LMFA HONORABLE MENTION FOR CASE/ACTION STORY

BODY DOUBLE

by Dreamweaver

***** 

“Thanks for the lift, Jim!  I’ll get a ride down to the precinct when I’m done – ought to be around four o’clock.”  Grad student, anthropology teacher and police observer Blair Sandburg slid down from the Ford pickup’s passenger seat and reached back inside to grab his weighty backpack from the floor.   

His roommate, best friend and partner, Detective Jim Ellison nodded from his place behind the wheel.  “If you can’t hitch a ride with somebody, call me, Chief.  If you take the bus you’ll barely get there before it’s time to go home.”  The slightest bit of worry tinged the ice-blue gaze as Ellison surveyed the younger man.  “You sure you’re not too tired…?  You have a hard schedule today?”   

“Not as hard as usual, since you talked me into skipping early office hours this morning,” Sandburg said cheerfully.  “But I do have classes straight through until three, and then I’ll need to go to my office for a little bit to catch up on my e-mail and phone messages, and change out books.”  He smiled, appreciating the concern.  “I’m not too tired, Jim, really.”  

“We got home pretty late from the stakeout—” the detective persisted, unconvinced.  It had become second nature to worry about his candle-burning-at-both-ends roommate.   

“Jim – chill, man.  I’m fine, really!  But I do have to scram, like right now, or I’m gonna be late, and the class will walk out.  Even for me, that ten-minute rule is sacred!”  With another grin and a farewell wave, Sandburg slammed the pickup door and was off and running, loping across the green sward of Rainier University’s campus, backpack slung over one shoulder, hustling to teach his first anthropology class of the day.  

Ellison watched his departure for a moment, smiling a little; and then he shook himself free of the reverie, put the truck in gear, and headed for his job at Cascade Police’s Major Crimes Division.  

*****

“Mr. Sandburg!  Mr. Sandburg!”  The young, nearly-breathless voice behind him caught Blair’s attention, and he turned, smiling as he waited for the two pursuing students to catch up.  

“DeWayne…Lisa.  I’ll bet I know what you want – an early peek at midterm grades, right?” he teased.   

“We thought they’d be posted—” DeWayne admitted.  The big young man might have been blushing, but his dark skin didn’t show it.  Defying the traditional ‘dumb jock’ stigma, the football team’s premier tight end was almost ferociously intelligent; Blair loved having him in his senior anthro class.  He wondered sometimes if Simon Banks’ son Daryl might be something like DeWayne Whitmore, in a few more years.  With the genes inherited from Simon, Daryl could easily equal or top his 6’5” father.  Of course his interests lay more on the basketball court than the football field, but the potential was there.  

“We looked on the bulletin board—”  Lisa Westby added.  Standing next to DeWayne emphasized her petite stature; her blonde prettiness a dazzling contrast to his bulk.  

Blair smiled ruefully.  “They were supposed to be.  They would have been, if I’d gotten to my early office hours this morning.  But – I apologize; I didn’t.  I was up pretty late last night, on a stakeout with my friend Detective Ellison.  He convinced me that a couple of extra hours of sleep was more important than posting midterm grades.”  He turned and once more started along the walk toward Hargrove Hall, beckoning the other two to follow.  “If you come with me, you can check your grades, and I’ll print out the list to post.  I haven’t even been in my office at all yet, today.”  

“Detective Ellison is that police officer you’ve been observing for so long, isn’t it?” Lisa inquired, trotting alongside Blair.  DeWayne dropped back a step or two, his longer stride enabling him to pace the others easily.   

“Nearly three years,” Sandburg nodded.  “We share an apartment, as well.  He was nice enough to offer to let me stay with him after my place blew up.”  His lips quirked in a reminiscent smile.  It seemed like that warehouse explosion had happened to a different Blair Sandburg, in a different life altogether.   

Three years of living with, observing, working with, writing about…and Guiding…a Sentinel.  Blair continued to smile to himself.  Sentinels….People with all five genetically enhanced senses, who in ancient times had served as tribal guardians.  People who were merely legends and myths…until he’d found Jim Ellison.  Their partnership was no longer really about the doctoral thesis, of course; it had gone further than that, almost from the beginning.  But the public explanation of their association had to remain just that:  Blair was writing a dissertation – ostensibly on closed societies, the police department – and Jim was part of that research.  

“Blew up, man?”  DeWayne demanded.  “Just where were you livin’, anyway?”  

“In a warehouse…infested with rats the size of Yorkshire terriers,” Sandburg shuddered eloquently.  “Turns out there was a meth lab operating next door that I didn’t know about.”  He turned up the sidewalk going into Hargrove.  “Long story.  Let’s get those grades up!”  

The main floor of the building was bustling with people; fewer and fewer were around as Blair and his two students descended the stairs into the basement, where Blair’s office was located.  Sandburg had kept up a stream of entertaining chatter as they walked, but the almost eerie silence in the basement corridor made him trail off.  

“Quiet down here,” DeWayne commented softly.   

“Mmm-hmmm.”  Sandburg pulled his key ring from his pocket and inserted the proper one in the lock, beneath the etched glass window.  He twisted the knob and pushed the door open; took one step into the room…and froze.  DeWayne and Lisa, close behind him, collided with his back.  

“Ooof!  What’s wrong—” Lisa began.  

But DeWayne, with his greater height, peered over his teacher’s shoulder and gasped.  “Oh….My….God!”  

Blair pushed solidly against them, stepping backwards.  “Back.  Out.  Now.”  Once DeWayne and Lisa were away from the door, he moved back into the room, and bent over the motionless figure on the floor.  He stretched out a hand, to check for signs of life, and recoiled at the feel of the cold flesh beneath his fingers.  One touch was all it took; and one glance was all he needed to determine the corpse’s identity.  Standing up, Blair pulled the door almost closed, and leaned against the corridor wall, his breathing rapid.  He unzipped a pocket of his backpack and got out his cell phone.  

“What is it?”  Lisa demanded.  

“There’s somebody layin’ on the floor,” DeWayne informed her in a hushed voice.  “With a dagger in his back!”  

Blair Sandburg had worked with the police long enough to know the routine backwards and forwards.  Call it in, contain the crime scene….  Despite his shock, he did everything right.  

First, he called 911.  

“911, what is your emergency?”  

“This is Blair Sandburg, at Rainier University.  I just opened my office door and found a dead body on the floor….”  

And then he called campus security.  

“Security – Tamaki speaking.”  

“Suzanne?  It’s Blair Sandburg.  Get over to my office as quick as you can….”  

He did his best to calm Lisa and DeWayne, who sat huddled together on the hall floor, trying to comfort each other.  

“It’ll be all right, guys….the police will get here soon.  Everything will be okay….”  

“Mr. Sandburg – do you know who it is?” 

