azombiewrites (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azombiewrites) wrote2021-08-31 01:51 pm
azombiewrites) wrote2021-08-31 01:51 pm
Entry tags:
Ironside - 'The Draft Dodger' - 1/8
Title: 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: 7,351
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 One
Sergeant Ed Brown and Officer Fran Belding stood in a bubble of silence as they rode the elevator to the third floor of police headquarters and the office and home of Chief Ironside. The silence expected, Ed not surprised by Fran’s anger, but Ed, so familiar with easy conversation with those around him, felt awkward and uncomfortable.
For the past forty minutes – the drive back to headquarters too long – Fran had refused to talk to him, look at him or even acknowledge him. At first, he’d been angry, returning the silence, waiting, ready to snap in anger when Fran spoke to him, sure her first words would be a demand for an apology; he had done nothing wrong.
But now, no longer angry, Ed tried to convince himself he didn’t care, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall of the elevator. Closed his eyes as the silence continued to linger, Ed becoming more uncomfortable. He knew he should talk to her, say something, explain his actions but he also knew he would only be wasting his time, neither of them capable of a civil conversation. Gritted his teeth when he realised an explanation could easily be taken as an apology and he had no intention or reason to apologise.
Letting his head fall back, a soft thump against the elevator wall, his thoughts began to wander. For the past week, everyone, from Fran, Carl Reese and up the chain to the commissioner had doubted he could do the chief’s job while the chief recovered after neck surgery, the Miller case encouraging their doubts to grow.
But he had and he’d done it well, silencing the spoken and unspoken doubts about his ability to do his own and Ironside’s job. It had been exhausting, physically and mentally, his brain and body now on their last legs but he wasn’t going to reveal his exhaustion to anyone, including the chief.
Even though he enjoyed the challenge, overconfident team members included, Ed was glad the chief had returned to work only hours earlier. Today the first day in a week when he didn’t have to worry about doing the wrong thing. . . but somehow, according to Fran’s silence and body language, he had done something wrong. When this case was concluded – hopefully in the next few hours – and the guilty party found, he was going to take a much needed few days off.
Fran sighed.
Keeping his eyes closed, he ignored her.
Since the conclusion of the gambling ring case one week ago, their working relationship had begun to improve. No more caustic remarks. No more anger or blame toward the officer he felt responsible for Ironside’s neck injury. The identity of captain Belding’s murderer revealed, Ed had offered Fran a shoulder to cry on, to console her and help her through familiar territory. He’d lost someone he loved to an act of murder. He understood what she was going through, but he hadn’t revealed his past to her; it hadn’t been about him, Fran’s loss still fresh. His loss was in the past, but it still festered somewhere deep in the back of his mind, like a black lump of cancer.
The memory of Anne straightened his back and his eyes snapped open as he took a sharp intake of breath. His abrupt movement, the sound of his lungs snatching a quick breath must have startled her, Fran responding, turning her head, staring at him, her expression revealing her thoughts; an explanation for his sudden movement wanted. Ed continued to ignore her, refusing to answer her questioning gaze.
He stared at the elevator doors. . . did it always take this long to travel up to the third floor? He saw the shift in Fran’s body language as she turned to face him. She was ready to break the silence, to continue the argument she had started after they left the home of Mrs. Miller. Ed had brought the one-sided argument to a quick end, reminding Fran she was talking to a senior officer, Fran moving quickly from voicing her thoughts to silence.
As far as Ed was concerned there was no reason for an argument, only Fran’s objection to way he had handled Mrs. Miller, accusing him of flirting with the widow when they questioned her about her husband’s death. Five days ago, Mr. Miller had died under suspicious circumstances: suicide, accident, or murder with intent. Ed had been surprised, not by Mr. Miller’s death. . . surprised the commissioner had given him the case. The commissioner’s reason, he wanted to know if Ed Brown, sergeant of detectives, was capable of solving a case of suspicious death without being led by the hand by chief Ironside.
After five days of investigation the case was still unsolved. They didn’t know enough to draw a conclusion, still waiting on the toxicology results, no other evidence to lay guilt or innocence on Mrs. Miller or guilt toward any other suspect. Doubts about Ed’s ability had begun to plague the commissioner and the doubt had spread through the department like gossip.
Ed believed Mrs. Miller had nothing to do with her husband’s death, but he kept his assumptions to himself. Ironside had taught him one of the most important things when it came to investigating a crime; don’t presume innocence or guilt. Find the facts first then prove either innocence or guilt. Facts always came first. Fran hadn’t kept her assumptions quiet. She had voiced her belief of Mrs. Miller’s guilt loud and clear during the past five days, and it wasn’t the only assumption she had voiced; she also doubted Ed’s abilities. He ignored Fran’s doubts because she had doubted him since the first time they had worked undercover together, subtly accusing him of cowardice when he hadn’t forced his way past an armed guard and into the office of a gambling establishment to gather information needed to confirm the legality of a raid.
The elevator finally came to a stop, the doors opening, Ed taking advantage of the elevator’s offer of escape from the silence. Moving quickly, he stepped onto the third floor and walked up the ramp to the door of the chief’s office and home. Ed could hear Fran’s footsteps behind him, her own pace quick, almost running to keep up with his long stride.
Always a gentleman, Ed opened the door and held it open, allowing Fran to go in first. She walked past him, her shoulders straight, her expression neutral. He wasn’t looking forward to what was going to happen next. A slow, deep breath as he prepared himself for what he knew would be an uncomfortable explanation as to why he allowed Mr’s. Miller to conduct herself the way she did.
As they made their way down the short column of steps that led to the center of the office, Ed made a sharp right turn toward the small kitchenette and the pot of brewing coffee; he needed the caffeine, the exhaustion heavy in his limbs. He’d spent a lot of hours working the Miller case, early mornings and late nights had left him feeling exhausted, the gossip of doubt running through the department not helping. Poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip, enjoying the taste. He didn’t know why the chief complained about Mark’s coffee.
Ed turned and faced the center of the room, the small, round table lonely and isolated. Glanced to the left, toward the conference table. Fran was already sitting beside the chief. Ed grimaced. Fran was wearing an expression of superiority, an expression that was quickly becoming familiar.
Ironside wore a look of impatience, an expression Ed had been missing for the past week. Ed smiled, admitting to himself that he had missed the chief at work and was happy he was back. He’d visited the chief in hospital twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, the visits adding to his exhaustion. The chief had asked questions, too many questions, wanting to know everything: what was happening in the office, were they working on a case, how was Fran working out. . . the questions were almost endless. Ed had evaded every question, using every trick he could think of, but he’d refused to lie to the chief. The excuse he used the most. . . the doctor had told them not to talk about work. The chief hadn’t bought it, showing his frustration and anger every time Ed hadn’t given him a straight answer. Now, Ed had no excuses. The chief knew all about the Miller case but had given Ed no input, encouraging his sergeant to continue with the case without the chief. Ed had been hesitant to agree, certain the chief had something up his sleeve. Everything else, the doubts, the gossip. . . Fran, Ed had kept to himself. But he didn’t know what Fran or Mark had told the chief when they visited Ironside. Or the commissioner.
Was that a flicker of a returned smile on the chief’s face? Or a grimace? Ed didn’t care, he was just glad things were back to normal. The doubts would still be there, but if the toxicology reports confirmed his own suspicions, those doubts would be gone, and the commissioner would move on.
Not wanting to keep the chief waiting, Ed moved forward and taking a seat opposite the chief, he said, ‘Chief.’
‘Sergeant.’
Ed paused, a sliver of suspicion creeping up his spine. The chief only called him by his rank in front of senior officers, or when the situation was serious or. . . he was in trouble, Ed was certain. He’d done something wrong. Frowning, his thoughts struggled for an answer. A quick glance toward Fran and he had an answer. Or did he? She couldn’t have told the chief her point of view in a couple of minutes. No, it was something else. The Miller case. It had to be the Miller case. He’d done something wrong, confirmed the commissioner’s and the department’s doubts about his ability to do Ironside’s job and close the Miller case.
Slumping down into the chair in an act of defeat, Ed watched as the expression on the chief’s face change into something even more familiar. The chief knew something Ed didn’t. Not unusual or uncommon, the chief more intelligent than most. Ed had learned a lot from his mentor and would continue to learn, Ironside an excellent teacher; brutally honest when needed and supportive when necessary. Although in Ed’s case it was always more brutal honesty than support.
‘Something wrong, chief?’
‘Why would there be something wrong?’
‘You’re wearing that look,’ said Ed.
Ironside smiled. ‘And what look would that be, sergeant?’
‘The one that says you know something we don’t. Is it the Miller case?’ And then he knew. ‘You have the toxicology reports.’
‘I do,’ said Ironside as he folded his hands in his lap.
Sitting up and leaning forward, Ed said, ‘And?’
‘How did your interview with Mrs. Miller go? Did you learn anything new?’
‘No, nothing new. Mrs. Miller still insists she was asleep when her husband fell, jumped or was pushed from the balcony of their seventh floor apartment.’
Her gaze steady as she stared at Ed, Fran said, ‘Mrs. Miller was evasive when it came to answering our questions.’
Ironside frowned. ‘She was invasive? How?’
‘She was too busy flirting with tall-dark-and-handsome,’ said Fran, nodding toward Ed. ‘Her words, not mine.’
‘Sergeant,’ said Ironside, looking at Ed. ‘You were flirting with a witness who could also be a suspect?’
‘No, sir. Mrs. Miller was flirting with me.’
‘There’s a difference?’
‘Yes sir,’ said Ed. ‘She was flirting. I wasn’t. She used flirtation to avoid answering the questions.’
