"At the August 1971 festival, Ivan Chomski had with him his girlfriend Naomi Sandburg. Her young child was kidnaped--"
"Oh, I remember that concert. It was a nightmare. A couple girls were murdered that weekend--"
"I'll jog your memory. They were strangled."
Stibbs caught his breath and looked up at Ellison. "Strangled," he whispered. "The same as here. Are you accusing me?"
"Interesting coincidence, wouldn't you say?"
* * * * *
Blair looked up at the clouds in the sky, transfixed by one dark one in particular that looked like Jim's skull. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block the sight. His body hurt. He opened his eyes again, but the skull hadn't moved, hollow eyes staring down at him.
Jim was in danger. He knew it. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
Jim. Be careful. Please.
I'm not there to help you.
* * * * *
Stibbs stood up suddenly, his chair falling backwards. "What the hell are you saying? Are you accusing me of killing them? Maybe I do deal some drugs, but I didn't know anything about Donna having a child. And I didn't know Marie was pregnant, either. I'm not spending the rest of my life in jail for something I didn't do!"
"Sit down," Ellison barked at him. He flipped open his cell phone to call into the precinct, glancing down at the number pad.
Stibbs bent as if to fix his chair, but instead quickly reached to open a lower desk drawer.
"Bad Olli," Baby cried out, urgently. "Bad!"
In a blur of action, Ellison dropped his cell phone and had his weapon trained on the man. "Both hands in the air. Do it. Now."
Stibbs made another move for the gun, and Ellison fired a warning shot over the man's shoulder.
"Are you crazy?" Stibbs yelled, raising his hands as Baby began to howl at the escalation of tension in the room. "There's a child in the room!"
"Which is why I prefer to be the one with the gun. Close the drawer with your knee, and put both hands flat on the desk."
Stibbs did so, his hands shaking. "The gun's just for protection. I've no idea how to use it," he said, sweat pooling on his face, as he gasped for air.
"Protection? From who?"
"I've been getting some threatening mail. Ivan gave it to me to protect myself."
"Where are the letters?"
"In my safety deposit box." Stibbs looked like he was ready to join Baby crying and covered his eyes. "Why would someone go after me? I'm a dying man."
"What?"
"I've got cancer. Maybe have a couple months to live at most. My doctor will verify it, if you don't believe me. I've made my share of enemies over the years, but most of them know that if they wait a few months, I'll be gone and out of their hair, so to speak," he said, running his hand over his bald head, with a rueful laugh. "The chemotherapy took my hair," he explained. And this time, he did start crying as the backup team burst into the office.
* * * * *
When Blair opened his eyes again, the menacing cloud had changed from a skull into a-- what was that? Looked like double arches of some kind. McDonald's?
Jim.
Blair got to his feet and stumbled away from the creek towards the outdoor toilets on the far side of the stage. Realizing he wasn't going to make it, he ducked behind the platform, falling to his knees as he violently expelled the one and a half hot dogs he'd consumed. His bruised ribs flared in pain and his abused stomach muscles spasmed as another round of vomiting shook him.
He rolled away from the mess, shivering, huddled in a ball, his entire body aching from the violent heaving.
Jim. Damn it, Jim. I want to come home.
* * * * *
Ellison took the sobbing child out into the hallway. Stibbs was in shock in his office, and the backup officers had things under control. They would escort Stibbs to the police station.
Meanwhile, Ellison had a distraught child to deal with. He rocked him, murmuring calming words, but the child clung to his neck, deep sobs shaking him as he cried for his mother. Slowly Ellison walked outside to the truck, pausing only to talk to Detectives Brown and Rafe who had just arrived and were concerned that something had happened to their little friend. "He's okay. Listen, read Stibbs his rights and take him down to police headquarters, but be careful with him. He's a suspect at this point."
The officers went inside the building while Ellison walked up and down the sidewalk outside the Emerald Theater until Baby finally stopped crying and lay quietly against him, limp as a rag doll. "Hey, you okay?" he asked softly.
"Want mama."
"How about some fries?"
"No. Want mama."
Damn it. Ellison sighed and opened his driver's side door. He placed the child on the bench seat. "I need to make another call, then we'll go home, okay?"
Baby nodded and curled onto the seat, sniffing, his thumb in his mouth, one hand wrapped around the bottom of the steering wheel. "Dim's twuk," he whispered around the thumb.
Ellison leaned into the truck and gently stroked the wild curls until the little boy was asleep. "Thanks, little guy. You saved my life in there."
He leaned against the doorway, letting the adrenaline work its way through his system as he stared at the small child. What do I do with you? I can't keep you. What do I know about raising kids?
