Ironside - 'The Draft Dodger' - 5/8
Nov. 16th, 2021 08:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
azombiewritesTitle: The Draft Dodger
Fandom: Ironside [1967 TV Series]
Genre: Crime | Hurt/Comfort | Angst
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Sergeant Ed Brown, Chief Ironside, Officer Fran Belding, Lieutenant Carl Reese, Mark Sanger and Commissioner Dennis Randall.
Disclaimer: Based on the characters created by Collier Young.
Author's Note: Set between S5 E4 'The Gambling Game' and S5 E5 'Ring of Prayer' because I still wanted there to be some conflict between Ed and Fran.
Author's Other Note: Ed Brown was a marine who saw combat in Vietnam - even though the timing in the show is all fucked up - and, it drives me crazy this piece of cannon is rarely mentioned in the show. And it drove me insane when there was no mention of his past in the season 4 episode ‘No Game for Amateurs’. As soon as the plot included draft dodgers, I kept wanting to know what Ed Brown thought of draft dodgers. But Ed’s past wasn’t included in the plot and that left me disappointed and wanting to know more. So, I wrote my own story. This is a separate story and doesn’t mirror ‘No Game for Amateurs’ in any way.
Chapter Word Count: 5,813
Status: Work In Progress
Summary: John Malcom claims to be a witness to a murder the San Francisco Police Department is desperate to solve. There is a catch. Malcom is a draft dodger, and he will only identify the killer if the police can guarantee he’ll be excused from the draft. Ironside agrees to take the case but, he realises too late there is a conflict of interest; his sergeant doesn’t like draft dodgers.
Chapter Five
It was late afternoon when Ironside and his sergeant arrived back at the office. It had been a long day, Ed feeling the exhaustion creeping back into his limbs. He was tired and in need of a decent night’s sleep, his mind drifting, thinking of the small white pills waiting for him in his apartment.
Pushing the chief’s wheelchair to the top of the ramp, Ed shifted his balance and slid down the ramp behind the chief, removing his hands from the chair when they reached the bottom. Taking control of his wheelchair, a folder full of loose papers in his lap, the chief moved to the left, Ed walking in the opposite direction, straight toward the kitchenette. . .
‘Ed!’
Stopped at the sound of Ironside’s voice and turned back, following the chief to the conference table, a moment of relief when he saw the steaming pot of coffee sitting in the middle of the table. His gaze shifted, noticing the others. They sat around the conference table, each member of Ironside’s team looking as tired as Ed felt; a long day for everyone.
Ed sat down, keeping his distance from Fran, and poured himself and the chief a cup of coffee, pushing one of the cups across the table toward Ironside, a slow movement, the cup too full, worried it was going to spill over the rim and onto the table. He could have picked the cup up, but his hands still shook, and he didn’t want to reveal his trembling hands to anyone watching and he knew they were watching him, particularly Fran, her gaze curious, sympathetic.
Watched as the chief lifted the cup, his hand steady as he drank the coffee, a grimace of distaste crossing his features. Ed smiled at the chief’s expression; Mark must have made the coffee. Reached toward his own cup, his hand trembling. . . a bad idea to pick it up. He ignored it for now. He would drink it when no one was watching.
An exchange of information began, Ironside nodding to Reese to speak first. Reese took a moment to explain to Fran and Mark what they had found in Norman Madison’s apartment. When they remained silent, no questions asked, he moved on, giving an uncomplicated history of their main suspects.
‘Norman Madison. Aged thirty-eight. He works at a photography studio called Family Portraits. He didn’t show up for work this morning. They’re concerned. Before today, he’d never missed a day of work, he’s one of their best employees. Norman Madison doesn’t have a police record. He does have one sibling, a younger brother, Charlie, aged thirty-five. Charlie Madison doesn’t have a police record. I have officers working on a more detailed background on both men. Neither man owns a dark green two door Polara. John Malcom identified the second man in the photo as the man who killed Henry Warner.’
‘The second man in the photo is Charlie Madison?’ said Ironside.
Reese nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘You’re certain.’
‘Yes.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ said Ironside.
Reese opened a file in front of him, took out two pieces of paper and handed them to Ironside. Ed raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his interest leaning his body forward, toward the table.
‘Sergeant Duffy took the photo out of the frame and like all good police officers, he looked at the back of the photo,’ said Reese, pointing at the papers Ironside held in his hands. ‘He found that written on the back.’
Ironside passed the sheets of paper to his sergeant. Two xerox copies; a copy of the photo and a copy of the back. A handwritten explanation, detailing the names of the two men, their relationship as brothers and the location in the photo.
Ed passed the papers to Fran, his gaze steady as he looked at her. She stared back, a soft smile before she lowered her eyes, looking down at the information in her hands. He waited a moment, watching her. She seemed calm, her emotions under control, no longer angry. She looked confident. Ed turned his head, his gaze catching Ironside, the chief still watching his sergeant, still scrutinising, still searching for any indication his sergeant could no longer do his job. Ed wasn’t going to give the chief an indication of anything. . . he could do his job, the distraction the best thing for his memories. Realised he hadn’t thought about Vietnam since they’d arrived at Evelyn Pierce’s home.
‘Do you have an address for Charlie Madison?’
‘We do,’ said Reese, ‘but it’s a false address. Parents are dead and they have no other relatives in San Francisco. I’ve got an APB out on both men and the car. I’ve got two officers checking the local boxing gyms. We’re checking the train station, bus station and airport to see if they’ve left the city. Nothing so far.’
Ironside nodded. ‘Good.’
It was good but it wasn’t great. Every uniformed officer would now have a picture of the two men, hoping for a glimpse of the two wanted suspects as they patrolled the streets, but it would be difficult to find the two men in such a large city, plenty of places to hide, to lay low. They could be anywhere. Reese would soon have officers checking every hotel and boarding house. Not much more they could do in the search for Norman and Charlie Madison.
‘Fran?’ said Ironside.
‘We spoke to all of Mrs. Warner’s friends. Mrs. Kennedy was the most helpful.’
‘Mrs Kennedy had a lot to say,’ said Mark.
‘She’s adamant Mrs. Warner isn’t having an affair. But she did tell us that Mrs. Warner became obsessed with her husband after she found out he was having an affair two years ago.’
‘How obsessed?’ said Ironside.
‘Had the cat followed, obsessed,’ said Mark.
‘Not for the last two years,’ said Ironside, shaking his head.
‘No,’ said Fran. ‘Mrs. Kennedy explained that Mrs. Warner hired someone to follow her husband for the two weeks before his death.’
‘She didn’t trust him,’ said Ed.
Fran nodded. ‘She thought her husband was having another affair.’’
‘Whoever she hired, she asked them to follow him during the night,’ said Ironside.
‘The night he died couldn’t have been the first time she noticed her husband leave in the early hours of the morning,’ said Ed. ‘She lied to us.’
‘Mrs. Warner also told us her husband wasn’t having an affair,’ said Fran, looking at Ed.
‘Did Mrs. Kennedy know who Mrs. Warner hired to follow her husband?’ said Ironside.
‘No, but she did say Mrs. Warner told her the man she hired was taking photos of her husband.’
‘And Norman Madison is a photographer,’ said Ironside.
Reese, his expression angry, said, ‘I spoke to Mrs. Kennedy. She didn’t tell me any of this.’
‘I asked her why she didn’t give the information to the police when we first spoke to her. . .’
‘And?’ said Reese.
‘Mrs. Warner asked her not to,’ said Mark.
‘She was apologetic,’ said Fran. ‘She was going to call you, Carl. Your card was next to the phone.’
‘What else did Mrs. Kennedy tell you?’ said Ironside.
‘Mr. Warner’s pet name for his wife was Pretty Bear.’