‘And you allowed it,’ said Fran. ‘You just sat there and enjoyed every minute of it.’
‘Yes,’ said Ed. ‘I allowed her to flirt with me and no, I didn’t enjoy it. She’d lost her husband less than a week ago. She was upset, devasted and we’d already questioned her twice about his death. She needed a distraction to stop herself from breaking down with grief. She needed support, not accusations of guilt.’
‘She killed her husband.’
‘Fran,’ said Ironside, his tone gentle. ‘You know better than to assume guilt without evidence.’
‘There is no evidence. At least no evidence we could find. Nothing. This case. . .’ Fran shook her head, unwilling to continue.
‘Spit it out,’ said Ironside, the first sign of anger showing.
Fran took a deep breath, her body language hesitant. She looked at Ed before turning to confront Ironside. ‘This case has been mishandled from the beginning. If you had been here--’
Ed couldn’t stop himself, snapping out a response. ‘He wasn’t here. He was in the hospital recovering from an operation to repair a neck injury caused by your incompetence.’
‘I apologised for that,’ said Fran.
‘To me. Did you apologise to the chief?’
‘Enough!’ said Ironside, glaring at Ed. ‘Is this how you ran my department while I wasn’t here?’
Sitting back, Ed looked down and shook his head, his anger simmering. Rubbing a hand against his thigh, he said, ‘No, sir.’
Ironside frowned as he watched his sergeant. ‘Shall we continue.’
Ironside opened the murder file sitting in front of him on the conference table. ‘According to this, you insisted on a blood test to confirm if Mrs. Miller was either telling the truth or lying about taking a sleeping pill.’
‘I did.’
‘Congratulations, sergeant.’
‘On what?’ said Ed, as he looked up at Ironside, trying and failing to keep the uncertainty from his features.
‘The test came back positive, Mrs. Miller had taken a sleeping pill before going to bed,’ said Ironside as he picked up and handed his sergeant a file. ‘In fact, according to the toxicology report, the amount of sedative in her system would add up to three pills.’
Fran frowned. ‘She took three sleeping pills?’
‘No,’ said Ed, taking and reading through the short report. ‘She took one. Someone else gave her the other two. She said nothing that would indicate someone else forced her to take more so they must have been crushed up and put in her food or a drink.’
Ironside nodded.
Dropping the file onto the conference table, Ed continued, the facts connecting. ‘It was suicide.’
‘No,’ said Fran. ‘If someone else gave her the extra sleeping pills then it was murder. They didn’t want to be disturbed when they killed Mr. Miller.’
‘Mr. Miller didn’t want to be disturbed,’ said Ed. ‘He didn’t want his wife to stop him. She would have tried to talk him down and if that didn’t work, she would have held onto him and refused to let go. He wanted to die, and he wanted the only person who could stop him out of the way. And we found no evidence to indicate a third person had been in their apartment. The uniformed officer who was first on the scene said the front door was locked. I should have known she had more than one sedative in her system when the officer couldn’t wake her.’
‘You did know,’ said Ironside. ‘Subconsciously anyway. You demanded a blood test.’
‘To wake up to that. . .’ Ed shook his head.
‘He must have been a desperate man,’ said Ironside.
‘What if. . .’ Fran started but again, she refused to continue.
‘Go on,’ said Ironside.
‘Could he have been trying to frame his wife for murder? He didn’t know the police would insist on a blood test to prove she had taken a sleeping pill. He didn’t know a toxicology test would show there was more than one pill in her system. Is that why he didn’t leave a suicide note? He wanted the police to think his wife had pushed him over the balcony.’
‘The police did not insist on a blood test for Mrs. Miller,’ said Ironside. ‘Sergeant Brown insisted on the blood test. Fran, you could be right. If you are, framing his wife for murder wasn’t the reason for his death. Framing her for murder was an opportunity he couldn’t refuse. And if it was his intention to frame her, he failed. If Ed hadn’t insisted on a blood test, he would have succeeded.’
‘I spent time with Mrs. Miller. The way she spoke about her husband. . . they loved each other. Their family and friends confirmed it.’
‘Then why would he kill himself?’ said Fran.
“There’s a lot of reasons why a man, or a woman would take their own life, Fran. He didn’t leave a note, so we’ll never know,’ said Ironside.
‘And neither will his wife,’ said Ed.
‘It’s such a waste,’ said Fran.
Ed stood up. ‘I need another cup of coffee before I go and tell Mrs. Miller her husband jumped from their balcony.’
‘You haven’t finished your first one,’ said Ironside.
Ironside watched in amusement when his sergeant picked up the cup of coffee and drank it, emptying the cup in seconds. Ed turned to walk away but stopped when Ironside spoke his name.
‘Ed, Mrs. Miller can wait until the morning. I want you to sit down.’
Raising the now empty cup, Ed said, ‘Coffee.’
‘Fran can get us both a cup of coffee,’ said Ironside, turning to face Fran. ‘And Fran, take your time, Ed and I will be having a nice little chat.’
Fran stood up and walked around the small conference table, smiling at Ed as she snatched the cup out of his hand. Ed didn’t smile back. Even though his suspicions about the Miller case were now confirmed, he was still in trouble. Looking at Ironside, Ed saw another familiar expression. Ironside was serious about a nice-little-chat. Ed knew he’d done the wrong thing, snapping at Fran, revealing his anger and frustration with the young officer. Expecting a lecture – something Ed was also very familiar with – he was surprised when Ironside said, ‘You look tired.’
Ed sat down, his shoulders slumping as the exhaustion he’d been feeling the past few days grew heavier. His eyes suddenly dry and itching, he rubbed his eyes with his right hand. ‘It’s been a long week.’
‘You and Fran still not getting on?’
‘You could say that,’ said Ed, lowering his arm, allowing it to fall into his lap.
‘I just did.’
Ed smiled in response. Maybe this little chat wasn’t going to be as bad as he’d thought.
‘I thought you two had sorted out your differences when we solved Captain Belding’s murder.’
‘So did I.’
‘Then what went wrong?’
Remaining silent, Ed shook his head and looked away as he tried to think, to work out what went wrong with the improving relationship he’d had with Fran a few days ago. It didn’t take long, his brain no longer working the Miller case. He was the problem. He was the cause. He glanced toward the chief, Ironside watching him, staring. It was unusual for the chief to look a person in the eye for a long period of time, always doing his best thinking when he looked elsewhere.
Again, Ed shook his head, a silent response. He couldn’t talk about it, not yet. He couldn’t explain to the chief what had happened. He couldn’t tell the chief, Fran thought she already knew everything, neither willing nor wanting to learn the ropes. He couldn’t put the blame on the young officer. He was the one at fault. While the chief was recovering, it had been Ed’s job to run the police consulting department. He should have spoken to Fran, put her doubts and overconfident ego at rest as quickly as he had put a stop to their earlier argument. It was his job to train the young officer whether Ironside was here or not, and he hadn’t done that, he failed to do his job. He failed Ironside but more importantly, he’d failed Fran.
Why? Because she was still hurting, and he didn’t want to add to that. Ed knew what if felt like. Fran had thrown herself into the job. If she stopped and asked questions. . . stopped to listen and learn, she would feel inadequate, useless and that would not have helped her. She’d used the job as a distraction to get through each day. Ed had been the same way after Anne. . . he had thrown himself into the job, studying Tom Dayton until he knew the man better than himself. The job had been a distraction for Ed. Dayton had been a reason to get up every morning. He had needed to find Anne’s killer just as Fran had needed to find her father’s killer.
Ed should have known this from the beginning, but he had been too concerned about running the department, too eager to do a good job and prove his competence. He’d pushed her needs aside. He needed to apologise to Fran, something he was now willing to do because he had reason and cause.
‘Sir, I need to apologise,’ said Ed, standing up and pushing the chair back.
‘To me?’ said Ironside, sounding surprised.
‘No, sir. To Fran.’
‘Fran can wait. Sit down.’
‘Chief, what’s this about?’
Waiting for a reply, Ed realised he wasn’t going to get one. The chief just stared at him, waiting, feeling more confident than his sergeant. Resigned to his fate, Ed pushed the chair back to its original position and sat down, like a lamb to the slaughter. Ed continued to wait, Ironside still silent, watching his sergeant. Feeling uncomfortable under the chief’s scrutiny, Ed said, ‘What did I do wrong?’
Ironside smiled. ‘What makes you think you did something wrong, sergeant?’
‘That,’ said Ed, pointing at Ironside. ‘You keep using my rank.’
‘As you already know, I’ve read your file on the Miller case. . . Ed.’
‘And?’
‘You did a good job.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. That is, you did nothing wrong.’
‘Tell that to the commissioner,’ said Ed, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He needed a break, something to eat. . . he needed to sleep. ‘That came out wrong.’
‘How much sleep have you had since I went into the hospital?’
‘Enough,’ said Ed.
‘I doubt that very much,’ said Ironside. ‘Speaking of doubts, I spoke to Commissioner Randall. He told me he’d become concerned about your ability to do both my job and yours and solve the Miller case.’
‘I know about his doubts,’ said Ed, his anger returning. ‘I’ve heard nothing but doubts from most of the people in the police department since the commissioner gave me the case. Including this department. I’m certain the Miller case was a test and I think the commissioner expected me to fail and fail spectacularly.’
‘He expected no such thing.’
‘Then what did he expect?’
‘He expected you to do your job.’
‘I did my job. I just didn’t do it quickly enough for the commissioner. A single day hadn’t even passed before he started to question what I was doing and before I knew it, everyone was doubting my abilities as a police officer. Including Fran and even Mark made a few comments. I did my job. I did what was expected of me.’
