author: alyjude

Email: alyjude2001@yahoo.com, or alyjude@webtv.net

Rating: R

Pairing: J/B

Category: Drama

Date: August 19, 2002

I make none. I'm raking in the millions, aren't we all?

Warnings: Actually, yeah. This deals with an old murder, as witnessed by a child. The details are not graphic, however.

Notes: Thanks to TSL who took me through this and especially to DCP whose expertise in law made this nigh onto perfect as far as representing a trial and filling in my memory gaps. Thanks to Tricia, as always, for a great beta job.

Summary: Blair must go to Boston to aid his mother.

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CAVEAT:
This is based on a real trial, I was one of the jurors. The verdict is the same. There is no closure, other than within Blair's own heart. Like life, we
don't always get answers and we can't always talk to the ones we love.

"Ken, you need to check this out."

Ken Putzier walked over to Jenny Lawes' side. As he peered over her shoulder, his eyes widened. Jenny nodded. "Yep, I have a match."

"Well, I'll be damned." Putzier scratched his head. "I've got to admit that I thought this whole idea of using the newer technology on old unsolved cases was screwy. I think I was just proven wrong."

"You want to give the news to the DA?"

"Can't wait."

Ken straightened his tie, then opened the door into the DA's offices. Margo glanced up and waved him through. He wasn't surprised. This was a big one. He walked down the hall and into Assistant District Attorney Caulfield's office.

"Ken."

"Paul."

Putzier sat down in front of the large mahogany desk and set a folder on the polished surface.

"That it?"

"Yep. Looks like you just might be the first one to close an ancient case under the new directive."

"Twenty-five years unsolved, Kenny. Twenty-five years."

Ken nodded and watched as Paul Caulfield opened the file. A few minutes later, the ADA said, "Matches on the car and the bag?"

"Absolutely."

"But no matches from the apartment?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"So I can't go after this guy as the shooter."

"That sums it up. Especially with the fingerprint on the car being on the left side passenger door."

"Right." Caulfield rubbed his chin. "This isn't going to be easy. I'll need to track down the woman--"

Putzier listened and watched.

"--and the investigating officers. Not to mention the rest of the evidence. Damn." Caulfield looked up. "Good work, Kenny."

"Not my work. Jenny's. She's the one you'll be calling."

"Will there be a problem with that?"

"None. She's one of my best and I confirmed her hits."

"Good enough."

Naomi Sandburg let herself into Pablo's apartment and tossed her keys onto the marble-topped table by the door. She slipped out of her cape and hung it up.

As she walked into the spacious living room, she kicked off her heels, pulled the mail out of her purse and flipped through each piece, one by one. Her hand froze when she came to a long buff envelope from a District Attorney's office in Boston. Slowly she slid her finger under the flap and pulled out the letter.

Several minutes later, white-faced, she called her son.

"She's beautiful."

Blair nodded and couldn't resist tapping the window. The baby never blinked.

"She can't see you or hear that tapping, Sandburg."

"I know. Just seemed the thing to do."

Jim shook his head fondly as he glanced down at his partner. "At least you didn't say 'goochie-goochie-goo'."

A smile tugging at his lips, Blair tapped the window again and said, "Goochie-goochie-goo, little Lucy."

Jim bopped him on the back of the head, then tugged at Blair's coat. "Come on, Nanny Sandburg. Let's say our hellos to the proud mama."

They turned away from the nursery and headed to room 416. Jim carried a large vase of flowers and Blair had a bag from Mothers Unlimited dangling from his fingers.

The door was open and as they entered, Rhonda turned and smiled. "Did you see her?"

"Of course. She's beautiful and fortunately looks just like you and not the reprobate you married," Jim said as he set the flowers down.

"I won't tell Rafe you said that," Rhonda said, grinning. "Those for me?" she asked, indicating the flowers.

"No, Jim's just lugging them around. He felt more comfortable coming to a hospital with something in his hands. This, however," Blair said, as he placed the bag on the table tray in front of the new mother, "is most definitely for you."

"Oh goody, pressies!"

"And not for the baby. She's probably got enough to take her through college. This is all yours," Blair said as he helped her dig in.

Rhonda took out the robe, a lovely, light, satiny robe, and her eyes widened. "Oh, Blair, this is beautiful. Just what I needed to feel feminine again."

Jim's eyebrow rose. "I would have thought that giving birth was one of the most feminine things a woman could do -- but hey, what do I know?"

Running her hand over the silkiness of the material, Rhonda said, "Yeah? Well, you try putting your legs up in a harness while doctors and nurses look up your -- yes, well, anyway, I may feel motherly, but this," she stroked the robe again, "will make me feel -- sexy."

"Rafe'll appreciate it -- in a few weeks," Blair said with a knowing smile. "Ha! That man isn't coming near me for at least six months!"

"What man?" asked the man under discussion. Jim and Blair turned to see Rafe walking in carrying two styrofoam cups.

"Yes, well," Jim said, hiding his grin, "I think that's our cue, Chief."

"I think you're right, Jim. Rafe, congratulations, you have one beautiful daughter."

Grinning from ear to ear, Rafe nodded happily. "I do, don't I?" He handed one of the coffees to his wife, who took it gratefully. "Thanks for coming by, you guys. And what's that?" He pointed to the robe with the hand that held the coffee.

"A robe, silly. From Jim and Blair. Feel." She held it up and he ran his finger over it.

"Oooh. Nice. Thanks, Blair, that was thoughtful."

"Blair? Blair? What about me, Rafe?"

"Yeah, right. Like anyone thinks for a minute that you picked that out?"

Blair frowned. "Wait. So you think macho man over there couldn't, but I could?"

Jim tugged on a chunk of long curly hair and said, "If the long hair fits, Chief."

"Oh, man, that is so -- judgemental. Just because I have long hair--"

"And earrings," Rafe offered.

"And you're in touch with your feminine side," Rhonda added with a smile.

"And it's the kind of thing you do, Chief," Jim threw in with a gentle punch to Blair's shoulder.

"I'll have you all know -- Cassie picked it out."

"Liar. Come on, we have bad guys to catch and with Rafe on leave, we're stuck catching his as well."

"Ha-ha, Ellison. Very funny," Rafe said as the two men moved toward the door.

"What can I say?" Jim shrugged. "At least with you on leave, those bad guys will be--"

Blair grabbed Jim's arm. "Come on, big mouth. Let's amscray. Rhonda, let us know when we can come by the house and bug you and Rafe, not to mention drool over little Lucy, okay?"

"You got it, Blair. I'll save a diaper for you and Jim."

"Don't do us any favors, Rhonda," Jim managed to say as Blair pushed him toward the door. Blair pulled him the rest of the way out and into the hall, Rhonda's and Rafe's laughter following them.

They made their way out of the hospital and as Blair climbed into the truck, Jim said, "It was kind of nice being in a hospital for something other than you."

"Or you."

"Yeah."

Jim backed up, turned the wheel and after checking his mirrors, headed out of the parking lot. When they hit Medical Center Drive, he said, "She really is beautiful, Chief."

"Yeah, she is." Blair turned a bit in his seat and said, "Hey, did you and Carolyn ever--"

"Never. She told me from the beginning that she didn't want children."

"And that was okay with you? Or did you think you'd be able to change her mind later?"

"How did you know?"

"We're talking you, Jim. And besides, most men would have done the same."

"Would you? Would you have assumed your wife would change her mind?"

"No. I don't want children so my problem would probably be the opposite. It would be some woman who thought she could change mine."

The truck coasted to a stop for a red light, and Jim glanced over at his partner. "You don't want children? Ever?"

"Nope. How 'bout you now?"

"Now? Hell, now I'm glad I never tried to change Caro's mind. Imagine bringing a child into the world and maybe the poor thing turns out to be a sentinel? No way do I want to wish that on a baby."

The light went green and they were moving again. Blair stared out the window, a victim of the same strange coldness he'd felt several weeks ago when Jim had lost his senses. In an effort to move back to normalcy, he said, "Well, Lucy's a dream, anyway."

"Yeah, that she is. But the best thing about her is--"

"--she's their's," Jim and Blair said together.

The rest of the afternoon was actually spent catching criminals -- on foot. Jim was the back-up for Henri Brown and Kyle Henderson during a buy that went bad. Evidently their seller had a nose for cops because ten minutes into the buy -- his eyes narrowed and he pulled a gun.

Outside the pool hall, Jim turned to Sandburg. "He just pulled a gun. Call it in, Chief."

As Blair grabbed his cell, Jim was already out and running, gun in hand. Shifty Miller and his two goons burst through the back door and Jim immediately dove for cover as a hail of bullets smacked into the wall next to him. The three men took off and thanks to Jim's position, were forced to run in the direction away from their car. As Jim started after them, Brown and Henderson ran out.

"THE ALLEY, BROWN!"

Henri nodded at Jim, and as he and Henderson took one end, Jim took the other. They met in the middle, arms out wide, surprise on their faces.

"Where the hell did they go?" Jim asked as he pivoted, eyes searching the fire escapes above them.

"They didn't get past us, Ellison. What, they just disappeared?" Before Jim could answer, the sound of the truck horn alerted him to his partner.

"FUCK! LET'S GO!"

Blair spotted Miller and two others as they ran out of the liquor store that sat next to the pool hall. He immediately ducked down and just as Miller drew abreast, Blair opened the passenger door. It caught Miller full face and knocked him back about two feet -- and coincidently -- right into his men. At the same time, Blair hit the horn, then jumped out and grabbed Miller's gun, which had skidded a few feet from the man.

By the time Jim, Brown and Henderson came around the corner, Blair was hopping from one foot to the other as he waved the gun between Miller and his two men.

The sight that greeted Jim as he careened around the corner nearly gave him apoplexy. He skidded to a halt, then held up his hand to stop Brown and Henderson. While the other two cops trained their weapons on Shifty, Dumb and Dumber, Jim moved slowly toward his partner.

"Okay, Chief, let me take that," he said softly as he carefully reached out for the waving gun.

"Yeah, yeah, man, here, it's all yours--"

Still bouncing, Blair let the gun dangle from his finger and as Jim took it and stuck it in his waistband, Blair moved to the wall.

Jim shook his head, and with his gun trained on Miller, he took out his cuffs. After securing the drug dealer, he joined Brown and Henderson in Mirandizing. As he rattled off the well-known words, he started planning the many ways to kill Sandburg.

"Uh, Jim?"

"Yeah?"

Blair bit his lower lip. "You're being -- you're taking it -- rather -- calmly. Is this a good sign or the eye of the hurricane?"

"Sandburg, consider yourself in the eye. I suggest you batten down the hatches cause when we get home -- you're dead meat."

"Riiight."

Blair took his time filling out the report, as in really taking his time. He had not the slightest desire to go home. Death could wait. Death by Jim could wait longer.

"Hey, Jim, how do you spell 'extemporaneous'?"

"What, your spellcheck take a dive, Sandburg?"

"Jiiiim," Blair whined.

"S-t-u-p-i-d. A synonym would be: p-o-o-r -- e-x-c-u-s-e -- f-o-r -- s-t-u-p-i-d."

"God, you're a riot. A laugh a minute. Look, I'm slapping my knee in mirth."

"Finish your report, Sandburg."

Blair went back to typing.

"Sandburg, show me your wallet."

Blair frowned, then looked up at Jim, who shrugged.

"Simon?"

Simon held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. "Give it up, Sandburg. Now."

Shifting uncomfortably, Blair took out his wallet and with a last look at his partner, placed it in Simon's hand. Simon opened it. Rifled through it. Then looked up and smiled. "You know, I don't see anything in here that identifies you as a cop. I see a Rainier ID, a driver's license, a library card, a credit card -- maxed out I'm sure, but damn, no police ID. Why is that, Sandburg?"

"Simon--"

"Sir, that would be because Sandburg isn't a cop. Sir."

"Is that right, Ellison? Are you sure? Because I just read this report, in fact, I just read all four reports -- and it would appear that Mr. Sandburg, TA extrordinaire, thought he was a policeman. Was he perhaps, hit on the head? Did he suffer brain damage?"

"No sir. Although, neither of us really know -- he could have been dropped on his head as a baby."

"You know, I'm right here. You don't have to talk about me as if I weren't. And mom never dropped me -- on my head."

"So you say," Jim said with a wiggle of his own head.

"Sandburg, maybe you'd like to explain this report?" Simon asked while tapping said report.

"I'm his," he jerked a thumb at Jim, "back-up. I backed him up."

"You're an observer, Sandburg."

"Yes, sir. And I observed the three perps coming toward me. I observed that either they would get away, or start shooting as soon Jim and the others came around the corner. I acted in a manner commiserate with my -- job."

"Would that be your job as an anthropologist? A teacher? A researcher, maybe?"

"As Jim's partner." Blair lifted his chin but wasn't surprised that the move didn't really make him taller.

Simon sat back in his chair. "Jim, get him outta here. Now."

"Yes sir."

Jim grabbed Blair's sleeve and pushed him gently out the door. As he closed it behind him, he said, "This isn't over, Sandburg. When we get home--"

"Yadda, yadda."

Jim pulled up in front of their building, but left the truck running.

Blair turned to him, a quizzical expression on his face. "Jim?"

"I'm going to go get us dinner. I suspect neither one of us feels like cooking?"

"Oh, okay. Great. But I can come with--"

"Go up, Sandburg."

Blair frowned, then with his hand on the door handle, he said quietly, "A little anger control working here?"