He sighed wearily.  “I do, Lisa…it’s Jared Mentken.  One of the teachers in the Archaeology department.”  

“A friend of yours?  Oh man, I’m so sorry—”  DeWayne’s large hand settled on his instructor’s shoulder in an instinctive attempt at support.  

“Let’s say, an acquaintance, rather than a friend,” Blair told them.  “I knew who he was on sight, talked to him a few times, but not much more than that.”  

And at last, by now shaking with reaction, he did what he’d desperately wanted to do first. 

“Ellison.”  

“Jim?  It’s me….Do you have s-some free time right now, I hope?”  Blair’s voice cracked on the last few words, to his utter dismay.  

Ellison’s voice sharpened.  “What’s wrong?”  

“I – it’s – crap, I didn’t mean to – it’s—”  

“Chief, take a deep breath and then just tell me.”  

“Right…right.  My office…when I opened the door to my office just now…Jim, there’s a dead body lying in front of my desk…with one of my ceremonial daggers in his back!”  

“WHAT?  Jesus, Chief!”  

“I called 911, but it will probably get shunted to Homicide—”  The sound of Blair’s harsh swallow came clearly through the receiver.  “But…if you c-could…if you have time.  I…think I c-could use a – a—”  

I think I could use a friend….  The words hung in the air, unspoken.  Unnecessary.  

“I’m on my way, Chief.  Just hold on; I’ll be there as quick as I can.”   

Ellison replaced the receiver, already grabbing his coat from the rack.  He made one detour on his way to the door and stuck his head into Simon’s office, after the briefest of taps.  “Captain, I’m heading over to Rainier.  Sandburg just called and said he found a DB in his office!  He said he called it in, but I don’t know where it’ll end up, here or Homicide—”  He exited without further speech, and rushed out the door of Major Crimes.  

Captain Banks surged to his feet.  “RHONDA!  Get me Dispatch!”  

*****

Jim had the lights and siren in use almost before he cleared the parking garage, and he blessed the fact that late-afternoon traffic hadn’t yet reached its usual gummed-up state; he was able to navigate the route to Rainier with practiced ease, and made the trip in less than 15 minutes.  Keeping an ear on the scanner, he heard a patrol car team announce its arrival at the university, and racked his brain trying to remember who belonged to #26.  Kister and – Hightower, wasn’t it?   

Arriving at the parking lot closest to Hargrove, Ellison pulled up in front of the main doors and leaped out, shutting down the siren along with the engine, but leaving his ‘bubble’ light flashing on the dash.  A Cascade PD patrol car was parked nearby, as well as another vehicle with a light bar: Rainier’s campus security.  He jogged quickly up the steps and headed for the basement stairs, holding up his badge when various people attempted to detain him.  As he descended, he extended his hearing…and didn’t like what he heard.  

“You knew the victim, then, Mr. Sandburg?”  The demanding voice would have been clear even without enhanced hearing.  “Had something against him, did you?”  

“No, I had nothing against him!”  Blair sounded shaken.  “I knew who he was, that’s all.  Someone to say ‘hello’ to in the hall, or at a meeting.”  

“Then why was he in your office?”  

“I don’t know!  Man, I haven’t been there all day myself, until just now!”  

Jim rounded a corner and focused in on the knot of people in front of his partner’s office doorway.  Yellow crime scene tape was strung across the portal, but the uniformed officers were staying out of the room and keeping everyone else out, too.  A tall, well-built young black man and a tiny blonde girl leaned against the wall, apparently trying to stay out of the way, but unable or unwilling to leave.  Suzanne Tamaki was standing next to Blair, who was attempting to answer the rapid-fire questions hurled at him by one of the officers.  Jim recognized the one guarding the doorway: it was Keith Hightower, as he’d expected.  But not the one in Sandburg’s face.  It wasn’t Kister – Hightower must have a new partner.  

“I haven’t been here since yesterday morning!”  Blair was expostulating now.  

“Got anyone who can verify that?” snarled his inquisitor.  

“My roommate, Jim—” Sandburg started to reply, only to be cut off mid-sentence.  

“Some other student, I take it?” The tone oozed unspoken contempt for college students, graduate or otherwise.  

“Czerny, no, he lives with—”  Hightower, who had caught sight of Ellison’s approach from his position by the door, tried to intervene.  

Jim stepped nearer, and cleared his throat.  “No, that would be me,” he said with deceptive calm, and when the patrolman, Czerny, swung about, he held up his badge once more.  “Detective Ellison, Major Crimes.  Mr. Sandburg is an official ride-along observer and consultant with the police department, and has been my partner for three years.  And yes, we share an apartment.”  

“Jim….”  Blair’s softly sighed exhalation was a welcome in itself.   

“Hello, Jim; glad you made it.  Good to see you again.”  Suzanne smiled up at the tall detective.  “Major Crimes handling this one, I take it?”  

“Dunno…maybe….Suzanne, you really need to come back and work for the PD; it’s quieter than Rainier,” Ellison teased, then took another step, which brought him close to Blair.  He reached out to place a casual hand on his Guide’s shoulder, and felt Blair quiver beneath his touch. “You okay, Chief?”   

Officer Czerny’s face was flushed with anger at having this convenient suspect so easily snatched from him.  “Detective Ellison….You can vouch for his whereabouts today and last night?” he demanded, incensed.  

Ellison’s jaw tightened, and his eyes went icy.  Hightower, seeing it, rolled his eyes and deliberately turned back towards the crime scene.  Czerny wasn’t such a bad partner, even if he was new to Cascade, and Hightower didn’t want to watch him being flayed alive by the legendary Detective Ellison’s scathing tongue.  Almost everyone knew about Ellison and his unusual associate, but Czerny, having transferred recently from Spokane, had a lot to learn about the Cascade PD.  

Suzanne’s mouth curled up at one corner.  She had no aversion to watching; she was friends with both Blair and Jim, and had been most definitely unimpressed by the uniformed officer’s attitude towards Blair.  Lisa and DeWayne stared, fascinated.  

“I can.”  Jim’s tone was curt.  “He was at the precinct – in the Major Crimes bullpen, to be exact – from noon yesterday until 5:30 p.m.  After that we had dinner, and then were on stakeout together, until 12:30 a.m.  Following that, we were at home – asleep, for the most part –  and I dropped him off in front of Donovan Hall at 9:55 this morning.  Want more details?  What we had for breakfast?”  

Czerny deflated at this terse recitation of unshakable facts, but tried another tack.  “What about the rest of today?”  

“I’ve been in classes from ten until three,” Blair volunteered, his voice much calmer now that Jim was there to vouch for him.  “And yes, there are dozens of students who can attest to that.  I told you, I haven’t been here since yesterday morning!”  

