by K Ryn
"Here, maybe this will help."
Jim looked up. Simon was standing next to him, offering a cup of coffee.
"Thanks." Jim sipped at the hot liquid gratefully.
"They're checking the last two floors now," Simon said softly, crouching beside him. "But it doesn't look good." He paused and glanced out over the rooftop for a moment, then shifted his attention back to Jim. "Unless we find something down there to give us another lead, we're going to have to consider that whoever was after him, found him. If they did, he's probably dead. We may never find a body."
Jim's jaw clenched and he stared down into the steaming cup. "I can't accept that, Simon." Jim's voice was quiet, filled with determination. "I won't accept it. Not until I know for sure."
"Jim..."
"He was here, Simon! He made it this far. We know that the JD found him. Maybe someone else did too."
"Someone besides the ones that wanted him dead, you mean. Jim, we don't have any proof of that."
"We have this," Jim said firmly, holding up the small toy.
"I know what Sandburg means to you, but you're grasping at straws."
"And I'll keep grasping at anything that might lead us to him, until we find him. Someone left this. Once we figure out who..."
Simon's radio chirped, interrupting Jim's comment. "Banks... yeah, we'll be right there. Come on," he said, quickly clicking off the radio and rising to his feet. "They've found someone's campsite on the third floor."
"Don't worry, I'll take care of you."
No... don't... please... it hurts... Pain... Falling...
"Stay quiet... stay safe..."
Jim... he's coming... no... don't shoot...
"It hurts," Blair finally murmured out loud, the darkness that had been surrounding him for so long finally ebbing away. He struggled to focus on the huge figure that knelt next to him, but the pounding in his head made it impossible. At least the voice sounded friendly, not like...
Blair gasped, eyes widening in terror as fragments of confused and frightening memories flashed through his mind. "They're coming... they're after me..."
"No one will find you here, I promise," the soothing voice responded.
"Jim..." Propelled by a frantic sense of urgency, Blair tried to sit up. The movement sent the familiar blackness surging over him again, along with a renewal of the pain.
"Easy."
"Jim... shot me... I need... help..." He stumbled over the words as the pain sent him tumbling back into the dark hole he'd just climbed out of.
"Don't worry," soothed the voice. "I'll help."
Pain... Jim... no... don't... Darkness
Simon and Jim dashed down the steps and were met by a uniformed officer at the stairwell door. He directed them toward the south end of the building, where Ryan's team was sorting through the mess. What appeared to be just another group of haphazardly stacked crates, turned out to be the "campsite" that they'd discovered. It was more than just a temporary rest stop, Jim realized quickly. It was a permanent living quarters -- at least as permanent as any of the homeless could manage. There were piles of torn magazines, bags of tin cans and odd pieces of junk, stacked in neat piles. Jim scanned the area, seeking some clue that might connect this place, or its occupant, to Blair.
"Looks like someone's been living here for some time," reported one of the officers. "We found a whole box full of photos and old bills. All addressed to a William Temian."
"Think it's our John Doe?" Jim nodded. He turned his attention to sorting through a bundle of clothes that had been tossed onto a blanket-covered mattress. It was the messy pile that had drawn his attention -- so at odds with the order he saw everywhere else. He unrolled a ragged jacket and a handful of items dropped onto the blanket. Jim picked up one of the objects -- it was another of Blair's fishing lures.
"He must have found Sandburg upstairs, taken his jacket, come back here and stashed everything else. Then he left, unaware that someone was hunting for whoever was wearing that coat."
"They found the body about seven blocks from here. Let's see if the coroner's finished his report yet."
While Simon contacted the morgue, Jim started searching the rest of the area, intent on seeing if he could find any of the small, wooden toys in the man's collection. He froze when he felt a shiver run down his spine, like a warning or a premonition of danger. He raised his head abruptly, hunting for the cause. His gaze settled on Ryan, who was digging through a box of papers.