Jim smiled wryly. "You got it, Chief. I'll bring back Italian, okay?"

"All right, Jim. You know what I like. See you -- when you get here."

Blair jumped out and stood on the sidewalk as Jim pulled away. Even after the truck faded from view, Blair stood watching the now nearly empty street.

Sandburg dropped his jacket on the bed, then with a sigh, picked it up and put it on a hanger. He hung it in his closet, then after changing, wandered back into the living room. He noticed the answering machine blinking red, and with nothing better to do, punched the rewind, then play. The first two messages were for Jim, but the third captured his attention.

//Blair? Honey? It's mom. I -- don't know how to tell you this, but they've arrested a man -- in Boston -- for the -- for Danny's -- murder. It seems that with all the new technology, etc, well, several unsolved cases have been pulled -- oh, dear. I'm not doing this well. They've been able to match fingerprints. I'm in New York, as you know, with Pablo. I'm flying to Boston tomorrow for a meeting with someone named Caulfield. He's an Assistant District Attorney. He needs -- to see you, as well. Call me. You know the number.// There was a click, then nothing.

Blair stared at the phone.

Jim unlocked the door and stepped inside. He walked into the kitchen and put down dinner. He'd already ascertained that Blair was in his bedroom but as he took out the containers of pasta, his gaze landed on the overnight bag sitting just outside Blair's doors. Jim stopped what he was doing, then walked slowly over to the French doors.

"Sandburg?"

"Coming."

The door opened and Blair stepped out. He was wearing his coat and carrying a garment bag.

"Chief? What's--"

"Naomi called. It's nothing serious. She's got a slight problem and I've got to go her." Blair held up his hand, "Jim, it's nothing to get worried about, but I'd feel better going. I've already called the university and I'm covered. My flight leaves at eight. Any chance you could take me to the airport?"

"Look, it's only five. Take your coat off, sit down and have something to eat first. We can talk."

"Jim? Hello? By the time we get to the airport, it'll be closer to six and there's a two hour check-in, remember? And," his eyes went to the containers of food, "I could take my dinner with me," he finished with a grin.

"All right, you win. Let's go," Jim said, resignation in his voice.

"You sure you don't need me to go with you?" Jim asked as they rode up the escalator.

"I'm sure. I guess you could call this boyfriend trouble. But you be careful while I'm gone, here?"

"Sandburg, give me a break. I'm a cop. Got along just fine for years. I think I can handle a few days without your sparkling presence."

Blair glanced away from Jim as they stepped off and turned to their left. He bit back a retort, something to the effect that Jim hadn't been a sentinel before, and headed for gate twelve. He had his boarding pass so he dumped his stuff on a chair and finally faced Jim.

"You don't need to wait. It's been a long day. Go home. I've got a book to read."

Jim sat down.

"Or you could wait with me." Blair sat down on the other side of his luggage.

"You didn't really think that just because you're off to Boston, that we wouldn't have our little talk, did you?" Jim said quietly.

"Jim, you might as well know -- I'd do it again. And I don't really give a flying crap if I'm not a cop."

"Crap flies?"

"If you throw it? Sure."

"Well, nobody throws crap around better than you, Chief." They were both silent a moment, then Jim said, "Chief, you're a civilian. You can't--"

"I'm your partner. No matter what you say, I'm your partner. I'm here to watch your back. That's what I do."

"Chief, you're here to write your dissertation and help me with my senses. Do you have any idea what would happen if you were -- killed -- while backing me up? Do you have any idea what Simon's gone through each time you were hurt? The hours of explanations? Come on, Sandburg, for once, use your head."

Blair looked away and tried to relax his jaw. Okay, he'd been put in his place. Right.

"Fine, Jim. Sorry. You can tell Simon it won't happen again."

"I'm taking you at your word, Chief--"

"You've got it."

And hour and twenty minutes later, his flight was called for boarding. He stood up and gathered his two bags. "I'll call when I get in -- no, scratch that, it'll be too late, I'll call -- tomorrow."

"Fine. Give Naomi a hug for me."

"Will do. See you in a few days, Jim." Blair smiled awkwardly, then headed for the line that had started to form. His assigned seat meant that he would be one of the first to board so he gave Jim a wave. The airline representative announced his row and he moved forward.

After giving his pass to the flight attendant, and shooting a last smile at Jim, he went through the gate.

Jim watched his friend disappear but he didn't move away. He knew he'd been too brusque, but damn it, seeing Blair holding that gun on three toughs had nearly given him a heart attack. He couldn't lose him. And if he pulled any more stunts like that -- Jim could indeed lose him. In more ways than one.

Twenty minutes later, the plane finally moved away from the gate. Jim never took his eyes from the plane. He watched as it taxied, then headed down the runway. When it took off, he zeroed in on Blair's window. He didn't like what he could see. Normally Blair would be gawking like a kid as the plane took off, but instead, his head was bent and he was rubbing at his eyes. Finally, even for a sentinel, there was nothing left to see. Feeling as though he were carrying around fifty pound weights, Jim turned away and headed home.

As Blair hiked his overnight bag higher up on his shoulder, he knew that when he stepped out into the airport -- his mother would be there. He'd told her not to come, that he'd be arriving too late, but he knew, and he was right. There she was, a bittersweet smile on her face.

"Blair, honey. I'm so -- sorry -- about all this," she said as she swept him into her embrace.

"This is your fault, Mom? I don't think so. Besides, shouldn't we be -- happy -- or something? The man who killed -- Danny, well, after all these years, you could have closure. That's a good thing."

Naomi put her hands on either side of her son's face and searched his features. He looked back at her, his gaze holding nothing but concern. "Yes, sweetie, it's a good thing. Come on, let's get to the hotel. You look exhausted."

"Mom? You're supposed to say I look great."

Smiling, Naomi slipped her arm around her son's waist. "Honey, you look great. Exhausted, but great."

"That's better. And where's Pablo?"

They moved to the escalator and as Naomi preceded him, she said, "He's back in New York. He has a show Saturday. I didn't really tell him -- what this was all about. Just said it was old family business."

"Ah."

"Don't 'Ah' me, young man. I know exactly what it means."

They stepped out into the night air and Naomi pointed to the parking structure. "I rented a car, naturally. It's over there."

"So what does my 'Ah' mean, O Great Swami?"

"It means that you think Pablo and I are weeks from parting."

"You got all that from one word?"

They stepped into the structure and she led him to a blue LeSabre. "The word, no. The inflection, yes." She unlocked the doors and as Blair tossed his bags into the back and slid in, she added, "And you're wrong. I'm very happy with Pablo. He makes me feel--"

"That would be young, Mom."

"Are you making fun of the fact that he's ten years younger than I am?" Naomi said as she started the car.

"Nope. More power to you, Mom."

They were quiet as she made her way out of the mess that was Logan Airport. Once they hit the thoroughfare, she said with a small grin, "But you're right. It is over. I just have to tell him. And for that, I'll wait til after his show. He's so sensitive."

Blair shook his head fondly. His mother. Nobody like her in the world.

Blair signed the the final page of the document, then slid it over to his mother. She flipped to the pages she needed to sign and did so, with a flourish. When she was finishd, she put down the pen and asked, "Is this it, Mr. Caulfield?"

"For now, Ms. Sandburg. I'll give you a heads up when we're ready to go to trial. Although, it may not come to that, as we've already discussed."

"You mean the possibility of plea bargaining?"

"That or he may plead out. He's currently on probation for drugs."

Blair leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and said, "Why would he plead out? His record is penny ante, with nothing heavier than being caught with a barely -there amount of cocaine."

"That's true. But I'm hoping."

Blair didn't say anything, but he thought Caulfield was a bit too hopeful. This was a twenty-five year old murder case, which made it pretty hard to bring to a jury. Any defense lawyer worth his or her salt would be quick to point that out to the suspect. Hell, a first year law student would be jumping for joy at the prospect of trying a case like this.

Blair rose and held out a hand for his mother. She slid her fingers into his, then gathered her purse.

"I'll send you my new address, Mr. Caulfield. Although you have my voicemail number and email address, if you need me while I'm in transit."

Caulfield stood and held out his hand. Naomi took it and he said gently, "I want to thank both you and your son, Ms. Sandburg. I know how difficult this has been and how difficult it can still get. But believe me, we'll do everything in our power to make it as easy as possible."

"I know, and thank you. We'll be in touch."

Caulfield came around his desk and escorted them out, but not before assuring them one more time that he his office was dedicated to assisting them.

As the two walked down the hall toward the elevator, Naomi said, "Well, that wasn't so bad, was it, honey?"

Blair punched the down button. "No, Mom, it wasn't. But trust me, this will go to trial."

"How soon?"

"My best guess? Months."

She nodded. The elevator opened and they both stepped in. Blair hit the 'L' and they rode down in silence, both mired in their own thoughts. When the doors opened at the lobby and they headed for the exit, Naomi said, "Honey, are you going to be -- all right?"

"I'm fine, Mom. Just wish I had more time with you. I feel like the hit and run kid." He smiled at her as he held open the door.

"I understand. Besides, I have a relationship to gracefully extricate myself from upon my return to New York City."

"Mom, you're impossible."

"But you love me anyway."

"Did you say that Jim would be meeting you?"

"Yeah, Mom. Stop worrying."

Naomi smiled, then kissed Blair on the cheek. "Have a safe flight and give Jim a big hug for me, okay?"

"I will." Blair handed his mother's carry-on to her and as she pulled out her ticket, they both heard her flight called.

"That's you."

She nodded. "How long--"

"Another forty-five minutes or so. Where will you go when you leave New York?"

"I talked to Catherine. She and Ernest just bought a B&B in Boulder. I'm going to spend time with them, then I was thinking of visiting Charlie in Los Angeles. Did I tell you he has his own television show?"

Blair's mouth dropped open. "Mom? Are you serious?"

"Very. And he's quite successful too. I understand he may go national. At least, I think that's what he called it."

Blair shook his head, then gently guided his mother to the gate. "I'll miss you."

"Ditto, Sweetie. But if you're right, we'll be back here in a few months."

"True. Give Catherine a kiss for me."

"I will." She looked over her shoulder at the moving crowd, then back to her son. "You take care, understand?"

"Always, Mom. Go."

She laughed, then patted his cheek, and with regret evident in her body language, Naomi moved into line. A moment later, she was gone.

Blair waited until the door was shut, then headed to gate four. With a detour to the airport bar.

His flight landed in Cascade at a quarter after two in the afternoon. Blair made his way to the white curb, the area for catching city buses. He'd lied to his mother -- he hadn't told Jim of his arrival time. Just seemed easier not taking the man from work. He caught the downtown bus and after two transfers, was let off only two blocks from home.

Three hours later, when Jim arrived, Blair had managed a short nap and lasagna was bubbling over in the oven.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming home? I'd have picked you up."

Blair pushed his plate away and burped. Jim chuckled, then asked again, "Well? Why didn't you--"

"I just didn't want to bother anyone. It's a short bus ride, no biggie."

"Since when are you a bother?"

"Jim, you were at work. You know, the place that pays you to stay all day?"

Jim got up and took their plates into the kitchen. As he rinsed them off, he said, "So, you set for classes tomorrow?"

Blair picked up the lasagna pan and the bottle of wine, then joined Jim. "Yeah. Two classes, then office hours. But I should be able to make it in to the station by one. Okay?"

"Great. Good to have you home."

Blair smiled. "Great to be home."

Jim watched Blair work. His glasses were slipping down his nose and Jim had the almost irresistable urge to push them back where they belonged. Blair was typing ferociously, his entire body tense with the effort. The only light on in the loft was the one above Blair.

Jim glanced back at the set, then with a disgusted look, shut if off. He got up, stretched, then walked over to the table and picked up Blair's coffee cup. It was empty.

"Need a re-fill, Chief?"

Without looking up, Blair said, "Yeah, thanks, Jim."

A minute later, Jim took Blair's right hand off the keyboard and placed the mug into it. Blair glanced up and smiled. "What time is it?"

"After midnight. How much longer you plan to work?"

Blair took a swallow, then peered at his screen. "Umm, maybe another hour or so." He looked up. "If I'm bothering you, I can move into my room, no problemo."

Jim waved a hand as he said, "No, no, you're fine. I have my white noise generators and sleep mask. I'm fine. In fact, heading up now. See you in the morning."

"Yeah, Jim, sure. See ya. Sleep tight."

Shaking his head, Jim headed for the stairs. Half way up, he paused to stare back at his partner. If he'd wanted to, he could have zeroed in on the words on the computer screen. And he wanted to. But he resisted.

Blair was working on his dissertation.

Jim continued up and after stripping down to his boxers, he pulled the comforter back, piled up his pillows, then sat down. Blair had been working on his dissertation, working hard at it, since Incacha's death. Every spare moment was spent hunched over his laptop and the diss.

As Jim slipped under the covers and turned out his light, he pondered the fact that Blair working on his dissertation wasn't the only change -- since Incacha's death. Blair had done a damn fine job of doing what Jim told him to do. Not that he hadn't done some investigations on his own, like using some cousin to connect Blair to a gambler when they were investigating the murder of Dwight Roshman, but overall, he'd stayed put. And somehow, that felt -- wrong.

In fact, the last few months had felt wrong -- and -- off. Jim just wished he could put his finger on it. His stomach rumbled a bit and he groaned. He'd eaten too many tostadas. He threw off the covers and padded down to the bathroom. Blair never even looked up.