“We were in his last class,” DeWayne put in, stepping away from the wall to insinuate his considerable presence into the group defending Blair.  “And we walked here with him.  We were with him when he opened the door and found the body.”  

Czerny gave up. “Okay, okay.”  He stepped back, admitting defeat with surprising grace.  “My apologies, Mr. Sandburg.”  

Jim, with a final squeeze of his friend’s shoulder, stepped over to the yellow-taped doorway.  Hightower moved aside to grant him entrance, but the detective halted, staring incredulously.  He felt someone move up close behind him, and – expecting it to be Blair – was startled to hear Suzanne’s voice, instead.  

“Spooky, isn’t it?” she said.  “They don’t really look all that much alike, when you see them together, but…the surface resemblances are eerie.”  

For the victim – whose face was turned towards the door, granting Jim a clear view – was on the young side.  Perhaps a few years older than Sandburg.  Slightly under average height, and sturdily built.  He was dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket.  Brown hair streamed in a long, smooth waterfall from a leather tie at the nape of his neck, and a pair of gold-wire-rimmed glasses, now twisted beyond repair, were half under his cheek.  

The features were different; the hair was lighter brown, and straight, instead of the rippling burnished waves Sandburg sported; the glasses were gold-rimmed, not silver, but….Jim’s blood ran cold.  At first glance, Jared Mentken could have been Blair Sandburg’s doppelgänger.   

A bustle and clatter on the stairs announced the arrival of Serena Chang and her crew from Forensics, closely followed by a couple of detectives out of Homicide.  They greeted Ellison’s presence with surprise; a brief discussion ended in a decision that Homicide would lead the investigation, but Jim and Blair would contribute where they could, and the two teams would combine their efforts and findings, at least for the time being.  

Hightower and Czerny were dispatched to stand guard at the top of the basement stairs – Czerny still flushed and looking disgruntled, but evidently having learned that one didn’t mess with Major Crimes’ favorite observer, no matter what circumstantial evidence seemed to say.  They were immediately busy trying to deflect curious onlookers and – shortly – university higher-ups.   

Czerny was good at this, Jim noted to himself, unashamedly eavesdropping as the cop turned down some department heads and a dean or two.  He’d remember that, if he ever had to come up with a security detail.  

Suzanne Tamaki opened up a currently-unoccupied office down the hall, and offered its use to the detectives, to get statements from Lisa and DeWayne before allowing them to leave.  

Jim, Blair, and Detective Rice ducked under the crime scene tape and joined Ms. Chang and her forensic team.  

“Anything you can tell us yet?” Ellison asked her.  

Serena glanced up and sighed.  “Jim, I’ve barely gotten started,” she chided.  “He’s been dead at least eight hours, maybe more,” she went on.  “Blood’s dried, definite rigor mortis.  Give me some more time.”  She returned to her tasks.  

Blair swallowed hard, and averted his eyes from Mentken’s body.  “My dagger…” he whispered.  “Jim, why would anybody do this – do it here?  With my dagger?”  

The Sentinel looked down at him, blue eyes bleak.  Can’t he see?  Doesn’t he realize that this may have been a botched killing?  A mistake?  That he was meant to be the one with the dagger in his back, not some archaeology professor?  Or was it something else…an almost-equally diabolical reason?  Rather than stating his first gut reaction to the question, Jim opted for the second choice, grim though it might be.  

“To frame you, Sandburg,” he growled softly.  “To frame you for murder.”  

*****

“You’d have ordinarily been in your office at 8 a.m., then?”  Short and slightly rotund, with dark hair and mischievous blue eyes, Detective Rice jotted quick squiggles of information into his notebook, as he and Blair leaned against the wall just outside the cordoned-off room.   

Inside, Jim was prowling about, in tandem with Serena’s assistants.  Since he was relatively familiar with Blair’s office, he could tell if something was more or less out of place, or didn’t belong.  The key word being relatively.  How in the hell does Sandburg manage to do anything in here?  

“That’s right,” Blair nodded confirmation, trying to pay attention to Rice’s queries while at the same time keeping a weather eye on his Sentinel.  “If I hadn’t been with Jim on that stakeout, and decided to bag office hours….”  He leaned his head back against the wall with a weary sigh.  “Pure, unadulterated luck.”  

“So it was someone who knows your schedule,” the homicide detective surmised.  “Figured you’d be here with a freshly-dead body and no alibi for the time.”  He made another notation.   

“My schedule’s posted outside the door,” Blair reminded him, and pointed at the typewritten page on the wall.  “Anyone and everyone who cares to look would know my schedule.”  

Rice sighed.  “You’re not helping me much, Sandburg, ya know?  But that’s your dagger, no question about that?”  

“No question.  It’s a ceremonial dagger from the Izozo tribe; it was a gift from a friend.  It was special—”  Sandburg broke off, choking a little.  His cherished dagger was now a murder weapon.  Even if he ever got it back…he wasn’t sure he wanted it back, any more.  He took a deep breath.  Not the time to think about that now, give this guy anything you can to work with, Sandburg!  “I usually keep it up on that third shelf.”  He pointed.  “There’s a little stand – Jim!” he broke off, raising his voice peremptorily.  “Jim, check on that third shelf; that’s where I kept the dagger!”  

Detective Rice chuckled, watching Ellison obediently move towards the shelf.  “Yeah, you’re his partner, all right,” he said softly.  “Nobody else could boss Ellison around like that – well, except maybe Captain Banks.”  

“Only on a good day,” Blair murmured, careful not to indicate whether he meant Simon could only boss Jim around on a good day, or he could!  He knew Jim would pick up the comments, and grinned a little when the Sentinel turned partially around and defiantly shook his head before returning his attention to the shelf in question. “Oh yes I can, Jim!” he whispered, nearly sub-vocal, and had to stifle a laugh when, out of Rice’s line of sight, Jim casually flipped him off, over his shoulder.  

“And you say you ‘sort of’ knew the victim?” Rice continued his questioning.   

“We aren’t in the same department – he taught Archaeology, and I teach Anthropology – but the fields are related, and we’d see each other at faculty meetings occasionally, or just around campus.  I knew who he was.  Just someone to say ‘hi’ to, and then forget….”  Blair felt his throat tighten at the casual dismissal.  

“Anyone ever tell you, you guys look alike?”  

Blair stared at the homicide detective, honestly perplexed, then glanced into the office, but his view of the corpse was obscured by Serena.  “Do we?  I mean, we both have long hair, and wore glasses sometimes, and I guess our builds are about the same…but I never saw the similarity as being that close.”  

“Take it from me, you do,” Rice grunted.  He flipped to a new notebook page and continued his questions:  “And can you explain how the killer might have gotten into your office?  How Mentken got in?”  

“Tell a custodian they needed to drop something off in my office…jimmy the lock…manage to get hold of a master key….”  Blair shook his head in defeat.  “There are any number of ways, man.  I have no clue.”  