Ironside grimaced, shaking his head, taking a moment to think. Ed knew what Ironside was thinking, his own thoughts similar. If Mrs. Kennedy had given this information at the beginning of the investigation, Mrs. Pierce might still be alive. The memory of her beaten and bloody corpse on her kitchen floor flashed through his mind. He felt the anger churning his stomach. If her death was related to Warner’s. . . if she were the woman, he was having an affair with. . . There were no ifs. The cause of death the same. The beige carpet in the living room and the bedroom. His anger building, Ed wanted to slam his hand against the table. He didn’t, instead taking a deep breath as he looked at Ironside. He could see the anger in Ironside’s features. Saw his own emotions reflected in Ironside’s blue eyes.
Ironside began to speak, the others listening as the chief told them about their discovery at the home of Evelyn Pierce. He left out the minor assault on his sergeant. Explained her husband’s unbreakable alibi, the man’s suspicion his wife was having an affair. Told them about the beige carpet.
His anger visible in his body language, Reese stood up and began to pace. His jaw clenched, Reese kept his thoughts to himself, not the place or the time to lay blame on a woman who thought she was doing the right thing, a woman who thought she was helping a friend. At the moment it was all assumptions, they needed to prove Henry Warner and Evelyn Pierce were having an affair.
‘Fran,’ said Ironside pushing the file he’d brought into the office toward Fran. ‘Confirm Mr. Pierce’s alibi. I don’t want it biting us in the ass when we go to court.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Fran as she opened the file, looking through the receipts and travel documents.
‘Carl, Mr. Pierce also told us his wife was window shopping for a new home closer to the city. Go to Mr. Warner’s place of work. . .’ said Ironside, waving his hand in the air. ‘You don’t need me to tell you how to do your job.’
Ironside was still angry, Ed could tell, the chief wearing his emotions on his sleeve. He wanted to nullify the chief’s mood, but he couldn’t. He understood the chief’s anger, his frustration.
Mark leaned forward in his chair and said, ‘Both victims beaten to death, it has to be the same killer.’
‘Mrs. Pierce’s cause of death is yet to be determined,’ said Ironside. ‘But, yes, I suspect she was beaten to death. Her injuries were very similar to Mr. Warner’s.’
‘The beige carpet,’ said Reese. ‘Mrs. Pierce looking for a new home. Mr. Warner was a real estate agent. It all leads to one conclusion. We need to prove they were having an affair. When we do that, it will give us a motive.’
‘The guys from the Scientific Investigations department took samples of the carpet,’ said Ed. ‘It’ll be a while before we get the results.’
‘Chief,’ said Fran. ‘Do you think the carpet fibres will match the fibres on Mr. Warner’s clothing?’
Ironside snapped an answer. ‘I’m a detective, officer Belding! I don’t work in the science department.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m sorry, Fran,’ said Ironside. ‘I didn’t--’
‘You think Mrs. Pierce would still be alive if Mrs. Kennedy had been honest with Lieutenant Reese when he spoke to her.’
Fran wasn’t asking a question, Ed surprised when Ironside gave her an honest response.
‘Yes, I do.’
Felt his stomach clench when Ironside looked at him, an expression of determination and anger on his features as the chief spoke. ‘Ed, I want you and Fran to pick up Mrs. Warner and bring her back to headquarters. Arrest her if you need to. . . suspicion of conspiring to murder her husband.’
Ed knew the chief wasn’t giving him a choice. He turned his head to look at Fran. She looked back at him, expectation in her eyes, questions already forming. Turned his head to the left when the office door opened, commissioner Randall walking into the office. He didn’t join them at the conference table, stopping at the round table in the center of the room.
‘Bob. Ed,’ said Randall.
Ed hesitated, his gaze catching sight of the piece of paper in the commissioner’s hand. Turned to look at Ironside, the chief already moving away from the table. Ed stood up and followed the chief. He could feel the tremor in his hands, the anger crawling along his spine, tightening the muscles across his shoulders and neck. Felt the headache explode inside his skull. Thought about those small white tablets.
He stopped beside Ironside, keeping the chief between himself and the commissioner.
‘Dennis,’ said Ironside. ‘You said you were going to call.’
‘I wanted to deliver sergeant Brown’s appointment time in person. To emphasise the importance. . .’ He handed the piece of paper to Ironside. ‘Six pm. Today. Make sure he gets there, Bob. His job is on the line, and I don’t want to lose one of the few good officers we have.’
‘John Malcom doesn’t want to press charges against Ed,’ said Ironside as he looked down at the information in front of him.
‘How on earth did you manage that?’ said Randall.
‘Blackmail,’ said Ironside.
‘I’ll forget I heard that.’
Looking over the chief’s shoulder, Ed could see the scrawled handwriting. A name. An address and a time. He frowned, an objection forming, Ironside speaking before he could.
‘This appointment isn’t with the Psychological Testing department.’
‘I thought it would be best to keep it off the books for now,’ said Randall.
Ed’s knees shook with relief, the tension leaving his shoulders, his neck. Felt the headache recede, a dull ache remaining at the base of his skull.
‘Doctor Carrington is a good friend. He specialises in helping men who suffered trauma in Vietnam.’
Ironside handed the piece of paper back to the commissioner and said, ‘Change the appointment to tomorrow morning. Ed won’t be able to get there in time today.’
‘Bob, we had a deal.’
‘And we’ve had a break in the case,’ said Ironside. ‘Ed and Fran are on their way to pick up one of our three main suspects. Ed?’
Ed looked at the commissioner.
‘Go!’ said Ironside.
Ed didn’t wait for the commissioner’s response. He stood up and nodding at Fran, he walked up the steps and to the office door. Opened it and held it, waiting for Fran to catch up. When she did, he followed her out the door, letting it close behind him.
.
.
.
Fran had the decency to wait until they were in the car, heading toward the freeway before she spoke. It had given Ed time to think, to formulate a variety of answers to the questions he assumed she was going to ask. He knew she wouldn’t accept his refusal to talk about Vietnam; Fran’s emotions controlling her thoughts, she needed to know why her friend had changed. She would want to know why he hadn’t told her he’d spent time in Vietnam. Fran would ask questions and she wouldn’t stop until she was satisfied with his answers.
Ed still didn’t want to talk about it, but he couldn’t ignore her. She would take offence, putting them back into a rocky working partnership. He didn’t want that. He had to say something. He had to answer her questions. But he didn’t have to tell her everything. . . Hands on the steering wheel, his eyes on the road ahead of him, Ed waited for Fran to ask her first question.
Her first question was obvious, expected. Her tone neutral, curious, Fran said, ‘Ed, why didn’t you tell me you were in Vietnam?’
Tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles aching as he looked toward the rear-view mirror. His thoughts froze, his reply stuck in his throat. He could feel the tremor in his hands, feel the vibration crawling along his arms. Within seconds his entire body was trembling.
‘Ed?’
He could feel the heat of Vietnam, sweat clinging to his back. Could hear the screams. Feel the sharp pain in his lower back. . . A car horn bellowed behind him, snapping him back into the present.
‘Ed?’ said Fran, her voice frantic as she reached toward him.
The car was drifting, heading toward the barrier on the side of the road. Ed slammed his foot on the brake, the car coming to a stop at the edge of the ramp leading up to the freeway. Lowered his head and closed his eyes. Felt Fran’s fingers wrap around his wrist. His mouth dry, he swallowed, a difficult thing to do. Opened his eyes and looked at her. He could see the concern in her eyes. There was also a hint of fear. He was scaring her.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ed. ‘I can’t talk to you about Vietnam.’
Fran released her grip on his arm, slumped back against the car seat and said, ‘You can at least tell me why you didn’t tell me you were there. I told you about my friend and you said nothing. I. . . oh Ed, I snapped at you. I’m sorry.’
‘You didn’t know.’
‘I didn’t know because you won’t talk to me. You keep everything to yourself.’
