I'm sorry, man. I wish you hadn't gone through that."

  "Yeah," Jim muttered. "Me, too."

  Jim pulled the truck to a stop next to a taped-off area near the side of the road. Blair could see the abandoned cruiser and the chalk outline on the ground that marked where Tom's body had been found. He was somewhat relieved that the body itself had already been taken away. But the blood remained, a dark stain against the pavement.

  Blair pushed his door opened and stepped down from the truck cab. Slowly, reluctantly, he followed his partner onto the scene. Jim flashed his badge at the uniformed officers gathered there.

  The only female officer on the scene stepped closer. "We've been waiting for you, Detective."

  "What do you have so far?" Jim asked, his poised professionalism firmly back in place.

  "The coroner just left with...Tom," the officer told him in a trembling voice. The young woman, clearly a friend of Brayden's, was having a hard time keeping her emotions in check. "We have the plate he called in. The car is registered to an uptown address."

  "I want officers at that address. If the owner of the car can't be found, start knocking on doors in the neighborhood. I want to know if anyone there saw anything out of the ordinary or if they think the people who own the car would be capable of something like this."

  She nodded, clearly happy to be given some direction. "You think the car was stolen?"

  "More than likely, but if it hasn't been reported missing we could be looking at another homicide."

  "I'll get right on it." She nodded toward the cruiser. "Tom had his surveillance equipment running."

  "Pull it and bag it as evidence," Jim said matter-of-factly. "I'll take it with me."

  Blair stayed close to Jim's side as the sentinel worked the crime scene, finding and bagging spent shell casings, checking the tire treads left behind by the suspect's car, interviewing the first officers to arrive at the scene. Blair sketched out the crime scene while the technicians took photos from every imaginable angle.

  Ninety minutes later Blair was back in the truck, clutching the large envelope that contained the video tape pulled from Tom's cruiser. The tape that, more than likely, had captured the young officer's death.

  "I have to call Professor Stoddard," Sandburg said as they pulled into the parking garage at the station.

  Jim glanced at him as he shut off the truck. "What?"

  "I was supposed to be at Rainier an hour ago. Professor Stoddard might be looking for me." He pushed out his door and the two men headed toward the elevator.


  "Sorry, Chief," Jim said as they rode to the seventh floor. "I forgot all about the university."

  "Doesn't matter, man. I can go in early tomorrow and finish my paperwork." His hand tightened on the evidence envelope he still carried. "Believe me, Professor Stoddard will understand."

  Reaching the bullpen, Blair went directly to his desk to call the school while Jim headed into Simon's office to update the captain on what they'd discovered at the scene. As Blair dialed the familiar number, he watched his partner, saw him hold up the surveillance tape he now had in his possession.

  I don't know if I can watch that tape. The thought ran through his mind even as Karen connected him to Professor Stoddard.

  "Blair, my boy! I was getting worried. Is everything all right?"

  "Not really, Professor." As quickly as he could, he filled Dr. Stoddard in on the events of the last few hours.

  "I'm so sorry, Blair. What a shame to lose such a fine young man." Dr. Stoddard exhaled deeply. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine. But I'm going to have to put off posting my final grades until tomorrow morning. I'll come in first thing and finish up, but I just can't get out there today."

  "That's fine. Everyone will understand. You just take care of things there."

  Hanging up, Blair hesitated only a moment before heading toward Simon's office. He rapped once on the door before pushing it open and stepping inside.

  "Everything okay at school?" Jim asked.

  Blair waved a hand. "Fine. No problem."

  Jim nodded. "Good. I just got a call from one of the officers canvassing the neighborhood where the car was registered. He turned up an interesting fact. The car belongs to Walter and Alice Woodard, a couple who are away visiting their children in Florida. According to neighbors, the Woodards left their car in long-term parking at the airport."

  "That explains why it wasn't reported stolen," Blair said.

  "Exactly. What we need to do now is check with the airport, see if they have parking lot surveillance, and get those tapes."

  "Speaking of tapes...." Simon nodded toward the TV and VCR on the other side of his office. "The tape from Brayden's car is cued up."