Serena Chang had been inspecting the door lock closely.  “Jim, what do you think?  Did someone pick this lock?”  

Ellison answered the summons and after a brief look, nodded and shrugged.  “Maybe,” he conceded, “but someone could have used a credit card in the opening, and not messed with the lock at all, and gotten in just the same.  And anyone clumsy with a key could have scratched the lock anyway.”  He shot a quick, concerned glance at his white-faced partner.  “Denny, you about done interrogating Sandburg?”  

Rice shrugged.  “Well, no, but there’s no reason we can’t finish it up later.”  He snapped his notebook shut and returned it to his pocket.  “Blair, nice to meet you; sorry it was in these circumstances.  You know the routine; if you think of anything—”  

“If he thinks of anything, he’ll probably tell me,” Jim informed the other detective, grinning.  “But don’t worry, we’ll see you get the info.”  

Denny Rice snorted tolerantly.  “You Major Crimes dicks all think you’re God’s gift….All right, Krupicka and I are going to head over to Mentken’s office now,” he said, as sandy-haired Charlie Krupicka joined them.  “You guys comin’ along?”  

Jim cast another discreet glance at Blair.  “Not right now,” he decided.  “We might later, but four of us would just get in each others’ way.”  Besides, I don’t want an audience around when I do what I do…and if that’s not enough excuse, Sandburg looks like he needs to sit down for a little while, and he’s not going to give in while you two are here!  

“Good enough.  I’ll send a copy of our reports up to Major Crimes for you.  Catch you later.”  Krupicka and Rice departed; the only ones left now were Jim, Blair and the forensics team.   

“Was there anything on the dagger stand?” Blair lifted inquiring eyebrows at his partner, who shook his head grimly.  

“Clean,” he stated.  “Wiped clean.  No prints at all.”  

Blair nodded comprehension.  “I’d hoped they’d gotten careless, and forgotten the stand,” he sighed.  He snapped his fingers, struck by a sudden thought.  “I’d better check my e-mail while I’m here.”  

He moved to sit at his cluttered desk, and hit the power button for his computer.  While it booted, he stared gloomily at Jim, who was still prowling restlessly about and looking even more formidable than usual; having his Guide’s personal office space used for a killing ground upset the Sentinel more than he cared to admit.  

Blair tapped his fingers impatiently as he waited for the computer to finish its cycle; then he clicked into his e-mail program, and began to scan through it, muttering softly to himself.  “Meeting notice…spam…seminar ad…seminar notice…spam…meeting notification….Request for appointment with student…uh-oh, what’s this?”  

Ellison turned, alerted by his partner’s change in tone, and came to read over Blair’s shoulder, following along as Blair whispered the words:  

“Blair – I’ve got something I’d like to show you…an artifact I just received, that I’d like to ask you about.  Think I know when it’s from, but I could use your expertise as to exactly where.  Can I drop by your office early on Wednesday?  I know you have office hours then.  Let me know if that’s not okay, and we’ll find some other time.  No pressure, ya know?  Just curious.

Thanks,

Jared Mentken

Blair turned in his chair, frowning in confusion.  “That doesn’t make any sense!”  

“What doesn’t?”  

“Jared Mentken was tops in ID-ing stuff.  I could see me asking him for help, but not the other way around.  But…”  The expression in the sea-blue eyes changed from confusion to sorrow.  “I would have come in, if I’d known he wanted to see me….I might have saved his life if I’d been here—”  

“Chief, if you’d been here early this morning, there might have been TWO bodies on your office floor, not one!”  Ellison reminded him grimly.  

Blair blanched.  He leaned his elbows on the desk, and laid his forehead against his clenched fists.  “I never thought of that,” he whispered.  Suddenly his head shot up.  “JIM!”  

Ellison jerked around, startled by his partner’s yelp.  “What?”  

“Where’s the artifact?  He said he was bringing over an artifact to show me…where’s the artifact?”  

Jim gazed around blankly.  “Any idea what we’re looking for?”  

“No, but it might be something small….Serena, there’s nothing beneath the body, is there?”  

She shook her head.  “No, nothing.  And I didn’t find anything unusual in his pockets…I mean, nothing that looked like what you’re talking about.”  

“Could Mentken have put it somewhere in here?”  Ellison looked at the shelves again, almost despairingly.  “Would you recognize something new, Chief?  There’s so much stuff here….”  

“Well, yeah…given some time….”  Blair stood up, and began scanning the floor, the shelves, his desk, trying to spot anything that was unfamiliar or out of place.  “Why didn’t he give me a hint as to what sort of thing it was?” he mourned.  “I haven’t a clue to what we’re looking for.”    

He stopped, and turned his horrified gaze on his partner.  “Could the murderer have taken it?  My God, Jim, what if Mentken was killed for it, whatever it is?  Because of it!”  

“Logical assumption.  Find the artifact, find the murderer,” Ellison mused.  “Or…find the murderer and find the artifact.”  He frowned thoughtfully.  “Chief, what if the artifact was just a ruse?  What if Mentken wanted to talk to you for some other reason, and used that as an excuse, so that no one would suspect?”  

“Why would he want to talk to me?” the Guide demanded.  “We barely knew each other, remember?”  

“Because you’re known to be associated with the police department,” Serena offered, from her position kneeling on the floor beside the body.  “If he was in some sort of trouble and wanted advice….”  

“Why didn’t I just come in for office hours…?”  Blair flung himself back into his desk chair, staring bleakly at the computer screen.  

“Chief, second-guessing yourself doesn’t do any good now,” Jim said quietly.  “Maybe Rice and Krupicka will find some reference to something new in Mentken’s office, and we can look there later ourselves.  But for now….”  Jim rubbed his Guide’s shoulder gently.  “Let’s call it good for now. There isn’t anything else of importance in your e-mail, is there?”  

“No.”  Sandburg closed the program down, then got to his feet.  Jim, feeling protective,  automatically moved to stand close beside him.  They watched as Serena and her assistants efficiently bagged Mentken’s body, and prepared it for transport back to Dan Wolf’s autopsy room.   

“Kinda eerie,” Blair murmured.  “I’m beginning to understand how the legends of ‘fetches’ started.  I never realized how alike we were until now.”  

“Fetch?”  Serena raised her eyebrows inquiringly.   

“Yeah – another word for doppelgänger.  Supposedly, if you see your doppelgänger, you’ll die….”  

Ellison, who had noticed the similarity at once, and was unnerved by it, became aware of minute tremors shaking his partner, despite Blair’s attempts at control, and made a quick decision.  

“Chief, grab whatever you need and let’s get out of here,” he commanded.  “We can brainstorm back at the station; we don’t need to do it here.”  

“You sure you don’t want to go through Jared’s office?”  Blair looked grateful, but hesitant.   

