WHN: The Good Samaritan

Chapter 1

The case wasn't going well. A wealthy friend of the commissioner had just lost a son to an overdose and was demanding swift justice. The boy, a college student, had apparently chosen badly and succumbed following a cocaine binge. The drug appeared more and more frequently these days and more often than not seemed to seduce an unusual clientele. Its users tended to be young, educated, and ambitious. Fast trackers, jet setters, young professionals, the beautiful people who could afford a drug that made them feel invincible. Briefly.

He left the apartment where he had conducted another fruitless interview. The boy died, his father raged, the commissioner squirmed, and the Chief's team prowled the city searching for anything related to the case. So far, no one saw anything, no one heard anything, and no one was saying anything. It seemed that as more money flowed with the drugs, more layers of secrecy and violence protected the men whose arrests would actually accomplish something.

By nature, Ed was a realist but not a pessimist, but he had spent the day chasing leads that went nowhere and now found himself feeling tired and frustrated. He opened the car door and slid into the driver's seat with dreams of a shower, a scotch, and a steak beginning to invade his thoughts. He sighed. His next destination, the office, probably meant that his evening would more likely consist of chili, debriefing, strategy sessions, and coffee. He fastened his seat belt and turned the key.

He saw the black sedan approaching in his rear view mirror. As it pulled alongside, he saw Larry Carr lean out of the window and felt a surge of irritation. What now?

"Hey, Ed," Larry said. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by what? Concern? Sympathy? Not from Larry Carr.

"Larry," he acknowledged with a half growl. The man set his teeth on edge.

"Sorry to hear about your buddy Bill. Really, man. He seemed like a good guy."

"My buddy Bill? Seemed? What are you talking about, Larry?" Ed's tired brain couldn't make sense of the information. Bill? Bill who? And there was always a chance that this was one of Larry's ridiculous "gotcha!" moments.

"Bill Eller. I just heard. He was shot and killed a little while ago. You didn't know?"

"Bill? He's dead? How?" Ed fumbled with the words. This made no sense. He'd only been on the force a few months after having saved Ed's life during a robbery. In turn, Ed, with the Chief's help, had exonerated Bill of murder charges. After his discharge, Bill had decided to try police work. He had caught the attention of some of his superiors because of his intelligence, steadiness, and military experience. Now he was gone. A bitter taste rose in Ed's throat.

"I don't know. I'm sorry, Ed," Larry repeated, "He seemed like a good guy."

Ed stared at Larry, questions that Larry couldn't answer tumbling through his head. He nodded mutely and Larry pulled off. He hesitated for a moment as he schooled his expression, burying the torrent of emotions behind his professional mask. Yet again. He put the car in gear and headed for the office, and, he hoped, answers.

His logical mind told him that there was no reason for guilt, but it crept in anyway. If they had not met, if Ed had not insisted on helping Bill beat the charges, if Bill hadn't been so close to discharge, if. He may have beaten the charges. He might still be alive. Ed, on the other hand, would most likely not.

Hand on the nob, Ed paused for a moment before he entered the office, took a deep breath, and opened the door.. The Chief sat at the table, file in hand, scowling. Ed thought his expression softened ever so slightly as he looked up. He knew. Ed glanced at Fran, whose face as always clearly broadcast her mood. Ed glanced away quickly, unable to deal with raw emotion just now. Mark busied himself in the kitchen, a concerned and guarded expression on his face. He nodded hello but said nothing and returned quickly to his task, much to Ed's relief.

"Ed," the Chief began, but Ed cut him off.

"I know. Do you know what happened?"

"Some of it. Bill and his partner were on foot checking out an alley in the warehouse district. Bill was shot first and died instantly, or close to it. His partner was hit by a bullet to his temple. He's unconscious."

"Will he live?" Ironside arched an eyebrow at his sergeant, who, while direct, was seldom so blunt.

"It's too soon to tell. He's in critical condition. They're to keep me posted on his condition."

"Pass it along, please." Ed suddenly felt the need to get out of there, to be alone, to sort through this mess without people walking on eggshells around him. He turned to leave.

"Ed!" the Chief called sharply. "The last time I checked, you were following up some leads for me! What did you find out, Sergeant?"

"Nothing, Chief. Nothing that will help. The Cochran kid showed up with the cocaine, a lot of it, shared it with ten or twelve of his closest fraternity friends, began to convulse, and died. No one else showed symptoms. If anyone knows anything about his use or his source, they aren't talking. Do you need me for anything?"

"No, Ed, go home. We will try again tomorrow. And Ed," he continued, a bit more gently, "anger, grief, frustration, fine. Just no guilt." His eyes met Ed's.

"Okay, Chief. Later!" he called to Mark and Fran.

"Bye."

"Good night, Ed."

"I did what you asked," Fran said as the door closed. "And he's not 'just fine' and he's not going home and I think he could use some support right now!"

"He is a grown man who has suddenly lost a friend and colleague. He needs space and time to come to terms with the tragic absurdity that a man can survive combat tours and beat a murder charge just to end up dead on a city street. If he wants to share that time and space, he knows where we are and how to reach us. And of course he's not going home. He'll probably go to the crime scene or drive around or go sit in a bar somewhere and have a beer. He'll go to where he thinks he needs to be. What he doesn't need is anyone hovering around him going on about FEELINGS!" The Chief's exasperation wound down and he blew out a breath. Fran recoiled a bit but let it go.