Ironside frowned. ‘I know you did. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.’
‘Are we done?’
‘For now, sergeant,’ said Ironside, still frowning, a flicker of concern brushing across his features.
‘I can go now?’
‘Not yet,’ said Ironside. ‘Dinner first and then you can go home and get some sleep. You can speak to Mrs. Miller and write up the final report on the case tomorrow.’
‘Dinner?’
Ironside smiled.
Ed frowned.
‘I sent Mark out for four steak dinners.’
‘You sent Mark out for four steak dinners?’
‘Yes.’
‘Four steak dinners?’
‘Yes, four steak dinners! What’s wrong with you? Have you gone deaf?’
‘No, I’m not deaf, it’s just. . .’
‘Just what, sergeant?’
‘Chief?’ said Ed, ‘are you feeling all right? Are you ill? Would you like me to call your doctor?’
‘No dammit! I’m not ill. I’ve just spent a week in a flamin’ hospital. Why on earth would you think I’m ill?’
‘It’s just,’ said Ed, hesitating before he continued. ‘Because when you pay for dinner, it usually involves either a hamburger or chilli.’
‘I’ve bought four steak dinners for a reason, sergeant.’
‘What reason would that be, chief?’
‘We’re celebrating,’ said Ironside.
‘Celebrating what?’
‘You, sergeant Brown, solved a case without my input. That’s cause for celebration,’ said Ironside as he wheeled his chair away from the table.
‘You make it sound like it’s the first time I’ve solved a case.’
‘Not my intention, sergeant,’ said Ironside, moving around the conference table, stopping beside his sergeant. ‘Ed, what I’m about to say is just between us. If you repeat it to anyone, I’ll have your badge.’
Ed nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
Elbows on the arms of his wheelchair, Ironside clasped his hands together and said, ‘Ed, I’m proud of you.’
Ed waited and when Ironside didn’t continue, he said, ‘I’m waiting for the punchline.’
‘There’s no punch line, sergeant.’
‘Then why put yourself out there and tell me you’re proud of me.’
‘Because you needed to hear it. I am proud, Ed. You did a good job while I was gone.’
‘Not with Fran.’
‘Stop putting yourself down. And stop comparing Fran’s situation with your own. Once you do that, things will fall into place. That and an explanation will go a long way. Tell her about Anne. Fran will understand.’
‘Anne doesn’t have anything to do with it.’
‘She has everything to do with it, Ed,’ said Ironside. ‘You’re too soft with Fran because you understand how she feels, and you don’t want to cause her any more pain. Tell her.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ Ed had no intention of telling Fran about Anne.
‘Don’t take too long,’ said Ironside.
Ed nodded, grateful when he heard the office door open. Groaned when he heard Ironside greet the commissioner.
‘Evening, Dennis,’ said Ironside as he turned his wheelchair away from Ed, surprising his sergeant when he gripped Ed’s shoulder, a show of support. ‘I’m going to assume you’re here to congratulate sergeant Brown on successfully closing the Miller case.’
Ed leaned closer to Ironside and whispered, ‘How would the commissioner know the case is closed?’
‘Because I called the commissioner and told him you’d closed the case,’ said Ironside.
‘Right,’ said Ed, slumping back into his chair. ‘Of course, you did.’
‘Officer Belding,’ said Commissioner Randall as he walked down the steps, a thick file in his right hand. He turned left and stopped in front of Ironside. ‘Bob. Ed’
‘Sir,’ said Ed, sitting up straighter, showing more confidence than he felt. He was waiting for the praise Ironside had asked for, expecting the commissioner to give none, voicing his doubts instead. Not surprised when the commissioner quickly followed a positive comment with a negative, voicing the doubts he had felt about Ed closing the Miller case.
‘Congratulations, Ed, you did a fine job. Better than I expected.’
‘The toxicology tests solved the case, sir, not me.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, sergeant. From what Bob told me earlier, if you hadn’t asked for the blood test, the case would never have been solved.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Congratulations, Dennis,’ said Ironside.
‘For what,’ said Randall, his confusion evident.
‘For putting a dent in my sergeant’s confidence.’
Randall looked at Ed then returned his gaze to Ironside. ‘Bob, it’s not my job to boost your sergeant’s confidence. He’s already damn good at the job. I don’t need to keep reminding him and neither do you. If he has doubts or believes that others have doubts about his ability to run this department or solve a case without your help. . . well. . . he should find another job.’
‘Did you hear that, sergeant,’ said Ironside, his gaze steady as he continued to look at the commissioner. ‘The commissioner never doubted you. Your doubts were your own.’
Ed didn’t agree but he stayed silent.
‘Bob, I have a case I would like you and your department to take over.’ Randall offered the file he’d brought with him to Ed. ‘That is of course, if sergeant Brown thinks he can carry on doing the job as well as I expect him to.’
Ed stood up, faced the commissioner, and took the file. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good,’ said Randall, stepping toward one of the empty chairs and sitting down. ‘Now that moment of self-pity is over, we can get on with why I’m here.’
Allowing the conversation to move on without him, Ed sat down, opened the file, and quickly read through the first page. Frowning at the information in front of him, he turned the page over and continued to read.
‘Dennis,’ said Ironside as he made his way back to his previous position on the other side of the conference table. ‘You just told us why you’re here. Now, why don’t you explain to me, why you want us to take over an already existing case.’
‘The Henry Warner case,’ said Ed without looking up from the file.
‘That’s Lieutenant Reese’s case,’ said Ironside, frowning at Fran as she sat down beside him, her hands empty. ‘Fran, where’s my coffee.’
‘I’m sorry, chief,’ said Fran. ‘I thought your request for coffee was a polite way of telling me to get lost for a few minutes.’
Ironside’s frown grew, his impatience growing. Looking back at the commissioner, he said, ’Dennis, I’m sure Carl doesn’t need my help.’
‘He doesn’t but that’s not why I want you to take over the case,’ said Randall. ‘There’s been a development and I need you to handle it.’
‘What kind of development?’
Picking up a page from the file, Ed passed it over to Ironside and said, ‘A witness has come forward. John Malcom.’
‘Henry Warner was murdered three weeks ago,’ said Ironside, taking the page from his sergeant and reading it. ‘Why come forward now?’
‘And there’s no witness statement,’ said Ed.
‘Why not?’ said Ironside, lifting his gaze away from Ed and toward the commissioner. ‘Why hasn’t your witness given Carl a statement?’
‘The witness comes with stipulation,’ said Randall. ‘He’s refusing to tell us what he saw until we agree to his--’
‘Demand?’ said Ironside.
‘Bob, we don’t have a choice,’ said Randall. ‘This case has been stagnant for the past two weeks.’
‘What sort of stipulation is this witness demanding?’
‘I’ll let him tell you when they get here.’
‘He’s coming here?’
‘Lieutenant Reese will be arriving shortly with your witness,’ said Randall.
‘My witness?’
‘Bob, I need you to take the case.’
‘Why? Because the higher-ups are putting pressure on you to have the case closed.’
‘No, of course not. Malcom’s stipulation is. . . sensitive.’
‘And if I don’t agree to his demand?’
‘It’s already in the works, Bob,’ said Randall. ‘The approval of Malcom’s demand will be ready by the morning. I’ll send the paperwork to you when it comes through.’
‘Then why on earth do you need me?’
‘Because John Malcom asked for you.’
‘That was his stipulation?’ said Ironside.
‘No.’
‘Is he asking for a deal?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ said Randall. ‘He hasn’t committed a crime.’
‘I don’t know much about the Warner case,’ said Fran. ‘Only what I’ve read in the papers. Can someone give me the short version?’
Randall looked frustrated, not enjoying the interruption to their conversation. ‘Chief Ironside can go over the details with you later. Right now, we need to keep this moving. I don’t want the witness to change his mind.’
‘With all due respect, commissioner, the witness isn’t here and taking a few minutes to explain the case to me in more detail isn’t going to change his mind.’
‘Never one to mince her words,’ said Ironside, smiling at the commissioner.
‘Just make it quick, Bob. Reese will be here any minute with the witness and we don’t have much time to waste.’
Putting his elbows on the arms of his wheelchair, his hands clasped together in his lap, Ironside looked at his sergeant and said, ‘Why don’t we kill two birds with one stone. Ed, you’re already familiar with the case. You can educate Fran on the case and remind me of the details at the same time.
‘I doubt you need reminding, chief,’ said Ed, smiling at Ironside.
Ignoring the commissioner’s subtle glance at his watch, Ironside said, ‘Remind me anyway.’
Ed closed the file, and began detailing the case, his gaze shifting between Ironside and Fran. ‘Three weeks ago, we’d received an anonymous call reporting a man had been mugged and left unconscious on the sidewalk outside his home, an apartment building on Howard Street. Uniformed officers arrived to find the victim, Henry Warner, deceased. He’d been beaten to death.’
‘Beaten to death with what?’ said Fran.
‘No weapon was used.’
‘The killer or killers used their fists,’ said Ironside
‘Why do you think there may be more than one killer?’ said Fran.
‘Henry Warner was a professional boxer up until five years ago. One man wouldn’t be able take on Warner, not unless he had an advantage.’
‘A thug would fight dirty,’ said Ed. ‘Warner wouldn’t. That’s one advantage. Or another trained fighter.’
‘Another boxer?’ said Ironside, frowning in thought. ‘It’s possible.’
‘Or he could be military trained.’
‘The military doesn’t train men to fight,’ said Fran. ‘They train them to kill.’