Jim got the antacid, drank straight out of the bottle, then capped it and put it away. He turned out the light and headed back.

"Anything wrong, Jim?"

"Refried beans coming back to haunt me."

"Salsa, more like it. On the other hand, if it is the beans, I suspect I'm going to be as miserable as you." Blair pinched his nose, scrunched up his face, then made a fanning motion with his hand.

Jim slapped at the curly hair. "I'll make sure you know when those beans are speaking to me, Chief."

"You're all heart, Jim. All heart."

Jim headed back upstairs and as his barefeet hit the top, he froze.

Dinner.

Dinners. Blair had been doing almost all the cooking for the last several months. Jim started for his bed, then paused again as his gaze landed on the cleaning he'd hung from one of the pipes earlier. His cleaning. But picked up by Blair.

Damn. When was the last time Jim had been forced to pick up after his roommate?

What the hell was going on?

Blair poured coffee into Jim's cup, then set the pot down on the tile coaster. He slid into his seat and picked up his fork.

"You coming in today, Chief?"

"All day, Jim."

"Great." Jim winced. He'd sounded too -- chipper. Blair was looking at him oddly. He shrugged and started chewing his eggs. He was still chewing when the phone rang. He lifted his shoulders and pointed to his mouth.

"Right. I'll get it." Blair hopped up and grabbed the receiver.

"Ellison residence."

//Blair? Honey? It's a go -- finally.//

"Mom?"

//Who else calls you honey?//

"I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it might incriminate me. And what's a--"

//The trial. Jury selection begins on Monday.//

Blair glanced quickly over at Jim and satisfied that he wasn't listening, moved closer to his room. "Okay, no problem. I'll be there. I suspect I should come in on Sunday?"

//I'll make the reservations for you and we're staying at the same hotel.//

"Okay. Email me with the flight info, okay?"

//Will do. And Blair? Sweetie?//

"Yeah, Mom?"

//You okay?//

"More importantly, are you?"

//I think -- so. I will be anyway, when you get here.//

"Everything will be fine, Mom. Don't worry."

//Thanks, honey. See you Sunday.//

"You got it. Bye."

//Bye.//

He put the phone down, closed his eyes and worked on his breathing. A couple of seconds later, he turned to face Jim.

"What's up, Chief?"

"A small family problem. I've got to fly out again. On Sunday."

"Blair?"

"It's kind of a weird thing, involving legal stuff, you know? Boring as hell, but has to be done. To be honest, I really don't want mom to have to go through it alone."

"I see. Makes sense. Naomi still in Boston?"

"Yeah," he obfuscated, not needing to clarify.

"So another trip to the airport. No problem. But this time," Jim wagged his finger at Blair, "you call me when you're due to arrive home. Got that?"

Blair gave him a one fingered salute.

The middle finger.

"Simon? You got a minute?"

"In, Ellison. I have exactly one minute."

Jim moved to the chair in front of Simon's desk and sat down. "Simon, have you noticed anything odd about Sandburg lately?"

"Odd? Sandburg? Jim, those two words go together like Cascade and the Jags. Are you asking me if he's been even more odd than normal?"

Normally, Jim would have chuckled, but he had the feeling he'd just heard part of the problem.

"Simon, have you noticed anything or not?"

"Well, he's been -- quiet. Not too quiet, just--"

"Quiet."

"Yeah. Helpful too. He's been very helpful. Running out for lunches, volunteering to do the Starbucks run, that kind of thing."

"He's always helpful, Simon."

Simon gave Jim a disbelieving look. "Jim? We're talking, You-want-a-donut-the-cart's-over-there Sandburg."

"Still, he's always helpful. Helping with reports, your computer, your budget, helping with family problems--"

"Whether asked or not--"

"Whether asked or not."

Both men smiled.

"Honestly, Jim, I think Sandburg's fine. Hell, I haven't had to explain him to the brass upstairs in weeks."

Something tickled Jim's brain but then floated just out of reach. He shook his head a bit, then stood.

"Okay, so I'm imagining things. Sort of." Jim started to leave, then turned back around. "By the way, he's going to be gone for a few days. It's a Naomi thing again."

"Aw, Jim. Does this mean we have to put up with you on desk duty?"

"You didn't last time."

"No, and you zoned twice."

"Simon, I don't need Blair for doing my job."

Simon was about to say something, Jim could tell by the mouth movement, but Cynthia, Rhonda's replacement, buzzed.

//Sir? It's the Commissioner.//

"Thanks, Cynthia." "I'll get out of your hair, Simon."

"Is the kid due in today?"

"He's here. Upstairs getting a report from Serena. And have I mentioned that it's good having you back full time? Not that Captain Finkleman wasn't a gem--"

"Yeah, yeah, Jim. Captain Finkleman was very forthcoming in her -- comments about you. So was Taggert."

Jim chuckled, then opened the door. "You're keeping the Commish waiting, Simon."

Simon waved his hand, then picked up the phone.

"Commissioner Wilson? What can I do for you?"

Jim closed the door behind him.

"That it, Chief?"

Blair nodded and handed the folder to Jim before taking his seat. "Looks like you nailed it, Jim. It's so nice when the forensic evidence comes through supporting your senses. Makes it easier to book the bad guys."

"No kidding. Well, I say we bring Mr. Paloma in for questioning, Chief. Whatcha' think?"

Blair got up and tossed Jim his jacket.

Blair's left leg jiggled uncontrollably. He put his hand on his thigh and held the dancing leg down. He didn't like this, not one bit. He should be up there with Jim. He should always be with Jim.

It was getting stuffy in the truck and he rolled down the window. As he did, he glanced up at the third floor of the building. Nothing. Not that he expected to see anything, but still--

His leg started jiggling again. Blair glanced over at the window of the business a few doors down from the building that housed Greg Paloma's decorating business. A pipe shop. Boring.

The door of Paloma's building opened and Greg Paloma walked out. Blair's mouth dropped open. Jim was nowhere to be seen.

Every atom of Blair's body screamed that he should do something, but there was nothing he could do but watch and observe the man. A moment later, a cab pulled in front of the truck and Paloma got in, but not before Blair heard him order the driver to the airport.

Blair pulled out his cell and dialed Simon. He watched the cab move into traffic, then he jumped out, and as Simon's line rang, Blair ran into the building. //Banks//

"Simon, this is Sandburg. Something's wrong here. Paloma just left in a cab headed for the airport. I'm on my way up to his offices to see what happened to Jim."

//Sandburg, you stay right where you are. We'll take care of Paloma and I'm sending Taggert to your location.//

"Simon, Jim could be in trouble--"

//Did you hear me? Stay where you are. Period.//

Blair closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he said, his voice harder than intended, "Simon, do you really want Joel to see Jim in a zone?"

//Sandburg, it may not be--//

"There was no gunshot and there's no way Paloma could have gotten the drop on Jim. No way. I'm going up."

//Sandburg--//

Blair could almost hear the wheels turning. He waited.

//Keep me on the line. Tell me what you see as you see it.//

With a sigh of relief, Sandburg punched '3'. Two minutes later he was stepping cautiously out and speaking softly to Simon.

"The hall is empty, man. But the door to Paloma's main studio is open."

//Be careful. Do you hear anything?//

"No. This is really weird, Simon. Where's his staff?"

//Sandburg, correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm here and you're there--//

"Sorry, Simon."

Blair moved slowly toward the open door, while hugging the wall. When he got to the opening, he peeked in.

Jim.

Standing motionless, hands at his side.

"Simon, he's zoned. I'm going in. There's nobody here."

//Let me know when he's rejoined us, then get him back here. Rafe and Brown have gone after Paloma.//

"Yes, sir."

Blair disconnected, then as he pocketed the phone, he walked up to his partner. "Jim? Time to stop goofing off and come back to the real world, okay?"

Nothing. The man didn't even blink.

"I could take you down again, like that time with the trash truck? It was kind of cool, hand on your ass and all, but going down is messy and even though this is a wood floor, it'll hurt." Blair shook Jim's arm.

He sighed. He was in no mood for this. It should never have happened. Blair lifted Jim's right arm and as he brought Jim's hand to his face, he said, "This is gonna hurt you way more than me--"

He bit him.

"HOLY SHIT!"

Jim pulled his hand away from Blair and shook it hard. "What the hell?"

"You zoned. I bit you. Pretty effective, if you ask me."

Jim blinked in confusion. "You bit me? You BIT me?!"

"Yeah," Blair said smugly. "Simon says to get our asses back to the station. Rafe and Brown are going after Paloma."

"Well fuck."

"Mind telling me what triggered this one?"

Jim pointed. Blair followed Jim's arm. "Ah. It's -- pretty."

"I barely managed to say, 'Detective Ellison, Mr. Paloma. I have a warrant--'. He stepped behind it and I looked. It's the model for a chandelier."

"It's -- shiny. And with the sun coming in from that window -- it's a prism."

"Yeah. I got lost in the colors."

Blair tugged at Jim's sleeve. "Come on, buddy, let's get back to the station."

Blair sat at the desk and watched Simon's closed door. The good news was that Rafe and Brown had brought Paloma in and the man was singing like a bird. Trite but true. The bad news was -- Jim had zoned. And Paloma could have killed him. Why the fuck didn't they let Blair do his job?

"You zoned. You actually zoned. And in the middle of arresting a suspect."

"You know, I don't really need you to hammer the nail in any deeper."

"Jim, you haven't zoned in a long time. What the hell happened?"

Jim held his arms out as he shrugged. "Simon, what can I say? It happened, it's over, Paloma's in custody."

"Thanks to your partner. Our observer."

"Yeah, well, what do you want me to say?"

Simon sat back in his chair, then with a sigh, said, "Get outta here, Jim. Do your report. As only Sandburg can do them. Can't wait to read how he covers this one up."

Jim turned on his heel and walked out. Somehow, he managed not to slam the door.

"Jim?"

"You done with that report?"

"You mean your report?"

"Sandburg, not now. You got it?"

Blair handed him the sheaf of papers. Jim took it, perused it, then said, "Not bad -- for a pack of lies."

Jim signed it, then got up and carried the report to Simon's office. He cocked his head and satisfied that Simon was no longer on the phone, knocked and entered.

"Here it is. Simple and straight forward, Simon."

"How did he explain it?"

"Two ships passing in the night. Simple as that."

"That'll work. Call it a day, Jim."

"Yes, sir."

When the door shut, Simon closed his eyes.

That had been too close. What the hell was going on with Ellison and Sandburg anyway? And would Simon survive it?

That was the sixty-four dollar question.

"What do you want for dinner, Sandburg?"

Blair tore his gaze from the passing scenery. "I have all the makings for that chicken salad you like. It'll only take a few minutes to put together."

"Sounds good."

Blair nodded, then went back to looking at the city as it passed by-

Once again, Jim found himself staring at a silver speck in the sky. A speck that once again was carrying his partner to Boston. He didn't like staring at specks that carried Blair away from Cascade.

With a start, he realized that if Blair had received his doctorate -- he would have spent a lifetime on specks. Specks that carried him to far away places with strange and sometimes unpronounceable names. Maybe Boston wasn't so bad after all.

Jim turned, headed out and home and agreed with himself that he also hated not knowing just how long Blair would be gone.

Another airport, another day, Blair thought as he greeted his mother. They hugged just like last time, but Blair couldn't fail to notice the dark smudges under her eyes. He hated seeing them.

"You okay, Mom?"

"Sure, just -- kind of scared. Strange, uh?"

"Not at all. What time is our meeting with Caulfield?"

"Early. Eight. Jury selection begins at ten. He's going to go over our testimony, the plan for calling us, I guess."

Naomi sounded hesitant and that worried Blair as much as the dark circles under her eyes. He slipped his arm around her and held her close. People moved around them, some shooting dark looks in their direction, and Blair ignored them all.

Finally Naomi pulled away, sniffled, then smiled wryly. "Guess we'd better get going. We seem to be holding things up a bit."

They moved down the long hallway that would lead them outside.

The hotel suite had two bedrooms, a nice living room, and a bar. While Naomi changed, Blair poured himself a stiff one. He downed it and was pouring another when his mother came out of her room wearing one of her signature caftans.

"Any wine, sweetie?"

"Um," Blair looked at the assortment of small bottles, then nodded. "Chardonnay and Merlot. Your preference?"

"The chardonnay. What are you drinking? Beer?"

"Mmm." He surreptitiously dumped the small, empty bottle of scotch, drank his down, then poured the wine for his mother. Carrying it over, he held it out. "Here you go."

As she took it, he said, "I'm assuming by your dress, that we're going to do room service tonight?"

Sipping at her wine, Naomi nodded. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all. You're buying, right?" he said with a cheeky grin.

"This hotel is known for their lobster. Go to town, sweetie."

"Don't think I won't."

The television was on, and as Blair sat back and tossed his napkin down, he found that he could watch his mother unreservedly. She was glued to the set and a show called Trading Spaces.

His mother never ceased to amaze him.

As he watched, he took another sip of his wine. They hadn't spoken much during the meal and Blair had the outlandish desire to ask her if she'd really loved Danny. If Danny had been the one. If Danny had been the reason for all her years of running, afraid to lose again. But he suspected that he knew the answer.

Blair glanced at his watch. It was after ten. His mother was usually asleep by now, having always been an early riser. Considering the next few days, he thought maybe she should get a head start.

"Mom? You look like sleep would be welcome right about now."

"It's almost over, honey. Then I'll head to bed. We don't need to leave here much before seven-forty or so tomorrow."