Jim studied him carefully. He'd been so focused on his own search that he'd been only vaguely aware of the man's presence, but now that he thought about it, he realized that Ryan had been watching him closely. Why?Probably because you've been acting strangely. The other cops in the department had grown used to "Ellison's lucky hunches". Ryan was new to the group. Jim shook his head, pushing away the distracting thoughts. By the time Simon had finished his call, Jim had gone through everything . He'd found no trace of another carving.
"They're still running some tests, but we've got the preliminary reports." Simon announced. "Cause of death was two .38 slugs in the back. They came from your gun."
Jim just nodded, not surprised at the news. "Could they tell if he died where they found him? Or was he killed somewhere else and dumped there?"
"Blood at the scene was consistent with that being the location of death. Time of death is being set at 5:00 am."
Jim's eyes narrowed and he rose slowly to his feet, his mind racing. "You talked to Blair at 4:00, right?"
"Just a couple of minutes after."
"I figure it took Sandburg fifteen or twenty minutes to make it this far. Forty minutes later, our John Doe was killed. What time did the report come in on my truck?"
"About 5:30. Where are you going with this?"
"If the JD was killed at 5:00, they would have had only thirty minutes to get my gun and keys back on me and put my truck at the dock. They wouldn't have had time to return and search for Sandburg, even if they'd realized that they'd made a mistake and killed the wrong man."
"They could have come back afterwards," Simon argued.
"I don't think so. You had men covering the neighborhood by what... 4:30? They were still chasing the wrong man at that point. And there wouldn't have been any reason to kill this guy if they already had Sandburg."
"More straws Jim?" Simon asked softly. "All right, let's go with that scenario for the moment. That still doesn't tell us what happened to Sandburg. If the JD didn't stash him away somewhere and the killers didn't find him, then where is he?"
"There was someone else here. Someone big enough to carry Blair away. Someone who makes these," Jim added, holding up the carved toy.
"But who?"
"That's what we need to find out," said Jim grimly. "And I think I know who to ask."
"I have to go for a while..."
No... don't... find... Jim... needs me... needs... his Guide...
"No one will find you here. It will be all right. I promise you."
Run... Escape... Pain... Jim... where are you?... Jim... no, don't shoot... Darkness...
Jim directed Simon to an intersection nearly ten blocks away.
"Just who are we looking for?" Simon asked, as he eased his car through the traffic.
"Crazy Addy," Jim replied, scanning the sidewalks.
"Crazy Addy?"
"I don't know her real name," Jim explained. "She's sort of a fixture in the neighborhood."
"Another street person."
"She considers this her turf. She knows everyone who lives on it. Even the transients. And she knows Blair."
"Now why doesn't that surprise me? So you're hoping she'll know our John Doe... Temian?"
"He's been set up in that warehouse for a while," Jim said, nodding. "She'll know him. More importantly I hope she'll know who he hung around with. Who he'd let close to his space."
"Whoever made that little toy..."
Jim stiffened as he caught sight of a familiar shopping cart on the sidewalk ahe
ad. "Slow down. Pull over here... that's her rig."
Simon eased the car to the curb and Jim got out, scanning the sidewalk.
"You see her?"
"Not yet, but she can't be far. She wouldn't leave Buffy," Jim gestured to a stuffed orange dog that was perched on top of the cart.
"Buffy?" Simon asked skeptically.
"There she is," Jim announced abruptly, heading into a narrow alleyway. "Addy!"
Simon saw a short, elderly woman look up in response to the name. Her face was lined with wrinkles and Simon wondered whether she was 50 or 150. She eyed Jim suspiciously for a moment as he moved toward her, then her ancient face cracked into a toothless grin.
"Jimmy!" She wobbled forward to give him a hug. She glanced beyond Jim expectantly, and the smile of greeting changed to one of disappointment. "Where's the kid?"
"That's what I want to talk to you about Addy. Blair's missing. And he's hurt. I need your help to find him."
"Now who'd want to hurt that sweet boy," Addy muttered, picking absently at her scarf.
"Some very dangerous men. And they've hurt someone else too. Someone you may know."
The old woman whimpered, fear shifting across her face. "Someone hurt Addy's friends?"