‘Fran,’ said Ironside, his gaze on his sergeant. ‘Henry Warner was killed.’
Ed heard what Fran had said but he wasn’t going to react, not in front of the chief and not in front of the commissioner. He wouldn’t argue the point with her. In a way she was right, he had been trained to kill. . . with a gun and with his hands. He hadn’t enjoyed it. Vietnam had been a nightmare. The jungle. The humidity. The violence. The death of so many, military and civilians. He’d gone to Vietnam believing what the American government had told him. . .
Ed lowered his head and closed his eyes. Memories exploded in the back of his mind. Snapped his eyes open and pushed the nightmare images to the back of his mind. He didn’t need this now. Normally he would have no problem when reminded of Vietnam, brushing it aside as though he’d never been there. But today. . . today he was exhausted, self-doubt lingering on the edge of his mind. A good night’s sleep was all he needed; if he didn’t shut the memories away, the nightmares would follow.
‘Your witness will tell you if there was more than one killer,’ said Randall.
‘Was Warner under the influence of alcohol when he was killed?’ said Fran. ‘If he was drunk, he wouldn’t have been able to fight back.’
Already knowing the answer but needing a moment’s distraction, Ed opened the murder file. He could see the typed words on the reports, but he couldn’t read them. A slow, deep breath, his pounding heart slowing, returning to a normal rhythm.
‘Ed?’ Ironside’s tone was gentle, a nudge back to reality.
‘Sorry,’ said Ed, lifting his head, looking at Ironside then Fran.
‘Was Warner Drunk when he was killed?’ said Fran.
‘Not according to the toxicology report,’ said Ed. The memories shifted, settling, a layer of fog closing around him. He recognised the symptoms; he wasn’t going to sleep tonight. ‘He didn’t have any alcohol in his system. The coroner estimated time of death to be in the early hours of the morning on Thursday May 12th. His wife confirmed he’d left their home at two in the morning.’
‘Did she say why he went out at that time of morning,’ said Fran, her expression curious.
‘No. She was asleep. Said she woke up to the sound of him leaving. She checked their bedside clock thinking he was leaving for work at his usual time.’
‘What time did he usually leave for work?’
‘Seven thirty,’ said Ed before continuing. ‘The only blood found at the scene belonged to the victim.’
‘The killer or killers wore gloves,’ said Ironside, still watching Ed.
‘Did he often leave the apartment at that time of the morning?’
Aware of Ironside’s scrutiny, Ed said, ‘According to Mrs. Warner, it was the first time she’d heard him leave that early.’
‘That doesn’t mean it had been the first time,’ said Ironside. ‘It was the first time she’d heard him leave at two in the morning.’
‘The only print they found was a partial bloody shoe print. Beige fibres were found on the victim and they’ve since been identified as carpet fibres. They don’t match any fibres in the victim’s home or office--’
‘He worked in real estate?’ said Fran.
‘Yes. He got his licence after he retired from boxing. The fibres also didn’t match any of the homes that were on his listing. The victim’s keys are missing. According to Mrs. Miller, he carried an apartment key, car keys and his office key on a San Francisco Giants key ring. Carl put a watch on the apartment building, the car, and the office. No activity. His wallet wasn’t missing. Found on the body with forty dollars still in the wallet. His car is still parked where he last left it.’
‘Not a mugging,’ said Fran.
Ed could feel a tremor moving across his limbs, his spine. He shifted in his seat and subconsciously clenched his left hand, a tight fist, the knuckles white. ‘Carl spoke with the victim’s wife, his family and friends. Spoke to their neighbours and everyone else within a five-block radius. He spoke with his co-workers and his clients. Present and past. He was well liked. His wife, though, did admit that her husband had an affair two years ago. Apparently, the husband of the woman he was having the affair with found out and called the victim’s wife to inform her of her husband’s infidelity.’
‘What did the woman’s husband have to say when Carl spoke to him?’ said Fran.
‘Lieutenant Reese interviewed the man and his wife. They have an alibi.’
‘Each other?’
‘No, Fran,’ said Ed. ‘Not each other. The husband was working. He was on nightshift and the wife was staying with her mother. She’d left him when he discovered her infidelity.’
‘How did he discover her infidelity?’ said Fran.
‘He followed her after he became suspicious.’
‘The question is,’ said Ironside looking at Fran. ‘Was the victim having another affair?’
‘Carl asked Mrs. Warner,’ said Ed. ‘And no, she doesn’t think her husband was having another affair. He arrived home on time, didn’t work weekends and ate his lunch in the office.’
‘No other suspects?’ said Ironside.
‘No other suspects.’
‘And now we have a witness with a stipulation.’
‘Now we have a witness with a stipulation,’ said Ed as he nodded in agreement.
The office door opened, Mark Sanger announcing his arrival. ‘Dinner is served!’
‘About flamin’ time,’ said Ironside, moving away from the conference table and toward the center of the room. Fran and the commissioner following his lead. ‘What took you so long?’
‘Someone wanted their steak well done’, said Mark, looking at Fran as he made his way down the steps, stopping in front of the round table.
Fran smiled an apology as she followed the chief. ‘I like my steak to be dead when I eat it.’
‘Sorry, Dennis,’ said Ironside. ‘If I knew you were coming, I would have ordered an extra meal.
‘Three more extra meals, chief,’ said Fran as they crowded around the table. ‘Lieutenant Reese and John Malcom.’
Ironside glanced over his shoulder, back toward Ed who was still sitting at the conference table. ‘I would gladly buy Carl a steak dinner but a witness making demands, he can have a bowl of left-over chilli. Ed, are you going to join us?’
‘No need to apologise, Bob,’ said Randall, looking at his watch. ‘I have a dinner reservation and I’m already late. I’ll leave you to it.’
‘You’re assuming I’m taking the case.’
‘Are you?’
Another glance toward his sergeant. ‘I’ll take the case on one condition.’
‘Condition?’
‘A week off after this case is over.’
‘Bob, you just had a week off.’
‘No, Dennis, I didn’t. I spent a week in a hospital bed. That does not constitute a holiday. Oh, and Dennis, a week’s holiday includes my staff.’
‘Deal,’ said Randall as he walked away, his steps quick. A rushed goodbye as he left the office before Ironside could change his mind.
‘A witness?’ said Mark. ‘In the Miller case?’
‘No, Ed solved the Miller case.’
Setting the dinners down on the table, Mark said, ‘How did he manage that?’
Ironside glared at Mark. ‘He used his intelligence.’
‘And a toxicology report,’ said Fran, smiling at Mark.
‘Does that explain the steak dinners?’
‘Yes, Mark,’ said Ironside. ‘We’re celebrating.’
‘Celebrating what? We’ve solved cases before.’
‘We?’
‘Chief, you know what I mean.’
‘I know exactly what you mean, Mark. We are celebrating because this department didn’t fall apart while I wasn’t here.’
‘I get your point,’ said Mark. ‘So, where does the witness come into it?’
‘We have a new case,’ said Ironside, turning his chair. ‘Sergeant!’
Ed wanted to stand up. He couldn’t, the tremor in his limbs still active. His body shaking, he closed his eyes. Feeling a sharp pain in the palm of his left hand, he looked down at his hand. His fist still clenched, he took a slow breath and opened his hand. His fingernails had left marks in the skin, red indentations. Knowing he had to do something, to distract his mind before images of death took him too far back, Ed stood up. His legs felt weak, the exhaustion trying to pull him down. . .
‘Sergeant Brown!’
Ed knew that tone. Ironside was quickly becoming impatient, heading directly toward angry. Turning away from the conference table, Ed walked slowly toward the others, his legs growing more reliable, the strength returning. He stopped behind the chief, turning toward the office door when he heard it open for the third time that night.
Carl Reese walked into the office and down the steps leading into the open area of Ironside’s office and home. A young man following behind him. ‘Chief.’
‘Carl, we were just sitting down to dinner.’
Reese looked down into one of the open food containers. ‘Steak?’
‘Yes, Carl, steak.’
‘What’s the catch?’
‘There is no catch,’ said Ironside. ‘Why is everyone questioning my choice of dinner?’
‘Because your choice of dinner usually involves a hamburger or chilli.’
‘That’s what Ed said. Speaking of Ed. Sergeant!’
‘Right here, chief.’
Ironside turned his chair and looked up at his six-foot-two sergeant. ‘Sit down, sergeant.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ed sat down in his usual chair, his back to the wall behind him.
‘I saw the commissioner on the way in,’ said Reese. ‘He said you were taking over the case.’
‘Not taking over,’ said Ironside. ‘I want you to continue with the case, working with my team.’
Reese nodded in acceptance then made the introductions, ‘Chief, this is John Malcom. John, this is chief Ironside, Officer Fran Belding, Mark Sanger and Sergeant Ed Brown.’
‘Mr. Malcom,’ said Ironside, turning to face the young man. Wearing a blue denim jacket, jeans torn at the knee and a white shirt, John Malcom looked like the boy-next-door type, good looking with short blond hair and dark brown eyes. ‘I’ve been told you witnessed a murder.’
Malcom shuffled his feet, put his hands in his pockets then pulled them out again, letting them fall limp at his sides. ‘Yes . . . yes, sir.’
‘I’ve also been told that you won’t give the police a statement until your demand is met.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you mind telling me what your demand is?’
Malcom looked at Reese who nodded, encouraging the young man to talk.
‘Sir, my number came up. I’ve been drafted and before I give you a statement, I want a guarantee in writing that I won’t be sent to Vietnam.’
‘You’re a pacifist,’ said Ironside.
‘Yes, sir, I am.’