“Not while Krupicka and Rice are there; we’ll do it later.”  Jim tugged gently on his partner’s arm.  “C’mon, buddy; you need a break.  It’s already past six, I know you didn’t have lunch, and you’ve had a bad shock.  Frankly, you look like several miles of bad road….Serena—” he turned to address the woman, struck by a sudden thought, “you don’t need Blair to stay and lock up, do you?”  

“If Blair could loan me his key, I’ll do it when we leave,” she replied, “and return the key later tonight or tomorrow morning.  But Blair, if you think you’ll need things for classes in the next couple of days, get them now.  We may not be able to take the tape down for a day or two, and getting in and out might be a problem.”  

“Probably not strictly procedure,” Jim muttered, as Blair hastened to gather up stacks of test papers and notebooks, and a few textbooks, “but I won’t tell if you don’t, Chief.”  

*****

“But why?”  Sandburg persisted, 45 minutes later, as he and Jim sat at Jim’s desk in the deserted bullpen, sharing containers of Thai take-out.  “Why would anyone kill Jared Mentken and dump him in my office?  What possible motive—”  

“Chief, no one killed him and then dumped him in your office,” Ellison reminded him gently.  “Mentken was killed there, in your office.  With your dagger.  And the motives are pretty obvious:  someone wanted to plant suspicion on you, whether or not they could make it stick.  Or someone really meant to kill you, and mistook Mentken for you.  Or, it ties to that missing artifact.  At least three possible options.”  

“Okay…”  Blair paused to chew and swallow.  “but it still doesn’t make any sense.”  

“Who says murders have to make sense?  You know better than that by now.  Okay….Think.  Who did you and Mentken know in common?”  Ellison inquired, reaching for a pen and paper with one hand while shoving a forkful of food into his mouth with the other.  

Sandburg rolled his eyes.  “Sheesh, Jim…faculty – students.  Clerical staff.  Custodial staff.  Shall I go on?”  

“’Sarcasm – just one more service I offer,’” Jim quoted dryly, and Blair looked abashed.  

“Sorry.”  Abandoning his meal, the younger man pushed his chair back and stood, beginning to pace around the room, swerving to avoid the numerous desks.  “This is just so…so bizarre!  I can’t even wrap my mind around it, ya know?”  He ran agitated hands through his hair, causing the rippling curls to stand out in a fluffy aureole.  “I mean, I wouldn’t have said we either of us had enemies on campus – not that kind of enemies, I mean; somebody might not like me all that well, or not like Jared, but to KILL him?  And try to implicate ME?   Or to kill him because they THOUGHT he was me?  Either way you look at it, he died because of me!”  

Deciding that logical thought processes were far removed from Sandburg’s brain at the moment, Jim abandoned his attempt to work on solving a murder case, and instead concentrated on attempting to soothe and calm an overwrought Guide.   

“Take it easy, Chief.”  Getting to his feet, Jim moved to his partner’s side, and gripped his shoulders gently, pulling him to a stop.  “Come on, calm down.  It wasn’t your fault Jared Mentken was killed.  Take some deep breaths, you know the drill.  Try to relax.”  

Trying to comply, Blair was surprised to find his teeth chattering together when he attempted speech.  “I – I – this is…is…s-st-stupid!”  He shivered, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on relaxing, but the insides of his eyelids seemed to be painted with the image of Jared Mentken lying on the floor of his office, with that dagger handle protruding….He shuddered, sickened, and felt Jim’s fingers tighten on his shoulders.  

“Sandburg.  Sit.  C’mon, sit down.”  

Blindly, he let himself be steered back to his chair and seated; felt the loss of contact as Jim momentarily let go of him, followed by the warm weight of Jim’s leather jacket settling about his shoulders, as Ellison draped it there.  Felt a hand guiding his to the steaming Styrofoam cup of tea, and urging it to his lips.  

“he…died…because of…me….”  

“No…no.  Come on, Blair, drink.  Sip it slowly – but drink it.”  

Obediently, Blair sipped, and felt the hot liquid slide down, thawing the interior icy chill just slightly.  He sighed shakily and drank again, more deeply.  

“That’s better.”  Ellison’s quiet voice was as warming as the tea.  

“Jim, you don’t really think Jared Mentken was supposed to be killed, do you?  You think that whoever did it thought he was me?”  Blair’s voice was very small, barely audible.  

Jim winced at the sound of that hesitant question.  He hated…loathed…despised – hearing that frisson of fear in his Guide’s voice; it brought out every primal protective instinct in his being.   

“I’m not sure what I think.  All our theories are possibilities at this point.  We’ll just have to wait until we get more data.  And we WILL get more data, Chief; trust me on that.  We’ll get to the bottom of this—”  Ellison paused, and laid a reassuring hand on his partner’s arm.  “—and I’m gonna keep you safe, even if it means not taking my eyes off you, 24/7, until it’s solved!”  

“Now that would be a thankless task—”  Blair chuckled grimly.  Whatever else he was about to say, however, was lost, as the door to the hallway opened and Simon Banks walked in.  They were unsurprised to see their captain enter, despite the hour.  Simon wasn’t one to abide by the time clock, not when something was going down with the people in his department.  

“Sandburg – glad to see you’re all right.”  Banks’ tone was dry, but his relief was genuine.  His keen eyes took in the sight of Blair huddled in Jim’s coat, clutching a steaming foam cup in trembling fingers – and the way Ellison was protectively hovering over his partner.  Looks like everything just hit him – poor kid!  Time for a distraction of sorts.  “I understand that you’re not primary on this case, but…what can you tell me about Sandburg’s DB, gentlemen?”  

They told him what they knew and what they merely speculated:  Jared Mentken had written to Sandburg requesting his help in identifying an artifact – said artifact apparently now missing; and Sandburg could think of no logical reason that Mentken would have needed his help with artifact classification.  Mentken had evidently come to Blair’s office early that morning, and somehow had entered the room.  Someone else had either been lying in wait for him, or had arrived later – and that someone had stabbed him in the back with one of Sandburg’s South American tribal daggers.   

“We have several possible scenarios,” Jim concluded.  “One, our unknown murderer Mr. X wanted the artifact, or didn’t want Blair to see the artifact.  He either followed Mentken to Blair’s office, or got there first and lay in wait, and stabbed him, taking the artifact with him when he left.  Two, Mentken was killed for some unknown reason having nothing to do with the artifact, and the killer just happened to choose Sandburg’s office to do it in.   

“Pretty weak hypothesis,” Banks commented wryly, and Jim nodded agreement.  

“Three, someone really meant to kill Sandburg, and mistook Mentken for him.  They didn’t look like identical twins, or anything, but if someone was working from a written description, then it would be an easy mistake.  That’s where it starts to get complicated, because the only reason anyone might want to kill Sandburg is because of his association with me.”  