That wasn’t true. Normally he would have no problem talking about what he was thinking or feeling. It was the subject matter he was keeping to himself. He didn’t talk to anyone about Vietnam, not even the chief, not until he had no choice. . .
‘Everything except your anger. Since the chief accepted this case, you’ve been so angry. When you went after Malcom. . . Ed, you reminded me of my friend.’
The words slipped out before he could stop them. ‘I’m not a baby killer. I didn’t kill civilians. I was a marine. I did what I was ordered to do.’
‘Why did my friend change so much when he was in Vietnam?’
He’d lost control of the conversation before it had even started. He had wanted to answer her questions, his plan to paint the truth with colourful lies, his replies became lost amongst a wave of memories and anger. A simple question, a question he should have been able to answer had sent him back. He’d dreamt while he was awake, putting both their lives at risk. If he’d been on the highway. . . For a moment he thought of asking Fran to drive but that would give too much away. Fran was a smart woman. She would know something was wrong.
He didn’t want to ignore her, but Fran was pushing him, wanting a response. He knew she would push until he snapped, until he told her what she wanted to hear. A part of him wanted to push back, to tell her everything. He wanted to wipe that curiosity from her eyes. He wanted to shock her into silence. . . it was something he couldn’t do. He couldn’t talk about it. Not when his mind was so fragile. . . he couldn’t do this. Not now.
Ed turned his head, looking at Fran. ‘I’m not going to talk to you about Vietnam.’
‘Why?’
He could feel the muscles in his back contract, the tension increasing. His anger building, Ed took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He couldn’t walk away from the conversation.
‘Ed, I need to understand. Tell me. Please!’
Squeezed the steering wheel.
‘Was it that bad?’
He did what he didn’t want to do. He ignored her. Took his foot off the brake and drove onto the highway, Fran silent as she sat beside him. He knew she wouldn’t stay silent for long, his assumption proved correct when she spoke.
‘I asked Mark.’
Felt his anger increase.
‘He said he’s never heard you talk about Vietnam.’
‘And what did the chief say when you asked him?’
Fran shifted in her seat, her body language revealing her guilt. ‘The chief told me to give you some time. That you would talk about it when you’re ready.’
‘That’s good advice,’ said Ed. ‘You should have listened to him.’
Fran turned away from him.
Ed released a sigh of relief.
The conversation was over.
For now.
.
.
.
The door to Mrs. Warner’s apartment was open, a small gap between the door and the frame. Suspicion crawling through his gut, Ed took a deep breath, a strong odour of blood assaulting his senses. He stepped back, pulling Fran with him.
They returned to the elevator, a plan forming at the back of his mind. He’d promised the chief he wouldn’t confront Warner’s killer on his own, the officers in the lobby and on the seventh floor would provide the backup they needed before entering the apartment.
A scream echoed through the apartment and out into the building’s hallway, the sound coming to an abrupt end. They no longer had a choice, a person’s life at risk. Pulling his gun from his holster, he looked at Fran. She’d already taken her gun from her handbag. He saw no fear, only determination. Just over three months in the job, Ed wasn’t confident Fran would be able to do her job. He couldn’t tell her to stay by the elevator, a patronising gesture. Realised he was doubting her abilities just as she had doubted his. Reminded himself Fran was a trained police officer, and she would do her job.
Ed Moved quickly, reaching the door before Fran. A soft touch against the door, he pushed it open and stepped into the apartment. Mrs. Warner lay in a crumpled heap in the middle of her living room. Her face bruised, bloody, and swollen, her hair matted with blood, her features almost unrecognisable. There was blood everywhere, splatters of red staining the walls, carpet, and the furniture.
Charlie Madison leant over Mrs. Warner, fingers of his left hand tangled in her hair, his right hand, clenched in a fist, raised and ready to strike. He paused, lowering his hand and turned his head to look over his shoulder.
Ed raised his weapon, aiming it the man before him and said, ‘Police. Stand up and step back.’
Charlie Madison obeyed, standing, and stepping away from his victim. He raised his hands, and stared past Ed, looking at something else. Something felt wrong. Taking no chances, Ed told Madison to lay on the floor. Madison shook his head. No. It was a stand-off Ed wasn’t sure they were going to win, Madison too confident.
‘Shoot him if he tries anything,’ said Ed.
‘Gladly,’ said Fran.
Staring at Madison, Ed stepped forward, moving around Mrs. Warner and behind Charlie Madison. He didn’t ask a second time, kicking out with his right leg, the heel of his foot striking the back of Madison’s right knee. The man grunted and dropped to his knees; his hands still raised in the air.
‘Lay down on your stomach.’
Madison shook his head.
Ignoring the anger, Ed moved quickly, pushing Madison to the floor, dropping his own weight onto the man’s back, his left hand against Madison’s head, his elbow locked. His left knee pressing down against the man’s shoulder. Ed put his gun back into the holster and reached behind his back for the handcuffs clipped to his belt.
‘Ed,’ said Fran.
Something in her voice made him look up at her. Norman Madison stood behind Fran, his right arm wrapped around her throat, a long knife held against her side. Her gun was on the floor.
His own gun back in his holster, Ed knew there was nothing he could do to help Fran. He dropped the handcuffs, stood up and stepped back. He could see the uncertainty in Fran’s eyes. Charlie Madison picked up the handcuffs, stood up and turned to face Ed.
Madison smiled.
Ed didn’t know what to do. If he fought back. . . it would only take seconds for Norman Madison to push the knife into unyielding flesh and through Fran’s ribs. He would leave her to bleed to death on the floor while his brother beat Ed black and blue.
He could fight back, the Madison brother’s surprised, it might create an opening for Fran. His fight-or-flight response made the decision for him when Charlie raised his fist. Ed was faster, punching his fist into Charlie’s throat, the man’s reaction immediate. Dropping the handcuffs, Charlie raised his hands to his throat, wrapping his fingers around the bruised area as he struggled to breathe, his breath short and rapid. Ed struck a second time, hitting Charlie in the sternum. His face creasing with pain, Charlie Madison collapsed back onto his knees.
‘Enough!’ said Norman Madison, his voice loud. ‘I will kill her.’
Ed stopped, turned his upper body. . . an explosion of pain in his back as Charlie barrelled into him, knocking Ed off his feet, his body hitting the floor with painful surprise. He had to get back up. Made it to his hands and knees, turning his head to look for Charlie, the man coming toward him. Charlie stopped and lifted his right leg. Thinking the man was aiming for his ribs, Ed shifted his body, putting his weight onto his right knee and raised his arms.
Charlie kicked toward Ed’s ribs. Ed wrapped his arms around Charlie’s leg, the man losing his balance. Adjusting his grip, Ed twisted the leg, certain he heard something tear, Charlie crying out in pain.
Something slammed into the back of his head, Ed falling to the floor and onto his back. Ed lost consciousness before he could realise, he had made a terrible mistake, Fran his last thought.
.
.
.
Unable to pull his gaze away, Ed watched as Ralph Decker’s lower leg was torn from his body. A second explosion somewhere behind him. Felt something tear into his lower back, the pain sudden, almost unbearable. He fell to the ground, his face pressed against the dirt, monsoon season over, the ground hard, difficult to sleep on. Turned his head when Ralph began to scream, watched as Ralph began to search for his leg. Watched as a sniper’s bullet snapped Ralph’s head to the side, the bullet exploding out the other side . . .
Ed cried out, his upper body snapping forward, his body now in an upright position. He opened his eyes, his vision damp. His surroundings were unfamiliar, the furniture not his own. He looked down. Still fully clothed he wasn’t in someone else’s bed.
‘Ed.’
It took a moment for his brain to catch up, the memory of what had happened slamming into him, his body stumbling, tilting to the left. He reached out, fingers gripping the carpet beneath him as he tried to regain his balance.
‘Ed?’