"I know."

Incredible how they were avoiding talking about it. The same way they'd avoided it for twenty-five years.

Amazing.

Damn, he used to talk about everything, now he rarely talked about anything.

Blair poured another glass of wine, thus emptying the bottle.

Thanks to a couple of PainAid and the alcohol he'd consumed, Blair slept without the dark dreams that had haunted him of late. Dreams with no meaning but that always left him unsettled and unrested in the morning.

When his alarm went off, he was a bit groggy, but other than that, felt pretty good. He hit the shower, shaved, brushed his teeth and dressed. He'd decided casual for today since they would only be dealing with jury selection. Blair settled for grey slacks and his black pull-over sweater. He tied his hair back.

When he came out of his room, he was surprised to see his mother seated at the small table they'd used for dinner the night before. She looked up and smiled softly.

"Breakfast just arrived. Eggs and English muffin for you, fruit for me. Sound good?"

"Sounds terrific, Mom. Thanks." He sat down next to her, speared a strawberry from her plate, then after eating it, turned to his own food. "Smells good."

"Scrambled eggs with chives."

Blair downed his glass of orange juice, took a forkful of eggs and watched as his mother poured him a cup of coffee. She added a bit of cream and he didn't have the heart to tell her that for the last ten years, he'd been drinking his coffee black.

"Did you sleep all right, Mom?"

"Actually, I did. I guess -- knowing it's finally here, well, I've accepted." She made a face, then said, "Not to mention that I meditated for two hours this morning."

"How did I miss that? I didn't smell any incense, did I?"

"I went without. Just went with some yoga on top of my bed. It helped. I think I'm ready."

"Well, they can't have too many witnesses, Mom, so maybe this will be over in a few days."

"I pray you're right."

Caulfield sat back in his chair and regarded his guests. They both looked good, if a little tired, which he'd have expected.

"So there you have it. I'm going to get the fingerprint expert out of the way first, then the investigating officers, and then you, Mr. Sandburg, followed by you, Ms. Sandburg.. I want the human element to be the last thing they remember."

Caulfield looked at Naomi and added gently, "Your time in the witness box will be very brief. And to be honest, I doubt that the defense attorney, who, by the way, is quite good, will do much of a cross-examination on you."

Blair squeezed his mother's hand and favored her with a tender smile. She squeezed back.

"I do need to warn you, Ms. Sandburg. There may some evidence, in the form of photographs, up on the board behind me. They'll be quite -- graphic. I'll try to schedule you for after a break, which will give me time to take them down. It's the best I can do."

"I understand. How much notice will I have as to time and day?"

"Well, I'm anticipating a day and a half for jury selection, then two, maybe three days of evidence and testimony, then we close and turn it over to the jury. So by those calculations, we're looking at the actual trial starting on Tuesday afternoon and that would mean I'd be calling you on either Thursday afternoon or Friday morning."

"Do you have any problem with my mother not being present each day? I'd really rather she didn't have to relive this over and over again."

Caulfield nodded sympathetically. "No, no problem at all. If anything changes, I'll give you a head's up and you can call her. How would that be?"

"Perfect. Thank you."

"I should warn you both -- this has become a high profile case and that means that the press will be covering he trial. This is a major endeavor -- taking a twenty-five year old murder case to trial."

Naomi frowned and shot an almost frightened look at Blair. "I don't want anyone bothering--"

Caulfield held up his hand. "I understand, Ms. Sandburg. I'll do my best to keep them away from both of you."

Satisfied with that answer, she stood and gathered her purse. "Is there anything else we should be aware of?"

"Yes, just one other item. The suspect, Lionel Patterson, will have his mother and father in the courtroom during the trial, but they won't be testifying. In fact, Gordon Parks, the defense attorney, has no one listed. I just wanted you to know that there will be relatives of the suspect present. I only wish that Mr. Ojeda had remaining family."

"His only family at the time he was - killed -- was me, Mr. Caulfield."

Blair winced at his mother's words and Caulfield immediately said, "I'm sorry, of course. I didn't mean--"

"I know. Well, if there's nothing else?"

"No, not for now. I'll want to meet with you, Mr. Sandburg, on Wednesday before I call you, but if you have any questions prior, you can--"

"I'll be there everyday, Mr. Caulfield." "Good, good. I guess that's it then. Jury selection in an hour."

Blair joined his mother in standing, reached over and shook hands with Caulfield, then guided his mother out. As they waited for the elevator, Blair said, "I'll take you back to the hotel, then I'll head over to the courthouse, okay?"

"All right."

Downstairs, they walked silently through the lobby, each deep in their own thoughts. Which was why Blair missed seeing the reporters just outside the lobby entrance. A security guard held open the door and as both Sandburgs stepped out, the bulbs flashed.

"Mrs. Sandburg, can you tell us how you feel about the killer of your fiance finally coming to trial after twenty-five years?!"

"Do you think they have the man who killed your fiance, Mrs. Sandburg?"

The questions were yelled out and Blair, taking a leaf from Jim's book on 'How to Duck Out on the Press', brought his mother tight into his side, his arm high on her shoulders, then moved her quickly throught the throng. He got her into the car, hurried around to the other side, jumped in and roared off, leaving the press standing in the dust.

"Blair, do you understand why I can't be -- there? Can't be at the trial until I'm called?"

Naomi had the door to the rental car open and they were parked in front of the hotel. Her eyes were red-rimmed from the crying she'd done as Blair had sped back to the hotel.

"Of course. Besides, I wouldn't have let you come, even if you'd wanted to. It's better this way."

She nodded, clearly relieved. As she stepped up and onto the curb, she said, "I'll call Caulfield when I get upstairs, tell him about the reporters."

"Don't worry about it, Mom. I can handle them."

For the first time since leaving Caulfield's office, Naomi smiled. "So I noticed. You're very handy to have around, Blair."

"Yeah, yeah." He grinned, then waved as she shut the door.

Naomi watched him pull away, then ease into traffic to head to the courthouse. She sighed and headed inside.

Blair sat in the back of the courtroom and watched a process he'd witnessed a few times in his years with Jim. Choosing juries always fascinated him, both as a naturally curious man and as an anthropologist. This time, it was very different. This time, the majority of the questions put to the prospective jurors revolved around the concept of how much a four year old child could remember, and how accurate that memory would be.

Blair really needed a drink by the time they broke at noon.

He got it at lunch.

By four-thirty, they had nine of twelve jurors. At least by Blair's reckoning. He knew that more could be dismissed, but the nine that were still up there looked like keepers to him.

When the judge called it a day, Blair was very grateful. He'd forgotten how stubborn men and women could be. Which, considering that he lived with Jim Ellison, the personification of stubborn, that was saying something.

As Blair made his way out of the courtroom, he smiled at the memory of some of the jurors who'd been dismissed. Like the elderly gentleman who'd been asked if he understood that if he became a juror, he wouldn't be able to discuss the case with anyone, and did he have a problem with that?

"No, not at all. Besides, I'd only discuss it with my wife."

"But," Caulfield had asked, "you wouldn't, would you, Mr. Stallings?"

"What? Discuss the case with my wife?" At Caulfield's nod, he'd said, "Of course I would. We've been married over forty years. I tell her everything."

"But if you became a juror, you wouldn't be able to discuss the case with her."

"Then I guess I'd better not be a juror. She'd kill me if I even tried not to tell her."

Mr. Stallings had been dismissed. Duh.

Then there'd been the lady who'd had a problem with "Innocent until proven guilty". She was twenty-two.

"Miss Anderson, isn't it?" The defense lawyer had asked.

"Yes, Lori Anderson."

"Do you understand that right now, my client is innocent? That the burden to prove otherwise rests with the prosecution?"

Miss Anderson wrinkled her lovely brow, then said, "If he's been arrested, I'd have to say he's guilty. The police don't arrest innocent people."

Lori Anderson had been dismissed. Although Caulfield would have loved to keep her.

It had gone on like that for hours, the prospective jurors an odd combination of extreme intelligence (all dismissed) and exteme ignorance (all dismissed).

And in the middle? Mr. Joe Bloe and Mrs. or Miss Jane Doe, nine of whom seemed destined to be the jurors in the trial of 'The Commonwealth of Massachusetts against Lionel Patterson for the murder of Daniel Ojeda.'

Only four more to go plus two alternates.

Simon took his favorite seat and after kicking back in the lounger, said, "Jim, there's apple pie for dessert, compliments of Rhonda."

Jim, seated on Simon's sofa, waved a hand dismissively, his eyes glued to the television. "No thanks, Simon. Maybe later. And by the way," he said without taking looking away from the news, "thanks for inviting me over tonight. A pity dinner is always appreciated."

Simon grinned and realized that he'd been the recipient of many a "pity dinner" when he'd been married to Joan. Everytime she'd gone out of town, someone would invite him over for a meal. Of course, Jim wasn't married. Exactly.

Simon grinned, then hid it by taking a sip of his liberally whiskey-laced coffee. Actually, Jim was the most married man he knew. Jim just didn't know it. Question was: did Blair? His further ruminations were cut short by a news story. Simon sat forward and listened intently.

"This trial is the first one to come about as a result of the newest directive from Mayor Forbes, and will, perhaps, be the most poignant."

The field reporter let her expression soften as she said, "Twenty-five years ago, a young man was brutally murdered in his home; the only witness -- a four year old boy. And today, thanks to the more modern methods of testing evidence, an arrest has been made in a crime that the Boston Police Department been forced to finally label, 'unsolved'."

The reporter disappeared to be replaced by a feed that had been recorded earlier. The screen was suddenly filled with Blair and Naomi Sandburg as they attempted to get away from a crowd of reporters.

"Our cameras were at the offices of the Boston District Attorney when Blair Sandburg, now twenty-nine, exited the building following a meeting with Assistant DA Caulfield, the man who will serve as the prosecuting attorney.

"Twenty-five years ago, Mr. Sandburg was the only witness to the murder of Daniel Ojeda, the man Mr. Sandburg called 'daddy'."

Simon turned off the set, then with cold precision, threw the remote against the wall and watched it shatter. As pieces fell to the floor, he nodded, satisfied. Jim never winced as the piece of plastic collided with the wall, nor did he observe its destruction. His gaze never left the now blank screen. The vision of Blair, protecting his mother from the reporters, was burned onto his retina and it was as fresh as a moment ago. In his sentinel mind's eye, he could see what he doubted anyone else had; the shaking hand on his mother's arm; the haunted look in the deepest recesses of those blue eyes; the dark circles; the dry, pinched skin.

Jim rose and walked over to the phone.

"Good idea, Ellison. You need a vacation. A few days, in say, Boston. Yeah, Boston." Simon's voice was devoid of expression.

Jim took the next few minutes and made his reservations, first for the flight, then the hotel. He used his job to find out which room Naomi and Blair Sandburg were in, then requested the same floor and as close as possible. When he hung up, he was booked two rooms down from the Sandburgs.

"Why didn't he tell us, Jim? We're his friends. All these years, and not one word. Not. One. Word."

"Well, you know us. So forthcoming with our own history and all," Jim said sarcastically.

"Speak for yourself, Ellison."

"Oh? And what have you shared with him lately? Other than reminding him at every possible moment that he's not a cop? That he's only an observer?"

"Oh, but you don't do that, do you, Ellison? You don't tell him to stay behind, call for back-up, but don't get out of the truck. And of course, he's not your partner, right? What is he? Your associate? How do you introduce him?"

The anger and frustration were clearly evident in Simon's voice, as well as in the tense way he leaned forward, dark accusing eyes fixed on Jim.

Looking into the angry gaze of his boss and friend, Jim had an epiphany. Just like that, he understood what had been different about Blair Sandburg in the last few months.

"Jesus. He's been -- my employee."

Simon blinked. "Excuse me?"

"He's been behaving as if he were simply an employee keeping up his end of a bargain. Don't you get it?"

Simon swiped a hand over his face. An employee?

An employee.

"Running errands. Getting lunches. Helping others with their paperwork--" Simon's voice trailed off.

Jim gave out with a dry humorless laugh. "Well, we certainly put him in his place, didn't we? Told him what's what."

"Jim--"

"No, Simon. A few months ago, Blair as much as told me that without my senses, there'd be no reason for you to allow him to hang around. I gave him some flip answer and then he asked, 'What about you, Jim? You sure don't need me around if you don't have your senses.' "

"What did you say?"

"What do I always say when faced with something like that? I turned it back on him."

There was silence for a few minutes as both men digested everything. Finally, in an exhausted tone, Simon asked, "What time's your flight?"

"Ten. First one I could get. By the time I get in tomorrow -- the day will be over. His day will be over."

Jim walked over to the spot on the carpet where the pieces of the remote were scattered. "You'll probably want to call your cable guy tomorrow."

"Yeah."

Jim picked up the chunks of black plastic. "You know what's so weird?"

"What, Jim?" Simon asked tiredly.

"He told me -- after Peru -- that it was about friendship. Funny that I should be the one to forget that."

Simon watched as Jim walked into the kitchen. He could hear him as he dumped the remnants of his remote into the trash.

Friendship.

Funny. Blair had turned out to be a very good friend. Yet, he hadn't felt that he could tell either of them the truth about Boston. Of course, it might not be that simple. A four year old witnessing a murder? Hell, look what finding a dead body had done to a ten year old Jim Ellison. On the other hand, Blair Sandburg was -- stronger -- than Jim Ellison.