“No…no!”  Blair denied vehemently.  “I refuse to let you take the blame for this one; this is University-related, not cop-related!”   

“Blair,” his Sentinel said gently, but with a twinkle in his eyes, “how often did anyone try to kill you before you worked with me?”  

“Um…are we counting threats from pissed-off boyfriends?”  

Captain Banks rolled his eyes and attempted to redirect the conversation back to the main channel.  “Why would anyone kill Mentken over some ancient artifact-thingy?”  

“Love the description,” Blair murmured softly, “’artifact-thingy’ is just soooooo comprehensive!  As for killing over one,” he continued hastily, seeing Banks glowering at him, “some artifacts can be worth a lot of money, to the right people.  Or…well, lots of – mmm, repute?  Status?  But at first guess, I’d say that…well, I hate to admit it, but we all know it happens – someone was probably smuggling something inside it.  Drugs being the most obvious, with jewels a second choice.”  

“Completing the circle of University/police involvement,” Ellison commented ironically.  “We really need to find that artifact, if only we had any clue what it WAS!  The fact that Mentken was stabbed in the back is also interesting.  Either the killer jumped him as soon as he entered the office – and from the way the body was positioned, I don’t think that’s what happened – or the killer was someone he knew, and trusted enough to turn his back on.”  

Before either Banks or Sandburg could respond, the office fax machine began to hum and churn out pages.  When it beeped completion, Jim walked over and gathered up the scattered sheets from where they’d floated to the floor.   

“It’s from Denny Rice,” he said, shuffling through them.  “Describing their search through Mentken’s office – and all the personal bio data, too.”  

“He wasn’t married – at least I don’t think he was,” Sandburg said.  “He dated around, but I never saw him with anyone on a long-term basis.”  

“Divorced, says here,” Jim said absently, still glancing over the pages.  “No kids…ex-spouse lives somewhere other than Cascade.  Parents deceased.”  

“Sad,” Blair commented drearily.  “Really no one to mourn his death….That’s so awfully sad.  Everyone ought to have someone who is sorry when—”  He gulped and shivered, and Ellison gave him a quick look; the detective crossed the intervening space between himself and his Guide, and settled down on the edge of the desk, nearly on top of Blair.  He reached out and laid a firm hand on the younger man’s shoulder, then slid it up to gently squeeze the back of Sandburg’s neck.  Simon, watching the way the tension ebbed visibly from Sandburg’s frame, marveled silently at the nonverbal communication between the two: Blair had been in need of comfort, and Jim had reacted instinctively to provide it.   

“Blair, he’s not unmourned.  You feel sorry that he’s gone,” Ellison said, very low, and his partner blinked a bit and then smiled.  

“That’s true, I guess.”  Sandburg straightened up and reached for the papers Homicide had sent to them.  “What does it say about Mentken’s office…?”  

After reading the brief description of what the two Homicide detectives had found when they visited Mentken’s office, Blair frowned thoughtfully at his partner.  

“Jim – Rice and Krupicka mention that there are open books all over Jared’s desk…now, they didn’t know about the artifact; they’d already left before I found his e-mail.  So if Jared was trying to identify something, he’d probably have reference materials sitting around.  Maybe we can figure out what sort of thing we’re looking for by seeing what he was researching.  Let’s go over to his office.”  

“Sounds like a plan.  You got your second wind now?” Ellison asked, draining his cup of tea and rising to his feet.  

Blair stood also, slipping Jim’s jacket from his shoulders and handing it to him, before donning his own, lighter-weight one.  “Yeah, I’m good.  Dinner helped.”  

“You should’ve eaten more,” the Sentinel grumbled, but Blair just smiled, then stopped, holding up a hand.   

“Wait, we ought to let the Homicide guys know about the artifact.”  He reseated himself, pulled up a report form, and began to type, swiftly creating a concise document to send to Rice and Krupicka.  Jim, no slouch himself when it came to a keyboard, although he hated the tedium of paperwork, watched enviously as his Guide’s fingers scampered across the keys.  

Blair hastily read over the report, saved it, printed a copy, snatched it from the printer tray, and handed it to his partner.  “Fax it to ‘em?” he requested.  Ellison complied, inwardly rejoicing that his effervescent friend had bounced back from his shock, at least for the moment, and was his usual efficient self.   

*****

It took them only a short time to locate a custodian and request entrance to Jared Mentken’s office in the building which housed the Archaeology department.  As Blair had said, the maintenance staff all knew him, and if there had been any doubt about allowing them into the room, Jim’s badge removed all arguments.  They were ushered in with due formality, and left on their own.  

Ellison gazed around, mentally comparing the room to his partner’s basement cavern in Hargrove Hall.  Jared Mentken, being a full faculty member, had rated a slightly larger office, but to Jim’s amusement, it seemed that he was the same sort of pack rat as Sandburg…shelves were crammed with a conglomeration of books, magazines, photographs, and artifacts of every sort imaginable, some boxed, some not.   As Detective Rice had reported, the large desk in the center of the room was covered with open volumes; it did appear that the archaeology professor had been searching for something or other.  

Blair was already bending over the desk, avidly gazing down at the books.  He turned a few pages, squinted over a yellow legal pad which was lined with scribbled notes, and nodded decisively.  “I think we’re looking for something like this,” he announced at last, and pointed to an illustration in one of the open tomes.  “At least, this seems to be what Jared was researching before his death.  The goddess Ixchel.”  

Jim craned his neck to see.  The picture was of a figurine, apparently pottery, with a squatty build and a distinctly unattractive face – not exactly the modern-day version of a goddess, but then, who was he to judge?  He’d seen representations of deities nearly as ugly when he’d resided with the Chopec, after all.  

“Any reason why Mentken wouldn’t have been able to identify this?”  

“Not that I can imagine,” Sandburg replied, shaking his head.  “Ixchel is pretty widely known; she’s not a minor, obscure deity.”  

“So his asking for your help was a blind,” Jim concluded.  “Just a reason to try and get to you – talk to you.  Perhaps ask for your help.  And all this stuff—” he indicated Mentken’s desk with a wave “—was camouflage.”  

His partner nodded.  “Now that I know what I’m looking for, I think we ought to check my office again.”  

Sandburg muttered curses when he realized that Serena Chang still possessed his office keys, but it didn’t take them long to hunt up the night watchman at Hargrove and explain why they needed access to his office once again.  Grumbling but acquiescent, the man let them in and departed.  

Wisely, Blair locked the door behind them, and set about switching on all the lights in the room.  He studiously avoided looking at the blood-soaked spot in front of his desk where Jared Mentken’s body had lain, and Jim could definitely sense an increase in his heartbeat and respiration, but Sandburg’s face was resolute, his lips firm.  