Ed Brown was sure he felt the world drop beneath his feet, his stomach not far behind, grateful he was sitting down.
Chapter One | Chapter Two
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: 7,351
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 One
Sergeant Ed Brown and Officer Fran Belding stood in a bubble of silence as they rode the elevator to the third floor of police headquarters and the office and home of Chief Ironside. The silence expected, Ed not surprised by Fran’s anger, but Ed, so familiar with easy conversation with those around him, felt awkward and uncomfortable.
For the past forty minutes – the drive back to headquarters too long – Fran had refused to talk to him, look at him or even acknowledge him. At first, he’d been angry, returning the silence, waiting, ready to snap in anger when Fran spoke to him, sure her first words would be a demand for an apology; he had done nothing wrong.
But now, no longer angry, Ed tried to convince himself he didn’t care, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall of the elevator. Closed his eyes as the silence continued to linger, Ed becoming more uncomfortable. He knew he should talk to her, say something, explain his actions but he also knew he would only be wasting his time, neither of them capable of a civil conversation. Gritted his teeth when he realised an explanation could easily be taken as an apology and he had no intention or reason to apologise.
Letting his head fall back, a soft thump against the elevator wall, his thoughts began to wander. For the past week, everyone, from Fran, Carl Reese and up the chain to the commissioner had doubted he could do the chief’s job while the chief recovered after neck surgery, the Miller case encouraging their doubts to grow.
But he had and he’d done it well, silencing the spoken and unspoken doubts about his ability to do his own and Ironside’s job. It had been exhausting, physically and mentally, his brain and body now on their last legs but he wasn’t going to reveal his exhaustion to anyone, including the chief.
Even though he enjoyed the challenge, overconfident team members included, Ed was glad the chief had returned to work only hours earlier. Today the first day in a week when he didn’t have to worry about doing the wrong thing. . . but somehow, according to Fran’s silence and body language, he had done something wrong. When this case was concluded – hopefully in the next few hours – and the guilty party found, he was going to take a much needed few days off.
Fran sighed.
Keeping his eyes closed, he ignored her.
Since the conclusion of the gambling ring case one week ago, their working relationship had begun to improve. No more caustic remarks. No more anger or blame toward the officer he felt responsible for Ironside’s neck injury. The identity of captain Belding’s murderer revealed, Ed had offered Fran a shoulder to cry on, to console her and help her through familiar territory. He’d lost someone he loved to an act of murder. He understood what she was going through, but he hadn’t revealed his past to her; it hadn’t been about him, Fran’s loss still fresh. His loss was in the past, but it still festered somewhere deep in the back of his mind, like a black lump of cancer.
The memory of Anne straightened his back and his eyes snapped open as he took a sharp intake of breath. His abrupt movement, the sound of his lungs snatching a quick breath must have startled her, Fran responding, turning her head, staring at him, her expression revealing her thoughts; an explanation for his sudden movement wanted. Ed continued to ignore her, refusing to answer her questioning gaze.
He stared at the elevator doors. . . did it always take this long to travel up to the third floor? He saw the shift in Fran’s body language as she turned to face him. She was ready to break the silence, to continue the argument she had started after they left the home of Mrs. Miller. Ed had brought the one-sided argument to a quick end, reminding Fran she was talking to a senior officer, Fran moving quickly from voicing her thoughts to silence.
As far as Ed was concerned there was no reason for an argument, only Fran’s objection to way he had handled Mrs. Miller, accusing him of flirting with the widow when they questioned her about her husband’s death. Five days ago, Mr. Miller had died under suspicious circumstances: suicide, accident, or murder with intent. Ed had been surprised, not by Mr. Miller’s death. . . surprised the commissioner had given him the case. The commissioner’s reason, he wanted to know if Ed Brown, sergeant of detectives, was capable of solving a case of suspicious death without being led by the hand by chief Ironside.
After five days of investigation the case was still unsolved. They didn’t know enough to draw a conclusion, still waiting on the toxicology results, no other evidence to lay guilt or innocence on Mrs. Miller or guilt toward any other suspect. Doubts about Ed’s ability had begun to plague the commissioner and the doubt had spread through the department like gossip.
Ed believed Mrs. Miller had nothing to do with her husband’s death, but he kept his assumptions to himself. Ironside had taught him one of the most important things when it came to investigating a crime; don’t presume innocence or guilt. Find the facts first then prove either innocence or guilt. Facts always came first. Fran hadn’t kept her assumptions quiet. She had voiced her belief of Mrs. Miller’s guilt loud and clear during the past five days, and it wasn’t the only assumption she had voiced; she also doubted Ed’s abilities. He ignored Fran’s doubts because she had doubted him since the first time they had worked undercover together, subtly accusing him of cowardice when he hadn’t forced his way past an armed guard and into the office of a gambling establishment to gather information needed to confirm the legality of a raid.
The elevator finally came to a stop, the doors opening, Ed taking advantage of the elevator’s offer of escape from the silence. Moving quickly, he stepped onto the third floor and walked up the ramp to the door of the chief’s office and home. Ed could hear Fran’s footsteps behind him, her own pace quick, almost running to keep up with his long stride.
Always a gentleman, Ed opened the door and held it open, allowing Fran to go in first. She walked past him, her shoulders straight, her expression neutral. He wasn’t looking forward to what was going to happen next. A slow, deep breath as he prepared himself for what he knew would be an uncomfortable explanation as to why he allowed Mr’s. Miller to conduct herself the way she did.
As they made their way down the short column of steps that led to the center of the office, Ed made a sharp right turn toward the small kitchenette and the pot of brewing coffee; he needed the caffeine, the exhaustion heavy in his limbs. He’d spent a lot of hours working the Miller case, early mornings and late nights had left him feeling exhausted, the gossip of doubt running through the department not helping. Poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip, enjoying the taste. He didn’t know why the chief complained about Mark’s coffee.
Ed turned and faced the center of the room, the small, round table lonely and isolated. Glanced to the left, toward the conference table. Fran was already sitting beside the chief. Ed grimaced. Fran was wearing an expression of superiority, an expression that was quickly becoming familiar.
Ironside wore a look of impatience, an expression Ed had been missing for the past week. Ed smiled, admitting to himself that he had missed the chief at work and was happy he was back. He’d visited the chief in hospital twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, the visits adding to his exhaustion. The chief had asked questions, too many questions, wanting to know everything: what was happening in the office, were they working on a case, how was Fran working out. . . the questions were almost endless. Ed had evaded every question, using every trick he could think of, but he’d refused to lie to the chief. The excuse he used the most. . . the doctor had told them not to talk about work. The chief hadn’t bought it, showing his frustration and anger every time Ed hadn’t given him a straight answer. Now, Ed had no excuses. The chief knew all about the Miller case but had given Ed no input, encouraging his sergeant to continue with the case without the chief. Ed had been hesitant to agree, certain the chief had something up his sleeve. Everything else, the doubts, the gossip. . . Fran, Ed had kept to himself. But he didn’t know what Fran or Mark had told the chief when they visited Ironside. Or the commissioner.
Was that a flicker of a returned smile on the chief’s face? Or a grimace? Ed didn’t care, he was just glad things were back to normal. The doubts would still be there, but if the toxicology reports confirmed his own suspicions, those doubts would be gone, and the commissioner would move on.
Not wanting to keep the chief waiting, Ed moved forward and taking a seat opposite the chief, he said, ‘Chief.’
‘Sergeant.’
Ed paused, a sliver of suspicion creeping up his spine. The chief only called him by his rank in front of senior officers, or when the situation was serious or. . . he was in trouble, Ed was certain. He’d done something wrong. Frowning, his thoughts struggled for an answer. A quick glance toward Fran and he had an answer. Or did he? She couldn’t have told the chief her point of view in a couple of minutes. No, it was something else. The Miller case. It had to be the Miller case. He’d done something wrong, confirmed the commissioner’s and the department’s doubts about his ability to do Ironside’s job and close the Miller case.
Slumping down into the chair in an act of defeat, Ed watched as the expression on the chief’s face change into something even more familiar. The chief knew something Ed didn’t. Not unusual or uncommon, the chief more intelligent than most. Ed had learned a lot from his mentor and would continue to learn, Ironside an excellent teacher; brutally honest when needed and supportive when necessary. Although in Ed’s case it was always more brutal honesty than support.
‘Something wrong, chief?’
‘Why would there be something wrong?’
‘You’re wearing that look,’ said Ed.
Ironside smiled. ‘And what look would that be, sergeant?’
‘The one that says you know something we don’t. Is it the Miller case?’ And then he knew. ‘You have the toxicology reports.’
‘I do,’ said Ironside as he folded his hands in his lap.
Sitting up and leaning forward, Ed said, ‘And?’
‘How did your interview with Mrs. Miller go? Did you learn anything new?’
‘No, nothing new. Mrs. Miller still insists she was asleep when her husband fell, jumped or was pushed from the balcony of their seventh floor apartment.’
Her gaze steady as she stared at Ed, Fran said, ‘Mrs. Miller was evasive when it came to answering our questions.’
Ironside frowned. ‘She was invasive? How?’
‘She was too busy flirting with tall-dark-and-handsome,’ said Fran, nodding toward Ed. ‘Her words, not mine.’
‘Sergeant,’ said Ironside, looking at Ed. ‘You were flirting with a witness who could also be a suspect?’
‘No, sir. Mrs. Miller was flirting with me.’
‘There’s a difference?’
‘Yes sir,’ said Ed. ‘She was flirting. I wasn’t. She used flirtation to avoid answering the questions.’
‘And you allowed it,’ said Fran. ‘You just sat there and enjoyed every minute of it.’