Simon sat back, stunned by that thought. All this time and he was just realizing that fact? Or had he known it all along, and that was why he'd allowed Blair to partner with Ellison?

Strong or not, Simon had still developed an almost fatherly protective instinct for Sandburg. Which was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

"Simon?"

Simon glanced up into the apologetic eyes of Jim.

"I'm going to head home. I'll be in early, fill out the vacation request, make sure that everything is taken care of before I go."

"Sounds good, Jim."

Jim nodded, but didn't make a move to leave.

"Jim?"

Jim started to say something, do something, then shurgged and said quietly, "Nothing, Simon."

He finally moved, started to leave, and Simon had the urge to say something more. He didn't fight the urge. "Jim, do you understand that he's going to really need you? In a way he's never needed you or anyone? Maybe in a way no one's ever needed you?"

Jim's hand was on the door. "I know."

"You going to be able to give him what he needs?"

"I plan to give him everything I am."

Simon smiled. "That might be enough, Jim."

They had a jury.

Following the lunch break, said jury had been sworn in and the Honorable Judge Thomas Silverton had imparted the jury instructions. Blair had watched each juror as they'd listened and as their faces had expressed their surprise and shock when the simple facts of the case had been presented.

Judge Silverton took a few minutes to explain the judicial process, how first the ADA would address the jury, then how defense council would give his opening remarks. The judge went on to warn that the attorneys opening statements were not evidence. At two-fifteen the trial officially began.

Assistant District Attorney Caulfield, dressed in a stylish grey suit, stood and faced the twelve men and women, fourteen counting the alternates. As he placed a large black notebook on the podium, Blair's anthropological brain registered the trim figure and expensive hair cut. His eyes took in all the evidence boards lined up against the railing that separated the Judge's domain from the audience. High tech, every one of them.

His attention was brought back to the case as Caulfield addressed the jury.

"Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury. My name is Paul Caulfield and I'm the Assistant District Attorney for Suffolk County. I'm not going to take up too much time this afternoon," he smiled graciously, "my intent being to get you all out of here before rush hour."

He paused for the expected laughter and after receiving it, went on.

"Right now, I want to tell you a simple story about high school sweethearts. About a young man named Daniel Ojeda, his fiance, Naomi Sandburg, and her four year old son, Blair."

In the back of the room, Blair's fingers gripped the armrests of his chair.

"Daniel was a guitarist who dreamed of one day becoming famous. He dreamed of marrying his high school sweetheart, Naomi, who'd he'd been fortunate enough to meet again after a four year separation. And he dreamed of being a wonderful father to Naomi's boy. He was twenty-one.

"In June of 1973, his dreams were destroyed when he was brutally murdered in his own home -- and in front of the four year old boy he was already calling son."

The jurors were hanging on every word. Eyes wide, mouths slightly parted. No one in the entire room noticed Blair leaving.

Blair shoved his way into the men's room and a stall. Once he'd locked the door, he dropped to his knees and threw up. He continued to heave for several minutes.

High school sweethearts.

His mother and -- Danny.

Even as he dry heaved, his body goin cold with shock, his mind calculated. He was conceived in August of '68, or there abouts. Naomi had attended a year-round high school in 1968, Webster High. Its school year started in July. She'd been seventeen in the summer of '68.

Blair continued the dry heaves, his body shaking uncontrollably.

His day was Hell. Airports without Blair. Flying without Blair. Sounds, smells, pressures, and no one telling him, reminding him, to dial it down. But he made it, thanks to one simple thing; a leather hair tie of Blair's.

Sandburg would have laughed his head off at that one. Big macho Jim Ellison, Sentinel of the Great City, only able to fly cross country by the grace of a leather hair tie.

Jim rented a car and followed the directions the hotel had given him. It took him over an hour and a half through rush hour traffic. By the time he was standing in front of registration, his head was pounding out a nice rendition of the Anvil Chorus.

Jim took his room cards, nodded at the helpful directions to an elevator that was in plain sight, and finally found himself in the relative peace and quiet of said elevator.

When he found his room, he dumped his luggage and immediately walked down to Blair's suite. For a moment, he stood staring at the door, at the room number. The single heartbeat inside, combined with the scent of summer flowers, told him that only Naomi was on the other side.

He knocked.

At a knock on the door, Naomi put down the book she'd been trying to read. It couldn't be Blair, he had his card. She rose gracefully and opened the door, realizing that as she did, her son would have scolded her.

"Jim?"

"Naomi."

"Jim, Blair never said a word."

"He didn't know. I decided - last night."

Naomi hugged him, then stepped back. "You look tired. Rough flight?"

"You could say that. Where is--"

"Oh, probably still at the courthouse. Although, they must be done by now, it's after five. He might have waited to meet with Caulfield. More jury selection today."

Naomi took Jim's hand and guided him to one of the couches. "Sit. Can I get you anything? A drink?"

At Jim's confused look, she smiled almost shyly. "We have a bar. I can get you a beer?"

"That would be great, Naomi."

She pulled a bottle out of the small refrigerator and after taking off the top, walked over to him and handed it down. When he took it, she sat at the other end of the sofa and tucked her legs under her.

"I'm so glad you're here, Jim. I can't make myself go to the trial. I couldn't bear to hear everything, to see the -- pictures, but that means Blair has to do it alone." She shook her head and brought a hand up to brush hair from her face. "I want to be there, with him, but I just -- can't do -- it."

Jim took a long swallow of his beer, then said, "I don't know all the details, Naomi. Would it be too painful to tell me?"

Naomi glanced away, then down as she started picking at the small frill that edged her sleeve. "I -- haven't talked about it in years. I think -- I'd like to tell someone."

Jim was shocked at her words, at the implication that she and Blair hadn't spoken of it. Could she actually mean that?

"Just let me -- tell it, all right? No interruptions or questions. It'll be easier for me. As if you're not -- here and I'm just -- talking."

"All right, Naomi," he said gently.

Eyes staring at nothing except maybe the past, Naomi said, "Danny. Danny Ojeda. We grew up together, went to school together. We were high school sweethearts. Then I left -- dropped out -- and I didn't see him for years. In the Fall of '72 I went to Boston to stay with a friend. I'd always wanted to see New England in the Fall and somehow, I knew that Blair would love it too. Playing in all the leaves."

She smiled softly and Jim knew she was picturing her son; small, playful, possibly cavorting on a lawn almost buried in red, gold, and orange colored leaves.

"That's when I met Danny again. It was as if -- we'd never parted. Within a week, I'd moved in with him. He loved Blair. Loved him so much."

Her voice had gone dreamy and it only served to punctuate the tragedy Jim knew was coming.

"The next months were wonderful. Danny was a guitar player with a hot little band and on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, he played at a club. During the week, he worked for a brokerage firm. Danny was a genius. At music, at life, at work. Three nights a week, I was a waitress at the Acapulco Restaurant. On those nights, Danny and Blair would pick me up at ten. It was a special time for us. Danny would wake little Blair, carry him to the car, they'd chatter through the whole drive--"

Naomi looked up at Jim for the first time and asked, "Did I say how much Danny loved to hold Blair? And how much Blair loved being held by him? You have to understand how amazing this was. Blair never stopped long enough to be held. If you picked him up, he'd hug, kiss, then demand to be let down so he could run all over the place. But for Danny--"

Her eyes strayed away again and her voice took on that dreamy quality. Jim knew he had no real question to answer so he wisely remained silent.

"--he'd raise his arms and cuddle for hours. He loved being in Danny's embrace. Danny would hold him, and kiss his soft skin and run his fingers through Blair's curls--"

Her voice hitched and Naomi gulped, but went on.

"It was early June. We were still coming down from Blair's fourth birthday party. I went to work as usual, and as usual, Danny and Blair were supposed to pick me up. At ten thirty, I was still standing outside the restaurant. I went back inside and called home, but no one answered. Fifteen minutes later, still no Danny and Blair. The sous-chef, Miquel, offered me a ride and figuring that Danny had broken down somewhere, I agreed.

"We covered the roads Danny would have taken, but no Danny. When Miquel pulled into our complex, we had to drive past our garage space and there was the Ford. I was relieved -- and angry. I got out of the car and thanked Miquel. When he drove off, I was rehearsing--"

Her voice broke and she gulped a huge draught of air, then began twisting the material on her sleeve. Jim held his breath.

"I was -- rehearsing -- yelling at him. You know? 'How could you forget me?' or 'Do you know how long I waited?' and 'Why didn't you call? Or answer the phone?'. I stormed up to the door and it was unlocked and I pushed it open, ready to let loose."

Jim let out the breath he'd been holding and watched as tears began to trickle down Naomi's cheek.

"We had a small place. Upstairs and downstairs. You walk in, kitchen on the right, long hallway to the living room--"

Her eyelids flickered and all the color drained from her face. The tears started to fall faster.

"He was the first thing I saw. On the floor. There was so much -- blood. I dropped everything, my purse and coat and the -- dinner from the restaurant and I started for him -- his face was turned from me, and he had long curly hair and it was spread out on the tile and it was too dark and -- wet -- and then, just like that -- I froze."

She was crying openly, her nose running and she swiped angrily at it, rubbed the back of her hand over it. Jim shook out his handkerchief and handed it to her. She took it and blew, then went on, her voice so soft that anyone but Jim would have had to strain to hear--

"In spite of what I was seeing, my brain could only seem to focus on one thing: Blair. Where was my baby? I didn't even touch Danny, all I could think about was my baby, my baby! I started up the stairs and -- and -- and then - I could see him, in the living room. On the couch. Just -- lying there. I think -- my heart stopped. I turned back, had to pass my Danny lying there, arm outstretched as if reaching for me, and I knew he was dead, they told me later, he died instantly, but I didn't know it then but I had to get to Blair, to my Blair because he COULDN'T be dead, do you understand, Jim? Blair couldn't BE DEAD." Naomi's words were said as she cried, deep cries, sobs, and Jim could do nothing but listen as he tried to stop his own tears.

"I think I tiptoed -- ov-er -- and I craned my neck and wanted him to be breathing so badly. He was in his blue jeans and this little red sweater with a hood and his hair was sweaty and damp and his cheeks were flushed and one tiny hand was on his chest and I saw it rise -- and fall. I ran to his side, dropped to my knees and gathered him into my arms. I wrapped myself around him and he moved and rubbed his face against my blouse, knuckled his eyes and said, 'mommy?'." Naomi, like her tears, couldn't be contained then. She jumped up and moved quickly to the large window. Her shoulders were heaving with her sobs as her memory, a memory she'd refused to bring forth until now, gushed out and overwhelmed her.

"I stood and ran out, ran past my Danny and to a neighbor. They called the police for me while I sat in a chair -- holding my baby -- and for the next thirty minutes -- Blair said nothing but -- mommy -- over and over again.

"mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy--"

Blair grabbed at the toilet paper dispenser and used it to haul himself off the floor. He brushed at his slacks, then flushed the toilet. He opened the stall and sighed with relief; the restroom was empty. He stepped over to the sink and did the whole rinse/spit gig, then splashed water over his face, and with disgust, rinsed and spit again and again and again. When he was done with his sentinel -induced, compulsive obsessive habit, he stared at his reflection. He reached out with one tentative finger and touched the mirror. Damn, he wished he could remember what Danny -- had -- looked like.

Why couldn't he? He should be able to, shouldn't he?

Blair turned off the water, pulled out a hunk of paper towels, wiped his face, then tossed everything into the trash. He squared his shoulders and walked out, down the hall and quietly let himself back into the courtroom.

"Detective Anders, you were the first officer on the scene, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Could you tell us what you found?"

"The front door was open and lying in the hallway, halfway between the kitchen and the living room, was the victim, Daniel Ojeda. His head was wrapped in towels and there was blood spreading out about two feet from the body."

Caulfield moved to the railing behind him and pulled out a large poster board. He placed it on an easel, then took out a grease pen and scribbled something in the corner.

"Your honor, the prosecution asks that this be marked as People's exhibit 1P." He took the board over to the judge's clerk. She wrote quickly.

The Judge nodded. "Very well. Let the record reflect as stated."

Caulfield put the board back on the easel, then addressed his first witness. "Detective, would this diagram correctly represent the apartment of Daniel Ojeda?"

The detective squinted and seemed to take too long to answer.

"Detective Anders, if you need to refer to your own notes, I believe you have them in front of you?"

Detective William Anders, retired, nodded and immediately opened the file he'd created twenty-five years ago. After a moment, he looked up, his expression relieved. "Yes, that's the apartment."

Caulfield pointed to the large 'X'. "And this is an accurate representation of where Mr. Ojeda's body was found?"

Detective Anders glanced down at his notes, then nodded. "Yes, it is."

"Can you describe the rest of the scene for us?"

"On the kitchen table, we found a brown bag, a child's toy rifle and a pair of childrens cowboy boots. Just inside the doorway, a woman's purse and coat were in a heap, as well as another small brown bag. There was a chair that had been dragged from the kitchen table to the sink. That's -- about it."

Caulfield lifted another poster board, this one with several pictures attached. He flipped to another section of his black notebook and took out more photos. After additional scribbling, he made his walk to the clerk as he said, "Your honor, we ask that the following be marked as People's exhibit 2 through 5P and the poster board to be 6P."

"Very well."

When the clerk finished her writing and noting, Caulfield put the poster board up, then handed the pictures to Anders.

"The first picture was taken by you, was it not, Detective Anders?"

Anders turned it over, then nodded. "Yes, my initials are on the back."

"Could you describe that photo?"

"It's the kitchen."