“Now, we look.  Extensively,” he said quietly.  “Anything you see that resembles that figurine, Jim; even if it’s something you think I might have already had in here.”  

“Got it, Chief.”  Willing – as he almost always was – to let his Guide lead him, Jim nodded.  He reached into a pocket and brought out a small wad of disposable plastic gloves.  “Let’s assume we’re going to find it – don’t want to get our fingerprints on it, after all.”  

Blair accepted his pair of gloves, and they set to work.  

In the end, it turned out to be almost absurdly easy.  

“Jim…”  

“Hmmm?”  The Sentinel turned from his study of a shelf of objets d’art, alerted by the hushed tone of his partner’s voice.  Blair was crouched behind his desk, pulling everything out of a bottom drawer; as Ellison watched, the younger man held up one gloved hand, clutching a knobby lump about eight inches high, squarish in shape, with ugly features.  

“Is that it?”   

“Well, it’s certainly not anything I recognize,” Blair chuckled.  “I mean, I recognize it – I’m fairly certain it’s Ixchel – but I never owned a figurine of her before!”  He straightened up, grimacing as his knees creaked a protest.  “I want to go back to the precinct before we start checking her out,” he said.  “If Jared hid her in my desk, he had a good reason.  If that reason happens to be something – um – irregular inside her, I want to be surrounded by a whole lot of witnesses before we start digging it out.”  He grinned.  “Besides, I want her out of here.  I have enough problems as it is; I don’t need an ancient fertility goddess in my office to create more!”  

Jim snorted, amused, and nodded his agreement.  “Fine with me.”  He looked around.  “You gonna just stuff her in your pocket, or what?”  

“I’ve got some sacks here someplace…”  Blair opened another drawer and rummaged briefly.  “Here.”  He pulled out a plastic grocery bag.  

“Jesus, Sandburg, isn’t it kinda insulting to stick a goddess in a Safeway sack?” Jim remonstrated, watching as his partner slid the lumpy little figure into the bag.  

Blair stared at him for a moment, and then began to laugh wildly.  “I – I have – no idea!” he gasped, between guffaws.  “I’ve…never…h-had the…opportunity before!”  

Sensing incipient hysteria and recalling that his Guide had had an extremely long and stressful day, Jim smoothly slid into Blessed Protector/TLC mode.  “Take it easy, Junior,” he said soothingly, and gently removed the sack from Blair’s grasp.  “I’ll take Ixchel.  Why don’t you shut things down in here and let’s go, okay?”  

Still chortling, Sandburg complied, scrubbing a hand across his face occasionally to wipe off the tears caused by his unbridled mirth.  Jim watched impassively, holding the sack containing the pottery figure.  Finally, Blair seemed satisfied that his office was tidy enough, that all the drawers were closed, that all the books were where they belonged; he switched out the desk lamp and moved towards the door, reaching for the overhead light switch.  

“Okay, man, I’m good.  Let’s take Ixchel down to the station and see if she’ll tell us any secrets.”  

They locked the door behind them and walked quietly up the dimly-lit stairs, heading for the parking lot, Jim still cradling the plastic sack in the crook of one arm.  Blair moved a few steps ahead as they exited the building.  

“If this little escapade doesn’t bring us any clues about why Jared was killed, I don’t know where to turn next.”  

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it, Chief.  After all, maybe Rice and Krupicka will come up with something; we’re not in this alone, remember?”  

Sandburg nodded and quickened his pace yet again.  Jim frowned just a little; Blair ordinarily stuck close as a second skin when they walked together; this distancing himself was uncharacteristic and troubling.  “What’s the matter, Chief, you scared to be near Ixchel, or something?”  

Blair turned, but kept moving, walking backwards as they crossed the parking lot.  “Like I said, Jim, I’m keeping a respectful distance from her; fertility goddesses are not something I care to mess with at this stage of my life, ya know?”  He spun about and broke into a jog, heading toward Jim’s truck.  

“So you pass her off to me to handle?  Thanks a lot, partner.”  

At the far end of the parking lot, a car engine roared to life.  

Jim, still moving at a leisurely pace rather than trying to catch up with his hyperactive Guide, registered the sound of the motor without paying much attention to it.  It was only when it abruptly became much louder, much too quickly, that he recognized the potential danger – and broke into a run, knowing he was too far away to prevent a catastrophe.  “Sandburg!  Sandburg!  Look out!”  

Blair halted, and turned back towards his partner – and at that moment, halogen high beams flashed on as the car bore down upon him!  For an instant he froze, blinded; caught in the brilliant light like a moth entranced by a flame; then he was turning, spinning sideways, lunging towards the nearest row of parked cars in a desperate bid for shelter from the oncoming vehicle.  He felt what seemed to be a mere tap against his trailing right foot, and then the jolt of his body rolling across the hood of a car, followed by the even harsher impact as he hit the pavement.  

The screech of tires on asphalt and the deafening roar of a revved-up engine at close quarters filled his head as he lay half-stunned; the air forced from his lungs…and then it was gone, fading into the distance, and all Blair could hear was the thunderous beating of his heart – echoed by the pounding of running footsteps coming ever closer.  

“SANDBURG!”   

Everything hurt.  

“Blair….”  

And he couldn’t seem to get any air….  

“Chief…buddy, can you hear me?”  

He was afraid to open his eyes, afraid that reality would be worse than this painful limbo.  

“Easy, Blair, just take it easy; everything’s all right.”  

Jim’s voice, talking to him, encouraging him.  Jim’s hands, moving gently over his body, rubbing, soothing the pain.  

“C’mon Chief, breathe…you got the wind knocked out of you, but you’ll be okay.”  

Tentatively, Blair attempted a small breath, and was almost surprised to find that his paralyzed lungs allowed a little air in.  He tried again, with similar results.  

“There you go….”  Jim’s voice shook.  “Open your eyes, buddy.”  

He did so – and attempted to smile up at his worried partner.  “I guess…she objected to…the Safeway sack…after all!” he croaked – and then groaned as his whole body protested the mistreatment it had just received.  Trying to ignore the pain, Blair pushed himself up on an elbow.   

“Chief – stay still.”  Ellison was quick to hold him down.  “Don’t try to move yet.”  

“I’m okay – really, I’m just shaken up.”  Blair tried again, and this time made it to both elbows.  “Just bruises, Jim – and maybe a few years shaved off my life, from fright!”  

“I think you took a few off mine,” the Sentinel growled, running careful, questing hands over his partner’s arms and legs.  “Your ribs okay?  Can you take a deep breath without it hurting?”  

“Yeah….”  Blair demonstrated his ability to breathe.  “See?  I’m fine.”  With Jim’s help, he scrambled ungracefully to his feet, and leaned against Ellison’s supporting arm for a moment.  “Did you get a look at the car?  I didn’t….”  