But how could he let him go? Whether he was two-years-old or twenty-nine, Blair Sandburg was his guide. And he knew he needed his guide. And his guide needed him.
Whether you're twenty-nine or two-years-old.
Brown and Rafe came outside of the Emerald Theater, along with the backup team escorting Andrew Stibbs. They quickly got him into the back of the unmarked police car and out of sight before the neighborhood noticed. There was still the matter of the killer out there, for Ellison was convinced that Stibbs was not the murderer.
Ellison left the driver's door open as he walked around to the back of the truck. He stared at his phone for a long moment, then dialed the loft.
She answered. "Hello."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Naomi, it's Jim."
"How's Baby?" she asked immediately. "Is everything all right?"
"He's fine. Tired. Wants to go home."
"I'll make him some lunch--"
"He wants to go back, Naomi, not stay here."
Naomi understood what he meant, her voice taking on a sad tone. "I don't know how to do that. Do you?"
Ellison shook his head. "I wish I did." He could feel tears in his eyes. He wanted his guide back, just as much as Baby wanted his mother. "I'll bring him home."
"Jim, I'm going to go to the local market and pick up a few things he might want to eat. I won't be long."
He closed his cellphone and leaned against the truck, rubbing his forehead.
The pressure in his temples slowly began to ease, as though a weight was lifted from his shoulders.
"Jim?"
Ellison froze.
"Jim?"
He turned his head to see his guide standing by the truck door. Blair was bruised, beaten, his hair matted and dirty, wearing an inside out sweatshirt and dusty gray sweat pants . . . and he had never looked so beautiful.
In two steps, Ellison had him in his arms, holding him close. "Chief," he whispered. The tears of his guide fell damp on his shirt where the tears of the toddler still lingered. "Chief." He's back he's back he's back
"Are you okay, Jim? Are you okay?" Blair was crying from relief. "I was so worried. I couldn't help you. You had died and there was this corpse and I knew you were in trouble and I couldn't do anything."
"You did help me. You saved my life. You always have taken care of me, Chief. I'm fine," he said, his face buried in his guide's hair.
He pulled away and looked at the shaking young man, then took charge and settled him back on the front seat. His hands ran over his guide's body, slipping beneath the sweatshirt to check his ribs and stomach.
Sandburg remained silent throughout the examin
ation, but grabbed hold of his sentinel again afterwards, wrapping his arms around the man's neck in an exhausted hold. "I thought I'd never get home again. That I'd never see you again."
"You're back. Let's go home," Ellison murmured, rubbing circles on his guide's back.
Sandburg tried to keep his eyes open as he finally released the detective. "The case. I have some information."
"We'll take a few hours and get everything sorted. Right now, you're back where you're supposed to be. I need some time to enjoy that, okay?"
Sandburg smiled. He watched silently as Ellison moved around to the passenger side, removed a child's car seat, and tossed it in the back of the truck. Ellison helped him slide along the front seat, then started to buckle him in.
"I can do that, Jim."
"Force of habit. Indulge me." Ellison kept his eye on him as he walked around the front of the truck and got in the driver's seat, as though his guide might suddenly disappear again. He started the truck and turned to say something to Sandburg, but his guide was already asleep, one hand latched around the edge of Ellison's jacket.
* * * * *
With a minimum of fuss, the sentinel got his guide into the loft and into a warm sudsy bathtub.
Blair half disappeared under the bubbles, luxuriating in the sensation. "Hmmmm."
"Don't go to sleep on me," Jim warned.
"Hmmmm," he responded, unable to get anything more intelligent past his lips.
"Want anything?"
"Tea?" he managed. "Weak tea?"
"Ginger okay?" Jim called from the kitchen.
"Hmmmm," he replied, closing his eyes again. He reopened them only when Jim returned with the tea, then sat on the closed toilet seat and watched him.
"You're not going to always watch me when I have a bath, are you? Kinda weird, Jim."
"Indulge me."
"That's what you said before."
"Don't you ever do that to me again."
Something caught his eye, and Blair leaned forward to grab a plastic duck from the side of the tub. "What's this?"
He looked up at Jim in time to see a haunted expression pass over the man's face.
"Was I really here? As a kid?" he asked. "Jim?"
The sentinel nodded slowly. "Two-years-old."
"And you took care of me?"
"Naomi was here for part of it, but yeah, I took care of you. Simon even helped."
"Wish I could remember it."
"Probably better you didn't."
Blair muffled a cough as he slid under the water, relieved that Jim didn't instantly drag him out. He emerged again, reaching for the shampoo only to have it placed in his hand. "Thanks." He massaged his scalp carefully, happy that the bump on his head had gone down.
Jim got up and left suddenly. "I'll leave you to it," he said quickly as he disappeared out the door, looking definitely a little misty-eyed.