As Anders spoke, Caulfield pointed to a corresponding photo on the poster board for the jury.

"There's the bag, the toy rifle and the little boy's boots--"

Gordon Parks, council for the Defense, interrupted quietly, "Objection, your honor, no foundation--"

"Objection sustained. Detective, simply state what is in the picture, make no assumptions."

Anders nodded. "A toy rifle and a pair of boots."

"Anything else," Caulfield asked.

"On the floor, a purse and coat."

"Thank you. The next picture?"

Blair felt a part of himself detach. He was very grateful that he couldn't see the pictures. Just watching the faces of the jurors as their gazes went from Anders to the poster board was bad enough. He wondered if he would last.

Caulfield was setting the stage, giving the jury the facts of the investigation, giving them the opportunity to be there, to be, Blair realized, in the home he'd occupied for almost a year. The jury was being given -- his life.

The questioning of Anders went on for another thirty minutes. He confirmed the lifting of fingerprints from the Ojeda car, he identified the bag on the kitchen table as holding three cans of beer. Caulfield entered the three cans and the bag as People's exhibits 7 through 10P.

Anders memory proved to be fairly good and he only had to refer to his notes when dealing with physical evidence. It was after four when Caulfield asked the question that chilled Blair's heart.

"Detective Anders, you were the first officer to question Naomi Sandburg and her son, Blair Sandburg, were you not?"

"I was."

"Where did you find them?"

"With a neighbor."

"What was Ms. Sandburg able to tell you?"

Blair listened carefully. He'd never heard his mother's version. As Anders related what he'd been able to get from Naomi, Blair felt sweat build and start to trickle down his back.

"Thank you, Detective." Caulfield glanced down at his notebook and it was clear that the next question would be important for the jury.

"Detective, what was Blair Sandburg able to tell you? And again, if you have to refer to your own notes, do so."

Anders shook his head. "Even after twenty-five years, I remember that little boy. Believe it or not, it's not that often a cop has to question a toddler about a murder."

Parks lifted his head from his note-taking. "Objection, your honor--"

The Judge didn't lift his head. "Objection overruled."

Caulfield gave a discreet cough, then said, "Detective, please tell us about your interview with Blair Sandburg."

"He was on his mother's lap, awake, eyes wide, fingers holding onto his mother's sweater. I asked him if he could tell me what he remembered about his evening. He said that he watched cartoons and--

Blair blinked and rubbed his eyes. He liked the polic-e-man's big moustache. He really wanted to touch it.

"Son, can you tell me what you did tonight?"

Blair ducked his head, then said shyly, "watched 'toons. daddy made me spaghetti-ooooos for dinner. then it was time to pick up my mommy." He smiled a small half-smile, "i fell asleep, but my daddy woke me. we had to go pick my mommy up."

"What happened then? Did you pick her up?"

Blair frowned, then shook his head. "noooo. we were walking though and daddy met two men. daddy was carrying me and he whispered in my ear and it tickled."

"What did your daddy whisper, Blair?"

"he said that was just louey and johnny."

"Did he talk with Louis and Johnny?"

Blair frowned and bit his lip, then looked at his mommy. She nodded and smiled, then ran a finger over his cheek. "Go ahead, honey, you can tell him."

"yes, we went to daddy's car and johnny played wif me. we sat in the backseat and i played wif my toys and showt him every single one of them. he liked them."

"What happened then, Blair?"

"um, we went back home. i got to carry the bag."

"The bag, Blair? What bag?"

"johnny had a bag and he said it was for him--and--louey and my daddy. he let me carry it like i were a big boy. and i did. i carried it all the way home."

"Do you know what was in the bag, Blair?"

Blair shook his head wildly, the short curls bobbing back and forth.

"Okay, what happened next?"

"um, i played in my play space--"

"That's under the stairs, Officer," his mommy offered.

"yep, under the stairs. my own little cave. i played and johnny played wif me."

"Where was your daddy?"

"in the kitchen, with louey. they were talking and sitting and," Blair lowered his voice, "louey was smoking. i knew my mommy would be mad."

"What happened then, Blair?"

Blair looked down at his jeans, then rested his head against his mother's shoulder. "i don't know. nuthing."

"Did you, maybe, take a nap? Under the stairs?"

"no. but -- the phone rang."

"Did it? What happened? Did your daddy answer it?"

"no. he were -- napping. i tried to answer it, i did. i moved the chair and it were heavy, but i couldn't reach to answer."

"I see. What happened then?"

"i -- think i laid down."

"Where?"

"on -- the couch. then mommy woke me up."

"Members of the jury, it's now four-forty five. I think we'll call it a day. Remember, you're not to speak of the case or discuss it with anyone, nor are you to discuss it amongst yourselves. We'll start promptly at nine tomorrow morning. Thank you for your attention and your patience. You're dismissed."

Blair watched as the jurors filed out, then as the rest of the courtroom emptied, Caulfield joined him.

"Blair, it looks like I'll be calling you tomorrow afternoon. We'll meet during the lunch break, if that's all right with you?"

Blair stood and nodded. "That's fine. When does it look as though my mother will be called?" "A bit earlier than expected. I'd say Thursday morning, perhaps Wednesday. If all goes well."

"Thank you, Mr. Caulfield."

Blair stood on the sidewalk and looked down Devonshire. He started walking. After several blocks, he spotted a cafe with a bar. He went inside. The place was quiet, unassuming, and the far corner of the bar was relatively dark. Blair took a stool at the very end of the counter. The bartender came up and with a smile, asked, "What'll it be?"

"Dewars on the rocks."

Blair had three in the course of the next hour.

At six, he tossed down some money and left.

Jim got up and hurried to Naomi's side. She was crying uncontrollably now and if there were more to the story, it wouldn't come from her. Jim took the sobbing woman into his arms.

Exhausted and with his head pounding, Blair rode up in the elevator. As it opened, he stepped out and removed his room cardkey from his pocket. He took a few moments to collect himself, to put on his game face, then he inserted the card and pushed the door open -- to see his mother in Jim Ellison's arms.

Jim's hand was on the back of his mother's head, fingers in her hair. She was -- crying.

Blair's forward motion was arrested and the air seemed to thicken around him. He was having trouble taking in oxygen--

Jim's head turned and his eyes widened as he spotted him.

"Chief."

At Jim's voice, Naomi moved out of his arms, keeping her back to Blair. She didn't want him to see her like this, to know she'd been crying.

"Mom?"

"I'm fine, honey. Give me a minute. I -- need, I'll -- be right back." She escaped into her room.

Blair watched with detached interest as the room seemed to right itself. It was altogether possible that he'd had too much to drink. He blinked up at Jim, who was walking toward him.

"Blair? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Surprised to see you here." He took off his jacket and draped it over the desk chair by the door.

"You made the news, even in Cascade."

"I see. So Simon just up and let you come?"

"That's about it, yeah."

Jim had stopped and was standing near the couch. Blair toed off his shoes and sat down.

"So. How long to you plan on staying? The trial will probably go another week, including jury deliberation. Not a lot of witnesses, you know."

"Figured as much. Did some reading, thanks to downloading some old news files. Your mother filled in a good part of what the news stories couldn't. And I plan to stay until you're done, until we can go home."

"That's actually good. In fact, I'm real glad you're here, Jim. Mom -- I won't let her come and I don't think she could even if -- well, anyway, that leaves her alone all day. She'll be called either late Wednesday, or on Thursday. With you here, she won't be alone. If you don't mind?"

Jim was prevented from answering by Naomi's re-entrance. She smiled sheepishly, then walked over to her son. She bent at the waist and kissed his cheek.

"How did it go today, honey?"

"Jury selection finished up and they actually got the trial started. One witness so far. I'll go on sometime tomorrow."

She nodded, then sat down in the opposite chair. "I guess you noticed Jim was here."

Blair smiled, a smile reserved for his mother, but this time, it never reached his eyes. "Yeah, Mom, I noticed. I'm pretty glad, too. He can keep you company. Get your mind off all of this."

Her head shot up and she glanced over at Jim. "Somehow, sweetie, I don't think Jim is here--"

"I'll feel better about leaving you," Blair interrupted. "Okay?"

Naomi frowned, then at Jim's helpless shrug, she nodded. "If it -- makes you feel more comfortable."

"It does and it will." Blair stood then and said easily, "So, dinner anyone? I thought maybe we'd try that favorite restaurant of yours, Mom. La Cucina?"

"That sounds good, Blair. Let me go change. Give me fifteen."

"No problem."

Naomi got up and moved quickly to her room. When the door closed, Blair turned to Jim and said, "Thanks, man. It really does help to know that she'll have someone while I'm at court."

Jim rose. "Hey," he said, holding his arms out to his side. "Isn't that what friends are for?"

Blair turned away quickly as he said, "Yeah." He walked to the bar and grabbed a beer.

"I can smell you from here, Sandburg."

The bottle froze half-way to Blair's mouth. He lowered his arm. "You think I'm drunk or something?"

"I know you're not, which worries me."

Blair took a healthy swig, then after swallowing, said, "Shit, I should have realized. You must be exhausted. The flight, the sounds, smells -- I'm so sorry. The last thing you probably need is dinner with the Sandburgs."

"I'm fine now. And very hungry, to tell the truth."

"Oh. Okay then."

They were silent, Blair finishing the beer, Jim watching. The silence wasn't bad, just not as companionable as both men were used to.

"All right, I'm ready. Jim," Naomi said cheerfully, "you're going to love La Cucina. Okay, it's been a few years since I've been there, but I'm sure it's just as wonderful."

Blair had been drinking. Jim still couldn't believe how strong the odor of alcohol was around the younger man. He also couldn't believe how -- normal -- everything seemed. And now they were going to dinner as if there was nothing going on at all. No trial, no past nightmarish events, no -- anything.

On the elevator ride down, it was calmly decided that they'd take Jim's rental, and as they walked silently through the underground garage, Jim couldn't help but shake his head and mentally chastise himself. So much for giving Blair everything Jim had to give him.

For all the strain that the three adults were trying to hide, the dinner was actually pretty good. La Cucina was as excellent as Naomi had promised. Sharing a bottle of wine hadn't hurt either.

Jim watched Blair throughout the meal, watched as only Blair's eyes gave any outward sign of the amount of alcohol he'd consumed in the last couple of hours.

He watched as Blair attempted to keep his mother happy, controlling the conversation, discussing things that brought happy memories to Naomi.

It was almost fascinating, in a morbid kind of way.

By the time they were digging into dessert, Tiramasu for Jim and Blair, a cannolli for Naomi, all three were pleasantly buzzed and fairly relaxed. On the walk back to the car, Naomi put her arm around Blair's waist and held him to her as they talked. Jim smiled at the gesture as mother and son whispered conspiratorily.

The ride back to the hotel was full of laughter and giggles as somehow, Blair and Naomi got onto the subject of San Francisco, flower children and the Nehru jacket Naomi had made for her baby son.

"Oh, Jim, he looked so cute. I painted a daisy on his cheek and one of the guys put a small ankh around his neck -- he was the cutest flower baby at the festival."

"I'll bet," Jim said with a smile. "Hey, wait a minute, didn't I see that picture in the scrap book you should me during your first visit?"

Naomi giggled and Blair groaned.

"I knew it," Jim chortled. "If I remember correctly -- somewhere along the way, your little flower baby lost his diaper, right?"

"Aw, man, Jim. That is low."

"Hey, I'm just recalling the photo, Chief. I didn't take the dang thing."

"But you're laughing about it," Blair accused.

"But I didn't take the photo."

"But you're--"

"Boys? The hotel."

"I'm going straight to bed, sweetie. You and Jim enjoy the rest of the evening, okay?"

"Mom, you don't have to--"

Naomi smiled. "Yes I do. I am tired. I'll just read for awhile, then go to sleep. Night, honey." She kissed Blair, then hugged Jim. "Glad you came, Jim. Thank you."

"Good-night, Naomi."

Both men watched as she entered her room. She gave the a wave, then shut the door.

Blair sighed heavily, then said, "You have got to be exhausted now, Jim."

"I'm fine. I thought maybe we could talk?"

Blair rubbed at the back of his neck and said, "Well, I'm bushed. Maybe tomorrow? After court?"

"Sure, I understand. What time will you be leaving in the morning?"

"Around eight-thirty or so. It's only ten minutes from here."

"Maybe we could meet for breakfast?"

"Sure. Great idea. The least I can do for you is buy you a meal, considering that you're going to be spending the day with mom. Although, you'll probably enjoy that."

Jim rolled his eyes, then headed for the door. "Good-night, Blair."

"Night, Jim. And -- thanks, again."

Jim waved him off, then left.

Jim carefully unpacked, then walked to the window and pulled the drapes aside. Boston winked at him. He wished the window opened. As he stared out over the unfamiliar city, his mind went back over the evening. He didn't like the drinking, but somehow, he couldn't really fault Blair for it. The man was trying to hold up his mother and himself at the same time. But still -- it wasn't Blair's way.

Jim then did something he'd never normally do -- he listened for Blair. He pinpointed him, thanks to piggybacking his sense of smell onto his hearing. The trail of Blair's aftershave led him to the suite two doors down.

He cocked his head and closed his eyes-- Footsteps, the tinkling of glass against glass, the sound of liquid sloshing over ice--

Jim reeled his hearing back with a frown. He rubbed his eyes, then his temples.

"God, Blair. How do I help you?"

Blair sank down into the couch and took a sip of his drink.

Jim was here.