“Not a good enough one for a solid ID, but I know it was a small, sporty-type.  Dark blue or black.  Halogen headlights and—“ Jim inhaled, and held it a few seconds.  “—diesel fueled, not gasoline.”  

“Is it open season on social sciences teachers or something?” Sandburg asked unsteadily, clutching at Jim’s jacket front to maintain his equilibrium.  He felt something odd with his right shoe, and bent down again to look.  “H-holy shit….”  

“Only ones with long hair and leather jackets – What’s wrong?”   

“My shoe – I thought I felt something hit my foot when the car went by….”  Blair held up his right foot, and Jim saw with a shock that the sole of the running shoe had nearly been ripped off; it flopped limply, attached by only an inch or so of tattered rubber.  “Oh man, I didn’t realize just how close….”  The Guide gulped audibly, and began to tremble.   

Without another word between them, Jim rapidly piloted him across the intervening space to the truck; upon reaching it, he was so attentive in boosting Blair into the passenger seat, he nearly lifted him in bodily.  Sandburg exhaled a deep sigh, and tilted his head back to rest against the seat, still shaking.  He didn’t attempt to buckle his seatbelt, allowing Jim the privilege, knowing deep inside that the Sentinel again needed the reassurance of doing something for his Guide.   Dimly, he was aware of Jim closing the door, of the driver’s door opening a few seconds later, and the detective sliding behind the wheel.  

“Where’s…Ixchel?” Blair asked faintly, without opening his eyes.  

“She’s in my pocket, and if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll behave herself,” Ellison ground out.  “Chief, you sure you don’t want me to take you to the ER?”  

“Positive.  Don’t need a doctor.  Station…go to the station.  I want to find out what – if anything – is going on with the figurine.  Besides, I think I’ll feel safer there.”  Blair forced a laugh and rolled his head sideways, lifting his lashes just enough to see his partner.   

Jim’s jaw was tight, and his hands were clenched on the steering wheel, but his voice was deceptively calm.  “We could put her in Simon’s office,” he offered, striving for a light tone.  “We don’t need to tell him she’s a fertility goddess, and just wait and see what happens….”  

Sandburg began to laugh, and then groaned.  “Ow, ow, don’t crack jokes right now, man!”  Despite the discomfort, he continued to chuckle.  “Ellison, you’ve got an evil streak hidden under all that macho stoicism, ya know?”  

“Mmm, is that right?”  Jim started the truck.  

*****

Despite the fact that it was now past nine p.m., the lights were still on in the Major Crimes bullpen, and more specifically, in Captain Banks’ office.  Blair and Jim entered quietly, Ellison’s hand solicitously beneath his Guide’s elbow.   

“Jim, I’m fine…really.  You can stop treating me like hand-blown crystal, okay?”  Blair eased himself down into his usual chair, wincing despite his words.  

“If I was treating you like crystal I’d have taken you home and wrapped you up in tissue paper,” the Sentinel retorted.  “But you’ll notice we’re not home; we’re here, where you insisted we come.  Despite my better judgment.”  

Before Sandburg could frame a reply, the captain’s office door opened and Simon Banks strode out.  He paused, looking keenly at the two men, then advanced upon them again.  

“What in Sam Hill are you two doing, anyway?” he demanded.  “Every time you come back here, you look worse!  Sandburg, you look like you were run over by a truck!”  He broke off, stopped mid-rant by the look on Detective Ellison’s face, and the muffled, slightly hysterical shriek of laughter from Sandburg.  “What?  What did I say?”  

“It wasn’t…a truck!” Blair babbled.  “It was…a…sports car!”  He began to giggle again.  

Banks stared.  “You were run over by a sports car?” he echoed, disbelievingly.  

“Close enough,” Ellison gritted.  “It only missed because he dove over the hood of a car.”  He reached down and grasped his partner’s foot, pulling it into Simon’s view.  “It ripped the bottom of his shoe off!”  He turned back to Blair, and started patting and rubbing the quivering shoulders.  “Calm down, Chief – it’s not that funny.”  

“Y-yes…it is!”  

Simon muttered a few sulfurous oaths before demanding: “Jim, is he all right?  Did you have him checked out by a doctor?”  

“No…he refused to go to the ER.  I don’t think there’s anything wrong, other than bruises and some shock, though.”  

“Hel-LOOOOO!  Guys!  I’m right here – remember?”  Sandburg’s giggles had disappeared into huffs of annoyance.  “I can speak for myself!”  

“Okay, Sandburg; speak for yourself: convince me that you’re all right and shouldn’t be over at Cascade General right now,” Banks commanded sternly.  

Faced with Banks in full Captain-mode, the grad student retreated a little.  “I’m just shaken up, Si— Captain.  Just some bruises, I promise.  I don’t need a doctor – but some aspirin might not be a bad idea,” he admitted reluctantly.  

Jim was already digging through one of the desk drawers, emerging triumphantly with a bottle of Advil™.  He shook out three caplets and placed them in his partner’s hand, then pushed Blair’s abandoned cup of tea from their earlier dinner towards him.  “Ask and receive, Chief.  Take ‘em, and I mean right now.”  

While Blair downed the pain reliever, grimacing at the taste of the cold tea, and then excused himself for a hasty trip to the restroom down the hall, Jim quickly explained what had taken place in the parking lot at Rainier, and then pulled the plastic sack from his jacket pocket.  “We think this is what Mentken brought to show Blair.  We found it in the bottom drawer of his desk, buried under a bunch of other stuff.”  As Simon extended a hand, Jim pulled back slightly.  “We’re being extra-careful, in case of prints, sir.”  

The captain nodded his understanding, and waited for Jim to slide on another pair of gloves and take out the lumpy little object.  When he saw it, he frowned, consideringly.  “This…is something extra-special in the archaeology world, Sandburg?” he asked, as the grad student re-entered the bullpen.  

“Not in the least,” Blair said cheerily, causing Banks to scowl in confusion.  “That’s why I’m sure there’s something else going on with it, Simon.”  He leaned over the desk, waving one hand for emphasis.   “I want Jim to go over it with everything he’s got.  And I want to do it here, so we can document formally – and having you here as a witness helps, too.”   

Simon exchanged glances with his top detective.  “Thinks he’s pretty smart, doesn’t he?” he grinned, jerking his head towards Sandburg, and Ellison nodded.  

“Yessir, he does.  With reason.”  The Sentinel fixed his partner with a stern look. “Sometimes.”  

“Yeah, yeah, get on with it, man,” Blair murmured, but Jim shook his head obdurately.   

“First, you sit down.  If there was any way I could get you to lie down, I’d hold out for that – but at the very least, SIT.”  

Blair shot him a resentful look, but Jim met it with a cool ice-blue stare, and after a few seconds, the younger man backed down…and sat, close to his