"There was someone living in the old Edmunds warehouse, Addy. Someone who liked to collect things."
"Neat Freddy? They hurt Neat Freddy?"
"I'm not sure of his name," Jim answered, squeezing her arm in gentle consolation. "He's down at the station. In the morgue. Will you come down and identify him?"
"Don't want to see no dead bodies."
"Addy," Jim said soothingly. "The man that was killed was wearing Blair's jacket. We think that the men that killed him, thought he was Blair."
"I told him... I told him to be careful..." Addy shook her head in dismay and looked curiously up at Jim. "I thought you said you'd take care of him, Jimmy."
Simon saw Jim flinch as if he'd been struck.
"I'm trying to Addy. That's why I need to find him. The men who killed your friend, who hurt Blair, are still out there."
"Won't go look at dead bodies,' Addy repeated.
"All right," Jim temporized. "Tell me about Freddy. Tell me who he trusted."
The old woman looked at Simon dubiously, then glanced at Jim. "Freddy didn't trust no one."
Frustrated, Jim suddenly remembered the small toy and pulled it from his pocket. "Addy, I found this in the warehouse... where Blair was..." he handed it to her and saw a glimmer of recognition in her face. "You've seen one of these before, haven't you?"
"Little Boy's," she whispered conspiratorially. "He makes 'em. Leaves 'em in trade when he takes something."
Jim exchanged a quick look with Simon. "Addy, we tracked Blair as far as the warehouse. I think your friend Freddy found him there. But he's not there any longer. Would Little Boy have gone there? Maybe to visit Freddy?"
"Maybe," Addy murmured cautiously.
"Would Little Boy have helped Blair if he found him? Would he have taken him some place?"
"If Little Boy took him then he's okay."
"Addy, Blair's hurt," Jim repeated. "He's been shot . I need to find him and get him to a hospital."
"Little boy wouldn't hurt Blair. He'd help him. He's big, and he's not too smart, but he's always collecting things that are hurt. Tries to make 'em better. Saw a kitty he'd found once. He showed it to me. He was awful sad when it died."
"Do you know where he lives, Addy?" asked Jim anxiously. "Do you know where I can find him?"
"He don't trust no one either. He moves around a lot."
"I bet you know where to look."
Addy's expression became troubled. "Secret. Promised I wouldn't tell."
Jim closed his eyes for a moment, fighting off a wave of weariness and frustration.
"Jimmy sad?" Addy asked softly.
"Addy, if you don't help me, Blair will die," he whispered , his voice full of pain. "And Little Boy could get hurt too. The men who shot Blair already murdered one man in error. They won't care about killing another."
Addy plucked at her scarf nervously and shuffled her feet. "Can't tell where he lives," she said finally. "I promised... and I always keep my promises."
Jim's shoulders sagged as he realized that she meant what she said. He'd tried his best to persuade her...
"But I can tell you where he is now," she added, her face lighting in a smile. "He's not home now. So I won't be breaking my promise."
"You know where he is, right now?" Simon took control as Jim just stood there, surprised by the fast turn of events.
"Every day like clockwork," she rambled, grinning now. "He feeds the pigeons at the little park."
"The little park... the one behind the diner?" Jim asked, recovering his wits finally.
"He's kinda shy you see," Addy whispered conspiratorially again. "Don't like strangers."
"Thank you Addy," Jim murmured, giving her a hug. "Just one more thing. How will I recognize him?"
Addy cackled and stared up at him grinning. "Why you just look up Jimmy. You just look up."
Minutes later, Simon screeched to a stop in front of a small diner. Jim sprang from the car and ran toward the back, coming to a halt just as he approached the far corner of the building. Simon was only a step behind him and peered around Jim's shoulder.
"This is a park?"
Simon saw only an old park bench and a pot with dead flowers amidst the normal debris in the alley. A small flock of pigeons fluttered and cooed, picking at the ground around the iron seat.