Jim.

He didn't understand it.

Blair got up and fixed another one, then ambled into his room. He set the drink down, then undressed. His head was pounding again. He probably shouldn't be drinking but it was the only way -- not to dream. Like the previous night, he took two PainAid with the last of his drink, then crawled into bed.

Breakfast in the hotel cafe was almost a recreation of the previous night's dinner. Again, in spite of the strain, all three were almost jovial. It was driving Jim crazy.

When the meal was over and they'd lingered over their morning coffee long enough, Blair checked his watch and immediately stood. "Man, I'll just make it, Mom. Why don't I join you two somewhere for lunch?"

"What a great idea, sweetie. Have you spotted anything that looked good nearby the courthouse?"

Blair put on his jacket and nodded. "Yeah, there's a small cafe called the Willows. It not only looked good, it smelled good too."

"Just tell me," Jim said as he dropped his credit card on top of the bill, "it's not vegetarian?"

Blair smiled. "No, Jim. I'm pretty sure I saw chicken and hamburgers. You'll be safe."

"In that case, I say we do it."

"What time, sweetie?"

Blair pushed the card back to Jim, then signed the ticket with his room number. "I'm buying, remember? And as long as you're there by noon, we should be able to meet up just fine. Okay?"

Jim and Naomi nodded, then watched as Blair hurried out. When he'd disappeared, Jim said, "I don't understand, Naomi. Why is he going every day?"

Naomi's eyes misted over as she said softly, "For Danny -- I think. For Danny."

Naomi had convinced Jim that Boston Harbor and the nearby New England Aquarium should be their destination for the day. Secretly, Jim cringed. What he wanted, was to be seated beside Blair in a courtroom, however, Blair had made is clear that by remaining with Naomi, he was actually helping Blair in the best way -- for now. So he acquiesced.

The harbor was beautiful and with tourist season still weeks away, he and Naomi managed to see everything with relative comfort. He was able to control his senses and enjoy the morning. The aquarium was beautiful and his only regret was not being able to share it with Blair. As they stood before one large tank, his curiosity got the better of him and he asked, "Did Blair see this, when you lived here?"

"Yes. We spent -- Blair's fourth birthday here. Of course, it's been greatly improved since then. I think, maybe, he'd like to see it -- now."

Jim realized that spending Blair's birthday at the Aquarium meant that it had been -- with Danny. He was surprised Naomi had suggested the place. For him, it was truly a blessing. The quiet and natural beauty were giving his senses a field day, but for Naomi?

"I take it that it was a good day? A good memory?"

"One of the best," she said wistfully.

"He never stops, does he?" Danny said, laughing.

"No, not unless he's asleep."

Danny and Naomi watched as Blair ran. This part of the aquarium had so much to look at and it was clear that their new four year old was having difficulty deciding. He kept running from display to display, head whipping about, curls flying.

"If we don't rein him in, he won't last the day."

Naomi nodded happily. "You're the only one he'll slow down for, Danny. Go for it."

Grinning, Daniel walked over to his son and bending at the knees, he tugged at the blue sweater until Blair gave him his full attention.

"daddy?"

"I'm feeling too empty. Can you help?"

With a huge grin, Blair launched himself into Daniel's embrace. Daniel lifted him as he stood, then settled him on his right arm. He felt the usual sense of warmth as the small hand crept around his neck to come to rest on the other side of his head.

"Okay, bubba, point and we go," he said into the smiling face.

Blair's tongue snuck out at the corner of his mouth as he considered his choices. He frowned, then after staring hard at the picture of several cavorting otters, pointed in their direction. "there. we go there."

"Ah, the sea otters. Good choice, bubba, very good choice."

Daniel put out his hand to Naomi, who took it and slipped into his left side.

"Ready, gang?" he said to both.

"ready, daddy!"

Naomi stared at the otter exhibit and closed her eyes. They'd been a family in every sense of the word. She swayed and a strong arm came around her waist.

"Naomi?"

"I'm okay, Jim. Just -- a memory."

Jim glanced around and spotted a bench. He led Naomi over to it and sat her down. As he took his place beside her, he said, "We have about forty minutes before we need to head out in order to meet Blair. I think you need to talk. I'm listening."

Naomi took in a choppy breath and nodded. "You're right. I -- don't understand and I've carried it with me all these years. Because the case was never solved, I never knew why." She turned an anquished face to him. "Do you understand what I mean? Why would anyone kill Danny? It made no sense then, and it makes no sense now. And the truly horrible part is that this trial still won't answer that. Unless Patterson confesses. But that's not likely, is it? Which means I'll never know why Danny was killed. Never."

Closure. Jim was an expert on that. And neither Naomi nor Blair were likely to have it this time. Not completely anyway. But Blair should have closure in other areas.

"Naomi, I get the feeling that you and Blair -- that you two -- have never really discussed what happened twenty-five years ago?" Naomi closed her eyes and Jim watched a tear escape. When she opened them again, they were swimming in tears.

"We didn't. Haven't. You see, the doctors, they said -- not to pressure him, not to bring it up unless -- you see, he -- kind of blocked it out. No, that's not right. God, this is hard to explain."

"I think I understand. He simply refused to discuss it?"

Naomi nodded. "Exactly. Once one of the detectives managed to get what he actually saw, and believe me, it took four detectives to try, well, after that, nothing. There were child psychologists, therapists, and none of them could get a word about it out of him. And they all advised the same thing: until he's ready, don't bring it up."

"I see. That makes sense. And later? When he was older?"

Naomi looked down at her clasped hands. "I couldn't -- later," she said softly, her face tinged pink.

"Ah." Jim understood now. And knowing Blair as he did, seeing Blair with his mother last night and then this morning, he understood more than Naomi realized.

"Naomi, has it ever occured to you that you might have been the reason your son couldn't, or wouldn't, talk about it when he was still a small boy? And that later, as he grew, you were still the reason?"

Puzzled, Naomi shook her head. "No, that makes no sense, Jim. I'm not the one who witnessed it--"

"No, but you are his mother. The woman he protects in every way possible."

Jim could see the wheels turning as Naomi digested his words and the truth behind them.

"So -- not talking about it was to protect me?"

"You know your son, Naomi. You tell me."

Slowly, she nodded. "He would do exactly that. God, he would."

Four detectives, four re-tellings of the investigation of the murder of Daniel Ojeda. All morning he'd had to listen to defense council ask, "But no weapon was found, correct?" And all morning, he'd had to hear the same answer: "No, no weapon was found."

All morning, he'd had to listen to the defense council ask, "What about fingerprints inside the car?" and all morning, he'd listened to the fact that no latents were found in the car. Only on the outside. Four times, he'd listened to defense council ask, "What about in the house? Were my clients prints found inside the house?" and all morning, the same answer: "No."

Blair watched the jury as they finally and truly understood why Lionel Patterson was not charged with the first degree murder of Daniel Ojeda. He observed the "ah-has" flash over all twelve faces throughout the examination and cross examinations of the detectives. When Detective John Robbins (retired) stepped down, Blair started to observe the man accused of aiding and abetting the shooting death of Daniel Ojeda. He'd been avoiding even glancing at the man, but now, after listening to just how much evidence there wasn't, he found himself unable not to look.

Lionel Patterson appeared to be somewhere in age between Naomi and Jim. He kept his hands in his lap, his body slightly bent over the table. His dark hair was peppered with grey, his eyes usually downcast.

A small scar ran from the top outside corner of his left eye to the bottom outside corner. He wore a white shirt and dark slacks. No tie.

Blair knew that Lionel was in jail, that when the courtday was over, he was handcuffed and carted away, but the jury didn't. He knew that Lionel had been in prison for over a year, while awaiting trial, but the jury didn't. And Blair knew the man's small, petty history of legal run-ins. The jury most definitely didn't, nor would they.

The Judge called the mid-day recess and gave everyone an extra hour. When they returned, the fingerprint expert would be called, then -- Blair. The morning had gone faster than Caulfield had expected.

As the jurors left, once again Caulfield came over. With his hand on the railing, he said quietly, "It looks as though I'll be putting you on this afternoon, Blair. Can you be at my office, say around one?"

"I'll be there. I take it mom will go on tomorrow?"

"Looks that way now. Defense Council has no witnesses. When he's done crossing mine, we'll go to summation, then to jury."

"I see. Perhaps I should bring mom with me this afternoon?"

"That might be wise."

"All right. We'll see you at one."

"Thank you, Blair."

Blair walked into the Willows and wasn't surprised to see his mother stand and wave. He smiled broadly as he joined her and Jim.

"Hey."

Jim smiled up at him. "Hey back. How did it go this morning?"

"A lot of repetition." Blair glanced at his mother. "I'll be going on this afternoon. Caulfield needs to see us both, Mom. At one. You'll be going on earlier as well." Naomi paled, but Blair noted the fractional movement of her stubborn chin.

"I see. I guess we'd better hurry and eat."

Jim handed him a menu which Blair put down. "I'm having the soup. The board said clam chowder today."

"Ah. You sure you don't want more? You hardly ate your breakfast, Chief."

"I'm sure."

When the waitress arrived, it took all of Blair's considerable willpower not to order a drink. He ordered coffee instead.

"How many witnesses has the State put on so far," Jim asked once the waitress had left with their order.

"Six. All detectives. This afternoon, the fingerprint expert, then me and tomorrow, mom."

"Honey," Naomi said as she leaned toward him, "did you -- recognize -- any of them?" The question caught Blair so off guard, that he spit out the water he'd just sipped. He quickly started to clean up, but a hand over his stopped him.

"I've got it, Chief," Jim said quietly.

"I -- um, thanks, Jim." He dabbed at his mouth, then said, "Um, it's been a long time, Mom."

"Of course." Then, "What about the accused?"

Blair's hand froze. Slowly he lowered it and placed the now wet napkin on the edge of the table. "I -- no. No."

Jim put his hand over Blair's again, but this time, he left it. "Understandable. Twenty five years. The man has to have changed a great deal."

Blair glanced down as he nodded. For a moment, he stared at the back of Jim's hand. Jim's hand. On his. He blinked. The temptation to succumb to the comfort was almost overwhelming, but then he flashed on Jim's comfort of his mother yesterday and he slid his hand out from under instead.

"I -- you're right, of course, Jim," he said as the waitress arrived with their lunch.

"You ready, Mom?"

Naomi looked at the building that housed the District Attorney and nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Blair took her hand and with Jim bringing up the rear, they entered the lobby and walked over to the elevator.

Jim sat on the couch next to Naomi. He could see she was nervous, scared even. Her fingers were shredding a napkin she'd brought with her from the restaurant.

Blair had been in with Caulfield for fifteen minutes and Jim had used considerable restraint in managing to avoid listening. As another piece of napkin floated to the floor, Jim sighed and took Naomi's hand.

"It's okay, Naomi. Everything will be fine."

She squeezed his fingers, then said, "I know, I know. But," she turned to him, "Jim, I should be there -- this afternoon. I should."

"Then tell Blair. Tell him you want to be there."

Before Naomi could answer, Blair stepped out of Caulfield's office.

Blair stepped out into the reception area as Caulfield said, "Just answer how you remember it, Blair. That's all you can do."

He nodded, then turned and started to smile at his mother. Except -- Jim was holding her hand. Blair's brow wrinkled, then smoothed as he straightened his shoulders and moved to a chair next to the couch.

"Your turn, Mom," he said with a gentle smile. Her hand slipped out of Jim's and she rose gracefully to take Caulfield's.

"This will just take a few moments, Naomi," Caulfield promised. "Your testimony is probably the easiest and I doubt sincerely if you'll even be crossed."

Caulfield led her into his office and when the door shut, Jim scooted down so that he was closer to Blair.

"Everything go all right?"

"Sure."

"Naomi wants to be there with you -- for you."

Stunned, Blair stared at Jim. "You're kidding? Tell me you're kidding?"

"No."

"Jim, she can't. We can't let her."

Blair was up and pacing, his hands waving in the air like the Blair of old. Except he was so upset, a panic attack wasn't far in the future.

"Chief, she--"

"NO!" Blair looked around and red-faced, took his seat again. "No, Jim. She can't. You don't understand."

"She wants to be there for you, Chief."

Blair closed his eyes. Tightly. His fingers gripped the arms of the chair. "She can't. It'll -- kill me."

"Blair?"

He shook his head. "No. Too painful for her, Jim. Please? Help me? Convince her? Take her somewhere? Or we can tell her that you need her? That you're -- ill?" He turned anguished blue eyes on Jim. "Please?"

"I'll do whatever you need, Chief. Whatever you need."

Expelling the breath he'd been holding, Blair slumped down in the chair.

"Thanks, Jim. Thanks."

" Honey, I want to be there. You need me there."

Blair took Naomi's hand and led her away from his partner. "Mom, I need you to be with Jim. He's not feeling well, and yes," he put two fingers on her lips, "before you say it, I'd be very uncomfortable with you there today. And no, Mom, I can't explain it. Other than I worry about you. Please? Stay with Jim?"

"But what about you? You need someone--" "Mom, this afternoon is a slamdunk. Honest. Please, do this for me?"

Seeing the need in his eyes, Naomi nodded. "All right, honey."

Blair smiled and with a wicked thought, said, "I know just the thing for Jim. The trolley tour of Old Boston. You up for that?"