"Thank you for doing it my way, Fran." She smiled slightly and touched his arm. Mark came in with a round of bourbon, a deck of cards, and pretzels.

"I got a quarter on the crime scene," he said as he set down the drinks.

"No takers!" said Fran and the chief simultaneously. They divided the pretzels and dealt the cards.

The crew at the crime scene was winding down by the time Ed arrived. The alley was L-shaped and fairly shallow. Several storefronts had garbage disposal containers and service entries in the recessed area, creating obstacles and shadows, easy hiding places, but there was only one way out. After dark, most of the small businesses closed down. Some of the warehouses in the area had some traffic at odd times, but the alley had very few visitors even during regular business hours. There had been some reports of pairs or small groups in jackets, hats, and glasses slipping into the entrance and disappearing before reappearing a few minutes later. Most were young, students furtively slipping into the alley and emerging soon after, heads down, hands jammed in pockets.

In response to the business owners' concerns that this kind of activity might discourage their clients, the police had made this alley and several other similar places the subjects of random periodic patrols, hoping to put an end to whatever informal business might have been conducted there. So far, there had been no arrests.

They had found three .22 caliber casings under a fire escape deep in the alley. Chalk outlines showing the fallen officers' locations were drawn at the corner of the L. It appeared that they had rounded the corner and gone no further.

"Find any slugs?" Ed asked the lead detective.

"You on the case?" He asked in response.

"No, not officially." Ed kept his tone neutral. The other man gave a start of realization.

"Eller. Bill Eller. He was a friend of yours, right?"

"Yeah, he was." Ed waited for the next comment, unsure what attitude the man, a Detective Henderson, would take. Not everyone appreciated the Chief's operating outside the normal chain of command and sometimes seeming unaffected by the normal procedures, pressures, and scrutiny. Few people had any idea what that autonomy cost, and fewer still would have paid the price, but there was jealousy often enough anyway. Ed usually ignored the caustic comments. There was nothing to be gained by dignifying them, but they irritated him nonetheless. He braced himself.

"I'm sorry about your friend. I worked with him a couple of times. He never let me down. Good man." Henderson met his eyes. "I'll be happy to tell you what I've found out."

The two officers had let dispatch know that they would be exiting the car to check the alley about 4 PM. When they failed to respond to a disturbance call in the area at 4:20, dispatch sent another unit to the scene, where they found Officer Eller dead and Officer Lewis, his partner, bleeding from his left temple and unconscious. Eller's gun was never drawn, while Lewis' lay near his body never having been fired. The bullet that hit him had not penetrated his skull, but he did not respond to attempts to awaken him. The hospital scheduled tests to try and assess the damage and establish a prognosis, but no one had heard anything except that he was in critical condition and still unconscious, but alive.

The team at the scene had interviewed everyone they could find, but had no witnesses at this point. They would canvass the area tomorrow and continue to look for clues. They had indeed found two slugs in the wall behind the chalk outlines, one with blood on it, but the other clean. They would be tested against the casings that they had found. Ed thanked the detective, mentally filing his name away to share with Ironside, and agreed to share anything he might find relevant to the case. He returned to his car and finally headed home.

The trip home was uneventful. Ed turned the information over in his mind. This was not a hit. Whoever shot Bill was as surprised to see him as Bill was to actually find someone back there. The shooter had walked past Lewis and his gun to leave the alley. Either the shooter thought Lewis was already dead or refused to execute him to eliminate a potential witness. An experienced criminal would not have hesitated to check on and finish the business. Ed's instincts told him that this was the act of an inexperienced shooter, perhaps panicked, who fled the scene and was likely hiding out fairly close by. He uttered a quick prayer that Lewis would survive and that Bill had found peace, and parked the car.

The phone was ringing as he entered the apartment. He hurried over and snatched the receiver from the cradle. Henderson? A break in the case already? News about Lewis?

"Brown!" He answered tersely, but the voice that greeted him was Fran's. Why was she calling so late? The Chief, maybe, okay frequently enough, Mark occasionally, but Fran never called this late.

"Ed?" she began, sounding both hesitant and relieved.

"Is there something wrong with the Chief?" he demanded, a little curtly. He hoped not, but why the hell else would someone be calling him at one AM?

"No, I was worried about you," she countered a little testily herself. Sometimes the right hand man could be a bit...overbearing, abrupt, inconsiderate? "I wanted to make sure you were all right! Apparently, you're fine. Sorry I bothered you."

"Fran, I'm fine. Thanks for calling. I appreciate your concern, but I'm a little off balance right now. Get some sleep, and I'll see you bright and early." And way too soon now.

"Okay, you too. I understand." She sounded somewhat mollified at least. Thank God. When she was upset, the whole office felt the ripples. She was smart and diligent, and she meant well. The seasoning would come, at a price, of course. Why she felt it necessary to constantly check on him, Mark, and the Chief, he would never understand. He allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps he should turn the tables on her sometime soon. Would she appreciate the gesture, or bristle at the perceived nursemaiding?

He shook his head. It was ridiculous that he even thought of something so trivial when he was investigating two deaths. He went to bed.