"The old man who owns the diner has an odd sense of humor." Jim heard a soft shuffling noise, and then a man came ambling into view. He was at least six inches taller than Jim and nearly 50 pounds heavier.
"Must be the guy who gave him that nickname," Simon murmured, staring at the approaching figure.
Jim nodded and strained to look closer. He immediately realized where the nickname came from when he saw the slack features and the man's enlarged, almost distorted head. "Downs Syndrome or maybe FAS," he thought to himself, recalling Addy's comments.
Motioning for Simon to stay where he was, Jim shifted around the corner and walked casually toward the bench, anxious not to frighten the man. Easing himself down on the seat, he pulled out the small toy, holding it in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Little Boy lurch to a stop.
"It's okay..." Jim called out softly. "I'm a friend of Addy's."
Little Boy watched him uncertainly. Jim struggled to keep his own impatience from showing. He couldn't afford to lose this man.
"This is very good," he said, holding up the toy and examining it closely before he shifted his gaze to the bigger man. "It must take a lot of work to make them."
A tentative smile flickered across Little Boy's face and he took a step closer. "Long time."
"I understand you come here every day." Jim caught the suspicious look on the man's face and quickly added, "to feed the pigeons."
"Feed the birdies," Little Boy nodded, a relieved expression on his face. He moved another step closer and then stopped, cocking his head to the side as he stared down at Jim curiously. "You're Addy's friend?"
Jim forced himself to lean back into the bench. "I am. I have another friend. He's Addy's friend, too. I think you know him. His name is Blair. Blair Sandburg."
Little Boy stared at him blankly and shook his head. "Don't know," the big man said, dismissing the question. "What's your name?"
Jim told him and tried to lead the conversation back to Blair again. "Are you sure you don't know my friend? I think you met him... early this morning?" He was unprepared for the look of fear that suddenly crossed Little Boy's face.
Little Boy stared at Jim in panic, Blair's confused ramblings ringing in his ears.
"You're... Jim..."
Ellison rose to his feet, uncertain as to why the big man was afraid of him, but convinced that he could lead them to Blair.
"The man you found in the warehouse this
morning... when you left this," he held out the toy. "He's my friend, my partner..."
"You hurt him..." Little Boy protested, taking another step backward.
"No... no I didn't. But there are other men who did. Men who may still be looking for him."
"You go away."
"I can't do that," Jim answered, taking a cautious step toward him. "He's hurt, but I didn't hurt him. I want to help him."
"Little Boy helps." The man backed further away, the fear evident in his voice.
"Just take me to him," Jim pleaded. "I promise you nothing will..."
The explosive discharge of gunfire erupted in the alley. Jim whirled in the direction that the shots had come from . He caught a glimpse of a black van at the far end of the alley, as a bullet whizzed by his ear. Instinctively, he dove forward grabbing Little Boy, trying to push him to safety. The big man pulled out of his grip with surprising ease and thrust Jim away with enough force to slam him into the wall of the diner.
Dazed, Jim heard Simon call out. There was answering fire from his police revolver and then the screeching of tires as the van pulled away. Jarred almost senseless and gasping for breath, Jim slid to the ground. He caught sight of Little Boy lumbering down the alley, but he couldn't persuade his numb limbs to move.
He was suddenly aware of Simon at his side and realized that the gunfire had ceased. "Go... after him..." Simon took one look at Jim and then ran toward the end of the alley where Little Boy had disappeared.
Jim's eyes locked on Simon, who had halted at the end of the alley, glancing left and right. Despair washed through him as he saw his captain turn and shake his head.
Leaning wearily against the side of the building, Jim realized that they'd lost him. And in doing so, they might also have lost Blair.
Running... it's dark... need to get away... they're coming... who are they?... Pain... what do they want?... Pain... don't go out there... they'll catch you... falling... no... Jim, where's Jim?... find him... Pain... it hurts... keep running... you're dead if they catch you... Falling... Falling forever...
Simon jogged back to Jim's side, pulling out his cell phone. "This is Captain Banks... get me dispatch," he barked into the handset, glaring anxiously down at Jim. "You okay?"