‘Yes,’ said Ed. ‘I allowed her to flirt with me and no, I didn’t enjoy it. She’d lost her husband less than a week ago. She was upset, devasted and we’d already questioned her twice about his death. She needed a distraction to stop herself from breaking down with grief. She needed support, not accusations of guilt.’
‘She killed her husband.’
‘Fran,’ said Ironside, his tone gentle. ‘You know better than to assume guilt without evidence.’
‘There is no evidence. At least no evidence we could find. Nothing. This case. . .’ Fran shook her head, unwilling to continue.
‘Spit it out,’ said Ironside, the first sign of anger showing.
Fran took a deep breath, her body language hesitant. She looked at Ed before turning to confront Ironside. ‘This case has been mishandled from the beginning. If you had been here--’
Ed couldn’t stop himself, snapping out a response. ‘He wasn’t here. He was in the hospital recovering from an operation to repair a neck injury caused by your incompetence.’
‘I apologised for that,’ said Fran.
‘To me. Did you apologise to the chief?’
‘Enough!’ said Ironside, glaring at Ed. ‘Is this how you ran my department while I wasn’t here?’
Sitting back, Ed looked down and shook his head, his anger simmering. Rubbing a hand against his thigh, he said, ‘No, sir.’
Ironside frowned as he watched his sergeant. ‘Shall we continue.’
Ironside opened the murder file sitting in front of him on the conference table. ‘According to this, you insisted on a blood test to confirm if Mrs. Miller was either telling the truth or lying about taking a sleeping pill.’
‘I did.’
‘Congratulations, sergeant.’
‘On what?’ said Ed, as he looked up at Ironside, trying and failing to keep the uncertainty from his features.
‘The test came back positive, Mrs. Miller had taken a sleeping pill before going to bed,’ said Ironside as he picked up and handed his sergeant a file. ‘In fact, according to the toxicology report, the amount of sedative in her system would add up to three pills.’
Fran frowned. ‘She took three sleeping pills?’
‘No,’ said Ed, taking and reading through the short report. ‘She took one. Someone else gave her the other two. She said nothing that would indicate someone else forced her to take more so they must have been crushed up and put in her food or a drink.’
Ironside nodded.
Dropping the file onto the conference table, Ed continued, the facts connecting. ‘It was suicide.’
‘No,’ said Fran. ‘If someone else gave her the extra sleeping pills then it was murder. They didn’t want to be disturbed when they killed Mr. Miller.’
‘Mr. Miller didn’t want to be disturbed,’ said Ed. ‘He didn’t want his wife to stop him. She would have tried to talk him down and if that didn’t work, she would have held onto him and refused to let go. He wanted to die, and he wanted the only person who could stop him out of the way. And we found no evidence to indicate a third person had been in their apartment. The uniformed officer who was first on the scene said the front door was locked. I should have known she had more than one sedative in her system when the officer couldn’t wake her.’
‘You did know,’ said Ironside. ‘Subconsciously anyway. You demanded a blood test.’
‘To wake up to that. . .’ Ed shook his head.
‘He must have been a desperate man,’ said Ironside.
‘What if. . .’ Fran started but again, she refused to continue.
‘Go on,’ said Ironside.
‘Could he have been trying to frame his wife for murder? He didn’t know the police would insist on a blood test to prove she had taken a sleeping pill. He didn’t know a toxicology test would show there was more than one pill in her system. Is that why he didn’t leave a suicide note? He wanted the police to think his wife had pushed him over the balcony.’
‘The police did not insist on a blood test for Mrs. Miller,’ said Ironside. ‘Sergeant Brown insisted on the blood test. Fran, you could be right. If you are, framing his wife for murder wasn’t the reason for his death. Framing her for murder was an opportunity he couldn’t refuse. And if it was his intention to frame her, he failed. If Ed hadn’t insisted on a blood test, he would have succeeded.’
‘I spent time with Mrs. Miller. The way she spoke about her husband. . . they loved each other. Their family and friends confirmed it.’
‘Then why would he kill himself?’ said Fran.
“There’s a lot of reasons why a man, or a woman would take their own life, Fran. He didn’t leave a note, so we’ll never know,’ said Ironside.
‘And neither will his wife,’ said Ed.
‘It’s such a waste,’ said Fran.
Ed stood up. ‘I need another cup of coffee before I go and tell Mrs. Miller her husband jumped from their balcony.’
‘You haven’t finished your first one,’ said Ironside.
Ironside watched in amusement when his sergeant picked up the cup of coffee and drank it, emptying the cup in seconds. Ed turned to walk away but stopped when Ironside spoke his name.
‘Ed, Mrs. Miller can wait until the morning. I want you to sit down.’
Raising the now empty cup, Ed said, ‘Coffee.’
‘Fran can get us both a cup of coffee,’ said Ironside, turning to face Fran. ‘And Fran, take your time, Ed and I will be having a nice little chat.’
Fran stood up and walked around the small conference table, smiling at Ed as she snatched the cup out of his hand. Ed didn’t smile back. Even though his suspicions about the Miller case were now confirmed, he was still in trouble. Looking at Ironside, Ed saw another familiar expression. Ironside was serious about a nice-little-chat. Ed knew he’d done the wrong thing, snapping at Fran, revealing his anger and frustration with the young officer. Expecting a lecture – something Ed was also very familiar with – he was surprised when Ironside said, ‘You look tired.’
Ed sat down, his shoulders slumping as the exhaustion he’d been feeling the past few days grew heavier. His eyes suddenly dry and itching, he rubbed his eyes with his right hand. ‘It’s been a long week.’
‘You and Fran still not getting on?’
‘You could say that,’ said Ed, lowering his arm, allowing it to fall into his lap.
‘I just did.’
Ed smiled in response. Maybe this little chat wasn’t going to be as bad as he’d thought.
‘I thought you two had sorted out your differences when we solved Captain Belding’s murder.’
‘So did I.’
‘Then what went wrong?’
Remaining silent, Ed shook his head and looked away as he tried to think, to work out what went wrong with the improving relationship he’d had with Fran a few days ago. It didn’t take long, his brain no longer working the Miller case. He was the problem. He was the cause. He glanced toward the chief, Ironside watching him, staring. It was unusual for the chief to look a person in the eye for a long period of time, always doing his best thinking when he looked elsewhere.
Again, Ed shook his head, a silent response. He couldn’t talk about it, not yet. He couldn’t explain to the chief what had happened. He couldn’t tell the chief, Fran thought she already knew everything, neither willing nor wanting to learn the ropes. He couldn’t put the blame on the young officer. He was the one at fault. While the chief was recovering, it had been Ed’s job to run the police consulting department. He should have spoken to Fran, put her doubts and overconfident ego at rest as quickly as he had put a stop to their earlier argument. It was his job to train the young officer whether Ironside was here or not, and he hadn’t done that, he failed to do his job. He failed Ironside but more importantly, he’d failed Fran.
Why? Because she was still hurting, and he didn’t want to add to that. Ed knew what if felt like. Fran had thrown herself into the job. If she stopped and asked questions. . . stopped to listen and learn, she would feel inadequate, useless and that would not have helped her. She’d used the job as a distraction to get through each day. Ed had been the same way after Anne. . . he had thrown himself into the job, studying Tom Dayton until he knew the man better than himself. The job had been a distraction for Ed. Dayton had been a reason to get up every morning. He had needed to find Anne’s killer just as Fran had needed to find her father’s killer.
Ed should have known this from the beginning, but he had been too concerned about running the department, too eager to do a good job and prove his competence. He’d pushed her needs aside. He needed to apologise to Fran, something he was now willing to do because he had reason and cause.
‘Sir, I need to apologise,’ said Ed, standing up and pushing the chair back.
‘To me?’ said Ironside, sounding surprised.
‘No, sir. To Fran.’
‘Fran can wait. Sit down.’
‘Chief, what’s this about?’
Waiting for a reply, Ed realised he wasn’t going to get one. The chief just stared at him, waiting, feeling more confident than his sergeant. Resigned to his fate, Ed pushed the chair back to its original position and sat down, like a lamb to the slaughter. Ed continued to wait, Ironside still silent, watching his sergeant. Feeling uncomfortable under the chief’s scrutiny, Ed said, ‘What did I do wrong?’
Ironside smiled. ‘What makes you think you did something wrong, sergeant?’
‘That,’ said Ed, pointing at Ironside. ‘You keep using my rank.’
‘As you already know, I’ve read your file on the Miller case. . . Ed.’
‘And?’
‘You did a good job.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. That is, you did nothing wrong.’
‘Tell that to the commissioner,’ said Ed, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He needed a break, something to eat. . . he needed to sleep. ‘That came out wrong.’
‘How much sleep have you had since I went into the hospital?’
‘Enough,’ said Ed.
‘I doubt that very much,’ said Ironside. ‘Speaking of doubts, I spoke to Commissioner Randall. He told me he’d become concerned about your ability to do both my job and yours and solve the Miller case.’
‘I know about his doubts,’ said Ed, his anger returning. ‘I’ve heard nothing but doubts from most of the people in the police department since the commissioner gave me the case. Including this department. I’m certain the Miller case was a test and I think the commissioner expected me to fail and fail spectacularly.’
‘He expected no such thing.’
‘Then what did he expect?’
‘He expected you to do your job.’
‘I did my job. I just didn’t do it quickly enough for the commissioner. A single day hadn’t even passed before he started to question what I was doing and before I knew it, everyone was doubting my abilities as a police officer. Including Fran and even Mark made a few comments. I did my job. I did what was expected of me.’