He turned his head. Fran was sitting beside him, her legs curled beneath her, eyes full of concern, full of fear. Ed grabbed her wrist, his grip too tight and said, ‘Are you all right?’
Fran smiled, a moment of relief, the fear leaving her eyes. ‘Ed, I’m okay.’
Ed nodded, accepting her answer. Felt a hint of vertigo and finally noticed his head ached, the pain throbbing inside his skull. Letting go of Fran’s wrist, Ed raised his hand, placing it against the back of his head.
‘I’ve called an ambulance,’ said Fran.
‘Why?’ said Ed, his confusion evident.
‘You’re hurt.’
‘I’m fine.’ He twisted his body, his gaze searching the room. Stopped when he saw Mrs. Warner. She still lay in the middle of her living room, her eyes open, staring at nothing. Closed his eyes. Another woman beaten to death.
‘There was nothing I could do,’ said Fran. ‘I tried. . .’
Ed opened his eyes and looked at Fran. He noticed the blood on her shirt, hard to see amongst the vibrant colours. Saw the blood on her fingers, her hands. Lifted his gaze to look her in the eye and said, ‘I know you did.’
‘I called the chief. He’s on his way.’
‘And the Madison brothers?’
‘They left.’
‘They just left,’ Ed shook his head in confusion. Closed his eyes when the pain in his skull increased. A slow breath, the pain easing. Opened his eyes. ‘I thought Charlie would have given me a kick or two on his way out.’
‘Oh, he wanted to,’ said Fran, ‘but his brother dragged him out. I would have tried to follow them but. . .’ She stopped talking as she looked over her shoulder, her gaze steady as she looked at Mrs. Warner.
‘Fran, you did the right thing.’
She nodded, unable to speak, her emotions getting the better of her. He’d done something stupid, left her alone to deal with the Madison brothers and a woman taking her last breaths. Something in his brain clicked.
‘Vietnam was hell. A nightmare I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy,’ said Ed as Fran turned to look at him. ‘I can’t talk about it, Fran. It’s not that I don’t want to. . . I just can’t.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were there?’
‘Fran, I’ve known you for two weeks and we haven’t exactly gotten off to a good start--’
‘I’m sorry, Ed.’
‘Don’t be. This isn’t your fault,’ said Ed, ready to change the subject. He stood up, Fran moving with him, standing beside him. He took a moment to test his balance. His legs were steady, his balance secure but his head ached, the pain heavy and thick. ‘How long was I out?’
‘Almost ten minutes.’
‘All right,’ said Ed, moving toward the telephone, the handset covered with blood. ‘We need to alert the officers in the lobby--’
‘They’re already on alert. I called the telephone operator and asked her to have one of the officers in the lobby call me. I explained what happened. . . Ed, Norman Madison came in behind me. He must have been waiting in the hallway.’
‘The chief isn’t going to be happy,’ said Ed.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Fran. ‘I should have--’
‘Fran,’ said Ed, his voice strong, his tone assertive as he turned to look at her. ‘You did nothing wrong.’
‘I lost my service weapon.’
‘What?’
‘Norman Madison took my gun.’
.
.
.
Ironside arrived less than an hour later, his voice reverberating through the building’s hallway. He rolled his chair through the open doorway, his angry gaze searching the room, grimacing at the sight of Mrs. Warner, her body now covered with a white sheet. The police surgeon had declared her dead less than fifteen minutes ago.
‘Chief.’
Out of the way of the officers searching for forensic evidence, Ed stood in the corner on the right side of the living room, his back to the window, Fran standing beside him.
Ironside wheeled his chair closer to his sergeant, the officers in the room moving out of his way. He stopped in front of Ed and said, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Fran?’
‘I’m fine but I think Ed should go to the hospital. He was unconscious for ten minutes.’
‘You called an ambulance?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Fran.
‘And?’
‘They said the usual,’ said Ed. Knocked unconscious too many times, he knew he was fine. He wasn’t dizzy or nauseated. His head still hurt but a couple of aspirin would take care of the pain. ‘If I feel any dizziness or nausea, I’m to go to the nearest hospital.’
‘Are you feeling any dizziness?’ said Ironside as he leaned back in his chair.
‘No, sir.’
‘Any nausea?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’
Ed was waiting, he recognised the signs. The chief was livid, but Ed couldn’t determine the cause of his anger; his sergeant’s stupidity; officer Belding losing her service weapon; the death of Mrs. Warner; or the fact the Madison brothers had managed to get into and out of the apartment building without someone seeing them. Without a police officer seeing them.
‘I have one question,’ said Ironside.
‘Only one?’ said Ed.
‘Now isn’t the time, sergeant.’
‘No, sir.’
Releasing his temper, Iron snapped, ‘How in the flamin’ hell could you be so stupid? Ed, I told you not to confront the killer alone--’
‘He wasn’t alone,’ said Fran, stepping closer to Ed. ‘I told you what happened. Ed didn’t have a choice. . . we didn’t have a choice. Mrs. Warner--’
‘Mrs. Warner is dead,’ said Ironside. ‘And you’re both damn well lucky you’re not lying on the floor with a sheet over your heads.’
Ed relaxed his shoulders. The chief was angry, but he was also worried, almost afraid of what could have happened, and he was right. They were lucky. Charlie Madison could have killed them both, but he hadn’t, dragged out of the apartment by his brother. Ed didn’t know why they were still alive. He couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation.
‘All right,’ said Ironside, his anger abated. ‘There’s nothing more either of you can do here. Carl can take charge of the crime scene. That is, after he’s finished berating his officers. I’m not the only one who wants to know how Norman and Charlie Madison managed to get in and out of the building without being seen by a police officer.’
‘If they left the building,’ said Ed.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Ed, they’ll be searching every apartment and maintenance closet in this building. If they’re still here, Carl will find them.’
‘We can help,’ said Fran.
‘No. Go back to the office. Write up your reports. Fran, you’ll need to--’
‘I know what I need to do.’
‘Stop interrupting me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Go back to the office. Do what you need to do. I’ll meet you there.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Fran, hesitating when Ed remained still.
‘Go!’ said Ironside.
Fran walked away without a backward glance.
‘She did good,’ said Ed, nodding toward Fran as she walked out of the apartment.
‘Of course, she did,’ said Ironside. ‘She’s a trained police officer. Ed, I want you to stay in the office tonight. I’m sure Mark will let you have his bed.’
‘Why?’
Ironside’s anger returned. ‘You may have a concussion, sergeant. Someone should keep an eye on you and unless you have female company waiting for you at home. . .’
Thinking of Anne, Ed winced as he stepped back from Ironside.
‘I’m sorry, Ed,’ said Ironside, his features filled with regret. ‘I didn’t--’
‘It’s all right.’
‘No, Ed, it isn’t,’ said Ironside as he leant forward, his shoulders hunched, his hands curled into fists. ‘Ed, this case is beginning to get to me. I have this nagging feeling at the back of my mind and it seems to be all about you. I’m trusting my gut on this one, Ed. I want you to stay close. Stay at the office tonight, not just out of concern for your health but for the sake of my sanity.’
Ed frowned. He wanted to say no, that he would be fine at home. . . alone but there was something in the chief’s voice. He looked at Ironside, the chief staring back at him. Ed saw the concern, the regret the chief felt at his choice of words. He saw a hint of fear, Ironside trying and failing to hide the emotion from his sergeant.
He didn’t like the way the chief was acting. When it came to Ed, the chief always kept the concern he felt toward his sergeant to himself. But over the last two days, Ironside had changed, not only showing his concern but voicing it. It still made Ed feel uncomfortable. He still wanted to say no but for a reason he couldn’t explain, he found himself agreeing. ‘All right.’
Saw the relief when Ironside relaxed back into his chair. ‘Good.’
‘I’ll stop at home on the way back to the office. Collect a few things.’