Blair moved a little quicker, rinsed the shampoo from his hair, then applied the conditioner and cleaned the rest of him while it processed. He stood to turn the shower on when the door to the bathroom opened.
"How's my little baby--" Naomi began, then screamed a very un-Naomi-like scream, staring at him. "Jim!!!" she yelled, as Blair grabbed the shower curtain, yanking it closed. He could hear them on the other side as he rinsed the conditioner and soap from his very refreshed body. Even his cold seemed to have cleared. Amazing what being home did for someone.
"Jim!"
"I know, Naomi. He's back."
"How-- how?"
"Just appeared. Let's let him finish up here without an audience."
"Jim -- he's here! Where's my baby, though?"
"Back with his mother, right, Naomi?"
"Oh." His mother sounded so sad that Blair knew she was going to have to do a lot of processing to deal with what had happened.
"Come on, let's leave him alone."
"No way, Jim. I'm not letting him out of my sight."
Blair heard the shower curtain rustle as he stood under the steaming cascade of water.
"He doesn't need us watching him, Naomi. I've brought him some clean clothes. Leave the man some dignity and wait for him in the living room."
The door opened, letting in some breeze as she left.
Blair waited a moment, then said very softly, "You still there, Jim?"
"I won't open the curtain."
"Leave the man some dignity and wait for him in the living room."
The door opened again, then closed.
Blair smiled. He was home again.
* * * * *
The Emerald Theater doors were open as the ticket holders filed into the lobby, many heading to the concession stand before going to their seats.
An usher caught sight of the CJJ reporter and headed his way, intercepting him before he went to his seat. "Mr Chomski?"
"Yes?"
"Mr Stibbs asked if you would stop by his office before the concert."
Chomski glanced at his watch. There was still twenty minutes left before the program began. He had time.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he bounded up to his cousin's office, knocking, then quickly entering.
He stopped inside the door, startled. Andrew Stibbs was there, behind the desk, but also the Cascade Police detective Ellison, leaning against one of the filing cabinets, and two other men. "What's this?" he asked.
Ellison pushed away from the cabinet. "Mr Chomski, these are two members of the Cascade police force, Detectives Brown and Rafe."
"What can I do for you gentlemen?"
"Mr Chomski, you are under arrest for the murders of Marsha Martin, Dana Porter and Marie Smythe." Before Ellison could ramble off the Miranda, Chomski burst into action, pulling a gun from his jacket and aiming directly at the sentinel.
"DROP IT!" A voice bellowed behind him, and Chomski felt the barrel of a weapon at his back. With a loud curse, he allowed Detective Brown to take his gun from him while Ellison covered him.
Chomski felt the pressure of the gun at his back leave as another man, with long dark hair, came from behind him to stand next to Ellison
The detective holstered his weapon. "I'd also like to introduce you to my partner, Blair Sandburg."
"Hi," Blair said. "We've met before. Several times, actually."
Chomski glared at him eloquently.
"Feel better?" Ellison asked his partner.
"Yeah, I do. Hopefully no more dreams of Ellison corpses." Sandburg shivered dramatically.
Chomski tried a different tactic. "This is ridiculous. Why would I murder three women?"
"You are the cousin of Andrew Stibbs, a man who you know is dying of cancer. As Mr Stibbs' lawyer has confirmed, his will states that in the event that Andrew Stibbs does not marry, or does not father any children, you are his next living relative, and would stand to inherit not only this business, but the millions of dollars Mr Stibbs has made in the cocaine trade. As such, you planned to step into his shoes and continue a very lucrative side business that has been running successfully in Cascade for the last six years."
Ellison placed a crime photo of Marsha Martin on Stibbs' desk. "Donna Martin has been looking for Andrew Stibbs for the past five years, her search primarily concentrated in San Francisco, unaware he has been in Cascade all this time. Six months ago, she approached the Cascade Jazz Journal and asked to place an ad. She wanted to see if anyone in the music trade would happen to know his whereabouts. When you asked why she was looking for him, she told you that he had fathered her child. You assured her at that time that you would look on her behalf, as you believed he was currently living in Los Angeles. You never placed the ad for her. Knowing your cousin was dying, you then sent Marsha Martin tickets for the Jazz festival, and then killed her, thus eliminating any possible competition to your inheritance."
Ellison then placed Marie Smythe's photo on the desk. "Andrew Stibbs dated Marie Smythe for several months. The relationship did not concern you until you were told of Mr Stibbs' illness. You then began to
seek ways to break off their relationship, especially when you discovered that Marie was pregnant. You told her to wait until after Mr Stibbs' latest chemotherapy session before telling him. You killed her a few nights ago."
A Step Backwards Page 15