Ironside frowned. ‘I know you did. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.’
‘Are we done?’
‘For now, sergeant,’ said Ironside, still frowning, a flicker of concern brushing across his features.
‘I can go now?’
‘Not yet,’ said Ironside. ‘Dinner first and then you can go home and get some sleep. You can speak to Mrs. Miller and write up the final report on the case tomorrow.’
‘Dinner?’
Ironside smiled.
Ed frowned.
‘I sent Mark out for four steak dinners.’
‘You sent Mark out for four steak dinners?’
‘Yes.’
‘Four steak dinners?’
‘Yes, four steak dinners! What’s wrong with you? Have you gone deaf?’
‘No, I’m not deaf, it’s just. . .’
‘Just what, sergeant?’
‘Chief?’ said Ed, ‘are you feeling all right? Are you ill? Would you like me to call your doctor?’
‘No dammit! I’m not ill. I’ve just spent a week in a flamin’ hospital. Why on earth would you think I’m ill?’
‘It’s just,’ said Ed, hesitating before he continued. ‘Because when you pay for dinner, it usually involves either a hamburger or chilli.’
‘I’ve bought four steak dinners for a reason, sergeant.’
‘What reason would that be, chief?’
‘We’re celebrating,’ said Ironside.
‘Celebrating what?’
‘You, sergeant Brown, solved a case without my input. That’s cause for celebration,’ said Ironside as he wheeled his chair away from the table.
‘You make it sound like it’s the first time I’ve solved a case.’
‘Not my intention, sergeant,’ said Ironside, moving around the conference table, stopping beside his sergeant. ‘Ed, what I’m about to say is just between us. If you repeat it to anyone, I’ll have your badge.’
Ed nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
Elbows on the arms of his wheelchair, Ironside clasped his hands together and said, ‘Ed, I’m proud of you.’
Ed waited and when Ironside didn’t continue, he said, ‘I’m waiting for the punchline.’
‘There’s no punch line, sergeant.’
‘Then why put yourself out there and tell me you’re proud of me.’
‘Because you needed to hear it. I am proud, Ed. You did a good job while I was gone.’
‘Not with Fran.’
‘Stop putting yourself down. And stop comparing Fran’s situation with your own. Once you do that, things will fall into place. That and an explanation will go a long way. Tell her about Anne. Fran will understand.’
‘Anne doesn’t have anything to do with it.’
‘She has everything to do with it, Ed,’ said Ironside. ‘You’re too soft with Fran because you understand how she feels, and you don’t want to cause her any more pain. Tell her.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ Ed had no intention of telling Fran about Anne.
‘Don’t take too long,’ said Ironside.
Ed nodded, grateful when he heard the office door open. Groaned when he heard Ironside greet the commissioner.
‘Evening, Dennis,’ said Ironside as he turned his wheelchair away from Ed, surprising his sergeant when he gripped Ed’s shoulder, a show of support. ‘I’m going to assume you’re here to congratulate sergeant Brown on successfully closing the Miller case.’
Ed leaned closer to Ironside and whispered, ‘How would the commissioner know the case is closed?’
‘Because I called the commissioner and told him you’d closed the case,’ said Ironside.
‘Right,’ said Ed, slumping back into his chair. ‘Of course, you did.’
‘Officer Belding,’ said Commissioner Randall as he walked down the steps, a thick file in his right hand. He turned left and stopped in front of Ironside. ‘Bob. Ed’
‘Sir,’ said Ed, sitting up straighter, showing more confidence than he felt. He was waiting for the praise Ironside had asked for, expecting the commissioner to give none, voicing his doubts instead. Not surprised when the commissioner quickly followed a positive comment with a negative, voicing the doubts he had felt about Ed closing the Miller case.
‘Congratulations, Ed, you did a fine job. Better than I expected.’
‘The toxicology tests solved the case, sir, not me.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, sergeant. From what Bob told me earlier, if you hadn’t asked for the blood test, the case would never have been solved.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Congratulations, Dennis,’ said Ironside.
‘For what,’ said Randall, his confusion evident.
‘For putting a dent in my sergeant’s confidence.’
Randall looked at Ed then returned his gaze to Ironside. ‘Bob, it’s not my job to boost your sergeant’s confidence. He’s already damn good at the job. I don’t need to keep reminding him and neither do you. If he has doubts or believes that others have doubts about his ability to run this department or solve a case without your help. . . well. . . he should find another job.’
‘Did you hear that, sergeant,’ said Ironside, his gaze steady as he continued to look at the commissioner. ‘The commissioner never doubted you. Your doubts were your own.’
Ed didn’t agree but he stayed silent.
‘Bob, I have a case I would like you and your department to take over.’ Randall offered the file he’d brought with him to Ed. ‘That is of course, if sergeant Brown thinks he can carry on doing the job as well as I expect him to.’
Ed stood up, faced the commissioner, and took the file. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good,’ said Randall, stepping toward one of the empty chairs and sitting down. ‘Now that moment of self-pity is over, we can get on with why I’m here.’
Allowing the conversation to move on without him, Ed sat down, opened the file, and quickly read through the first page. Frowning at the information in front of him, he turned the page over and continued to read.
‘Dennis,’ said Ironside as he made his way back to his previous position on the other side of the conference table. ‘You just told us why you’re here. Now, why don’t you explain to me, why you want us to take over an already existing case.’
‘The Henry Warner case,’ said Ed without looking up from the file.
‘That’s Lieutenant Reese’s case,’ said Ironside, frowning at Fran as she sat down beside him, her hands empty. ‘Fran, where’s my coffee.’
‘I’m sorry, chief,’ said Fran. ‘I thought your request for coffee was a polite way of telling me to get lost for a few minutes.’
Ironside’s frown grew, his impatience growing. Looking back at the commissioner, he said, ’Dennis, I’m sure Carl doesn’t need my help.’
‘He doesn’t but that’s not why I want you to take over the case,’ said Randall. ‘There’s been a development and I need you to handle it.’
‘What kind of development?’
Picking up a page from the file, Ed passed it over to Ironside and said, ‘A witness has come forward. John Malcom.’
‘Henry Warner was murdered three weeks ago,’ said Ironside, taking the page from his sergeant and reading it. ‘Why come forward now?’
‘And there’s no witness statement,’ said Ed.
‘Why not?’ said Ironside, lifting his gaze away from Ed and toward the commissioner. ‘Why hasn’t your witness given Carl a statement?’
‘The witness comes with stipulation,’ said Randall. ‘He’s refusing to tell us what he saw until we agree to his--’
‘Demand?’ said Ironside.
‘Bob, we don’t have a choice,’ said Randall. ‘This case has been stagnant for the past two weeks.’
‘What sort of stipulation is this witness demanding?’
‘I’ll let him tell you when they get here.’
‘He’s coming here?’
‘Lieutenant Reese will be arriving shortly with your witness,’ said Randall.
‘My witness?’
‘Bob, I need you to take the case.’
‘Why? Because the higher-ups are putting pressure on you to have the case closed.’
‘No, of course not. Malcom’s stipulation is. . . sensitive.’
‘And if I don’t agree to his demand?’
‘It’s already in the works, Bob,’ said Randall. ‘The approval of Malcom’s demand will be ready by the morning. I’ll send the paperwork to you when it comes through.’
‘Then why on earth do you need me?’
‘Because John Malcom asked for you.’
‘That was his stipulation?’ said Ironside.
‘No.’
‘Is he asking for a deal?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ said Randall. ‘He hasn’t committed a crime.’
‘I don’t know much about the Warner case,’ said Fran. ‘Only what I’ve read in the papers. Can someone give me the short version?’
Randall looked frustrated, not enjoying the interruption to their conversation. ‘Chief Ironside can go over the details with you later. Right now, we need to keep this moving. I don’t want the witness to change his mind.’
‘With all due respect, commissioner, the witness isn’t here and taking a few minutes to explain the case to me in more detail isn’t going to change his mind.’
‘Never one to mince her words,’ said Ironside, smiling at the commissioner.
‘Just make it quick, Bob. Reese will be here any minute with the witness and we don’t have much time to waste.’
Putting his elbows on the arms of his wheelchair, his hands clasped together in his lap, Ironside looked at his sergeant and said, ‘Why don’t we kill two birds with one stone. Ed, you’re already familiar with the case. You can educate Fran on the case and remind me of the details at the same time.
‘I doubt you need reminding, chief,’ said Ed, smiling at Ironside.
Ignoring the commissioner’s subtle glance at his watch, Ironside said, ‘Remind me anyway.’
Ed closed the file, and began detailing the case, his gaze shifting between Ironside and Fran. ‘Three weeks ago, we’d received an anonymous call reporting a man had been mugged and left unconscious on the sidewalk outside his home, an apartment building on Howard Street. Uniformed officers arrived to find the victim, Henry Warner, deceased. He’d been beaten to death.’
‘Beaten to death with what?’ said Fran.
‘No weapon was used.’
‘The killer or killers used their fists,’ said Ironside
‘Why do you think there may be more than one killer?’ said Fran.
‘Henry Warner was a professional boxer up until five years ago. One man wouldn’t be able take on Warner, not unless he had an advantage.’
‘A thug would fight dirty,’ said Ed. ‘Warner wouldn’t. That’s one advantage. Or another trained fighter.’
‘Another boxer?’ said Ironside, frowning in thought. ‘It’s possible.’
‘Or he could be military trained.’
‘The military doesn’t train men to fight,’ said Fran. ‘They train them to kill.’
‘Fran,’ said Ironside, his gaze on his sergeant. ‘Henry Warner was killed.’