Collect the three small pills Mrs. Miller had given him.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
Master Fan Fiction List
Fandom: Ironside [1967 TV Series]
Genre: Crime | Hurt/Comfort | Angst
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Sergeant Ed Brown, Chief Ironside, Officer Fran Belding, Lieutenant Carl Reese, Mark Sanger and Commissioner Dennis Randall.
Disclaimer: Based on the characters created by Collier Young.
Author's Note: Set between S5 E4 'The Gambling Game' and S5 E5 'Ring of Prayer' because I still wanted there to be some conflict between Ed and Fran.
Author's Other Note: Ed Brown was a marine who saw combat in Vietnam - even though the timing in the show is all fucked up - and, it drives me crazy this piece of cannon is rarely mentioned in the show. And it drove me insane when there was no mention of his past in the season 4 episode ‘No Game for Amateurs’. As soon as the plot included draft dodgers, I kept wanting to know what Ed Brown thought of draft dodgers. But Ed’s past wasn’t included in the plot and that left me disappointed and wanting to know more. So, I wrote my own story. This is a separate story and doesn’t mirror ‘No Game for Amateurs’ in any way.
Chapter Word Count: 5,813
Status: Work In Progress
Summary: John Malcom claims to be a witness to a murder the San Francisco Police Department is desperate to solve. There is a catch. Malcom is a draft dodger, and he will only identify the killer if the police can guarantee he’ll be excused from the draft. Ironside agrees to take the case but, he realises too late there is a conflict of interest; his sergeant doesn’t like draft dodgers.
Chapter Five
It was late afternoon when Ironside and his sergeant arrived back at the office. It had been a long day, Ed feeling the exhaustion creeping back into his limbs. He was tired and in need of a decent night’s sleep, his mind drifting, thinking of the small white pills waiting for him in his apartment.
Pushing the chief’s wheelchair to the top of the ramp, Ed shifted his balance and slid down the ramp behind the chief, removing his hands from the chair when they reached the bottom. Taking control of his wheelchair, a folder full of loose papers in his lap, the chief moved to the left, Ed walking in the opposite direction, straight toward the kitchenette. . .
‘Ed!’
Stopped at the sound of Ironside’s voice and turned back, following the chief to the conference table, a moment of relief when he saw the steaming pot of coffee sitting in the middle of the table. His gaze shifted, noticing the others. They sat around the conference table, each member of Ironside’s team looking as tired as Ed felt; a long day for everyone.
Ed sat down, keeping his distance from Fran, and poured himself and the chief a cup of coffee, pushing one of the cups across the table toward Ironside, a slow movement, the cup too full, worried it was going to spill over the rim and onto the table. He could have picked the cup up, but his hands still shook, and he didn’t want to reveal his trembling hands to anyone watching and he knew they were watching him, particularly Fran, her gaze curious, sympathetic.
Watched as the chief lifted the cup, his hand steady as he drank the coffee, a grimace of distaste crossing his features. Ed smiled at the chief’s expression; Mark must have made the coffee. Reached toward his own cup, his hand trembling. . . a bad idea to pick it up. He ignored it for now. He would drink it when no one was watching.
An exchange of information began, Ironside nodding to Reese to speak first. Reese took a moment to explain to Fran and Mark what they had found in Norman Madison’s apartment. When they remained silent, no questions asked, he moved on, giving an uncomplicated history of their main suspects.
‘Norman Madison. Aged thirty-eight. He works at a photography studio called Family Portraits. He didn’t show up for work this morning. They’re concerned. Before today, he’d never missed a day of work, he’s one of their best employees. Norman Madison doesn’t have a police record. He does have one sibling, a younger brother, Charlie, aged thirty-five. Charlie Madison doesn’t have a police record. I have officers working on a more detailed background on both men. Neither man owns a dark green two door Polara. John Malcom identified the second man in the photo as the man who killed Henry Warner.’
‘The second man in the photo is Charlie Madison?’ said Ironside.
Reese nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘You’re certain.’
‘Yes.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ said Ironside.
Reese opened a file in front of him, took out two pieces of paper and handed them to Ironside. Ed raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his interest leaning his body forward, toward the table.
‘Sergeant Duffy took the photo out of the frame and like all good police officers, he looked at the back of the photo,’ said Reese, pointing at the papers Ironside held in his hands. ‘He found that written on the back.’
Ironside passed the sheets of paper to his sergeant. Two xerox copies; a copy of the photo and a copy of the back. A handwritten explanation, detailing the names of the two men, their relationship as brothers and the location in the photo.
Ed passed the papers to Fran, his gaze steady as he looked at her. She stared back, a soft smile before she lowered her eyes, looking down at the information in her hands. He waited a moment, watching her. She seemed calm, her emotions under control, no longer angry. She looked confident. Ed turned his head, his gaze catching Ironside, the chief still watching his sergeant, still scrutinising, still searching for any indication his sergeant could no longer do his job. Ed wasn’t going to give the chief an indication of anything. . . he could do his job, the distraction the best thing for his memories. Realised he hadn’t thought about Vietnam since they’d arrived at Evelyn Pierce’s home.
‘Do you have an address for Charlie Madison?’
‘We do,’ said Reese, ‘but it’s a false address. Parents are dead and they have no other relatives in San Francisco. I’ve got an APB out on both men and the car. I’ve got two officers checking the local boxing gyms. We’re checking the train station, bus station and airport to see if they’ve left the city. Nothing so far.’
Ironside nodded. ‘Good.’
It was good but it wasn’t great. Every uniformed officer would now have a picture of the two men, hoping for a glimpse of the two wanted suspects as they patrolled the streets, but it would be difficult to find the two men in such a large city, plenty of places to hide, to lay low. They could be anywhere. Reese would soon have officers checking every hotel and boarding house. Not much more they could do in the search for Norman and Charlie Madison.
‘Fran?’ said Ironside.
‘We spoke to all of Mrs. Warner’s friends. Mrs. Kennedy was the most helpful.’
‘Mrs Kennedy had a lot to say,’ said Mark.
‘She’s adamant Mrs. Warner isn’t having an affair. But she did tell us that Mrs. Warner became obsessed with her husband after she found out he was having an affair two years ago.’
‘How obsessed?’ said Ironside.
‘Had the cat followed, obsessed,’ said Mark.
‘Not for the last two years,’ said Ironside, shaking his head.
‘No,’ said Fran. ‘Mrs. Kennedy explained that Mrs. Warner hired someone to follow her husband for the two weeks before his death.’
‘She didn’t trust him,’ said Ed.
Fran nodded. ‘She thought her husband was having another affair.’’
‘Whoever she hired, she asked them to follow him during the night,’ said Ironside.
‘The night he died couldn’t have been the first time she noticed her husband leave in the early hours of the morning,’ said Ed. ‘She lied to us.’
‘Mrs. Warner also told us her husband wasn’t having an affair,’ said Fran, looking at Ed.
‘Did Mrs. Kennedy know who Mrs. Warner hired to follow her husband?’ said Ironside.
‘No, but she did say Mrs. Warner told her the man she hired was taking photos of her husband.’
‘And Norman Madison is a photographer,’ said Ironside.
Reese, his expression angry, said, ‘I spoke to Mrs. Kennedy. She didn’t tell me any of this.’
‘I asked her why she didn’t give the information to the police when we first spoke to her. . .’
‘And?’ said Reese.
‘Mrs. Warner asked her not to,’ said Mark.
‘She was apologetic,’ said Fran. ‘She was going to call you, Carl. Your card was next to the phone.’
‘What else did Mrs. Kennedy tell you?’ said Ironside.
‘Mr. Warner’s pet name for his wife was Pretty Bear.’
