"What about Dana Porter?" Stibbs asked, as Ellison placed the third photo on the desk.
"I don't believe there was any motive behind Dana Porter's murder besides being a red herring. We were unable to find any connection between them. This young woman just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Mr Chomski, you are also being held in the murder of three other women who were found strangled in 1971 at a music festival in Meadow Park, California. Two police officers who began that investigation will be in Cascade tomorrow, along with DNA evidence that will be used to corroborate your involvement. Your cousin, Andrew Stibbs, has confirmed that in 1971 he advised you that he was worried that one of the young women who were killed, a resident of the nearby town who had been hired to sell tickets, would tell her family that he was selling drugs when he discovered she was a devout Christian. Mr Stibbs claims he had no idea you were responsible for that murder or the next two. According to your cousin, the last time he saw the second girl who was killed was when you grabbed your girlfriend Naomi's small son and dragged him off because he was crying when you were wanting to get some sleep. Mr Stibbs saw her go after you, trying to interfere. When the child went missing, your cousin thought at first that maybe you had killed the girl and the child, but when Naomi's son showed up, obviously unharmed, Mr Stibbs then believed that something else must have happened to the girl, as you had assured him you were not responsible and indeed another male at the concert was the guilty party."
Chomski said nothing during Ellison's long speech, then laughed and looked at his cousin. "Are you serious with this? This is ridiculous."
"Is it?" Stibbs asked. "So when you were offering me an alibi the other night, you were really offering one for yourself, knowing I would back up your claims."
Chomski fell silent. At last he looked to Ellison. "I believe I have nothing to say until I can talk with a lawyer."
"Probably a good move," Blair Sandburg drawled from his chair near the door.
Chomski stared at him. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
"I said the same thing," Andrew Stibbs said, "but I can't put my finger on it."
"Maybe some concert you did a long time ago," Sandburg said, pushing up from the chair.
Ellison joined him at the door. "If you'll excuse us, the concert has begun so Detectives Brown and Rafe will quietly escort you two gentlemen to the police station. My partner's had a long day, and I'd like to make sure he gets home early tonight."
As Ellison and Sandburg headed down the hallway, those in the office could still hear them talking.
"I'm feeling okay, Jim. Let's just grab some seats. The first group has an album out that I was listening to recently. They're amazing, all guitars from Guadalajara. You've got to hear them."
"You're still sick and congested. You need to take the pills the doctor gave you and get to bed early."
"Early? It's only 7:15. Geez, I'm not two years old. There's still plenty of time to see the concert and be home by eleven o'clock."
"Absolutely not--"
"Says who?"
"Says me."
"Yeah, you and what army?"
"Your mother."
"Oh."
"Don't piss her off, Chief."
"Yeah, well."
"Don't piss me off, either, Chief. It's been a long two days and I didn't get a lot of sleep."
"Okay -- what about just one piece, huh? They're awesome, man--"
The voices faded out, and Detective Brown motioned for the two men to get up. As they headed out the office door, they heard from the stairwell. "Jim! Ouch, not the hair, man. Okay, okay. Home it is! You win."
* * * * *
They sat in the truck outside the loft, listening to the rain crashing down around them.
Jim reached over and tugged his dozing partner over to him, wrapping his arms around him again. "I'm going to miss that little boy."
"Yeah? Well, he's here, just a little older," Blair murmured sleepily, leaning against his sentinel's shoulder, relieved beyond words to be back with him again.
"It's not the same though."
Blair smiled. "What will you miss?"
"Oh, stuff we shared. He was an awesome detective, although he was a little fixated by water bottle pull tabs. He connected us to the cocaine ring through them. And he loved my Santana tape -- obviously appreciated fine music. And we ate out a lot."
"What'd you eat?"
Jim reached down with one hand and pulled something from the floor of the truck. "Fwies."
Blair laughed and moved away from Jim long enough to turn and face him. "Thank you."
"For--"
"Taking care of me. Then. Now. Then and now."
"You're welcome." Ellison closed his eyes, listening to the rain. "You were always with me. Even as a little child, you were my guide. You trusted me even when you had no idea who I was."
"I've always known I could trust you."
"One day, maybe I'll learn to trust myself," Ellison murmured. The rain continued to fall, almost lulling the two men to sleep. Jim sat up finally. "We've looked backwards, Chief. Let's look forwards, now." He ruffled Blair's hair affectionately.
With sighs in unison, they opened their doors to the truck and ran together through the pouring rain into their future.
~ The End ~
A Step Backwards Page 16