Ed heard what Fran had said but he wasn’t going to react, not in front of the chief and not in front of the commissioner. He wouldn’t argue the point with her. In a way she was right, he had been trained to kill. . . with a gun and with his hands. He hadn’t enjoyed it. Vietnam had been a nightmare. The jungle. The humidity. The violence. The death of so many, military and civilians. He’d gone to Vietnam believing what the American government had told him. . .
Ed lowered his head and closed his eyes. Memories exploded in the back of his mind. Snapped his eyes open and pushed the nightmare images to the back of his mind. He didn’t need this now. Normally he would have no problem when reminded of Vietnam, brushing it aside as though he’d never been there. But today. . . today he was exhausted, self-doubt lingering on the edge of his mind. A good night’s sleep was all he needed; if he didn’t shut the memories away, the nightmares would follow.
‘Your witness will tell you if there was more than one killer,’ said Randall.
‘Was Warner under the influence of alcohol when he was killed?’ said Fran. ‘If he was drunk, he wouldn’t have been able to fight back.’
Already knowing the answer but needing a moment’s distraction, Ed opened the murder file. He could see the typed words on the reports, but he couldn’t read them. A slow, deep breath, his pounding heart slowing, returning to a normal rhythm.
‘Ed?’ Ironside’s tone was gentle, a nudge back to reality.
‘Sorry,’ said Ed, lifting his head, looking at Ironside then Fran.
‘Was Warner Drunk when he was killed?’ said Fran.
‘Not according to the toxicology report,’ said Ed. The memories shifted, settling, a layer of fog closing around him. He recognised the symptoms; he wasn’t going to sleep tonight. ‘He didn’t have any alcohol in his system. The coroner estimated time of death to be in the early hours of the morning on Thursday May 12th. His wife confirmed he’d left their home at two in the morning.’
‘Did she say why he went out at that time of morning,’ said Fran, her expression curious.
‘No. She was asleep. Said she woke up to the sound of him leaving. She checked their bedside clock thinking he was leaving for work at his usual time.’
‘What time did he usually leave for work?’
‘Seven thirty,’ said Ed before continuing. ‘The only blood found at the scene belonged to the victim.’
‘The killer or killers wore gloves,’ said Ironside, still watching Ed.
‘Did he often leave the apartment at that time of the morning?’
Aware of Ironside’s scrutiny, Ed said, ‘According to Mrs. Warner, it was the first time she’d heard him leave that early.’
‘That doesn’t mean it had been the first time,’ said Ironside. ‘It was the first time she’d heard him leave at two in the morning.’
‘The only print they found was a partial bloody shoe print. Beige fibres were found on the victim and they’ve since been identified as carpet fibres. They don’t match any fibres in the victim’s home or office--’
‘He worked in real estate?’ said Fran.
‘Yes. He got his licence after he retired from boxing. The fibres also didn’t match any of the homes that were on his listing. The victim’s keys are missing. According to Mrs. Miller, he carried an apartment key, car keys and his office key on a San Francisco Giants key ring. Carl put a watch on the apartment building, the car, and the office. No activity. His wallet wasn’t missing. Found on the body with forty dollars still in the wallet. His car is still parked where he last left it.’
‘Not a mugging,’ said Fran.
Ed could feel a tremor moving across his limbs, his spine. He shifted in his seat and subconsciously clenched his left hand, a tight fist, the knuckles white. ‘Carl spoke with the victim’s wife, his family and friends. Spoke to their neighbours and everyone else within a five-block radius. He spoke with his co-workers and his clients. Present and past. He was well liked. His wife, though, did admit that her husband had an affair two years ago. Apparently, the husband of the woman he was having the affair with found out and called the victim’s wife to inform her of her husband’s infidelity.’
‘What did the woman’s husband have to say when Carl spoke to him?’ said Fran.
‘Lieutenant Reese interviewed the man and his wife. They have an alibi.’
‘Each other?’
‘No, Fran,’ said Ed. ‘Not each other. The husband was working. He was on nightshift and the wife was staying with her mother. She’d left him when he discovered her infidelity.’
‘How did he discover her infidelity?’ said Fran.
‘He followed her after he became suspicious.’
‘The question is,’ said Ironside looking at Fran. ‘Was the victim having another affair?’
‘Carl asked Mrs. Warner,’ said Ed. ‘And no, she doesn’t think her husband was having another affair. He arrived home on time, didn’t work weekends and ate his lunch in the office.’
‘No other suspects?’ said Ironside.
‘No other suspects.’
‘And now we have a witness with a stipulation.’
‘Now we have a witness with a stipulation,’ said Ed as he nodded in agreement.
The office door opened, Mark Sanger announcing his arrival. ‘Dinner is served!’
‘About flamin’ time,’ said Ironside, moving away from the conference table and toward the center of the room. Fran and the commissioner following his lead. ‘What took you so long?’
‘Someone wanted their steak well done’, said Mark, looking at Fran as he made his way down the steps, stopping in front of the round table.
Fran smiled an apology as she followed the chief. ‘I like my steak to be dead when I eat it.’
‘Sorry, Dennis,’ said Ironside. ‘If I knew you were coming, I would have ordered an extra meal.
‘Three more extra meals, chief,’ said Fran as they crowded around the table. ‘Lieutenant Reese and John Malcom.’
Ironside glanced over his shoulder, back toward Ed who was still sitting at the conference table. ‘I would gladly buy Carl a steak dinner but a witness making demands, he can have a bowl of left-over chilli. Ed, are you going to join us?’
‘No need to apologise, Bob,’ said Randall, looking at his watch. ‘I have a dinner reservation and I’m already late. I’ll leave you to it.’
‘You’re assuming I’m taking the case.’
‘Are you?’
Another glance toward his sergeant. ‘I’ll take the case on one condition.’
‘Condition?’
‘A week off after this case is over.’
‘Bob, you just had a week off.’
‘No, Dennis, I didn’t. I spent a week in a hospital bed. That does not constitute a holiday. Oh, and Dennis, a week’s holiday includes my staff.’
‘Deal,’ said Randall as he walked away, his steps quick. A rushed goodbye as he left the office before Ironside could change his mind.
‘A witness?’ said Mark. ‘In the Miller case?’
‘No, Ed solved the Miller case.’
Setting the dinners down on the table, Mark said, ‘How did he manage that?’
Ironside glared at Mark. ‘He used his intelligence.’
‘And a toxicology report,’ said Fran, smiling at Mark.
‘Does that explain the steak dinners?’
‘Yes, Mark,’ said Ironside. ‘We’re celebrating.’
‘Celebrating what? We’ve solved cases before.’
‘We?’
‘Chief, you know what I mean.’
‘I know exactly what you mean, Mark. We are celebrating because this department didn’t fall apart while I wasn’t here.’
‘I get your point,’ said Mark. ‘So, where does the witness come into it?’
‘We have a new case,’ said Ironside, turning his chair. ‘Sergeant!’
Ed wanted to stand up. He couldn’t, the tremor in his limbs still active. His body shaking, he closed his eyes. Feeling a sharp pain in the palm of his left hand, he looked down at his hand. His fist still clenched, he took a slow breath and opened his hand. His fingernails had left marks in the skin, red indentations. Knowing he had to do something, to distract his mind before images of death took him too far back, Ed stood up. His legs felt weak, the exhaustion trying to pull him down. . .
‘Sergeant Brown!’
Ed knew that tone. Ironside was quickly becoming impatient, heading directly toward angry. Turning away from the conference table, Ed walked slowly toward the others, his legs growing more reliable, the strength returning. He stopped behind the chief, turning toward the office door when he heard it open for the third time that night.
Carl Reese walked into the office and down the steps leading into the open area of Ironside’s office and home. A young man following behind him. ‘Chief.’
‘Carl, we were just sitting down to dinner.’
Reese looked down into one of the open food containers. ‘Steak?’
‘Yes, Carl, steak.’
‘What’s the catch?’
‘There is no catch,’ said Ironside. ‘Why is everyone questioning my choice of dinner?’
‘Because your choice of dinner usually involves a hamburger or chilli.’
‘That’s what Ed said. Speaking of Ed. Sergeant!’
‘Right here, chief.’
Ironside turned his chair and looked up at his six-foot-two sergeant. ‘Sit down, sergeant.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ed sat down in his usual chair, his back to the wall behind him.
‘I saw the commissioner on the way in,’ said Reese. ‘He said you were taking over the case.’
‘Not taking over,’ said Ironside. ‘I want you to continue with the case, working with my team.’
Reese nodded in acceptance then made the introductions, ‘Chief, this is John Malcom. John, this is chief Ironside, Officer Fran Belding, Mark Sanger and Sergeant Ed Brown.’
‘Mr. Malcom,’ said Ironside, turning to face the young man. Wearing a blue denim jacket, jeans torn at the knee and a white shirt, John Malcom looked like the boy-next-door type, good looking with short blond hair and dark brown eyes. ‘I’ve been told you witnessed a murder.’
Malcom shuffled his feet, put his hands in his pockets then pulled them out again, letting them fall limp at his sides. ‘Yes . . . yes, sir.’
‘I’ve also been told that you won’t give the police a statement until your demand is met.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you mind telling me what your demand is?’
Malcom looked at Reese who nodded, encouraging the young man to talk.
‘Sir, my number came up. I’ve been drafted and before I give you a statement, I want a guarantee in writing that I won’t be sent to Vietnam.’
‘You’re a pacifist,’ said Ironside.
‘Yes, sir, I am.’
Ed Brown was sure he felt the world drop beneath his feet, his stomach not far behind, grateful he was sitting down.
Chapter One | Chapter Two
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