Ironside grimaced, shaking his head, taking a moment to think. Ed knew what Ironside was thinking, his own thoughts similar. If Mrs. Kennedy had given this information at the beginning of the investigation, Mrs. Pierce might still be alive. The memory of her beaten and bloody corpse on her kitchen floor flashed through his mind. He felt the anger churning his stomach. If her death was related to Warner’s. . . if she were the woman, he was having an affair with. . . There were no ifs. The cause of death the same. The beige carpet in the living room and the bedroom. His anger building, Ed wanted to slam his hand against the table. He didn’t, instead taking a deep breath as he looked at Ironside. He could see the anger in Ironside’s features. Saw his own emotions reflected in Ironside’s blue eyes.
Ironside began to speak, the others listening as the chief told them about their discovery at the home of Evelyn Pierce. He left out the minor assault on his sergeant. Explained her husband’s unbreakable alibi, the man’s suspicion his wife was having an affair. Told them about the beige carpet.
His anger visible in his body language, Reese stood up and began to pace. His jaw clenched, Reese kept his thoughts to himself, not the place or the time to lay blame on a woman who thought she was doing the right thing, a woman who thought she was helping a friend. At the moment it was all assumptions, they needed to prove Henry Warner and Evelyn Pierce were having an affair.
‘Fran,’ said Ironside pushing the file he’d brought into the office toward Fran. ‘Confirm Mr. Pierce’s alibi. I don’t want it biting us in the ass when we go to court.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Fran as she opened the file, looking through the receipts and travel documents.
‘Carl, Mr. Pierce also told us his wife was window shopping for a new home closer to the city. Go to Mr. Warner’s place of work. . .’ said Ironside, waving his hand in the air. ‘You don’t need me to tell you how to do your job.’
Ironside was still angry, Ed could tell, the chief wearing his emotions on his sleeve. He wanted to nullify the chief’s mood, but he couldn’t. He understood the chief’s anger, his frustration.
Mark leaned forward in his chair and said, ‘Both victims beaten to death, it has to be the same killer.’
‘Mrs. Pierce’s cause of death is yet to be determined,’ said Ironside. ‘But, yes, I suspect she was beaten to death. Her injuries were very similar to Mr. Warner’s.’
‘The beige carpet,’ said Reese. ‘Mrs. Pierce looking for a new home. Mr. Warner was a real estate agent. It all leads to one conclusion. We need to prove they were having an affair. When we do that, it will give us a motive.’
‘The guys from the Scientific Investigations department took samples of the carpet,’ said Ed. ‘It’ll be a while before we get the results.’
‘Chief,’ said Fran. ‘Do you think the carpet fibres will match the fibres on Mr. Warner’s clothing?’
Ironside snapped an answer. ‘I’m a detective, officer Belding! I don’t work in the science department.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m sorry, Fran,’ said Ironside. ‘I didn’t--’
‘You think Mrs. Pierce would still be alive if Mrs. Kennedy had been honest with Lieutenant Reese when he spoke to her.’
Fran wasn’t asking a question, Ed surprised when Ironside gave her an honest response.
‘Yes, I do.’
Felt his stomach clench when Ironside looked at him, an expression of determination and anger on his features as the chief spoke. ‘Ed, I want you and Fran to pick up Mrs. Warner and bring her back to headquarters. Arrest her if you need to. . . suspicion of conspiring to murder her husband.’
Ed knew the chief wasn’t giving him a choice. He turned his head to look at Fran. She looked back at him, expectation in her eyes, questions already forming. Turned his head to the left when the office door opened, commissioner Randall walking into the office. He didn’t join them at the conference table, stopping at the round table in the center of the room.
‘Bob. Ed,’ said Randall.
Ed hesitated, his gaze catching sight of the piece of paper in the commissioner’s hand. Turned to look at Ironside, the chief already moving away from the table. Ed stood up and followed the chief. He could feel the tremor in his hands, the anger crawling along his spine, tightening the muscles across his shoulders and neck. Felt the headache explode inside his skull. Thought about those small white tablets.
He stopped beside Ironside, keeping the chief between himself and the commissioner.
‘Dennis,’ said Ironside. ‘You said you were going to call.’
‘I wanted to deliver sergeant Brown’s appointment time in person. To emphasise the importance. . .’ He handed the piece of paper to Ironside. ‘Six pm. Today. Make sure he gets there, Bob. His job is on the line, and I don’t want to lose one of the few good officers we have.’
‘John Malcom doesn’t want to press charges against Ed,’ said Ironside as he looked down at the information in front of him.
‘How on earth did you manage that?’ said Randall.
‘Blackmail,’ said Ironside.
‘I’ll forget I heard that.’
Looking over the chief’s shoulder, Ed could see the scrawled handwriting. A name. An address and a time. He frowned, an objection forming, Ironside speaking before he could.
‘This appointment isn’t with the Psychological Testing department.’
‘I thought it would be best to keep it off the books for now,’ said Randall.
Ed’s knees shook with relief, the tension leaving his shoulders, his neck. Felt the headache recede, a dull ache remaining at the base of his skull.
‘Doctor Carrington is a good friend. He specialises in helping men who suffered trauma in Vietnam.’
Ironside handed the piece of paper back to the commissioner and said, ‘Change the appointment to tomorrow morning. Ed won’t be able to get there in time today.’
‘Bob, we had a deal.’
‘And we’ve had a break in the case,’ said Ironside. ‘Ed and Fran are on their way to pick up one of our three main suspects. Ed?’
Ed looked at the commissioner.
‘Go!’ said Ironside.
Ed didn’t wait for the commissioner’s response. He stood up and nodding at Fran, he walked up the steps and to the office door. Opened it and held it, waiting for Fran to catch up. When she did, he followed her out the door, letting it close behind him.
.
.
.
Fran had the decency to wait until they were in the car, heading toward the freeway before she spoke. It had given Ed time to think, to formulate a variety of answers to the questions he assumed she was going to ask. He knew she wouldn’t accept his refusal to talk about Vietnam; Fran’s emotions controlling her thoughts, she needed to know why her friend had changed. She would want to know why he hadn’t told her he’d spent time in Vietnam. Fran would ask questions and she wouldn’t stop until she was satisfied with his answers.
Ed still didn’t want to talk about it, but he couldn’t ignore her. She would take offence, putting them back into a rocky working partnership. He didn’t want that. He had to say something. He had to answer her questions. But he didn’t have to tell her everything. . . Hands on the steering wheel, his eyes on the road ahead of him, Ed waited for Fran to ask her first question.
Her first question was obvious, expected. Her tone neutral, curious, Fran said, ‘Ed, why didn’t you tell me you were in Vietnam?’
Tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles aching as he looked toward the rear-view mirror. His thoughts froze, his reply stuck in his throat. He could feel the tremor in his hands, feel the vibration crawling along his arms. Within seconds his entire body was trembling.
‘Ed?’
He could feel the heat of Vietnam, sweat clinging to his back. Could hear the screams. Feel the sharp pain in his lower back. . . A car horn bellowed behind him, snapping him back into the present.
‘Ed?’ said Fran, her voice frantic as she reached toward him.
The car was drifting, heading toward the barrier on the side of the road. Ed slammed his foot on the brake, the car coming to a stop at the edge of the ramp leading up to the freeway. Lowered his head and closed his eyes. Felt Fran’s fingers wrap around his wrist. His mouth dry, he swallowed, a difficult thing to do. Opened his eyes and looked at her. He could see the concern in her eyes. There was also a hint of fear. He was scaring her.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ed. ‘I can’t talk to you about Vietnam.’
Fran released her grip on his arm, slumped back against the car seat and said, ‘You can at least tell me why you didn’t tell me you were there. I told you about my friend and you said nothing. I. . . oh Ed, I snapped at you. I’m sorry.’
‘You didn’t know.’
‘I didn’t know because you won’t talk to me. You keep everything to yourself.’