Looking at her son with suspicion, Naomi said doubtfully, "The trolley tour? But if Jim doesn't feel--"

"Oh, Mom, trust me, that is exactly what he needs. You guys did Boston Harbor, but I'm betting you didn't have time for, say, Old Ironsides? Jim would love that. Besides, the tour is long enough, that you can end up back here and I'm betting I'll be done. How does that sound?"

Still looking doubtful, Naomi said, "If that's what you think would please Jim, then that's what we'll do."

"Good. We'll meet right here, around five thirty, okay?"

"All right, honey."

Simon raised his hand and the taxi pulled in next to the curb. The driver jumped out, took Simon's bag and put it in the trunk, then said cheerily, "Where to, Sir?"

"The McCormack Courthouse, please."

Simon slid his long legs in and the cabbie shut his door, then ran around to his side, jumped in, and with little to no preamble, let alone mirror use, the guy pulled out into airport traffic.

As Simon held on for dear life and the cab swerved, swayed, veered, and sped, he wondered what the hell he was doing here. He had work to do, a department to run. Yet -- here he was in a cab hell bent on killing him, on his way to a courthouse in Boston, Massachusetts. Would somebody please tell him why?

Damn, it wasn't like Sandburg needed him, right? Hell no. Sandburg had his mother and Jim. Naomi had Sandburg and Jim. Jim had -- Sandburg. So who the hell needed Simon in this mess?

The cab screeched to a stop, the front wheels inches past the crosswalk. Gee, a red light. How thoughtful of him to stop, Simon thought wryly.

Okay, back to why he was here and fuck if he knew. But truth was, when his gut burned and his mind yelled -- he listened. And that was why he was here. His gut had been screaming "Sandburg" for two days. Okay, okay, in reality, it had been screaming, "Sandburg needs you!"

The cab was moving again and Simon considered taking a Dramamine. Air sickness in a cab? Who'd a thunk it. An eternity later the cab pulled up in front of a huge old building.

"Here ya go, Sir. That'll be $23.50." The man jumped out, opened Simon's door then retrieved his baggage from the trunk. He set it down and took the money from Simon's fingers. "Have a good day, Sir."

Yeah, right. Simon watched the cab take off, not unlike a 747.

He turned, gazed up at the building, then proceeded inside. It took him only a few minutes to discover the courtroom. As he entered the elevator, he checked his watch. It was almost three.

The hallway was empty as he stepped out, courtroom 110 to his right, the only courtroom in that direction. Simon squared his shoulders and opened the doors. As he stood for a moment, just inside, he thought wildly, "What if Sandburg isn't even here?" but a moment later, he spotted him. Quietly and unobtrusively, Simon slid in beside his observer.

Blair was finding this part of the trial fascinating, but then, he always did. So far, Caulfield had taken Jenny Lawes through her credentials, her history and background, and her education. Now he was giving her time to explain to the jury, in relatively simple terms, the difference between pattern types in identifying fingerprints. The jury learned about whorls, arches and loops. They learned that finding matching whorls, arches or loops were called hits and that the number of hits (six or more in most cases) constituted a match.

He'd asked how many she'd found that matched the defendant and the jury learned there'd been nine matches on a print left on the bag found on the kitchen table and ten hits on the print found on Daniel Ojeda's car.

The jury discovered that latents were those prints that were not matched to the people whose prints should have been found, like Daniel Ojeda, Naomi Sandburg and Blair Sandburg. They also discovered that some prints could never be matched due to skin oil that marred the print or the surface the print was left on. They also discovered that back in '73, many of the techniques used in today's forensic labs, did not exist.

After forty minutes of pretty convincing testimony, Caulfield relinquished his witness to the defense.

Blair watched Gordon Parks take his place at the podium and open his notebook.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lawes. My name is Gordon Parks and I represent the defendant, Lionel Patterson. I just have a few questions for you."

He smiled and while Lawes nodded, her body language made her real feelings about defense lawyers well known. Blair almost grinned.

"I'm wondering, Miss Lawes, if you could let the court know how often you're tested? You are tested in your abilities, are you not?"

Jenny, a tall statuesque redhead, nodded primly. "Yes, we're tested once a year." "Could you tell us the last time you were tested prior to the handling of this case?"

Jenny coughed, then said, "Three months prior."

"What does the exam entail?"

"We're given a series of latents, along with several knowns--"

"Knowns, Miss Lawes?"

"I'm sorry, that just means identified prints."

"Thank you. Go on."

"We try to find matches."

"I see. How did you do in your last exam?"

"I passed."

Parks flipped a few pages of his book, his eyes downcast as he said easily, "The first time?"

Jenny Lawes gave a small shake of her head, then remembering that she needed to be verbal, said softly, "No."

"Out of how many attempts to match the first time, did you succeed?"

"There were ten, I matched -- four. But the second time--"

"Thank you, Miss Lawes." Parks walked over to the evidence table and picked up three cans of beer that had been put into evidence during the testimony of one of the detectives. "Miss Lawes, were any prints found on these cans this time around?"

"None that could be used. As I explained earlier, some prints can't be matched due to either the material itself or the oils on the skin of the individual leaving the print."

"I see. So we have no fingerprint evidence linking these cans to the defendant, correct?"

"That is correct. But we have the bag the cans came in--"

Parks' head shot up. "Your Honor, please--"

Judge Silverton raised his hand. "I know, Councilor." He turned to face the witness. "Miss Lawes, please restrict your comments to asked questions only."

She nodded, but even Blair could see the twinkle in her eye. She'd managed to remind the jury that while Patterson's prints weren't on the cans, they had been on the bag carrying the cans.

Parks started in again but Blair missed his next question as a large shadow loomed over him. He glanced up and nearly choked as Simon slid into the seat beside him. Stunned, all Blair could do was stare at the man, who stared right back. Smiling.

Finally, feeling his throat constrict, Blair slowly turned his attention back to the trial.

"Any redirect, Mr. Caulfield?"

"Yes, your Honor." Caulfield stood and once again approached the podium. He smiled and adjusted his glasses as he asked, "Miss Lawes, do you have a supervisor in Forensics?"

"Yes. Kenneth Putzier."

"What would one of his jobs be, regarding his people and the identification of fingerprints?"

"All our findings go to him as well as to others."

"For what purpose?"

"To double check our work. To confirm our hits."

"Were your hits confirmed with regard to your matches of latents in the Daniel Ojeda murder case to the defendant, Lionel Patterson?"

"Yes."

"By whom?"

"By my boss, Mr. Putzier and two other experts."

"Thank you, Miss Lawes. That's all I have."

Judge Silverton dismissed her and as she stepped down and exited the courtroom, he said, "Mr. Caulfield, are you ready to call your next witness?"

"I am, your Honor. The Commonwealth calls Mr. Blair Sandburg."

The murmur that spread throughout the fairly crowded courtroom was loud enough for the Judge to be forced to use his gavel. But he couldn't stop all the heads from turning to view the man who had been the -- boy.

Blair heard his name and still -- he was unprepared. He gave a physical start, then a soft voice in his ear encouraged, "It's okay, Blair. You're not alone."

Blair's heart calmed as his blue-eyed gaze met Simon's earnest browns. Slowly, Blair stood, then moved sideways past Simon, who immediately squeezed his arm in reassurance. Their gazes met again and Blair was surprised by the amount of affection he saw mirrored back at him.

He blinked, straightened, then moved out into the aisle.

Blair was sworn in, then he took his seat. The clerk asked him to state his name for the record, which he did, quietly but firmly. He knew all eyes were on him, comparing him to the boy they'd been hearing so much about. It was strange, knowing that these people had seen so much of the boy he'd been, like his cowboy boots, toy rifle, and his precious play space under the stairs. Now the jury was faced with the boy grown to a man.

Caulfield was smiling at him and as Blair finished, he said, "Mr. Sandburg, I know this is not going to be easy for you. We're delving back in history and bringing up painful memories, but I'll try to make this as painless as possible, all right?"

"Thank you."

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Sandburg?"

"I'm an anthropolgist, currently working towards my doctorate at Rainier University in Cascade, Washington."

"I see. Is that all?"

"I'm -- also an observer with the Cascade Police Department."

Blair had to credit the man. He'd just successfully implanted in the brains of the jury that with his background, he was undoubtedly a very credible witness, even if what he was called upon to remember -- was twenty-five years in the past.

"Mr. Sandburg, can you tell us what happened on the night of June 6, 1973?"

Blair was ready for this. It was what he and Caulfield had discussed. For Naomi, Caulfield would question, but for Blair - he would just allow him to tell the events in his own words, questioning only for effect or clarification.

Blair took a deep, and what he hoped was unobserved, breath, then said, "My -- Daniel woke me up and said that it was time to go pick up my mother at work--" "Do you remember where she worked, Blair?"

The use of his first name brought the members of the jury forward in their seats.

"She was a waitress, part time. I don't remember the name, but it was Mexican. She used to bring me tacos and quesadillas." Blair smiled in memory. "So you got up and?"

"Danny got me into my parka and I think I put on my rain boots--"

Caulfield picked up a photograph that had been entered into evidence earlier. "Blair, would you look at this for us?"

He handed over the photo. Blair took it and glanced down.

"How many coats appear in that photo, Blair?"

"There are two."

"Is one of them your parka?"

Blair nodded. "Yes. It was on the back of the kitchen chair but in this photo, it's on the floor of the kitchen."

Caulfield took the photo and with a quick look at the Judge, handed it to Juror number one. Again, Blair had to give the man credit. With one photo, not previously explained, he'd given credence to Blair's memory.

"So," Caulfield asked, as the jurors took their turns looking at the photo, "what happened after Daniel got you ready?"

"We headed outside to the carport. Danny was -- carrying me. We were almost at our garage space when two men rounded the corner and started walking towards us."

"Did Daniel know these men?"

"He whispered to me that it was okay, they were just Louis and Joe, so I guess he did. They came up to us and Danny put me down. One of the men, Joe, I think, knelt down and started talking to me. He noticed my toy -- I'd brought one with me, and while he talked with me, the other man talked with Danny."

"The man you call Joe, did he have anything in his arms?"

"Yes, he carried a bag. I thought it was groceries."

"I see. So what happened then?"

"We walked to the car and got in. I remember being upset because I didn't get to sit up front with Danny. I had to sit in the back with Joe. But it turned out to be okay, he played with me."

"So your father and the man called Louis sat in front and you and the man called Joe sat in the back, correct?"

"Yes."

"Did you go to pick up your mother?"

"No. I'm not sure why, but Danny said something like, "No, we won't go pick her up now" and Sam said something about going inside and having a beer."

"Anything else happen in the car, Blair?"

"I was -- kind of -- antsy, climbing down off the seat and onto the floor, then back up. The man in front asked Joe to keep me still, that I was kicking his seat. Joe reached over and picked me up, he was laughing, and I saw--"

Blair paused then and for the first time, his emotions leaked through. He gulped, then looked around for the water. He spotted the carafe, looked up quizzically at the Judge, who nodded sympathetically. Blair poured, took a much needed sip, then as he put down the paper cup, he said, "That's when I saw a gun."

"Let me make sure we understand, Blair. When Joe picked you up off the floor, you could see a gun?"

"Yes. It was in front of Louis, on the glove compartment."

"Did your father own a gun, Blair?"

Parks lifted his head and said quietly, "Objection, Your Honor. How could a four year old know if Daniel Ojeda owned a gun?"

Judge Silverton nodded slightly, then said, "Objection sustained. Mr. Caulfield, maybe you'd like to rephrase?"

"Yes, Your Honor." He turned back to Blair. "Blair, did you ever see a gun in your home?"

"No, never. And my mother would never have allowed it."

"Objection, Your Honor--"

"Objection sustained. Mr. Sandburg, yes or no answers unless otherwise asked, please?"

"Sorry, Judge."

"Go ahead, Mr. Caulfield," the Judge said with a nod.

"So you never saw a gun at home, correct?"

"That's correct."

"Did you ever see a gun in the car before?"

"No."

"Blair, did you ever open the glove compartment while riding in the car?"

"Yes, many times, to Danny's -- dismay." Blair smiled again and it was clear the memory was a good one.

"And you never saw a gun?"

"No. Just my toys and I used to pull out Danny's sunglasses and put them on. They were too big. He also kept gum in there -- for me. Mom didn't like me chewing, so he hid it there."

Smiling now himself, Caulfield nodded. The jury, also grinning, nodded right along with him. "So, you saw a gun. What happened next?"

"Um, Danny got out and so did the other man. Joe got me out and we started walking toward our home. I remember Danny and Louis were behind me and Joe was carrying me and the bag. I looked over my shoulder and I could see the gun, in Louis' hand. Joe said something like, "Don't worry, nothing's going to happen" or something like that. Then he put me down and handed me the bag and said I could carry it."

"Did you?"

"Yes. I remember feeling like a big kid. It was heavy, but I carried it all the way."

"So all of you got back to the apartment. What happened then?"

"Well, Joe took the bag and put it on the table, helped me out of the parka and rain boots and then Danny told me to go play and I went to my special space--"

"That's the spot under the stairs, correct?"

"Yes."

Caulfield turned to the posterboard that was still standing behind him. He pointed to one large photo that showed the entrance to the apartment and the staircase. "Is this the spot, Blair?"

"Yes."

"So you could see into the kitchen from here, correct?"

"Easily. I was almost directly across from it."

"Okay, so you went here and played. What happened then?"

"Joe came over and sat down on the floor and started to play with me. Danny sat in the kitchen with Louis."

"Blair, do you remember where each of them sat?" As he spoke, he turned back to the photo and the four chairs that sat arou