That wasn’t true. Normally he would have no problem talking about what he was thinking or feeling. It was the subject matter he was keeping to himself. He didn’t talk to anyone about Vietnam, not even the chief, not until he had no choice. . .
‘Everything except your anger. Since the chief accepted this case, you’ve been so angry. When you went after Malcom. . . Ed, you reminded me of my friend.’
The words slipped out before he could stop them. ‘I’m not a baby killer. I didn’t kill civilians. I was a marine. I did what I was ordered to do.’
‘Why did my friend change so much when he was in Vietnam?’
He’d lost control of the conversation before it had even started. He had wanted to answer her questions, his plan to paint the truth with colourful lies, his replies became lost amongst a wave of memories and anger. A simple question, a question he should have been able to answer had sent him back. He’d dreamt while he was awake, putting both their lives at risk. If he’d been on the highway. . . For a moment he thought of asking Fran to drive but that would give too much away. Fran was a smart woman. She would know something was wrong.
He didn’t want to ignore her, but Fran was pushing him, wanting a response. He knew she would push until he snapped, until he told her what she wanted to hear. A part of him wanted to push back, to tell her everything. He wanted to wipe that curiosity from her eyes. He wanted to shock her into silence. . . it was something he couldn’t do. He couldn’t talk about it. Not when his mind was so fragile. . . he couldn’t do this. Not now.
Ed turned his head, looking at Fran. ‘I’m not going to talk to you about Vietnam.’
‘Why?’
He could feel the muscles in his back contract, the tension increasing. His anger building, Ed took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He couldn’t walk away from the conversation.
‘Ed, I need to understand. Tell me. Please!’
Squeezed the steering wheel.
‘Was it that bad?’
He did what he didn’t want to do. He ignored her. Took his foot off the brake and drove onto the highway, Fran silent as she sat beside him. He knew she wouldn’t stay silent for long, his assumption proved correct when she spoke.
‘I asked Mark.’
Felt his anger increase.
‘He said he’s never heard you talk about Vietnam.’
‘And what did the chief say when you asked him?’
Fran shifted in her seat, her body language revealing her guilt. ‘The chief told me to give you some time. That you would talk about it when you’re ready.’
‘That’s good advice,’ said Ed. ‘You should have listened to him.’
Fran turned away from him.
Ed released a sigh of relief.
The conversation was over.
For now.
.
.
.
The door to Mrs. Warner’s apartment was open, a small gap between the door and the frame. Suspicion crawling through his gut, Ed took a deep breath, a strong odour of blood assaulting his senses. He stepped back, pulling Fran with him.
They returned to the elevator, a plan forming at the back of his mind. He’d promised the chief he wouldn’t confront Warner’s killer on his own, the officers in the lobby and on the seventh floor would provide the backup they needed before entering the apartment.
A scream echoed through the apartment and out into the building’s hallway, the sound coming to an abrupt end. They no longer had a choice, a person’s life at risk. Pulling his gun from his holster, he looked at Fran. She’d already taken her gun from her handbag. He saw no fear, only determination. Just over three months in the job, Ed wasn’t confident Fran would be able to do her job. He couldn’t tell her to stay by the elevator, a patronising gesture. Realised he was doubting her abilities just as she had doubted his. Reminded himself Fran was a trained police officer, and she would do her job.
Ed Moved quickly, reaching the door before Fran. A soft touch against the door, he pushed it open and stepped into the apartment. Mrs. Warner lay in a crumpled heap in the middle of her living room. Her face bruised, bloody, and swollen, her hair matted with blood, her features almost unrecognisable. There was blood everywhere, splatters of red staining the walls, carpet, and the furniture.
Charlie Madison leant over Mrs. Warner, fingers of his left hand tangled in her hair, his right hand, clenched in a fist, raised and ready to strike. He paused, lowering his hand and turned his head to look over his shoulder.
Ed raised his weapon, aiming it the man before him and said, ‘Police. Stand up and step back.’
Charlie Madison obeyed, standing, and stepping away from his victim. He raised his hands, and stared past Ed, looking at something else. Something felt wrong. Taking no chances, Ed told Madison to lay on the floor. Madison shook his head. No. It was a stand-off Ed wasn’t sure they were going to win, Madison too confident.
‘Shoot him if he tries anything,’ said Ed.
‘Gladly,’ said Fran.
Staring at Madison, Ed stepped forward, moving around Mrs. Warner and behind Charlie Madison. He didn’t ask a second time, kicking out with his right leg, the heel of his foot striking the back of Madison’s right knee. The man grunted and dropped to his knees; his hands still raised in the air.
‘Lay down on your stomach.’
Madison shook his head.
Ignoring the anger, Ed moved quickly, pushing Madison to the floor, dropping his own weight onto the man’s back, his left hand against Madison’s head, his elbow locked. His left knee pressing down against the man’s shoulder. Ed put his gun back into the holster and reached behind his back for the handcuffs clipped to his belt.
‘Ed,’ said Fran.
Something in her voice made him look up at her. Norman Madison stood behind Fran, his right arm wrapped around her throat, a long knife held against her side. Her gun was on the floor.
His own gun back in his holster, Ed knew there was nothing he could do to help Fran. He dropped the handcuffs, stood up and stepped back. He could see the uncertainty in Fran’s eyes. Charlie Madison picked up the handcuffs, stood up and turned to face Ed.
Madison smiled.
Ed didn’t know what to do. If he fought back. . . it would only take seconds for Norman Madison to push the knife into unyielding flesh and through Fran’s ribs. He would leave her to bleed to death on the floor while his brother beat Ed black and blue.
He could fight back, the Madison brother’s surprised, it might create an opening for Fran. His fight-or-flight response made the decision for him when Charlie raised his fist. Ed was faster, punching his fist into Charlie’s throat, the man’s reaction immediate. Dropping the handcuffs, Charlie raised his hands to his throat, wrapping his fingers around the bruised area as he struggled to breathe, his breath short and rapid. Ed struck a second time, hitting Charlie in the sternum. His face creasing with pain, Charlie Madison collapsed back onto his knees.
‘Enough!’ said Norman Madison, his voice loud. ‘I will kill her.’
Ed stopped, turned his upper body. . . an explosion of pain in his back as Charlie barrelled into him, knocking Ed off his feet, his body hitting the floor with painful surprise. He had to get back up. Made it to his hands and knees, turning his head to look for Charlie, the man coming toward him. Charlie stopped and lifted his right leg. Thinking the man was aiming for his ribs, Ed shifted his body, putting his weight onto his right knee and raised his arms.
Charlie kicked toward Ed’s ribs. Ed wrapped his arms around Charlie’s leg, the man losing his balance. Adjusting his grip, Ed twisted the leg, certain he heard something tear, Charlie crying out in pain.
Something slammed into the back of his head, Ed falling to the floor and onto his back. Ed lost consciousness before he could realise, he had made a terrible mistake, Fran his last thought.
.
.
.
Unable to pull his gaze away, Ed watched as Ralph Decker’s lower leg was torn from his body. A second explosion somewhere behind him. Felt something tear into his lower back, the pain sudden, almost unbearable. He fell to the ground, his face pressed against the dirt, monsoon season over, the ground hard, difficult to sleep on. Turned his head when Ralph began to scream, watched as Ralph began to search for his leg. Watched as a sniper’s bullet snapped Ralph’s head to the side, the bullet exploding out the other side . . .
Ed cried out, his upper body snapping forward, his body now in an upright position. He opened his eyes, his vision damp. His surroundings were unfamiliar, the furniture not his own. He looked down. Still fully clothed he wasn’t in someone else’s bed.
‘Ed.’
It took a moment for his brain to catch up, the memory of what had happened slamming into him, his body stumbling, tilting to the left. He reached out, fingers gripping the carpet beneath him as he tried to regain his balance.
‘Ed?’
He turned his head. Fran was sitting beside him, her legs curled beneath her, eyes full of concern, full of fear. Ed grabbed her wrist, his grip too tight and said, ‘Are you all right?’
Fran smiled, a moment of relief, the fear leaving her eyes. ‘Ed, I’m okay.’
Ed nodded, accepting her answer. Felt a hint of vertigo and finally noticed his head ached, the pain throbbing inside his skull. Letting go of Fran’s wrist, Ed raised his hand, placing it against the back of his head.
‘I’ve called an ambulance,’ said Fran.
‘Why?’ said Ed, his confusion evident.
‘You’re hurt.’
‘I’m fine.’ He twisted his body, his gaze searching the room. Stopped when he saw Mrs. Warner. She still lay in the middle of her living room, her eyes open, staring at nothing. Closed his eyes. Another woman beaten to death.
‘There was nothing I could do,’ said Fran. ‘I tried. . .’
Ed opened his eyes and looked at Fran. He noticed the blood on her shirt, hard to see amongst the vibrant colours. Saw the blood on her fingers, her hands. Lifted his gaze to look her in the eye and said, ‘I know you did.’
‘I called the chief. He’s on his way.’
‘And the Madison brothers?’
‘They left.’
‘They just left,’ Ed shook his head in confusion. Closed his eyes when the pain in his skull increased. A slow breath, the pain easing. Opened his eyes. ‘I thought Charlie would have given me a kick or two on his way out.’
‘Oh, he wanted to,’ said Fran, ‘but his brother dragged him out. I would have tried to follow them but. . .’ She stopped talking as she looked over her shoulder, her gaze steady as she looked at Mrs. Warner.
‘Fran, you did the right thing.’
She nodded, unable to speak, her emotions getting the better of her. He’d done something stupid, left her alone to deal with the Madison brothers and a woman taking her last breaths. Something in his brain clicked.
‘Vietnam was hell. A nightmare I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy,’ said Ed as Fran turned to look at him. ‘I can’t talk about it, Fran. It’s not that I don’t want to. . . I just can’t.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were there?’
‘Fran, I’ve known you for two weeks and we haven’t exactly gotten off to a good start--’
‘I’m sorry, Ed.’
‘Don’t be. This isn’t your fault,’ said Ed, ready to change the subject. He stood up, Fran moving with him, standing beside him. He took a moment to test his balance. His legs were steady, his balance secure but his head ached, the pain heavy and thick. ‘How long was I out?’
‘Almost ten minutes.’
‘All right,’ said Ed, moving toward the telephone, the handset covered with blood. ‘We need to alert the officers in the lobby--’
‘They’re already on alert. I called the telephone operator and asked her to have one of the officers in the lobby call me. I explained what happened. . . Ed, Norman Madison came in behind me. He must have been waiting in the hallway.’
‘The chief isn’t going to be happy,’ said Ed.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Fran. ‘I should have--’
‘Fran,’ said Ed, his voice strong, his tone assertive as he turned to look at her. ‘You did nothing wrong.’
‘I lost my service weapon.’
‘What?’
‘Norman Madison took my gun.’
.
.
.
Ironside arrived less than an hour later, his voice reverberating through the building’s hallway. He rolled his chair through the open doorway, his angry gaze searching the room, grimacing at the sight of Mrs. Warner, her body now covered with a white sheet. The police surgeon had declared her dead less than fifteen minutes ago.
‘Chief.’
Out of the way of the officers searching for forensic evidence, Ed stood in the corner on the right side of the living room, his back to the window, Fran standing beside him.
Ironside wheeled his chair closer to his sergeant, the officers in the room moving out of his way. He stopped in front of Ed and said, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Fran?’
‘I’m fine but I think Ed should go to the hospital. He was unconscious for ten minutes.’
‘You called an ambulance?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Fran.
‘And?’
‘They said the usual,’ said Ed. Knocked unconscious too many times, he knew he was fine. He wasn’t dizzy or nauseated. His head still hurt but a couple of aspirin would take care of the pain. ‘If I feel any dizziness or nausea, I’m to go to the nearest hospital.’
‘Are you feeling any dizziness?’ said Ironside as he leaned back in his chair.
‘No, sir.’
‘Any nausea?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’
Ed was waiting, he recognised the signs. The chief was livid, but Ed couldn’t determine the cause of his anger; his sergeant’s stupidity; officer Belding losing her service weapon; the death of Mrs. Warner; or the fact the Madison brothers had managed to get into and out of the apartment building without someone seeing them. Without a police officer seeing them.
‘I have one question,’ said Ironside.
‘Only one?’ said Ed.
‘Now isn’t the time, sergeant.’
‘No, sir.’
Releasing his temper, Iron snapped, ‘How in the flamin’ hell could you be so stupid? Ed, I told you not to confront the killer alone--’
‘He wasn’t alone,’ said Fran, stepping closer to Ed. ‘I told you what happened. Ed didn’t have a choice. . . we didn’t have a choice. Mrs. Warner--’
‘Mrs. Warner is dead,’ said Ironside. ‘And you’re both damn well lucky you’re not lying on the floor with a sheet over your heads.’
Ed relaxed his shoulders. The chief was angry, but he was also worried, almost afraid of what could have happened, and he was right. They were lucky. Charlie Madison could have killed them both, but he hadn’t, dragged out of the apartment by his brother. Ed didn’t know why they were still alive. He couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation.
‘All right,’ said Ironside, his anger abated. ‘There’s nothing more either of you can do here. Carl can take charge of the crime scene. That is, after he’s finished berating his officers. I’m not the only one who wants to know how Norman and Charlie Madison managed to get in and out of the building without being seen by a police officer.’
‘If they left the building,’ said Ed.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Ed, they’ll be searching every apartment and maintenance closet in this building. If they’re still here, Carl will find them.’
‘We can help,’ said Fran.
‘No. Go back to the office. Write up your reports. Fran, you’ll need to--’
‘I know what I need to do.’
‘Stop interrupting me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Go back to the office. Do what you need to do. I’ll meet you there.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Fran, hesitating when Ed remained still.
‘Go!’ said Ironside.
Fran walked away without a backward glance.
‘She did good,’ said Ed, nodding toward Fran as she walked out of the apartment.
‘Of course, she did,’ said Ironside. ‘She’s a trained police officer. Ed, I want you to stay in the office tonight. I’m sure Mark will let you have his bed.’
‘Why?’
Ironside’s anger returned. ‘You may have a concussion, sergeant. Someone should keep an eye on you and unless you have female company waiting for you at home. . .’
Thinking of Anne, Ed winced as he stepped back from Ironside.
‘I’m sorry, Ed,’ said Ironside, his features filled with regret. ‘I didn’t--’
‘It’s all right.’
‘No, Ed, it isn’t,’ said Ironside as he leant forward, his shoulders hunched, his hands curled into fists. ‘Ed, this case is beginning to get to me. I have this nagging feeling at the back of my mind and it seems to be all about you. I’m trusting my gut on this one, Ed. I want you to stay close. Stay at the office tonight, not just out of concern for your health but for the sake of my sanity.’
Ed frowned. He wanted to say no, that he would be fine at home. . . alone but there was something in the chief’s voice. He looked at Ironside, the chief staring back at him. Ed saw the concern, the regret the chief felt at his choice of words. He saw a hint of fear, Ironside trying and failing to hide the emotion from his sergeant.
He didn’t like the way the chief was acting. When it came to Ed, the chief always kept the concern he felt toward his sergeant to himself. But over the last two days, Ironside had changed, not only showing his concern but voicing it. It still made Ed feel uncomfortable. He still wanted to say no but for a reason he couldn’t explain, he found himself agreeing. ‘All right.’
Saw the relief when Ironside relaxed back into his chair. ‘Good.’
‘I’ll stop at home on the way back to the office. Collect a few things.’
Collect the three small pills Mrs. Miller had given him.
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